The Caledonian Race: A Pulp Adventure (George Glen Series Book 2)

by Richard Bergen

"You mean like with Wilbur? With her ... hanging out."

  "Not that, but they seemed quite embarrassed, as if I'd caught them."

  "The way Edwin was sweet-talking Rahel earlier, I wouldn't be surprised. Women like sweet talk like that. I just don't know if I can get it together until the day after tomorrow."

  Richard was referring to the ball at Whitehall Palace, which was to be held in two days' time.

  "How on earth are you supposed to remember all that? Do this! Do that! Do it! It makes your head spin. I did worse than Yvain at dancing, and my court dress is anything but elegant." He looked dejected.

  "None of that matters, Rich." I tried to build him up. "You just need to find some one who'll get involved with you. It doesn't have to be the most aloof flower of the court. As long as she's from the court."

  "And what about you, George? Do you think you can handle it?"

  "I don't know. I haven't had a woman since Lady Isabelle. Of course I'm afraid. Especially of blabbing my mouth off while sweet-talking. It's probably going to be quite embarrassing."

  "Then let's practise a bit more," Richard now suggested.

  "Oh, very well, my fair beauty, your gaze has enchanted me. Will you grant me this dance and then open your thighs for me?"

  "I am not such a loose thing, Milord. And married besides."

  "Married, I see. I take that as an official invitation to fuck you, Milady. Let's go to the private room and then straight onto the divan!"

  At the same time we had to start laughing. We giggled inanely until we finally fell into a deep sleep, dreaming of challenges and adventures to come.

  Chapter 16

  The 'Bear Garden' was situated on the south bank of the Thames in the borough of Southwark, in the area that provided amusement for the inhabitants of the capital. Apart from a few theatres, of which the 'Globe', the venerable Elizabethan Shakespeare Theatre, was certainly the best known, there were countless establishments where the acting was just as bad, but also innumerable cockfighting arenas and the aforementioned 'Bear Garden', an octagonal stone building that looked more like an old fortress than an arena. A blue flag flying from a tall flagpole above the complex indicated that the 'Bear Garden' had opened its doors to the public today. In the maelstrom of the crowds streaming across London Bridge, Richard, Wilbur, Edwin and I pushed our way to the main entrance of the arena. Very loudly audibly, bets were being placed here. Money and betting slips changed hands. There was a tremendous hustle and bustle. I felt quite uncomfortable as it became more and more crowded in the entrance area of the building and we were practically pushed into the arena. Loudly, Wilbur and Edwin negotiated their amounts and quotas. I didn't even understand why we were here and what spectacle was waiting for us.

  Fortunately, we now climbed a few stairs to the first floor of the arena. Wooden balconies spanned the walls from the inside, just like in a theatre. But there was no stage anywhere to be seen, only a free inner circle surrounded by people and flanked by a wooden fence. A huge bull had been pegged in the centre. The animal had been fixed to a pole in the middle with the help of a nose ring and a heavy iron chain. The horns of the mighty animal had been trimmed. Barking out loud, several strong dogs were allowed into the arena. Their owners let the animals off the leash and cheered them on. The arena went wild as the dogs attacked the bull and brutally tried to bite its nose. The heavy animal snorted angrily and started kicking around and fighting the dogs, but it was difficult for him because of the chain.

  "My money's on Ajax," Wilbur called out to Edwin. "The grey bulldog on the right. Look at the muscles on him, he'll tame the beast all right."

  "He's getting a good tug on the horns right now, old friend," Edwin replied lightly. Indeed, Wilbur's favourite was flying through the air. Only the handler, who intercepted the animal's tumble, prevented an untimely death. The spectacle disgusted me. I felt sorry for the bull and also for the dogs who had to fight for their lives for the pleasure of the crowd.

  "I think James is going to win." Edwin pointed to a brown mastiff that was about to jump and latch onto the bull's neck.

  "Isn't it illegal to give a fighting dog the King's name?", I enquired.

  "Why is that? The King is an enthusiastic devotee of bull biting. It is not unusual for him to be present at the spectacles himself." Edwin interrupted his remarks to bawl wildly as his favourite bit into the bull's nose.

  "What's the King like, anyway?" I looked for a distraction from the bloody spectacle. "People on the streets don't talk very fine about him."

  "Oh, that's silly talk." Edwin became annoyed, not taking his eyes off the fight. "If you ask me, James is the best king England has ever had. He managed to unite England, Scotland and Ireland without spilling a drop of blood, using only the tools of diplomacy. But kings are loved for their wars, which is why Elizabeth is regarded as the glorious destroyer of the Armada, while James is ridiculed as a weakling. Quite wrongly, in my opinion. Elizabeth was a conceited, scheming wench, always looking out for her own advantage and only interested in the size of the treasury but not the size of the realm. Queen Mary before her was a religious fanatic who sent thousands of heretics to the stake, and her father Henry the Eighth was a conscienceless wife-killer who could commit his crimes under the guise of the crown. James is the first king to live up to his title. And, last but not least, he is Scottish, which makes me very proud. Any time I would go to my death for this great man."

  "But rumour says he's a pederast," Richard remarked. "He would do lewd things with his courtiers."

  "I think that is slander, boy. The king has fathered seven children, at least ten times that many times he must lay with his wife to bring that about. No ass-fucker can get over that many times. These are rumours intended to damage his reputation. For there are still a lot of opponents of the king in the country."

  "Really?"

  "Yes, there are. The powder conspiracy is not forgotten. Back then, a few religious fanatics almost managed to wipe out the King, his family and the Parliament. Their endeavour was thwarted, but only by a very narrow margin. Since then, there are forces in this country that openly campaign against His Majesty. Cowards and begrudgers, if you ask me."

  A huge round of applause rang out as James forced the bull to the ground. He had not let go of the animal's muzzle, incapacitating it. The other dogs were now dragged away by their owners. Wilbur's Ajax, however, had not made it. He had come under the heavy hooves and was no longer breathing. Wilbur seemed to be down on his luck. He also looked as if it would be better not to talk to him.

  After the bulls and dogs had been removed from the arena, something absurdly funny happened. A donkey with a monkey tied to its back entered the roundel. Then four bulldogs were let into the arena and began to chase the donkey, yelping. The animal galloped in circles, bleating, while the monkey on its back screamed for its life in a shrill panic. The whole thing was so horrifically absurd that you just had to smile. People in all the stands were bending over with laughter. More than a few tears welled up in their eyes at the spectacle, especially when the donkey clumsily increased his pace to avoid the snapping dogs and the monkey screeched an octave higher.

  "Who were you betting on here?", I asked Edwin, who merely smirked slightly.

  "Not on anyone. It's just a bit of fun. A fun pastime before the next bear fight to lighten the mood."

  The fun pastime ended most abruptly as the donkey was wrestled to the ground and mauled. The monkey was quickly cut free by a guard and escaped the sharp teeth of the bloodhounds. I could not quite understand the humour of the people, however.

  By now, the sand in the centre of the arena was stained dark red as a large shaggy brown bear was led into the ring a short time later, its nose ring attached to the iron chain. In anticipation of what was now to follow, I gagged a little and tried to distract myself with another conversation. "What do these king's enemies want?", I asked Edwin pointedly.

  "Oh, the usual. They want to turn England back into a Catholic chur
ch kingdom. It doesn't suit them that the Church of England has freed itself from the papacy. But what do you care, George? Shouldn't you be more concerned about passing your second test?"

  I turned my eyes away as I saw the bear rearing up to fight off five dogs.

  "Yes, you are right, Edwin. If you could give me any tips, I would be very grateful."

  "Hmm, the first thing I would recommend is to pick your target well. In the beginning, it's all about looks. If she turns away annoyed, you should keep looking. If, on the other hand, she just looks shyly and furtively in your direction, that's a good sign. All in all, though, I would advise you against courting a young lady-in-waiting, George. They may be fresh and firm, but they are usually no joy in bed. Inexperienced, uptight and shy, they make it hard for you to relax. At your age, I've always stuck to the slightly older age brackets. They may not be as tight as they used to be, but they know what they are doing. In the arms of such a woman you can let yourself go. She will show you exactly what she wants from you and you can learn a lot. Believe me, young friend, you learn to sail on old ships!"

  I grinned and remembered Lady Isabelle. She was by no means old, but she was much older than me. Oh yes, Edwin was right. Mature women were a blessing. I decided to take his advice to heart when things got serious the next day.

  Amid great yelps, three dogs now forced the brown-haired beast to the ground. Two more dogs lay in the dust and did not move, including Hector, another loser Wilbur had bet on. His disappointment was written deep all over his face. The great Guardsman seemed to be dogged by bad luck. How was he to pay his debts now?

  Chapter 17

  Whitehall Palace.

  The King's London residence stretched over a huge area west of Saint Pauls directly along the Thames. A multitude of buildings, green courtyards, chapels and small palaces almost formed a district of their own. The showpiece of this extensive ensemble, however, was the banquet house, which had only been completed the previous year at all. The façade, made of white Portland stone, glowed in the light of thousands of torches as I walked through the entrance portal together with Edwin. Flanked by our own guard - officious men in their red jackets - we strode up a wide staircase into the banquet hall. I wore my newly acquired wardrobe with pride and dignity. Another twelve people followed us, each aspirant accompanied by his mentor. I recognised Amos and Vincent, both also smartly dressed and trimmed. The other aspirants also looked very appropriately dressed. Only Richard's scuffed ferret-skin buff coat caught the eye unpleasantly and looked strangely out of place.

  When we reached the hall, my lower jaw dropped at first. I had never seen such a huge hall in my life. Over two storeys high and filling the entire floor space of the building, it was an impressive piece of architecture. The ceiling displayed a huge painting that was still in the making. However, I could already make out swinging cloaks, flashing swords and a lot of naked skin in the light of the gigantic chandeliers. It would certainly be a masterpiece when it was completed one day. In the warm light of hundreds of candles, I saw long tables set with crockery and cutlery. Many of the courtiers had already taken their seats. The hall was filled to bursting. Edwin guided me to a table where there was a number of free chairs. Together with the other aspirants, we sat down carefully and waited for the things to come.

  At the back of the hall, behind the large, still unused dance floor, a special table had been placed somewhat elevated. I expected to catch sight of the King and his entourage at any moment, but the table remained unoccupied so far. Instead, our tables were now filled. A troop of maids and errand boys placed roast geese, fruit platters, baskets full of pastries and colourful, shimmering sugar creations on the tables. Everyone grabbed the food and ate it, lamenting loudly.

  "Isn't anyone waiting for His Majesty?", I murmured to Edwin.

  "His Majesty won't drop by until later. He always does that. He probably has some business to attend to. But you'll still get to see him. Don't worry, but eat something first! It's not good to go hunting on an empty stomach."

  I felt slightly hungry, but the upcoming test scared me a lot. Besides, I was very worried that I would get stained again like a three-year-old. I imagined that meeting a lady with a soiled doublet would be quite unattractive, and a seduction would certainly be out of the question. So I shovelled only those things onto my plate that I could easily manage with a fork: some ham, some fruit and some bread. But after just a few bites I lost my appetite - that damned excitement! The table bent under the most wonderful delicacies and I was unable to enjoy them. I refused the offered wine altogether, knowing the effect it could have on me.

  "Shall I help you a little with your selection, young friend?" Edwin asked me as he gleefully plucked some meat from his fork.

  "Yes! I'll be grateful for any help."

  "Over there! Green dress, brown hair."

  I looked across the tables at the lady Ed had picked out of the crowd. Slightly older, quite attractive, dark complexion. She was ladylike distorting some roasted and glazed chestnuts. She closed her eyes with relish, as if she were alone in her own home instead of at a royal ball. Her tongue played around the small pieces with pleasure. As she began to chew, a satisfied smile appeared on her face.

  "That's it, kid. A woman who knows how to enjoy like this is ready for any shameful deed even in the sheets. Do you see that boring blockhead sitting next to her, not giving her a look?"

  "Sure."

  "Meet her husband Lord Sourpuss. Believe me, George, if you want to make it easy on yourself, go and claw that unchaste wench before I do!"

  I rose briskly, but Edwin pulled me back down placatingly. "But not just yet, my rash friend! After dinner, George. If you also act so impetuously in her arms later, it will certainly be nothing with a love pledge. At best you'll get a slap in the face and be the laughing stock of the court when she tells her friends about your failure."

  "But she is married. She's not going to tell on herself."

  "Oh, in my experience, ladies-in-waiting tell each other everything, I mean everything. Every detail, no matter how intimate, is divulged, even the things that should embarrass the ladies are talked about epically. Something in their nature forces them to do so. Strangely enough, the respective spouse never finds out about it, otherwise there probably wouldn't be so many horned fatties gathered here at the tables."

  The meal did not officially end, but I heard a small orchestra playing at the other side of the hall. I heard velvety violins, trilling wooden flutes, viola and harpsichord sounds woven into a dignified tapestry of sound unlike anything I had ever heard before. People began to rise. A group of noblemen and ladies made their way in single file to the centre of the dance floor. Synchronous bows followed and then a courtly, very stiff-looking dance that reminded one of a military ritual. In between, the dance couples found each other to circle each other in slow movements, then again, with a few turns, the partners were changed and one was faced with a completely new person. I paid attention to the men's footwork and tried to remember my dance class. When I asked the lady in the green dress to dance, I didn't want to embarrass myself.

  "Now, young friend," Edwin began, "it is time for you. Take a deep breath, take heart and approach the lady! You'll find you're preaching to the choir. A dapper young lad like you is just what this wench wants for dessert." He patted me on the shoulder encouragingly, which I took as a sign of leaving. My knees trembled only slightly as I proudly approached my victim with my head held high. Her husband was engaged in an animated conversation with another man and did not notice my approach. When I had got within a few steps of the lady, I cleared my throat, made a slight lunge with my right foot, just as I had seen Edwin demonstrate, and pulled my hat off my head to let it describe an invisible figure of eight as I bowed widely. It felt quite right and probably looked quite skilful, but by the time I rose again to speak to my lady as well, another figure had come between us and was addressing her instead.

  " Milady, you are as beautiful as the m
orning dew on a rose," I heard a thin voice that still sounded almost a little childish. It was Yvain, of all people, the youngest and most ridiculous aspirant who had pushed his way in. I boiled with rage when I heard the lady reply with an erotic timbre: "Are you asking me to dance, sir?"

  "That's right, Milady."

  I could just hear the tremor in his voice. It was too ridiculous. As much as I would have liked to punch him in the back of the head, it was that tremor that awakened a little pity in me and made my clenched fist sink down.

  While the lady actually stood up and floated away with my little competitor towards the dance floor, I heard a sound of joyful surprise close behind me that seemed very familiar in a strange way. I turned around immediately and looked at a face I had never forgotten in all my life. Snow-white skin, ebony-black hair pinned into an elaborate courtly hairstyle, dark eyes that seemed to look deep into my soul.

  Sure, a few years had passed, but Lady Isabelle de Morante's features were indelibly etched in my memory. I recognised her immediately, despite the new wrinkles around her eyes. She stared at me, completely perplexed. Her still beautiful and very sensual lips had parted in disbelief. "George? Is that really you? I can hardly believe it."

  It was difficult for me to find the words again. Isabelle was part of another life; a life I thought I had left behind long ago. Seeing her in the flesh now was unbelievable. Incredibly wonderful, though. I felt tears welling up in my eyes, so overwhelmed I was by this situation that I instantly had associations with the murder of my father and the demise of my mother. Like a violent iconoclasm, the memory hit me with full power. Nevertheless, after a few moments I managed to keep my countenance and answer. "Yes, it is indeed me."

  "But what are you doing here in London, and among the court? I no longer understand the world anymore. When you left Longhill, I feared I would never see you again. I thought you had fallen victim to highwaymen or that the people of the village had lied to me and murdered you after all, although they had sworn the opposite to me. That pack of smugglers was not to be trusted."