Land of Hope and Glory

by Geoffrey Wilson

  Perhaps there would be a time in the future when his countrymen would rise up again, fulfil William’s prophesy of freedom. Perhaps it was possible. But his people would not succeed as they were. They would have to progress.

  At one point during the journey he’d seen a band of siddhas subduing a mill avatar. The English would have to learn this skill. They would have to overcome superstition and learn to control sattva and avatars. It was their sattva, after all. His people’s sattva.

  He himself had shown what could be done. He’d become a siddha, which Europeans weren’t supposed to be able to do, and he’d broken the law of karma, which was supposed to be impossible.

  He didn’t understand how this had happened. But he’d done it all the same.

  The horse was tired, but he would ride until daybreak before stopping. He would buy food and water for the charger, but he needed nothing for himself, save a drop of water, which was just as well as he had only a few pennies left in his pocket. He didn’t feel hungry. He didn’t even feel tired. He was focused simply on getting to Poole and freeing Elizabeth.

  It was a clear day as he rode towards the barracks outside Poole, but there was a slight chill in the air and he could smell a trace of salt from the sea. He’d left the main road as it veered off towards the city and now he was galloping down the same dusty lane that he’d travelled along with Jhala and Sengar four weeks earlier.

  The barracks appeared ahead, a low stone wall surrounding the main complex. The rickety shanty town of the followers and European soldiers spread out on to the plain to the north. On the edge of the shanty town stood a dusty line of market stalls, where the soldiers would buy their food and what little treats they could afford.

  He slowed the horse to a trot. Soon, he would see Jhala. A coal smouldered inside him when he thought about how his guru had betrayed him.

  What would he say to Jhala now? By rights he should shoot him in the head. But, of course, he couldn’t do that. He would stay calm and get Elizabeth out of the barracks.

  Two Rajthanan soldiers in ornate turquoise tunics and turbans stood at the gate. They carried muskets on their shoulders and scimitars at their sides. Jack stopped the horse and the dust rose about him as though he were alight. One of the guards, a young man, looked up.

  ‘I’ve come to see Colonel Jhala,’ Jack said. ‘My name’s Jack Casey. The Colonel knows what it’s about.’

  The guard chewed paan slowly, studying Jack’s face, then turned and spat red spittle into the dust. He wiped his mouth and glanced at the other guard, saying in Rajthani, ‘You know a Colonel Jhala?’

  The second guard, a squat man with a round face, shrugged and shook his head.

  The first guard looked up at Jack again. ‘There’s no Jhala here. You’d better be on your way.’

  Jack tightened his grip on the reins and the coal inside him glowed brighter. This young man had no respect for him. ‘Jhala’s the commander of the 2nd Native Infantry. He must be here.’

  ‘The 2nd?’ The first guard looked at his colleague again. ‘They left a while back, didn’t they?’

  ‘Don’t know.’

  Jack looked up at the row of flagstaffs, searching for the standard of his old regiment – the three red lions running in a circle on a blue background. But he couldn’t see it. There were a number of other flags, but they were all for foreign regiments, none of which he recognised.

  Why wasn’t the flag there? Where was Jhala? The burning coal inside him dimmed, went cold and hard.

  ‘I’ve got something important here.’ He pointed at the sackcloth bundle behind him.

  The first guard’s eyes narrowed. ‘What is it?’

  Jack paused. ‘Something important.’

  ‘Hey, it’s a body.’ The second guard had walked along the side of the horse and lifted up a flap of the cloth.

  ‘What?’ The first guard swung his musket from his shoulder, saying to Jack, ‘You. Get down.’

  Jack climbed slowly off the horse. The scent of putrefaction wafted from the sacking and flies began to collect about the corpse.

  ‘Give me that musket,’ the first guard demanded.

  Jack thought about refusing, then took the firearm off his shoulder and tossed it to the guard. He could still feel the hidden knife against his skin. He would fight these Rajthanans if he had to. They wouldn’t stop him freeing his daughter.

  The second guard was studying the body more closely. ‘Who is this?’

  ‘A rebel leader,’ Jack said. ‘The Ghost.’

  ‘The Ghost?’ The first guard frowned. ‘I’ve heard of him. I don’t know . . . doesn’t make much sense.’

  The two guards stepped to one side, but Jack could still hear them speaking in Rajthani.

  ‘Better get it checked out,’ the second guard said.

  ‘Could be some sort of trick.’

  ‘He looks harmless.’

  ‘Probably crazy.’

  ‘All the same . . .

  ‘All right. Let’s see what Colonel Pundir thinks.’

  The first guard turned to the barracks and whistled. In a few seconds a young soldier came running across and was sent off to find the Colonel.

  Jack stood waiting beside the horse. The two guards kept their eyes on him, as if he were about to attack them.

  He looked through the gate at the square of beaten earth and the low, thatched buildings beyond. Rajthanan soldiers walked about in all directions. He strained to see the prison, but he knew it was too far into the camp to be visible from where he was standing.

  The young man returned and spoke to the first guard, who then turned to Jack. ‘Come with me.’

  Jack glanced at the bundle on the horse.

  ‘You can leave that with us,’ the second guard said.

  Jack was reluctant to leave William’s body – he planned to give William a proper Christian burial – but he could also see that for now he would have to do as he was told.

  He followed the guard across the square and between the long wattle-and-daub buildings. It seemed like years since he’d last been here. Nothing had changed, but everything looked different.

  They came out at the parade ground and crossed over to the bungalow that housed Jhala’s office. On entering the building, Jack saw that the room was largely the same as when he’d last been there. The desk was still in the same position, but behind it sat a Rajthanan who Jack at first thought was too young to be a colonel, until he noticed the braids in the man’s turban.

  ‘What’s all this about, then?’ Colonel Pundir asked. ‘You’ve got a dead body out there.’

  ‘It’s the Ghost. He’s a rebel leader—’

  ‘I know who the Ghost is, but what makes you sure that’s him?’

  ‘I served with him. A long time ago.’

  ‘I see. And you killed him?’

  ‘No. He was killed in London. During the battle.’

  ‘Hmm. A likely story. You know, the Ghost’s been spotted all over the place over the last few days.’

  Jack went silent. He didn’t know what to say.

  ‘That’s right,’ Pundir said. ‘He’s been seen in Wiltshire, in Bristol, even up in Newcastle. Everyone’s keen for the reward.’

  ‘This really is him. I’m not after the reward. I just want . . . I had an agreement with Colonel Jhala.’

  Pundir looked down at his desk. ‘Jhala isn’t here any more. He left with the 2nd over a week ago.’

  Jack’s heart quickened. He searched Pundir’s face. Was the Colonel going to help or obstruct him? ‘Can we get a message to him? The sattva link.’

  ‘I’m afraid that won’t be possible.’

  Jack tensed and thought about the knife. No one was going to stop him saving Elizabeth. ‘It’s important.’

  ‘The thing is . . .’ Pundir pursed his lips. ‘He’s dead.’

  The room dropped an inch and Jack’s breath went shallow. Darkness crept around the edge of his vision.

  How would he save Elizabeth now?
<
br />   ‘What the . . . ? You look terrible,’ Pundir said. ‘Sit down.’

  ‘I’m all right.’ Jack rested one hand on the edge of the desk and got his breath back. ‘How did he die?’

  ‘It’s . . . not a pleasant story. You knew him well?’

  ‘Yes. He was my captain – years ago.’

  ‘I see. Well, there’s no reason for you not to know. The 2nd was sent up to Bristol a week ago. A small rebellion had started there. But the 2nd mutinied and killed all their officers.’ Pundir cleared his throat. ‘One of Jhala’s servants escaped. He saw Jhala shot down by his own men.’

  Jack went silent.

  ‘It must be sad news for you,’ Pundir said.

  ‘It is.’ Jack was surprised to realise he meant it. Minutes ago he’d been wishing Jhala dead, but now, on hearing this news, he didn’t know . . .

  For a moment he saw Jhala’s face on the day he’d finally packed his things and left the army. Jhala had looked serious and grey. Jack was sure his guru was sorry to see him leave. He couldn’t be wrong about that.

  ‘You have been my best disciple,’ Jhala had said. ‘Farewell, Casey . . . Jack.’

  Jack took a moment to compose himself, then stood up straight, taking his hand away from the desk. ‘Sir, there’s something else. I had an agreement with Colonel Jhala. My daughter’s in prison here and due to be executed tomorrow. Jhala sent me to find and bring back the Ghost. In return, he said he’d free my daughter.’

  ‘A strange sort of agreement.’

  ‘Yes. But I’m telling the truth.’

  ‘Well, I don’t know. I never met Jhala. He’d left by the time we got here. I don’t remember anything . . . Wait a minute. There was one thing.’ He thumbed through a pile of papers on a corner of his desk. ‘Where was it?’

  When he didn’t find what he was looking for, he stood up and lifted a cardboard box from a shelf. He opened this and went through it. ‘Ah, here it is.’

  He took out a collection of papers held together by a pin. He scanned through these, running down what looked like handwritten lists with his finger. ‘Right, you’re in luck.’ He looked up. ‘Jack Casey?’

  ‘Yes.’ Jack straightened. Was there still hope for Elizabeth?

  ‘Jhala did leave me a note about it. Sorry, I’d forgotten all about this list. It’s been very chaotic, you understand. Barely been able to get my feet under the desk. Anyway, what he says here backs up your story.’

  ‘You have the pardon, then?’

  Pundir flicked through the rest of the papers. ‘Hmm. Can’t see it here.’

  ‘It was in the top drawer of the desk.’

  Pundir opened the drawer and fumbled about for a moment. He took out an envelope and opened it. There was a piece of yellow paper folded inside. He read this, nodding. ‘This is it . . . Elizabeth Casey . . . a full and absolute pardon. Well, you’re back just in time, Casey.’

  Jack breathed out. So Jhala had kept his word.

  ‘We’ll have to verify the identity of that body, of course,’ Pundir said.

  ‘It’s him. Without a doubt.’

  ‘I’m sure you’re right. But I have to be certain. We’ll have to get a description of him. I’ll send a few messages on the link. Come back tomorrow – I’m sure we’ll have it all sorted out by then.’

  ‘My daughter will be executed tomorrow.’

  ‘Don’t worry about that. I’ll tell them to wait.’

  Jack wanted to take Elizabeth with him now, not tomorrow. If he couldn’t do that, then at least he would be back first thing in the morning to make sure she was spared. He would stay near to the barracks until he got her out. ‘Sir, could I at least see her now?’

  ‘I don’t see why not. That seems reasonable.’ Pundir looked up at the guard, who still stood in the doorway. ‘Take him over to the prison, Ghosh.’

  Jack namasted – it came so naturally to him, he almost didn’t realise he was doing it.

  He followed Ghosh across the parade ground, and the stone prison appeared as they rounded a corner. He’d pictured the building so often over the past four weeks that it seemed unreal to be standing in front of it now. There’d been so many times he was sure he’d never make it.

  ‘You going to stand there all day, then?’ Ghosh had already gone up the steps to the entrance.

  Jack blinked and then allowed himself a small smile. He stepped up into the dim foyer. Two Rajthanan guards slouched beside the door to the cells and a third sat at a rough wooden table, a lantern glowing beside him.

  ‘Colonel Pundir sent him over,’ Ghosh explained to the gaoler behind the table. ‘Let him see his daughter.’

  The gaoler had a sleepy eye that roamed about as he studied Jack. ‘What’s her name?’

  ‘Elizabeth Casey.’

  The gaoler stood and went through an arch into a neighbouring room. He came back with a large register and dropped it on the table. He sighed, sat down and made a great show of leafing through the pages, as though it were an impossibly difficult task. ‘When was she brought here?’

  ‘Not sure,’ Jack replied. ‘She was here four weeks ago. She’s in the cell at the end. If you let me through, I’ll—’

  ‘No, no. I’ll need to find her in here first.’ The gaoler continued turning the pages, licking his finger each time. He pored over the scribbled lists and tables. Finally, he stopped and looked at Jack and Ghosh in turn. His sleepy eye jumped about as though following the path of a fly. ‘Elizabeth Casey, you say?’

  ‘That’s right,’ Jack said.

  The gaoler tapped his finger on the page. ‘Found her here. Bit of a problem, though.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘She was executed three days ago.’

  Jack went cold. ‘No. The execution’s tomorrow.’

  The gaoler shook his head. ‘It was brought forward. There’s a note here that she was long overdue. We normally only hold them for a week.’ The gaoler scratched the back of his neck. ‘Can’t understand why she was kept for so long, to be honest.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ Jack whispered.

  ‘Yes. It’s all written down here.’

  ‘Let me see the cells.’

  ‘There’s no need. She’s not there.’

  ‘Let me see!’ Jack slammed both hands on the table.

  The two guards beside the door stood up straighter.

  ‘I think you’d better go now.’ Ghosh put his hand on Jack’s shoulder.

  Jack shook away the hand and then leapt across the table, grabbing the gaoler by the collar. ‘You weren’t supposed to kill her!’

  Ghosh and the two guards jumped at Jack and held his arms. He wrestled with them, grunting and roaring like a wild animal. He would kill as many of them as he could.

  They managed to get him out of the building, but at the bottom of the steps he shook them off. Ghosh was knocked down. The other two guards got hold of him again. Soldiers came running to see what the commotion was about.

  Jack got one arm free and lashed out, catching one of the guards on the jaw. Ghosh leapt back to his feet and rejoined the melee. Dust swirled around them as they fought.

  ‘Stop, stop!’ The gaoler stood at the top of the steps, waving a small piece of paper.

  Jack stopped struggling and Ghosh got hold of him from behind.

  ‘The execution was postponed,’ the gaoler said. ‘There was a note clipped to the page. I didn’t notice it. She’s due to be hanged today. She’ll be at the gallows now.’

  Jack felt a surge of nerves.

  Ghosh released his grip and stepped away.

  ‘Where are the gallows?’ Jack asked hoarsely.

  ‘Over there.’ The gaoler nodded to his right, down a parade between two rows of buildings. ‘Hurry and you might get there in time.’

  ‘I’ll take you,’ Ghosh said. ‘Follow me.’

  Jack was dazed as he walked beside Ghosh. A couple of other soldiers walked along with them, watching him carefully after his outburst.

  But after a
few seconds he realised there was no point in walking – why go so slowly?

  He sprinted off down the path. Ghosh and the two soldiers shouted and ran after him. He ran faster, his breath scratching his throat, the old ache in his chest building and purplish blots appearing before his eyes.

  ‘Slow down there,’ Ghosh called.

  But Jack wasn’t listening. No one was going to get in his way now. He charged past building after building and soldiers stood and gawped and despite his injury, Ghosh and the others couldn’t catch up with him.

  ‘You’re going the wrong way,’ Ghosh shouted.

  That made him stop.

  ‘Down there.’ Ghosh panted as he ran up to Jack. He pointed to a path to the right, at the end of which stood a stark, wide scaffold.

  Jack shivered, then ran down the path with Ghosh and the soldiers jogging beside him. Three hooded figures dangled from the gallows. Jack’s heart jolted. He was too late. He ran as fast as he could but there was no point now. He skidded into the open ground, dust whirling about him. Everything slowed down. The hanging figures swayed and turned in the breeze.

  ‘Father!’

  He heard the shout from amongst a group of soldiers to the side of the raised scaffold.

  It was her voice.

  And there she was, in the midst of the men, her hands bound behind her back, her dark hair ragged across her face and her cheeks gleaming red.

  Jack started across the open space. Elizabeth struggled against her captors, but they held on to a rope tied to her wrists and she was unable to break free.

  ‘Father,’ she screamed.

  ‘You there,’ Ghosh shouted. ‘Release her. Orders of Colonel Pundir.’

  The soldiers let go of the rope and Elizabeth almost fell forward. She stumbled awkwardly across the square with her hands still bound behind her.

  Jack ran up to her, grasped her, squeezed her. She couldn’t hug him back, but she dug her face into his shoulder and sobbed and sobbed.

  ‘It’s all right.’ Tears ran down his cheeks. ‘It’s all right now. I’ve come to take you away from here.’

  Elizabeth looked up at him, forehead creasing in puzzlement. ‘How?’