‘Austrians! Austrians!’ The cry was repeated on all sides.
Frank held up his hands in a placatory gesture. ‘Not Austrians, monsieur, English.’ This didn’t appear to make things any better.
‘But we are friends of France, not enemies,’ I added hurriedly.
The man seized Frank by the arm and looked him over. Joseph stepped forward to intervene, only to find himself restrained by two men from behind. ‘If you are our friends, where are your cockades then?’
‘Cockade?’ Frank swallowed, darting a look at me but I was as clueless as him.
The man tapped his ribbon. ‘Your cockade. Every citizen loyal to the revolution wears one.’
‘I’m sorry, we only arrived last night. We haven’t had time . . .’ began Frank but he was pushed aside as the man turned his attention on me.
‘And where’s yours, citizeness? Among all those ribbons, surely you would have had time to put on the red, white and blue?’
I looked hopelessly down at the dress Madame Beaufort had chosen for me. It was covered in pink bows. I couldn’t blame him for being offended; the dress upset me too.
‘I apologize, monsieur, I didn’t know . . .’
‘A likely story. Everyone knows. What’s your name?’
‘Catherine, monsieur.’
‘Catherine what?’
‘Royal – I’m named after the theatre . . .’
But he didn’t want to hear about that. ‘Royal!’ he roared, seizing me by the scruff of the neck. ‘Messieurs, we have foreign royalists in our midst – enemies of the revolution. They have collaborated with the queen to poison the king against us – they persuaded him to leave.’ An angry muttering rippled through the crowd surrounding us.
‘They helped the king escape!’ shouted a woman wildly. ‘I saw them do it!’
‘I did too,’ shrieked another. The mood against the royal family was changing from bewilderment to indignation – and we were unfortunately about to suffer for it.
‘But we didn’t!’ Frank protested. ‘We had nothing to do with it. We only arrived last night!’
‘And the king fled last night!’ bellowed the man triumphantly as if this was proof of our guilt. ‘To the lamp post with them! Hang the foreign traitors as an example to our enemies!’
‘No!’ I shrieked as he dragged me with him to the edge of the square. ‘We’re innocent – we’ve done nothing!’
Joseph was struggling frantically with his captors; Frank had been wrestled to the ground by three men. A woman spat on him.
‘Death to the foreign spies!’ she jeered.
‘Cat, run!’ Frank yelled, but there was no chance of that: the man had a firm grip on me. Someone produced a length of rope and threw it over one of the arms of a lamp post, a noose tied on one end. I was now fighting for my life. I twisted round and kneed my captor where it would hurt most. He bent double, eyes watering, but still kept a hold of my hair.
‘Hang the girl first,’ he gasped. Two men stepped forward and took me by the arms, lifting me off the ground as I wriggled in their grasp.
‘But she’s only young,’ one said doubtfully, looking for guidance to our self-appointed judge.
‘Not too young to be a royalist traitor,’ he firmly replied.
‘I’m not a royalist. I’m a dancer!’ I screamed. ‘I’m from the streets like you.’ I let out a string of expletives, calling them every name I could think of which, had they known English, would have convinced them of the truth of my claim.
‘A little aristocratic firecracker, this one!’ jeered a woman as the noose was put round my neck.
I couldn’t believe it: this was the end. I didn’t want to die like this – not today, not dressed up like a pink sugar confection. These stupid halfwits were going to murder me because of a name they didn’t understand! I was so angry that I forgot even my fear.
‘You imbeciles!’ I shouted. Someone tried to pull my hands behind me to bind them. I wrenched them free and employed them in a universally rude gesture. If I was going down, I was damn well going down fighting. ‘That to you, citizen – and you – and you!’ My escaped hands were caught and tied together with a handkerchief. ‘You’ll regret this, you will!’
‘Not as much as you!’ laughed my judge. ‘Up, up and away with the royalist witch!’
‘Not Cat, no!’ yelled Frank. ‘Let her go!’
‘Not likely, mate. You’re next so shut it!’ The man gave a tug on the rope.
‘Stop!’ A new voice was unexpectedly raised in my defence. The boy I’d noticed in the king’s bedchamber picking up the knife pushed his way to the front of the crowd and planted himself before me, poised on the balls of his feet like a dancer about to spring into action. He was barefoot and had a red cap pushed back on his head. A gaudy waistcoat edged with gold braid covered his tattered shirt.
‘Who are you, citizen?’ asked my judge, letting the rope slacken a fraction.
‘Jean-Francois Thiland, bachelor of this parish.’ The boy whipped the cap from his head and gave a flourishing bow to his audience.
‘It’s J-F!’ a woman whispered to her neighbour. This obviously meant something to many of them because the name was passed one to the other, accompanied by a smile and a nod.
‘Citizens, I appeal to you! What has the girl done but come out a trifle unprepared? My maman does that when she’s had too much to drink – would you hang her too? Not very chivalrous, no?’
A few in the crowd laughed.
‘Besides, I believe her when she says she’s one of us,’ the boy continued, strutting like a pigeon on the pavement in front of me.
‘How do you know she’s one of us?’ my judge-cum-executioner asked, glaring at him.
The boy pouted, evidently annoyed to find his word doubted. ‘Citizen, what fine lady would know that sign? And I may not have understood her, but I know a girl swearing like a guardsman when I hear it. At home, I hear it night and day – don’t you?’
There was some muttering behind me and a titter of laughter. The boy was playing his audience well, transforming murderous anger to good humour. Standing with a noose around my neck, I was heartily thankful, though I could not help but think him foolhardy to risk intervening: he could so easily end up joining us in this little death party. On the other hand, he seemed to wield a strange authority over the crowd; he acted like someone used to performing in front of others. A whiff of the theatre about him perhaps? As they say, it takes one to know one . . .
The boy they called J-F scanned the faces before him, and then judged the moment was right to bring forward his demand. ‘Release the English into my hands, citizens, and I promise that I will examine the matter carefully in my court.’
His court? What did that mean?
‘If they are guilty, they will not survive until tomorrow; if blameless, then innocent lives will have been spared.’ The boy turned to each side of the audience in turn, hands held out in graceful appeal. His eyes then fell on Frank, who was being restrained by a burly porter, his face tinged blue as an arm choked his throat. ‘But I wish to let them speak on their behalf and to speak I believe they need air, citizen.’ Frank’s captor grinned sheepishly and loosened his grip. Frank gasped and staggered. ‘Now, if you will oblige me in untying that noose from the girl, I will summon help to escort these foreigners to their appointment with justice. The next session in the Court of the Thieves of the Palais Royal is about to begin.’
With immense relief, I felt the rope being removed from my neck. The boy gave a piercing whistle and six lads wormed their way to the front of the crowd and saluted him like soldiers reporting for duty.
‘Take the men, my friends,’ he commanded. They surrounded Frank and Joseph and began to hustle them through the crowd before anyone had time to change their mind. A final thought struck my saviour and he turned back to the crowd who were now smiling and laughing, their bloody mood giving way to a carnival atmosphere. The king’s flight had turned everything upside down, so why could
beggar boys not preside over a court?
‘Oh, and if any worthy citizen wishes to view the trial, let him proceed to the Golden Balls.’
With that, he gave another bow and held out his hand to me. I stepped hesitantly forward, wondering what was going to happen next. J-F smiled at my bewilderment, kissed my fingertips, and then led me away from the lamp post that had so very nearly become my scaffold.
‘Follow me, firecracker,’ he said.
SCENE 4 – THE THIEVES’ COURT
I looked sideways at my escort. He was only a few inches taller than me. He had an alert face, eyes darting this way and that, sharp like a sparrow on a tray of crumbs. Prominent ears stuck out from matted brown hair like handles on a toby jug. He moved with confidence, swaggering down the street with the bearing of a little prince, tipping his cap to all the ladies.
‘Monsieur, thank you for saving us,’ I said when we turned into a quieter street of close-pressed houses and rank gutters off the rue Saint Honoré. It reminded me of home.
‘My name is J-F, mademoiselle. And I haven’t saved you. You have the wrong idea about me if you think that.’
Was he being modest? It didn’t seem his style.
‘Then why did you step in to stop them lynching us?’
‘Why waste three perfectly good suits of clothes – possibly jewels and money too?’ He gave me a searching look, eyes flicking up and down as he assessed my finery. ‘If I hadn’t, someone else would’ve nabbed them before you were cold. I’m no friend to aristocrats – I just like their stuff.’ His face was hard, inscrutable. I didn’t think he was joking. ‘You look shocked, mademoiselle.’
‘Not shocked, disappointed,’ I said sourly. I now realized the adventure was far from over as we walked back to this hideout of his. The thought crossed my mind that, for the moment, I only had him to deal with: I should run for it if I knew my own best interests. But what about Frank and Joseph, being marched off to their appointment with the Thieves’ Court?
J-F appeared to be following my internal debate from the expressions passing across my face because he tightened his grip on my arm. ‘I am sorry to disappoint a lady, mademoiselle. Does it make you feel any better to know that I also wanted to see the firecracker go off again?’ He winked and gave me a grin that a gargoyle would’ve been proud to own.
I didn’t smile back. There was something in his expression that told me that he was not to be crossed. He would need careful handling – neither Frank nor Joseph would know how to do this. Resolving not to abandon them, I allowed J-F to lead me into a tavern adorned by three golden balls that hung over its entrance. We walked straight through the empty taproom and out to a yard at the back. It was stacked with barrels and had that distinct odour peculiar to inns: a perfume consisting of beer and wine slops trodden in by muddy boots. Frank and Joseph were already there, surrounded by a group of at least twenty boys, all of whom were pawing at their clothes with greedy fingers. Two girls appeared from a side room and greeted J-F with a kiss on each cheek. He muttered something in their ears and then clapped his hands.
‘Search the accused for evidence!’ he ordered. ‘Marie, Annette – take the little redhead to your room.’
Frank looked alarmed to see me being separated from them. ‘I beg you not to harm her!’ he shouted after me. Marie and Annette tittered.
‘He’s so gallant,’ Marie, the dark-haired one, whispered to me.
‘Frank, don’t worry. I’ll be perfectly safe. Just behave and it’ll be all right,’ I assured him in English.
Marie and Annette led me into their lodgings and closed the door. We eyed each other cautiously like dogs trying to work out if the stranger would bite.
‘Mademoiselle, if we could trouble you for the dress,’ said Annette with mock-politeness. She was a pretty girl with white-blonde hair and blue eyes.
‘Of course.’ I gave them not even a growl as I slipped out of the gown – I’d hated it from the start. They took one look at my shift and turned up their noses in disappointment. No doubt they had been hoping for something much finer.
‘We won’t be bothering with that – not a bit of lace on it,’ said Marie. ‘No jewellery either. But the shoes – we’ll have those.’
They turned to each other and began to chatter away, valuing my goods between them. Though they seemed quite content to leave me standing barefoot in my undergarments, I had other ideas.
‘You know, I think that dress would look really good on you, mademoiselle,’ I said to Annette, the shorter of the two. ‘Pink was never my colour but it’d look lovely on a girl with your hair.’
Annette giggled and turned to Marie for permission to do what she longed to do.
‘Go on, Annette. I’m sure J-F won’t mind,’ encouraged her friend.
Annette wriggled out of her patched clothes and donned my dress with a smile of pure delight, unconcerned that it fell well short of her ankles. She fingered the fine material, her eyes shining.
‘I was right: it does look better on you,’ I told her. ‘You don’t mind if I make myself presentable?’ I picked up her discarded dress with an enquiring look at my two guards.
‘Not at all,’ Annette replied, preoccupied with tweaking the bows on the bodice.
Her old dress was on the large side, the hem trailing on the ground, but it was plain and serviceable. I was not unhappy with the exchange.
‘May I have this?’ I asked, pointing to the cockade pinned on the front.
‘Go ahead: we’ve some to spare,’ said Marie. She reached into a box at the end of their rickety bed and pulled out another. ‘I don’t suppose you want to be seen without one again?’ She grinned, showing wide gaps between her teeth.
‘I’m sorry I don’t have anything for you to wear,’ I told her.
She shrugged. ‘Don’t worry, English girl, I’ll sell the shoes. They’ll fetch a nice price. Come, let’s go back to J-F before he sends someone after us.’
We emerged into the courtyard to find the thief lounging on a makeshift throne of barrels, toying with a pink ribbon I had not so long ago had in my hair. I hadn’t even noticed him pilfering it: he must be good at his craft. He tied the bow around his own head, making his followers laugh.
Frank and Joseph had not fared as well as me: they were both stripped to the skin with only a rag to keep their modesty covered. Frank looked mortified to appear before company in this fashion; Joseph incensed. As both were bound and gagged, I guessed they had resisted the attempt to part them from their belongings. Well really, what did they expect? When you fall among thieves, it’s wit and cunning that’ll keep you safe, not moral outrage. As they seemed in no immediate danger, I stood back, arms folded, to watch the little thief order his court. I had admired his pluck in front of the mob at the lamp post; it would be intriguing to see how he held sway here. I also had to think of a way to extricate us from this situation.
J-F sat up on his throne. The laughter died. He waved a hand to one side as if talking to an imaginary person.
‘What are the charges?’
Assuming a stern expression, he answered himself: ‘The accused are charged with being stuck-up foreign nobility not wearing the cockade.’
His followers cheered, enjoying the performance.
‘Defence?’
He now assumed a wheedling, hand-rubbing persona: ‘The tall one’s a servant, your honour.’
‘But he calls the other “Milord”,’ J-F said, switching to the prosecutor’s voice. ‘That means the buckskin boy is an aristocrat.’
The crowd booed and jostled Frank.
‘And what about her?’ the judge voice asked.
J-F stared hard at me, his hazel eyes perplexed. ‘Don’t know – she remains a mystery,’ he concluded in his normal tone. ‘Girls, what did you find?’
‘Nothing of value, except the dress,’ said Marie, coming to sit at his feet. Annette blushed and gave a twirl.
‘Very pretty – keep it. I found this on him,’ announced J-F, tossing
Frank’s purse into the air and catching it so that it chinked. ‘So, to the verdict.’ He looked around the room, gauging the mood of his followers. ‘The man’s acquitted. The boy’s condemned for being a filthy aristocrat.’
Condemned? Frank gave me a desperate look but J-F hadn’t finished with us yet. He waved at me.
‘Girl – stand forward.’
I stepped into the centre of the court. I wasn’t afraid for myself, not like I had been when surrounded by the mob outside the palace, but I was worried for Frank. How far would J-F carry this charade?
J-F twirled the ribbon at me. ‘Who are you?’
‘I’ve already said. I’m English. I’m a friend of the revolution – or I was until you all tried to string me up this morning. Since then, my feelings have cooled somewhat.’
Marie laughed. ‘Don’t blame you, girl,’ she called out.
‘That’s who I am. And I’ll tell you who you are for nothing,’ I continued.
‘Oh yes? And who’s that?’ asked J-F, sitting forward as if expecting to be handed a treat.
‘You’re a complete idiot.’
Frank struggled with his bonds, groaning through his gag. He was trying to warn me to show more respect for our captor but I knew exactly what I was doing.
J-F smiled, apparently not disappointed. ‘And how did you work that one out, English girl?’
‘Since when have all aristocrats been your enemy?’
He tossed the ribbon carelessly into the air. ‘All rich people are. It doesn’t matter to me who’s in power – they all turn out to be the same: protecting their own, stamping on the likes of us.’
‘If you really think that, it just proves what a dimwit you are. Frank’s been my good friend for two years now – he’s helped me out of many fixes.’ J-F did not look impressed by this so I took a different tack. ‘Tell me, are all thieves in Paris the same?’
J-F smiled slyly. ‘Redistributors of wealth, please. And no, we most certainly are not.’
‘That’s right,’ agreed Marie. ‘We’re much better than that lot from Notre Dame – bunch of nasty cutthroats, they are.’
Den of Thieves Page 11