The fleeing king

After the dark and endless year of 1790, France entered an even darker period in 1791. One late night in June, I was abruptly awakened from my slumber to meet with a representative of the National Assembly.

"The king has fled, sir," the pale and slender figure bellowed with a voice that seemed disproportionate to his stature as he appeared.

I nonchalantly yawned, "So?"

The representative took a step forward, grabbed my shoulder, and shook me with an iron grip that tightened like a vice. "I don't care if you understand the severity of the situation. Gather your men immediately and go after him."

"At your command, sir," I shrugged off his grip, "But what if the king resists? What if he chooses to end his own misery and refuses to return?"

"Then bring back the king's body," he replied coldly.

I swiftly assembled over a hundred cavalrymen that night and raced along the route indicated by the diminutive representative. By noon the next day, a few peasants provided us with some clues about the king's whereabouts, but I was more interested in their chickens. I couldn't help but think how delightful it would be to have a roasted chicken and a bottle of red wine at that moment. 

My wish was granted in the next village we passed through, and after satisfying my hunger and thirst, I longed for a good night's sleep. If it weren't for another wave of pursuers' commander passing by, shouting for me to depart immediately, I would have missed out on my first battle in life.

Nevertheless, as a soldier, obedience is a duty. Driven by a sense of responsibility, my troops and I tirelessly ran for three days and arrived in the town of Maron on the banks of the Marne River in the deep night of the fourth day. In the moonlight, we discovered the bodies of several peasants.

"They were shot, sir," a dismounted cavalryman reported after inspecting the bodies.

I dismounted near the corpses, feeling a sense of nausea. "How long have they been dead?"

"It doesn't seem like long," he replied.

Suddenly, a tumult of gunfire erupted from the darkness on both sides of the road, causing several cavalrymen to fall from their horses. Subsequently, countless enemies emerged from all directions, letting out bloodthirsty roars like wild beasts. They were all riding magnificent warhorses, their sabers gleaming in the moonlight. 

One of them charged straight at me as I stood frozen in place, but thankfully, one of my men rushed out to intercept him, giving me the chance to mount my horse.

I drew my sword and spurred my horse, only to see flashes of blades and shadows of swords everywhere, accompanied by shouts and neighs. At this moment, a commander must be brave and give orders with a calm and steady voice.

"Brothers, retreat."

No one heard my voice as thin as a mosquito's buzz, and no one paid attention to the commands I tremulously issued. The fierce battle continued unabated, with horses falling and rolling, men tumbling to the ground, sabers raising a storm of blood, and muskets spitting out deadly flames. My steed was driven mad by the bloodshed and gunfire, neighing constantly and rearing up, seemingly on the verge of bolting in a frenzy.

A voice began echoing incessantly in my mind: Imagine a young boy with great ambitions and extraordinary talents who, after enduring hardships at military school, becomes an outstanding officer. Yet, in his very first battle, he is struck in the heart by a bullet and dies with regret. All his efforts would have been in vain. Wouldn't that be too tragic, too unfair?

Fortunately, no enemy charged at me until the battle ended. Bodies of men and horses littered the surroundings, and with the outcome appearing hopeless, the enemy vanished into the darkness without a trace. We lost 17 men in battle, while the enemy suffered 8 casualties as well.

Several wounded prisoners knelt on the blood-stained muddy ground, their cavalry uniforms still oozing blood. The victory filled me with immense confidence, and with a sense of joy for surviving the ordeal, I dismounted and walked up to the captives.

"Your sword sure is clean, sir," remarked an experienced old soldier with a hint of sarcasm.

I paid no heed to his comment and instead pointed my gleaming saber with silver decorations at the prisoner's chest. "Who are you? How many troops do you have? Why did you attack us? Tell me the truth, or don't blame me for the 'white knife in, red knife out'."

The prisoner spat out bloodied saliva and began, "We have 37 men, we were sent to..." but he trailed off, hanging his head and falling silent.

"Only 37 men?" I was taken aback. "No wonder I couldn't find an opponent throughout the entire battle. We have 133 elite Dragon Riders here."

The old soldier spoke up again, "It's 132 elite Dragon Riders and their wet-behind-the-ears commander."

I was starting to feel annoyed and squinted at the old man who was pushing his luck. "What's your name, grandfather soldier?"

"I am Obb, sir, and I have been a Dragon Rider for 30 years," the man replied.

"You really should reflect on why you've been a Dragon Rider for 30 years without promotion," I replied before turning back to the prisoner. "What drove you to launch such a reckless attack against us?"

"We had the advantage of a nighttime ambush. In the darkness, the number of troops doesn't matter much."

"I see," I said with a smile. "You are indeed a group of fearless warriors, utilizing the cover of darkness and the element of surprise, yet you were still defeated by me."

"Enough," Obb said gruffly. "Don't treat us like naive three-year-olds." The sixty-year-old man exclaimed. "What was your mission? Why did you attack us?" He brandished his bloodied saber. "Dare to tell a lie, and I'll gouge out your eyes."

The prisoner remained silent. Obb grabbed the man's hair and brought the bloodied blade closer to the prisoner's wide eyes filled with terror. A chill ran down my spine, and I wanted to intervene in this inhumane act, but I found myself unable to speak. I stood frozen in place, silently listening to the prisoner's rapid breaths.

"King..." the wounded captive cried out as he saw the reflection of the blade in his eyes, filled with fear.

I let out a sigh of relief, realizing that I had been holding my breath.

"We were here to rendezvous with the king and queen," the prisoner continued.

It seemed that tonight was finally going to be a great success. "Are you sure Louis XVI took this route?" I inquired.

"According to the plan, this was indeed the route, but the king should have arrived two hours ago. It's very likely that something went wrong," the prisoner explained.

Had the battle only been going on for less than two hours? Why did I feel like it had been a whole night of fighting? "Could it be that you were all dozing off, unaware of the king's carriage passing by?" I questioned.

"Impossible, we were always very alert," the prisoner insisted.

"I've always believed that nothing is impossible," I sheathed my saber. "Sergeant Obb, you will temporarily assume the duties of the fallen Lieutenant John and continue forward with one-third of the soldiers to search."

The old soldier hesitated for a moment, as if doubting he had heard correctly. But he soon nodded, accepting the orders. The rest of the men spent an hour cleaning up the aftermath of the bloody battle, then hid in the darkness, waiting for Louis XVI to walk into the trap.

I don't remember when I fell asleep. When my adjutant shook me awake, two ornately decorated carriages were racing along the winding road.

"Stop them," I commanded.

The Dragon Riders sprang into action. Over a hundred burning torches moved swiftly in the darkness like stars in the sky. We charged into the moonlit path, forcing the two carriages to a halt. The coachman was an old man with frosty white hair, but at that moment, all that white hair combined couldn't match the paleness of his face.

"Your Majesty, is it you?" I asked loudly.

As it turned out, my guess was correct. The old coachman helped the regal Louis XVI down from the carriage. The unfortunate king had put on some weight, dressed in a light yellow velvet shirt and blue riding trousers, yet his demeanor still exuded nobility and dignity. "May I ask which one of you is your commander?" he calmly inquired.

"Your Majesty, I have the honor of commanding this troop," I replied, taking a torch from a soldier's hand and illuminating the gleaming epaulettes. "It is time for you to end your brief journey and return to Paris under our escort."

"No, Major," the king said, "I command you to step aside."

"You have long lost the authority to command anyone," I stated firmly.

Louis XVI slowly closed his eyes. "This is your chance! Major, let us go. When I regain power, I will never forget a friend in need," he said before opening his eyes. "Trust me, what I can offer you is far more than what the Constitutional Convention can. Right now, I need your help, and without me, you may end up with nothing in the future."

His final words slightly irritated me. "You must come back with us," I replied firmly, but somehow, I couldn't help but feel a twinge of sympathy towards him. After all, it was rather pitiful to see a king in his current state. "Or... there is a more dignified choice."

The cold gleam of the saber slowly emerged from its sheath, stuck into the mud between me and the king. "Choose to end your own life, Your Majesty."

His noble eyes widened once more. Then, Louis XVI gave a bitter smile, took a step forward, and with his trembling hand, grasped the handle of the trembling blade.

"Do not," a woman leaped out of the carriage, dragging her magnificent gown as she ran to the side of the king.

Queen Marie Antoinette was as beautiful as rumored. The sapphire blue gown adorned with jewels complemented her exquisite features, shimmering in the moonlight. Her lovely hair cascaded down her shoulders like a golden waterfall, glistening under the torchlight. As she lifted her head and gazed at me with a sorrowful look, I was almost immediately overwhelmed by those melancholic emerald eyes.

"Please," she pleaded sorrowfully, "do not trouble His Majesty. Let him go. I am willing to do anything."

"I am willing to do anything!" That could mean this and that and that... Damn it, this is not the time to be thinking about such things. I yanked on the reins, causing the horse to let out a soft whinny in pain. "Your Majesty, I do not wish to trouble anyone, but I have my duty as a soldier."

"Save your king!" the queen pleaded desperately. "Once we return, those people will surely kill us."

She was right about that. I sighed. "When your people are starving and asking for bread, you offer them cake."

"No," she denied, "I did not, I swear I never said such a thing."

I gazed at her for a long time. A crazy idea flashed through my mind. Perhaps I truly had gone mad. "Your Majesty, please come with me to the carriage for a moment alone. I have a gift to give to you."

Without waiting for a response, I dismounted and took her sleeve, leading her into the carriage, leaving the trembling king behind. In the dimly lit carriage, I revealed the plan to the queen.

Subsequently, the convoy carrying the captured king and queen began the journey back along the same road. However, after just two hours of travel, I ordered a halt to make camp.

It was a very, very long and quiet night. The stars shimmered in the dark sky like countless grains of gold sparkling on velvet. Leaning against a tree, I sharpened my sword. The steel scraped against the stone, emitting a slow, lingering sound.

The jarring sound of gunfire suddenly startled everyone awake. My finger was accidentally cut by the sword, and the crimson blood flowed along the blade, dripping down.

A sentinel, deployed by me personally, rushed over, gasping for breath. "The king... the king, he..."

"Slow down."

"The king and the others have escaped in a carriage." After catching his breath, the sentinel continued, "The prisoners are also missing, and the soldiers guarding them have been knocked unconscious."

I calmly sheathed my sword. "Mount up, all of you, quickly. Whoever is the last to get on a horse, I will personally give them a good whipping."

I turned out to be the last one to mount. The tall warhorse carried me to the front of the column, its hooves pounding the ground as it neighed towards the moon. The two deep ruts on the ground were clearly visible under the pale moonlight, extending along the winding road.

"I don't want to chase them for a third time. The representative of the National Assembly has given me the power to execute the king on the spot," I said to my subordinates. "Once we catch up with them, just shoot them down without hesitation."

After speaking, I spurred my horse in the direction where the king was fleeing, leaving my subordinates staring at each other behind me.

But they quickly caught up. The dragoons swept like a whirlwind over the moonlit hills, dust rising under the hooves of the warhorses, trees on the sides of the road quickly retreating. The magnificent carriage carrying the king soon appeared ahead.

As we approached the carriage at a distance of less than 50 meters, a rifle emerged from the curtain and fired at the pursuers behind. The cavalry immediately retaliated, the sound of gunfire drowning out the hoofbeats, ringing in my ears.

One volley was enough, and the carriage abruptly stopped. The cavalry surrounded it from both sides, only to find that the king and queen were not inside. The carriage was filled with a heavy smell of blood, and the fleeing captives were all lying in a pool of blood, shot multiple times.

The king and queen had successfully escaped.

A few days later, I led my troops back to Paris, feeling dejected as I faced the wrath of my superior, Balas.

"I sent five squads of pursuers to bring back the king, and all they brought me were one excuse after another," Balas exclaimed angrily before I could speak. "So, Marcus, what's your excuse this time?"

Damn, I had a response prepared, but now it seems inappropriate to say it out loud. "Sir, I have no excuses. Failure is failure."

"You seem quite bold in your straightforwardness! It's as if you just received an award and are giving a speech," Balas said fiercely. "Get out." He pointed to the door, his voice almost choked with anger.

After returning to the camp, I followed the same pattern and summoned a few of my officers to reprimand them. "It's a great shame and humiliation! Several hundred elite dragoons, being played around by a fat man and a woman. Tell your subordinates that if anyone asks about this mission, they should say we didn't see the king at all. Anyone who can't control their tongue and exposes the truth, turning the team into a laughingstock, will face the consequences."

"Sir, the captu...captured...numerous," Dion stammered.

"That's right, write it like that," I pondered for a moment. "Upon receiving the orders, my unit wasted no time and immediately pursued in the direction of the king's escape. We thoroughly searched every village along the way, at one point coming within a three-hour ride of the king. However, we were ambushed at Marne by a well-equipped and numerous cavalry unit loyal to the monarchy. After a night of bloody battle, the enemy suffered heavy casualties, leaving behind a trail of corpses as they fled along the Marne River. Yet, our pursuit was delayed by this cavalry unit, and despite the victory, it was a Pyrrhic one, with our mission ultimately falling short."

Dion's expression seemed as if he had tasted something unpleasant. "Sir, I still believe the truth..."

"The truth is not much different from this, I just embellished it slightly," I interrupted him. "Just write it like this, or you'll see how I deal with you."

By nightfall, I collapsed onto the bed, feeling as if I were sinking into a quagmire. A sickly sleep quickly overtook me. I don't know how much time had passed when a rough knocking at the door jolted me awake from a chaotic dream.

"Who the hell is it?" I cursed angrily, "Is it another person being brutally murdered in some dark corner?"

However, when the door swung open, it revealed several unfamiliar soldiers standing outside, led by Lieutenant Aubrey. He stood at the forefront, his weathered face looking exceptionally severe.

"Major Marcus, please come with us," a soldier stated flatly, his expression as emotionless as a stone carving.

"Now?" I nervously shivered, feeling cold sweat seeping down my back, my heart racing uncontrollably, "At three in the morning, why?"

Lieutenant Aubrey's deep-set eyes locked onto mine, unblinking. "Because you let the king escape."