Read Online Land of Hope and Glory by Geoffrey Wilson - Free Book Online
Authors: Geoffrey Wilson
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how to coerce Jack when Elizabeth had fallen right into his lap?
Jack realised he’d clenched his hand as he held it in the stream. He released his grip.
Back in the old days Jhala had always talked about dharma, which defined your role and duty in life. But where was the dharma in forcing a man to hunt down his friend?
Jack heard a footstep on the path behind him. Then another. Someone was coming up the slope, stepping lightly but not making a great effort to be silent. He tensed instinctively. Was it one of his party? He felt the cold metal of a knife beneath his tunic, stuck into his hose. He lifted his hand from the water but didn’t yet reach for the blade.
Glancing downstream, he saw the French cavalrymen watering the horses. Had one of them left the group to shadow him? There should be fifty of them, but he had no time to count.
Then he caught a whiff of soap and perfumed oil. A Rajthanan. You could always tell because of their excessive cleanliness. He studied the sound of the footsteps. Boots crunching on grass and dry earth. A large stride – a tall man. Weight about eleven stone. Walking quickly and confidently. Close now.
‘You want something, Captain Sengar?’ Jack said without turning, still hunched beside the stream.
The footsteps stopped.
‘Get up.’ Sengar spoke in Arabic, the common language of the army.
Jack stayed where he was. ‘Just filling my water skin.’ He took the skin out from the folds of his tunic, then heard a ring as a scimitar was unsheathed.
‘Get up now,’ Sengar said.
Jack returned the skin. He thought about the knife, stood slowly and turned.
Sengar was a few feet away with his scimitar drawn. He sucked on his teeth and his moustache roiled on his top lip. ‘Let’s get something straight. I won’t put up with any insubordination. You understand?’
Jack stared straight back, without blinking or looking away even for a second. ‘I understand . . . sir .’ He said the last word as though he were spitting it. He’d been speaking that way to Sengar all morning, since they’d left Poole. It felt strange talking to an officer like that, but the thought of Elizabeth in the cell was burning in his skull and he couldn’t have stopped himself even if he’d wanted to.
‘No. I don’t think you do understand. Let me explain. As far as I’m concerned you are a piece of shit. The only reason I’m not having you flogged is because I need you at the moment to find Merton.’
‘Flogged? What for?’
Sengar’s face went red. ‘For any bloody reason I want. You think you’re a clever bastard, don’t you? But you’re just a pink European. No better than an animal.’
Jack said nothing.
‘Don’t think you can cross me, Casey. You want to see your daughter alive?’
Jack’s face flushed. He balled his hands into fists. ‘Yes.’
‘Then you’d better listen carefully. From now on you do exactly as I say. If you don’t, I will make absolutely certain your little slut of a daughter hangs. Do you understand?’
Jack ground his teeth. He imagined dodging under the scimitar, getting out the knife and going at Sengar. He wanted to do it, the desire was white hot. ‘Yes, sir. I understand.’
‘Good.’ Sengar whipped the scimitar back into the scabbard. ‘You have five more minutes’ break, then be back at the horses.’
The Captain strode away and Jack pictured getting out the knife and throwing it into his back. He exhaled sharply and tried to calm down.
His head spun. He’d never felt this way towards an officer.
Most Rajthanans were fair, but there were always a few like Sengar who were harsh. The ones straight from Rajthana who didn’t understand Europe were often the worst. But Jack had always coped with this type without reacting. Now, however, whenever Sengar spoke to him all he wanted to do was shove his fist in the Captain’s face.
Below him, the ground sloped down to the road, with the green and yellow fields of Dorsetshire beyond. They
Jack realised he’d clenched his hand as he held it in the stream. He released his grip.
Back in the old days Jhala had always talked about dharma, which defined your role and duty in life. But where was the dharma in forcing a man to hunt down his friend?
Jack heard a footstep on the path behind him. Then another. Someone was coming up the slope, stepping lightly but not making a great effort to be silent. He tensed instinctively. Was it one of his party? He felt the cold metal of a knife beneath his tunic, stuck into his hose. He lifted his hand from the water but didn’t yet reach for the blade.
Glancing downstream, he saw the French cavalrymen watering the horses. Had one of them left the group to shadow him? There should be fifty of them, but he had no time to count.
Then he caught a whiff of soap and perfumed oil. A Rajthanan. You could always tell because of their excessive cleanliness. He studied the sound of the footsteps. Boots crunching on grass and dry earth. A large stride – a tall man. Weight about eleven stone. Walking quickly and confidently. Close now.
‘You want something, Captain Sengar?’ Jack said without turning, still hunched beside the stream.
The footsteps stopped.
‘Get up.’ Sengar spoke in Arabic, the common language of the army.
Jack stayed where he was. ‘Just filling my water skin.’ He took the skin out from the folds of his tunic, then heard a ring as a scimitar was unsheathed.
‘Get up now,’ Sengar said.
Jack returned the skin. He thought about the knife, stood slowly and turned.
Sengar was a few feet away with his scimitar drawn. He sucked on his teeth and his moustache roiled on his top lip. ‘Let’s get something straight. I won’t put up with any insubordination. You understand?’
Jack stared straight back, without blinking or looking away even for a second. ‘I understand . . . sir .’ He said the last word as though he were spitting it. He’d been speaking that way to Sengar all morning, since they’d left Poole. It felt strange talking to an officer like that, but the thought of Elizabeth in the cell was burning in his skull and he couldn’t have stopped himself even if he’d wanted to.
‘No. I don’t think you do understand. Let me explain. As far as I’m concerned you are a piece of shit. The only reason I’m not having you flogged is because I need you at the moment to find Merton.’
‘Flogged? What for?’
Sengar’s face went red. ‘For any bloody reason I want. You think you’re a clever bastard, don’t you? But you’re just a pink European. No better than an animal.’
Jack said nothing.
‘Don’t think you can cross me, Casey. You want to see your daughter alive?’
Jack’s face flushed. He balled his hands into fists. ‘Yes.’
‘Then you’d better listen carefully. From now on you do exactly as I say. If you don’t, I will make absolutely certain your little slut of a daughter hangs. Do you understand?’
Jack ground his teeth. He imagined dodging under the scimitar, getting out the knife and going at Sengar. He wanted to do it, the desire was white hot. ‘Yes, sir. I understand.’
‘Good.’ Sengar whipped the scimitar back into the scabbard. ‘You have five more minutes’ break, then be back at the horses.’
The Captain strode away and Jack pictured getting out the knife and throwing it into his back. He exhaled sharply and tried to calm down.
His head spun. He’d never felt this way towards an officer.
Most Rajthanans were fair, but there were always a few like Sengar who were harsh. The ones straight from Rajthana who didn’t understand Europe were often the worst. But Jack had always coped with this type without reacting. Now, however, whenever Sengar spoke to him all he wanted to do was shove his fist in the Captain’s face.
Below him, the ground sloped down to the road, with the green and yellow fields of Dorsetshire beyond. They
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