Guardsmen of the King: A Historical Adventure Novel (George Glen's Adventures Book 1)

by Richard Bergen

  I was about to flee from the yard when I noticed the back door of the kitchen being rudely slammed open. I reflexively hid behind the rotten washing trough and waited. From my hiding place I saw a fat man with a white cloth in front of his belly carrying a large package of scraps under his spongy arm. It was meat scraps. Bones with whole pieces of roasted meat still hanging on them and layers of fat that posh customers had carelessly cut off. My stomach demanded it loudly and I was afraid the kitchen staff might hear the growling, but he walked carelessly past my hiding place to the little hut where the beast was slumbering.

  "Wake up, you stupid bastard!" the employee said in a rabid tone and nudged the box with his foot.

  "Food for you, you useless piece of fur." He threw the bones carelessly into the dust when the dog did not respond.

  "If you don't want to eat, then the ants will be happy," he said, shrugging his shoulders, and headed back through the door into the kitchen.

  This was my chance, my opportunity. Apparently the dog was so lost in sleep that he didn't notice the bones and meat. My heart hammered with excitement as I cautiously approached the target of my desires. The scraps were already soiled with dirt, but that didn't matter. I was hungry and therefore did not care about the condition in which the food arrived in my stomach.

  As silently as I could, I crawled towards the spot in front of the dog crate. I could now detect the smell of the meat. It was faint, but still unmistakable. Mon Dieu, I thought, how low have I sunk that I already had to rob dogs of their food? But this thought disappeared with the next growl of my stomach. I looked cautiously inside the den and found that the dog was still snoring quietly. My fingers searched in the dirt for the meat and picked it up piece by piece. It was even still warm and I was already imagining eating it with relish when I realised that something was wrong.

  Exactly! The rhythmic snoring sounds of the dog could no longer be heard. Cautiously, I looked up and realised in horror that two bright dots were fixing me from the darkness of the box.

  I stared back, clutched the meat tighter and in the next moment jumped up to make my escape. I ran through the narrow gap between the houses that connected the backyard and the street. Immediately I found myself in the throng of the masses. I looked around happily, certain that I would not see the dog again, but I was very much mistaken. The huge mutt came shooting out from between the houses like a bolt of lightning. Only now could I see how dangerous he really looked. He had much more of a wolf about him than I had feared. The fur was long, grey and shaggy. The small, evil eyes were the fixed visual organs of a predator. The mouth was open and the tongue hung out long at the side. The huge white fangs were ready to snap powerfully.

  I let out a shriek of fear and doubled my speed. I carelessly knocked down passers-by and heard screams behind me that were probably not directed at me but at the beast that had it in for me. I knew I was running an unfair race. The dog was much faster and stronger than me, so I had to give him what he wanted. I picked up a bone and threw it over my shoulder as I ran. When I glanced back anxiously, however, I found that he wasn't interested at all. He simply ran over the bone. With some horror I realised that now I had become his prey.

  I knocked over an elderly woman who had been blocking my way, lost my balance and fell onto the pavement, bruising my left shoulder. With a contorted face, I let out a suppressed cry of pain, got to my feet and kept running. I could hear the dog panting behind me. I was sure that my last hour had come when I turned into a side street and ran past several half-ruined houses. I saw highwaymen loitering on either side of the road. They were unshaven, ragged figures who eyed me suspiciously as I ran past them in mortal fear.

  But I did not get far. It came as it had to come. I suddenly felt the sharp teeth of the monster digging into my leg. I fell lengthways to the ground, turned around and realised bitterly that the huge dog had lunged at me. Its panting breath hit me in the face and I saw its ripped mouth hurtling towards my neck. With a last, desperate attempt at resistance, I raised my right arm. Then the beast's jaws crashed into the flesh. A paralysing pain made the environment around me sink into gloomy blackness. I thought I screamed out loud as the teeth dug deeper into my arm, then all at once it was over.

  I heard the whimpering of the animal and a popping sound. Then my arm was free and the dog trolled off yelping. Slowly I opened my eyes, because I couldn't believe that I was actually still alive. But that was clearly the case. I saw the dog flee the alley, howling and with its tail between its legs, and disappear from my sight. Then I noticed that my arm was bleeding profusely from four small wounds and helplessly pressed my hand on it.

  "You should wrap some cloth around it," I suddenly heard a voice. I looked up and recognised the man I probably owed my life to. He was quite tall and seemed to be a bit older. Like the other prowlers in the street, he had a stubbly beard and matted hair. Only his clothes did not look quite so neglected. Yes, they even seemed to be the fine kind of clothes one used to wear in aristocratic circles, only they were dirty and old.

  "What's your name, boy?" he asked straight out. His voice sounded frank and sympathetic.

  "George," I answered quietly, and immediately asked, "How did you drive the dog away?"

  He showed me a rough wooden club and said with a smile: "One blow with this will bring even the wildest beast to its senses."

  "Who are you?" I now asked curiously.

  "My name is Lord Stanley Folkstone. But you can call me Stan, as everyone here does."

  Chapter 14

  Hesitantly, I looked around the street and was surprised to see that the prowlers had their eyes completely focused on me and my rescuer. However, I could see more than mere curiosity in the men's looks. These looks showed the respect and esteem these men had for Stan. Presumably he was the leader of this horde.

  "You look scared, George," Stan said anxiously. "But you need not be afraid of my men. They are thoroughly decent ... At least, when I want them to be."

  "I'm not afraid," I declared proudly, trying to sound as confident as I could, which I didn't quite manage thanks to my trembling voice.

  "I'm glad to hear that," Stan grinned. "After all, in our community, only fearless fellows are required."

  "What community?"

  Stan pointed at the shabbily dressed men who were now approaching and surrounding us. "The community of beggars and thieves," he said theatrically. "The order of the starving and the outlaws who have to fight hard every day for the little they need to live. You see them before you, outcasts from society yet filled with a morbid courage to survive, the Club of Wolves."

  "Club of Wolves?", I repeated inanely.

  "Yes, we live like predators in a pack, we share our prey like wolves and we murder all our pitiful victims mercilessly like wolves."

  I looked at Stanley suspiciously. The theatrical, over-emphasised way in which he uttered the words struck me as very strange and yet I could tell from his look that he meant every word exactly the same.

  "You murder?", I asked, more intrigued than deterred.

  "Oh yes, we do. Our victims are the rich, the privileged. Money-grubbing aristocrats, obese commoners, they're all on our list and they all, by their very existence, keep us alive."

  "Stan," I said slowly. "You say you are a lord. What do you mean?"

  "I mean what I say, George. I was an aristocrat until I lost my country, my servants, my titles, and became one of the lost souls. Come along. I will explain everything to you."

  I felt only boundless fascination. Never in my dreams would I have thought of turning down his invitation, so I willingly allowed myself to be led down the alley. I was not surprised to notice that most of the followers were following us. With a welcoming gesture, Lord Stanley opened the heavy wooden door of a dilapidated building for me. Without hesitation I entered and immediately found myself surrounded by musty air. My eyes needed some time to adjust to the gloomy surroundings, but when they did, it took my breath away. I found myself in a hug
e room. A few cautious rays of light shone down from several small crevices below the roof, making their way through the dusty masses of air. Old stonework surrounded the place and a series of wooden support beams provided a stability that I did not put all my trust in. But what surprised me most was the fact that the room was completely empty. Before I could even ask a question, Stanley pulled me behind him into a secluded part of the room. He bent down and tugged at what was barely recognisable as a carpet. In the space that now became free, it was easy to see a recessed floor door. Stanley pulled it open by its metal ring and stepped into the darkness.

  "What are you waiting for?", I immediately heard his voice and saw torchlight spreading down there. I looked around again, for this mysterious place was now beginning to frighten me after all. My curiosity was overpowering, but a healthy will to survive advised my mind to be careful.

  Stanley's followers looked at me unnerved as I hesitated, so I decided to follow Stanley into the depths. I descended the steep, wooden stairs and found myself in a huge cellar vault. But in contrast to the floor above, this place looked extraordinarily inhabited. In the middle was a large fireplace with a chimney flue leading up above it. Furs and blankets were spread out in a star shape around it, apparently serving as nightly resting places. Weapons were lying around everywhere, rapiers, rusty daggers and wheellock pistols, as well as some muskets of older construction.

  I looked at Stan and realised I must look pretty scared, because he said reassuringly, "Don't worry, George. I didn't save your life to take it away now."

  "What is this place?", I asked, noticing that most of the devotees had now also come downstairs and were making their way to their campsites, chatting boisterously with each other.

  "We live here," Stan explained calmly, pointing to the camp sites. "This is our lair, our den of thieves, if you will. We share our looted goods here and are safe from public view. The house above our heads has two more hidden entrances that my men use if necessary. No one would ever betray this hiding place, for that is punishable by death under our own laws."

  "Why did you bring me here?"

  Stanley looked at me and smiled. "You make a very bright and fearless impression on me."

  "Fearless?" I was confused. "I was running from a dog."

  "From a beast," Stan enlightened me, smiling. "And you ran pretty fast. A trait that could be useful for us. How old are you George?"

  "Fifteen."

  "A little young, but that doesn't say anything about your abilities."

  "But I've never robbed anyone before. I'm not even sure I could."

  Stan frowned. "I wouldn't have thought so. Are you telling me you've never done a soul any harm in your life?"

  I gulped as he so clearly and obviously pointed out my past. I felt as if he knew exactly what I had been guilty of.

  Stanley interpreted my expression correctly because he nodded knowingly and said, "So you did. Did you kill anyone at all, George?"

  "I don't want to talk about it," I said quietly. "Please don't make me!"

  He eyed me sharply, like a predator staring at prey, narrowing his eyes slightly as if he could see through my skull and guess at my thoughts hiding deep inside.

  "All right," he said finally. "But you did it and you can do it again. We will complete your knowledge and teach you how to rob and kill properly. Your future is ours and we are your future."

  I looked around and was in no position to raise an objection. At least this Club of Wolves seemed to be able to give me a home. While I still couldn't understand why Stanley would want me to join his gang, I was beginning to see the positives; a trend that was reinforced when Stanley said, "I would imagine you're hungry."

  "Don't give him anything!" suddenly hissed a voice from the back of the cave. A furrowed, bearded man with the figure of a giant came towards me and looked at me with rage. His face was covered with several heavy scars and his right eye was blind, staring at me as a white, expressionless expanse.

  "Shut up!", Stanley suddenly shouted at him. I recoiled in fright at this outburst, for I had not expected such rudeness from the gentle voice of the lord.

  With a sparkle of disgust in his lively eye, the bearded man retreated unwillingly. From his stature he could have crushed the slender Stanley. But the leader's authority apparently went beyond physical attributes. In any case, the ugly giant retreated to his corner, grumbling. "He hasn't done anything for it yet. Why should we give him some of the little food we have?" he groaned softly.

  "I have no intention of discussing it," Stanley said sharply, turning to a stocky bald man standing behind me. "Aaron, give George some bread!"

  Aaron went to an adjoining chamber and returned with half a loaf of bread. He broke off a piece and handed it to me, looking around nervously.

  I paid no further attention, however. My fingers felt the hard pastry and I had no desire to have it taken away from me again, so I greedily ate it into myself and gave my loudly growling stomach what it craved.

  While I chewed hastily like an animal, Stanley watched me with a grin. "Eat your fill, my boy! You'll have to earn your next meal."

  "Do you really think it's such a good idea to take him in with us?" a young voice rang out at this. A lad stepped forward and eyed me coldly from top to bottom, probably signalling that he didn't like me.

  The boy was not much older than me, but clearly seemed stronger and better nourished. His skin was tanned and the brown eyes beneath the black hair that fell into his face eyed me with open hostility.

  "What have you got against him, Richard?" asked Stan of the boy.

  The latter came closer until he was standing directly in front of me. I was chewing the last bite of hard bread, swallowed and then met his gaze openly.

  "He looks like a worthless coward who only thinks of himself. Look at the way he eats! He behaves like a wild animal and we can expect just as much help from him."

  "You think I am a wild animal?", I asked challengingly. Anger coursed through my veins and made my hands tremble. I would have loved to jump at this cheeky brat's throat right then and there.

  "Oh yes," he retorted with his head held high. "Yes, I think you're a rat who feeds on street filth."

  I glanced briefly at Stanley, but I could tell from his absent-minded demeanour that he didn't want to give me any help. In fact, he was probably anxious to see how I would react.

  I looked at Richard and realised he was waiting for an attack. "You're right," I retorted, then. "I feed on street dirt, but don't you? We are the same. Don't you see that?"

  My answer surprised him and he lowered his tense arms as he thought about it.

  I took advantage of this moment and purposefully struck his cheek with my right fist. The blow was well aimed, for Richard's head was thrown to the side and his surprised body fell to the ground. Taking advantage of his weakness, I threw myself on top of him and slammed my fists deep into the pit of his stomach.

  Groaning, he pushed me off him, blocked my next blow and kicked me in the shin. My face contorted in pain, I staggered back, struggling to control the raging pain. I didn't want to scream. I was not allowed to scream! Not for anything in the world would I give myself that exposure.

  While I was still wrestling with the pain, Richard had already risen and pounced on me. He was choking my neck with both hands and I was gasping for breath. I clutched at his arms forcibly, but he was simply stronger than me. Finally I couldn't help myself and rammed my knee into his crotch. Groaning, he let go of me and held his aching genitals. I was about to lunge at him again, roaring, when a strong arm held me back.

  "That's enough!" ordered Stanley's authoritative voice and I obeyed immediately. Even Richard, who was now getting back on his feet, did not dare contradict the leader. He confined himself to giving me another hateful look and then moved away to his camp.

  "Is this proof of his usefulness enough for you, Richard?" asked Stanley quietly. "He's held up quite well, hasn't he?"

  Richard eyed me ag
ain in silence and then said, "Only with dishonourable tricks. Another moment and I would have had him down."

  "Come here and prove it to me!" I demanded angrily.

  Upset, my opponent rose, but a resolute 'Enough!' from Stan ended the argument for the time being. I could tell from the glow in Richard's eyes that our quarrel was not yet over, but only postponed. Good, I thought to myself, let him come.

  "I suggest we all get some rest now," Stan then said in that quiet voice that had become so familiar to me in such a short time. "Tonight we will strike again and you, George, will accompany us."

  Chapter 15