Now they passed along the blackened wall of what the doctor told him had yesterday been his hospital. At the end of the block the road curved into the jungle and went winding up into the hills. Soon it had narrowed to a trail. This was farther than the fire had reached, and the air, filtered through dense foliage, was moist and fresh. Though the heat and the sharp grade of the ascent had Daspir sweating in his wool uniform, he felt encouraged by the change of scene. His head was light and his stomach shrunken (he’d had nothing to eat since the orange he’d plucked from the hedge yesterday but a scrap of rock-like, moldy hardtack for his supper, and a cup of very weak tea this morning chez Pauline), but he did his best to keep up some conversation with Isabelle. As the climb did not seem to wind her, Daspir struggled to cover his own breathlessness, though he had to keep his ripostes short. But this was a lady who in her person and her personality did live up to the vaunted charms of Saint Domingue. He had been struck by her at first sight and found that he admired her more the steeper the path grew. He cocked his hat in her direction, hoping she might notice the bullet hole in the crown.
At last they came around the brow of a hill, where the path leveled out above the sea. Daspir saw that they had maneuvered outside the deep pocket of Le Cap’s harbor; what lay below them now was open ocean. Here there was a pleasantly cool breeze, and he opened his coat and loosened his collar the better to profit from it. His sweat turned chill as it dried on him. They were descending now, picking away down the zigzag path. Immediately before them a village unfolded in terraces cut into the cliff wall: little clay houses fenced in by cactus and surrounded by a few cornstalks or vines of potatoes or beans.
A small dog rushed to the cactus fence. Doctor Hébert shouted over the noise of its yapping, in that language which sounded to Daspir like French, though he could not comprehend a word of it. The dog circled and dashed at its boundary. Presently the door of the little case sagged open on its leather hinges and a white-haired old man came stooping out onto the packed earth of the yard, leaning on a crooked stick.
“Konpè mwen,” the doctor called cheerfully. “Ki zwazo ou gegne jodi-a?”
“Gegne zwazo, wi,” the old man croaked. “Gegne zwazo anpil, anpil. M’ap montré’w tout zwazo sa yo.” He limped forward on his stick and unfastened a string across a gap in the cactus, which symbolized a gate. “Vini, vini.” He beckoned, leading them farther on the trail, where it wound into a crevice better protected from the sea wind. Here the plantation was more considerable, and there were more of the little cases running backward toward a freshwater stream that trickled down the rock. A gaggle of mostly naked small children had joined their rear, silent and awestruck by the presence of strange whites.
The old man led them to another enclosure, without a house or a dog, but more tightly fenced than the others and overarched with trees like a bower. Within, a number of wing-plucked crows and parrots hopped on the ground, and some smaller birds were shut in cages made of bamboo splints, which hung from the branches overhead.
“How does he get them?” Daspir said at large.
“With snares,” the doctor turned his head to say. “For the smaller ones he makes a kind of bird lime.”
The old man raised a crow on his forefinger, and showed how it could curse in both French and Spanish. Isabelle made a moue of mock distaste. The children who waited outside the fence poked each other and giggled at the bird’s coarse talk, all but one little girl who was staring mutely at pale Héloïse. The old man lifted one bird after another; all could pronounce a phrase or two, but there was no great difference of vocabulary. Daspir cast his eye over the cages; there were pigeons, doves, a lurid green-and-orange parakeet, but nothing resembling a canary.
“Have you no birds that sing?” Isabelle said finally.
“Madame, these are birds who speak,” the old man said. “Any bird of the forest may sing.”
Isabelle peered through the bamboo at the little parakeet. Seeing her interest, the old man opened the cage door and laid a finger behind its claws. Reflexively the bird stepped backward onto the new perch, and the old man drew it out through the opening. The parakeet revolved its head to look at Isabelle with one eye and then the other.
“Comme tu es belle,” it suddenly squawked. How beautiful you are!
“Oh,” said Isabelle, coloring slightly as she pressed her fingertips against her lower lip. She turned to Daspir. “What do you think?”
“Madame Leclerc cannot fail to be charmed by such a sentiment,” Daspir said. “Though it is more properly due to yourself.”
They made their way back by the same path, the parakeet’s cage strung to the wooden cross of a donkey saddle. Héloïse tried to engage the bird on several topics, but all it would do was assure her of her beauty. In this direction the harbor mouth was more obvious and Daspir saw two craft of the French fleet negotiating the outer reefs, though he didn’t know from what direction they’d come, nor what news they might bring.
The doctor caught his eye and pointed directly down the cliffside from the bend in the trail they were turning. “Picolet,” he said briefly. Daspir peered over the edge and saw the abandoned harbor fort, much of its masonry shattered by the cannonade of four days before. No more than a couple of French sentries were posted there now, for Christophe’s men had spiked the guns before their retreat, and tumbled them down from their carriages. And Leclerc had no reason, at this time, to prepare for any attack by sea.
At the point where the trail widened into a road, a trio of wizened old black women had appeared to spread over the ground wares to make Daspir’s mouth water: stalks of bananas and baskets of mango and avocado and more of the large green oranges. There were several live chickens trussed up, boucan-dried pork, and even a couple of ducks. Now Daspir understood the reason for the second donkey, for Isabelle bought enough to load the animal down. As they departed, Daspir fished in his purse—he meant to buy a single banana, but once the old woman had bitten the coin he offered, she grinned and gave him the whole stalk. Daspir broke open one of the fruits and gulped it so quickly he nearly choked—when he was done he remembered to share more of the bananas around the company, and chose a second one to eat more slowly.
They had been two hours on this expedition, and the sun was just past its meridian when they came again in view of the town. From the height they had a panoramic view of the fire-blackened ruin, with squads of soldiers worming through the streets like maggots at work on a rotting carcass. And they themselves had nowhere else to go . . . A gloom settled on them as they went down, and there was no more talk, not even from the parakeet.
Isabelle’s cook had stayed with the family, though all other servants but Michau had followed the army out of town. She had salvaged some of her iron pots from the wreckage, and when they returned to the shell of the Cigny house, she was stirring a big kettle over a fire, which proved to contain a stew of cornmeal and beans.
“Maïs moulin,” she explained to Daspir, with slightly forced good cheer. “It is popular among the people here. Well, we have brought a thing or two to increase the savor . . . You will dine with us, of course.”
“With pleasure,” Daspir was quick to say. In fact the smell from the kettle was very appealing, and it improved once Isabelle had diced in some tomatoes and peppers she’d bought on the way back, and added a ration of shredded dry pork. The men had swept clean the floor of what had been the downstairs parlor, and thatched over enough of the area to provide some shade. They ate sitting cross-legged on the stained tile, using banana leaves for plates. When they were done, with only the slightest tick of hesitation, Daspir brought out the last of his brandy and shared it round the group. When it was gone they curled up in the shade of the thatch and slept.
It was still full day when Daspir woke, with sweat pooling under his clothing on the tile.
“Come,” Isabelle said. It was she who had roused him. “We are going to bring our gift to Madame Leclerc.”
Daspir got up, aching in his hip
s and shoulders from having lain on the hard tile. The doctor was polishing his glasses on the tail of his soot-streaked shirt, while Cigny used his fingers to comb flakes of ash from his beard. Isabelle studied herself in a shard of mirror that Michau had fished out of the wreckage.
“Well, let us go,” she finally said.
Daspir had the honor of carrying the birdcage, while Cigny bore a basket of fruit Isabelle had selected from her purchases earlier in the day. They left the children in the care of Michau and the cook, but the doctor and Arnaud accompanied them. The fruit basket attracted some envious glances along the way toward the Governor’s house, since provisions were now very scarce in the town.
Captain-General Leclerc himself was there beneath the canopy, and in consequence Pauline’s entourage of admirers was somewhat reduced, though Cyprien was waiting in a corner; Daspir exchanged a covert nod with him. The lady herself looked bored and petulant, but she practically sprang to her feet when she saw Isabelle come in.
“Oh,” she said, “what have you there?”
Leclerc cleared his throat, a little cross at the interruption. Pauline ignored him, and Isabelle followed suit.
“The merest token,” she said. “We do not know if it can be schooled to sing . . .” She opened the cage door and coaxed the bird onto her finger. The parakeet gave Pauline the benefit of both its profiles.
“Comme tu es belle,” it said.
“. . . but as you see, it has some power of discernment,” Isabelle concluded.
“I love it,” Pauline said decidedly, stretching out her hands. “Give it me.”
Isabelle transferred the parakeet to Pauline’s forefinger, while Cigny, with an unaccustomed courtliness, bowed to lay the fruit basket at her feet. Leclerc was tapping the toe of his boot meanwhile. As Pauline did not notice him, he turned to Daspir.
“Sir, where have you been all the day? Out hunting birds?”
Daspir lowered his eyes. “Mon général, the wish of Madame Leclerc was my command.”
Leclerc’s lips tightened, then relaxed. “So be it then,” he said and stroked his long blond sidewhiskers with his thumb. “But now I shall return you to your charges.” He gestured toward the corner where Cyprien lurked, and now for the first time Daspir remarked that Placide and Isaac sat in the shadows, immobile in their stiff new uniforms, with Monsieur Coisnon, near invisible in the black robe of his office.
“The sons of Toussaint Louverture,” Leclerc said, raising his voice considerably. “I would send them to parley with their father. But one is not certain where he may be found. There is a rumor he has stopped on a plantation on the road from Haut du Cap . . .”
At that, Isabelle nudged the doctor, and when he found nothing to say, she glared at Arnaud.
“That would be Habitation Héricourt,” Arnaud said hurriedly. “Toussaint holds it in fermage from the Comte de Noé.”
“Ah,” said Leclerc. “You are familiar with the place.”
“Entirely,” Isabelle cut in. “And we might happily guide your people there, if you have need.”
Leclerc considered her, stroking his sidewhiskers down toward the jutting tip of his collar. Isabelle gave Arnaud a surreptitious poke.
“If Toussaint is not at Héricourt,” Arnaud blurted, “he has another substantial holding near Ennery—we could convey you there as easily, though the distance is greater.”
“Supposing the way to Ennery is safe,” the doctor said.
“Have no fear for your security,” Leclerc said. “The French army has the situation well in hand. But tell me, how great are these distances?”
“One might still reach Héricourt before nightfall—it is not far,” the doctor said. “Ennery is a matter of another day’s travel.”
“Assuming there is no impediment on the road,” Cigny said.
“You will be provided with sufficient force to sweep away any impediment,” Leclerc said. “So help me, I am grateful for your offer.”
“But do you mean to leave me?” Pauline said plaintively from the divan where she now posed with her bird. “Who shall come to amuse me then?”
Isabelle crossed the room and knelt down at her side. “I’m sure you will not want for company. And we will return as soon as may be. Why, I will surely take you on a tour of the countryside, if you wish it, as soon as things are . . . calm.”
Pauline stretched up to kiss her cheek, then returned her attention to the parakeet. Isabelle rose and took a step toward Isaac and Placide.
“I met you both when you were boys,” she said. “Though you will not remember.”
Placide got up to meet her. “Who could forget Madame Cigny?” He lowered his head over the hand she offered.
“You are men now,” Isabelle said. “Your father will be proud to see you so.”
“Let us hope he is as proud to see them in their country’s uniform,” Leclerc said pointedly.
Isabelle turned to face him. “It is arranged, then,” she said. “Only leave us one hour to make ready. My house, or rather the spot where it formerly stood, is on the way to the city gate, and I believe your excellent Captain Daspir knows the way.”
In fact it took Isabelle considerably less than an hour to prepare to travel, for the few things she had preserved were already packed in the small leather portmanteau they’d hauled up and down the slope of La Vigie. The balance of the time allowed she divided between finishing a particular bit of needlework and debating with her husband.
“Yes, I know it was I who insisted on staying here,” she said. “Call me inconstant if you must. I will even admit that I was wrong! We have succeeded to save nothing out of it all.”
Cigny grumbled. “They say the plantations on the plain have all been burned as well.”
“I’ll promise you that Héricourt is intact, if Toussaint is in residence there,” she said. “We would find a better shelter for ourselves, and for the children.” She touched her hair and then looked critically at her fingers. “There might even be the chance of a bath.”
“And if Toussaint is not at Héricourt?”
“Then on to Ennery and Habitation Thibodet.” Isabelle smoothed the calico she was sewing over her knees.
“The mountain passes will not be secure, after everything that has just happened,” Cigny said. “No matter what General Leclerc may say.”
“But at the least we are promised a strong escort. I see no better chance to make the journey.”
“I don’t know that I see the point of this journey.”
“Thibodet is so hemmed round with Toussaint’s properties, I do not think that he will let it burn.”
Cigny stood up and kicked a chunk of cracked masonry off the swept tiles into the ash pit. “No more did you think he would let Le Cap burn,” he snapped. “Are you so eager to trust in his protection now?”
With a snap of her teeth, Isabelle bit off her thread. “You do wrong to mock me, though I was mistaken once.” She lowered her voice, which had grown shrill. “We must seek our shelter where we may find it. And I see little enough here.”
“I would go with you, Bertrand,” the doctor said mildly. “As far as Ennery, if it proves possible. I should like to know that Nanon and the children are safe, not to mention my sister and her family.”
“And I also,” Arnaud said. “As far as Acul.”
“My God,” said Isabelle. “To think that we had forgotten Claudine.”
Arnaud’s mouth tightened. “Well,” he said. “She has come through the wars before this one.”
“As we all know,” Isabelle said. “God grant she has saved herself as well this time.” She made the sign of the cross and turned away.
Because he knew something of the terrain, Cyprien was given command of the expedition, with Daspir seconded to him. The escort in sum had a strength of twenty-two. They found the Cigny group prepared when they arrived; the adults all furnished with some sort of mount, a couple of them with mules. The two children doubled on one of the donkeys they had used that morn
ing. Cyprien protested, in Daspir’s ear, that he had not expected to be saddled with these brats, nor yet with so many extraneous adults, when Arnaud alone would have sufficed as a guide. But Daspir told him that the children could hardly be left to their own devices here, when only Michau and the cook were remaining to supervise the shell of the Cigny establishment, and when Isabelle appeared, Cyprien let the subject drop. She had cut and resewn the skirt of her maid’s dress to contrive a costume that let her bestride her mare, and even in this getup she managed to cut an exotically elegant figure.
“So you have fallen in with this crew,” Cyprien said musingly, one eye appreciating Isabelle’s trim figure in the saddle. He and Daspir rode several places back in the group, behind the Cigny party and directly following Placide and Isaac. Their whole column was led by a wedge of five hussars, one of whom carried the flag of France before them.
“You seem to hold some reservation,” Daspir said. “Were you acquainted with them before?”
“That I was,” said Cyprien.
“I have happened to meet them at an inopportune moment—for them, at least,” Daspir said. “Yet I confess to find them very amiable, especially Madame Cigny.”
“Yes, she can be . . . ingratiating,” Cyprien said. “She held quite a court in that house we just left, during the mission of Hédouville. No sign of any children in those days. She must have sent them away from the island, for their safety.”
“Then they have had an unlucky hour for their return.” Daspir felt a real twinge at this thought; he had a half sister in France about the age of Héloïse.
The Stone that the Builder Refused Page 26