Emsie’s plan was simple, basic and direct.
Marshall Gney was running, as fast as his old knees would carry him, up the path away from the Monastery, which had the perimeter wall on one side and the forest on the other. He was still slightly ahead of The Cardinal’s guards, who were running quickly uphill and gaining on him.
‘Keep on;’ shouted D’Orbergene, ‘we must get to the King!’
As the fastest guards closed on the Marshall, so did Emsie. When they were all close enough to touch, Emsie accelerated again and launched a flying tackle that knocked the surprised old soldier off his feet, off the path, past his pursuers and down into the forest. The forest floor sloped steeply away from the path at this point and so Emsie and Gney, in a flurry of knees and elbows, rolled and bumped rapidly down the hill, away from the pursuit and into the undergrowth.
The leading guards paused and stared into the darkness of the forest.
‘Leave them,’ shouted Heinrich, ‘they are of no importance. Onwards we must go, we must rescue the King!’
The guards turned and ran on, up the path and away, leaving Emsie and the Marshall in a crumpled heap. The old man was wheezing, or making some strange sound that made Emsie worried that she might have seriously injured him. She was battered and bruised from the fall and roll. He, being much older, could easily have broken some bones. Reflecting that her plan, although effective, had been quite reckless, she pushed herself up and away from him and then rolled him over. His face was red and Emsie now thought that he was choking.
‘Are you hurt?’ she said.
‘I...I…I...’ the Marshall was unable to get out the words. Emsie watched and waited, with her heart beating furiously; she was supposed to have saved Amarilla’s Uncle, not killed him! She thought sadly of her new friend and worried about how she could make things right.
‘I…I…I…’ the Marshall still could not speak, his shoulders were shaking, and Emsie wondered if he was in shock. She tried to remember what should be done with casualties.
‘Take your time, try to breathe,’ she said
‘I…I…I haven’t enjoyed myself so much in years,’ he spluttered, eventually, ‘I think I may have broken my leg, but it was worth it! How exciting!’
Emsie sighed with relief and the Marshall continued to laugh painfully.
While he did this Emsie wondered about the oddness of men’s minds and how on earth she was going to get him home.
Naiman pulled up Burro Rapido at the side of the road behind the guard’s donkey carts, which seemed to have stopped for no discernable reason. He was puzzled by this. He had clearly seen Beowulf, the tall Briton and Amarilla de Cassiones jump into Pedro’s cart along with Louis and Louie-Louie. The thing to do was pursue, but the guards had stopped and appeared to be looking for direction. Naiman considered the risks of overtaking; he would definitely be seen; but if he did not go Beowulf might get clean away! He was just about to spur Burro Rapido into action when he saw a group of shouting guards come alongside the pony carts and leap on board. As soon as this happened the carts accelerated down the track. Naiman breathed a sigh of relief and set Burro Rapido off again, following the carts. His plan was still on track.
Heinrich, and a number of his guard, had managed to get aboard the first cart with Brutus, Rousseau, Franke and Axel. They had managed to swing into action and get the cart moving as soon as Heinrich was on board and he had been able to shout at them properly. D’Orbergene, who was also accompanied by some guards, had got onto the second cart, while Bull had just managed to catch the third. He briefly wondered where the newly saved Cardinal Mascarpone had gone, but he dismissed the thought as unimportant. The pursuit of the King was everything, and now they were on the road to recapture him.
The track from the Monastery of Monte San Carlos down to the village below is the stuff of a legend. It is a narrow, twisting, chalk based switchback with numerous hairpins and sudden drops that make it perilous to negotiate, even while driving relatively carefully; as a setting for a desperate high speed chase it is positively murderous. Fortunately, for all involved in this escapade, ‘fast’ donkey carts are not significantly different from ‘slow’ donkey carts’, in that neither of them will go especially quickly under any conditions.
‘Go faster!’ commanded Beowulf, as the donkey (whose name was ‘Banshee’, Pedro’s unasked for explanation: ‘she goes like a screemeer!’) plodded steadfastly along the path in a melancholy manner, slightly faster than the average man would walk.
‘She ees flats out!’ replied Pedro, ‘See how she spreents! Go on my beautee!’
Beowulf looked behind, in something that came as close to despair as he would allow; to have come so far and then be captured for a stupid donkey! His look astern quickly recovered his spirits, as it was obvious that the other donkey carts were equally as fast as his own and the commanders of these would have their work cut out in order to make them go any faster.
‘Charge!’ commanded Heinrich, ‘We have them in sight. Let us run them off the road!’
‘We are charging, sir!’ said Rousseau, ‘Look at the pace old Quicksilver is putting out; it’s stupendous!’
Quicksilver may perhaps have been gaining a couple of inches every hundred feet; however this was not enough for Heinrich.
‘We have to stop them! We must deploy special tactics.’
‘With respect, sir, we don’t know what that means,’ said Brutus, speaking for the team.
Heinrich explained, causing Franke and Axel to go white with fear.
In Beowulf’s cart, the Louis’ were catching up.
‘You had me kidnapped and imprisoned and you stole my kingdom!’ shouted Louis, who was perhaps a tiny bit displeased with his brother.
‘Bull made me do it! I didn’t want to. He said it was you or me,’ replied Louie-Louie.
‘So you picked you!’
‘Wouldn’t you?’
‘Even so.’
‘Quite!’
The brothers glared at each other. Roscow decided it could be fun to stir things up a bit,
‘Actually, you both stole his Kingdom,’ he said gesturing at Lewis, ‘he’s your older brother; so you both robbed him.’
Both Louis’ favoured Lewis with an incredulous stare.
‘You have to speak English though,’ he added as a provocative afterthought, ‘he doesn’t understand French!’
Amarilla, who happened to overhear this, was shocked;
‘Did you say that Lewis is the rightful king of France?’ she asked, forgetting to speak in English so that he could understand.
‘Didn’t you know?’ replied Roscow, ‘he’s part of the British plot; they want a French King who is favourable to Britain.’
Amarilla looked at Lewis,
‘They said he was a servant!’
‘Disguise,’ said Roscow, ‘someone would have bumped him off if they had known.’
Suddenly Amarilla was sure about who the right king of France should be.
‘How did this happen?’ she asked.
‘In English, please!’ begged Lewis, who felt that he was being talked about, especially by the beautiful Amarilla and he wanted to know what was going on.
‘The story goes like this,’ said Roscow, who personally didn’t believe a word of it, however he was enjoying the attention of Amarilla and the three possible Kings of France; besides, telling the story took his mind off the frenzied pace of the cart chase.
‘The late King Jacques (God bless him!) had not two, as is generally believed, but three sons; Lewis, Louis and Louie-Louie. Fearing that either the Army or the Clergy would try to brainwash his heir and lead him astray from the course that Jacques had planned for France, he, for I cannot imagine what reason, decided to have the boy smuggled out of the country and raised as a simple sheep farmer in Britain, always with the intention that his eldest son would come back and take over the kingdom in the hour of need.’
‘Something clearly went wrong with the plan, as, when the hour of need came
, no one remembered Lewis and so he stayed tending the flocks while Louis became King. Then, as we all know, Louie-Louie had him kidnapped and stole his identity-’
‘Under duress!’ interrupted Louie-Louie, who figuring that if Louis made a comeback as King (which now seemed possible) it would be best to distance himself from his part in the conspiracy.
‘Which is why Beowulf and my good self came to France-’
‘In order to remove Louie-Louie and reinstate Louis, at the request of my Uncle?’ interrupted Amarilla.
‘It’s a bit more complicated than that,’ said Roscow, but before he had time to explain Pedro shouted,
‘Look out!’