Honour and the Sword

by A L Berridge

  At first sight it was promising. The west entrance faced square on to the Château down a long straight drive lined with trees, so while the guards at the lodge could see right up it to the guards at the courtyard gates, neither could see down to the south side itself. Provided we stayed clear of the corner, we could hop over the south perimeter, run across the lawn, and make it to the wall of the Château itself without guards at either gate or lodge seeing us at all.

  There was just one snag. A guard in the middle of the terrace seemed to be staring right across the lawns at us, and though we watched for half an hour he never moved from that one spot. We had a nasty suspicion he was a permanent fixture, and when we went down to the far corner and peered over to the east side we saw there was one there too. They’d got permanent wall guards on all sides, each in full armour. They were too far away for a bolt to penetrate the plate, and though we could pick them off easily enough with a musket, the noise would fetch three hundred inquisitive dons in seconds.

  ‘Just one man,’ said André in frustration. ‘Just one man.’

  But it wasn’t. There were four patrollers walking round the Château, one after the other in constant rotation, and though they might be near enough for a crossbow, the wall guard was rather likely to notice if a patroller dropped dead in front of him. The guards on the other sides would know too, they’d spot the gap between patrollers. I had to admire the thinking behind it, Abbé, it was a very effective way of guarding a large area with minimal manpower, but that didn’t make it any easier to beat.

  ‘But we will,’ said André fiercely. ‘We’ll do it somehow. Won’t we, Marcel?’

  Poor Marcel. He stopped chewing his nails, stared seriously at those grey stone walls, then turned to meet André’s expectant gaze.

  He said gently ‘We’ll try.’

  Jacques Gilbert

  André was fully recovered by mid-March, but nothing else was ready. Marcel did a detailed plan of what he remembered inside the Château, and Jeanette told us some of the places the guards were now, but none of it brought us any closer to getting in. We wanted a way to distract the wall guards while we killed a patroller and climbed over the wall, but nothing seemed to work. We even set off a small mine in the woods one day, but while soldiers came piling out of the lodge and courtyard, the wall guards stayed exactly where they were, and the patrollers kept going round and round without so much as breaking step. There was something inhuman about them, like a kind of mill wheel nothing could stop.

  Stefan was no use, of course, his idea of helping was to come up with objections to everything we thought of. It was Stefan ruled out the north wall because of giving away the gabelle road if we escaped over it, but the boy and I started to wonder if it mightn’t at least get us in. Next day the two of us got up before first light, sneaked out while Stefan was still snoring, and rode all the way down into the dead land to take a look. The forest grew right up to the wall, so we picked the biggest tree, scrambled up and peered over.

  We were looking into an orchard. They were apple and plum trees, and a bit spindly now, but in summer they’d be thick and bushy, and if we were careful we could climb over the wall into them without anyone noticing. The trees came only about a hundred yards short of the terrace, which meant for the first time the wall guard would be in armour-piercing range of a crossbow. We’d have to get the patroller too or he’d see us doing it, but it was possible with two good bowmen, and we had them, we had Bernard and Marin. Actually, when we thought about it, we had a way of dealing with all four patrollers and the wall guards too. We looked at each other and grinned.

  Now all we needed was a way into the Château. We peered through the trees at the windows, but the upper ones were no good, we weren’t going to go lugging bloody great ladders about, and there wasn’t anything for a grapnel iron to grip on to. There were several ground-floor windows, but the only one that wasn’t barred was so big it obviously led somewhere public, it would probably land us in the middle of a hundred sleeping soldiers.

  ‘We need Marcel’s plan,’ I said. ‘Let’s get some breakfast and talk about it.’

  André shifted position to start down, but suddenly jerked to a stop and stared. I followed his look across to the Château, and he was right, there was movement at a first-floor window, a flash of something white. Then the top half of the window actually opened, and someone leant out.

  We ducked so quickly I clunked my head against the tree trunk, which was stupid really, they were miles away, they couldn’t possibly have seen us against all those trees. So we cautiously raised our heads again, then both stopped at the same moment, and I heard André catch his breath. The person at the window was a girl.

  It wasn’t much of a window. The bottom half had crude bars nailed over it so it wouldn’t open, and the girl could only lean her head and shoulders over the top. She reached her hands over the barrier to scatter something on the sill, then straightened again, rested her arms on the top bar, and lifted her head.

  It was the hair you noticed first. The early-morning sunlight was catching it, and it seemed to gleam and burn in hundreds of different colours, red and yellow and brown and gold. It was like sun on the woods in the middle of autumn.

  ‘It’s her,’ said the boy beside me. ‘It’s Anne.’

  She was quite small and slender, but we couldn’t see her face from that distance, only that it was pale. I wondered if she’d turn out to have a big nose or something, just to even things up because of that hair.

  André whispered ‘She’s feeding the birds, look.’

  There were little dots on the window sill, and the boy was right, they were birds. They were moving about quite happily, but I suppose there was the window between them and she was standing very still. You don’t often see a woman doing that. Only her hair moved when the wind brushed it, and once she tilted her head to feel the breeze on her face. Her throat was very white.

  There was a sudden flapping on the sill as the birds rose together and flew away. The girl turned sharply back into the room, but the figure appearing behind her was in nightclothes, and we guessed it was her brother. A moment later he moved away, and the girl closed the window. André let out his breath in a little sigh.

  He was still sort of dazed all the walk back. He kept talking about what they’d do when we got her out, and I tried not to think what he’d do if he found we couldn’t. I knew it was only a harmless childish fantasy, but when I looked at his face I found myself wishing she’d been a bit plainer. To be honest, I wished he’d never seen her at all.

  Anne du Pré

  Extracts from her diary, dated 16–17 April 1639

  16 APRIL

  Florian caught me feeding the birds and lectured me about wasting food. It was only my own bread, but he says if I am not hungry then I should consider Colette or himself. I have fed the birds so long I could not bear them to be disappointed now, but I will ask the Owl for more scraps instead.

  At least Colette is in a good mood. Pablo has invited her to a party while the senior officers are at the monthly dinner in Dax, so she is to leave the apartment for the first time since October. I fear Don Miguel may be annoyed if he finds out, but Colette laughs and says I am only jealous. Perhaps I am. It would be a chance to look at different surroundings and listen to music. It will be quite wasted on Colette, who only goes to wear Mama’s gold dress and flirt with loathsome Pablo.

  At least she will be able to observe how the house is guarded at night, but I’m not sure she takes it very seriously. She says ‘If your boy lover were really intending to rescue us, surely he’d have done something by now?’ I have explained he was wounded and such things take a lot of planning, but she never listens. I think Florian would like to believe me, but he is not capable of arguing with Colette any more. He has taken to sitting and rocking himself in Mama’s chair all day, and sometimes he hums as well. Poor Florian, I was wrong to anger him over the birds. I keep forgetting how much worse this captivity must be for a man.
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  I did my best to cheer him this evening when Colette had gone. We listened to the music together through the floor, and it was quite enchanting, someone played ‘Guárdame las vacas’ on the guitar. I sang it for him, but it only seemed to make him sad, so in the end we just sat together in the dark and I held his hand.

  It is all quiet downstairs now, and Florian has gone to bed. I shall sit up a little longer until Colette returns. She will have so much to talk about, it would be awful for her to come back and have no one to share it with.

  Only the clock has just struck two and still she has not come.

  17 APRIL

  I was asleep when Colette finally returned, and only woke because she was blundering about the room and knocking things over in the dark. She wouldn’t let me light the candle, she wouldn’t even talk to me, she kept telling me to go back to sleep, and was obviously very upset. When she came to bed at last she was so cold it gave me a shock to touch her. I cuddled up and tried to warm her, but she didn’t seem to want me close. She was shivering, and when she thought I was asleep I heard her start to cry.

  Now I understand it. This morning I found the gold dress at the back of the clothes press, and now I know. My poor, poor, darling sister. When I escape, I will find a way of coming back and killing those men.

  I have not told her, she could not bear me to know. I cannot tell anyone, because she left the apartment against Don Miguel’s orders, so it will be seen as quite her own fault. No one must ever know what has happened here. No one.

  Anne du Pré

  Letter to André de Roland, dated 18 April 1639

  My dear M. de Roland,

  I hope you will not mind my sending you this, but it is a plan of how the guards are placed upstairs at night when the senior officers are away. I know there may not always be so few, but these dinners occur on the third Saturday each month, alternating between the Dax barracks and our own house, so the same situation should arise in June. I don’t mean to suggest this would be a particularly good time, I wouldn’t dream of hurrying you in any way. We are managing perfectly well here, and it is very kind of you to think of us at all. We are all more grateful than you can possibly imagine.

  I hope the information is helpful. My brave sister managed to find it out herself, and I am very proud of her.

  M. and Mlle du Pré send their most respectful good wishes, and I hope you know you always have mine.

  A du P

  Jacques Gilbert

  André was overwhelmed. We didn’t send written messages after that first one, it was too dangerous for Jeanette to carry them through the searches, but Jean-Marie said she’d take any kind of risk for Mlle Anne, and I think he was right.

  André took the letter like it was precious silk, opened it carefully on to his blanket so as not to get straw on it, then sat with his shoulder slightly turned away from us to read it. He seemed to take a long time for something so short, but at last he lifted his head and said ‘Something’s wrong.’

  I looked myself but couldn’t see it. The writing was maybe a bit trembly, but that didn’t mean anything, André’s was atrocious.

  He shook his head obstinately. ‘I can’t explain, but there’s something. What did Jeanette say, Jean-Marie?’

  Jean-Marie hesitated. ‘She said Mlle Anne seemed a little upset.’

  André stared back down at the letter. He stroked it gently with the tip of one finger, said ‘I knew it,’ got up and walked away.

  I thought it was good news myself, and so did Marcel. She’d got us a date when the Château was going to be seriously underguarded, and it was the right date for us too, it was summer, and the trees would be thick enough to give proper cover. It was perfect in every way except one, which was that we still weren’t ready.

  We’d come a long way, we’d got a really good plan, but we still couldn’t get in the building itself. Marcel had identified windows which led to what used to be quiet places, but of course they were all barred and we wouldn’t have time to file them. André suggested just smashing any unbarred window and forcing our way in, but even I could see that wouldn’t work. We needed to get the hostages clear before the alarm was even raised.

  We’d got one last hope, and that was Arnould Rousseau. He was doing the cooking for the officers’ dinner in May, and Mlle Anne was right, this one was going to be at the Château. Marcel spent ages briefing him what to look for, then we just sat back and waited. It would leave us only four weeks till the raid itself, but we simply couldn’t think of anything else.

  It was awful, just waiting. André was getting almost feverish, he wasn’t eating, and he didn’t sleep much either. He got great black circles under his eyes and his face looked white and sort of stretched. Marcel worried about him, but Stefan just grinned and said ‘Maybe next time he’ll think twice before making promises he can’t keep.’

  I thought of M. Gauthier, and knew it mustn’t come to that. I’d got to find a way out of it without André breaking his word.

  Anne du Pré

  Extracts from her diary, dated 25–28 April 1639

  25 APRIL

  We had meat again for dinner, which makes twice in a week. The Owl seemed pleased, and said in his awful French ‘This is more like it, Mademoiselle.’ I think he worries about us.

  Then the Slug took over duty, so of course Pablo came. I cannot call him ‘loathsome Pablo’ now, he can never be any kind of joke to me again. I would never, never have thought he could turn out so evil, and cannot help wondering how much Luiz is responsible for the change in him. When he came in today, he even walked like Luiz, he simply swaggered in without any greeting and asked if Colette would see him. I said I was sure she would never see him again, but he only smiled and asked if we had enjoyed our dinner.

  A terrible suspicion occurred to me, and I found to my shame I could not meet his eyes. He laughed, and said ‘No matter, but I would be disappointed if the mutton were not as good as I was promised. Perhaps there may be more next week if Mlle Colette is feeling better.’

  Florian asked me afterwards what it was Pablo had wanted. I told him ‘Nothing.’

  28 APRIL

  O thank God, Colette is ill.

  I think she’s guessed I know. I saw her sitting on the bed tearing up the rags, and I couldn’t stop myself, I asked ‘Is it your time?’ She said ‘Yes,’ then looked up and asked ‘Why?’ and I think she saw in my eyes I knew. She didn’t ask again, she only looked back down at the rags, and went on tearing them without saying anything. I left her alone and sat with Florian, but I could still hear the sound of her tearing. It seemed to go on for hours.

  Pablo came again this evening. This time Colette remained in the room, and he sat whispering to her for ages, though I was glad to see she kept her head lowered and would not answer him. He gave us some white bread to have with our soup, but Florian said it would be better if we could have more meat. Pablo said ‘I don’t know, what do you think about some meat, Mlle Colette?’ Colette didn’t look up, but he waited courteously and after a moment she nodded.

  He must have been very prompt, because there were stewed pullets this evening. I ate as much as I could of the vegetables, but divided my chicken between the others, saying I was not hungry. Florian insisted I at least eat my bread, until at last I was compelled to tell him I would rather starve. They said nothing, but both stared at their plates for some time. I offered Florian my bread, but after a little silence he said ‘Give it to the birds.’

  Jacques Gilbert

  The May dinner came and went, and we still hadn’t got a way in. Arnould had poked and pried as much as he could, but hadn’t found see any way without going through the courtyard gate. He was sure there was one, though. The Château wasn’t like the Dax barracks, there were no whores allowed, but he was certain he’d heard some in the soldiers’ mess.

  He said ‘They’re getting them in somehow, I’d stake my life on it. All you have to do is find out how.’

  So we tried. We tried all we kne
w. We watched the Château day and night, hoping to spot someone sneaking in, but we never saw a thing. We went out into France, got siege ladders over the moat, and tried watching from the west side, but there was nothing happening there either. Stefan said maybe someone got caught the night of the dinner and they’d decided not to risk it for a bit. Marcel tried asking Verdâme prostitutes, but they said local girls weren’t allowed in the Château because of security, it was all women brought in from Artois.

  Nothing worked, and after a week we sat down and confronted the fact we were no nearer getting in than we’d been in April.

  ‘We can still go ahead, can’t we?’ said André. ‘Once we’re at the Château walls we can try every window for ourselves.’

  ‘No time,’ said Stefan. ‘We’ve got to complete the whole thing before they change patrollers. It can’t be done.’

  We were sitting at the platform end, huddled over Marcel’s map like we hadn’t studied it a hundred times before. There were all blobs of candle wax on it from nights just like this one, going over and over it, looking for an answer that wasn’t there.

  Marcel sighed and sat back. ‘It’s no good, André, we’ll just have to forget June. Maybe we’ll come up with something by August.’