"I was part of that smuggler pack too. Have you forgotten that already?" I guess I responded a little too defiantly. Before Isabelle could say anything in reply, she was already addressed by a man whose sonorous voice identified him as a footman. "Lady Isabelle de Morante?"
"Yes."
"His Majesty the King of England, Scotland, Ireland and Wales is now ready to see you and hear your request. You and your ..." He eyed me with a disgusted look. " Your ... squire will please follow me now!"
Chapter 18
I was way too perplexed to even raise any objection. Let them think I was Lady Isabelle's squire. It was only right for me. In this way I had the unique opportunity to take a peek at the King. I would certainly not have this opportunity a second time. Besides, I was curious to know what Isabelle had to say to the King.
We left the banquet hall, climbed some narrow stairs and followed a surprisingly long corridor before we finally reached a wooden-panelled throne room, which was more practical than magnificent. Behind the wooden throne, the flags of England and Scotland had been hung. In the middle I recognised the Union Jack, the combined flag of both countries, which King James strove to impose as the national flag. It was already an integral part of the masts of all warships, while most Britons in the heartland still preferred the white flag with the red cross. Traditions were not so easily changed.
King James sat on his throne dressed all in white. He wore a magnificent doublet, silk stockings, silver shoes with elaborate buckles and, instead of a crown, a white hat with a narrow brim and a plume of feathers. He would probably attend the ball afterwards and his outfit was perfect for that. His red, Scottish hairstyle had already given way for the most part to a silver-grey that blended harmoniously with his clothes. James was an aged man. A thick full beard framed the lower part of his face and reminded me a little of Edwin. The King's expression, however, was less alert and piercing, more bored and tired. So this was the man I would risk my life for as a Guardsman? From Edwin's description, I had imagined something more impressive, but one should not judge by looks.
"Lady Isabelle de Morante," the herald announced our coming. "Baroness of Longhill. Wife of the late William Thomasbourgh."
The King performed a bored gesture with his hand and then looked down into the face of my former mistress. "What can I do for you, Baroness?"
Isabelle made a deep court curtsy. "Thank you for His Grace's great kindness in receiving me and giving me the opportunity to present my request. Now in my seventeenth year, I administer the village of Longhill and act as steward of the surrounding lands in your service. As Baroness, it is my duty to call men from my village to the flag to serve you in the event of war. Unfortunately, I can no longer fulfil this obligation. Longhill has always been a very poor village, but in recent years more and more inhabitants have run away and sought their fortune in the city. Tilling our fields does not bring the hoped-for yield. I am desperate and alone unfortunately completely unable to change anything about the present situation. I therefore ask you to release me from the obligation of managing the lands around Longhill. Please be so kind as to accept my resignation! Please put a new Baron in my place who is able to serve you better! Let me return to my family in France!"
The King's gaze roamed the room. For a moment I thought he was not listening, but he proved me wrong when he replied: "Lady Isabelle, you are a very sorrowful woman. I can understand that. I am not always cheerful either. Worries about my kingdom often deprive me of sleep, but that is no reason for me to give up everything straight away. Can it be that you are so sad because no one has tilled your field for years?"
"But Your Majesty? I ..."
"I did not mean to offend you, Madame. Nor did I mean to insult you, but I see what I see. You are a beauty who has already passed her prime. You are stuck in a part of my country that has nothing much to offer but rain and storms. You are beginning to wither. It is not beautiful and it is not what I want. I want you to marry again. What you need is not a free ride to France, but a husband who will show you that there are beautiful things in life. Allow yourself to get better! Enjoy the pleasures that a union with a man can bring before it is too late! And beget a successor who can represent my interests in Longhill for decades to come! As luck would have it, a suitable candidate is waiting for an audience with me right now." The King reached for a large sceptre beside him and thrust it loudly three times onto the wooden floor. Immediately a door opened behind us and the herald crowed, "Lord Geoffrey of Hertfordshire."
Now a long fellow entered the throne room, moving as if he had swallowed a long stick of solid oak. He was gaunt and ascetic. His slender face showed no emotion as he faced the King and bowed deeply. His Grace smiled contentedly. It struck me that the King had gone into this conversation well prepared. He had meticulously planned its outcome.
"Lord Geoffrey, this is Lady Isabelle, whom we spoke about earlier. It is my wish that you will soon become good friends. So take her with you and get to know each other better! No occasion is better for that purpose than a ball. That will be all." James clapped his hands, whereupon Geoffrey resolutely grabbed Isabelle's hand and dragged her, caught completely off guard, behind him like a piece of cattle.
I watched the two of them in dismay as they left the throne room. I immediately realised that I was now completely alone in front of the King. Then a firm hand reached out and touched my shoulder.
"Hey, squire!" It was the footman who had grabbed me. "What are you standing around here for, holding up the works? Off to the servant's kitchen with you!" With that he pushed me through a door hidden in the wall and out of His Majesty's perimeter. Everything had happened so quickly that I had not been able to respond.
I found myself at the top of a staircase leading to the basement. The door to the throne room, which had fallen back into place behind me, had no handle. I could not have gone back even if I had wanted to. From one moment to the next, I had been taken out of the picture. I took a deep, fervent breath. The injustice I had just witnessed gave me no peace. So this was the great monarch Edwin had raved about? This old man who imposed such a heavy fate on Isabelle and wanted to marry her off to a man she had not even known until just now? Surely that could not be. What kind of fate had I got myself into? Did I really want to risk my life for this ridiculous grandfather who pushed his subordinates around like chess pieces in a game?
Grumbling, I ran down the stairs. Soon the smell of roasted food hit me. I had only been able to eat a few bites at the ball because of my nervousness and now I could hear my stomach rumbling loudly. The path must indeed lead to a kitchen. Deeper and deeper I entered the bowels of the palace. The corridor widened steadily and finally I saw a kitchen in front of me that dwarfed in its dimensions everything I had known about kitchens so far. Countless hearths were fired. Suckling pigs were being grilled on skewers, soups were being cooked and fruit platters were being prepared. Dozens of white-coated palace employees were working frantically. A sea of white maids' bonnets moved in steady unison. No one took any notice of me as I pushed my way between all the staff. Everyone was busy with themselves and their duties. In all the confusion, I could now detect a scent that seemed strangely familiar. I closed my eyes and, like a man possessed, simply followed my nose. The scent intensified, grew in intensity, flooded my lungs completely. When I opened my eyes, I exclaimed with joy: "Rahel! At last I see you at your work in the palace. The scent of your excellent roast chickens led me to you."
The chubby landlady of the 'Breeze' wiped the sweat from her face and groaned in disbelief: "George! What have you come here for? Isn't tonight the big night? All the aspirants are in the banquet hall."
"Yes, it's a silly story. I was escorting a ladyship to the King and then got deported."
"Oh, that must have been Roland. Vicious fellow, croaky voice. A footman in the book, right?"
"Oh yes, the fellow had a real croaky voice and was anything but well meaning to me."
"A typical court bully. Hunching up
and kicking down. There are more than enough of those subjects around here, I'm afraid." Rahel examined me with a sympathetic look. "You're looking very dapper, George. Too bad the evening is over for you."
"But surely there's a way back. I can't believe I'm trapped here now."
The landlady shrugged. "The main entrances will be locked when the ball starts. Only servants and maids will be allowed into the premises to pour wine or bring food."
"Rahel, don't you have an idea? You work here, don't you? Aren't there any secret loopholes?"
"George, this could cost me my position."
"Please, Rahel, please!"
Chapter 19
The swaying movements above me became rougher and more intense. I hardly dared to breathe, only seeing through a thin layer of fabric how the candlesticks or torches passed me by. I had great difficulty following the brisk step of the four servants carrying a huge tray of delicious roast chicken à la Rahel, under which I ducked. Rahel had instructed the servants to take me back to the banquet hall unnoticed. So here, too, the friendly cook swung the sceptre.
When I noticed how the light around me increased, I quickly realised that we had reached the banquet hall. The tray with the roast chickens was placed very carefully on a rack so that I was able to slip behind it completely unnoticed. I assumed my position was at the edge of the hall, where a buffet had been set up to offer the guests little treats even after the dinner.
"Ah, you must try these chickens," I immediately heard a female voice. "I remember them from the last ball. I don't know what spices the chef puts on them, but they taste fantastic."
A crowd formed around my table. I heard hands reaching for the roasted delicacies.
"Excellent!" a young man's voice exclaimed. "Lady Davina, you have good taste indeed. I have seldom tasted chicken in such a delicate way. It makes one hungry for more, if you know what I mean."
"But I beg you... my husband..."
I peeked out from behind the table and spotted Emmett struggling to woo a rather corpulent lady who was, quite contrary to the etiquette, eating her chicken standing up with her bare hands. Why had I bothered with this devilish spiked thing?
Emmett had already become pushy and shoved his well-fed lady against the table. In the general hustle and bustle, this was not noticeable, but Lady Davina was just about to stop laughing. "Behave yourselves!" she demanded while giving Emmett a harsh slap.
I had to pull myself together to keep from laughing out loud. Angrily, the lady straightened her cleavage, into which Emmett's cheeky hands had strayed, and stomped off with her head held high. Things were not developing very promisingly for my competitor.
I had to hold out for a few more minutes behind my hiding place, as Rachel's chicken was enjoying incredible popularity. I could understand the people, my stomach also cramped up almost painfully at the tempting smell. When the excitement died down and the orchestra started a new dance, I slipped out from behind my hiding place and immediately took up my posture as if I had never left the ballroom. No one had noticed my sudden appearance behind the roast chicken counter. Why should they? I was disappointed to see that the large tray had been completely emptied.
I looked around for Lady Isabelle. I desperately needed to find her again, to snatch her from the claws of this disgusting man, but I couldn't find her anywhere.
"Where did you come from all of a sudden?"
I wheeled around and saw Edwin's full bearded face right in front of me.
"I was worried, kid. You suddenly dropped off the face of the earth. How am I supposed to help you if I don't know where you are?"
I was somehow moved by the words. Edwin was acting like a concerned father, at least I had heard that there were fathers who acted like that.
"I met Lady Isabelle again, Ed, my former teacher."
"Like the one you told me about? The seductress of little boys?"
"Don't talk about her like that, Edwin! Isabelle is an angel. I went to see the King with her. She was going to give up her lands. Do you know what your glorious sovereign has done? Do you know how the great man you would go to death for reacted? He's forcing her to marry someone she doesn't even know. Some Lord Stick Up His Ass. How can a king ask such a thing of his subjects?"
Edwin laughed harshly. "George, your naivety is a source of delight every time. You can't honestly believe that a king lets his barons do whatever they want. The barons are enfeoffed directly by the king and have to provide his forces when it comes to war. If he does not have them under control, it shakes the foundations of his authority. He has to ensure that his direct subordinates are loyal to him. Besides, that's how it works in noble circles. Marriages are arranged. That is a fact. And if the King himself takes the trouble and chooses a spouse for you, that is an honour, do you understand?"
My head was throbbing. "I don't understand anything. I can't and won't believe that Isabelle has to get involved with that greasy buffoon."
"What else? Do you want to marry her? You want her to live with you in the basement of the 'Breeze' and share a straw sack? Instead of sulking, you should be thinking about your test. You say Lady Isabelle is to be married to an ossified bore?"
"That's right," I rumbled.
"She will have to do as she is asked. Neither I nor you can do anything about that, right?"
"Seems so."
"Was she pleased to see you again?"
"Why, yes. She seemed thrilled."
"There you go, kid. Go for her, try to use her for your own purposes! Get her a wonderful memory of you, that's all you can do for here and she might worship you a love pledge in return. Everyone would benefit from that."
I looked at Edwin sadly. I didn't like the coldness and pragmatism in his plan at all, but I also knew deep in my heart that he was right. With a nod, he said goodbye.
***
"George, where have you been?" Richard had spotted me. He looked dejected. After I had briefly presented him with my story, he looked even more dejected. "I wish I had some successes to report. Since we've been here, everything has gone wrong. The meal itself was the best part. At the start of the dance, I had caught the eye of a pretty lady-in-waiting who had been sitting opposite me at the table. Blonde hair, blue eyes, just the way I like it. The eye contact worked brilliantly. She kept looking down shyly and then back in my direction. So I chatted her up, told her something about the great sea blue of her eyes. Do you know what her reaction was?"
I shrugged my shoulders.
"She was laughing at me. When I asked her why she had kept looking at me, she said she had never seen such a shabby buff coat and that she had only admired my courage to wear such a thing to a court ball. Then she whispered something to her friends. Then five ladies laughed at me at the same time. You can imagine how I felt about that? First of all, I ran through the entire hall to get out of the reach of this bitch as much as possible. That's when I saw Amos dancing. He had made a pass at an unbelievable beauty. I could hear her chattering French to him as I walked past them. Amos didn't seem to understand a word, but he was putting on that grin that the girls are so into. The girl seemed quite taken with him, anyway. So now I'm making my way to the back of the ballroom when I see this older lady. Anything but looking dewy, but with a jutting rack and a pretty figure. Brown hair, small eyes, slightly ugly mouth, but no matter. I take off my ferret-leather buff coat so as not to embarrass myself again with my clothes and approach her. While I praise her mouth and explain how much I like kissing it, she smacks me and says: 'I can fool around myself, you runt'. Then it goes on. With my head pounding, off to the buffet. I'm desperate, so I try to find something to eat. Sure enough, they bring in a big platter covered all over with roast chicken, which smells very familiar. So I grab one of the animals and take a hearty bite. All tragedy fades as I feel the delicious meat on my palate, smell the spices. I have to open my much too tight doublet to keep from choking when I notice a maid arranging some grapes on a tray. Small, a little too buxom, but looking very eage
r to serve. Sure, this isn't a lady-in-waiting, but it's a woman of the court, isn't it?! So I approach her and try to please her with a line about the silky nature of her hair, when the chicken leg rips off me and the greasy bird tumbles over my white shirt. I look like a pig and a complete idiot. The women around me laugh. Men point their fingers at me. The maid - yes, even the maid - laughs at me and then trolls off. Well, and now here I stand, old friend. I just don't feel like it any more. All these pompous busybodies in their bow-tied armour. These arrogant chicks who just have to stand there and wait while all the work falls on us guys. It's just frustrating."
"Richard," I tried to soothe him, "you may have been a bit too brisk in your approach. I saw Emmett earlier, who also got a slap for rushing too much. Setbacks are part of the game. That little scumbag Yvain took a lady off me earlier. Just keep trying! Some of these wenches will open their legs for you, believe me!"
Richard grinned at my flowery language. "Yeah, that would be nice. I could really use some fun to make up for all this humiliation."
"But now if you'll excuse me, I spotted Isabelle on the dance floor up ahead. I'll see if I can talk to her without being disturbed." With that I gave Rich a gentle tap on the shoulder and left him standing. My path led me through the throng of nobles until I reached the dance floor. One of those dances was being performed in which the dance partners were constantly changing - an unspeakable luck for me. I looked at Isabelle in her blue dress with silver bows and thought about how well her clothes matched my own, as if we were meant for each other. She was a graceful but sad beauty. How could I possibly free her from the claws of this creep who just held her hand? I had seldom looked upon a more dull and dreary face. His interest in Lady Isabelle seemed to be nil. He was simply doing what his king expected of him. But he would do that thoroughly, I was under no illusions. People like him might be unimaginative, loveless and boring, but they were always dutiful. And if duty required him to plough Lady Isabelle's field, he would do so without flinching. I fought down a surge of hatred for the unjust fate and spied a lady standing alone at the edge of the field, and her face quickly revealed why she was standing alone.
The Caledonian Race: A Pulp Adventure (George Glen Series Book 2) Page 11