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

by Richard Bergen

  Jacques stepped in front of his men and looked at me angrily. "So there are still people who do not know when their time has come," he uttered quietly. "I wanted to make it easy for you, boy, but now you will get what you have longed for - a slow and agonising death."

  I took a quick look at André and found that he had already been subdued again. Then I caught Jacques's eye again, whose rapier danced up and down before me, ready for a fight. I was about to explain to him that I had by no means wished for a slow and agonising death when he already launched his first attack. In any case, he didn't bother with words.

  His sword whirred through the air. I dodged to the side and raised my blade to parry. My sword hit his blade and sent it flying to the side, sparing my body. I heard Jacques' gasping breath and quickly wiped the blood from my right eye.

  When I looked at the Musketeer captain again, I saw in his eyes that his anger had turned to hatred. He cried out and lunged for another blow. I tried to parry again, but this time it was a feint. Before his sword had come down on me completely, he pulled it back to let it shoot forward in an elegant movement against my shoulder.

  The steel pierced my flesh and I screamed in pain. It had hit me in the same place as in the castle. The wound had not yet healed completely and was now breaking open again.

  "It hurts, doesn't it?" gasped Jacques, gloating at the sight of my bleeding shoulder. "I could have killed you back then, but I didn't, out of pity I should think."

  "Rather out of incompetence," I panted, holding my shoulder. "For all I know, I had that fight decided in my favour."

  Jacques was now turning angry red, his temporal arteries throbbing and his mouth contorting. I realised that this man was gradually beginning to hate me like the plague. His gaze sent a clear message that he would personally ensure my imminent demise. And that it would be an honour for him.

  He did not linger on further words. His only ambition seemed to be to eradicate me from the face of this earth.

  His blade advanced again, but this time my luck held out. Jacques tripped over a paving stone as he attacked. That is why his sword struck into the void next to me. I knew that Jacques was vastly superior to me and that this was probably the only opportunity to beat him. I struck his rapier-wielding hand with my left arm. While his arm was flung aside, I lashed out with my right and drilled the rusted steel into Jacques' guts.

  The blade entered the body of the Musketeer Captain at the right hip and when I pulled it out again, Jacques sank to his knees and looked at me with his eyes bulging out. All this had happened with a rapidity that had surprised even me. I knew that the blow was not necessarily fatal.

  While I was looking at Jacques like this, one thing became as clear as sunlight. If I let him get away now, this fanatic would haunt me all my life. In his unbridled rage, he would do anything to end my life. A fifteen-year-old boy had humiliated him in front of his men right here.

  Only now, seeing the madness in Jacques' eyes, did I realise that his look reminded me of my father. This unbridled aggression could only be quenched by my blood and if I did not want to spend my life on the run, I had to act - and act now.

  I lunged again and my rapier sabred through the captain's neck. I withdrew the blade, screaming, and watched as Jacques clutched his neck with both hands. Bright red blood gushed from between his fingers before he greeted the street mud face first.

  I looked up and saw the bluecoats looking at me with a mixture of disbelief and fascination. Surely they had thought their chief was invincible. What I had done was probably tantamount to a divine judgement for them. In any case, none of them dared to come near me.

  I struggled to my feet and suddenly something warm and soft bumped against my neck. I looked to the side and recognised André de Bellegarde.

  The horse had already put its tamers in their place again. It looked at me without madness, almost lovingly.

  I was about to put my rapier in my belt when a better idea came to me. Jacques Rapier was lying on the pavement next to his deceased body. The blade gleamed silvery, the gilded handle, with its finely chiselled guard and golden hilt, seemed to be begging to be seized by me. So I left my rusty blade behind and took the precious blade. Where he is going now, he will certainly not need a sword, I thought with a coldness that surprised even me.

  Then I took a little run-up and jumped onto André's back with an elegant movement. The stallion didn't shy a bit, but as soon as I sat on his back, he knew no stopping. He dashed back along the road, because the way to the harbour was blocked by the hay cart. The bluecoats, who so far had made no effort to do anything, now tried to stop us. A few men jumped towards André in an attempt to grab his reins, but I already had them firmly in my hand. It took no effort at all for my stallion to pass the bluecoats and moments later we were free.

  As we sped ahead, I wondered about André's trust. The stallion had directly invited me to ride him while he had trampled the bluecoats to death. Apparently I was one of the few people who could tame this stallion. It almost felt as if he had chosen me, as if he respected me after my triumph over Jacques.

  At the next crossroads, I pulled lightly on the reins to manoeuvre André back towards the harbour via another side alley. He followed my instructions unconditionally. Indeed - a horse like this is what every man wants. A horse that obeys your every command and keeps all other people at a distance with aggression.

  As we sprinted down a road that I hoped would lead us towards the harbour, I glanced back and noticed with alarm that the bluecoats were after us.

  Don't they ever give up? I spurred André on to a faster gallop by slamming my boots into his sides, but André had already understood. The clatter of hooves echoed loudly on the cobbled street.

  The road led around several bends directly onto a large town square. Gradually, people were driven into their homes by nightfall and when I reached the square with André, only a few traders were still to be seen.

  At the end of the square, I recognised two outgoing streets, one of which again had a signpost indicating that it led to the harbour. André de Bellegarde, however, was naturally riding for the other street. I tugged impatiently at the reins.

  He had a mind of his own, however, and was difficult to dissuade from his direction. I tugged again on the reins, which meant that André was now not heading for either street, but for the richly decorated town house in front of us. He didn't think at all about reducing his pace, he galloped up the wide stairs of the portal as a matter of course.

  "Stop!", I yelled in full panic, but the stallion could not be stopped. He pushed open the large double door with his front hooves and rode into the building. Two servants behind the door ran away screeching and André followed them at a stretched gallop. The sound of hooves was muffled by thick carpets. Glaring light from huge chandeliers surrounded us.

  By now I had given up trying to steer the horse. It did what it wanted anyway. It dashed up a wide staircase to the upper floor. Two nobly dressed citizens, who were just coming down the stairs, jumped over the balustrade in dismay.

  Behind me, the first Musketeers entered the building. The servants, who were about to close the door, repeatedly jumped aside, shrieking.

  In the meantime, my wild mount had reached the upper floor and we found ourselves in a magnificent dining room. At a long table, filled to the brim with the most exotic dishes, sat a good fifty guests in expensive clothes. There were probably even a lot of nobles present. They were laughing, drinking and eating. In the background, two violinists played a melodic cantata.

  We burst into this scenario like a whirlwind. André started to jump onto the festive table. He seemed to have chosen the most destructive way. Immediately the room was filled with screams, curses and imprecations.

  André trampled the glasses and plates, the pallets of fruit and roasts, neighing. He gleefully crushed whole wine jugs and suckling pigs before strutting across the table at a steady trot and jumping down again at the other end.

  Sudd
enly the shouting of the guests swelled even more. The Musketeer riders had reached the hall.

  "Stop him!" one of them roared.

  I was trapped. The only exit from the hall had been blocked to me by the bluecoats. Surely they wouldn't deal with me very nicely once they got hold of me. After all, I had killed their commander.

  What surprised me most, however, was that André seemed just as helpless as I was. He turned nervously in circles, whinnied threateningly again and again, but didn't do anything.

  The bluecoats now dared to come in my direction. I looked around. Next to me were huge windows that would surely offer a beautiful view over the market square during the day.

  I didn't think about my slim chances of survival any longer than necessary, but jerked André's reins towards the window and slammed my boots hard into his side.

  The stallion hesitated at first and shook his head unwillingly. But when I slammed my boots into his side a second time more forcefully and yelled "Go!" out loud, he obeyed the instructions. André was as crazy as I was. Death-defyingly, he raced for one of the windows, took a leap and burst through the pane segments in a rain of glass. I pressed myself tightly against André's body, but could not avoid a few shards of glass slicing my skin.

  When I lifted my head, I noticed that I was about ten feet above the ground with André. The stallion neighed loudly and it was probably the first time I thought I heard something like fear from this sound. Yes, André was frightened. He rowed his legs in the air and when I realised that this would now be the end of us, I screamed as loud as I could and closed my eyes.

  I only opened them when I was forced to do so by a tremendous impact. The impact made me give the loudest scream of my life as my genitals were crushed.

  The pain robbed me of all my senses for a few moments and so I didn't even register that André had taken the fall perfectly. He had bent his legs slightly and thus compensated for the hardest impact. The most amazing thing was that he hadn't broken a limb. Any other horse would have broken all its bones in two, but not this stallion. Apart from a few cuts, he was still in excellent condition.

  André was now galloping down the road to the harbour, where I had wanted him to go before the involuntary house visit.

  He dashed ahead, followed by two Musketeers who had been waiting in front of the building for their companions to return.

  As I brought the murderous pain under control, I kept telling myself that I had almost made it. It was only a few more steps to the harbour, to the Blue Swallow.

  But luck was not on my side. Abruptly the road ended and I could see the harbour area. However, it was a good two dozen feet below my current position. I was still in the upper district, which towered over the harbour like a pedestal. I had probably missed the actual path to the piers. A glance over my shoulder made it clear that the way back was blocked. The two pursuers had now been joined by other Musketeers.

  In view of the situation, I didn't hesitate for long and slammed my heels into André's side. He reared up and charged towards the bluecoats to ride them down like grass. It was then that I noticed that the enemies were drawing their rapiers and holding them in our direction. Apparently they had become indifferent to the fate of the stallion. They wanted to run us straight into their blades.

  I offered all my strength to yank the reins to the right and succeeded only at the very last moment, when the bluecoats' rapiers had almost reached us. I described an arc in front of the grim soldiers and then moved away in the opposite direction to the harbour - back to the abyss.

  I did not need to spur the stallion on. Fearlessly he dashed ahead and leapt in a high curve into the night sky. Below me, I saw the low-lying city pass by until it was replaced by the rotten shingles of a building. The hooves of my steed hit the roof with a crash. We skidded several feet over the flat-roofed house and I glanced back euphorically.

  What I saw there, however, left me speechless. Most of the bluecoats had come to a halt on the edge of the precipice, but two of them seemed to have a little more ambition than the others. Their horses were in the process of jumping and were racing towards me as a grey wall. The battle cry of the Musketeers echoed through the night like the howling of wolves. Those madmen!

  Luckily André had not finished his run and jumped gracefully onto the nearest roof. While I clung to the snow-white mane, I looked back to where the Musketeers' horses hit the roof shingles, clanking and clattering.

  While one of them landed safely and was able to continue the pursuit, the second bluecoat fared less well. Apparently he had overloaded a decrepit roof beam, for in a huge cloud of dust the Musketeer and his mount collapsed into the roof. A final whinny and several French curses were the last I heard from him.

  I could see surprise and anger alternating on his fellow's face. Screaming, he pulled a handgun from his belt, took aim and pulled the trigger. The shot shattered the silence of the night, but fortunately missed its target. It did, however, manage to spur my mount into an even wilder, more panicked gallop.

  Without weighing the risks, André chased from roof to roof. The buildings were so close together here that there was no need for big jumps. But the fate of the broken-in Musketeer had shown me that the danger came from the roofs themselves.

  With the remaining bluecoat on our backs, we galloped wildly to the edge of the rooftops. Now, a few feet below us, the piers opened up and with them salvation. But André obviously had no desire for another jump, because at the edge of the roof he came to an abrupt halt, and so suddenly that I slid over his neck and skimmed over his head. Again.

  It was only thanks to the fact that I still held his reins tightly that I didn't fall into the abyss. I pulled myself up by the reins and looked André in the eye. And for a fraction of a blink I thought I saw a mocking laugh in them.

  As I sat up, I noticed that the bluecoat had caught up with us. He had reined in his grey horse and was pointing his blade at my neck. "You little bastard!" he snorted. "Now you will pay for what you did to our captain."

  He let out a scream, but it was immediately drowned out by an even louder noise. With a huge thump, the roof broke away from under us. The horses stamped their hooves. I flailed my arms helplessly. The bluecoat screamed.

  Then came the impact. I landed quite softly in a cloud of debris and splinters of wood.

  When I looked up and the dust cloud had slowly cleared, I realised that I had landed on a bed. Coughing, I looked around and found myself in an unreal situation. Right next to me was a pretty, red-haired, completely naked woman who looked at me in shock and bewilderment. A tanned, older fellow with a tattooed back had just slipped away from her and was frantically trying to pull up his sailor pants.

  I stood up.

  "Don't let me disturb you!", I apologised to the couple and convinced myself that nothing had happened to André either. Apart from a few new scratches, he had survived the fall well. The grey stallion of the Musketeer trotted up beside him, but there was no trace of his master. I briefly looked into the back of the room and realised that the chase was over for the bluecoat. He was lying on the floor, his eyes wide open and his head tilted unnaturally far to the right. His neck was probably broken.

  I quickly climbed onto the back of my no-longer-white stallion and gave him the heels. I had to reach my ship and I knew the Musketeers would never give up.

  André charged through the door into a corridor from which a whole row of doors led off. Some of them were open and scantily clad women peered out with interest. As I rode past, some jumped into their rooms, screeching.

  A blonde lady called after me, "Hey, my boy, are you so fast at everything?"

  André now galloped down a flight of stairs into a large reception room flooded in warm light. Here, more scantily-clad women lounged about on large sofas. Some of them were completely unclothed. A few men were here too, mostly dressed in simple sailor clothes. While some were talking to the girls, I also saw two couples fucking in front of everyone.

  "Aha
, the harbour whorehouse," I said with a smile.

  I really would have liked to linger longer, but concern for my mission, and even more concern for my life, drove me forward. André reared up in front of the exit door and smashed the wood into rubble with his front legs.

  Greedily I breathed in the clean night air as we galloped out onto the piers accompanied by a thousand curses and imprecations. Here, in the light of many lanterns, I saw the masts of more than a dozen sailing ships jutting into the ghostly night.

  But which of these ships was the Blue Swallow?

  I gave André the feel of my boots and he obeyed like the most good-natured nag. I rode up to the first of the moored ships flying the English flag, a huge merchant vessel, and galloped to the stern. There, in squiggly letters, I could decipher the name Lady of the Seas.

  Too bad, I thought, and rode on. The next two ships were French merchant ships. They were followed by three tiny single-masted ships without a flag or name. I hurried on because I knew I didn't have much time left.

  Sure enough, two of my pursuers reappeared and came hurtling at me. The other bluecoats could not be very far away. Undeterred, I rode further along the pier and that's when I saw it.

  The Blue Swallow was a rather small two-master without armament. It lay at anchor with its stern facing the pier. A chasm of about fifty feet opened up between the stern and the pier. I saw the tantalising lights behind the stern windows and uttered a loud curse. Why couldn't these bastards dock at the pier and extend a plank? Why was it that every time I thought I had solved one problem, another one had to pop up?

  I turned around and understood that I was indeed in a jam. The two pursuers had come within thirty feet of me and the rest of the Musketeers were already appearing at the end of the pier.

  Was this now to be the end? Was I going to lose out so close to the goal, after having survived so many threats? No! That couldn't happen, that wouldn't happen!

  I drew Jacques' shining blade, held it up ready for battle and gave André the spurs. Thus armed, I raced towards the bluecoats. They too had drawn their blades and were emitting fighting cries. When we were level, I dived down and plunged my rapier into the forelegs of the first Musketeer horse. It broke away from under the bluecoat. He fell and immediately felt the rolling body of his mount. The load literally crushed him.