The War of the Grail (26 page)

The two of them rode on up the scarp. Now Jack could see Elizabeth clearly, and she must have recognised him as well. She waved her arm and ran even faster, stumbling over the uneven terrain.

He leapt to the ground and she hurtled into his arms.

‘Father,’ she gasped. ‘I thought we’d lost you.’

He squeezed her tight. ‘Don’t you worry. I wouldn’t leave you.’

She stepped back and glanced up at Sonali, who still sat in her saddle. Elizabeth’s features went stony and she narrowed her eyes, but she didn’t say anything.

And now the rest of the party was arriving. Saleem grinned and hugged Jack. Godwin, who sat driving the cart, half smiled and bowed his head in Jack’s direction. Behind Godwin slumped ten figures in torn tunics and robes. A further ten people limped along beside the cart. Jack couldn’t help wincing at the sight of them. Most of their faces were disfigured by blisters and boils, and one woman’s features were so swollen Jack could barely make out her lips and nose. Many of the lepers had filthy rags wrapped about their hands and several had fingers missing. They still wore castanets on their wrists, although they hardly needed to warn anyone of their approach at the moment.

Jack had no chance to say anything further, because he now heard a familiar hissing sound. He looked up just in time to see a dark swarm of arrows plummeting from the sky.

‘Move!’ He slapped the mule’s rump. ‘Now!’

The group lurched forward as the missiles whistled about them, thick as rain. Arrows skewered the ground, skipped off rocks and slithered through the grass. One of the lepers gasped and fell off the back of the cart, an arrow in his face.

‘Keep moving!’ Jack bellowed.

He grasped Elizabeth and ordered her up on to his horse. She sat behind him, clinging to his waist, as he circled the mare about and charged downhill.

Saleem climbed up behind Sonali, who then urged her own horse down the scarp.

Another wave of arrows fell about them. Missiles whispered in Jack’s ears and hammered the ground ahead of him. The shafts impaled the earth or danced about like hail.

He saw Kanvar further down the slope. The Sikh was still sitting astride his horse, his eyes closed. He held up one hand, bunched it into a fist, then opened it again. A dot of flame burst from his hand, zipped like a fly into the air, and arced away towards the Welsh. A boom shuddered through the earth shortly afterwards.

The arrows stopped falling, but then Jack heard a dense crackling behind him. He knew instantly what it was.

Muskets.

In a split second, the bullets were whining all about him. He felt one pluck his sleeve. Others slashed the cart’s sideboard. One of the running lepers cried out and collapsed. The mule screamed. For a second, Jack thought it had been hit, although it appeared unharmed.

Christ. The Welsh weren’t giving up.

Kanvar raised his palm and muttered the mantra again. Another spot of fire shot from his hand and shrieked overhead. There was a further deep rumble.

And then the muskets stopped.

Jack looked over his shoulder and saw, through the curtains of rain, that the Welsh had lowered their weapons and fallen back. Many of them lay squirming on the ground. Several large craters had been gouged into the hillside by the explosions.

Jack drew up beside Kanvar. The Sikh’s forehead was bursting with perspiration and his face was hollow.

‘You all right?’ Jack asked.

Kanvar swallowed and nodded. ‘I am just drained.’

Jack cast his eye over the ragged group of lepers, and said to them, ‘Right. We have to get to that fortress on the hill over there. Run as fast as you can. The Welsh could be back at any time.’

Godwin cracked a switch across the mule’s back and the cart rattled forward. The group managed to weave its way down the remainder of the slope and struck off across the heath. Progress was slow. The lepers were weak and exhausted, and many were limping. Jack would have ordered them all up on to the cart, but the vehicle was already overloaded and the mule was struggling.

Jack kept glancing back, thinking he would see the Welsh pursuing them. But he saw no one.

The ancient fortress loomed ahead. The party was now just a hundred yards from the base of the hill.

They were going to make it.

Then a single war horn wailed across the open ground. This was followed by a second, then a third. Jack spotted figures swarming over the saddle again and pouring down the slope. From amongst them rose a standard that snapped in the wind. He couldn’t make it out clearly from this distance, but the black on white of the device was unmistakeable – it belonged to the Lord of the Marches.

There were hundreds of men. Perhaps thousands. The previous force must have been a mere advance party.

He shouted to urge the lepers on.

Finally, the party reached the hill. He led the way up the slope, Elizabeth still clinging on behind him. Kanvar and Sonali’s horses bounded up, but the mule plodded slowly, skidding in the mud and straining to haul the heavy load.

The roars of the Welsh sailed across the plains. Jack saw that the mass of men had already reached the heath and were sprinting across the open ground, like a wave rushing in across the shore.

The mule was moving too slowly. The cart was only halfway to the top of the first slope and there was still the second, steeper incline to go.

The Welsh were going to catch them.

‘All of you who can walk, get out!’ Jack bellowed at the lepers in the cart.

A couple of the lepers jumped to the ground but the rest stared at Jack in confusion.

‘Get down and run!’ Jack waved his arm at them.

Finally, they seemed to understand. All of them, except one old man who appeared too weak to even stand, leapt off the cart and clambered uphill. Several of them were blind and had to be guided by the others. Some were so ill they could only hobble, but they were still moving faster than the mule.

Jack reached the top of the scarp, where Kanvar, Sonali and Saleem were already waiting for him. He looked back down and saw the cart and most of the lepers were nearing the summit.

But now the first of the Welsh had reached the edge of the plain and were swilling about the bottom of the hill. They began swarming up the slope.

The mule cart rattled over the top of the incline and the party pressed on across the plateau. The fortress rose ahead. They only had to make it up the second slope, and then they would be safely within the walls.

Jack spotted hundreds of figures along the battlements. They appeared to be waving and cheering him and his small band on.

But he could also hear the horns and the shouts of the Welsh horde. He glanced over his shoulder and his skin crawled when he saw figures surging over the top of the first incline. He could make out their grim faces, wild hair and surcoats emblazoned with the boars’ heads. Some brandished swords, others held muskets, although none as yet were preparing to fire.

Jack’s party was less than halfway to the fortress. The Welsh would reach them in minutes. There was no hope …

Then Jack heard a loud clap. There was an orange flash at the top of the fortress, and smoke jetted out of an embrasure in the outer wall. A round shot screamed past overhead. Further bursts flickered along the ramparts and more balls shrieked through the air.

Jack turned his horse sideways and saw the shots streak through the drizzle, smack into the earth and bounce into the Welshmen, spraying steam and water from the wet ground. Balls knocked off heads, cut bodies in half, bowled over whole columns of men. Clouds of blood spurted into the air. Stray shots bounded over the edge of the plateau and plunged down towards the plains.

Jack whispered a Hail Mary. The crusaders had decided to help him after all.

Several of the lepers slowed their pace and stood gaping at the carnage.

Jack waved his arm at them. ‘Keep moving!’

The gunfire might be slowing the Welsh but it hadn’t stopped them completely.

The lepers reached the final slope and began scrambling up to the gate. Jack and Elizabeth both leapt from the mare and guided her up by the reins. Godwin abandoned the cart and helped a group of lepers haul the sick man up the incline, simply dragging him through the mud as if he were already dead.

The guns roared, kicked and belched smoke. Balls howled away from the wall. The rebels began firing shells topped with sparking fuses. When Jack snatched a look behind him, he saw the bombs slapping the ground and blasting up plumes of fire. Bodies were smacked apart and limbs sent cartwheeling through the air.

The first lepers reached the gatehouse. Henry was no longer standing in the entrance, but scores of crusaders were waiting to greet the new arrivals. Several of the men recoiled when they saw the lepers’ disfigured faces, but Godwin yelled at them to help.

Jack heard shouts behind him. His heart jolted when he saw that bands of Welshmen had already reached the bottom of the second slope and were beginning to scrabble up.

There seemed to be no stopping the Welsh.

Still dragging the horse, Jack raced up with Elizabeth and ran into the fortress. Just as he made it into the gatehouse, he heard whistles slice the air about him. One of the crusaders nearby collapsed to the ground with an arrow in his neck.

Jack grasped Elizabeth and dragged her to the left, away from the gateway and behind the wall. Arrows whined through the entrance, skipping across the flagstones and splintering on masonry.

Jack crossed himself. That had been close. At least two crusaders had been hit and lay writhing on the ground.

Panting heavily, but catching his breath, he turned to Elizabeth. Her eyes were wide and shining, and dirt speckled her face. But when she saw him looking at her, a smile rolled across her lips.

He embraced her, held her close.

Thank God his little girl was alive.

He let go of her again and glanced around. Kanvar, Sonali, Saleem and Godwin were standing nearby. They were all unharmed.

He was about to speak to them, when he heard a shriek behind him. He whirled round in time to see a Welshman charging through one of the gaps where the wall had crumbled. A crusader jabbed the Welshman with a knife-musket, and the man vomited blood before tumbling back out of the breach.

But now further Welshmen were hurling themselves at the hole. And others began attacking the gate. Crusaders stood beneath the gatehouse, fighting off the assailants and then firing their muskets, the weapons popping and coughing smoke.

Jack motioned to the musket still hanging across Elizabeth’s back. ‘That loaded?’

She nodded.

‘Give it to me.’

She slung the weapon from her shoulder and handed it over to him.

He paused for a moment, gripped her arm. ‘Wait here.’

He glanced at both the breach and the gateway. The breach looked less well defended, so he ran across to this. Crusaders carrying muskets were already taking up positions behind the chunks of fallen stonework.

He slipped behind a slab of masonry that was just taller than him. He looked round the side, but snatched himself back as an arrow whispered straight at him. He felt the wind of the missile’s passing on his cheek. He peered round the side again and saw a wave of Welshmen charging at the breach. He raised his musket, stared along the sights and pulled the trigger. The weapon cracked, the butt kicked into his shoulder and a puff of sulphurous smoke blotted out the view for a second.

He didn’t wait for the smoke to clear. There was no time to check whether he’d hit anyone. Instead, he grasped a cartridge from his pouch, bit it open and began reloading.

The other crusaders were also firing now, stepping out from their hiding places and blasting at the oncoming Welsh.

Jack raised his musket again and pulled the trigger. The men around him continued to fire as well. A few stray bullets and arrows flew up through the breach. But for the most part, the Welsh seemed determined to run at the walls rather than return fire.

Jack reloaded and fired. Reloaded and fired. He’d practised this so many times during drills in the army that he did it without thinking. His mind was empty. Still. He was certain he could have loaded a musket in his sleep.

Musket smoke welled about the breach, and soon Jack couldn’t see more than five feet in front of him. A few Welsh attackers made it as far as the wall, materialising like phantoms from the murk, but the crusaders managed to batter or stab all those who got close.

Suddenly the guns on the wall stopped. The muskets fell silent. The smoke in front of Jack frayed and tore apart, and then he could see the marauders were retreating. Many Welsh lay dead or dying on the slope and the rest were skidding away. Several horns blasted and the mass of men began to withdraw from the hill.

A man near Jack raised his fist and cheered. Almost instantly, the others around the breach did the same. The sound flickered along the wall, and soon hundreds of people were cheering, whooping and whistling.

Jack muttered a Hail Mary, then slipped back along the wall. He found Elizabeth and the others all safe and waiting beside the horses. Godwin had drawn his longsword, but didn’t seem to have put it to any use.

Then the cheers subsided and Jack heard the slow crunch of booted footsteps behind him. Everyone nearby went silent. It was now so quiet that Jack could hear the wind whining through the broken stonework and the faint moans of the Welshmen dying on the hillside.

Even before he turned, he knew who it was.

Constable Henry Ward was pacing slowly down a set of stairs from the battlements. His face was twisted, his brow dark and his black cloak whipped about him. The rotary pistol in his belt gleamed softly in the grey light.

Everyone in the vicinity stood watching. No one moved or spoke.

Henry halted on the last step and glared down at Jack. ‘I told you to leave.’