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

by Richard Bergen

  I looked down more and identified the source of that noise. André de Bellegarde's reins had snagged on a root protruding from the slope and so the stallion was now stuck not five feet below our position. He had pressed his hooves into the clay in search of support and was desperately trying to get back up in this way.

  "That stupid horse didn't see the abyss!" exclaimed Wilbur with a laugh.

  Tom, meanwhile, had already understood the seriousness of the situation. "Richard!" he said to my friend. "Run quickly to the cart and get a rope! Hurry up!"

  Immediately he started to run.

  The horse, meanwhile, emitted a series of deplorable sounds. I saw it roll its eyes in fear until almost all that could be seen was white. The root holding the rein cracked menacingly for a moment, but then withstood the weight.

  Shortly afterwards, Richard was already there with the rope. He had been really fast.

  Tom unrolled it and took one end while he put the other in my hand.

  "Wilbur, hold my feet!" demanded Tom and went down on his knees on the steep ridge.

  Wilbur grasped Tom's ankles with his paws and our leader immediately lowered himself headlong.

  He now dangled with his head directly in front of the horse's head.Now he grabbed the end of his rope and looped it around the horse's ribcage. He then knotted it several times and told Wilbur to pull him back up.

  At the same moment that Tom was safely back on Mother Earth's ground, the root to which the horse's reins were attached broke with a loud noise.

  "Hold the rope!" cried Tom, and we all rushed to the end of the rope. Not a moment too late, for the very next instant a terrible force snapped the rope and threatened to pull us all into the abyss.

  We heard, as if from a far distance, a panic-stricken, inhuman screeching. It was a bloodcurdling sound.

  "The horse!", Wilbur groaned.

  Our bodies were now struggling against the tremendous weight of the horse. Our feet dug into the earth, our arms tightened and pulled and pulled.

  Gradually we managed to stop the downward pull and now gained a few inches on our part.

  "I can't hold it much longer!", I gasped exhaustedly.

  "Yes you will!" panted Tom. "We've nearly done it ... Almost there."

  Richard groaned with exertion and I could see Wilbur baring his teeth in his struggle with the rope.

  André de Bellegarde had also managed to catch himself and thrust his hooves back into the clay. With that he took a great load off the rope.

  "Almost there!" shouted Tom again, encouraging us all to exert ourselves excessively.

  Indeed, moment by moment we gained more ground and when at last we saw the horse's head emerge from the abyss, it gave us the strength we needed to pull the whole upper body up. André's front legs gained solid ground and with united efforts we pulled the rest of his body to the surface. A whinny indicated that he was all right. Immediately we sank to the grass, haggard to the limits and gasping for breath.

  But the horse's strength was apparently inexhaustible, for after it had neighed - probably a thanks - it immediately set about galloping off into the forest again.

  "The rope!" roared Vincent and since the end was right next to me, I grabbed it with both hands.

  However, the horse didn't mind much. Before I quite understood what was going on, I was being dragged away with the rope. At that moment I could have easily let go, but suddenly I was filled with a tremendous rage against the horse. We had saved it from certain death and this horse had nothing better to do than run away from us. So I let him drag me across the meadow, trying several times to get my feet on the ground, but I couldn't at that speed. Suddenly the meadow ended and I saw the thick trunks of the beeches rushing towards me.

  André scraped right past a particularly thick trunk and then turned slightly to the left. This now pulled me head-on against the trunk.

  I cried out loudly and, still gripping the rope tightly, threw myself to the right, narrowly missing the trunk. The rope, however, tightened around the trunk and I felt it now withstand the pull of the horse.

  I wrapped the end twice around the tree and then felt the resistance ease.

  Drenched in sweat and with throbbing temples, I watched the snow-white stallion slowly trot back.

  I knotted the rope and fell to the ground like a stone. The sun shining through the canopy brushed my face and I felt an overwhelming urge to close my eyes and fall asleep.

  But suddenly the sunlight was blocked from me. I blinked and realised it was the horse's head, somehow defiantly looking down at me.

  "Ungrateful beast!", I brought out and closed my eyes.

  "Well done, George!", Tom's words came to my ear at once.

  I struggled to my feet. The Guardsmen and Richard were coming up to me.

  Wilbur unknotted the rope and took the horse by the reins. André seemed to understand that he would not be able to escape Wilbur so easily, for he ceased all resistance.

  Without many words, we returned to the cart. Our energy was completely exhausted and we simply lacked the strength to talk. When the cart came into sight, I felt something like pride in myself for the first time. Only I had stopped the horse. It was because of me that we hadn't lost it.

  Arriving at the carriage, Wilbur immediately double hitched the horse.

  After the efforts of the last hour, none of us had the leisure to skin, gut and prepare a whole pig. But we were also hungry. So we set to work leisurely.

  And when night had gradually fallen, we sat comfortably around a small campfire and ate juicy, roasted pork. Satisfied and full, we soon lay down for a good night's sleep. We all knew that we would be getting up very early the next morning. There was no time to lose.

  Chapter 39

  After another four, surprisingly uneventful days, we spotted the town of Calais ahead of us. Vincent, who had once again served as coachman that day, stopped the vehicle and Tom called us together on the clover hill for a briefing.

  "The trouble is this," he began, "there's a ship waiting for us in Calais harbour, the Blue Swallow, and we have to take the horse there and embark it for England. However, the whole town will be full of Musketeers. So I suggest we send George to Calais all by himself. He will go to the harbour and tell the captain of the ship to weigh anchor and wait for us off the coast outside Calais. There they can take us aboard by night in a dinghy and we won't even get near the Musketeers."

  "A good thought," Vincent commented. "But I'm afraid there's a problem."

  "What problem?"

  "That problem!" Vincent pointed to the road behind us. A whole squad of bluecoats rode there towards the town, only about three hundred feet away from us.

  "In that case, I suggest a different strategy," Tom said hastily and climbed onto the coach box. "The run forward."

  He gave the horses the whip and they galloped off as if the devil were after them.

  A look back told us that the Musketeers had become aware of us in the meantime. The commander raised his hand and immediately the troop sped up.

  "If we're lucky, there are no other Musketeers in town yet," Tom shouted and cracked the whip repeatedly.

  For a brief moment it seemed as if we had actually lost the bluecoats, but within a few minutes they were catching up again.

  In the meantime, we had approached the city gate. The gatekeeper recoiled in fright when he saw us rolling towards him like an angry avalanche. We drove through the open gate and raced into the first alley. People jumped aside in panic, thundering into stalls or the street dirt, but Tom did not reduce our pace. He continued to whip the draft animals, shouting to add to the driving effect.

  In fact, the Musketeers were dangerously close to us. The idea of escaping them with a loaded wagon had been just a mad idea anyway, without the slightest chance of success.

  We drove towards a crossroads that was blocked with two wagons.

  "Ho!" roared Tom, pulling on the reins to bring our vehicle to a halt.

  "What
idiot has parked these wagons here?" he cursed loudly.

  But moments later he withdrew his question. Several dozen Musketeers came pouring out of the side alleys. They blocked every way out, took away our last hope of escape.

  "This is how it ends," Tom said, shaking his head in resignation. "And we were almost there."

  "You have my sincere condolences," sounded a penetrating voice with a French accent that was very familiar.

  Jacques, that Musketeer captain with whom I had crossed blades only a few days ago, stepped forward calmly, a broad grin on his face.

  Tom, Wilbur and Vincent jumped from the carriage and reached for their rapiers.

  "I hope you will do me the honour today and hand over your blades."

  The Guardsmen looked around to find that the way back was now blocked by our chasers. More and more bluecoats were coming out of the side alleys. There had to be a nest somewhere.

  "Your situation is hopeless," Jacques urged.

  The Guardsmen exchanged desperate glances.

  "Looks like we're going to lose out after all," Tom said. He slowly drew his gun and threw it to the ground in front of Jacques, where it hit with a clatter. Wilbur and Vincent did the same.

  Just then I heard a loud whinny. I turned around and saw that one of the bluecoats was starting to loosen André de Bellegarde's reins. The horse, however, seemed to like this not so much. Once freed, it turned on its own axis, struck out with its hooves and neighed loudly, so that the Musketeers backed away automatically.

  This distraction was a gift from heaven. In a fit of megalomania, I ran to the end of the wagon and jumped on André's back. I grabbed the reins and amazingly managed to keep myself on the back even without a saddle.

  The horse, meanwhile, sensed the change. It turned its head and tried to bite me, and when it realised that its neck was too short, it bucked several times.

  I clutched the horse's body with my thighs. Gradually I got a feel for riding without a saddle, but it was clear to me that I would not be able to resist the animal's defence for much longer. But unexpectedly André gave up bucking and charged forward. He simply galloped off.

  Startled, the Musketeers opened a path. None of them dared to confront the horse that had gone mad.

  I rode the stallion towards freedom. But even more than for my own welfare, I worried about Richard and the Guardsmen. The Musketeers would probably kill them. In their current rage, that was not unlikely.

  But there was also the chance, of course, that the bluecoats would put all their energies into my pursuit. When I heard the shouts "Mount!" and "After them!" behind me, I turned quickly.

  The Musketeers had reacted fast and mounted their horses. Led by Jacques, they charged after me.

  Gradually, I began to wonder about my own audacity. How had I ever had the mad idea that I could ride this beast? I didn't dare give the horse any direction and used the reins just to hold on. However, I wouldn't be able to do that for much longer, because André increased his speed noticeably. The stallion raced recklessly through the narrow street, which was lined with old-fashioned half-timbered buildings to the left and right. Passers-by jumped to the side, shrieking. A stall was radically trampled.

  I looked back and noticed that the Musketeers were no longer to be seen. Had they already fallen back that much or had they already given up the chase?

  My horse hit a snag that almost threw me off its back. It was with great difficulty that I managed to cling to the mane and find something like a hold again.

  We were now rushing along a somewhat wider street, where all kinds of traders had set up stands and were hawking their wares. There were vegetable, fish and cloth traders. Some even sold clay jugs and vases.

  André whinnied angrily before he burst into the middle of the market hustle and bustle at a stretched gallop.

  The merchants cried out in fright. Some buyers threw themselves to the side. Unable to stop my horse's destructive urge, I desperately held onto him. However, the horse did not gallop any further now, but turned in the middle of the market stalls. It shook its head and then suddenly stood up on its hind legs.

  I clasped its neck with an iron grip, while André's forelegs rode wildly in the air and finally crashed into the jug merchant's stall.

  A tremendous clattering and clanging announced the end of his business. The poor man's wailing hurt my soul, but I could not stop the beast that carried me on its back.

  Triumphantly, André trampled on the remains before leaving the square.

  At the end of the road, I recognised an erected wooden signpost with the inscription 'Port' and an arrow pointing to the right. So that was the way to the harbour. I had to go that way to reach the ship, the Blue Swallow.

  However, the stallion did not make the slightest effort to take that direction. Rather, he swerved to the left. I tugged at the leather strap and pulled André's head to the right.

  He answered me with an annoyed snort and a buck that almost sent me headlong off his back. It was clear to me that it was better to let a horse have its own way, but at the end of the day there was more at stake here than its will. The glory of England was at stake. So I tugged on the reins again and this time the stallion obeyed. Although he shook his head furiously, he galloped to the right. A swelling feeling of triumph took hold of me. I actually managed to ride André de Bellegarde and give him commands. I was able to tame a horse on which dozens of riders had failed and others had lost their lives.

  It was with this unbridled pride in my heart that I rode down a long side alley that was only used by a few pedestrians. These pitiful people jumped aside screaming and threw unseemly threats after me.

  I looked around and was relieved to see that still no pursuers had come into sight. I realised what a fantastic horse André was, and I realised even more strongly what complete losers these Musketeers and their leader Jacques must have been.

  When I looked ahead again, however, my arrogance fell flat on my face, because I had judged too quickly. The road narrowed and I could already see the harbour. It was within reach, but an unexpected obstacle blocked my way.

  A huge hay cart had been pushed across the lane, leaving no room to escape. Even a stallion like André had not been able to jump over this obstacle. Bluecoats were now appearing from all sides of the alleys. Where did these bastards always get these hay carts?

  My horse charged towards the cart, but then, whinnying furiously, realised that it was an insurmountable obstacle. André stopped abruptly and, finding no footing, I flew over the stallion's head directly to the cart. I rowed my arms and legs in the air. My sense of time seemed to be lost for an instant. No sound of the surroundings reached my ears, no thought passed through my mind.

  Then I landed with a crash on the hay cart. My head hit a wooden strut before my body came to rest in the soft bed of hay. Gradually, sounds from my surroundings reached my ears again and I felt a warm trickle wet my right eye. It had to be blood. A pulsating pain emanated from my temple and with difficulty I managed to pull myself together. I caught sight of a couple of Musketeers. They calmly grabbed André de Bellegarde by the reins. The stallion, however, did not put up with it. He neighed, shook his head and tried to buck. But he could do nothing against five bluecoats. Gradually he gave up his resistance.

  By this time, the Musketeers around me were pointing their swords at me. I felt about ten flashing and sharpened steel points on my neck as I said in French: "I give up."

  The bluecoats withdrew their weapons a little and let me jump off the wagon.

  "Your rapier!" one of them demanded. Slowly I pulled the rotten weapon from my belt and threw it to the ground.

  Only now did a familiar character appear in front of me. Jacques smiled derisively.

  "I had no idea you could speak our language," he said with amusement, his ice-blue eyes glittering menacingly. "You truly seem to be the best man of these Guardsmen. Probably you are one of those admirable heroes who can never give up even when their cause is long l
ost. However, you seem to me a little too young to be a soldier of King James."

  I raised my head to sound as confident as possible. "I am not yet a Guardsman, but I represent the cause of my king."

  "Your king? So you are an ardent patriot?"

  "I would rather call myself a daredevil," I replied coldly.

  "Well, well. You should know that all daredevils take risks. Every day they take the risk of not surviving to see the evening. I'm afraid today is one of those days for you."

  I began to realise in horror what Jacques was up to.

  "You know, I would let you go," he continued, "but somehow I feel that it would be unwise to grant your life. I think if we let you go now, we would soon regret it. Please don't take it personally, but c'est la vie." He then turned to his men and said frigidly, "Kill him!"

  The Musketeers now surrounded me, pointing their rapiers at my neck, and I noticed how some of them grinned maliciously.

  I saw their arm muscles tense as they lunged for the final thrust and instinctively closed my eyes. I didn't want to end up like a coward and reminded myself to stay strong, when suddenly I heard a loud whinny and some shouts: "It's going through!" and "Hold it!".

  I opened my eyes and saw André, who had broken away from the bluecoats and was bucking madly. He lunged backwards and hit a Musketeer in the head, the man immediately went down with a broken neck. Another one felt the horse's bit at once. André bit the arm of this unfortunate Musketeer.

  "It's insane!" screeched a bluecoat, and only now did I recognise my opportunity. The bluecoats, whose blades were pointed at me, had briefly turned their attention to the rampaging steed. I dived nimbly under them and their flashing blades and leapt through a gap in the circle that had been formed.

  On the dusty street floor I caught sight of my rusted blade. I grabbed the handle. Now I would face my enemies. At least I wanted to die in battle, not be executed like some random criminal.

  The bluecoats had quickly noticed my attempt to escape and approached me with their faces contorted in rage. I raised my rapier and was considering which of the twenty men I should fight first when I heard a sudden hissed exclamation: " He is mine."