Marianne and the Privateer

by Жюльетта Бенцони

  With Ledru on one side of her and Jolival gripping her just as firmly on the other, Marianne was forced to run with them, although her heart was thudding painfully in her chest and her feet were bruised and tender from stubbing them on the slippery cobbles. She raised her tear-filled eyes to the sky and smothered a groan. It was all clouded over and there were no stars at all.

  'Faster!' Ledru said gaspingly. 'Faster! They can still see us.'

  The black streets of Keravel swallowed them up and, once in darkness, Arcadius halted, still holding Marianne, forcing the younger man to do the same.

  'Now what's the matter?' Ledru barked at him. 'We are not there yet.'

  'No,' the Vicomte agreed calmly. 'But can you tell me where the danger is now? It is not written on our faces that we have been intending to help a prisoner to escape. Do we look any less like honest folk out to enjoy ourselves than we did on the way here?'

  Ledru's panic left him in an instant. He took off his woollen cap and ran his fingers like a comb through his sweat-streaked hair.

  'You're quite right. It was the cannon – I think it must have sent me off my head. Of course, we'd much better just walk back quietly. We've had it for tonight, anyway…' He paused, seeing Marianne burst into gasping sobs on Jolival's shoulder. 'I'm truly sorry, Marianne. Maybe we'll have more luck next time.'

  'Next time! He'll be dead before then. They'll have killed him!'

  'Never think that! We may be luckier than you expect. And it's nobody's fault if some other poor devil had the same idea as us and chose Christmas Eve to show a clean pair of heels.'

  He was trying, in his clumsy way, to comfort her, but Marianne refused to be comforted. She pictured Jason, lying on his hospital bed with his chains sawn through, waiting for a rescue that never came. What would they do to him tomorrow when they found his fetters loose? Would the man Vidocq, perhaps, manage somehow to prevent the worst?

  The little group had moved on again. Jean Ledru went ahead now, hands in his coat pockets, cap pulled down over his eyes and back hunched forward, eager to have the deck of his ship beneath him again. Marianne followed, more slowly, clinging to Jolival's compassionate arm, her mind still searching feverishly for a way to achieve the impossible and rescue Jason after all. She felt as if every step she took was carrying her inexorably farther away not only from the prison, but also from the man she loved. In the privacy of her hood, she wept, in small, hard sobs that hurt her throat.

  When they reached the waterfront, Jean hurried straight to his boat, not without an uneasy sidelong glance at the gendarme who was strolling up and down with hands behind his back with every appearance of a man waiting for something. Jolival bent and spoke quietly in Marianne's ear:

  'We had better go back to Recouvrance, child. Wait here, while I go and fetch our bags and find out what has become of Gracchus. He must have gone with the sailors.'

  Marianne nodded to show that she had understood and while he made his way to the boat she remained where she was, her arms hanging at her sides, drained alike of all her courage and all capacity for thought. Then, without warning, the gendarme who had been walking towards Jolival had rushed up to her instead and grabbed her by the arm, paying not the least attention to her feeble cry of fright.

  'Good God! What are you dawdling here for? As if we weren't in enough danger already. For the lord's sake, get on board! We've been sitting here gnawing our fingers' ends for half an hour waiting for you!'

  For a second, Marianne very nearly fainted from shock for underneath the gendarme's cocked hat she had recognized the face of Vidocq. It was Vidocq himself, although scarcely recognizable as the same man. Then all other feelings were swept away in a sudden burst of anger:

  'You? You were the one who got away? It is you they are looking for – and meanwhile Jason—'

  'Jason is already aboard, you brainless idiot! Up with you, now, and get aboard!'

  He half-lifted and half-threw her up on to the deck where the crew was already busy about the business of casting off. Then, while she practically fell into Jolival's arms, he vaulted lightly on to the gunwale and strolled forward to the mainmast where he posted himself conspicuously with one foot on a coil of rope, so as to give the port officers the full opportunity of observing his uniform.

  All around them, the agitation in the town seemed to have subsided for the present. The bells were ringing for mass and the good people of Brest, in this instance, were putting God before man.

  Just then, the figure of another gendarme hoisted itself out of the cabin. The face was thin, haggard and unshaven under the cocked hat but the eyes were full of laughter.

  'Marianne!' he called softly. 'Come! I'm over here!'

  She tried to speak, tried to express her joy, but her recent alternations of hope and fear, terror, grief and shock had used up all her resistance. She had just strength to tumble headlong into his arms and he, although barely able to stand upright himself, found somehow the strength to hold her to him. For a long moment, they clung to each other in silence, too happy and too deeply moved for speech. Sails flapped around them, climbing rapidly up the mast. Barefooted sailors ran noiselessly about the deck. Jean Ledru at the tiller gave the faintest shrug and turned his eyes away from the couple who seemed to have forgotten that the world existed.

  Vidocq, however, remarked from his observation post: 'If I were you, I should go and sit down under the gunwale where you can't be seen. Even a fool of an exciseman or a drunken soldier might think there was something odd about a policeman going hunting escaped convicts with a woman in his arms!'

  Without a word, they did as he suggested and found a sheltered corner where they settled like a pair of lovebirds in a nest. Gently, Marianne took off the ridiculous cocked hat and let the salt wind ruffle Jason's hair. As she did so, she glanced up, automatically, at the sky. All the stars were out, and they were many more than nine.

  The night of miracles had kept its promise.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  That Justice be Done

  While the Salnt-Guénolé with Jean Ledru's skilled hand on the tiller ran with the wind on her quarter for Cape St Mathieu and Le Conquet and the coast of Brittany slipped by like a ragged ghost in the darkness, François Vidocq explained:

  'Late that afternoon, there had been a serious accident in the prison shipyards. A mast which was undergoing repairs in the dry dock had come crashing down on a group of prisoners stacking timber on the quayside. One man had been killed and a number seriously injured. The prison sick bay, somewhat grandly styled the hospital, had been full in a moment, so that Jason Beaufort who was now considered pretty well recovered had been returned at once to the communal dormitories. Fortunately, owing to the haste with which the move was accomplished, the business of chaining him to another prisoner had been put off until the next day and he had merely been fastened to the bail with the rest.

  'Knowing what your plans were, I had to get to you fast and warn you that it was all changed, and at the same time not let slip the wonderful chance offered by your vessel. Sawing through Beaufort's chain was a matter of minutes – I'm not without experience at that game.' He grinned. 'My own were done already. The next thing we had to do was to find a way of getting out by the front door. Beaufort could walk. He was sufficiently recovered for that, but not to go climbing walls. So I did the only possible thing – knocked out two gendarmes and stole their uniforms, putting them carefully out of harm's way in a nice quiet place, all neatly gagged and bound.'

  'Not as quiet as all that,' Jolival commented sourly. 'It didn't take them long to discover them, to judge by how soon they sounded the alarm!'

  The Vicomte was suffering from sea sickness. Stretched at full length alongside a heap of ropes, as much to be out of the way of the boom which swept low across the deck at the end of every tack as to spare himself any unnecessary movement, he lay staring in a determined way at the dark sky, knowing full well that the mere sight of the sea would only make matters worse.

&nb
sp; 'I'm quite sure they've not been discovered yet,' Vidocq stated categorically. 'They are in the rope loft and no one will set foot there until the morning. And, believe me, I know the way to bind and gag a man.'

  'Yes, but the alarm was given—'

  'Yes… but not for us! Someone else must have decided to try Christmas Eve to make his escape. It's not something we thought of – he paused – 'but then I suppose we can't claim a monopoly where escape's concerned.'

  Marianne cried out at that: 'But then, perhaps they may not be looking for you at all?'

  'Oh, yes, they will. Even if they've not discovered the gendarmes yet, they're bound to have noticed our absence very soon. Once the alarm had been given, there was no reason for the others to keep mum. Our best hope is in the fact that they'll probably be looking for us along the coast and in the open country. It's practically impossible for a convict to get hold of a boat, especially one like this, even with outside help. Most of them aren't rich, you know…'

  He continued to expatiate for a little while on his private philosophy of escape, its techniques and the various opportunities which could arise, but Marianne soon ceased to listen. She leaned back against the side of the boat, feeling the wind in her hair, with Jason's head in her lap. He was still very weak, and his weakness touched Marianne and gave her at the same time a secret source of joy, for like this he belonged to her completely, he was hers, a part of her, flesh of her flesh like the child she had lost, like the children she would give him…

  Neither of them had spoken very much since leaving Brest, perhaps because they had too much to say and also because from now on they had all of life before them. It stretched ahead, limitless as the ocean which was all around them, leaping and jumping at their heels and making deep, moist panting sounds, like a pet animal whose master had returned after a long absence. At one point Marianne had thought that Jason was asleep, but when she bent over him she saw his eyes wide open and very bright and she knew that he was smiling.

  'I had forgotten the sea smelled so good,' he murmured, holding the hand which he had not let go for a moment against his rough, unshaven cheek.

  He had spoken very quietly, but Vidocq had heard and laughed:

  'Particularly after the reek of the last few weeks. Human dirt and human wretchedness – it's the worst stench I know. Worse even than the stink of corruption because corruption is at least new life beginning. Try and forget – put it out of your mind. For you, it's all done with.'

  'For you also, François.'

  'Who can tell? I was not made for the wide open spaces but for the small world of men's thoughts and instincts. The elements may do very well for you. For myself, I prefer my fellow men. It's not as beautiful, but a lot more varied.'

  'And more dangerous. Don't try to be too independent, François. Freedom is the one thing you have always lived for. You would find it in my country.'

  'It depends what you mean by freedom…' Changing his tone abruptly, he asked: 'How long before we make Le Conquet?'

  Jean Ledru answered him:

  'We've a fair wind. In an hour, I'd say. It's not much above fifteen mile.'

  They had run up a topsail and a flying jib to the bowsprit and the little craft was now carrying all her canvas, skimming the waves like a gull. On their starboard side, the coast fled past with now and then the squat belfry and roof of a church just visible, or the curious, angular shape of a dolmen. Pointing to one of these, Jean Ledru told Marianne: 'The legend has it that on Christmas Eve, when the clocks strike twelve, the dolmens and the menhirs go down to the sea to drink, leaving all their fabulous treasures uncovered. But woe betide anyone who tries to rob them if he is not quick enough, for on the last stroke they all return to their places, crushing the thief who may be caught inside.'

  Marianne laughed, feeling again the pull of a good story which had always formed so strong an aspect of her appetite for life.

  'How many legends are there in Brittany, Jean Ledru?'

  'As many as the pebbles on the beach, I think.'

  The beam of a lighthouse shone out suddenly through the darkness, yellow as an October moon, brooding over the jumbled mass of a huge, rocky promontory nearly a hundred feet high. Their youthful captain jerked his head towards it:

  'St Mathieu's light. It is one of the westernmost points of Europe. There used to be a rich and powerful abbey there…'

  As he spoke, a faint, uncertain shaft of moonlight filtered through the clouds and showed them the skeleton of an immense church and a great range of ruined buildings spreading out before the lighthouse, giving to that bare headland so gloomy and desolate an air that the sailors crossed themselves instinctively.

  'Le Conquet is about a mile and a half to the north of here, is it not?' Vidocq asked, but Jean Ledru made no answer. He was searching the sea ahead. Then, just as the vessel rounded the point, her nose pointing out to sea, the shrill voice of the ship's boy rang out from the masthead:

  'Sail ho, on the starboard beam!'

  Everyone sat up and looked. Not more than a few cables' lengths away was the dainty outline of a brig, beating up wind with all sails flying in these perilous waters as surely as any fishing boat. Jean Ledru's voice rose above the wind: 'It's them! Get out the riding light!'

  Marianne, like the rest, was watching the beautiful craft as it bore down on them, knowing that this was the rescue ship Surcouf had promised. Only Jason had not stirred but lay still, staring up at the sky, locked in a dream of sheer exhaustion. At last Ledru spoke impatiently:

  'Well, Beaufort, take a look! It's your ship…'

  A tremor ran through the privateer and he started to his feet then and remained, clinging to the rail, staring wide-eyed at the approaching vessel.

  'The Witch!' His voice was husky with emotion. 'My Witch . ..'

  Seeing him get to his feet, Marianne had followed, instinctively, and now standing next to him, she too stared:

  'You mean – that ship is your own?'

  'Yes… she is mine! Ours, Marianne! Tonight has given me back the two things I had thought lost for ever: you, my love… and her!'

  There was such tenderness in that one short word that for a moment Marianne felt a stab of jealousy. Jason talked of the ship as he might have spoken of his own child. As if, instead of wood and metal, it had been made of his own blood and bone and his joy in looking at it was a father's joy in his child. She tightened the clasp of her hand on his, as though unconsciously trying to regain possession of him, but Jason's whole being was straining towards his ship so that he did not even seem to notice. He turned his head and looked at Jean Ledru, saying sharply:

  'Do you know who is sailing her? Whoever he is, he is a master of his trade.'

  Jean Ledru uttered a laugh of mingled pride and triumph:

  'I'll say he is! A master indeed! It is Surcouf himself! We lifted your ship for you from under the very noses of the excisemen in Morlaix river… That's what made me later than we thought getting to Brest.'

  'No,' came a quiet voice behind them. 'You did not "lift" it, as you put it. You took it, with the Emperor's knowledge. Hasn't it struck you yet that the excisemen seem unusually heavy sleepers tonight?'

  If Vidocq had been striving for theatrical effect, he had certainly achieved his aim. Forgetting the brig, whose anchor chain could be heard running out and splashing into the sea, Marianne, Jason, Jean Ledru and even Jolival, who revived abruptly, turned with one accord to look at him. It was Jason who spoke for them all:

  'With the Emperor's knowledge? What do you mean by that?'

  Vidocq leaned back against the mainmast and folded his arms, his gaze going in turn to each of the tense faces turned towards him. Then, with the silky softness which his voice was able to assume when he wished it, he replied:

  'I mean that he has given me my chance in these last months, and I am his loyal servant. My orders were to help you to escape at all costs. It has not been easy because, with the exception of our young friend here, everything, men and
events, has been against me. But I had received my orders before you were even tried!'

  For a moment, no one could say a word. They stood, rendered speechless by amazement, while their eyes struggled to take in what it was that had altered in this extraordinary man. Marianne clung to Jason's arm, still trying in vain to understand, and it was perhaps because it was beyond her power to do so that she was the first to recover her voice:

  'The Emperor wanted Jason to escape? But then, why was he imprisoned, sent here…?'

  'That, Madame, he will tell you himself. It is no part of my job to reveal to you reasons of State.'

  'How can he tell me? You know that in a little while I shall have left France for good.'

  'No.'

  Marianne thought she could not have heard aright:

  'What did you say?'

  Vidocq looked at her and she saw a great compassion in his eyes, as he repeated, if possible still more gently than before: 'No. You are not going, Madame. Or not for the present, at least. As soon as Jason Beaufort has put to sea, I am to escort you back to Paris.'

  'No! She stays with me! But it's time we had a few things explained. Just who are you?'

  Gripping Marianne by the arm, Jason thrust her behind him, as though to make a shield for her of his own body. Her arms closed about him instinctively to hold him to her while he spoke to Vidocq in a voice made hard by anger. Vidocq sighed:

  'You know who I am: François Vidocq and, until tonight, a convicted felon with the law on my tracks. But this escape is my last, once and for all, because I have a new life before me now.'

  'A police spy! That's what you are!'

  'I thank you, no! I am not a police spy. But a year ago I was given my chance, by Monsieur Henry, head of the Sureté, to work inside at tracking down crimes too sordid ever to come to light in any other way. They knew I was clever – my escapes proved that. And intelligent – my instinct for the guilty party showed that soon enough. I was working inside La Force and when you turned up it didn't need more than a glance to see that you were innocent, or one look at your file to show that it was a put-up job. The Emperor must have thought the same thing because my orders came through straightway to drop everything and concentrate on you. Further instructions followed which I adjusted to the occasion. If it hadn't been for that Quixotic gesture of yours, I should have had you away on the journey.'