El Impostor Espanol

Chapter 4 - Emilie

Home was not a word Anna had felt inclined to use in the past few years. Sure, Constance had made every attempt to make the small house in the centre of Paris as homely as possible, but, being separated from the man she had lived with for so long had taken its toll, especially when she had seen him at the Garrison every day seemingly unaffected by the separation.

She knew that Spain would never be somewhere she could consider home. She had missed the liveliness of the Parisian streets. Sure, the Spanish people were, on the whole, very nice and surprisingly tolerant of the King's newest 'mistress'. Despite the luxury of the Spanish palace and the friendliness of the court, she always felt her ears perk when the French Ambassador strode into the throne room with news of her country.

No, home was something that had been just a little out of reach in recent years. And so, when she found herself in the situation she was currently in; surrounded by people who could make a home anywhere simply because they were surrounded by their loved ones and fuelled by words that could rally an army from just about anything.

"I have seen the Devil seated on his throne in his Palace of Gold." The crowd in the clearing were entranced as their leader spoke to them as she expertly guided her horse through the masses of people. "I have witnessed the face of death and he wears a Spanish crown and under his crown are horns and under his fine robes are bloody hooves." Her words filled the air as the peasants stood silently, watching and listening to the red-head. "I have looked on King Philip of Spain and in his true self is the Antichrist; the enemy of God."

Cheers filled the clearing as she proclaimed exactly what the poorest of France needed to hear. Anna had to give it to the woman; she was either an outstanding liar who knew exactly how to play the crowd, or, she truly believed she was blessed with holy visions. She couldn't decide which was more dangerous.

"Sons and daughters of France..." She let her hand fall to one side and the peasants reached to grasp at the skin of their saviour as she passed through them. "...we must destroy the devil before he destroys us!" More cheers from the people surrounding her caused Anna to conceal an eye roll at their blind faith in this stranger. "With our beloved King Louis to lead us, we must march on Spain and drag Satan from his lair!"

"God bless you, Emilie of Duras!" Anna was nudged aside as a woman forced her way to the front of the crowd and gazed up at the 'saviour'. "You're a saint!"

"Not a saint." Emilie took her hand and squeezed. "Just an ordinary woman." Another eye roll threatened to make itself known as the girl all but crumbled at the foot of the horse, clutching the hand that had been held by Saint Emilie.

She blew a strand of hair from her face and slipped back through the crowds to the edge of the camp where she knew a certain foursome would be loitering, also watching the scene.

She reached the stone bridge that doubled as the official entrance to the camp but turned back when the crowd's cheers turned to gasps and she saw young Emilie slumped over her horse barely staying atop it as she was held on by the man, Raymond, who acted as her bodyguard.

"The Prophet is tired!" A voice rang out, attempting to calm the crowd. "She must rest." All eyes remained on Emilie as she was lifted from the pale steed and carried into the tent at the centre of the camp.

A ripple of whispers cascaded through the crowd and Anna cursed as all eyes turned to the stone bridge she was stood beside. She had hoped to escape the camp without being noticed and before the formidable foursome made an appearance.

"I'm getting the feeling we're not welcome here." Anna shoulders slumped as Porthos' distinctive gravelly voice made its way across the bridge.

She sighed and adopted the same disgruntled face as the rest of the gathered peasants and desperately tried to ignore their questioning looks as she slipped back into the crowd to watch.