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

by Richard Bergen

  "Did you bring us some wine, old friend?" he was asked by a bluecoat.

  "Unfortunately only green clover, but perhaps you will like it."

  "No, no. It's meant for our demanding four-legged friend," laughed the Musketeer. "That beast is more stubborn than a mule. If you only knew the trouble it took us to bring him here. Well, at least he's safe in this place. The English would never think of hiding him here, of all places. They'll assume we're taking him to a remote place where a wayfarer is guaranteed to come along only once in a hundred years." Laughter filled the room. "Yes, yes, those idiots. What complete idiots ... Incompetents ... Complete failures ..."

  I looked back at the Guardsmen who stared at me without understanding. I quietly told them I would translate it later and then looked back into the centre of the dimly lit ship.

  In the meantime, the coachman had walked up to the horse and was looking at it warily. "So it was because of this beast that I had to transport a whole wagon of clover across the country. Is he really as fine horse as everyone says he is?"

  "He is," declared one of the Musketeers. "If you manage to ride him, he is the most beautiful and fastest horse in the world - but if he throws you off, he will most likely trample you to death. That horse is in league with the devil, I swear to you." Then he looked at the coachman and asked: "What are you going to do now?"

  "I'm going to hang around in town for a while. Tonight I'll come back and drive the wagon back for the next load of clover."

  "I don't envy you," grinned the Musketeer. "When you come back, however, you had better make the signal very loud. There are only three men guarding the nag tonight and they may fall asleep from boredom."

  "I'll keep to it," the coachman replied cheerfully and turned around. He came straight towards us, but then turned sideways. He reached a place where there was a fairly wide gap under the railing - just wide enough for a man to crawl through into the open. The coachman did just that and vanished.

  The spot was somewhat distant in the shade, which probably gave us all the idea to do the same at the moment. At Tom's nod, we crept towards the spot one by one, always turning to look at the Musketeers. It was quite clear that we would lose out in a fight. One against five was a bad balance of power and I had already included Richard and myself in the calculation. Surely we would not have been of much help. I had already learned this painful lesson.

  However, we reached the gap unchallenged and squeezed into the outside one after the other, which was a real challenge for the sturdy Wilbur. With his girth, he almost got stuck in the middle. When we all felt the freedom and the sun on our faces, we quickly moved away from the secret hiding place. A little out of reach, Tom asked me what the men had actually discussed. I told it as best I could, watching as Tom, Vincent and Wilbur grinned wider and wider.

  "Perfect!", Tom finally groaned when I was finished with my report. If there are only three guards at night, that is exactly our moment. We'll quickly overpower them and be over the hills with the horse before they even know what went wrong."

  " And until then?" now asked Richard.

  I was surprised that he was interfering in a conversation, for up to now he had always given the impression that none of this was any of his business.

  "Until then, my boy, we will celebrate, of course. After all, it is not every day that there is such a reason for it as today. Besides, we are in Paris, the capital of vice. Let's go!"

  A Guardsman loved life, after all.

  Chapter 35

  It was a fantastic experience to dive into the huge, breathing mass of the metropolis, to let ourselves drift in the stream of people. The closer we got to the centre again, the more varied the people and buildings became. I saw pompous carriages, nobly dressed ladies with pearl necklaces walking their dogs, made-up jugglers, chubby merchants and soldiers patrolling the streets with weapons at the ready.

  The smell of a variety of food penetrated my nose and I began to realise that I had been feeling very hungry for some time. My stomach immediately began to growl uncontrollably.

  However, very abruptly, the growling went away. We passed a huge cemetery called 'Cimetière des Innocents' and the stench of decaying corpses surrounded our heads. I saw huge monuments next to family crypts and open graves. On a large pile to my right were stacked corpses whose shabby garments clearly marked them as beggarly. Presumably they were destined for a mass grave. I turned away and concentrated on the street in front of us so as not to have to think about those who had passed away. I breathed a sigh of relief when we left the cemetery behind us.

  The buildings were now even more magnificent. The ornate columns and figures on their facades looked pompous. Some distance away, I recognised a gigantic fort with towers at each of the slick corners.

  "What is that?", I asked in awe.

  "The Bastille," Tom said calmly. "I do not wish anyone to end his life there. The torturers exceed even the Tower in their brutality."

  In a horrified shudder, I touched the burn scar on my chest, which was still not entirely painless.

  We walked on, stopping only when we spied a quite inviting tavern called 'Auberge de Nuit'.

  "Looks promising," Wilbur commented, stepping inside first through the low entrance.

  Pipe smoke and laughter greeted us. The place was almost full. Bawling figures sat at almost every one of the small tables: Soldiers, commoners and merchants. Almost every rank seemed to be represented here and the atmosphere was indeed very good. My companions didn't understand a word, but they didn't miss much either. The hackneyed banter and dirty jokes were no different from what one would hear in an English tavern.

  Against our expectations, we spotted a vacant table near the kitchen entrance and headed towards it. During the short walk, I noticed that there were not only cups of wine on some of the tables, but also quite respectable dishes. My stomach growled back in full intensity.

  Just as we were about to take our seats, I was unexpectedly bumped into from the side, and a washed-up drifter snapped at me: "That's my table!

  "What's he saying?" asked Wilbur quietly.

  "He says this is his table."

  Before I had a chance to think, Wilbur had lunged for a well-aimed punch that hit the Frenchman on the temple and sent him sprawling to the ground.

  Vincent and Tom looked at their mate with a mixture of stupefaction and anger. They had been trying to remain as inconspicuous as possible all along, but Wilbur ruined everything.

  "What were you thinking?" hissed Tom angrily at him, but only delayed to notice that the pub-goers' attention had not been focused on what was happening after all. It seemed to be the daily routine here to have to defend one's table with brutal methods. In fact, the patrons continued to drink and sing as if nothing had happened.

  The man who had been beaten slowly got up again and went away. Apparently he was afraid he might get another hook. Since his nose was already bleeding, he made a wise decision.

  We took a seat at the small table and searched around the area.

  "How much money do we have left?" asked Vincent suddenly.

  Tom opened a money bag and took a look inside. As he tied it up again, he said contentedly: "We still have the money from the fake wine delivery, so enough to spend a nice afternoon here - a very nice afternoon."

  After a few minutes, a somewhat full-figured, older servant came along the way and asked us what we wished.

  "Ask her what's for dinner!", Tom urged me. He was hungry too.

  After a brief exchange of words, we ordered five roast wild boar and plenty of wine. After all, we were in France.

  It took quite a while before our wishes were fulfilled, but once the steaming roast was placed in front of me, I forgot the resentment of the waiting time and gave my stomach what it was longing for. The meat was tough and the gravy watery, but I didn't care. Regarding my food, I was hardened enough to offer my palate about anything. In the period between my parents' death and this present adventure, I had eaten a lot
of things that others would turn up their noses at. This, at any rate, was a feast.

  The wine was brought and the Guardsmen grabbed it spiritedly, emptying their cups almost in one go. Richard drank more carefully. Only I abstained from drinking altogether.

  "What's the matter? Why aren't you drinking?", Vincent asked me.

  "My last experience with this stuff is still fresh in my mind," I replied. "I don't feel the need to repeat that whole thing, I've said that before, haven't I?"

  "And you want to be a real Guardsman someday?" Wilbur laughed gleefully now. "A man who can't hold his liquor isn't a real man, so drink up!" He had probably already forgotten that he had given me the lecture about being a 'proper Guardsman' once before.

  I thought briefly of how I had thrown up after the last time I had drunk wine, of the feeling that drunkenness lifted every restraint and made every wrong right, of the fist punch on the table and the lack of pain. No, I didn't want to experience that again. No, I could do without that.

  "No!", I said.

  Wilbur reacted more violently than I had expected. He lunged at me and grabbed me by the throat. "Do you want to end up as an eternal coward, George?"

  I tried to hide my surprise as best I could, which I didn't quite succeed in doing, but I managed to say again, "No thanks, Wilbur. I don't drink and that's the way it stays." At this I pushed him off me with all my strength.

  Wilbur staggered back and landed ungently on his chair. He was so stunned that he looked at me in bewilderment. I was already afraid he would now draw his rapier and drive the blade into my guts, but he reacted in a surprising way by soon bursting into a veritable fit of laughter and tapping me on the shoulder. "Well, you seem to have your principles, boy," he said at that. "If you think you must abstain from this delightful treat, stick to it!"

  At the last statement, he grabbed my cup and tipped the red swill down his throat.

  I was relieved that he had spared my life and took a deep breath before gulping down the last few mouthfuls of my meal. Only then did I bother to take a good look at my surroundings.

  The place was quite big, even bigger than the pub in London where I had my first encounter with the Scottish Guardsmen. The women serving me seemed quite nice and I realised that at that moment a couple of musicians were playing for a dance.

  Immediately, some women and men jumped up and followed the music in swift motions. I felt at ease.

  "You don't drink?" suddenly a woman's voice reached my ears.

  I turned around and saw a pretty waitress who was smiling and examining me from head to toe with her dark eyes. Her pitch-black hair fell over her graceful shoulders and covered her breasts. I was a little surprised that she was addressing me and not the everlasting womaniser Vincent.

  "What's your name?", I asked her after getting over my initial stupefaction.

  "Constance," she replied and settled down on my lap.

  I found her approachable manner quite appealing, although her directness astonished me. I looked at her slightly parted lips right in front of me and did what my heart commanded me to do. I kissed her. Her tongue entered my lips strangely early and touched my tongue provocatively. What did she want from me? Did she find me so alluring that she had to throw herself at me right away? I couldn't blame her for that possibility, and yet her mouth was immediately at my ear, demanding ten livres.

  Disillusioned, I turned away. The Guardsmen looked at me with a smile. Tom checked his wallet and nodded at me. That gave me an idea.

  I smiled at the pretty French woman and explained that Richard was still untouched, pointing at my friend. Well, that got the lady interested. She looked at him joyfully and rose from my lap to turn towards him. I was delighted that Richard was finally getting the chance to do what he had been raving about to me all along.

  When she had settled on his lap, he asked me dumbfounded, "What did you tell her?"

  "Only the truth."

  "The truth? What truth?"

  "That you're a virgin."

  Tom, Vincent and Wilbur immediately burst out laughing and Richard turned bright red. "You did ... you actually ..." he stammered angrily. "You what!?" He couldn't calm down and for a moment I was afraid he was going to jump down my throat. But he had a woman sitting on his lap.

  Constance kissed him deeply and I recognised Richard's clenched fists opening and him hugging her carefully. When she pulled away from him, he smiled sheepishly and avoided eye contact with us. It was probably better that way, because the Guardsmen were still grinning all over their faces.

  Tom gave the freelancing waitress the required amount, which she smilingly made disappear into her clothes. With a sinful smile on her lips, she then stood up and pulled Richard behind her by the hem of his trousers. Both disappeared through a small door escorted by our whistles.

  When the Guardsmen had calmed down to some extent and turned once more to the wine, I asked, "Why don't you actually take any pleasure girls?"

  Tom smiled at the question and then replied, "Well, as far as Vincent is concerned, I'm sure he wouldn't find it difficult to ensnare every woman in this place without having to pay a single livre. Probably even some ladies would pay him to feel his rapier, if you know what I mean.

  I myself have a wife and children at home and my days of wild excess are over. Well, and Wilbur... as for Wilbur, you see for yourself what aspects of the beautiful life he is attached to."

  I looked over at the huge Guardsman who was just dipping with gusto the leg of his wild boar in the sauce, taking a hearty bite and washing the meat down his stomach with a good gulp of red grape juice. I grinned.

  After a brief pause, I continued: "There is one thing that is still a little unclear to me. Stealing the horse shouldn't be a problem, but how do we get it to England if it really is as wild as you said?"

  "Keep your voice down for God's sake!" hissed Tom at me. "You're never safe from unwanted listeners, George."

  I realised he had a point, but found his concern a touch over the top. Who could understand our language around here?

  "As for your question," he whispered, "I have no idea. But no one is asking us to ride the beast. We can just take it by the reins and canter along."

  "Do you think he'll go along with that?"

  "I don't know," Tom now replied somewhat testily. "What do we get out of dealing with problems we don't even have yet? You really ought to have a drink, George. It'll stop you thinking too much."

  Eager to avoid another argument about my self-chosen abstinence, I immediately kept silent and watched in boredom as Vincent stuffed a small pipe and leisurely set it alight.

  The merry music swelled and I followed the dancing couples as they made rapid turns on the rotten plank floor. The floorboards creaked happily in beat with the music. None of the Guardsmen spoke any more, as they were all busy drinking booze or smoking tobacco.

  It didn't take long and the whole situation changed. A side door opened and Richard came up to us. When he noticed the attention we were paying to him, he grinned meaningfully and finally sat down.

  "How was it?" asked Wilbur immediately.

  Richard only answered with a nod and the telling raising of his eyebrows.

  "Not very chatty, is he, our friend," Tom observed, somewhat disappointed. "Well, we've got things to do today, so let's get going, men!"

  We paid and left the tavern, only to find ourselves immediately in the swirling human maelstrom of the Parisian streets. It was already late afternoon and it certainly took us a while to find our way back to the stallion's hiding place.

  As we walked through the streets, I went to Richard's side and said, "Now you can tell it, Richard! How was it?"

  "Well," he said at length, "it was different from what I had imagined."

  "And how did you imagine it?"

  "So different."

  Well, I thought to myself. He indeed wasn't very talkative. I thought it was a little unfair, since I was forced to tell him my experiences with Lady Isabel
le in great detail, but I decided not to press him any further. At least now I wouldn't have to listen to his stupid chatter about naked women and mating positions. That was worth something too.

  "It was incredible!" he blurted out now. "First she took me to this small room. Apart from a bed and a bowl of water, there was nothing else there. She took off her clothes and showed me what she looked like. She took my hand and put it on her breast. Boy, she was soft and smooth. Then she had already pulled down my trousers. My thing was so stiff it hurt. But Constance washed it first with cold water from that bowl. She did a damn good job of that." Richard smiled dreamily. "She lay down on the bed and spread her thighs. Then she pulled me on top of her and I was in. It was really hot at first. And so incredibly slippery. She moaned and said something. I don't know what she said, but it sounded fucking hot. She really got into it, really gripped me with her thighs. I guess she realised then I was about to come. Anyway, she let me slide out of her quickly and then I ended up cumming on her belly. Boy, it was amazing. Then it was all over."

  "Well, you set quite a pace there," I replied snottier than I really wanted to. Basically, I was jealous of him, but I didn't want to let on.

  Chapter 36

  Dark shadows were creeping across the riverbank like demonic figures from hell. The place had seemed just abandoned and desolate in the morning, but now it was downright horrifying. The boats that lay on land now appeared only as diffuse objects, half-blurred in the illusory infinity of the night. The river, however, was no longer the filthy sewer I had experienced earlier in the day. The moonlight was now reflecting in it and the gentle waves were of a strong deep blue that exuded a mesmerising beauty.

  Slowly and silently we had approached the ship where the object of our desire was probably eating dry clover unsuspectingly.