by P. L. Kurup
“Are you hurt?” Samuel asked, helping her back on the seat.
“I’m fine,” she replied.
The carriage didn’t move one more inch. Samuel peered out the window to see a felled tree stump lying across the road.
“What’s wrong?” Alexandra enquired.
“There’s a tree lying across the road,” he answered.
“Who put it there?”
Samuel watched Arthur jump from his perch and stride to the wooden lump to investigate. Arthur turned frowning to Samuel, when he was pounced on by ten guards wearing red tunics and carrying muskets. The ambush made Samuel’s eyes widen.
“Don’t move or they will kill you,” Samuel instructed Arthur.
Arthur remained still and said, “We just want to be on our way.”
The soldiers showed no reaction to his words, almost as though they didn’t understand his simple language.
Samuel looked all over for a way out, but escape was unlikely. Turning to the front, he noticed that another man had joined the party. The person was of average height and had an elongated nose and short, blonde hair. He was dressed differently from the others in a black jacket with a blue sash over his shoulder that created an air of sophistication to it.
“I am General Jacques Batiste,” the man said. “Where are you off to in such a hurry?”
“I am not in a hurry. This is how I always steer the carriage,” Arthur replied brashly.
Batiste punched him in the stomach and Arthur recoiled.
“That’s for your impudence,” Batiste said calmly.
Batiste’s gaze switched to the carriage, and Samuel laid eyes on a man brimming with confidence. Batiste marched over to the carriage, and Samuel hurriedly told Alexandra, “Don’t say a word. I will speak for the both of us.”
Before she could agree, Batiste pried open the flimsy carriage door, and his intrusive eyes sought them out. The countess kept her gaze lowered.
“Get out of the carriage and stand near your driver,” Batiste ordered the couple.
Samuel and Alexandra stepped down from the carriage, and the pair crossed to Arthur and the circle of soldiers guarding him. Samuel saw Alexandra’s hands shiver in the brisk wind and that she kept her eyes lowered to avoid contact with Batiste. Despite her efforts, Batiste walked up and stood in front of her. Samuel clutched her hand as her breathing quickened, her cold breath swirling from her mouth like puffs of smoke. He wanted to tell her not to be afraid and that he would always protect her, but he knew it was unwise to speak. Batiste teased him further by stepping closer to Alexandra.
“This is your husband?” Batiste asked her. Alexandra nodded. “How long have you been married?”
“A few… a few days.”
“Newlyweds, then. Where are you two going?”
“My wife and I are on our way to visit my cousin in Austria. We are expected there tomorrow night,” Samuel answered.
“What manner of business are you in? If you don’t mind my asking?”
“We own a tavern in the country. It is a simple place, but it gives us a steady income,” Samuel said.
“A tavern in the country and a cousin in Austria... all lies!” Batiste yelled. “Don’t take me for a fool, monsieur. I suspect you and your wife are attempting to flee France because you are of noble blood. It cannot be a coincidence that you travel so hastily towards the border.”
Samuel leaned in and told Batiste, “I will come with you peacefully if you let my wife and driver go free. And I will be indebted to you forever.”
Batiste laughed and said, “I’m afraid there is no such thing as forever. Sooner or later, we must give up everything we have.”
Batiste switched to Alexandra and touched her face before lowering his hand to her breast. Samuel shoved Batiste’s hand away and punched him in the jaw. The blow was delivered with such force that Batiste was thrown five feet and landed on the ground with an almighty thud. The guards pointed their muskets at the couple, and Alexandra clutched her husband’s arm. Batiste jumped to his feet and wiped the blood from the recently acquired cut on his lip. From then on, the man adopted an angry facade.
“I would like you to know that I will be standing in the crowd the day you and your wife are put to death, and you can be sure that I will enjoy every moment of it,” Batiste declared.
Samuel looked at Batiste in a way indicative of pure rage. He and Alexandra were taken to another carriage, one reinforced with iron and with bars on its windows. The pair was thrown into the stifling cage, and its large wooden doors were closed and locked. Twenty prisoners sat on the carriage floor, many dressed in fine clothes and smelling of perfume. Samuel peered through the bars and watched Batiste thrust his sword into Arthur’s stomach, killing him in an instant. He turned away from the massacre and held his dear wife close to his chest.
“We will be safe and sound, my darling. I promise you that,” he whispered in her ear.
The prison carriage was steered in the opposite direction to the border. The countryside returned to its silent state, except there was an uneasy feeling in the air, an unholy cloud had brought darkness to the environment. It made the horses from Samuel’s carriage rear up and bolt into the horizon. Other creatures were also stirred. Birds flew away, and squirrels and foxes hid amidst the undergrowth.
In a tree high above them, a stranger watched the prison cart journey on. As the vehicle disappeared from sight, he leapt from the tree as nimbly as a cat, straightened his coat, and strode off in the direction of the prison coach.
Chapter 3
Paris, 1789, and revolution was everywhere. Crowds lined the streets fifteen people deep, whilst young and old struggled to get a view of la guillotine. Today did not differ from any other, as once more, parades of carts carried unhappy prisoners to their bloody fate.
Inside the first cart were a duke, a duchess, a countess, and an earl. They were once part of the wealthy elite, aristocrats who enjoyed the trappings of an opulent life. The duchess clung to her husband’s arm and closed her eyes to block out images of citizens yelling obscenities at her. The woman was in her late forties and had greying, brunette hair. Her husband, the duke, was a short and slender man in his mid-fifties. Like Samuel and Alexandra, Batiste ensnared them on the road to the border, the fallen tree stump once more being the ruse of choice.
The others in the cart accepted the barrage of insults being hurled at them with quiet indifference, but as the cart drew nearer to the scaffold, even they murmured and fidgeted.
The duchess felt the cart stop. Hearing the crowds screech louder made her immobile.
“Come on, my love. It’s time to be brave,” the duke encouraged her.
She opened her eyes to see his kindly face looking down on her. It took away a good part of her fear and gave her the courage to turn round. Doing so, she saw the guillotine’s razor-sharp blade glisten in the early morning sun.
“God have mercy on my soul,” she muttered.
A guard opened the back of the cart and gestured her to come forth. The lady stalled, not wishing to die yet.
“We haven’t got all day,” the guard said.
The duchess’s gaze was pinned on the angry audience as they screamed at her to jump. They were relentless in their torment and brought tears to her eyes. Knowing she could stall no longer, she let go of her husband’s arm and gave him a tender kiss before leaping to the ground. She landed in a muddy puddle, soiling her dress to the waist. A gentle smile graced her lips since she was not used to wearing grubby clothes. The guard grabbed her arm and led her to the scaffold steps while her husband and the others looked on. The once-revered woman walked sturdily up the stairs to reach a wooden platform no bigger than Samuel’s bed, where she saw the executioner waiting for her. He was a small man dressed in scruffy clothes who grinned at the duchess, revealing his many missing teeth.
“Don’t worry, your ladyship. It won’t hurt a bit,” he told her.
Showing no fear, she blessed herself and lay face d
own on a metal board. Once she was strapped in place with a leather belt across her waist, the panel was slid under the blade and secured with a lock.
The crowd fell silent and watched with bated breath; a brief drum roll later, the blade was released, and the lady’s suffering was over. Her gory death was greeted with cries of jubilation, the sound rippling through the city streets until it reached the doors of the ‘Lea prison.’ The prison was a monstrosity of a building with an outer wall some ten metres high, and doors reinforced with metal. Six thousand prisoners were housed within, many brought there on the orders of Maximilien Robespierre, the most brutal of revolutionaries.
The soldiers who guarded the jail didn’t flinch at the crowd’s reaction. Instead, they routinely offered up victim after victim from the cells to feed the hysterical frenzy.
xxx
Deep inside the catacombs of the prison were several intricate cells that were both dark and damp. The lowest level had twenty such cells and emitted a stench so powerful it would likely make anyone’s eyes water. The prisoners incarcerated there were unluckier than most since hardly any light penetrated its tiny window. The cruel irony was that on clear days it was possible to catch sight of the guillotine.
The cells were emptied twice a day, and each time, twenty souls were taken away, never to be heard from again. The first ten cells were now empty, but the last two accommodated around thirty prisoners each.
In the last cell were Count Samuel and his wife. They had been residents there for the past three days, and Alexandra appeared pale as all the blood had drained from her face. She stared out the prison window and just made out the death device in the distance. Samuel watched his young wife and sensed the anguish in her mind. He wrapped his arms around her tiny waist and closed his eyes, trying to forget everything except the warmth of her hands.
“Tell me how you felt the first time you saw me,” Alexandra said.
“The very first time I saw you, I thought I had never seen anything so beautiful in all my life. I felt blessed to be in your company, not to mention honoured and privileged, and I knew from that moment on, I had found the person I would love for all time.”
He felt a teardrop splash on his hand and took in a powerful breath. Samuel glanced about the cell to see thirty-one other people there. Among them a teenage girl and her father, who looked as broken as he and Alexandra did. Samuel smiled at the girl, and she smiled back.
The cell door flew open, and four guards burst in, trailed by Batiste. No one dared make eye contact with him in case they were to be chosen. Samuel watched Batiste walking through the room, examining the many people about him, and saw him pause when he reached the girl and her father. The child looked petrified of what may happen, and Samuel muttered under his breath, “Leave them alone.”
His worst fears were confirmed when, with a stroke of Batiste’s hand, two guards grabbed both the girl and her father and led them to the door.
“No, let me go. I want to stay,” the girl hollered.
Her pleas were ignored as Batiste stayed silent. Samuel strode across the room and thrust away one of the guards, freeing the girl from his clutches. The remaining guards surrounded Samuel in a flash and once again, he and Batiste locked eyes.
“If you are so determined to die, I shall grant your wish,” Batiste said, pointing his musket at Samuel.
Samuel failed to beg for his life like so many of Batiste’s victims had. The room squirmed in anticipation of murder. The teenage girl buried her head in her hands. General Batiste pulled the trigger, when Alexandra darted in front of the musket, grazing her arm with the bullet.
“No!” Samuel cried, tearing her way.
The red-coated guards held on to him, denying him a chance to assist his wife. A substantial amount of blood poured out from Alexandra’s injured arm, and she clasped her hand around the wound.
“It’s nothing,” she reassured Samuel.
Samuel turned to Batiste with rage in his eyes, and watched him grin before leaving the cell with the guards, the teenage girl, and her father. Once they’d gone, Samuel rushed to Alexandra, pried her hand off the abrasion, and pressed on the wound with his palm, desperate to stop the bleeding.
“Why did you that?” he asked her. “You could’ve been killed.”
“The same reason you tried to save the girl and her father,” she replied casually.
The others didn’t offer to help and watched in silence. In truth, there was nothing they or anyone could do under the circumstances.
Chapter 4
People kept to themselves after the incident and no one spoke or made eye contact. Hearing the roar of crowds witnessing the carnage forced some to cover their ears, others to bow their heads. Samuel choosing the latter. By late afternoon, the killing ceased, and the beleaguered prisoners were offered tasteless scraps of food and cups of sour milk. The thought of consuming the week-old food made him heave, but he knew that not eating would cause illness and starvation. He and his wife sat on the cold, filthy floor and bit into stale pieces of bread hard enough to crack their teeth. Somehow, they consumed the entire crust, and their hunger was suppressed.
“I can honestly say it’s unlike anything I have ever eaten before,” she said, chuckling.
“It tastes like the disgusting stew my mother made when the household came down with measles,” Samuel added. “Let me see your arm.”
As she exposed her arm to him, he saw that the lesion had stopped bleeding and started to heal.
“This time tomorrow, it will be back to its usual state,” he said cheerfully. His expression turned bleak as he wondered whether they’d even be alive this time tomorrow.
xxx
It was the early hours, and everyone in the cell besides Alexandra and Samuel were asleep. The couple sat on the floor, and Samuel had his arm around her shoulder. Gaping through the bars, he saw the guards take turns watching them. By the third hour, he’d learnt their shift patterns and mannerisms and knew that the portly fellow always looked disgruntled and struggled to stay awake.
That morning, it was he who guarded the door.
“I have to see Batiste,” Samuel whispered to his wife.
“What good would it do to see him?” questioned Alexandra. “He is a vile man.”
“I have to try everything I can to save us.” Alexandra shook her head. “Listen to me, if I don’t go and see him, we will both die. Give me your earrings. I need something to bribe the guard.” Alexandra removed the tiny emerald studs from her ears and placed them in his palm. He wiped away the barrage of tears cascading down her face and kissed her on the lips. “I will be back as soon as I can.”
He picked himself up off the floor and approached the door, prompting the guard to stare into the cell.
“What do you want?” the guard enquired.
Samuel threaded his fist through the bars and opened his palm to reveal the emerald earrings.
“I will give them to you if you take me to Batiste,” Samuel replied.
“He may be asleep,” answered the guard.
“Then we will have to wake him up,” Samuel retorted. The guard reached for the earrings when Samuel pulled back his hand. “Unlock the door and take me to Batiste.”
The guard used a metal key to open the cell door, and as soon as Samuel left the cell, he slammed and locked the gate.
“If you try to escape, your wife dies,” the guard forewarned.
Samuel walked ahead as the guard followed behind him with his rifle poised to fire at Samuel’s back. The two trod along the dank corridor and went by the first cell, which had been empty until that morning, but was now crammed full of prisoners.
Samuel noticed an elderly couple languishing at the back and recognized them as the Duke and Duchess of Rennes, guests who had attended his wedding little over two weeks ago. He stopped and clasped his fingers around the bars.
“No stopping. You have to keep moving,” the guard yelled.
“I am sure the earrings entitle me to s
top for a few minutes,” Samuel snapped.
The guard retreated and the couple walked up to Samuel. He gripped each of their hands and shuddered at the coldness of their skin.
“When did they bring you here?” Samuel asked them.
“This morning,” said the duke. “And you?”
“Three days ago,” replied Samuel.
“Don’t look so sad. Our troubles will soon be over,” muttered the duchess.
“There is always hope. Don’t forget that,” Samuel answered.
The guard prodded Samuel’s back with the rifle, and he pulled away from his friends, feeling a pain in his chest for their awful plight. Prisoner and guard climbed flights of stone stairs hearing the cries of tormented inmates emanating from everywhere. A mixture of hopelessness and fatigue halted Samuel as they arrived on the first floor where Batiste’s office was.
“Continue down,” the guard dictated.
Samuel did as he was told and the pair trudged down a lengthy corridor. The farther they walked, the less squalid the environment became. Cramped passageways and stained walls gave way to clean floors and light, airy spaces. Paintings of attractive young women graced the walls, and the area became flooded with the scent of lavender. Ahead of them, Samuel saw a door that was ajar.
“That’s his office. Remember, if anything happens to him, your wife dies today,” the guard cautioned again.
Samuel plodded across the polished surface and entered Batiste’s office. The room was larger than the chateau drawing room, and contained a sofa and three chairs, a desk wedged beneath a circular window, a counter laden with food, and more paintings of young women on the walls.
“For a man of the people, you certainly know how to live like a king,” commented Samuel.
“What are you doing outside your cell?” demanded Batiste.