The War of the Grail (12 page)

J
ack heard the jingle and clop of horses coming from the road ahead. He yanked at his reins, drew his mare to a halt and peered into the darkness. In the moonlight, he could see the path curving away through the forest and disappearing into the shadows.

Kanvar stopped his horse beside Jack’s. ‘What is it?’ Despite his many powers, Kanvar couldn’t match Jack’s uncannily good hearing.

‘Someone’s coming,’ Jack said.

Kanvar frowned and drew out his pocket watch. ‘It’s nearly midnight. Who could be out so late?’

‘Don’t know. We’d better get off the road.’

Jack angled his mare down an embankment to the left of the path. Kanvar followed and they rode across to a row of trees at the base of the slope, where they dismounted, tethered the horses and crouched down in the undergrowth. They sat still, watching the road.

The clatter of the horses’ hooves grew louder. Listening carefully, Jack made out eight or nine animals, plus the grating of cartwheels and now footsteps as well. It was a large party.

Strange. A large party was moving along the road in the middle of the night.

For a wild moment Jack thought it might be the army. But he quickly dispelled the idea. He and Kanvar were still in Shropshire, just north-east of Shawbury. It was unlikely the army could have made it here so quickly from either Staffordshire or Worcestershire.

And in any case, the approaching people weren’t marching in time. They weren’t organised troops.

Jack rubbed his eyes and blinked a few times. He was tired. Since leaving Folly Brook, he and Kanvar had ridden hard across a landscape haunted by war and pestilence. They’d travelled at night, to avoid Kanvar being seen, but as they’d camped during the day they’d seen numerous English crusaders marching south towards the front, and many more women and children fleeing to the north. Columns of black smoke from the pyres of dead livestock had darkened the sky …

Jack shook his head and shrugged off his weariness. He had to stay alert.

Now, figures materialised on the road. First came two men on horseback, then men and women on foot, then more riders and four mule carts. They all looked English, and most were dressed in ordinary peasant clothing – except for the riders, who wore surcoats bearing an emblem that Jack couldn’t make out in the dark. The carts were laden with furniture, barrels, sacks, rolled-up tapestries and what appeared to be several glass windows in frames.

Jack stared harder. This looked like a wealthy household on the move. Windows were rare in Shropshire and so expensive that lords would cart them along if they moved home.

The final vehicle carried a man who was sitting on top of an ornate chest. He wore a red, fur-trimmed cloak and his fingers were covered in rings that glittered in the moonlight. Clearly he was the lord.

But why was he travelling with all his possessions in the middle of the night? And where was he going? The group were travelling west, away from Staffordshire. Were they heading for Shawbury? Or Shrewsbury, even?

Jack stood up. ‘I’m going to speak to them.’

Kanvar frowned. ‘Are you sure? Is it safe?’

‘They’re English. They won’t harm me.’

He pushed through the undergrowth and scrambled up the embankment. He reached the side of the road, waved his arms above his head and called out. One of the riders peeled away from the others and trotted his horse across to Jack.

The man looked down from his saddle. ‘What do you want?’

‘Just news of the road east,’ Jack replied.

The man narrowed his eyes and looked Jack up and down. His surcoat was emblazoned with a sign Jack didn’t recognise. ‘To the east? I advise you not to go that way.’

‘Why not? The Rajthanans?’

The man snorted. ‘The heathens are still many miles away.’ He licked his lips. ‘No. It’s the Devil you need to worry about.’

‘The Devil?’

‘Aye. The Evil One. He stalks the land here. We’re leaving this forsaken place.’

Jack blinked. This was all very hard to believe ‘You’re sure of this?’

‘Aye, I’m sure. You can choose to believe or not, as you wish. But I warn you, don’t carry on up this road.’ The man nudged his horse with his feet, and the animal trotted away after the rest of the group.

The small party was already disappearing round a bend in the road. Jack could just make out the lord sitting on top of his chest, bouncing as the cart juddered over the uneven ground.

Jack slid back down the embankment and pushed his way through the bushes to Kanvar.

‘Just heard something strange.’ He began unhitching his horse. ‘The man up there said the Devil’s walking around this place.’ He paused and looked over his shoulder at Kanvar. ‘You know who the Devil is?’

‘The adversary of God in your religion.’

‘That’s it. I can’t understand it. The people here are superstitious. But this?’

Kanvar stroked his beard. ‘It is strange indeed.’

They swung themselves into their saddles, rode back up the embankment and pressed on down the path. They spurred into a gallop, the horses’ hooves thudding on the soft earth. The black trees flickered past to either side and the wind streamed over their faces.

For a moment, Jack thought of Elizabeth and the others standing on the edge of Folly Brook as he rode away. They looked so small and frail, as if the night were about to swallow them up.

Had he made the right decision in leaving them? Had he risked abandoning them to the enemy for no good reason? He had no idea whether he would really find the Grail, let alone be able to use it. The whole idea was mad. Perhaps, after living in Shropshire for so many years, he was becoming as superstitious as his fellow countrymen. And yet, after he’d heard about the Great Yantra, he’d started to believe anything was possible.

It was just over a day since they’d set out from Folly Brook. Staffordshire lay ahead of them to the east. Before the night was out, they should reach the meeting point on the edge of the yantra. And then Jack would find out whether he could use the great power, whether he could save England in its hour of need.

The trees dispersed and the road snaked off across open marshland. Thousands of frogs croaked across the plain. The scent of rot hung in the air. Occasionally, the road itself turned boggy and the horses splashed through shallow pools. Overhead, the stars trembled in the clear sky and the full moon turned the landscape silver.

After they’d ridden for around two miles, the marshes receded on the right side of the road. Fields of wheat and barley rolled past and Jack spotted a few scattered cottages in the distance.

Around five minutes later, a village about twice the size of Folly Brook loomed ahead up the road. The huts – which included several longhouses and a tiny stone church – were spread out along the edge of a forest.

Jack drew his mare to a halt and stared at the cottages. No lights flickered in the village and there were no other signs of life. He couldn’t even see a trace of smoke rising from any of the roofs. All the same, he and Kanvar couldn’t risk riding straight through the hamlet. The villagers might be asleep – but if any of them rose and saw Kanvar riding past, there could be trouble.

‘We’d better go round it,’ Jack said.

He guided his horse off the road to the left, Kanvar following immediately behind. They’d avoided all the towns and villages along the way, making a wide detour round the city of Shrewsbury in particular.

The swamp slurped beneath the horses’ hooves. The stench of rotting vegetation floated up from the ground and the frogs chirped incessantly. At one point, Jack’s mare almost slipped over when her leg plunged into a deep bog. But she thrashed with her other legs and managed to scramble to safety.

‘The ground is too treacherous,’ Kanvar said. ‘Perhaps we should go another way.’

Jack peered ahead. The line of the woods was less than a hundred yards away. Once they made it to the trees, and past the village, they could strike back to the road.

‘No. We’ll carry on. We’re almost there.’ Jack spurred his mare ahead again, and she waded and slipped through the deepening water.

Kanvar followed behind for a few more paces, but then called out, ‘What’s that?’

Jack glanced over his shoulder and saw the Sikh pointing towards the ground in the direction of the village.

‘What are you talking about?’ Jack called back.

‘There’s something there.’

Kanvar circled his horse round and splashed towards the huts.

Jack cursed under his breath. What was Kanvar up to? They’d given the village a wide berth, but they couldn’t risk going any closer. And they needed to get into the cover of the trees as soon as they could. They were completely exposed in the open ground.

Kanvar reined his horse in. ‘Jack, you’d better come and have a look at this.’

Jack shot a look at the village. The huts remained dark. For the moment, he and Kanvar were safe. But for how long?

Still muttering to himself, he rode over to Kanvar, the mud sucking at his horse’s legs. The Sikh was staring down at a pool. The reflection of the moon hung in the black water, but it shattered into pieces as ripples moved across it.

At first, Jack couldn’t see what Kanvar was staring at. But then he noticed a pale shape draped across one side of the pool.

He felt a tremor of nerves. Was that what he thought it was?

He leapt off his horse, splashing in a puddle, and floundered across the boggy ground, holding his arms out to steady himself. He heard Kanvar dismount and wade after him.

As he reached the edge of the pool, he saw that he’d guessed correctly.

The shape was a corpse.

‘Waheguru,’ Kanvar whispered.

The body lay partially on the bank and partially in the water, held in place by clumps of reeds. It was a man, perhaps in his twenties or thirties, with chalky white skin and eyes that seemed to stare in terror at the heavens. Jack couldn’t tell how the man had died, but one of his arms had been cut off at the shoulder, leaving only a bloody stump behind.

Jack crossed himself and crouched down for a closer look. The body hadn’t begun rotting yet. The muscles hadn’t even gone stiff. The man must have died only a few hours earlier.

‘There is something not right about that village.’ Kanvar was standing and gazing at the darkened huts.

Jack stood up quickly. ‘What?’

Kanvar pointed. ‘That cottage there appears to have collapsed.’

Jack followed Kanvar’s finger. Now he noticed that the roof of one of the closer huts appeared to have caved in and one wall had crumbled. He rubbed his eyes and stared harder. To the left of the damaged hut, he spotted another that had been half reduced to rubble. Further off, he saw more huts in a similar state of disrepair.

That was odd. Very odd.

‘The village has been attacked,’ Kanvar said.

‘Maybe.’

‘What else could have caused all that?’

Jack sucked on his teeth. Kanvar had a point. Why would several huts have collapsed in the village? Why was there a body floating in a pond nearby? ‘We’d better take a look. But we’ll go on foot. We’ll make less noise that way.’

They hitched their horses to a twisted willow tree that sprouted like a scarecrow from the swamp. Jack plucked a cartridge from a pouch on his belt and loaded his musket. Although Kanvar carried a rotary pistol in a holster, he didn’t draw it. No doubt he preferred to fight with his formidable powers.

They crept towards the village, doing their best to avoid slipping into the deep pools and sinkholes. Jack’s whole leg shot down into the mud at one point and Kanvar rushed across to help him out.

The huts drew closer. Now Jack could see that about a third had either been partially or wholly destroyed. He gripped the musket more tightly. He didn’t like the look of this.

They clambered over a low embankment, reached dry land again and scurried across to the rear of the closest hut. They both stood with their backs to the wall, breathing heavily. Jack flexed his fingers about the musket and listened for any sign that anyone had heard them. But the only sound was the endless creaking of the frogs and the sizzle of the night insects in the forest along the side of the village.

The cottage behind them appeared to be undamaged. At least, the back wall and the roof were still intact. The thatching on the neighbouring hut, however, had fallen in, and one of the walls had been ripped apart, leaving only parts of the timber frame and a mound of wattle and daub.

Jack glanced at Kanvar. The Sikh’s eyes were wide and shone in the moonlight.

Jack gestured towards the smashed hut and whispered, ‘Let’s take a look.’

They stole to the edge of the wall and Jack poked his head round the side. He saw nothing, save for the silent cottages and the stone church on the far side of the village. Still no light. Still no sign of people.

He waited for a moment, weighing the musket in his hand, then scurried across to the neighbouring hut. He skidded to a halt beside the shattered wall and Kanvar ran up beside him. They both peered into the shadowy interior and Kanvar caught his breath.

Lying just inside the hut were two dead bodies. One, a woman, lay face down on the ground, both her arms and legs torn off. The other, an elderly man, was draped across the remains of the wall and had been sliced in half just above his waist. Congealed blood and entrails disgorged from his abdomen and drooled over the daub.