Land of Hope and Glory

by Geoffrey Wilson

  A round shot hit the ground nearby with a metallic chime and bounced towards them at great speed.

  ‘Move.’ Jack wrenched Charles and Saleem back.

  The ball hummed past and slammed into a fountain, where it hissed and steamed. Men rushed over to retrieve the shot – ammunition was precious and could be reused any number of times.

  More balls swarmed over the wall, dark against the flickering sky. They battered through doors, crushed carts, plucked men off their feet.

  A glinting shell swooped down and smashed through the roof of a nearby house. The building’s top storey roared and burst into dust and splinters. A window shutter clattered across the flagstones.

  ‘Where’s your friend?’ Charles shouted.

  Jack looked along the ramparts. It was too dark to make anyone out. How was he supposed to find William in the dim light and confusion?

  ‘We have to get up on the battlements,’ Jack said. That was the last place he wanted to be, but it was the only place he imagined he would find William – in the thick of it, leading his men. He didn’t know what he was going to do with Charles and Saleem. Eventually he would have to lose them – but how? The best thing for them to do would be to hide and then get out of the city as soon as they could, but he knew neither of them would agree to that.

  They ran across the square to a stairway on the side of the wall. They scrambled up the steps behind a pair of gunners hauling a box of powder. Jack looked around constantly, but couldn’t see William or any of the other rebels from Dorsetshire.

  They reached the walkway along the top of the wall and stopped abruptly. All about them men laboured over the artillery, sweating as they sponged out the pieces, rammed home charges, lifted and loaded the heavy balls. Sergeants roared commands. The guns bucked and rocked, the serpent-head muzzles growling, flaming and belching white smoke. The sound slapped Jack in the chest. The intricate designs along the weapons’ bodies blazed alive repeatedly, then darkened. Smoke, smelling of fireworks and rot, choked the ramparts and scratched at the back of his throat.

  They looked over the parapet and Saleem drew in his breath sharply. Before them was an infernal scene. The plains below were dark, but peppered by thousands of fires. The enemy encampment glimmered more than a mile away. But closer, the blasts of artillery rippled in rows. The air between the wall and the plains was thick with wailing shot. Shells rose and fell like shooting stars.

  Sattva-fire balls vaulted far above. But Jack noticed the Sikhs mounting a defence from atop the bastions of the Ald Gate. The men stood in groups, raising their hands to the sky, light dancing on their orange uniforms. Pink mist formed above each group, then condensed into red, flaming bolts that shot away from the wall. The bolts screamed into the dark, dipping and rising and weaving like flies. Each struck a fireball with a thump and a crack. Fireballs shattered into galaxies. Others roared and spun to the earth, smearing the ground with flame. Many were destroyed, but many more streaked on towards the city.

  Charles stared up at the Sikhs. ‘Black magic. At least they’re on our side.’

  Jack assumed Kanvar was up there somewhere, but he couldn’t make out the young siddha from this distance.

  ‘Take cover,’ a gunner shouted.

  Jack heard a sharp whine and pulled Charles and Saleem down below the parapet. They waited for what seemed a long time but in reality could only have been a second. The wall shuddered. The battlements a few feet away burst into dust and shards of rock. There was a deep reverberation like a gong underground. The nearest gun spun round, almost falling over the edge and down to the street, the muzzle smacked sideways as if made of butter. Men lay screaming and struggling, half buried by rubble. Part of the top section of the wall had been smashed, leaving a fissure ten feet deep across the walkway.

  Men fought frantically to free their trapped comrades.

  Jack, Charles and Saleem stood up. The fissure lay between them and the wounded men. Charles went to the edge, but Jack pulled him back. ‘Leave it. We can’t get across that.’ The rubble at the bottom of the crack looked unstable. Trails of dust and small stones were trickling down to the street.

  A tall man came striding along the walkway on the opposite side of the fissure. His shaven head was lit by the flashes of the guns and the scimitar at his side glowed. It was William, barking orders and waving for more men to come to help the wounded gunners.

  Jack’s heart thudded. This was it – his chance. But William was on the other side of the fissure and surrounded by men.

  He stepped back behind Charles and Saleem, turned his face away.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ Charles asked.

  ‘Nothing,’ he said. ‘Let’s get out of the way. Can’t see my friend yet.’

  He led them along the wall, past the teams of soldiers and thundering guns. He had to get far enough away to avoid William spotting him. At the same time, he couldn’t go too far. He had to be ready to act the moment he saw William alone. But would he get a chance like that? Surely he should go down to the street and climb the wall further along, run at William, shoot him? No, that wouldn’t work. The other men would turn on him for killing their leader. He wouldn’t stand a chance.

  A shell exploded nearby with a piercing shriek. The air in front of him split open with flame and smoke, and hot, sulphur-scented wind struck him in the face. Shards of metal and musket balls screamed in all directions. A large shell-fragment roared past so close he could feel the heat of it.

  He slammed himself to the floor, below the line of fire. Charles and Saleem rattled down beside him.

  ‘Are you all right?’ he called to them.

  ‘Yes,’ they both replied.

  ‘Keep your heads down, lads.’ A corporal crouched against the ramparts nearby. Along from him sheltered an infantry platoon. ‘That fire’s getting bloody hot.’

  ‘Aye.’ Jack clambered over to the fire step at the base of the parapet. He looked back and saw William in the distance, towering over the other men.

  ‘What now?’ Charles shouted.

  ‘We’ll stop here,’ Jack replied. There was nothing more he could do at that moment. An opportunity would have to come along eventually. Provided he could stay alive long enough.

  ‘What about your friend?’ Charles asked.

  ‘Can’t see him. Who knows?’

  The corporal turned, peered gingerly over the top of the wall, then slipped back down again. ‘They’re bringing up the heavies. Just been softening us up with the light guns so far.’

  As if to prove his point a deep rumble reverberated across the plains below. Seconds later, the wall shivered and groaned. About a hundred yards away, the top of the ramparts shattered, and dust and fragments of stone jetted into the dark-grey sky. Soldiers cried out as they tumbled to the street below.

  ‘Why don’t they come and fight us face to face?’ Charles said. ‘Then we’ll show them.’

  The corporal gave a rasping laugh. ‘Reckon they’ll smack us around with the guns a bit more first, son.’ His smile drained away and he flicked a look at the sky. ‘Then they’ll send magic to knock through the wall.’

  Charles frowned for a moment, then gave a tight grin. ‘But we have the Grail. It will come.’

  The corporal wiped his forehead. ‘Hope it does that soon, son.’

  Jack sat with his back to the battlements. The Grail. Did Charles think it would appear at the last moment to save them? Like in the stories?

  He gazed across the city as the grey dawn spilt over the roofs and steeples. The sky hurled down squalls of hot metal. Fireballs tumbled to the ground, releasing pulses of flame. Fires seethed everywhere.

  Nothing was going to save them.

  The Rajthanan guns slackened a little after a few minutes. Jack stood on the fire step and eased his head above the parapet. Charles and Saleem raised themselves beside him.

  In the growing light, the fields were more clearly visible, pale beneath a sky thick with black cloud. The ground boiled and smoked and
shot up fountains of soil. The enemy artillery sparked from behind rough earthworks and fascines. Other batteries had been set up amongst the buildings outside the city, their muzzles blazing from between the walls of farm cottages. The army swarmed in the distance.

  Jack could just make out the quivering purple of the siddha tents.

  Round shot bit into the wall, puffing out dust and grit and sending shockwaves through the stone. Spent balls bounced back and rolled on to the plains. Overhead, wisps of smoke from the shells dotted the sky.

  Jack saw that William still walked along the wall on the other side of the fissure, shouting and gesturing fiercely with his hands. Jack wondered how much longer he should wait. He only had the rest of the day to get William out of the city. After that it would be too late.

  He heard Elizabeth’s voice again, crying out in the dark forest.

  A gust of cold wind hit him in the face and lifted his hair in a plume behind him. There was a rushing sound, loud enough to be heard over the guns.

  ‘What’s that noise?’ Saleem asked.

  ‘Don’t know,’ Jack replied.

  ‘I can smell something sweet,’ Charles said.

  Jack nodded. He could already smell it – sattva.

  The wind grew stronger and his eyes watered. A dark cloud rose from somewhere behind the siddha tents and hung, swirling, in the air.

  ‘What the Devil . . . ?’ Charles said.

  Jack felt cold.

  The cloud moved forward, at first slowly, but then increasing in speed until it was hurtling towards them. It splintered into specks that looked like a mass of flies.

  ‘Keep down.’ Jack had no idea what the cloud was, but he didn’t like the look of it.

  They all ducked. The rushing sound built to a high-pitched squealing.

  The corporal next to them stood and looked over the battlements.

  ‘Get down.’ Jack motioned to the man.

  ‘What—’ The corporal turned, looking at Jack, about to say something. Then the cloud of flies hit. The squealing was deafen ing. Ten or more thudded into the corporal, knocking him backwards, although he managed to stay standing. Five were embedded in his face. Others had ripped straight through his tunic and blood welled where they’d struck.

  He shouted, put his hands to his face. ‘Get them off. Get them off.’

  Jack tried to hold the corporal still. Tiny steel gnats with long, sharp proboscises buzzed and burrowed into the man’s face. Jack tried to pinch one and pull it out, but it wriggled in deeper. Within seconds the creatures had disappeared under the skin.

  The corporal gasped, his eyes wide. A line of blood escaped from the corner of his mouth and he gave choking cries.

  Along the ramparts, soldiers screamed and clawed at their skin, their comrades trying, with little success, to help them. One man jerked about so violently he toppled over the side of the walkway and fell to the street below.

  ‘They’re coming back,’ a soldier shouted.

  Jack looked up. The flies had reformed into a whirling, squealing cloud, which now came rushing back towards the wall. Jack raised his hands to shield his face. A soldier a few feet away fired his musket into the cloud, which had no effect at all.

  A grumble vibrated through the wall and a blast of sattva-scented air hit Jack on the side of the head, unsteadying him for a moment. Five of the Sikhs stood in a wedge on top of the Ald Gate, their arms raised as if praising the heavens. The sattva wind seemed to emanate from them.

  The blast struck the flies and scattered them. More than two-thirds sizzled and vanished. Others flew off on random trajectories. But a handful still rushed down, shrilling.

  Charles muttered a prayer and made the sign of the cross.

  ‘Cover your face,’ Jack shouted.

  The flies struck. Jack heard shouts as several soldiers were hit. He lowered his hands. He couldn’t feel any pain. He glanced at his chest – no holes in his tunic, no sign of any injury. He looked across at Charles, who huffed and mopped his brow, but appeared unharmed.

  The wounded corporal was now still, eyes staring into the black cloud above.

  ‘Jack.’ Saleem had his hand on his cheek and when he moved it, a spot of blood was visible.

  ‘No.’ Jack rushed to Saleem’s side. A fly was burrowing into the boy’s face.

  ‘Is it . . . ?’ Saleem stammered.

  ‘Stay still.’ Jack tried to grab the buzzing splinter, but it was already in too deep.

  Saleem gave short, panting breaths.

  ‘Fire. That’s the only thing that’ll kill it,’ said an old, grizzled soldier who was suddenly standing over them. ‘Seen them before – out in Turkey.’

  The soldier crouched and looked at Saleem’s face. ‘It’s in too far. We’ll have to cut it out.’

  The soldier drew a knife and Saleem looked wide-eyed at Jack.

  ‘Hold still.’ Jack patted Saleem on the arm.

  The soldier moved quickly. He slit Saleem’s cheek, the lad jumping slightly, and the quivering fly was exposed. He lit a match and thrust it into the cut. The fly buzzed and hissed, then flew off aimlessly.

  Jack said a silent Hail Mary.

  ‘Is it gone? Is it gone?’ Saleem asked.

  ‘You’ll be all right.’ The soldier grinned.

  When Jack looked along the wall, he saw men shuddering as they lay dying on the walkway, while others were being treated with knives and matches. Stretcher-bearers picked up the gravely injured. The flies had otherwise been destroyed or scattered.

  A round shot screamed past. The pounding of the guns continued unabated. Jack glanced in the direction of the Ald Gate and could still see William, a giant rising out of the battle smoke.

  Jack’s chest started to throb. He took a gulp of jatamansi, then weighed the vial in his hand. It felt empty. He held it up to the light and through the dark glass could just make out a small amount of liquid, enough for one final dose.

  He would have to use that wisely.

  ‘What the hell is that?’ A private pointed down at the enemy.

  Jack and the others looked over the wall. The plains still bubbled and churned from the artillery fire, but there was something else. The fields shivered, as though water were running in streams just below the surface. Jack noticed a glint of metal here and there and the scent of sattva was growing strong again.

  ‘What now?’ Charles asked.

  Saleem swallowed hard.

  The wave of movement reached the ditch surrounding the wall, then thousands of what looked like shining steel snakes wriggled into the ditch, where they collected in a squirming mass, then slithered straight up the wall.

  Jack had seen these war avatars once before, but there had been only two of them and they had moved far more slowly than the creatures now rushing up the stonework.

  ‘Men, load!’ a sergeant shouted.

  The soldiers all loaded their muskets, moving quickly, but without synchronisation. The sergeant didn’t shout out the subsequent commands and some soldiers finished before the others.

  A shambles. No proper organisation.

  What they needed now were Rajthanan officers. But there were no Rajthanans. Just Englishmen – privates, corporals, sergeants.

  Charles had his musket loaded and cocked in under fifteen seconds. But Saleem’s hands shook so much he dropped the ramrod. He glanced up at Jack, eyes wide and glassy.

  ‘Take your time,’ Jack said. ‘You can do it.’

  Saleem took a deep breath, wiped away the trace of blood still on his cheek and then retrieved the rod, jammed down the bullet and within seconds was standing with his musket raised and pointing over the parapet. He looked across at Jack, and for once met Jack’s gaze without looking away.

  ‘Good lad.’ Jack’s voice was so soft he wasn’t sure if Saleem could even hear him.

  And then he looked at Charles, who now grinned back, still with his musket raised and his sandy hair shuffling in the slight breeze. He seemed to have recovered from the blow of
his regiment being destroyed and was now as determined as ever to fight for England.

  Jack swallowed. He was proud of his two young comrades. He wished things could be different, wished he were genuinely fighting with them for his country. Feelings surged in his chest. ‘God’s will in England.’

  ‘God’s will in England,’ Charles and Saleem said back.

  Then they all climbed on to the fire step and leant over the battlements.

  The snakes were racing up the wall, many already more than two-thirds of the way to the top. The sound of their hissing and clicking was audible even over the din of the guns.

  ‘Take careful aim.’ Jack raised his musket to his shoulder, pointed it down and looked along the sights. ‘Make every shot count.’

  Charles and Saleem took aim as well. Charles fired barely two seconds later – the burst tingled in Jack’s ear – but the shot was far too high and missed the snakes and the wall completely. Saleem went next and his shot was better, but it struck the wall well ahead of the closest creatures.

  While Charles and Saleem reloaded, Jack focused on the snake nearest to him. It was close enough now for him to see a steel head covered in tiny stalks, and a wriggling body made of metal ribs over mechanical innards.

  He squeezed the trigger, heard the familiar crack and felt the butt jab into his shoulder. He moved his head to the side to look around the puff of smoke. The snake gave a metallic shriek and shattered, the fragments coiling as they tumbled back to the ground.

  Muskets stuttered all along the wall and the bullets rattled against the stone. Hundreds of snakes fell, but there were hundreds more coming up behind them.

  Jack, Charles and Saleem reloaded and fired, reloaded and fired. Jack was getting into the rhythm of it now – it was just like the old days when he’d stood in line with thousands of others, battering the oncoming enemy with round after round. Saleem was getting quicker, and Charles was shouting at the beasts as though he could terrify them.

  Charles and Saleem’s aims were improving and they both hit several of the creatures. Jack methodically picked off snakes one by one. He was sweating and thirsty. Pain brewed in his chest, but he did his best to ignore it. He couldn’t risk using the last of the jatamansi yet.