Into the Fire

Into the Fire is a play by Jeremiah Garland. It is a war drama centred around the Spanish invasion of France in 1745. It is completely fictional.

SCENE I
''Queen ROBERTA I, the first queen of France following the unexpected death of her late husband the King, who perished without an heir in line, stood on the balcony of the royal palace of Versailles overlooking the French countryside, gazing into the night. To her left the lights of Paris could barely be seen on the horizon, breaking through the black sky. She has a troubled look upon her face and is clearly contemplating a solution. Just then, the door to the veranda opens and a man's voice interrupts. It is RICHARD LUTHER, an advisor of the queen. He speaks timidly.''

Richard: My apologies, Your Majesty... I've just gotten word from the front... The Spanish have successfully taken Limoges. General Rouen has been routed once again... And still, no word from your brother, the Duke of Orleans. We think he may have escaped to Besançon, but we're not sure, My Lady...

''ROBERTA bows her head and sighs in disappointment. Richard continues nervously.''

Richard: Is the-there anything I can do for you, My Lady? We-We've just now sent for Monsieur Lautreux, I can ready a carriage for Paris so you may speak to him...? Or perhaps some tea, My Lady...? Oui, some tea to calm the nerves would be fine, wouldn't you say, My Lady? I'll retrieve the butler at once then, it will be just a minute, My La–

Roberta: Go home, Richard.

Richard: My Lady?

Roberta: There is not much time. France has given us all the time she could. Now it is up to us. (She turns to RICHARD) Go home to Marie. Pack whatever you need and get to Reims. You two will be safe there.

Richard: B-But My Lady, what about yourself? Should we not get you to Reims as well? They are coming up fast, My Lady... Very fast indeed!

Roberta: And a leader does not abandon her people in the face of destruction. You go on, Monsieur Luther. It will relieve me to know you, at least, are safe. When the time is right, come forth and do your part for France, for she has done her part tonight. Now, be on your way. Bonne nuit, mon ami, et vive la France.

''At this, RICHARD sternly saluted and turned to exit. ROBERTA resumed examing the night from the balcony rail, when in the far-off distance, in the dark of night, she could barely make out the flash of guns and the thunder of cannons.''

SCENE II
''A massive crowd gathers in a large pub in inner London. They are watching two men brawl and are cheering on enthusiastically as a four-piece band plays jovial music. One of the brawlers, JACK PISTOL, is an older yet rugged man with a rough, unkempt appearance. He holds in his hand a bottle of whiskey, which he chugs and throws to the ground before blocking the blow of his much larger foe. Anticipating and successfully evading several more punches, he then performs a fluorish of heavy hits onto the brawny man before taking him to the ground. JACK stands up as his opponent lies knocked out. He raises his arms as the crowd cheers wildly. Then, two more scrappers emerge from the crowd to take on JACK, who once again easily prevails. He knocks one of the men into a wooden table, causing it to collapse, much to the crowd's fanatic approval. The obvious victor, admirers from the crowd embrace JACK and shower him in alcohol as the band continues to play. JACK, taking in the glory, is looking around the room when he recognises a familiar face; standing just inside the doorway of the pub, dressed in a conspicuous noble's coat and looking quite unadjusted to the strange surroundings is ANDREW MALLACE. Having witnessed the entire fight, ANDREW now stares heavily at JACK, who meets the glare.''

--

JACK and ANDREW are now sitting at a secluded table in the very same pub, with several glasses of alchohol spread out in front of them.

Andrew: It's been too long, old chap. I trust you've been well?

Jack: If you consider spending my nights at taverns all across town and my days down at the docks begging each harbourmaster for a chance at a few pence 'well', then I suppose I'm doing very well.

Andrew: What a shame, Jack. Your credentials from the navy could land you almost any job down at Northwood, I'm sure of it. Have you a loan?

Jack: Cut the bunk, Mallace. His Majesty's Lord Chancellor doesn't stroll down to the East End to find a former regiment lad he hasn't seen in some twelve years to inquire about his banking history. Let me guess: Georgy's upset another one of the continentals and you're here to make sure I impress. Well, you're barmy is what you are. Compulsory service my arse. I'll die before I have to serve again.

''JACK then reaches for a glass of liqour on the table and downs it in a matter of seconds, much to the amazement of ANDREW. He slamms the glass hard on the wooden table.''

Andrew: Listen here, Jack: the past twelve years have been busy ones. I did write to you – I did! numerous times! – but never did I see a reply. Fact of the matter being I owe a great deal to the man who saved my life, and –

Jack: – and you'd like to repay me, at long last, with a free trip to God-knows-where to fire a bess at a line of colourful mainland bastards, aye?

Andrew: There's no war, Jack. At least, not yet. Here's what has happened: the Queen of France has been made prisoner in her own capital by the Spanish. I've been tasked with putting together a small force of men capable of breaking her out. We're trying to avoid war with Spain, presently, but we also need France's queen safe. 'Compile a force masterful in the avoidance of catastrophe, whilst also tactful in loyalty to the cause,' the report read, and you know what I said? 'Jack Pistol is the man for this job. Never before have I seen so much loyalty in a man than that day at St Vincent. You saved my life, Jack."

Jack: At the cost of my sanity.

ANDREW looked down, slightly ashamed.

Jack: I'm sorry, Andy. You think I care for the Queen of France? I hardly give a rat's arse for my own bloody monarch! That was twelve years ago, Andy. Things have changed. I'm not a soldier.

Andrew: Then I'm sorry to hear that. I expected more from you, Jack.

A ragged man approaches the table.

Man: Ai, Jack. Ol'Cobham's lookin' for ye. Says it's urgent.

<p style="text-align:left;">Jack: Excuse me, Andy.

<p style="text-align:left;">''JACK stands up and begins to walk towards the door with the other man, when ANDREW calls out from the table. JACK turns around.''

<p style="text-align:left;">Andrew: That's it then? You're going to walk out and go back to pilfering your next meal when not a day's trip away the leader of a great nation is locked away, and ours is probably next? That's how you repay all that Britain has done for you? What happened to fealty?

<p style="text-align:left;">Irritated, JACK walks back over to the table and points a finger at ANDREW.

<p style="text-align:left;">Jack: You as well as anybody should know that I fought for 'His Royal Majesty' once already. I gave everything I bloody-well could. Don't you talk to me about fealty, you goddam fop.

<p style="text-align:left;">Andrew: Look at yourself man! When was the last night you slept in a bed? Or bought a hot meal with a schilling from your wallet? You could have gone on to great things, Jack! And now, now you have your chance! I can see it now: 'Jack Aloysius Pistol, the Saviour of France; the libérateur of Paris; the Protector of Christendom'. It's not too late for a second act, lad. Whatever you call this isn't healthy... (ANDREW motions at the numerous overturned glasses on the tabble as well as the whiskey-stained, torn clothing and crude, unkempt appearance of JACK) Now I know you've your mind made, but think of the glory...! Think of the glory, Jack. It's not too late.

<p style="text-align:left;">''ANDREW stands, puts on his ornate overcoat, and pushes in his chair. He looks at Jack disappointedly as he begins to walk out.''

<p style="text-align:left;">Andrew: I've a long walk. I'm sorry about this. I bid you well, Jack Pistol. God knows I do.

<p style="text-align:left;">ANDREW turns to leave.

<p style="text-align:left;">Jack: Andy...

<p style="text-align:left;">''ANDREW turns back to JACK and looks at him expectingly. JACK has a slight grin on his face.''

<p style="text-align:left;">Jack: When do we leave?

SCENE III
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