Chapter 8
In which preparations are made for the Stag Night, the Royal Wedding and all manner of sinister plots!
Norbert crept, anxiously and impossibly quietly, along the corridor. It was his intention to get into the Cardinal’s room, tidy up and get out again before anybody (by ‘anybody’ he meant the Cardinal) noticed that he was there. He had witnessed the drunken Mascarpone’s late night singing return from the pre-wedding dinner and so he was confident of two things; firstly the Cardinal was alone and secondly, that he would be feeling very ill. This knowledge gave Norbert a sense of virtuous satisfaction as well as a small degree of confidence. He was therefore shocked to find Pedro the Pig Farmer sat outside his master’s room.
As he approached Pedro put his finger to his lips, to indicate Norbert should be quiet,
‘Why are you here?’ hissed Norbert, ‘Is he…?’
‘No, no, senor. I have left thee peegs at home. I have heard there weel be a partee of some kind and I am here to volunteer my serveeses to the ‘Oly Cardinal.’
‘I don’t think that will be necessary,’ Norbert asserted self righteously
‘I know you don’t,’ countered the farmer, ‘but ‘oo, after all, are you? You are not the ‘Oly Cardinal; you are onlee ‘is servant. I am waiting for the grinder of the organs, not ‘is monkee!’
Norbert wanted to call for the guards and have the disgusting peasant thrown out into the fields where he belonged, but he was not sure what the Cardinal would do to him if he did, and so instead he said,
‘His Holiness is sleeping now.’
Pedro nodded,
‘I weel wait, unteel the great man is awakened.’
Norbert decided to ignore the farmer and press on. Stealthily, he turned the handle and slipped into the darkened room. He looked around fearfully; but much to his surprise things looked ‘normal.’ This was not a word he had regularly (if ever) used to describe the Cardinal’s chamber. ‘Normal’, in the context of the Cardinal’s quarters, meant a wide range of things, often very far from what Norbert would have liked to consider as standard. On this day, however, ‘normal’ was what it was meant to be; the furniture was where it should be, the smell was broadly human and in the bed there appeared only to be a sleeping (gently snoring) grandee of the Church. Norbert was shocked, had it not been for the quiet snoring he would have feared Mascarpone had died during the night. He was approaching the bed when the Cardinal abruptly sat up.
‘Norbert! We must organise a stag party for the King. You must go at once to the Casino in the Monastery and reserve a room for the King to have a card game. There must be food, drink and women, although not scantily-clad, lewd women, but respectable, attractive and polite, serving women, who will serve the food while looking decorative, but not provocative. It must all be first class, by order of the great Cardinal Bull.’
Having achieved his mission for the day, which must have somehow been imprinted on his alcohol sodden brain, Mascarpone collapsed into a comatose state, hoping his servant would pick up the task. In his relief, he began to snore and dream of less respectable, more attractive serving women. Norbert left him to it.
As he was leaving he found his sleeve grabbed by the dirty, agricultural hand of Pablo the pig farmer.
‘Eh, Norbert; what ees thees partee? Does the ‘Oly Father want some peegs tonight? I also have a goat,’ he added generously.
‘Then,’ said Norbert prissily, removing the grubby paw, ‘I suggest you make use of it yourself. The Holy Father will be entertaining the King at the Casino and there will be no need for farmyard riff raff like you!’
With a swagger, Norbert went about his business. Pedro looked a little disheartened and then he shrugged his shoulders and set off down the hill.
Amarilla and Marshall Gney were having breakfast. The Marshall was pleased that Amarilla seemed to have changed her mind and had decided to be happy about the marriage. He was glad because, in a very traditional way, he thought that ‘it was the best thing for a girl to get married’ and also he was hopeful that Amarilla would not be quite as angry with him if she had really changed her mind about the wedding. He was still wary, and so he asked,
‘You have really changed your mind about the marriage?’
Amarilla wondered whether she should tell the truth. That was her natural inclination, but her conversation with Boo Dikka had made her see that this might be a bit naïve, especially when dealing with politics. She fell someway in between truthfulness and political expediency with her reply,
‘I have decided that a marriage to the King of France is the best possible outcome that can be achieved in the current political situation. Bearing in mind the choices available to most women, this is clearly, by comparison, a desirable acquisition of status and influence.’
This answer troubled the Marshall a good deal more than ‘no’ would have done.
‘What I mean is, will you be happy? I wanted you to marry the King, because I thought that it would be good for you and Louis.’
It was rare for the Marshall to explain his feelings and his obvious concern for her upset Amarilla.
‘But he isn’t Louis, is he?’ she said, ‘somehow they’ve swapped him for Louie-Louie.’
Although he had heard her realise this before, it had never struck the Marshall that Amarilla really understood the political situation. The thought of what she knew and especially what she might say caused him real anxiety.
‘I know,’ he said, ‘I am trying to get him back and if I can, he will just be swapped back. You must never mention it. Just knowing it is very dangerous.’
He was then aware of how this might appear to Amarilla, to marry one Louis and have him replaced with another seemed, even to the Marshall, a bit callous.
‘I am trying to have a rescue made this very night, so that you will not have to marry the pretender, or be with him at all; but we cannot speak of this- there are spies everywhere.’
They both quickly looked up and down the room, but there was no one in the atrium. They were alone.
‘I have summoned Beowulf to rescue Louis and then replace Louie-Louie with him. I anticipate that he will strike tonight at the stag party Cardinal Bull has caused to be arranged in the Casino at the Monastery of Monte San Carlos.’
Amarilla was fascinated; she had never received political information from the Marshall before; it was intriguing. It was a shame that she found Louis as uninteresting as Louie-Louie; however, she thought, it was probably right that France should be ruled by its rightful King. She would just have to work with whichever brother made it to the church.
Then a thought occurred to her, waiting to see what happened was far too passive for her, considering her new commitment to political activity. She wanted to take action, and to make sure that things came out as well as they could. She decided that she would somehow go to the party, and if a chance came up to influence the outcome, then she would take it.
‘I am sure you have thought out everything for the best, Uncle,’ she said, in a tone that should have sent alarm bells ringing in the Marshall’s head, but as a traditional, military man, he was easily soothed by the soft music of expected feminine acquiescence and he agreed.
‘I hope so.’
‘What kind of a party is this? I have heard that some are scandalous.’
‘From whom?’ asked the Marshall, sternly, ‘This will not be that kind of party! There will be cards and drinks. It is for men.’
‘But will there be women there?’ asked Amarilla, in a feeble (and false) display of anxiety.
‘No, no, no,’ laughed the Marshall, ‘not those kinds of women. There may be some servants, but it will all be respectable, I promise. We are not going to lead your fiancé astray! After all there will be members of the church in attendance!’
‘That does not reassure me in the least,’ observed Amarilla dryly.
They both laughed.
Boo Dikka was running through the plan (such as it was) again, with Lewis.
‘Tell me again,’ said Lewis. Boo Dikka sighed,
‘You are the first true son of the late King Jacques of France and therefore the rightful heir to the throne of France. You were sent to Britain as a small child, so that you would not be held hostage either by the clergy or the army. As a result of this, and your birth being kept secret, the wrong brother has been made King of France.’
‘That’s bad.’
‘Yes it is, but what is worse is that the church has had the wrong brother kidnapped and replaced with the even wronger brother.’
‘That is worse. Is “wronger” even a word? How is he “wronger?”’
‘He is the youngest triplet, not the second.’
‘Hold on a minute, who are the triplets?’
Boo Dikka counted to ten; slowly.
‘The sons of the late King Jacques; you, Louis and Louie-Louie; you are the triplets.’
‘Wow! Mum and Dad weren’t very good at thinking of names. So these guys are my brothers; right?’
‘Yes.’
‘And they robbed my kingdom?’
‘Yes.’
‘I didn’t know I was a King, I thought I was a sheep farmer.’
‘You were meant to think that; it was safer.’
‘I thought my Dad was a sheep farmer.’
‘I know.’
‘So, what’s the plan again?’
Lewis regarded Boo Dikka hopefully, optimistically, with his large, trusting blue eyes glistening honestly; perhaps this time he really would get it. He had been raised to be a sheep farmer by his Mum and Dad, although as it turns out they weren’t his Mum and Dad, and he knew how to farm sheep. Only now he wasn’t going to farm sheep, he was going to be the King of France, because Boo Dikka and Caractacus Carruthers said so. He had to be the King of France because it was in something called ‘The National Interest’ (with capital letters, no less!) and his brothers had stolen it (the Throne of France that is, not ‘The National Interest’). He didn’t have any brothers before now, and now that he did, it turned out that they had stolen from him. It was a lot to take in!
‘Tonight the wrong King will go to a party. At the party, our friend Beowulf will kidnap him and he will put you in his place. You will pretend to be called “Louis” which is French for “Lewis.” This has to happen today because tomorrow you are getting married and the next day you have to decide whether to give the Holy Gambling money to the Pope or the army.’
‘I’m getting married?’
‘Yes, but that’s not the important bit. The important bit is what you do with the money. You will –‘
‘’I’m getting married? To who?’
‘To whom, you mean. Amarilla De Cassiones, that nice girl you met last night.’
Lewis stopped to think.
‘That’s all right,’ he said happily, ‘I like her. Does she know?’
‘Does she know what?’
‘About the wedding?’
Boo Dikka had to think about this one.
‘She knows about the wedding, but she thinks she will be marrying Louis or Louie-Louie. She doesn’t know it will be you.’
‘So you mean she’s not fussy? There were some girls like that in the village. My Dad said they were-‘
‘I’m sure he did. She is quite fussy. She is going to marry the King of France and tomorrow that will be you. I imagine it will be a pleasant surprise for her that it is you; neither of your brothers are up to very much.’
‘So how will I know what to do when I’m King? Kings have to decide things and make laws.’
‘You will do very well. Remember Caractacus? He will come and advise you and you will do what he says. The first thing is that the money-’
‘I’m sure we can get onto the money- but could you just talk me through the why I’m the King thing again.’
Boo Dikka resigned herself to the hardship of the diplomatic life. There were still a number of hours before Lewis would be King. She expected them to drag.
Dorf, nursing his broken nose, was consulting his spy.
‘Eet ees a great beeg partee at thee Casino,’ said Pedro, ‘There weel be gambleeng, and dreenkeeng and eeteeng; but no funnee beesiness. Thee Cardinal ‘ee say eet weel be like thees.’
‘That’s strange for the Cardinal,’ said Dorf.
‘Don’t I know eet!’ agreed Pedro, ‘I ‘av never known such a man. ‘Ee ees a deesgrace! What my poor peegs ‘av endured at ‘ees ‘ands I would not care to eemageene. But ‘Ee say the partee ees not for ‘eem, but for the Keeng and so no funnee beesiness. Just cards, dreenk and eets.’
‘And this is at the Casino, which is above the cell where the first Louis is kept.’
‘That ees what Norbert ees saying, and ‘ee knows.’
‘And the cell can be accessed through the kitchen?’
‘That ees right.’
‘You have done well,’ pronounced Dorf, ‘now all I need to know is where to hire a swift donkey cart for the getaway.’
‘As in all theengs, Lord Dorf, I am your man. I ‘ave the fastest, donkee cart on thee coast.’
‘Then have it ready, outside the Casino, on the cliff path, just after midnight!’
He strode off to pass on the information to Beowulf.
Louie-Louie had cold feet. It was generally not very difficult to pretend to be his brother; he lived in a similar style and did similar things. He could do as he pleased and, when the state required it, he could turn up and, using his brother’s name, decide to do whatever he chose. This was not hard; however, getting married, Louie-Louie felt, was a bit personal. He felt that if he were to get married, he really ought to do it as himself and not as someone else; however that was the plan and it would be very difficult to turn back from it now.
Louie-Louie knew that the marriage was not essential to the plan; it was merely a detail of his brother’s life that he had inherited when he stole his brother’s identity. He supposed that if he really wanted he could cancel the wedding. It would be odd, as royalty hardly ever cancelled, but it would not cause the plan to fail. He could still go to the Parliament the next day and make sure that the Pope and the Duke of Jutland got their money. That was all they cared about.
Eugene D’Orbergene entered the room. Louie-Louie was sitting in one of his staterooms, looking out over his huge estates.
‘Majesty!’ greeted D’Orbergene.
Louie-Louie nodded in return.
‘I am pleased to find you, Highness. I can confirm that the arrangements for the party have been made. We have the poker room at the Casino. It should be a fine night!’
Again, Louie-Louie nodded.
‘And tomorrow, your Grace, it is the big day! I have to say the filly has a fine figure and should prove a complimentary consort to your radiance!’
Louie-Louie nodded again and thought about this. Amarilla did have a fine figure.
‘She is very beautiful,’ he thought, ‘and she will be mine.’
Although this made him slightly nervous; this was a pleasant thought. Louie-Louie was not really interested in the Cardinal’s schemes, or the Pope or politics; he had said ‘yes’ to Mascarpone’s proposal because he thought that it meant that he would get more of what he wanted. When he thought of Amarilla De Cassiones; he wanted. He felt his resolve stiffen; this was the point of being King.
‘Yes,’ he agreed,’ she will do very well. Let us prepare for the party.’
Cardinal Bull was taking precautions. He had already checked the security of the Monastery (including the Casino and the hidden cell) thoroughly with Heinrich and Erich.
‘I want you to be at your most alert,’ he commanded, ‘I deduce that tonight is the most likely night for that accursed, misbegotten piece of pond scum to attempt to rescue the prisoner and kidnap the King!’
‘I think you will find that you mean that tonight is the most likely night for that accursed, misbegotten piece of pond scum to attempt to rescue the King and kidnap the imposter,’ replied Heinrich, who liked to be precise. r />
Bull gave Heinrich the benefit of his glare.
‘I meant what I said. I always mean what I say! If you wish to repeat your last foolish and treasonable remark, then, please do; I’m sure we have a torture cell somewhere in your size.’
Erich mumbled apologetically, although he hadn’t said anything.
‘I apologise, your holiness; I merely meant in a purely legal or technical sense.’
‘You made no sense at all!’ roared Bull, ‘Let me make myself clear; I expect that tonight, Beowulf, a despicable outlaw, will try to kidnap our beloved Louis from his stag party and replace him with his identical brother, who currently resides in the secret cell underneath the Monastery. You will stop him or die. Is that understood?’
Heinrich and Erich nodded vigorously to show how completely and earnestly they understood.
‘There are extra guards on all stations. Security in and out of the Monastery is at its highest ever level. The Crown Guards surround the area and are checking all produce, vehicles and persons to ensure that Beowulf cannot enter. We have thought of every eventuality. The walls are greased so that he cannot climb in; all provisions have been delivered already, so no wagons can be used to sneak in; the old secret passage that ran into the library has been filled up; all the guards are men known to myself and Erich and we have checked all the guards- so it is impossible for him to pretend to be a guard. He cannot and will not get in! If he tries we will catch him.’
‘Good,’ agreed Bull reluctantly, ‘he has used all those methods before. You have done a good job of planning.’
‘But that is not all!’ continued Heinrich, eager to annul the blunder of mentioning that the King was still (in a legal or technical sense) the King, ‘We have even anticipated that he may have some means of entry and way of overpowering the guards that we are unaware of; and so, to be as thorough as possible we have a squadron of guards, with the fastest available donkey carts on hand to chase him down. Should he somehow gain entrance, overwhelm hugely superior forces and rescue the Ki- I mean the imposter and get away; we will still have the means available to foil his evil plan.’
In his enthusiasm for ‘unbeatable security protocols’ Heinrich high-fived Erich. This gesture left Bull looking both grim and confused.
‘Make sure you do not fail,’ he thundered, ‘a great deal depends upon our success!’
After leaving her smiling Uncle on the pretext that she had to see about ‘some issues concerning the dress’, Amarilla had changed her clothes for the plainest outfit she possessed. She had then slipped out through the kitchen and raced down to the fairground. At the chicken tent she had by-passed Grandpa who was sleeping contentedly in the sun and had gone in to see Emsie, who, as usual, was preparing chicken.
‘I need your help!’ she said straight away.
‘I don’t suppose this would involve anything other than getting disguised as serving wenches to enable us to get into a certain, heavily guarded monastery, in order that we might attend a certain party and, while there, keep an eye out for a particular young man?’ she asked.
‘How did you guess?’ asked Amarilla in amazement.
‘I don’t guess,’ said Emsie, ‘I’m perceptive and well informed.’
Naiman had spent most of the morning and some of the afternoon trying unsuccessfully to hire a fast donkey cart. It seemed that almost all the fast donkey carts in the South of France were already hired out. He had eventually had to settle for a mule that went by the unlikely name of Burro Rapido. This dubious beast he had managed to acquire from a farmer, of whom he was slightly suspicious; he was called Pedro.
‘’Ee weel run like thee weend, or at leest a strong breeze!’ asserted his owner, ‘And ‘ee knows no fear!’
Naiman was less than delighted with the animal but decided that he would prove adequate. He was pleased with what he had learned from the encounter at the barn with Beowulf. Beowulf was a lot like Naiman (in Naiman’s opinion) and this helped Naiman to plan against him. He had assumed that Beowulf would want to stay alive and it had been a revelation that he would have been happy to die, simply to frustrate Naiman. Naiman was certain that he would not risk that degree of closeness with Beowulf again; not unless he had a very significant advantage.
He sat astride Burro Rapido and looked down at the Monastery. The Monastery of Monte San Carlos sat, white bricked and splendid, on a lower hill that overlooked the azure sea beyond. A main road ran north from the monastery towards central France and a narrow track ran away along the cliffs. This track eventually ran down to the quaint village of Monte San Carlos and the harbour. It was his belief that Beowulf would retrieve Louis from the monastery and escape, in a fast donkey cart, along that winding cliff road. He was sure that Beowulf would imagine that the twists and turns along the treacherous and precipitous way would help him shake of pursuit. Naiman hoped that it would. He planned to wait with Burro Rapido at the top of the road, where he could keep an eye on the Monastery below. When Beowulf emerged he would be able to pursue him, run him off down the road and into the forest; that was where he would ensure his mission was successful. Then he would go into town and catch a boat from the harbour to make good his escape. He checked his bag of equipment. All was ready.