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

by Richard Bergen

  The other turned his horse and shouted angrily at me: "That was not the action of an honourable warrior."

  "Not this one either," I shouted back. With that I drew back my arm with the rapier and hurled it at the bluecoat with lightning speed, just as the Guardsmen had done in their wild boar hunt.

  The sparkling steel whizzed through the night and struck the surprised Musketeer in the heart. Grinning maliciously, I watched as the bluecoat thumped to the ground.

  But now I had another problem. The rest of the pursuers had caught up with me. I was at the mercy of this superior force. They were coming closer, shouting and with weapons drawn.

  Quickly I rode a bow and bent my upper body down so that I could pull Jacques' rapier out of the dying bluecoat. Now at least I was armed again.

  I saw the Musketeers coming for me and looked back to the stern of the Blue Swallow.

  I jerked the reins around and kicked André in the sides. He galloped off, racing down the pier, and I noticed the chasm opening up between the pier and the stern. I couldn't swim and the chances of surviving this jump were next to zero. Fifty feet - not even this wonderful animal could cover such a distance. It was simply impossible.

  At the same moment I heard several choppy, loud noises. I turned around and realised that the bluecoats were firing muskets at us.

  André, who was about to reduce his pace, was hit in the buttock. He reared up and raced madly towards the end of the pier. He pushed off with his hind legs and jumped. I could hardly believe it. I felt the undertow of the dark sea below us and suddenly I was no longer aware of any sound other than the light hum of the wind and my own heartbeat.

  A sudden bump interrupted this calm. It was a bullet hole in my upper left arm. I felt no pain, but only registered this injury matter-of-factly, as if it affected some other body and not mine.

  I looked ahead anxiously and saw the rear windows of the ship rushing towards us. All this was somehow slow, despite the speed. Although the jump certainly lasted only a short time, it seemed like an eternity. My heartbeat accelerated. I held my breath and closed my eyes. My hands clawed at André's mane, then came the impact.

  The stallion's hooves smashed through the windows. I felt the shards, which added a few fresh wounds to my previous ones. Then I lost my grip on André's back and was thrown over his neck and head. I crashed onto something wooden that snapped in two and sent me all the way to the ground. I felt something liquid slosh over my face and tasted that it was wine.

  I snorted and finally opened my eyes. It seemed as if I was still alive. My arms and legs could still be moved and when I looked around I realised what had happened. I had jumped the stallion straight into the officers' mess. The impact had sent me crashing onto the dining table and my weight had broken it. Now I saw myself surrounded by several stunned figures looking down at me in disbelief and shock.

  I turned around and found that André was fine. He nudged me with his muzzle and shook his head wearily. This horse really was indestructible.

  I had made it. I had actually made it.

  "That's the horse," one of the officers suddenly called out. "That is André de Bellegarde."

  "Yes," I said, and got to my feet again. My head was pounding and the bullet wound on my arm was making itself felt.

  "And you must be George," asked another.

  "Yes."

  Immediately the man ran on deck and shouted, "Anchors aweigh! We've made it. Course for England."

  Through the dark wardroom I groped out onto the deck and saw the crew busily setting sail. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath when suddenly I heard a very familiar voice: "You're a real hero."

  I opened my eyes and saw Richard grinning openly at me. The three Guardsmen were also standing behind him. Immediately I was shaken by a fit of joyful laughter.

  "And you guys are alive!" I groaned. "I thought those damned bluecoats had cut your heads off."

  "That's exactly what the bastards had in mind," Vincent now said. "But when you took off with the horse, most of them followed you. We dealt with the rest pretty well."

  "Just like that?", I asked, stunned.

  "Well, it was a bit of a struggle," Wilbur said, showing me a deep gash on his upper arm.

  "Honestly, we never thought we'd see you again," Tom now remarked.

  "I owe it all to the stallion. With him I lost them all."

  "Even that Jacques?" asked Richard.

  "Jacques is dead," I said darkly.

  "Did you ...?" asked Wilbur incredulously.

  "That was pure luck. He tripped."

  "Well, George," Tom said. "It looks like you're actually one of us now.Stephen Fletcher will be delighted to take you on as a Scottish Guardsman."

  Richard cleared his throat loudly and Tom looked at him in response. "Well, the fact that you're still alive speaks well for you, Richard. I think you too will soon be one of us, if Wilbur puts in a good word for you." At this Tom smiled at both Richard and Wilbur. "Now then, George, let's see to your wounds first."

  We made our way to our cabin where we began to tend to our wounds. Everyone had sustained injuries except Richard. But I didn't want to draw any nasty conclusions from that about his involvement in the fighting. I was just too happy to see him alive.

  André de Bellegarde was placed in one of the holds of the ship's hull. I would check on him later.

  The Blue Swallow ran under the English flag and was therefore English territory. No Frenchman would dare to bring up the ship. This could have been taken as a reason for war. So we were now in safety.

  After we had eaten copiously and our bodies were wrapped in bandages, we went to rest. It took me less than the blink of an eye to slip away into the land of dreams. They were beautiful dreams that welcomed me - dreams of honour and glory.

  Chapter 40

  Some time later I was rudely awakened. Someone shook my shoulder and when I opened my eyes I could spot a sailor.

  "What do you want?" I asked dazedly.

  "It's about the horse," this one said apologetically. "I had orders to feed it. But it will not accept anything from me. The Guardsmen told me it would only eat this particular clover, but I figured since you were the only one who could ride the horse, you might be able to feed it too."

  "And this can't wait until tomorrow?" I said disgruntled and got up.

  "It's already morning. The sun has been up for a long time."

  "I'm not an early riser," I grumbled quietly and got dressed.

  I then followed the sailor through some gloomy corridors into a hold. Here I discovered André de Bellegarde and beside him a large pile of hay.

  "Try your luck!" said the sailor and left the room, closing the bulkhead behind him.

  "Well, how are you?", I asked the stallion, stroking the white fur of his muzzle. "I hope you slept as well as I did."

  Straight away I took a clump of hay and held it under André's nose. "You know, André, we are no longer in France. We don't have this noble clover here anymore, so I guess you'll have to lower your standards a bit. Why don't you try this hay? It might not taste as good, but you'll have something in your stomach."

  André immediately opened his jaws and took some of the hay from me. He chewed it with leisurely movements. He didn't like it, but he ate.

  "Good horse," I said and patted his neck.

  It was really incredible. The stallion seemed devoted only to me. I felt flattered, also a little needed. Unfortunately, I would have to give him up again soon.

  "What a fine horse," I suddenly heard an all-too-familiar voice with a French accent.

  A flash of lightning went through me. My body seemed paralysed. Surely this couldn't be true. Not him! What had happened? Had hell opened up and spat out all its vile creatures?

  I stepped back slowly and recognised Jacques. His clothes were dirty and wet, one side stained with dried blood. Around his neck he wore a tightly bound bandage. When Jacques spoke, it sounded like two boulders rubbing together.

&
nbsp; Only now did I focus on his eyes and recoil further in fright. The flames of a slowly fanned hatred seemed to burn me. How in God's name had he survived?

  "You should have brought the blade deeper to destroy me, my little Guardsman," he hissed at me. "A typical rookie mistake."

  "You lost," I said as calmly as I could. My body began to shake uncontrollably. "The Musketeers have lost the hunt and the horse is all ours. What are you going to do? You failed."

  Jacques suddenly had to laugh. With the concussion of his upper body, he went into a coughing fit and vomited blood onto the board floor.

  When he had regained his composure to some extent, he said slowly, "Not quite yet." He pulled out a double-barreled pistol from his robes and pointed it at me. "It doesn't look like a victory to me."

  I could see the madness in his eyes and realised that nothing or no one on earth could stop him from killing me right now.

  Of course, I had left my rapier in the cabin and had thus given up my last hope of defence.

  I closed my eyes in anticipation of the fatal shot and immediately the deafening bang echoed in my ears. But my body remained unharmed. I wrenched my eyes open. Jacques still had his arm outstretched, but he had not fired the shot in my direction.

  André de Bellegarde went down with his skull shredded. A final whinny, a fainting twist of the eyeballs, then he slapped dead into the hay.

  Jacques grinned diabolically. "That's what victory looks like."

  "You swine!", I shouted, but the Musketeer Captain was unimpressed by my insult.

  "And now you're going to die, little Guardsman," he said with a sneer and laid into me.

  At that moment, noises were heard at the door.

  "Yes, this is where the shot came from."

  Jacques was distracted for a moment. I jumped to the side. The shot from Jacques' gun went off and past me.

  Immediately the door burst open. Tom and Wilbur came rushing into the hold. They saw me, Jacques and the dead horse.

  "Bloody bastard!", Tom yelled at the Musketeer captain and drew his rapier.

  Jacques stumbled like a wounded animal into the rear part of the hold and kicked with all his might against a closed piece of hatch. This compartment had probably once housed a gun, for which this hatch was intended.

  After the second kick, the wooden hatch opened and before Tom could reach the enemy, he had jumped out through the opening. He splashed ten feet down into the waters of the Channel.

  I ran to the hatch and fixed my gaze on the water. Down there, you could still see the circular whitecaps at the spot where Jacques had dived in.

  I prayed fervently to God that Jacques would never surface again, that he, with all his malice and foulness, would remain buried forever and ever under the waves of the sea.

  But God was not to answer my prayers.

  T H E E N D

  George Glen returns in

  The Caledonian Race

  As you will have noticed, English is not my mother tongue. If you have found any serious mistakes in the translation, I would be happy to receive a short e-mail to english@richardbergen.de. Many thanks, Richard Bergen.