by A L Berridge
‘All right,’ he said, and actually smiled. ‘All right.’
So I strapped him up and watched him set off, the guns banging up and down on his back all the way. I knew he was going to be black with bruises.
‘What’s he done?’ said a voice behind me.
Giles had turned up for duty with his own unit, and was leaning against the Hermitage wall with Philippe. I told them the boy hadn’t done anything, it was just Stefan being a bastard, and Philippe smiled sadly through his gap tooth and patted my shoulder.
‘I know, M. Jacques, I know. Our poor Ravel.’
‘Poor Ravel?’ I said, suddenly furious. ‘What about poor André?’
‘Of course,’ said Philippe hastily. He never liked any kind of row. ‘But he’s a troubled soul, young Ravel. A bad experience in the army, I think. Something to do with his brother. We have to make allowances.’
I tried to feel sorry for Stefan, but it was no good, the minute I pictured him I just wanted to smash his face in. I said ‘No we bloody don’t. Wait till M. Gauthier hears about this, he’ll kill him.’
‘I expect he will,’ said Giles calmly. He was wadding up tobacco leaves to chew and didn’t look at me at all. ‘And then we’ll lose our best soldier. Do you think that’s what he wants, that boy out there?’
André was coming round again. He seemed lower to the ground, his knees were buckling, but he was still going, pounding along, head down, seeing nothing but the Spaniards he was earning the right to fight.
I looked at Giles but he was chewing his tobacco and apparently enjoying it.
I said ‘I won’t tell M. Gauthier.’
Giles looked up at me and the brown skin round his eyes crinkled into a smile.
‘You’ll do, soldier,’ he said, tipped his hat and strolled away.
Stefan Ravel
I don’t know where you get your ideas from, Abbé, but you’re wrong this time. There was nothing personal, it was all for the good of the army. The kid was holding up better than I expected, but I knew there was a weakness somewhere, and only hoped I’d find it before it did too much damage.
The dons decided otherwise. We’d ambushed two patrols that last week, but it seemed the bastards were starting to work it out, and our last attempt brought a load out from hiding at the first sound of gunfire. That big Flamand, Bettremieu Libert, he took a ball in the arm, and we were lucky to get the team out alive. It might have been an accident, but Marcel sent Gauthier and Leroux out scouting the fringes next day, and they both reported groups of these pickets camping out in the woods, poor frozen sods, just waiting for the sound of our next ambush. Marcel and I discussed it, and thought we’d have to find another way.
So when the little Sieur of Dax came panting back in to me that afternoon with a back that resembled a child’s hoop and a look that would have exploded fireworks, I just said ‘Very good. You’ll sleep well tonight, young André, and be fine and fresh for tomorrow.’
He looked at me warily. ‘Tomorrow?’
‘Yes,’ I said, lifting the first musket off him, which was tricky since it seemed to be adhering to his shirt with sweat. ‘We’re doing a silent action tomorrow, sword and pike, no guns. I thought our unit might be right for the job, but of course if you’re not up to it …’
‘I’m up to it,’ he said at once, his back straightening with a creak you could have heard in Lucheux. ‘You know I am, Stefan, I’m up to it.’
And do you know, I really thought he was.
Jacques Gilbert
André was quiet that morning. He hardly spoke through breakfast, and Mother thought he might be sickening for something. She leant forward to put her hand on his forehead, but he only took it firmly and said ‘It’s all right, Nelly, I promise.’ She looked at him uncertainly, but he patted her hand and gave it back, so at last she said ‘Dear André,’ and sat down. Father got up and slammed noisily outside.
They didn’t know, of course, they’d got no idea what we were really doing. We were supposed to keep the army secret from our families, and most of us probably did, but that morning I found it hard. It isn’t every day you deliberately set out to kill someone.
We walked to the Hermitage and found the others in the same kind of serious mood. Even Stefan was different, he spoke almost gently as he ran through what we’d got to do. It was reassuring in a way, but in another it made everything feel more serious, and I know I was getting twitchy when at last we set out through the forest. We’d heard rumours about pickets listening for us, and the leaves seemed to crackle under my boots with every step.
We were on the Back Road, which had the Dax-Verdâme woods to the south and the Forest of Dax to the north, and Stefan had picked a section inside a kind of bend so we were out of view from either direction. The trees came right up to the road, and there were four with branches at exactly the right height. It looked perfect.
Colin and Jean-Marie took a tree either side and looped their rope over the branches to trail across the road between them, then we covered it with dead leaves so the patrol wouldn’t see it till it was too late. Stefan and Robert were in bushes further along, armed with home-made pike, then it was me and the boy with swords. We had the muskets loaded and stacked together beneath the signal tree, but they weren’t to be touched unless it was that or die. Stefan had a bloody great pistol shoved down his belt as well, but when Robert mentioned it Stefan just said it was his ‘safety’ and stared him right out.
We had the dullest part, the boy and me. Our job was to raise a second rope after the riders went past, so they couldn’t escape back the way they’d come. Stefan did say we could join the others once the men were safely on the ground, but I didn’t fancy that much, I didn’t like the idea of six of us hacking at two people on the ground, not even Spanish soldiers.
Giles sauntered up, reported there wasn’t a sign of a picket for a mile in either direction, then climbed expertly up the signal tree to watch for the patrol. Everyone settled carefully into their positions, and that was it, we were ready.
Half an hour later we still were. I hate waiting anyway, and that rope-thing was the worst. The first few minutes are fine, you’re all excited and expect it to be happening kind of now. Then it gets boring, and your arm starts to ache from holding the rope still so as not to mess up the camouflage. Then you start to think about what could go wrong and what you’ll do if it does, then the nice clear instructions you started with get fogged, and you realize you’ve been daydreaming and maybe missed the signal, and your hand twitches and you have to look round to see if anyone’s noticed.
I couldn’t even talk to the boy because he was on the other side of the road. He was lying facing me, so I winked at him, and he winked back then mimed going to sleep with boredom. I felt a little laugh bubbling up inside. Then he did an imitation of a disapproving Stefan, and I couldn’t help it, I started miming back. I did Pinhead, I just hunched my shoulders and let my mouth flop open and he was giggling so much the rope started to twitch.
The voice of Stefan came out of a bush like God. He said ‘Pack it in, you two, it’s not a fucking game.’
That made us even worse, but then I heard Giles speaking above us, and he was saying calmly ‘Here you go, boys. Two.’ I lowered myself back down into cover. My hand had stopped shaking, and I found I was calm.
There were hoofbeats coming from Dax, and when I peered upwards I could see the horses, a nice little cob in the lead, then a bloody great warhorse with ragged hocks. They were quicker than I’d thought and in a second they were past. The rope jerked in my hand and I knew the boy was ready even if I wasn’t. I pulled and we brought the rope up neatly between us.
I looked ahead to the others, and saw the horses skittering and falling into confusion as the rope shot up before them. The cob was caught tight across the breast, it screamed in fright and reared, the man struggling to hold on, then he was down, and Colin and Jean-Marie were on him, Colin’s axe sweeping high in the air. But the second rider was too far behi
nd, he’s seen what’s happening, and he’s turning, dodging Stefan, he’s going to get back, and he’s coming straight for us and our rope. We brace ourselves for the impact.
But he’s seen it in time, he’s swerving and bringing the horse right into the woods to go round us. He’s one fuck of a rider, the horse is panicking but he’s got control of it, he’s coming round and right at me. Robert’s dashing in front, pike held high like the boy did it, but the Spaniard thrusts forward, it’s the big warhorse, he aims straight at Robert and rides him down. Somehow I’m moving, I have to, that’s Robert on the ground, those great hooves ready to smash his skull with one blow. I’ve got the bridle, I’ve got the horse, I’m calming it, but the rider’s pulling against me, his other hand’s coming round, there’s a pistol in it, and it’s aimed at me.
Then the boy’s beside me, I hear him yelling. He gets hold of the man’s leg, and the rider’s twisting to bring the pistol round to him, but just for half a second the armpit’s exposed under the cuirass, and that’s all the boy needs, his hand’s round with the sword, he’s using the leg to hoist himself up, and he’s up and lunged, sword arm straight to the blade, and the point’s sheered right in that tiny space under the armpit, right in. The rider’s collapsing, and I help the boy pull him down, but he’s not dead, the boy stuck him at full reach but it’s not deep enough, and I finish it with my own blade in his throat. I’m so afraid of not lunging hard enough I push right through till the guard’s against his chin, there’s hot blood pouring over my hands, and I withdraw quickly as he crashes the last foot to the ground.
Then Stefan’s there, hands bloody where they’ve finished off the lead man, and he grabs for the bridle to catch the loose horse, which is about to bolt with fear. Horses can’t stand the smell of blood, and I begin to think I can’t either. It’s all over me, and it smells like the Forge, it smells like hot iron. I’m panicking, then I look up and face the boy, and he looks pale but sort of peaceful, and suddenly I feel all right too. He cleans his sword on the grass and smiles at me. We did it. We killed one. One.
Robert was trying to sit up, and we went to him at once. The horse hadn’t trampled him, but he was rubbing his head and looking a bit sick. Stefan took one look, shoved me out of the way, ran his hands expertly over Robert’s head and neck, then forced him to look in his eyes. After a moment he nodded and said ‘That was a brave thing to do, lad. Nearly cost your life, but it was fucking brave,’ and Robert, who didn’t need any praise from a smelly tanner, smiled up at him, and some of the stress went out of his face.
Stefan grunted in satisfaction. ‘Rest a minute and you’ll be good as new. You can thank young Jacques it’s not worse.’
I watched him with oddly mixed feelings. This was Stefan, I hated his guts most of the time, but I think I’d have died to win his respect, and just for that moment I had it, and it made me feel seven feet tall.
Giles’ voice came suddenly from the tree. ‘Infantry. Quarter of a mile.’
Stefan straightened. ‘How many?’
‘Six or seven,’ said Giles. I could see him on his branch, leaning casually against the trunk and chewing tobacco.
Stefan sighed. ‘All right, lads, wrap it up. Quick as you can. Thibault, stay where you are but keep low.’
We knew what we had to do. The boy ran to retrieve the ropes, Colin started to drag the first body into cover for spoiling, while Stefan and Jean-Marie went into the road to clear away traces of the struggle. I led the horses back into the forest out of earshot of the road, tied them to trees, then ran back to help the others.
I’d only got about halfway when I heard the shot.
Colin Lefebvre
Poor old Mercier. Clumsy sod at the best of times, and face it, this wasn’t one of them.
They’d just got clear of the road when the infantry appeared round the bend. We crouched down low, quiet as mice, while they marched past. Robert still out there, but huddled low in undergrowth, they never saw a thing. Then Ravel upped and signalled, me and Mercier went to get the second corpse, and that’s when it happened. Must have had a pistol in his hand, must have been lying in his palm, and Mercier moving him triggered it off.
Shocking sound at close quarters, pistol shot when you’re not expecting it. We were all stuck like statues, infantry only yards away.
‘Run!’ yelled Ravel. ‘Run!’
It was an order, right, so I turned to leg it, but there was Mercier with his gob open, not moving at all. Ravel was out in the open, gone back to help Robert, and the infantry already dashing back round the bend. They were pike, this lot, well trained too, straight down and level with the weapons and charging at Ravel. Then suddenly there was the Seigneur himself, wasn’t running away, not him, coming out the trees, heading right for the pike from behind, drawing his sword as he came.
‘Run!’ yelled Ravel again, shoving Robert hard for the trees, but Seigneur ignored him, charging the soldiers before they can turn and form up properly, too close for them to do a bloody thing. Thing about a pike, right, it’s twelve, fourteen foot long, not much use when there’s someone a foot away stabbing with a sword. Seigneur had one in the back before they even knew he was there, and whipping out at the next like it was all one big game.
Ravel turned back himself, dragging out his pistol. André fighting a second man now, but this one blocks the sword bang with his pike, others dropping the pike and snatching for their swords. Ravel fired and brought one down, but Seigneur in trouble and no mistake. Dodged the pike and wounded his second man, but had to whirl his sword to keep the others away, and one thrusting right at him. Movement from the tree line, and there’s my poor old Jacques …
Jacques Gilbert
… running at them with my sword out, yelling as loud as I could, trying to make them look, anything to get their eyes off the boy. Three minutes I’d left him, just three minutes, and he was fighting the whole Spanish army.
There was a pike coming at me, but I knew how hard they were to control, I got my left hand on the shaft to thrust it away. I kept running forward, my hand scorching down the wood, the soldier was wide open and my sword coming at him, I didn’t even lunge, the point slithered into him like butter. I felt the weight of his body on my blade, it was bending, I had to pull out fast before it broke. He was screaming, but I heard the boy’s voice over it, he was shouting ‘Yes, Jacques, yes!’ then ‘Down!’ just like it was the two of us on the back meadow, and I didn’t think, I ducked without looking and felt a pike slice past my head. I looked round for the boy, but his blade was locked against a pike, someone else was thrusting behind him, and I couldn’t help, my soldier had his sword out and at me, then the crash of a musket from the signal tree …
Jean-Marie Mercier
… and the man behind André crumpled to his knees. I reached for a second gun, while Jacques threw himself at the next soldier and Stefan grabbed the shaft of the last man’s pike. I aimed at his back, but Colin was there first, spearing him savagely from behind. Poor Colin, he probably felt terrible at having set the pistol off in the first place, but it honestly wasn’t his fault, it might have happened to anyone.
I turned the barrel towards the others, but André had finished his man and was turning to help Jacques, only Jacques was pulling out of his own and they were every one of them down. I lowered the gun and looked at the man I’d shot, his feet scuffling in the leaves for ages before he finally lay still. I felt a little uncomfortable, but behind me Giles said ‘Nice shot, soldier,’ and when I turned round he gave me the nicest smile.
Stefan picked up his pistol, panting slightly, and glared round at us as if we were the enemy. I could hear the faint sound of hoofbeats approaching in the distance.
‘Now will you fucking run?’ he said.
Jacques Gilbert
We left the others at the first foresters’ road, and ran all the way home. We were so out of breath when we hurtled back into the barn we couldn’t do anything but bend double and pant, grinning at each other lik
e a couple of idiots.
We’d fought side by side and I hadn’t let him down. Between us our unit had killed nine, and it was the most of anyone, the best ever. The boy was elated, he kept pacing up and down thrashing his sword about, I couldn’t even get him to sit down. In the end I just squashed him on to a hay bale and fetched a jug of wine from the cottage, but when he helped himself he’d got hands like Jacob Pasle, the cup was going dink-dink-dink against the jug as he poured. He gulped it back in one go, wiped his mouth with his sleeve, put down the cup and let out his breath in a long sigh. He was happy.
So was I. I’d fought before, of course, but then I’d been defending myself, this time it had been the Spaniards having to fight for their lives, it had been their turn to be frightened. I thought César would have enjoyed that, and Mme Panthon and all of them at the Manor, and Robert’s sister and all of them since.
I said ‘I bet your father’s proud of us now.’
There was a long silence, then the boy said ‘Mmm.’ He was still lying back, but I thought the light had sort of faded off his face.
I wondered if it was wrong to remind him of his father. ‘At least we’re hitting back, aren’t we? It’s like putting things right.’
He was quiet again, and I wondered if he’d heard me. He’d do that sometimes, just go off in his head and not come back till I stuck myself right in front of him.
But he’d heard me this time. After a moment he said ‘Doesn’t make up for everything, though, does it?’ then rolled on his side to face the wall.
Seven
Anne du Pré
Extract from her diary, dated 10 February 1637
The soldiers downstairs are angry, we can hear their raised voices through the floor. I think really they are frightened, and I am glad of it.