The Cavalier Club. Stanley Goldyn
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from somewhere back in the presbytery. The fire had been stoked, and the freshly added logs were crackling away midst the lambent flames, filling the room with warm and cheerful light.
“Santé, gentlemen,” Chauvin grinned as they rammed their raised mugs together and drank with gregarious abandon.
“Why only one gun?” asked Horvat.
“We also spiked the second cannon for good measure, and they’ll not fire either now.” Jack’s dirty face was grinning unreservedly as it gleamed in the golden glow of the fire.
“We could have rammed in powder charges, which would have split the barrels, but perhaps this siege will go badly for them, and we’ll win the guns for ourselves,” Jack ventured optimistically. Shortly before midnight and with a second bottle empty, Jack went to wash his face and packed his few belongings.
“Don’t wake the others, Alain. Tell them in the morning what we’ve managed to do. I regret not being here to witness the enemy’s disappointment or see Mansfeld’s outraged face.”
Laughing again, the men shook Jack’s hand and walked with him to the small, covert northern gate.
“The other two riders packed hurriedly and left earlier,” advised the captain. “You need to continue north from here and follow the left bank of the Berounka River all the way. Keep to the seclusion and shadows of the trees. It will lead you straight to the capital. Be careful, lieutenant!” He slapped Jack on the back.
At the gate, Horvat handed Jack the reins to his stallion. “This is my horse. I call him Abaccus. He’s intelligent and will be faithful if you care for him. There’s an apple and some sugar in this saddle bag. Now he’s yours. Thank you for all your help. Pilsen will not forget.”
Chauvin and Jack embraced. The crusty old soldier kissed Jack on both cheeks and continued nodding his head. He was lost for words.
Jack turned to Vasseur and winked, “Goodbye, Guy. You’re a brave man. Well done. It would not have been successful without you tonight. Look after this corporal of yours, and God willing, perhaps we’ll meet for another drink sooner than later in much happier circumstances.” To all of them, he added, “Good luck, gentlemen. This city is in fine hands. I will remain with you in spirit until we raise another glass together again.”
The sentries opened the gate, and Jack walked out, leading his new mount.
“God speed, my friend,” Chauvin called after him, and the gate groaned in protest as it was bolted shut.
Chapter 4
King’s regent
Much like other prominent European cities, the streets of Prague bustled and throbbed with busy movement, crowds of people seemingly preoccupied with completing their own varied tasks and reaching their many destinations. Jostling in both directions along the stone-paved roads, the chaotic collection of people contained the full cross-section of the city’s eclectic and interesting population.
The buildings, elegant in their Romanesque style and Gothic proportion, reflected wealth and order, some rising three or four storeys high. Founded in 1348, Prague was one of the most beautiful cities in Europe. With the shimmering Vltava River dividing the old town from newly-settled and expanding areas on the western bank, the steady sprawl of the capital was inevitable. The city had flourished during the reign of Charles IV, the Holy Roman Emperor and King of Bohemia almost 300 years earlier, and it was his foresight that transformed it into a resplendent imperial capital. It continued to be home to his son, King Wenceslaus IV, and then Ferdinand I of the House of Habsburg followed by King Rudolf II.
It was a prosperous age for the city, and Prague became the bourgeoning capital of European culture, attracting prominent astronomers, musicians, artists and alchemists. A thriving metropolis of over 40,000 inhabitants, Prague was a part of the world that Jack had heard much about during his years as a student, and he had sought any opportunity to visit and explore this marvellous city.
Jack had travelled through the night, and it was well into the afternoon when he arrived at the first dwellings and farms that formed the western outskirts of the city’s precinct. To his left, the royal castle of Hradčany—the residence of Bohemian princes and kings—dominated the gentle hillside that overlooked the river and town centre like Poseidon silently surveying his vast watery domain. The road began to gradually descend towards the river, and Jack dismounted, slapping Abaccus’s neck admiringly and allowing the horse to walk slowly beside him without the burden of a rider’s weight.
Following the gentle curve of Mostecká, which led him to the imposing and picturesque Karlův Most (Charles Bridge) and its two end towers, Jack crossed the sedately-flowing river and made his way along Karlová to the substantial cobblestone-laden town square. Surrounded on all four sides by stately buildings, the square reminded him of home in Kraków and absorbed by the culture and atmosphere around him, Jack felt very comfortable here. He recognised the Gothic town hall and its clock tower from earlier descriptions and made his way to the eastern perimeter, where he asked a local merchant for directions to a reasonable tavern. The burgher pointed to a rustic structure with a wide portico in the corner of the square.
A young attendant approached Jack to tend his horse as the Polish officer drew near.
“Can you ride, lad?” Jack asked the cheerful footman.
“Better than I can walk, your lordship,” the youngster replied with a broad grin that revealed three missing teeth.
“Well, take my horse and ride to the Royal Palace across the bridge and pass on this note to the guard. I’ll be waiting here at this inn.” Jack eyed the sign, bemused. Chlupate Prase—The Hairy Hog. Shows all the promise of decent lodgings, he thought unenthusiastically to himself. He flicked a coin at the youth, adding, “When you return, settle the horse into the stable, if you don’t mind. Make sure that he’s dry, fed and watered, and you might also check his hooves. I’ll be looking in on him later.”
Jack stroked his horse’s nose and mane as he passed over the reins. “Please hand me that saddle bag. I’ll be staying here a night or two. My name is Channing.”
Shouldering the bag that the boy had retrieved, Jack pulled a second coin from his pocket and handed it to him. “Here. Thank you. Take good care of him and see that he has fresh hay.” He took a moment to regard the boy’s dirty, freckled nose and uncombed hair. As an afterthought, he asked, “What’s your name, boy?”
“Pavel, sir,” the lad’s grin widened. He bit hard on both coins before sliding them deep into his trouser pocket. Perhaps that was what accounted for his missing teeth? Jack pondered momentarily with a smile.
“How old are you?” Jack had taken a liking to the sprightly young man.
“I’ll be 15 tomorrow, sir, and don’t trouble yourself about the horse; I’ll take extra special care of him. You can be sure of that.”
“Well, Pavel, thank you again. I thought you looked like a trustworthy horse handler. Have you eaten lunch today?”
“No, your highness,” the boy replied, “but I had a real good dinner last night.”
“That’s encouraging. Why don’t you join me inside when you’re finished with Abaccus?” Jack proposed, nodding towards the tavern. The boy became shy and continued to pat the horse’s chest. Jack sensed his reluctance.
“The master don’t like me in there disturbing his guests. He always reminds me that my job is out here tending to travellers and their horses and carts and the likes of gentlemen like you.”
Jack smiled at the boy’s brogue and replied, “Don’t trouble yourself about that. I’ll speak to the landlord. You just come in and report to me when you’ve done all that I’ve asked. Promise?” Bending slightly, Jack placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder and stared him straight in the eye with an unrelenting look, forcing him to reply.
“Yes, your lordship. I promise, sir.” The boy was unsure but agreed. Turning towards the door, Jack called back kindly,