Land of Hope and Glory by Geoffrey Wilson Page B

goes to the gallows. I’m very sorry.’

    Jack shoved a spare tunic into a satchel and battered it to the bottom with his fist. He whirled round. What else did he need to pack? He couldn’t think straight.
    Someone knocked at the door of his hut.
    Christ. What now? He felt like hitting something.
    He threw the door open and it smacked against the wall. Sarah squeaked and jumped back.
    Jack glared at her, as though she were an enemy soldier, then managed to calm down. He ran his fingers through his hair. ‘Sorry.’
    It was dark outside, the only light coming from a few of the other servants’ huts. Crickets chirped in the distance.
    Sarah stepped forward again and stood on tiptoes, looking past him and seeing the half-packed satchel on his sleeping mat. ‘So it’s true. You’re leaving.’
    ‘Bloody hell. News travels fast around here.’
    ‘Where you going?’
    ‘It’s not important.’
    She rolled her eyes. ‘I’m not going to follow you.’
    ‘I’m helping the army with something.’
    ‘What?’
    He thought quickly. ‘Training new scouts.’
    ‘Is this to do with the mutiny?’
    ‘Something like that.’
    She moved closer. ‘You’ll come back, won’t you?’
    ‘I’ll try to.’
    ‘And then maybe—’
    ‘You’re better off without me. Really.’
    Her eyes glistened. ‘I’m worried, Jack. What’s going on with this mutiny? What’s going to happen?’
    At that moment he wanted to take her in his arms and comfort her. But he knew that wasn’t a good idea. ‘Nothing’s going to happen. It’s all going to be over soon.’
    A tear crawled down her cheek and she wiped it away with her sleeve.
    He hadn’t meant to hurt her, but there wasn’t much he could do about it now.
    ‘You take care, then,’ she said quickly and slipped away into the darkness before he could reply.
    He closed the door and now his whole body was leaden. He didn’t feel like hitting anything any more, just sleeping.
    He reached under his tunic and drew out Katelin’s Celtic cross necklace. Katelin had always worn this – apparently it was an heirloom from the Welsh side of her family. On her deathbed she’d pressed it into his palm with fierce, desperate strength. He’d been wearing it ever since.
    He gazed at the ringed cross. Katelin’s faith had been simple and strong, but for a long time he’d been confused when it came to religion. He believed in God, Christ and the Madonna – of course they were all true – but Jhala had told him they were incarnations or forms of the great powers of the spirit realm. Sometimes when Jhala spoke about these powers, they seemed more like forces than beings. Sometimes Jack wondered whether Jhala and the siddhas believed in gods of any sort at all.
    ‘Katelin,’ he said. ‘Wherever you are, I’m letting you know I’m going to get our little girl back.’
    He then kissed the cross and put it back under his tunic.

3

    W hen Jack thought of Elizabeth in the cell, smudged tears on her face, hair matted, clothing torn, behind the bars and stone walls and guards . . . when he thought of her, his stomach knotted and his throat felt as though it were in the grip of an invisible hand.
    He grasped some water from the stream and splashed it on his face. His eyes burnt with tiredness. He’d hardly slept during the night; whenever he’d closed his eyes he’d seen Elizabeth. Even now that it was morning, he knew that if he shut his eyelids she would be there.
    He drank some water, but his throat stayed dry.
    Jhala.
    He’d trusted his old guru, followed him, believed in him. But now Jhala was using Elizabeth as a weapon.
    Was Jhala being forced into it? Commanded?
    ‘No, that didn’t make sense. Only Jhala himself could have come up with the plan to hunt William. Only he knew enough about Jack to think of it. No one was pressuring him.
    When had Jhala hatched the plan? Was it when Elizabeth was first brought to the barracks? Or was it even before then? Had Jhala been wondering