Jean-Claude
followed the tracks further into the woods. Or rather,
further
out of them, he noticed. The tracks led to a clearing, and then
into
the little village Anita had once inhabited before she had come to
Jean-Claude.
He reined his horse by an old woman, who was crying. Before
he
could ask if she had seen Richard and Anita, she wailed out, “The king
is
dead!”
Jean-Claude’s
eyes widened. “Dead? How?” Had the sickness progressed this
quickly?
“He
was stabbed, m’lord. Stabbed, in his bed!” She covered her face with
her
hands.
“That
is terrible news,” said Jean-Claude, brooding. “Have you seen
Richard
come this way, on his horse?” demanded Jean-Claude.
The
old woman seemed taken aback by the change of subject, and answered
out
of surprise. “Yes, he went that way, with that woman Anita screaming
and
kicking on his horse. She is a trouble maker, that one.”
“Perhaps.
Thank you, madam.” Jean-Claude spurred his horse in the
direction
madam had pointed. He hadn’t much time. Gaston and Marie had
made
their move, assassinating father and an attempt on him, on the same
day.
They tried to clear the way for Gaston to take the throne. And if
Jean-Claude
did not hurry, Gaston would be crowned before he could reach
Paris.
It could possibly happen tomorrow! All would be lost! With that
ninny
Gaston in charge, the country would be torn to ruins in war. The
idiot
would bring the inevitable war on prematurely, Jean-Claude knew it,
if
Gaston had the crown. He was too good at insulting people absent
mindedly.
But
first things first, he thought to himself. He rode on through the
town,
to the tavern where Richard was standing in front of when they had
first
met. Jean-Claude assumed it was his, and it was Jean-Claude’s best
guess
for Anita’s location. His ears told him he was correct, for when he
neared
the massive building he could hear struggling inside.
Jean-Claude
immediately dismounted, rushing into the tavern, not even
bothering
to tether his horse. The main room was empty, the noise was
coming
from a back room. Jean-Claude rushed to the back bedroom, where he
found
Richard and Anita fighting. Anita kicked Richard, in a rather
tender
place and hard enough to make even Jean-Claude wince. Enraged,
Richard
back handed Anita, knocking her to the ground. “You will be mine,
Anita.
I don’t care if I hurt that bastard child of yours.”
“But
I am afraid I do, Monsieur,” said Jean-Claude, announcing his
presence
in the doorway. His rapier was drawn. Richard grabbed a sword
from
the wall, and rushed Jean-Claude.
They
fought, the sounds of swords clashing filled the air. “She is mine,
brat
prince. She was mine long before you ever knew her.”
“She
despises you, Richard, and it is MY child she is carrying. I would
say
something like, “back down now and forever hold your peace,” but I am
afraid
I will have to kill you for this.”
“Oh really?” Richard smiled, it was more of a baring of teeth.
“Oui,” answered Jean-Claude.
They
continued to fight. Jean-Claude managed to maneuver Richard so he
was
out of the small bedroom, and eventually, out the front door. The
battle
continued in the town square. Everyone watched, flabbergasted that
something
so exciting would be happening in their little town. Most of
them
were rooting for Richard. He was the one they knew in the town,
after
all. Richard, forgetting he was in public, continued to run his
mouth.
“I am going to fuck your bitch, Jean-Claude. She will abort her
baby,
and I will throw it into the town refuse pile, where it belongs!”
To
hear these words pass Richard’s lips shocked the towns people. They
all
knew Anita. She was a nice girl. The rooting suddenly switched to
Jean-Claude’s
side.
“You
will do no such thing, monsieur,” said Jean-Claude in a cool voice.
“She
will be my queen, and has always been high above such ruffian trash
as
you.”
Enraged
by this, Richard sprang for Jean-Claude. Jean-Claude tried to
slash
at him with his sword, but Richard was too close, there was no room
to
use the rapier. Richard kept pushing Jean-Claude, sending them both to
the
ground. And that was Richard’s folly. He impaled himself on
Jean-Claude’s
dagger. Blood trickled out of the corner of Richard’s
mouth,
his eyes wide with shock. “You bastard,” he muttered, then died on
top
of Jean-Claude.
Jean-Claude
pushed the dead man off of him, disgusted. He stood up,
brushing
the dust from his clothes. “Who ARE you, monsieur?” asked one of
the
towns people.
“Louis Jean-Claude de Bourbon, at your service.”
“You
are the prince who lives up on the hill!” Then the townsman who
exclaimed
this went down on one knee. “Sire, you are now king. Your
father
was stabbed yesterday, he is dead.” He bowed his head. The rest of
the
commoners knelt before Jean-Claude.
“Please, rise,” said Jean-Claude. “I’m not king yet.”
Anita
had limped to the doorway, looking out to Jean-Claude. She made her
way
to him, relieved that he was alright and Richard was the one dead on
the
ground. Jean-Claude embraced her, and kissed her gently in front of
the
crowd.
“Your
father is dead,” said Anita. “You need to hurry to Paris, before
Gaston
is crowned.”
“I know,” said Jean-Claude. “But are you alright?”
Anita nodded. “I’ll be fine. The baby and I are fine.”
“I will take you back to the castle, then I must go.”
“I want to go too.”
“Non,
Anita. I will need to travel fast, something I do not want you to
do
with our growing child.”
Anita
frowned, but nodded in agreement. They went back to the castle to
drop
Anita off. Jean-Claude took another horse, so he had his two finest
and
fastest horses with him. He kissed Anita passionately before leaving.
“This
is adieu, Anita, but not goodbye. I will send for you, when this is
settled.”
Anita
nodded, hating the idea of being sent for, but nothing she could do
about
it. “Then I will see you soon.”
Jean-Claude
nodded, mounting his jet black horse. With a final wave to
the
household, he left for Paris, praying he would make it in time.