The Crimson Heirlooms

by Hunter Dennis

  “I am.” Jake heaved a sigh of relief. He had thought he was totally alone in this. “Please help me. Be my lawyer.”

  “Done and done, Monsieur Loring.”

  “Please, call me Jake.”

  Crémieux narrowed his eyes. “A boy’s nickname.”

  “I’m afraid so. But when people say Monsieur Loring, I have no idea to whom they are referring.”

  “Very well, Jake. Please call me Isaäc.”

  “Isaäc? Are you a Jew?”

  “I am. Is that a problem?”

  Jake thought about it. “All the Jews in America were on the side of the revolution. Your people are generally reliable revolutionaries. If religions were neighborhoods, I suppose Judaism would be Faubourg Saint-Antoine.”

  “Ha! I will spread your words. How amusing! But now we must begin.” With that, Isaäc was all business, “You gave all the orders: to construct the barricade, to engage the enemy, and so on.”

  “Yes.”

  “You had a parley with Major Roux.”

  “I did.”

  “Wherein you were vocal in your Republican sentiment and your will to resist?”

  “Yes.”

  “You were caught with an ultra-modern pistol with a capacity of twenty rounds.”

  “Yes.”

  “Wearing a green cockade.”

  “Uh, yes.”

  “I will be frank with you, Jake. If we go to trial, it will not go well.”

  If? thought Jake. “Is there a chance we will not?”

  “I’m surprised you’re here at all.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The administrators of Louis-le-Grand, not to mention the alumni, want you to be deported. The American ambassador wants you to be deported. Our friends of the radical left within the government want you to be deported. And our enemies on the radical right want you to be deported as well.”

  “If everyone wants me to be deported, why am I not on a ship?”

  “That is the question, Jake.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Neither do I. Jake, how do I say this?”

  Jake stopped and looked at the man. What on earth was this all about? What was he talking about?

  Isaäc continued, “It is almost as if someone very powerful decided to single you out for trial, for a specific reason currently unknown to us. Have you angered anyone powerful?”

  Jake was shocked into silence. The idea was absurd - but Isaäc was dead serious. There had to be some kind of merit to the idea, but, even in the face of it, the idea of someone powerful believing that he was worthy of a conspiracy was laughable.

  “Jake?” Isaäc said gently.

  Jake couldn’t think of anything. He shook his head. “My best friend was killed.”

  “Franck Despres, of the Bordeaux Despres?”

  “Yes.”

  “You were not the reason behind his death. Neither could the Despres family engineer what has happened, even if you were.”

  “And Citizen Bouche is on my side, and does not wish that I go to trial?”

  “Yes, of course, and, no, he does not.”

  “Then I must tell you true, Isaäc. I have absolutely no idea who could be behind this plot, if plot it is.”

  “Perhaps we will know more at the trial. I will request an earlier date than anyone expects. We might as well face our true accusers sooner rather than later, and know our real battle.”

  “Very well.”

  “Our business is then concluded, at least for now. Is there anything else?”

  “Two things, if you please.”

  “I am listening.”

  “The man who was sentenced to death, the flag carrier. He isn’t the right man.”

  “Yes, we know, of course. We will reveal the proof when it suits us, to sully the proceedings. What else, Jake?”

  “I wrote a letter to the Despres family, but did not mail it.”

  “I would keep it for now,” said Isaäc in an even tone.

  “I don’t understand. Can you not mail it for me?”

  “Your correspondence is intercepted. By the authorities, and then by myself and The Society. Madame Despres has sent you a letter.”

  “Well, where is it? Wait - who is intercepting my-”

  “The letter was written by a mother in the throes of deep grief, and it is better left unread. Hopefully, she will come to a better place in regard to this. It will perhaps take years. For the nonce, it is better if there is no further contact. In fact, she has specified this. Do you understand?”

  Jake was overwhelmed. He had spent every Summer and long holiday with the Despres family. They were a second family. “I understand,” he managed to say.

  “Then I bid you adieu.” Isaäc bowed and smiled, then turned and left.

  Jake walked to his room and sat on the bed.

  He cried. He sobbed like a child, for the first time in years. In fact, Jake realized he hadn’t cried since his mother died. He cried for himself, for poor Franck, and for all this miserable business. To his astonishment, he realized he cried the most for his lost mother. He was shocked. To his recollection, he did not think of her often.

  He just wanted it all to be over. Truthfully, he now wished it had never begun. But he knew, deep down, it was only now just beginning. Decisions are like seeds, except the harvest can be hurtful, and last for decades - or even end your life.

  Jake was about to find out what he had planted, and he did not look forward to the results.

  ***

  The beautiful Conciergerie courtroom of arched windows and soaring stone ceilings was vast, and filled with people. The buzz of noise, hum of energy, the looks, smiles and mood, all helped to create an atmosphere of judicial theater. The business part of the room, the stage, so to speak, was semicircular, with a table, in the same shape, lying in the background, crowning the room like a dome.

  The Presiding Justice was seated front and center at this table, with clerks to his left and right. Two sets of three judges served as the rest of the jury, and flanked them on both sides, to total seven judges altogether. Jake sat far stage right, surrounded by bailiffs, in an impressive box for the accused. The Prosecutor General was in an equally-grand box, directly across from him. More lawyers, advocates and bailiffs sat and stood next to tables surrounding the boxes. Isaäc - now back as Adolphe Crémieux - was seated there with his clerks near Jake. A second semicircle, formed by a high wooden bannister, mirrored the judge’s table and stood as a podium for witnesses. This half-circle was foreground and center stage, the gas spotlight mark for the lead actors of the play.

  Major Roux was currently onstage. He stood in the witness box, resplendent in his dress blues, still looking as if he needed a shave, when one knew he had just come from the barber. He was relating, with nearly perfect accuracy, what had transpired between himself, his men, Jake, and the defenders of the barricade.

  “...at that point, the center portion of the barricade had been cleared by my men, and I was able to ride through to the other side,” he said in an even voice.

  “Major, were you able to see the man with whom you exchanged words before the melee?” asked the Prosecutor.

  “Yes. He was lying unmoving, next to another rebel. There was a Lefaucheux and a Charleville near their bodies. I asked that the weapons be policed, and the two downed rebels checked for their vitals. The Commander was alive, but the other was not. I asked my aide-de-camp to ensure that the Commander was taken to the hospital, and identified as a rebel leader, to all necessary parties as he traveled.”

  “Was Monsieur Loring searched before he was taken to the hospital? And, if so, was anything of note found on his person?”

  “Yes, Monsieur. We found a green cockade, extra cartridges for the Lefaucheux, and a bayonet in a leather scabbard.”

  “And do you remember the casualties of this short, but sharp, engagement?”

  “I do, Monsieur. We lost nine good men, and seventeen were wounded. They lost s
even dead, and fifteen of the twenty-one captives were wounded.”

  “Nearly ten percent of the casualties of the entire rebellion happened at this barricade?”

  “Yes, Monsieur. We had to take their position in order to use cannon on the main Rue du Faubourg Saint-Antoine barricade. But once we did, the entire rebel position was jeopardized.”

  “Thank you, Captain.” The Prosecutor General turned to the Presiding Justice, “I have no further questions, Monsieur le Président.”

  The Presiding Justice turned to Isaäc, “Do you have any further questions for the witness, Monsieur l'Avocat?”

  “I have only one thing to say to the witness,” said Isaäc as he stood.

  “Then he is your witness, Monsieur.”

  Isaäc regarded Major Roux for a long moment. His expression was almost paternal. He suddenly turned and spoke to the crowd, “We are humbled. We, our nation, us – France, once the greatest nation on earth. We, mes amies, are only the remnant of what was, an upright pillar standing alone in a ruin.”

  There was only silence, as if his words were a prayer at a funeral.

  He continued, “To humble us, nearly every nation of note had to band together. Now the world’s policy in regard to France is simple. We are to be contained. We are not to look past our own borders, at least in Europe. We are the perpetrators of great evil, who have unleashed what should not have been unleashed, and now we are to be penitent - chastised for the promulgation of poisoned thought. Yet, there are those who still stand for our nation, who are willing to fight and die for France.” He suddenly turned to Roux, “Thank you for your brave service to the Fatherland, and to us all, Major Roux.”

  Roux nearly teared, “I am at your service, Monsieur.”

  Isaäc sat.

  “Major Roux,” said the Judge, “you are free to go.”

  Roux snapped his heels and left the room. The crowd stared at him as if he was Horatius One-Eye after holding the Sublicius bridge.

  Isaäc stood again, “Monsieur le Président, I wish to interrogate my client, for the record.”

  Jake’s head snapped up. He did not expect this. His mouth went dry.

  “He is your witness, Monsieur,” replied the Judge.

  Isaäc turned and faced Jake. Jake was shocked to see a stern, disapproving visage on his avocat’s face. “Monsieur Loring,” Isaäc began sternly, “You will address me as Monsieur, or Monsieur l'Avocat. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, Monsieur.” My God, he really is angry. What have I done?

  “Why are you here?”

  “W-what?”

  “What, Monsieur.”

  “What, Monsieur?”

  “Why… are… you… here?” Isaäc turned, and faced the crowd, “You are an American, yes? Specifically, from the United States. Why are you here? In France, in Paris?”

  Jake’s thoughts were awhirl. What did Isaäc want him to say? He was from Wellesley - staid, boring and plain. His house was filled with silence, the vacuum left by a dead woman somehow ironically taking up the space. His father was a ghost, only the creak of his footsteps on the wooden floors announced his presence. The servants whispered, as if there was some kind of an unspoken rule to avoid signs of life. Wellesley was ten fingers around his throat, cutting off his air, choking the life out of him.

  “Allow me to give you a hint, Monsieur Loring,” said Isaäc dryly, and the spectators laughed. He crossed to a Bailiff's desk and, at the exact moment the laughter ended, flourished an old piece of parchment into the air. “Physical Exhibit Fifteen, Monsieur,” he said respectfully to the Prosecutor, who nodded respectfully in turn. Isaäc turned back to Jake, “Do you know what this is, Monsieur Loring? Rather, what is written and drawn upon it? Does this jog your memory, or your tongue?” More laughs from the courtroom.

  “Yes, Monsieur.”

  “Then what is it? Explain.”

  “It is an order from the headmaster of Louis-le-Grand.”

  “The current headmaster, Father Daniel?”

  “No, two headmasters ago. The headmaster from 1805, Father Martin.”

  “And what does this document reference?”

  “It instructs any future headmaster to admit a boy on full scholarship, regardless of his circumstance, who arrives at the school with a certain pewter cross around his neck.”

  The courtroom exploded into whispers.

  “Mon Dieu!” Isaäc exclaimed, “Is this in regard to your cross, the cross around your neck?”

  “Yes, Monsieur.” Jake took his simple cross from around his neck, and showed it to the court.

  Whispers were heard again, frenzied but quieter. No one wanted to miss a word.

  Isaäc shook his head, “You have a little Cross of Nantes, one that has availed you a tiny treasure! I have a thought! The melting point of pewter is lower than gold. Perhaps it is the Cross of Nantes, simply covered in pewter to disguise its true nature!”

  “As you can see, Monsieur, my cross is but a thin, small thing. Nothing could hide inside of it.”

  “And what is engraved upon this cross around your neck?”

  “L-L-L-G-10-17-05-4.”

  “Meaning what?”

  “Lycée Louis-le-Grand, the date of the seventeenth of October, 1805. The last number, the four, references the fourth document drawn up on that date by the headmaster, which happens to be that very paper in your hand.”

  “This must have caused quite a stir.”

  “It did. Uh, it did, Monsieur.” Jake was beginning to feel better. Isaäc had a plan - he was subtly telling Jake where to move the chess pieces.

  “Why on earth would you, sight unseen, be entitled to an education at the most selective school in the world?” he asked.

  “My grandfather was a war hero. I did not know him well, but it is said he served with French Marines during the Revolutionary War, and was thus rewarded.”

  “I would have thought a soldier would have preferred a cask or two of brandy,” said Isaäc, and the courtroom chuckled.

  “The gift was meant for my father. He taught himself fluent French, which he then taught me. My grandfather spoke no French at all. I’m afraid I have no idea why the gift was so late. The war ended in 1783. The letter was dated twenty-two years after the war.”

  “There is a curious design upon this paper. It indicates that your cross would have the same design engraved on its surface.”

  “Yes, Monsieur.”

  “Could you describe it please?”

  “It is small, but it resembles a young woman, lying in eternal rest on a boat which, in turn, lies on a river, headed toward a city on a hill.”

  “That sounds extraordinarily specific. What does it mean?”

  “When I was younger, I thought it was an image of my mother. She passed away when I was a child.”

  Now the courtroom properly buzzed, as the audience whispered amongst themselves. The interruption ended quickly – everyone was far too interested in what was being said.

  Isaäc turned to Jake again, now more pensive, “And now? Now what do you think it means?”

  “It is Elaine of Astolat, I believe. From Le Morte d'Arthur. She was Lancelot’s true love. He betrayed her for Guinevere, the Queen, therefore toppling Arthur, and destroying Camelot.”

  “You are a far more interesting person than anyone could have possibly imagined, aren’t you, Monsieur Loring?” Isaäc waited for a moment, then continued, “Has this happened before? Have scholarships at Louis-le-Grand been granted for wartime service in the past?”

  “No, Monsieur. Never. Although, sometimes, the children of wartime heroes are given special consideration.”

  “I see. This is most unusual then.”

  “The document had attained legendary status by the time I arrived. Half of my first day was spent answering questions of the faculty and staff.”

  “I can well imagine. And did your family simply put you on a ship for France?” More chuckles from the crowd.

  “No, Monsieur. They
sent a letter to the school, asking for confirmation that the scholarship existed. When a letter was sent back, explaining that indeed the document existed, and the promise would be honored, I was placed in a coach bound for Boston harbor. I have said the gift was meant for my father. My father has never left Wellesley. His loss, as I said, was my gain.”

  Isaäc turned, and addressed the courtroom, “I come now to explain why this line of questioning is important and germane. I appreciate the respect given to me by the prosecution, who trusted that my line of questioning, however unusual, would prove itself to be indispensable, and appropriate, to the defense of my client.” Another respectful nod from the Prosecutor, and Isaäc continued, “So Jacob Esau Loring was the grandson of a revolutionary, a war hero of America. This man served with French forces with such distinction that a reward of a unique nature - a scholarship to Louis-le-Grand - was given to him, for a relative, or friend, of his choosing; anyone to whom he bestowed the pewter cross, as it were. The very presence of my client, in France, was predicated on the revolutionary credentials of his family. And, presently, he arrived here, to see our own revolution in tatters, our government and society in chaos. Our king overthrown two years ago, war in Algeria, and cholera stalking the streets. And here is Monsieur Loring. As an American, eternally grateful to our nation, eternally indebted to the revolutionary movement, raised and educated in the mores and advancements of the Age of Enlightenment. And suddenly, suddenly, mes amies, the streets of Paris are alive with gunfire and barricades and riots and life! Messieurs et Madames, at that point, there would be only one question: is he a coward, or is he not? For if he were a coward, he would hide under his bed, and think of nothing else but his skin. But if he were not cowardly, if he was his grandfather’s grandson, if he were the correct recipient of this scholarship, if the blood of heroes flowed through his veins, the stuff that could fight side-by-side with French Marines, well, he would come to the streets of Paris, to fight for the people of France! Long live France! Long live the Nation! Long live the Fatherland! Vive la France!”

  Now the courtroom went berserk with shouting and cheers. Isaäc was saying more, something, shouting it, but was easily drowned out. His huge gesticulations were almost like those of a conductor of an orchestra, but Isaäc’s musicians were the courtroom spectators, now turned proper mob.