by Rob Griffith
“Your father made me promise never to tell you the truth.”
“Then why are you telling me now?”
“Because I have to protect you again. I prayed Ben’s plan would work, but it hasn’t. We won’t be able to get out of Paris now they know Claude escaped. If I give Ben to Lacrosse then he will let us live.”
“No, I won’t let you,” said Dominique.
“You can’t stop me."
“I can. I will,” she said and drew her own pocket pistol, the twin of the one Calvet still had pointed at me.
“Can’t you see I am doing this for you?” he asked.
“No, you are saving your own skin once again. If you love me you could not kill the man that I love.”
“No, you will forget him, and you will live. You have to,” he said and raised his pistol. His aim didn’t waiver, I was looking down the barrel. It was a small calibre but I had no doubt it would kill me if he pulled the trigger. The shot came and I flinched, but it was Dominique who had fired. Calvet sank to the ground and clutched his side. Dominique passed Claude to me and went to Calvet.
“I am sorry uncle,” she said as she knelt beside him.
“As am I, dear Dominique,” said Calvet. She propped him up against the wall of a shed. “I did what I thought was best. The only thing I could do to save you both. Your father made me swear to protect you. I am sorry I lied. Sorry I didn’t trust you with the truth. I thought you would hate me.”
“Dominique, we have to go,” I said. I knew the shot would have been heard by the dragoons.
“No…” she began.
“He is right. I will slow them down,” he said and held his pistol in a bloody hand.
“Thank you Calvet,” I said.
“Look after them, Ben,” he pleaded and he reached into a pocket and handed me the passes to get us out of the city.
“I will, I promise. Dominique, we have to go, now,” I said and began to walk, hoping she would follow.
She kissed Calvet once and then stood and ran after me, taking Claude’s other arm. Between us we half carried the boy quickly away. He was regaining some of his strength now.
“What about uncle?” he asked weakly, looking over his shoulder. Neither Dominique or I looked back.
“He’ll be along in a moment,” I said.
The city of Paris has changed much since that morning, it is no longer the same city that we left as the a grey dawn broke. I remember looking back across the river, seeing the rooftops poking out of the mist and wondering if I would see it again. I did, but not for many years and then another Louis was on the throne, and, like returning to the arms of an old lover, it wasn’t quite the same. Bonaparte, or I suppose I should say Napoleon since he crowned himself Emperor later that year, demolished large areas of the city to make majestic boulevards, monuments to his victories and large public buildings. Of the people I knew, some were still there, like Henri, but many others were gone, casualties of the long war.
Claude found that Mrs Simpkins’ cooking and the Oxfordshire air on my father’s estate restored him to health but his desire to avenge his family led him, against my wishes, to enlist in the British Army. He was fatally wounded at Badajoz fighting with Wellington and I was at his side when the surgeon took one look at the ball lodged in his stomach and shook his head. My friend and soon-to-be brother-in-law James Hawkshawe fought under the Iron Duke as well, but fortunately survived to father my nieces and nephews; Lucy of course was a wonderful mother. The Alien Office continued to ferment treachery in Europe, with a little help from myself, but in the end it was the sacrifices of many British and allied soldiers and sailors that did for Napoleon, and not some infernal machine or dagger between the ribs.
As for my own fate, and that of Dominique, well I have one more chapter to write and you have one more to read, but forgive me dear reader if I put up my pen now. Dawn is breaking, as it was then, and I have been writing all night, the candle has almost burned down. I can hear the birds singing outside and I feel the need to walk through the songs and stillness of an English morn before completing my tale and telling you what happened in that other dawn, so long ago and so far away, but still so close to my broken heart.
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
I could hear Lacrosse and the dragoons coming after us as we hurried away from Calvet. He was lost in the mist by the time we heard the shots; the first one a crack, followed by several louder and deeper. Dominique and I looked at each other but said nothing, we just quickened our pace. We were heading towards the lane that would take us to the Abbaye St-Victor. It had been one of the oldest and finest churches in Paris but like many others it had been attacked during the revolution and had long been abandoned. It was a ruin, a shelter for tramps and bats but little else. Most of the population of the city still had enough respect for the church to leave it alone.
The mist had spread its tendrils from the river and provided us with welcome extra concealment. The sounds of the dragoons chasing us seemed to be very close but we hoped it was the fog misleading us and were careful to make our own progress as silently as possible. The cold had started to bite now. I was still wearing my stolen gendarme’s uniform but I had given my cloak to Claude, as had Dominique, so one of us at least was warm. The boy still looked pale and weak but I think at his heart he had the same strength as his sister. The fog was laced with smoke from the city’s hearths and had a dirty, almost gritty taste to it. Coughs wracked Claude’s body every minute, making Dominique and I wince at the noise, but he never faltered and managed to keep pace with us.
The first shout came a few minutes later and we could no longer pretend it was the fog making it sound closer than it was. I saw the dragoon emerge from the mist behind us, carbine in his hands. He aimed and snapped off a shot.
“Run!” I shouted and headed for the lane that led to the abbey. We heard more shouts. I knew we had little hope of escape even if we did reach the abbey but we could do nothing but try. The fog enveloped us as we ran, I hoped it would mask the direction of the gun shot so that the dragoons would take a few extra minutes to find their comrade and join the pursuit. Claude began coughing again and stumbled his body was barely up to the task of standing, let alone running, but the lad was trying hard. I picked him up and threw him over my shoulder, hardly breaking my stride. Dominique was holding her skirt up and cursing its restrictions.
The lane was narrow and rutted, weaving between walls, hedges and cottages. There was nowhere to hide, no one to help us. We were not going to out-run the dragoons, or anybody else. Our only hope were the horses Henri had left for us. If we could get to them before the dragoons caught up to us we had a chance. A small one, but a chance nonetheless. I had gambled on tighter odds before but never with so much at stake.
The dim grey shapes of the abbey’s walls and outbuildings emerged like ghosts from the gloom. An arched doorway stood bereft of the walls that had once stood beside it but I ran through it all the same. I could hear horses on the lane behind us. Someone shouted and a shot chipped the arch above my head. I pulled Dominique into the ruins, and into a maze of cloisters, kitchens and chapels. I could hear the dragoons outside and their officer ordering them to search the abbey. He had a clear and authoritative voice, he sounded calm and efficient and he was going to kill us. The blackened shell of a dairy, or perhaps it was a brewhouse, looked as good a place to hide as any. I entered and put Claude down, he slumped against a wall but stayed on his feet. Dominique kept watch at the doorway whilst I readied the pistols.
“Where are Henri’s horses?” she asked as she took a loaded and cocked pistol from me.
“They should be at the south side of the church.”
“Then let’s go,” she said, and before I could stop her she led the way through the fog towards the looming spire of the abbey church. Claude followed, quietly and unbidden, still had with a slightly glazed look about him as if he thought he was still dreaming. He was about to have a nightmare.
I followed him and h
is sister, pointing my pistol at every shadow and wisp of mist. We could hear the soldiers all around us. Dominique raised her hand and we stopped. She motioned us to crouch and we did so behind the remains of a low wall. I looked at her face, she showed no fear, no doubt and put a reassuring hand on Claude’s. When I reached over and took her other hand she squeezed it tightly. A dragoon stepped stealthily along a path on the other side of the wall. His scabbard scraped on the stone and we all held our breath. He walked on and after a few moments we moved off. This time I stepped forward and took the lead, much to Dominique’s annoyance. I held both pistols before me, slightly raised, my fingers on the triggers.
The fog reminded me of the smoke that night outside Alexandria, the remains of the abbey could have been the Roman ruins we fought amongst in the desert. I had made a mistake that night in Egypt and someone dear to me had died because of it. I was determined the same thing would not happen again. We entered the cloisters and moved along the colonnade, stepping as softly as we could on the cracked and uneven stone floor. I heard another dragoon coming and stepped into an archway, extending my right arm and aiming towards the sound. My hand shook slightly and the gun wavered but I forced myself to exhale softly, steading my aim. He was coming directly towards us. I squeezed the trigger even though it would seal our fate. I could do nothing else. The flint sparked, the powder flashed and the shot reverberated around the enclosed stone walls as the ball hit the dragoon and he span around and fell to the ground with a hole his head.
This time I didn’t have to say anything; we were all running in an instant. Shots and shouts came from behind us and I ran through a doorway into the main body of the church. The floor was littered with rubbish, old fires and animal dung. Dim shafts of light came from huge holes in the roof, and bushes and even small trees erupted from the stone floor. The nave stretched away from us so far that the fog shrouded the altar. Dominique fired and missed as a dragoon entered the church through another door. He ducked back and we sheltered behind a massive column. Things were not looking good. The south door of the church outside of which our salvation hopefully lay was an impossible thirty yards away. Another dragoon came from the cloisters behind us and a quick shot from me hit him in the thigh. His screams attracted even more attention. Dominique fired again at the dragoon in the other doorway, hitting him in the shoulder. We ran along the aisle to another column; closer to the south door but it was still beyond our reach. A shot smashed what remained of one of the stained glass windows as we ran. We made it to a small chapel and ducked behind a wooden screen. Dominique and I hurriedly reloaded the pistols. I popped my head out from cover to see how close the dragoons were and could only see the officer dragging one of his injured men through a doorway. I couldn’t see any other dragoons, at least none still standing. I felt the briefest flurry of hope but then Lacrosse entered the church, a pair of long duelling pistols in his hands.
“Monsieur Blackthorne, surrender! You will not escape this time. Make it easy and spare us any unnecessary bloodshed and I will make sure the boy lives,” he called. I thought of trying a witty riposte, as heroes in books should, but curiously enough my fear robbed me of my sense of humour. Instead I reached to Dominique and lightly touched her hand once more.
“Dominique, I’ll draw his fire. You get Claude to the horses.”
“No, Ben, we go together,” she said shaking off my touch and ramming a ball into one of her pistols.
“We don’t have a choice. I’ll be with you as soon as I can.” I didn’t give her the opportunity to argue further and ran. I headed for the east end of the church. The dragoon officer fired from the doorway where he was still tending to his wounded comrade. The ball creased my back. I cursed and fell, sliding behind the pulpit as another shot chipped the stones behind me. I sighted quickly at the officer, firing both pistols one after the other. He ducked back through the door unharmed. I began to reload, knowing I only had seconds. I saw Dominique and Claude run but instead of going to the south door they were coming towards me. Dominique had seen me fall and feared the worst.
“No,” I shouted and waved them away. Lacrosse stepped from the shadows and took aim. I shouted something, I can’t remember what. Dominique pushed Claude down to the ground as Lacrosse fired. She screamed as the ball hit her back and flung her forwards. Claude picked up one of her pistols and fired wildly at Lacrosse. He was lucky, the shot took the blackguard in the arm and he crumpled against a column, cursing like a sailor.
I raced forward to Dominique and fell to my knees. Blood soaked my hands as I held her. Claude gently touched her cheek. She was ghostly white, her breath coming in shallow gasps. I could feel the wound in her back, the ball would have been in one of her lungs, the blood trickling from her mouth had small frothy bubbles in it. I had seen enough men die in battle to know what that meant.
“Ben,” she said, weakly.
“Don’t say anything, save your strength,” I said as I brushed a strand of hair from her face. I stole a quick glance around the church. I could see no more dragoons and began to pick her up but she shook her head.
“We would have been happy,” she said between several bloody coughs.
“We still will be,” I said, desperately thinking of something I could do to save her. Her breathing became shallower but easier. Her body had stopped fighting and was accepting the inevitable, but I could not.
“Ben, I’m so sorry,” she whispered.
“Don’t give up, please.”
“Claude, Ben will look after you now,” she said. They were her last words. I looked at Claude. I could not bear to see the pain in his eyes and looked away, back to his sister.
I cursed as she closed her eyes but her chest continued to rise and fall, sporadically and weakly as the blood pooled beneath her. Claude pointed behind me and I turned to see Lacrosse staggering towards us, a curling tendril of smoke still coming from one of his pistols. One arm was held across his chest and bleeding. He stepped forward and opened his mouth to speak and I suppose he was going to deliver some speech regarding how I was no match for him, how he would enjoy witnessing my appointment with the guillotine or some such but I wasn’t in the mood to listen to the murdering bastard. One of my pistols was by my hand. It was slick with Dominique’s blood and only half loaded but I picked it up and fired all the same. The ramrod shot from the barrel and took Lacrosse in the neck. The look of surprise made what I imagined was my imminent death worthwhile. He sank to his knees, blood pouring from the wound and then fell forward, the end of the ram rod protruding from the back of his neck.
Claude sobbed and I looked back to him and Dominique. She was still, and I hoped with all my heart that every sermon I had ever sat through had been true and that she had gone to a better place. I could hear shouts of more dragoons outside. At best Claude would be back in the Temple and I would be executed before nightfall. At worst he would share my fate and it would all be for nothing. Her death would be for nothing. I knelt down and kissed her lips. Claude kissed her forehead.
“We have to go,” I whispered.
“I can’t leave her,” Claude replied.
“You have to. We have to.” I whispered.
“She gave her life for you, Claude. For her death to mean anything you have to live,” I said, but I don’t know if I was thinking of saving my own worthless skin, or obeying her wish to look after Claude. I’m sure you can be a better judge than I, dear reader.
“We have to go, now,” I said, and I stood unsteadily and gently pulled him up and away from his sister. He gave me a look of pure hate but did not resist. I took a carbine from the still warm hands of a fallen dragoon and led Claude through the south door of the church into the daylight. I heard a voice from behind us but I could not look back as we walked away from her. Our horses were there, as Henri had promised. Four of them.
I dragged Claude into a shambling run and lifted him bodily into the saddle of one of them before mounting myself. Claude looked a little unsteady but he’d have t
o ride if we were to have any hope of escape. He was still looking back at the church but I don’t think he had any greater wish to die than I did. That would come later, with the regrets and the recriminations.
The dragoon officer came out of the church and shouted at us to stop. My answer was to fire the carbine at him and then throw it in his direction. I slapped Claude’s mount on the rump and urged my own into a canter. We headed for a ruined gate house that led to the road out of Paris.
I would like to say that there has not been a day since then when I haven’t thought of Dominique. As time passed there might have been whole weeks when I did not see an expression on someone’s face or hear a laugh that made me think of her. They say that time can heal any wound. They are wrong but my life went on without her, despite my and the Alien Office’s best efforts. Eventually I did find happiness with someone else and love her dearly and deeply, but the brief passion of my love for Dominique will live with me forever, as will the heartache of her death. True, if we had known each other for longer, perhaps even married, then the domestic routines would have necessitated that the passion change into something quieter and more comfortable but I will never know. It may be that she would have been insufferable to live with, perchance she would have grown fat, or lost her teeth, or been a scold about the housekeeping money. I will never know, fate took her from me and left me only with the memories of a few stolen moments. Through nurturing Claude I felt I was somehow allowing her to live on, but that was all far into the future on that morning in Paris.
I remember that I looked across to Claude as we rode, and tried to think of something to say but there was nothing I could think of that would mean anything. Nothing that would help. There were tears in his eyes, and probably mine too. It was still cold and the horses' breath rose in clouds as went from a canter to a gallop. The blood on my hands had started to dry to a flaky crust. I looked back towards the church but it was too late, it was hidden by the mist. The dragoons would retrieve their horses and follow us. Gendarmes would be patrolling the roads ahead and we had a sea to cross. Part of me, as always, wanted to take the easier path; to stop, give ourselves up and accept our fate, but I didn’t. I couldn’t. She had made a better man of me.