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

by Richard Bergen

  "What do you have to say?" asked Tom.

  Josephine looked up at us briefly, but when she noticed our stares, she immediately blushed and looked down again. She was so sweet. Quietly the words left her pretty mouth: "Darrieux is a man who has to prove a lot of strength in his life," she said. "But even he needs a person he can trust and tell everything to. That person is his wife." Because of her accent, we could hardly understand Josefine.

  "And?", Tom asked.

  "Well, she is a ... how shall I put it? A femme qui parle pendant qu'elle dort," Josefine said without even lifting her eyes.

  Tom looked at Josefine questioningly. "A what?"

  "She talks in her sleep," I translated immediately.

  "How delicate." Tom liked that.

  "Where do we find her?" now asked Wilbur.

  "She lives in Darrieux's chateau in Champagne, near Sézanne."

  I saw Josefine being embraced by Vincent. Softly he breathed in her ear, "You did well, my angel."

  She rose and went to the ladder, but before she did she received a slap on her broad bottom, which under other circumstances she would probably have acknowledged with a laugh. But she was embarrassed in front of all of us, so she quickly descended the ladder and left the shed through the big wooden gate.

  Meanwhile, a light was dawning on me. The name Darrieux sounded familiar. Stephen Fletcher, the captain of the Royal Guard, had spoken of him just before he sent us on this mission. Exactly! Darrieux was the name of the commander of the French Musketeers.

  "So what do the Musketeers have to do with our mission?", I asked immediately.

  For a brief moment, the mouths of the Guardsmen opened in surprise and I could see their faces turn pale. That's how I liked it.

  "How do you know?" asked Wilbur breathlessly.

  "She mentioned Darrieux's name. Fletcher told me he was the captain of the Musketeers." The three Guardsmen relaxed again. "Well, yes," Tom now commented. "You want to know what the Musketeers have to do with this?"

  "Yes."

  "I can only reply that you will find out ..."

  »... soon enough," Richard and I finished the sentence in chorus.

  The men grinned and Tom finally said, "Let's get out of here before sunrise! We have a long way to go."

  Chapter 25

  The saddle seemed to me by now to be one of the least known instruments of torture. This leather seat, so comfortable from the outside, could become an altogether terrifying place of torment over the course of days and weeks. I could hardly feel my bottom after we had ridden a few hours into the dawn and it amazed me how the Guardsmen endured this torture. Presumably, these men already had calluses in the stressed areas, otherwise I could not explain their stamina.

  Our journey led us south and even as the first rays of the sun slid over the vast land, I had the feeling I was going to die of exhaustion. But I didn't want to be seen as a weakling in front of the men, so I endured the pain and faintness upright in the saddle. I was surprised, however, that my friend Richard showed no signs of exhaustion. His physical condition was obviously much better than mine.

  Our midday break lasted just ten minutes. During this time, lying on the grass, I stuffed a handful of salted beef into my mouth and thus calmed my growling stomach. At this point, I didn't care about anything. I no longer wondered why we were riding to Champagne and what the Musketeers had to do with this mission. Only my aching bottom was of importance. In agony, I climbed back into the saddle and followed the Guardsmen until night fell and finally gave us peace and contentment in its absolute darkness.

  I slept better that night than ever before. I was not plagued by the usual nightmares of my decapitated father or the death of my mother. I slept deep like a stone - with no dreams whatsoever.

  In the early morning, as we all sat around the burnt-out campfire and ate our meagre breakfast, Tom said slowly: "In a few days we'll be in Sézanne. There we'll ask about Darrieux's castle."

  "Who was this Josefine?" I asked, voicing what had been on the tip of my tongue since the day before yesterday.

  Vincent grinned and looked over at Tom. "You tell him, my friend!" he demanded.

  Tom raised his eyebrows and finally said, "Josefine was a maid of Darrieux."

  "How did she know Vincent?"

  "Well, all three of us have been here in France many times in the past. Or rather, there were four of us. Our translator was always with us - God rest his soul! It was on such occasions that Vincent met her. It only turned out later that she was Darrieux's servant, a circumstance that was very convenient with us. Vincent taught her some English and she taught him some French."

  Wilbur grunted grimly.

  "Mind you, she was a better learner than he, as you must have discovered, for if he had paid a little better attention, your presence here would have been totally out of place," Tom finished.

  "Why are you so keen to know what Darrieux knows?", I now asked. "Why don't you tell us what it's all about?"

  "No!" said Tom firmly.

  "No?", I asked in amazement.

  "No!"

  That was the end of the conversation once again.

  ***

  After a few days of travelling through vast forests, over colourful fields and through small rivers, our path led us directly to a place where time seemed to have stood still. The dilapidated houses and the large cemetery reminded me so much of Longhill that I had the impression that only the sea was missing to complete the picture.

  "What an ugly dump," Wilbur, who rode beside me, now commented, wrinkling his nose at the squalor. "What kind of shitty area has this Darrieux built his castle in?"

  We reached the village centre, where we were eyed suspiciously by peasants and riffraff. Even in our simple clothes, we looked like true nobles here, for the people here wore nothing but rags on their starved bodies.

  "Ask them where the castle is!", Wilbur ordered me.

  I followed the instruction and turned to one of the less dangerous-looking villagers.

  "Château de Darrieux?" he repeated my question.

  I confirmed with a nod.

  "Prendre le chemin vers l'ouest," he now said and I returned to my companions.

  "We have to take the road to the west," I explained to them and without a break our way led us in the direction described. Whatever our mission might be, the Guardsmen seem to be in a devilish hurry.

  The landscape behind the grey, ugly village was of almost paradisiacal splendour. The most diverse kinds of trees and bushes grew up from the fertile soil and colourful birds screeched their songs in the densely overgrown branches.

  We rode along a path overshadowed by the tops of huge oaks. The tracks of wagon wheels on the ground indicated that there was usually a lot of traffic here, but today there wasn't too much of it.

  "The pack must have left their den," Wilbur said gleefully, when he too noticed that no one was stopping our progress.

  It wasn't too long before the walls of a château appeared in front of us, standing out darkly against the afternoon sunlight.

  "We made it," Tom said quietly, looking around the area cautiously.

  Protected by the trees, we jumped off our horses and tied the reins in the branches. One look at Richard made me realise once again that he saw this whole operation as a great adventure rather than a danger. He felt no fear at all looking at this castle and in some ways I envied him that approach. I was beginning to resent my own fear of the unknown. What the hell did I have to fear?

  I looked at the treetops swaying gently in the light wind and across to the château, behind which the sun was just disappearing.

  "What now?" asked Richard, breaking the silence.

  Vincent said slowly, "We know that Darrieux is not currently staying at his château. So his wife is protected only by some servants who can easily be avoided."

  "How is this going to happen?" I asked.

  What Vincent told us now seemed strangely familiar. He explained that Richard and I were to
climb up to the roof of the castle with the help of ropes. Once there, our task was to drop the ropes through the chimney into the interior of the house and climb up them into the château. We were the only ones slim enough to fit through the smokestack. They had heard somewhere that we were made for missions like this.

  It was Richard who now took the word. "What do we do after we leave the fireplace?"

  "Then you will search for the bedchamber. If you are lucky, you will find the lady of the house lying in the pillows, asleep, revealing secrets of her husband. You will write down everything she says."

  "But I have neither paper nor ink," I said truthfully.

  "Well, if you want to be one of ours, as old Edwin claimed, you should be prepared for cases like this."

  "Old Edwin?", I asked, for I did not know what he was talking about.

  "Yes, the old guardsman you approached in that crummy little pub in London."

  Only now did I understand who he meant, and I thought back to that place and my dreams back then, which no longer had much to do with the present reality.

  Vincent, however, paid no attention to my thoughts and continued: "As fate would have it, we are equipped as good Guardsmen of His Majesty for any kind of situation."

  With the last words, he took out paper, ink and quill from one of his leather saddlebags and handed them to me.

  "Good luck!" he said, grinning. "I hear the lady has all sorts of interesting things to say."

  Chapter 26

  We camped in the shelter of some hazelnut bushes and waited anxiously for nightfall.

  The clouds above the château took on a reddish-yellow and then a dark purple hue before giving the way to sombre tones of blue. My heartbeat speeded up the closer the absolute blackness came. No one spoke a single word during all this time. Only the tense faces of my companions convinced me that they too were under a certain pressure of expectation.

  Finally, when absolute darkness had seized the area, I asked Tom: "Isn't it about time?"

  "No, George. Look, the windows of the castle are still brightly lit!"

  I looked towards the château. Of course, the lady of the mansion had not yet gone to bed when all the lights were still burning. So it was a matter of waiting.

  However, I had not expected how long French aristocratic women used to stay awake. Time passed like thick syrup and the nearer the moment of truth came, the more nervous I became. This waiting was a living hell, because the more time I had to think about it, the longer I could worry about everything that possibly could go wrong with our undertaking. What if the mistress woke up and spotted us next to her bed? What if some guards found us? What would become of two captured English spies who had entered the castle of a musketeer captain? Wouldn't a quick death in the Tower of London have been more merciful?

  "Watch out!" hissed Wilbur's voice through the bushes, abruptly interrupting my thoughts.

  "What's going on?" asked Richard.

  "The last lights have gone out," he announced. "It's time for you."

  Tom immediately handed us a long rope, which - as he said - every respectable guardsman always had with him. Guardsmen must have very spacious saddlebags, I thought to myself.

  "Good luck!" Wilbur patted me comradely on the shoulder.

  Together Richard and I sprinted across the open field in front of the château and reached the walls of the castle out of breath.

  "Made it!", Richard gasped beside me.

  Slowly I looked up, noticing that this wall had far fewer ledges and corners than the Fletcher residence in London.

  "We're still a long way off," I said. "The hard part is yet to come."

  "The hard part?"

  "Just look up! Up to that dizzying height we have to go."

  Richard looked for a while in the direction I indicated and then said, "That's really high. I suggest you climb up first and then drop the rope to me." He looked at me with a satisfied grin at that.

  I just couldn't believe he was making such a suggestion. What kind of fucking coward had I made a friend of? So I said, stunned, "I just can't believe you..."

  "No, no, you don't need to thank me. It's only fair that I let you go first - you, the hero, who already has more experience with women than some of the King's Guardsmen." His grin grew even.

  "Are you jealous?" I asked wrathfully.

  "No, I'm just telling it like it is."

  "And why do you always acting like I'm bragging about my experiences? I have never done that, never."

  "You don't even have to say it. Just a simple look is enough," he now countered with earnest conviction.

  "You mean that 'I fucked a countess and you didn't' look?"

  "Yeah, that's the one."

  "You're seeing things in your head, Rich. Don't blame me for the fact that you've never been with a woman!"

  These words hurt him, I felt it as soon as I spoke them.

  "Maybe you're right, George. Lately I just can't get women out of my head. I can't stop thinking about their looks all day, their graceful walk, their swaying breasts..."

  "I suggest you take a harlot at the next town, Richard. Then you'll finally have it over with."

  I looked above and realised that I had completely forgotten our mission because of our conversation.

  So I jumped up and got hold of a window sill. Now came the part that I had already found incredibly challenging in London. I tensed my arm muscles until they threatened to burst and pulled myself up into the air. I swung my body back and forth until my right knee found support on the stone ledge. Exhausted from this effort, I rolled onto the window sill and caught my breath.

  Now I examined the two sides of the facade, looking for places to hang on to. I yearned for some statues. But there were no statues - only bricks. On closer inspection, however, I saw some cracks and bumps - just big enough for a couple of feet my size.

  So I didn't hesitate and dug my soles into the porous rock. I pushed myself off and reached the next, higher foothold. Now just don't fall off, I thought, and moved up again. Yes, there was the next sill already. There it was - very close. I pushed myself off with my legs and reached for it. My fingers felt the cool stone, clawed into it and found a hold when suddenly my feet slipped out of the crack in the wall. From one moment to the next, my whole body weight hung on my hands. They struggled to hold onto the smooth window ledge, my weight was simply too great. I slid down without mercy. My fingers clawed at the stone in furious desperation, but it had no meaning. I lost my grip and fell.

  It is strange how many thoughts could run through a person's head during such a short fall. I had always believed that such a fall would end quickly and that my life would pass like the breath of a sparrow. But it was not at that. Strangely enough, I thought about who would carry my body to the grave and how the Guardsmen would react to my death - all senseless things that I didn't quite understand afterwards.

  But I didn't die back then, of course, although I hardly remember a moment when death had come more clearly before my eyes. I was caught a few feet from the ground and crashed onto a window ledge.

  When I was able to think again I realised that Richard had saved me. I wasn't quite sure how he had managed that, so I asked him: "You?" I was hardly capable of saying more in my predicament.

  Now I noticed that we were on the window ledge that I had first climbed. Apparently Richard had followed me and, noticing me fall, had grabbed me and yanked me onto this sill.

  My whole body ached from the impact. Only now, after surviving the ordeal, did I become aware of this pain, which undoubtedly surpassed anything my backside had ever endured from a horse saddle. My entire body was on fire. My arms and legs hurt and a droning spread through my head that surpassed in intensity anything I had ever experienced before.

  "Hey, are you still alive?" Richard now addressed me.

  I only managed a fragile 'yes' that must have reached his ears only faintly.

  "On second thought, I'll go first." He took the rope and said to me, "Wa
it until I throw you the rope, then follow me!"

  He wasted no time and climbed up the wall cracks I had used before. I only became aware of all this as if through a mist. I was fighting against a tranquil feeling that would bring unconsciousness or death - so my assumption. But since I was not allowed to become unconscious or die here, I tried with all my strength to stay awake and keep my eyes open. I had the taste of blood in my mouth and as I explored my throat with my tongue, I noticed that one of my molars had come loose from the flesh. Apparently the impact had taken its toll. Reluctantly, I spat out the tooth and with it a gush of blood. Then I looked up again.

  I no longer saw Richard and wondered if he had fallen into the depths without me noticing. But a look down relieved me. No one was lying in the grass. So where was Richard?

  When I tried to lift my head again, the end of the rope hit me in the neck. My skull was buzzing again. Richard had managed to get to the rooftop at a record pace. He had actually accomplished what I had failed to do. He would climb onto the next roof first, I now swore to myself.

  I grabbed the end of the rope and pulled myself upwards with this secure hold in my hand. Even this light activity took its toll on my damaged body. My hands soon showed bloody marks from the rough rope and my legs, which had hurt at first, seemed to no longer exist. I reached the roof with the last of my strength and rolled onto the uncomfortable slope, breathing heavily.

  "Come on, George!" urged Richard, pulling me to my feet. "There's no time to lose."

  He went up to the chimney and pulled the rope behind him, then threw it down the smokestack.

  The end of the rope was attached to the outer shell of the flue, providing a secure hold.

  "You go first!" demanded Richard, jovially tapping me on the shoulder.

  "You know what happened the last time you asked for that, Richard."

  "Don't be like that! Abseiling is really not a difficult thing to do."

  I just nodded in defeat and immediately set about disappearing into the dark hole of the chimney. My hands clutched the rope, my heartbeat increased. As I was swallowed up by the darkness, a feeling of fear gradually came over me that I had rarely felt before. It was that damned fear of the unknown, the darkness and the confinement again. I imagined what it would be like to spend a lifetime in such a position - surrounded by walls that encircled you like the arms of a spider and allowed no space to move. In such a situation, one was destined to lose his mind at some point. The feeling became stronger and more oppressive the closer I got to the ground. I felt madness take possession of me. I suddenly had the feeling that I had to scream to remove this compulsion from my heart. How deep was this damned chimney? How deep? Before I started screaming, I just let loose of the rope and crashed down like a stone. This time, however, it was not death I had in mind, but deliverance. I hit hard on a stack of burnt wood and rolled out of the fireplace into a grand salon. I was covered from head to toe in soot.