‘Talking to Doonan,’ said Professor Worthington. ‘He’s trying to sort out a cricket match instead, but nobody’s interested. They’re all geared up for football.’
The headmaster started walking. ‘Let’s go and talk,’ he said. ‘They used the goal nets for those wretched man-traps, didn’t they? Dear, oh dear. Are they in the arena?’
‘Yes, sir. It’s chariot-racing till eleven.’
‘This is going to be tricky . . .’
The teachers took a footpath where the trees thinned and were soon clambering down to what the children called ‘The Coliseum’. The ground had been cleared with a bit of careful slash-and-burn, and there were hard tracks where the chariots had flattened the earth. It had become a popular spot for archery practice too and Miles had organised some simple gladiatorial contests.
The High School children were standing in green track-suits as one group. The Ribblestrop children were some distance away, looking sulky and irritated. The two chariots were parked where the ground was highest and the donkeys cropped the nettles.
‘Now come on,’ said Doonan. ‘This isn’t good sportsmanship. Can we at least put the stumps in?’
It wasn’t clear who he was talking to and it didn’t actually seem to matter since nobody was listening. He had a bat and ball in his hands and was doing his best to work up some enthusiasm.
‘I need two captains,’ he shouted. ‘Do we have two captains?’
One of the High School squad called an obscenity and clod of earth was flung high into the air. It burst at Doonan’s feet.
‘Doonan!’ said the headmaster. ‘This isn’t going to work.’
A young teacher with large ears emerged from the High School side and trotted towards them.
‘I’m very sorry about this,’ he said, brightly. ‘You’re the headmaster, yes? I should have called you.’
‘No, no, no – the fault is mine—’
‘Easy to forget fixtures. It’s no problem as far as I’m concerned.’ He shook hands and smiled. ‘We’ve had three suspensions this week, so our team’s not what it should be. Johnny Jay, by the way. I’m old Cuthbertson’s replacement. Trying to get things going again. Hasn’t been easy, to tell you the truth.’
He grinned. ‘I’m just out of college, so this is a real chance for me – bit of a learning curve too. It’s so hard to get them to practise! They love playing, of course – they’ve been nagging me to organise matches. But can I get a decent practice? Never. Your lot look a bit . . . distracted.’
‘They’ve been training the donkeys. They had a bit of breakthrough, yesterday, apparently.’
‘Sports are taking a back seat this term,’ said Professor Worthington. ‘I fear you’ve had a wasted trip.’
‘Pity,’ said Johnny. ‘It’s the first time I’ve seen them enthusiastic.’ He laughed. ‘I’ve heard a lot of things about your lads. Good things, too – which one’s Imagio? He’s the genius, isn’t he? The boys still talk about him – I was hoping to see him play.’
‘The one to the right,’ said Doonan. ‘Sitting in the tree.’
‘Some of our younger ones try to copy his moves. You wouldn’t lend him to us, would you, so he could give us a demo?’
‘He has renounced football,’ said Captain Routon, sadly. ‘I keep trying to persuade him otherwise, but—’
‘Oh, look – a delegation . . .’ said Johnny Jay.
The Ribblestrop teachers looked round and saw that Asilah and Sanchez had broken away from the group and were approaching. They both held spears and were bare-chested.
‘We’ve got a suggestion, sir,’ said Sanchez.
The headmaster smiled. ‘That will be very welcome, Sanchez. This is Mr Jay, by the way. This is our Head Boy.’
‘Mr Jay,’ said Sanchez. ‘We’re really sorry about this. We’re not trying to be rude. It’s not that we don’t want to . . . you know, play, it’s just that we’re doing other things at the moment. Next term, we’d be well up for it. What we were wondering . . .’
‘It might seem a bit unfair,’ said Asilah, ‘as you’re not prepared, but there’s nothing to it, really. And the donkeys are much easier.’
‘Easier . . . ?’ said the headmaster.
‘We know how to make them pull the chariots. So, what we were thinking – you know, just as a friendly – was what about a chariot race? Two teams, two chariots.’
‘Wow,’ said Johnny Jay.
‘You can choose which one you want,’ said Sanchez. ‘You can choose donkeys, too. So, you know, we wouldn’t have that much of an advantage.’
‘A real chariot race?’ said Johnny. ‘Here and now? In the woods?’
Doonan said, ‘It’s a marvellous idea! There was a lot of bad-blood last term, Mr Jay. It might help to do something a little more lighthearted.’
‘We don’t have much of a course, though, do we?’ said the headmaster. ‘I mean, would you just go round in circles?’
‘We could make a course, sir,’ said Captain Routon. ‘Couldn’t we? Maybe incorporate a bit of javelin work – do you have javelin throwers, Johnny?’
‘We do athletics every Wednesday. It’s not popular, but they might give it a go. Let me consult.’ He grinned. ‘It’s an imaginative idea – it might be just the solution. Give me five minutes.’
Five minutes later, he was back, with two tracksuited High School boys.
‘This is Robbie, who’s taken over as captain. Robbie, tell these boys what you just told me.’
‘We’re up for it,’ said the boy. ‘We’ve not done it before, but if you, kind of . . . you know, show us where things are. We don’t say no, do we, Alex?’
‘We’ll give it a go,’ said Alex. ‘Could be a laugh.’
Chapter Twenty-Four
The two schools came together and there were awkward introductions.
The Ribblestrop children remembered the High School footballers all too well, for though they’d won the last football match, it had been on blood-soaked turf. Hands were shaken and names exchanged, and it was Doonan who realised that the important thing was to get everyone working. A course was decided on through the trees and out to the lawns. Miles unveiled the swords and daggers. After they’d been admired, the bramble-clearing began. An hour later, they had a good, wide track and the High School chose Robbie as their driver. Sanjay showed him how to steer and it was agreed that he and his team could have the rest of the morning to practise. The Ribblestrop children, meanwhile, would devise the various challenges, hazards and tests that would add a little spice to the competition.
The headmaster rushed off to organise light refreshments and by noon everything was ready. Both teams walked the trail together and agreed it was fair. When they returned to the starting gate the very air crackled with tension. Even the donkeys seemed aware that an important event was about to take place and were twitching nervously.
How had they been persuaded to work? It had been Eric’s idea. He’d realised that the spears were ineffective, as well as cruel, and he’d mixed rum into their mash. Hours later, one sniff of alcohol and the beasts would do anything. There was now a bottle sitting in the back of each chariot.
The teams piled into the chariots and the drivers took the reins.
‘We’ll be timing you,’ said Johnny Jay, ‘but let’s be clear. It’s first past the post – simple as that. You take any route on the lawns, as long as you take the three challenges. Is that right, Captain Routon?’
‘Absolutely, sir. Wall of fire is the first. Severed heads is the second. Finish up with Catch the Slave Boy. Where are the slaves?’
Nikko stepped forward and so did the smallest of the High School. They grinned shyly at each other and limbered up.
‘High School has to catch Nikko, here. Ribblestrop, you’ve got to catch . . . what’s your name, son?’
‘Barney.’
‘You’ve got to catch Barney. And there’s no hiding up trees, boys, you stay on the open plain between the woods and the house. That’s cl
ear, isn’t it?’
Nikko and Barney nodded and shook hands. At a nod from Captain Routon, they sprinted off together and were soon out of sight.
‘Charioteers?’ cried Routon. ‘Are you ready? You need to get back here, fast as you can, with your prisoner and six heads. Are there any questions?’
There weren’t.
‘On your marks, then. Get set.’ He nodded at Johnny Jay, who blew a long blast on his whistle. The teachers shouted, ‘Go!’ and the donkeys leapt like racehorses. Muscles straining, they hauled the two chariots forward and, as the ground sloped down, they picked up speed at once. The howls were deafening and the wooden carts creaked and plunged over ruts and roots. When it came to an uphill stretch, the teams jumped down and pushed. Here, Henry seemed to have the advantage because of his strength and size, but the High School boys were, on average, bigger than their opposition and they worked together well. The two chariots crashed through the woods side by side and it was obvious that it was going to be neck and neck.
Nikko and Barney had reached the lawn. They stuck together and made for the straw archway that Professor Worthington had thrown together with the older orphans. She was still putting the finishing touches to it and it stank of petrol.
‘I’d stand back a bit, Nikko,’ said Professor Worthington. ‘It’s going to go up like a bomb. You’ll need to split up, as well.’
‘Are they going to hurt us, miss?’ said Barney, the High School boy.
‘I doubt it.’
‘They won’t tie us up or anything? Or use the spears?’
‘Well, you’re a runaway slave, so you’ve got to expect to be restrained. My advice is once they’ve got you, don’t resist.’
‘I’m going to keep moving,’ said Nikko. ‘I’m not making it easy for them.’
‘Yes. You’d better run fast, though. Here they come . . .’
There was a burst of cheering from the edge of the wood and the two chariots lumbered out of the trees. The donkeys were loving it – they had their heads down and their ears were swept back. The chariots were packed and the children were waving their weapons. The High School driver – Robbie – was clearly a natural and as they made for the archway he barged his chariot against the Ribblestrop vehicle, so it veered off course. As if the High School donkey sensed the advantage, its trot turned to a gallop and it forged ahead. The Ribblestrop team were lost in confusion.
Professor Worthington lit the fuse to the straw and ran for cover. There was a flash of light and in an instant the whole archway was ablaze, pouring thick black smoke into the sky. The High School donkey didn’t even flinch. Its driver kept it straight as an arrow and seconds later the chariot plunged through the opening.
Twelve cabbages had been positioned on the other side of it – these were the ‘severed heads’ Captain Routon had referred to. The High School boys started to spear them, or try to – for it was a very difficult task on the move. Ribblestrop was gaining and there were now three orphans on their donkey’s back, urging her on. Henry was pushing from behind and they were picking up speed. Their circus training was beginning to tell, for leaping on and off was second nature. As they came through the blazing arch, Eric hauled the reins back so hard that the chariot turned in a breathtaking skid. It fish-tailed just as he’d hoped and caught the High School chariot broadside, knocking it clean over. The High School boys tumbled onto the grass, in a knot of limbs. Some were winded and they wasted a precious half-minute righting the chariot. Again, Ribblestrop had the advantage, for Anjoli, Podma, Miles and Vijay had spent hours practising with spears. They soon had six cabbages on the floor of the chariot and could now attend to the final challenge: the capture of the fleeing slave.
Young Barney was jogging towards the main house and was wondering if he should just give up and let them take him. His mind was made up when he looked behind and saw the chariot steaming up to the driveway in a cloud of dust. There was a small boy standing on the back of the donkey drawing a bow and, as Barney swerved to the right, he felt the swish of an arrow over his shoulder. It drew a line of rope, clearly designed to entangle him. He jumped over it and sprinted away in sheer, undiluted terror.
The screams of his pursuers turned to a ferocious baying. This produced a surge of adrenalin and the boy made for the lake. Nikko passed the other way, for the High School chariot was now after him, and the two chariots crossed, the children trading blows as the vehicles grazed each other.
Again, Ribblestrop had the advantage.
Israel and Sam were the masters of the sling-shot and they were standing on the side of their chariot, legs held by a dozen hands. Little Barney was tiring and panicking. He was up to his knees in water, hoping the chariot wouldn’t venture into the lake. Now he could hear it churning up the water and he was gasping with exhaustion. His one hope was to get to the bridge that looped over to the first island. It was a forlorn hope, however, for the chariot was at his heels. He decided to dive, but Sam loosed his weapon and the length of rope wrapped itself round his knees. He fell, splashing and gulping water. Then strong arms lifted him and he was suddenly safe amongst the hot bodies of the Ribblestrop boys.
‘You all right?’ said someone in his ear.
‘Yes!’
‘Nothing broken?’
They were shaking him and checking him for wounds. He felt an arm round his shoulders and he realised that he’d had the most exciting experience of his life. As the team screamed in triumph, he screamed too, and the donkey veered back towards the woods.
Nikko had been caught, too.
He had made the mistake of keeping to the drive, thinking he could move faster. The High School chariot had simply borne down on him and, when he’d dodged right, two sprinters had come for him and lifted him into the air. Then he’d been flung like a rugby ball into the back of the chariot and he too was howling with delight as they made for the finishing post. The Ribblestrop vehicle was drawing near and again it was close. They plunged amongst the trees together and it was a question of who was lucky enough to get the clearest passage through. The High School team was stronger, for Henry was tiring. They lifted their chariot over all obstacles, whilst Ribblestrop got tangled in brush. Asilah, Sanchez, Tomaz and Imagio were all on the ground pushing and heaving, but as they came within sight of the finishing line, the main axle simply snapped in half and the chariot was immovable. Ribblestrop watched in disbelief as they were beaten at their own game.
The High School pushed on, skidding down the slope towards the waiting teachers. Their captain leant out and touched the tree they’d started from, and applause, then cheering and finally laughter, rang through the forest. For the first time, High School boys and Ribblestrop children embraced, before they collapsed together on the ground.
‘I enjoyed that,’ said Johnny Jay at sundown. ‘That was an education for me and we must do it again.’
The headmaster nodded. ‘Your boys are very resourceful.’
‘You ought to join us on the moor,’ said Captain Routon. ‘Do you do the Pioneers’ Award?’
‘Never heard of it.’
‘It might be too short notice, now, but we’d love to have you with us,’ said Captain Routon.
‘Let me give you a map,’ said the headmaster. ‘It shows you where we’re going.’
Johnny Jay was nodding. ‘I’m always keen to try new things,’ he said. ‘I think the kids will be too, after this. They’ve made new friends – listen to them!’
The children were high above in the tree houses, eating and drinking. The teachers could hear excited chatter floating down through the leaves.
Johnny Jay studied the map. ‘I know this area,’ he said. ‘I used to go mountain biking round there – it’s fantastic. Would your lot be interested in a bit of cycling?’
‘I expect so,’ said Captain Routon.
‘It’s a passion of mine. Let me get back to you, I’m sure I could arrange it.’
‘We’ve got the bikes,’ said Doonan. ‘Let’s keep in touch
.’
‘Definitely. You’re heading towards Lightning Tor, by the look of it. It’s closed off, unfortunately – I’d love to take my lot up there. I’ve always wanted to see it.’
Chapter Twenty-Five
Lady Vyner watched the chariot race from her window.
She watched the wheels carve ruts in the lawn. She watched the archway burn out and collapse, and she watched everyone disappear back into the woods. Once again she noticed smoke rising from what had to be cooking fires. She trembled with rage.
‘Cuthbertson,’ she said, when he picked up his phone, ‘how much do I have to pay you to rid me of these . . . hooligans? Close the door!’
‘What? Who is this?’
‘Who do you think it is? I’m talking to Crippen for a moment – wait. I can’t hear myself think . . .’
Lady Vyner slammed the door herself and the television set in her lounge was instantly muffled.
‘I’ve got old women here – three of them, now – and all they do is talk. It’s driving me out of my mind!’
‘They’re staying with you?’
‘Staying here, yes! It’s a nursing home now, you know that. You’re part of this SSS nonsense, aren’t you? Why can’t you finish the job?’
‘You haven’t paid your bill, Lady Vyner.’
‘You haven’t got rid of my squatters! They’ve just squatted elsewhere.’
‘I’m not the boss, Lady Vyner. All I know is we haven’t received a penny from you and it was never part of the deal to patrol . . . how many acres are there? We’d need hundreds of men.’
‘Can’t you just burn them out? There must be something you can do.’
Cuthbertson lowered his voice. ‘I’m working on it. Believe me.’
‘What?’
‘I said I’m working on it.’ He paused again. ‘What sum are we talking about, anyway?’
‘What do you mean, “What sum?”?’ I’m asking you—’
‘If we did a private deal, you and me. If I made sure they packed up and left, once and for all?’