Chapter 1 – The siege of the summer of 1792
King Julien III of Montuga seldom varied his daily routine. He would appear like clockwork for breakfast each morning at precisely nine o’clock. After an hour, he would retire from the royal dining room and head for the Chamber of Knights. There, two footmen would ensure that the large double doors were open to allow for his majesty’s access to the palace’s main balcony. The king enjoyed spending twenty minutes in solitude here each day to gather his thoughts, to release any built up flatulence, and to reflect upon any of a number of decisions he, as sovereign, was required to make from time to time.
Not that the king spent much time agonising over decisions and choices, however. On the contrary, such was his majesty’s penchant for tradition and convention that his edicts and policies were usually as predictable as was his daily routine. Nor were the services of a clairvoyant required to safely predict that if change ever threatened to drop in on the tiny kingdom of Montuga, the King would be last in line to embrace it.
But change had come to Montuga. And, on that morning, it again shattered the post-breakfast tranquillity the king had become accustomed to enjoying.
A large crowd of protestors, who were congregated outside the palace gates, had taken to jeering and heckling every time they spotted the king on the balcony. The king ignored their insults and abuse. Instead he aimed a telescope at the high walls comprising the perimeter of the palace grounds without focusing on anything in particular. He was determined to conceal his irritation with an air of indifference.
The king was accustomed to making allowances for the occasional display of unseemly conduct he encountered during his infrequent interactions with poorer commoners in earlier times. As a young prince, he had learned that the peasantry were unused to the rules of etiquette which not only moulded the conduct of the aristocracy, but also regulated the behaviour of those who served them.
Despite the divisions imposed upon the nobility and the peasantry in Montuga by demeanour, attire, position and by birth, everyone had, at least until recently, always been united by a near-instinctive respect for the authority of the monarchy. And so it was hardly surprising that the king found the protestors’ new-found irreverence for royalty to be particularly ominous.
Egalitarian views embraced by leading rebels in neighbouring France had recently found favour amongst a growing number of Montugan peasants. Inspired by these beliefs, and by peasant uprisings in France, local peasants had begun to organise demonstrations of their own. As far as the king was concerned, this served as further proof, as if any were needed, that the popular uprisings against the monarchy in France held nothing good in store for the little kingdom of Montuga.
Mind you, the king did not believe himself to be in any immediate danger. The perimeter wall was high and to boot its walkway was regularly patrolled by royal guards. Other royal guards occupied defensive positions along its ramparts. And in the courtyard below, a squad of mounted guards stood alongside their steeds, facing the crowd. The royal guards were equipped with all that they required to restore unhindered access to the palace - save for that which they needed most – the king’s command.
It was the fourth day of the siege. Most of the protestors, who numbered several thousand, were shielded from the king’s scrutiny by the height of the perimeter wall. The remainder were visible through two massive iron gates set in the lower half of the wall.
Seemingly invigorated by the king’s presence, the crowd started to chant once again.
‘One man!’ a smaller group shouted.
‘One vote!’ the entire crowd roared in response.
The thunderous din reverberated around the palace’s cobblestoned courtyard.
The king did not particularly mind the chants, although a wider repertoire would have proved less annoying. He resisted the temptation to embark upon a royal walkabout during which he thought he might introduce himself to the protesters as the one man, appointed by God, to exercise that one vote.
Notwithstanding the siege, officials and servants within the palace continued going about their usual activities. However, the general mood within the palace was anything but normal. Everyone was aware that many demonstrations throughout France had turned violent. Many wondered whether local demonstrators would also resort to violence if their demands were not addressed.
On the first day of the siege the king had received a supposedly confidential report from a royal guardsman that the latter had spotted about a dozen masked gunmen on horseback through his telescope. It took less than an hour before this news became the main topic of conversation throughout every corner of the palace. The ominous riders, who had apparently lurked about the rear of the protesting crowd, did not present themselves again. Their whereabouts remained shrouded in as much mystery as were their intentions.
Most protestors were armed only with picks, shovels and other makeshift weapons. They used these implements to bang on the palace gates, seemingly indifferent to the array of muskets and cannons aimed in their direction.
For the present, each side adhered to an uneasy, unspoken truce in which hostilities were limited only to the threat of violence.
The king feared that if he ordered the royal guards to fire on the protestors, it might invite a violent response from sympathetic republicans in France.
Despite that the latter were preoccupied with their own efforts to depose the French monarchy, nothing prevented some of them from pausing to assist the Montugan peasants. If French republicans turned up in significant numbers to fight alongside a Montugan peasant army, the king’s five hundred royal guards were unlikely to prevail. The king was determined to avoid playing into the hands of any foreigners who might be plotting his kingdom’s return to French rule.
The protestors, in turn, also shunned violence in the hope it would limit the king’s use of his royal guard to little more than sabre rattling. They also avoided forcing the hand of the king by restricting their siege of the palace to daylight hours.
‘May I join you, your majesty?’ a familiar voice enquired from behind him.
‘Indeed you may, your grace,’ the king replied before turning to face Duke Emile Le Riche. The latter, as commander of the royal guard, enjoyed special leave to enter the king’s presence without announcement and at will. The duke’s shiny new boots squeaked as he stepped onto the balcony. The duke removed his hat and waved it before the king as he bowed. He replaced his hat, which completed his immaculate uniform.
Both men were silent for a while as they surveyed the unfolding events.
Years of experience had taught the king that even when his old friend had something pressing on his mind, he would always wait for royalty to open the discussion.
‘You have news?’ the king probed eventually as he considered the shadows cast by the two of them on the marble tiles.
It was a splendid Mediterranean morning in the summer of 1792. It piqued him to detect how one shadow reflected a man in good shape for his advanced years whilst the expanded circumference of the other stood in stark contrast to it. At sixty-six, the duke was fourteen years older than the king. Unlike the king, however, the duke still had most of his hair albeit that the ravages of time had turned it white.
‘I regret, bad news, your majesty. The protests in France have become more violent. I have received reports that in certain regions aristocrats have been dragged from their estates and that some of them have even been executed in the streets. Looting is said to be widespread.’
‘And what of Paris?’ the king inquired while fingering a pouch in his robe. He produced his pipe and a sachet containing tobacco.
‘The situation there is tense, but seemingly still under control. Sporadic riots have been subdued. But King Louis’ position remains perilous. Some nobles are believed to have joined the rebels. The loyalty of the lower ranks French army is rumoured to be divided between the king and the revolutionaries. No-one is certain who has majority support. The rebels have convened a National Assembly. King Louis is under pressure to recognise it.’
‘They will end up like the English. With a prime minister,’ king Julien observed glumly. ‘I warned Louis it would only be a matter of time before his support for the Americans and their appalling revolution would backfire on him. However, there is no reasoning with the French if they sense an opportunity for a war with the English.’
‘Your majesty, it is my fear the French monarchy may not survive in any form at all.’ The duke’s tone was respectful. ‘The wars waged by the French monarchy over past decades have impoverished the kingdom. Famine is now commonplace across France. The hungry masses are in no mood to compromise with the privileged. Many in France are calling for the total elimination of the nobility and the monarchy. Moreover, the nobility’s prospects of survival are not aided by an increasing number of pro-republican leaders who consider themselves as infinitely more deserving custodians of the nobility’s considerable wealth.’ The duke paused before adding: ‘And I use the term “custodians” advisedly.’
‘Peasants who presume to replace a king are mindless fools. A king is a veritable fountain of indispensable, irreplaceable wisdom, accumulated over generations, without which no hope for proper government can exist.’ The king stared aloofly at the crowd as he spoke.
‘My concern, majesty, is King Louis could be deposed or, heaven forbid, executed. Montuga owes its existence to its Treaty with France. Republicans who oppose monarchy on principle are unlikely to remove one monarchy in Paris whilst tolerating another situated on what they will claim is also French territory. If the republicans seize power in France, they will surely renounce the treaty of Montuga.’ Anther pause. ‘I would counsel that we need to be prepared for the consequences of such an eventuality.’
‘Your grace overlooks international convention,’ the king replied.
‘Your majesty?’ The duke’s eyebrows lifted slightly.
‘A treaty is binding on a king’s successors. Ours has been adhered to by France for more than two centuries and cannot simply be flouted now.’ The king gestured in the duke’s direction with the tip of his pipe. ‘And, there is something else, your grace. Montuga enjoys diplomatic relations with most European monarchies. They will take a dim view of any French intervention in Montuga. It could even lead to war. Lord Graveny told me only yesterday that the Prussians and the Austrians are poised to invade France to restore Louis to his rightful position if he should be deposed.’
Lord Graveny was Britain’s ambassador to Montuga. The king paused, producing a handkerchief into which he coughed.
‘Sooner or later, any new regime in France, if there is to be one, will be obliged to seek international recognition,’ the king explained. ‘In Europe, international recognition comprises of recognition by the European monarchies.’
‘Majesty, a new French government may pay lip service to the treaty for a time. But I fear this will be solely be for the sake of appearances. And it is unlikely to last. Also, French republicans may in any event conspire to undermine Montugan independence by indirect means.’ The duke discretely waved a gloved hand in the direction of the protestors.
‘Surely your grace does not suggest French revolutionaries are behind these protests in Montuga?’
‘At this stage, your majesty, only two things can be said to be certain. Our protests are an undeniable spill-over from those in France. Secondly, and at the very least, these protests surely carry the approval of the republican revolutionaries in France.’
‘I’ll grant you that, your grace. But the difference is our protests have been peaceful.’
‘With respect, majesty, it appears peaceful only because our protestors seem agreed on testing the water by calling only for constitutional monarchy in Montuga. This is good and well for so long as such unity of purpose persists. However, my concern is that the protesting mob includes a pro-republican faction who view constitutional monarchy as the thin edge of the wedge.’
‘How large is this local republican faction?’ The King inquired. ‘Do you know?’
The duke raised his voice slightly in response to a fresh round of chanting.
‘My information is that the Montugan protestors who favour constitutional monarchy are estimated to outnumber the pro-republican protestors by over two to one. For this reason, the republicans are unlikely to mount any challenge against your majesty’s royal guard on their own. Instead, word is they are waiting to see whether the republicans in France succeed in deposing King Louis. If, heaven forbid, they succeed, local republicans are certain to encourage or accept the support of any new republican government which may arise in France. A French invasion is likely follow. Montuga’s small royal guard would be no match for a republican army or navy from France.’
‘Be all that as it may, I will never countenance a republic in Montuga. Unlike Louis, I have not dragged this kingdom into war. Instead, Montuga has prospered and most of my subjects live comfortably and have enough to eat. I have caused Monte Vista to become the leading trading port in Europe. I know not who lurks behind these protests, but I believe the people will soon grow bored and tire of it, and all of this will pass.’ The king grimaced before continuing. ‘Mark my words though, your grace, if the republicans do take power in France, they will destroy it. And the devastation they will leave behind will leave no-one in doubt that what we have here in Montuga is best for everyone.’
‘There are some who say that the British compromise of constitutional monarchy is an effective model of stable government,’ the duke ventured.
‘Stable government?’ The king glared at the duke. But his frown soon gave way to a wicked grin. ‘You could be right. After all, if people choose to be represented by a parliament filled to capacity with horse’s arses, who am I to deny that this would indeed constitute a stable government.’ The king sniggered, and directed a jubilant glance at the duke.
‘My only concern, majesty, is that we should be prepared for all contingencies,’ the duke replied earnestly. ‘We should at least have a strategy in place for the evacuation of the monarchy from Montuga should circumstance demand it.’
‘Such an evacuation is unthinkable. Has the French royal family fled Versailles?’ the king asked.
‘Not as yet, your majesty. But I am aware that King Louis has been counselled that his safety and that of the royal family cannot be guaranteed if they remain in Paris.’ The duke’s expression remained solemn.
‘It would be a disgrace if the Bourbons fled from Versailles. One can only imagine what the rabble would do to that magnificent palace if such an unimaginable event occurred.’ The king coughed again. ‘The Garibaldis have been on this throne for two hundred years. I am not about to bring shame on my family by relinquishing this palace.’ He paused for effect. ‘I am prepared to fight and if necessary, to die to defend the Garibaldi heritage.’ A slight smile creased the king’s face. ‘That is, of course, if ill health does not take me first.’ After puffing on his pipe for several moments he continued. ‘And I will tell you another thing, your grace. I shall not allow the peasants to block the palace gates indefinitely. I treat my subjects fairly. They pay little enough tax to the crown. And this is how I am thanked.’
‘What of Prince Ruan and Princess Renate, your majesty?’
A frown creased the king’s forehead as he considered the lot of the crown prince and that of his daughter. Several moments passed before he replied.
‘I am prepared to sacrifice myself. But their situation is another matter. If it should come to the worst, the survival of the next generation of Garibaldis and the monarchy itself must outweigh the defence of the palace.’ The king placed his hand on the duke’s arm. ‘If need be, I shall remain here and shall fight until the end. As sovereign, that is my duty. But I shall look to you, your grace, to ensure that my children are safely evacuated. You are to prepare a contingency plan. I do not know if it is written that I will join my dearly departed wife in the afterlife. But one thing is certain: If heaven is my destiny, and if I arrive there prematurely accompanied by my children, my wife will not be speaking to me.’
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