Honour and the Sword

by A L Berridge

  The bell was going into its final stage when it got faster and faster like an angry wasp, and the last people were sort of scurrying in looking embarrassed. I checked again for soldiers, then sidled back towards the north door and furtively waved my handkerchief to show it was all safe. André slipped inside just as the bell stopped and the west door was banged shut. I made space beside me like we’d agreed, but he said quietly ‘Come on,’ and began to walk openly down the transept towards the aisle.

  I couldn’t believe it. All the faces turned to follow him as he passed, and a murmur rustled all round the church, gradually fading away till there was nothing but the rap of his footsteps on the stone, and the confident jingling of the sword against his boots. I shambled furtively after him, wondering what the hell he was playing at, but of course I should have guessed. He turned down the aisle to the Roland stalls, stepped up and sat in his father’s seat.

  It was like everybody breathed out in the same moment. We had a Seigneur in Dax again, everything was back like it should be. It was a bit silly really, because he was still only fifteen, but when I looked at him I found I could remember really clearly what his father had looked like. I think other people were remembering too, some of the older ones looked like they were nearly in tears.

  I shuffled quickly into the low seat beside André’s and tried to be invisible. It felt strange seeing the church from a different angle, like looking through someone else’s eyes. There was a bunch of rosemary tied to the rail in front of me, probably to cover the smell of the rest of us. I touched its prickly spikes with my finger, and it gave out a faint hint of scent in a crumbling dust. I looked up, and saw Father was watching me.

  I don’t remember much of the service. I remember the choir sang a Te Deum for Louis Dieudonné, and I heard Colin’s powerful baritone, but not Robert’s tenor, I’d never realized how beautiful it was till it wasn’t there. I remember Père Gérard adding prayers in French at the end, thanking God Le Câtelet had returned to French hands, and praying this was a sign our own liberation might soon come. I remember the huge amen after it, which was the loudest I’d ever heard. I remember my Father’s eyes on me, and the touch of André’s sleeve as he sat by my side.

  When it was over we nipped out quickly by the north door, but there was already a crowd gathering in the graveyard to pay their respects to the Seigneur. I stood back where I could see him and keep an eye on the Square at the same time, since this was the obvious moment for anyone who wanted a quick thousand livres to run and tell the Spaniards he was there, but then a hand fell on my shoulder, and when I looked round it was my Father.

  He looked amused at my surprise, and took his hand away quickly, like he was embarrassed himself. I don’t remember saying anything, I think I just stared.

  ‘Don’t do that, boy,’ he said. ‘You look like a sheep.’

  I expect I went on looking like it.

  He said ‘You’re a little dusty behind. Do you want me to …?’

  I shot my hand round to my arse, and he was right, there was all soft grit on the seat of my breeches, I suppose it had been years since anyone bothered to dust the Roland stalls. I brushed it off furiously, feeling stupid, but when I looked up at Father he just nodded and actually gave me a smile.

  ‘Looking good, boy. I understand why you couldn’t sit with us.’

  I stared at him. ‘I thought …’

  ‘What?’ he said, and tipped his head to one side. ‘What?’

  I’d thought he didn’t want me.

  ‘So when are you coming to see us?’

  My heart jumped. Maybe he was trying to make things up between us. Maybe it was really possible we could somehow put things back the way they used to be.

  ‘Think about it,’ said Father, gazing vaguely over the crowd, looking at everything and anything that wasn’t me. ‘Your mother misses you. Give us a bit of notice though, she’ll want to kill the fatted calf.’

  He patted my elbow and wandered off to join Mother, who was smiling and waving goodbye from the road. Blanche waved too, but Little Pierre stuck his hands in his pockets and scowled, like he always did when he wasn’t coming first. I began to realize Father was serious, and when he said Mother missed me, what he really meant was he did too. I felt happiness floating up inside me like wine.

  The feeling lasted all the way back to the Hermitage, and it’s like it had sort of come on ahead of us, because there were loads of people there already, just having a drink to celebrate. Jacob wedged the door open so the sunshine could pour in, and the Hermitage looked quite different. People were dressed nice from going to church, there were bright colours everywhere, blues and reds and yellows, and people talking in happy voices, with little threads of laughter weaving through the babble. It’s like the service had had the same effect on everyone, we’d got a new Dauphin, things were going our way, and everything felt full of hope.

  Marcel obviously felt it too. He stood up at the platform end and said we’d lain low long enough, it was time to get active again as soon as we could think of a worthwhile target. Everyone started shouting out at once, some wanted to raid the Spaniards’ stores, others wanted to get back at the looters, one or two really drunk ones suggested the Château but shut up fast when they saw Stefan’s face. Then Giles said ‘What does André think?’ and others started calling it too, everyone turned to look at the boy.

  He was leaning against a pillar with his head down and hadn’t said a word, like it all meant too much to him for that. Now he lifted his head and said ‘We want to hit back, don’t we? We want to make them pay for Giulio, and Martin and Pierre and Robert and Vincent and Clement and Jehan and Cristoval?’

  Everyone went very quiet.

  ‘Well then,’ said André. ‘We don’t waste time on the petty things or the soldiers following orders. I say we go for Don Francisco himself.’

  There was a few seconds’ silence, then suddenly this great roar that was even louder than the amen in church. Marcel was smiling and nodding, everyone was shouting ‘Don Francisco!’, it would have scared the fat bastard to death if he’d heard it. Then I noticed a still patch in all the movement, and there was Stefan, standing by himself in his shabby brown coat, holding a wooden mug of cider and watching the boy in silence. When André glanced round at him he lifted his mug a few inches, and bobbed his head in something oddly like a salute.

  Carlos Corvacho

  I can’t think what possessed him, Señor, coming to Sunday Mass in the very place he was an outlaw. Naturally we found out, Muños still had his ears open at the Corbeaux and we had the full story within a week. He’d not only been in Dax, he’d sat in his father’s seat, and he’d done it in full daylight while wearing a sword.

  I thought the Colonel would have a fit when we told him, but he was surprisingly composed. He sent for the chef, laid his hat on the table in front of him, and said ‘There you go, fellow. Can you cook that?’

  Rousseau was a funny-looking chap, but a genius at cooking, he used to make this pâté de canard en croûte I still dream about. He doesn’t flicker so much as an eyelid, he just looks the Colonel in the eye and says superbly ‘Entrée or dessert?’

  ‘Entrée,’ says the Colonel, smiling with all his teeth. ‘The Capitán d’Estrada will provide dessert.’

  So Rousseau takes away the hat and serves it to the Colonel at dinner that night. He minced it into pieces with pork, Señor, and simmered it with onions in cider to soften it, then he served it in a pastry case shaped the way the hat used to be, and on the top was the plume, each little strand coated and cooked brittle in sugar. It was very pretty, but I couldn’t say how it tasted, the Colonel insisted on eating every mouthful himself.

  When he’d finished, he raised his glass to the Capitán and said ‘My word is now honoured, d’Estrada. May I ask if you hope to honour yours?’

  It wasn’t really fair, Señor, my Capitán never passed his word of honour, not strictly speaking, neither of them did, but there’s only one answer for a
gentleman, so he drew himself up and said ‘I shall honour it or die.’

  ‘Oh good,’ said the Colonel, picking pieces of hat from his teeth. ‘But I do hope it’s the former, d’Estrada, I should hate to have to spend evenings with that boor Martínez for company. The man can’t even play chess.’

  My gentleman was rather broody after that, but he never liked a fuss, so I pretended everything was just as usual and went to get our horses for his evening ride, and that’s when it happened, Señor, almost like a miracle.

  Not that it looked much like it at first, only one of the grooms saying he wanted to see my Capitán. Naturally I told him no, I didn’t let people like that near my gentleman, least of all the French ones who worked here as a labour tax, but he only said ‘Oh well, if your officer isn’t interested in laying hands on André de Roland, then that’s his affair, isn’t it?’ and turned to walk away.

  My Capitán didn’t like informers as a rule, but he was a practical man who understood soldiering. ‘Carlos,’ he’d say, ‘you have to touch pitch sometimes, and count the being defiled as an occupational hazard.’ This groom now, he was what you’d call pitch in any language, but there’s no denying my Capitán was in a very delicate situation, so I said ‘All right, but you’ll catch it hot if you’re wasting his time.’

  He smiled at me, insolent as you please, and sauntered after me to the barracks, whistling as he went. He was forever whistling while he worked, and quite catchy little tunes they were too. There’s this one, goes like this, do you know it? I think he called it ‘La Pernette’.

  That’s right, Señor, that’s the fellow. Gilbert, they called him. Pierre Gilbert.

  Fifteen

  Jean-Marie Mercier

  It was the most wonderful October, with blue skies and sunshine, and everything full of promise. The apples were being harvested all over the Saillie, the wine presses were busy, the farmers were grazing their pigs in the forest, and the soil looked rich and brown for the sowing of the winter corn. The Spaniards had taken a lot of this year’s harvest, but everyone felt next year’s would be ours.

  We had a purpose of our own too, and all over Dax-Verdâme our people were looking out for Don Francisco. Unfortunately he was very difficult to target, because he lived in the barracks and never came out without an enormous escort. When he did travel anywhere, he went in a closed carriage with no escort, so we could never be sure whether he was really in it or whether we’d be giving away our intentions by attacking it and finding some innocent person inside. We knew our best hope was to learn his movements in advance, but that was proving quite impossible. Arnould Rousseau listened out for rumours in the barracks, but while he was able to repeat some splendidly scurrilous stories, there wasn’t really anything we could use.

  Then two weeks after the thanksgiving service I bumped into Jeanette Truyart after Mass and we finally had our breakthrough. We might have had it earlier, but I’m afraid I rather avoided Jeanette in those days, because of the embarrassment of the hostages. I know I ought to have been able to prevent her directing the conversation on to the subject, but she was really very persistent. I was quite sure she wanted me to repeat what she told me to André, and was afraid she must think me terribly obtuse for not taking her hints.

  Only I simply had to talk to her this time, because André had insisted I thank her for the clothes she’d made, which were honestly quite marvellous. Jeanette was a wonderful dressmaker, which was all the more astonishing because her own taste was quite extraordinary. I think perhaps she made her clothes from offcuts she saved from those she made for others, because there were often patches of different fabrics incorporated into the patterns and she particularly seemed to favour stripes. Today there were inserts of lemon muslin in the fall of her skirt, and a square of vivid cerise implanted in her bodice.

  She was delighted with André’s message, and blushed really quite becomingly. ‘Oh, M. Mercier, as if it wasn’t the greatest pleasure to do the smallest little thing for him. He is in my prayers every night, and in Mlle Anne’s too, she told me so herself.’

  I said hastily ‘Well, they really were very fine clothes, and we’re extremely grateful.’

  ‘It was no trouble at all, M. Mercier, none at all. Your M. Gilbert is much of a size with my poor M. Florian, I beg your pardon, M. du Pré I should say, only rather broader, because of course my poor children don’t get the food and exercise they should, nothing like, not with only three rooms to live in these two years past. It’s small wonder they’re so excited at the prospect of coming out for a few hours, even if it is for a dinner with that Don Francisco.’

  I had been about to pretend I had another engagement, but these last words arrested me at once. I said carefully ‘With Don Francisco?’

  ‘I know, Monsieur,’ she said at once. ‘A terrible thing for a fine French family to stoop to, but they can hardly pass up the chance of a proper meal, the food they’re given you wouldn’t believe, soup like the common soldiers get, and them brought up like gentlefolk …’

  I asked casually ‘And when is it, this meal?’

  ‘Oh bless you for your interest, Monsieur, I’ll tell them if I may, it’s so good for them to know they’re not forgotten. But it’s a week from today, as if it weren’t irreligious enough without having it on the Lord’s Day and a Vigil at that, only it’s his fête day, Monsieur, so he’s to be given a banquet at the Château to celebrate. My M. and Mlle du Pré, they’re that excited you wouldn’t believe, it’s only my young Mlle Anne not so keen. She says to me right out she’s no wish to make the fat oaf’s birthday any nicer, oh, quite a way of talking she has, my Mlle Anne, not exactly fitting for a lady but then what education is she getting, and no one can accuse her of want of spirit.’

  She drew breath at last, so I quickly made my excuses and hastened to the Hermitage to give them the news.

  I feel terrible about it now, of course, but I couldn’t possibly have known. At the time it honestly felt quite perfect.

  Jacques Gilbert

  It might have been awkward when Jean-Marie said the information came from the hostages, but Stefan just said it proved how comfortable they were in the Château, and André had to agree.

  We worked out a plan right away. It was obviously impossible to get the bastard in the Château, we’d got to do it on the way. Whichever route he took he’d still have to pass that last section between the Back Road and the Château gates, and that’s where we’d nail him. He’d be in that closed carriage, of course, but it didn’t matter if he rode in a hay cart now, we’d still know it was him, and the lack of an escort would only make things easier. The only worry was doing it quietly enough, with three hundred troops at the Château just round the corner, but Marcel said we’d put up ropes to stop the horses, use archers to kill the driver, then turn the whole carriage with Don Francisco still inside and drive it back to the Flanders Road so we could do what we needed undisturbed. It all felt perfect and like nothing could possibly go wrong.

  That evening the boy suggested casually we might stroll into Ancre, and I understood why. We hadn’t been back since the funerals, but it felt different now we were going to put things right. All our men were buried there, it hadn’t been safe at St Sebastian’s with d’Estrada’s men watching it all the time, but I could see from the flowers that the families visited regularly just the same. The only grave a bit bare was M. Gauthier’s, because he didn’t have any family, but the boy said ‘Yes he does, he’s got us,’ and we went scouting round the gardens for late roses and scattered them all over. The earth had only just settled, there wasn’t grass on it or anything, but I didn’t mind, it felt more like M. Gauthier was still there. Sitting beside it with the boy, I felt more peaceful than I had in ages, and there was this strange feeling stealing over me of everything coming right.

  ‘Why don’t you visit your family?’ said André softly. ‘They’re just across the drive.’

  It seemed like a good idea. I was desperate to find out if Father had me
ant what he said, I’d been wondering about it for days, but hadn’t had the courage to test it out. Now I thought I had.

  André settled comfortably to wait by M. Gauthier, and I crossed the drive. I told myself I wouldn’t have lost anything if Father was in a different mood today, it would just be like it was before. In fact it wasn’t, it was the best things had ever been. Father sat me down by the fire, and let me fill his pipe for him even though Little Pierre was reaching for it at the same time. Mother was so pleased she cooked an omelette specially, even though it was Sunday and she shouldn’t have. Blanche played with my hair, said it was ‘as long as Dré’s now’ and wanted to know why I wasn’t wearing my nice clothes. Everything felt warm and like home.

  Little Pierre was the only grumpy one. He wasn’t impressed by anything, not even when I told them about our plan to kill Don Francisco. I obviously didn’t say anything about the army, I only said it was me and André, but he still went sort of ‘Huh,’ like it was nothing. Father seemed to approve though, he gave a kind of slow nod of acknowledgement, and I knew he was proud. When I was leaving he said again about giving them notice so they could get special food in, and even asked if I’d join them for Christmas. I didn’t hesitate this time, I said of course I would, and meant it.

  It was dark when I left, but the boy had waited, and we walked back together through the back meadow, like we’d done that very first day. I can still remember the smell of roses drifting soft in the evening air.

  Colin Lefebvre

  Good action to be part of, everyone wanted to be in on this one. Team were hand-picked, all of us skilled and burning to be in at the kill.