Merlin's French Encounter

By Malcolm John Baker

Merlin, the time traveler from the days of King Arthur, moved on to the Shakespeare period in Merlin's Shakespeare Encounter. In this book, he is moved on again to the period of the French Revolution and Madame Guillotine aiding the landed gentry to escape France.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Malcolm John Baker Publishing Company
• Release date: Jul 4, 2020
• ISBN: 9781951933579

Malcolm John Baker

Malcolm John Baker was born in Salisbury, England, in 1945. By trade, he was a chartered surveyor and practised in South London, England. Now retired, he lives in the United States in Florida.

Book preview

Chapter One

25th January 1790 - Paris

During a freezing January morning in central Paris, a crowd gathers in the forecourt of the Palais des Tuileries. This beautiful stone Palace building runs along the right-hand bank of the River Seine and once been the pride and joy of the French monarchy, living within its splendor. Today the building is unoccupied having been taken over by the revolutionaries, the crowds of rampaging Parisiennes smashed all the furniture, and the occupants are under arrest and imprisoned. The King knows his hopeless fate, but he hopes the Queen will survive, she is a woman after all, and the French nation respects a woman, surely, they are still gentle persons at heart.

It snowed heavily during the night, and there are two inches of snow covering the ground. A timber stage stands in the center of the front courtyard of cobblestones, the edges of the blocks can just be recognized as the snow is not deep enough to cover them completely. On the platform stands the guillotine, a grotesque device used for executions. At least it cuts the head off in one slice as opposed to the previously used ax, which usually took at least three chops to bring the same end. The executioners were always drunk, who could do that job without being intoxicated.

The Palace was never available to the public before the revolution. Now the elaborately wrought iron gates, each with the white fleur-de-lis proudly situated in the center of each gate, are open all the time They are not so proud on this day. However, one gate is hanging off one hinge as though it is dying, just like it’s master. The brick pillar it rested on having been smashed by the crowds, those few weeks ago. Even the fleur-de-lis is sadly slipped on one side; it appears to be dying as well.

Parisians now wander through the grounds to see how the other half had once lived, but no more, they are in their prison cells. The soldiers guarding the guillotine are clearing away the snow from the platform, making sure the prisoners can get to the scaffold without interference, it’s a busy day today as every day lately. They check the guillotine is functioning correctly, raising the shinning blade to its full height. Someone has polished the edge of the blade with glee overnight; there were always disgruntled volunteers. The crowds watch the reflections of the sunbeams glinting from the bottom of the blade, and they took that as good faith that God agreed with them. Conversely, the birds did not fly over the Palace today; even the crows kept away.

The blade is released sending it crashing like thunder as it hits the base. The crowd raises a cheer as the blade lands on its base, lifting their arms to the sky, as though thanking God for their deliverance. Little did they know that life would be no better shortly as one dictator is replaced by another.

That will work fine, these landowners deserve what’s coming to them, it will be the King and Queen next, you mark my words, said one soldier to the other with enthusiasm in his voice and shaking his fist at the sky. His colleague shrugged his shoulders; not everyone in France is in favor of what is happening. His thoughts are you get rid of one tyrant another will replace him.

The crowd is now wholly intoxicated with the suspense, there are at least one thousand people gathered, and they are beginning to chant ‘off with their heads — Vive la France.’ They slap their densely clothed arms around their chests to keep warm, but they happily brave the cold to watch the macabre spectacle that is about to happen. One man to the rear of the crowd is much more reticent and solemn, a tall, slim man, who looks as though he had been fuller in his youth, he thinks it’s cold enough to freeze the balls off a brass monkey, but his thoughts are on other matters.

At that moment, the tumbrel turned into the corner of the square, and it had passed by what remained of The Bastille on the way over, but that building is now just a pile of stones, covered in snow. The Bastille was the fortress and prison of Paris; it had been overrun at the beginning of the revolution by the crowds of Paris, who had come out in their thousands to protest to the King at the extravagancies of the realm, the peasant folk was starving. The prisoners held there were all released.

As the prisoner passed by the ruins, he looks up to the sky murmurs to God ‘Oh Lord, why have you let this happen to my country. I do not matter personally but accept me into your arms and save my country,’ he then recited the Lord’s prayer. He didn’t feel the cold, that was the least of his worries at that time. He too was thinking of his wife; would she be executed as well? His friends had promised to get her out of harm’s way, and he said another prayer for her.

A cheer went up from the crowd, as the tumbrel, a two-wheeled wooden cart led by two horses, rattled over the cobblestones lining the courtyard. The soldiers had cleared enough snow so that the tumbrel would get through, without sliding from side to side. It carried the forlorn prisoner to the executioner for his last few moments to live on this planet.

He is contemplating what had happened to his country. Could he have done anything to prevent his fate, and the fate of so many landowners? He thought he was a good man always looking after his servants and their needs. That made no difference now, though; he was born into the wrong class in France for this period in its history. The country was once proud and powerful; maybe it will be again one day he thought.

The tumbrel came to a halt in front of the scaffold; the prisoner looked up at the guillotine in fear, his pale face said it all. One of the guards at his prison had given him a swig of cognac before he left saying, Take this it will calm you down for what is about to happen. I know your family has been good to me all my life. God bless you, sir. And he bowed as the prisoner was led onto the tumbrel.

The guards came down to him as he arrived at the scaffold, they roughly grabbing him by the arms to force him up the steps, even though his legs seem to be stuck to the ground. Sadly, the prisoner slipped on ice and fell, Don’t worry about him, said the unsympathetic guard laughing, He’ll have more than a broken leg in a minute.

A priest stood at the top of the steps as they dragged the prisoner up and he made the sign of the cross, muttering a few words of absolution. Please, I need to make my peace with God, said the prisoner to the guard."

Be quick then. said the guard, and the prisoner prays for a minute with the priest asking for forgiveness for any sins he might have committed. People were very religious in those days.

That’s enough, says the guard and the prisoner is pushed to the ground without any ceremony, his head at the base of the guillotine, face down. The guards waste no time; they knew they had ten other executions to administer today.

Off with his head the crowd shouts, first by one soul then repeating it several times by the remainder, getting louder and louder each time. The blade is slowly raised to its height squeaking on the slides as it goes up, the prisoner almost passes out in fear; it would have been better for him if he had. At the top the blade is released and comes down with a crash as it crunched through the bone of the poor dying soul, it was all over quickly. The priest crosses his chest in the sign of the cross.

The head falls into a basket, conveniently placed to receive it. Blood poured out for several seconds until the heart had entirely stopped beating. The expression on the face of the prisoner after death is contorted with fear and horror, at what has happened. The brain lives on for a few moments after the head is cut off until the blood drains out, and it knows what has happened. The crowd let out a further cheer, all except the one man whose face was drawn and in deep concentration.

‘I was powerless to have done anything about that, but I must take action to help these poor souls’ he thought. Behind him stood a ghost in her usual white veil, but no one, except the man, could see her.

You have to do something she whispered.

I will, but I will need your help, he said quietly.

You know you have that; I will always be here for you, she said.

Chapter Two

28th June 1613 – London

Stanley Wellove and Michelle Kingston were married in the year 1595, a simple ceremony with the local vicar, a protestant cleric this time. The cleric at Stanley’s first wedding in the year 600 was a forester, Christianity had not arrived in ancient Britain at that time. He and Michelle live in London, England. They jointly manage The Globe Theater on the South Bank of the River Thames for William Shakespeare and his acting company, The Lord Chamberlain’s men. They felt honored by William Shakespeare for such trust, Stanley was befriended by William because of his ghost stories, William said Stanley had helped him with several stories.

Initially, Stanly and Michelle were both time travelers, Stanley originates from the year 2019, his name then was Robert Hunt. He was orphaned at the age of ten, his parents having died in a motor car accident, and he was brought up by his grandmother, a lady in her seventies. She did her best, but he lacked a male figurehead.

He got into bad company in his adolescence and left home, the gang he had become involved with, decided to carry out a bank raid. A ghost was watching him in his youth; she was looking for the right person for her needs. She wanted a young man to develop his character. She knew Robert was at heart a good lad, but his life had not favorable, and she felt sorry for him, his character is not yet developed.

Things went wrong on the fateful day of the bank raid. As the police arrived, his ghost admirer quickly moved in. His ghost savior was Viviane, the Lady of the Lake from the days of King Arthur. Viviane’s mother was a witch named Beverley who had been saved from death by King Uther Arthur’s father because she had cast a spell enabling Arthur to be born. Uther’s wife was barren until Beverley cast a spell. On her deathbed, Beverley cast a spell on Viviane, who was only ten years old at the time. The spell made Viviane responsible for creating the legends of England and the English Empire even after she had died.

Viviane died in a swimming accident in the year 590AD. As a ghost, Viviane had been watching Robert for many years and decided that although he was in bad company, he was the right person, just whom she needed. She intervened in the bank raid and transported Robert back to the year 595AD where he had the task of creating the legend of King Arthur. He was a young man then of twenty-one, a similar age to the King.

Robert had introduced many inventions from the twenty-first century to Camelot including the cannon, electricity and salt production, besides producing the longbow, such an asset for the English in the wars with the settlers, and throughout medieval times. Robert became a chief adviser to King Arthur, who adopted him as his brother.

Arthur knighted Robert in recognition for all he had done for Camelot and renamed him, Merlin.

Merlin presented King Arthur with the golden sword named ‘Excaliber.’ The gold came from the bar he had taken in the bank raid, or to be actuate Viviane placed in his hand. Merlin married a local girl, and they had a baby, sadly both were killed in battles with the settlers.

Having succeeded in his task and despondent with the loss of his family, Merlin asked Viviane to move him to another era. She transported him to the year 1200AD to reform Robin Hood, who was then a common thief. Again Merlin, who had kept the name as it still seemed appropriate, had to formulate Robin into the hero of history. Merlin revisited Camelot six centuries on from his last visit with highly emotional results, collecting Excaliber and giving it to King Richard the Lionheart to be included in the crown jewels, which were subsequently lost by King John in the fens of the East Coast. King John was not only famous for the Magna Carta.

Having succeeded with Robin, Merlin was then moved to 1415AD and became the major in command of archers in King Henry V’s army on its path to Agincourt. He had witnessed the murder of Major Stanley Wellove by a French spy, in a pub brawl at Stonehenge. Merlin knew that he had been transported to advance the plight of England, although he had no idea what his task would be. Viviane always made that, her condition as she developed his character.

Merlin assumed that this murder was part of his task, although he could have done nothing to prevent it, he took on Stanley Wellove’s name and position. His task he found out later, was to make sure the battle of Agincourt took place in the right field and on the date that history depicts. He is knighted for the second time, following his successes. He wrote details of the King’s speeches at the battle, delivering them to the Shakespeare family in Stratford on Avon, knowing that William Shakespeare would live there a century later, and would write about Agincourt in his play Henry V.

He then moves to the 1580s, where he meets William Shakespeare in person. Stanley kept his new name and was involved with Sir Francis Drake in the battle with the Spanish Armada. As always, the ghost of Viviane is with him, guiding and guarding him, and now becoming a friend. A strange relationship is developing.

It is during this time that he meets Michelle, and they fall in love. Michelle is also a time traveler from the tear 1960, although they were the same age in their body age. She had been transported by Viviane’s mother Beverley for similar purposes, to promote the legends of England and the English Empire.

She was chosen because, at the age of twenty-one, she was orphaned when both her parents died of polio. Michelle had told Stanley that her claim to fame was the fact that she persuaded William I the Norman Conqueror to land in Pevensey Bay rather than Ramsgate.

"It might have been named the Battle of Ramsgate otherwise." She had said. They always laughed out loud at that suggestion, every time they made it.

Stanley and Michelle had enough of time traveling by then, and they are falling in love, the pair are offered the task of running The Globe Theater by William Shakespeare, who was keen to have details of Stanley’s ghost meetings for his plays. Beverley was not happy to release Michelle but reluctantly agreed when pressed by Viviane, who made it clear to Stanley that if it became necessary, she would move him on.

They have been in control of the theater, which is built of timber in a circular construction on the south bank of the River Thames, for five years now. London is still a small town at this time. Originally the theater was on the north bank of the river, but the artists fell out with the landlord because their lease ended and the landlord wanted to increase the rent very substantially. The Artists decided to move the theater across The Thames timber by timber and erect it on a site which is cheap on the not so popular side of the river.

All the seating is on the outer of the circular arena, broken only by the stage. The central area is for standing spectators. Things are working well for Stanley and Michelle. The acting profession has now become accepted. Queen Elizabeth has died, and King James VI of Scotland has moved down to London and becomes King James I of England. The two countries were now united.

The theater is full of patrons every night, Shakespeare is increasing his finances, which pleased him immensely, and has he built a beautiful new house in Stratford on Avon in the Tudor style. While involved with the Spanish Amada preparations, Stanley and Michelle met Christopher Marlow, another playwright. He was also a spy for the English government, and the three of them were instrumental in getting the Dutch to blockade Dunkirk, in the Spanish colony of Flanders.

That prevented the Spanish Armada from collecting the thirty thousand land troops from the port. Stanley had thought how strange that such a small town should become so involved in two significant wars throughout history. It meant the Spanish invasion was a complete failure; the Spanish had never intended to land themselves. All three had remained friends after the war, and it would shortly be Christopher’s birthdate. Christopher was murdered in a pub brawl in 1593, but Stanley felt they should always have a special toast on Christopher’s birthdate.

Birthdays are strange for us, aren’t darling, Stanley said to Michelle.

Are they? Why.

Well I can’t even remember when my birthday is, and, in any event, ten days will be removed from the calendar in a few years, if it weren’t for the abacus that Friar Tuck gave me in 1290, I wouldn’t know how old I am. I calculate I am forty-five now, but you must be only twenty-five. He said lying.

I am older than that Michelle said.

But you don’t look it, I love you, he said with feeling.

Get away with you. Do you ever think of changing your name back to Merlin? she said.

No, it wouldn’t be right for Merlin to keep popping up everywhere in history, Stanley said.

We need to get on with the preparations for Shakespeare’s new play Henry VIII, starting tomorrow, we need to get those cannons into the correct position, said Stanley.

His mind immediately went back to the two cannons he designed and had made for King Arthur; a small smile appeared on his lips. Michelle said, We’ve heard that story so many times now. She didn’t mind really; she loved to hear his exploits.

By the time they went to bed that night, everything was prepared for the new play; the cannon is in place. Stanley was still worried about the safety issues, but William Shakespeare had been insistent that a real cannon would need to be fired in the performance to emphasize the drama. He is a stickler for presentation, more of an actor than a writer. Stanley is still not happy, as he knows from his days in the twenty-first century that the theater will burn down one day, but he couldn’t remember when it was to be.

In the morning at first light, Stanley walked around the circular building, checking that all is well. It is one of those barmy summers in London, every day the temperatures are in the eighties, but last night there was one of those summer storms that brew up without warning. It had rained heavily, but now everything is dry again. He enjoyed the coolness of early morning before the sun reached its height.

Every morning Stanley liked to walk along the bank of the river, but this morning the river looked cruel, he wondered why is it telling him something? The sky still had some clouds from the passing storm. They seemed to revolve around the sky in a small circle, although there was no apparent wind on the ground.

Stanley felt a shiver run up his spine, just like the day all those centuries ago when his first wife and child were murdered. The clouds seemed to take on the appearance of Viviane the ghost or was he imagining it. He snapped himself out of his daydream and back to reality, as he walked back to