That night, Florian sat with me, as I was miserable from the terrible mistake I had made, one that would cost us another friend. I prayed Robert would not suffer, I prayed it was not Gilbert who wanted him, but I could not convince myself, and so I wept. Florian, my staunch fried was there, silently stroking my back, but I was afraid for him as well. His turn would indeed be soon. Slowly, patiently he coaxed me from desperate tears by recalling some of our old adventures as so we recounted our past as I took comfort in his presence.
Finally, he got me talking about the events that led us to prison. He nodded with understanding as I told of Georges and Camille, and what Gilbert had done. ‘I hate him, he is relentless, unreasonable. He went mad, I’m sure, from Adam’s abuse. Why did he not drown in the cellars of the underworld, where we pushed him,’ I spat. ‘I tried to tell him I am sorry, but he will not…’
Florian ruffled my head, cutting me off. ‘This Marie-Louise should have helped you with the knots,’ he said reprovingly, smiled and changed the subject. He waved his hand around. ‘Did you know the queen was here? She was charged to appear in the Revolutionary Tribunal? On 3rd of October? She had been cursed for treason, attempt to coerce her husband to crimes against his nation. She had planned to place a mine under the National Assembly…’
‘She was here, yes, I know, in the stinking Temple. They took her husband. They took her like a common criminal and God knows where her unhappy family is,’ I said, angry that he had changed the subject.
He grinned. ‘Well, know this. She stepped on the executioner’s toes and asked for forgiveness. Just like you want to ask pardon from Gilbert. Yet, Gilbert, Jeanette, is apparently like the executioner. I have not seen him, but you know he was always a bit mad. If it is so that he wishes to be reborn, then it is hopeless to reason with him. He does not care about pardons nor does he understand them. He lost his family, legacy, and eye. He lost you too, did you ever think about it? So, love, a pardon will not do it. Neither did it do so for the polite queen, though I think she stepped on Sanson’s toes on purpose.’
I pouted. ‘I did perfectly good knots.’
He laughed, incredulous. ‘That bothers you? No, you failed,’ he poked me.
‘Fine!’ I agreed. ‘But what am I to do? I cannot beat him. He has his twitching fingers all over the corrupt government, Paris and God knows where. He helps powerful men and knows, I suppose, many who are not yet at the helm. He knows whores and murderers and as the men in power use the whores and murderers, none dare turn on Gilbert. We are alive only due to Georges.’
He laughed. ‘A musket ball will stop anyone. Did he truly threaten to destroy your family?’
‘He did,’ I said, frowning at the thought, for the siblings were often on our mind and as we spoke, Robert was likely suffering terribly.
Florian spat on the floor and looked troubled and disgusted. I was grateful to him. He mumbled apologies and I took his hand, and told him: ‘he probably cannot find out where they are, not easily. We did not tell anyone, not even here. Robert will suffer for nothing.’ I was wringing his fingers in agitation, and he hugged me and gave me a kiss on the cheek, to help dispel the fears.
‘Someone will know, so keep it that way. Georges knows, surely?’ he asked.
I nodded. ‘Georges said he would pretend to keep letters from our family on his person or desk, I know not. He hopes Gilbert will, should he try, concentrate on finding the information he needs from him. Yet, he promised to make sure Camille would keep all the letters safe. He has loyal men looking after poor Camille. And then, of course, our family.’
‘Ah, Camille Desmoulins? He a good man?’ Florian asked me with concern. ‘I’ve heard he is a bit unhinged.’
‘Yes. Sort of. Not good for his wife, though. He loved mother, and that Lucile was terribly hurt by it.‘
Florian smiled, relieved. ‘That is good. So, what do we eat here? Best cuts of a fine, wine boar and delicious steamed vegetables, perhaps? Sweet cake and cheeses of many kinds of desserts, with some perfect red wine from Loire? Hmm?’
I laughed merrily at his hopeless tone and we changed our thoughts from dark to light as I told him lightheartedly of the prison, and how one survived there, and he shrugged in disbelief. ‘Nothing to look forward but your sweet company? Worry not, though. I doubt I will stay here for long,’ he said gallantly. ‘They put my father thorough the surprisingly springy process in under a short week.’ He looked miserable, few tears came, and I pulled him to my lap and held him there, afraid for him, should Gilbert take and kill him as well. He stopped crying, looking up to me. Out of curiosity, as my face hovered near his, I kissed him.
Florian was the first boy I kissed, for what I had given Pierre, was just a peck, and that held no real meaning other than friendship. Yet, after kissing him, I knew I had no such feelings for him either. I had known Florian forever, he and I had grown and dreamt together, played on the dangerous streets, caused dreadful havoc with our pranks, fought together and laughed merrily at small nothings and endured Gilbert’s moods and plans. He was tall and somewhat handsome, and he reluctantly answered my kiss, as if surprised by it.
It was not a bad kiss, Marie. It was clumsy, but we experimented with it until my neck was overstretched and tired and I ended it. He got up to a sitting position and put a warm hand on mine. People on the cramped cell, most people I did not know, grinned, and a sturdy woman pulled the rest up, finding a different place to sleep. I half regretted them leaving, for I would have had an excuse to back off, but they went and we were left behind.
To be honest, I was terrified, Marie. I was quite old, many girls my age were married already; some had children, but I did not feel like I was in a hurry. I had spent years without thinking about such matters and though I occasionally pleased myself, no doubt clumsily I had not had a yearning for a man, despite flirting with Pierre briefly. Adam’s leering face hovered in my thoughts, and what we had endured would never go away. I also remembered Colbert’s deeds and those of Madame Fourier, and I did not yearn for love.
Yet, I had kissed him, and saw desire in his eyes, and I looked down, gathering myself, convincing myself it might be a good idea. Gilbert knew where we were, people died hourly. We might die, any time, and even if I did not feel a burning furnace of passion, I felt kindness and gentleness for him. His eyes probed mine, I took a deep breath, swallowing my fears and I nodded. I got to my knees and so did he.
I removed my old shirt, baring my breasts, and I saw his breath stop, his eyes probing them as he took off his jacket. I covered myself in a sudden burst of modesty, but Florian no longer hesitated as he landed forward to bury me with a hug, kissing my neck, removing my hair from his mouth, and then touching my throat with his surprisingly gentle lips.
I touched him, his shoulders, stroked his sides, his thighs and we kissed passionately, letting go of restraints, our lips hungering for care. His hands and mouth were on my breasts now, and his lips were hungrily devouring my nipples, which were hardening almost painfully in the chill air of the cell.
He pulled his pants down with one hand, I pulled my skirt off, and he pushed me to the creaky bed. He opened my legs, admiring what he saw and touched me gently, and I remember whimpering as he stroked the parts that make a woman weak. He did this for a while, experimenting, and I grabbed his hair and pulled his face down, pushing him there, until his lips touched me, and I felt suddenly wet, my spine arched with pleasure, as his tongue caressed me, going deep, then shallow. Finally, he pulled his head free, panting, and climbed over me. I saw his erect penis, and I took it carefully, fingering it, noticing it responded to my caress. His mouth opened in ecstasy as I pulled and pushed on it, moving it back and forth. It was wet, strangely heavy and apparently ready, and he fell over me, his hand holding his penis, gently probing with it, deciding where it should go, though Marie, he did not find the right place at first. I helped him, and so he put it in me, pushing it resolutely in, balancing precariously over me.
I tried to fo
rget the thoughts of possible pregnancy, as I enjoyed the sensation of his hard manhood filling me. A momentary pain, that is all I felt, and for the first time, Marie, it was good. I enjoyed it, though his movements were a bit awkward and jerky, our rhythm a bit off, and we were trying to be quiet; a hopeless task, as the treacherous bed betrayed our movements by squeaks. He was kissing me, fondling my breasts in the awkward position, stroking my face, and I nearly felt an overpowering force filling me with fire, but not quite, because he come first, gasping, giggling, trembling, his movements stopping next to nothing, stiffly. I teased him and grabbed his balls, keeping him inside me and he got a lot of enjoyment from it, but he was done, the cock shrunk and I cursed, confused, as he slid out of me. After this, he relaxed next to me and fell asleep.
I stared at him. It was very confusing. How could he just fall asleep like that, and not say anything?
Then I realized mother must have inkling on what had happened, as in our small gossip-mongering society there were few secrets. That thought made me spring up like a hare, find some relatively clean cloth to wipe some of the mess off my thighs, semen mixed with blood but as I sat there, I knew I did not love Florian and I was sure I would rather be his friend, and begged to God he would be happy with this. He should, but I had given him my virginity, and as far as I understood idiotic men, this would indicate that I was his and the bargain had been sealed. We would talk the next day, I decided. I went to lie down next to him, dressing up, but I was unsatisfied, craving for release, and so I touched it myself, rubbing myself gently, for it felt good, and Marie, do let nobody tell you it is wrong. For me, it gave me heaven that night, where Florian did not.
I went to sleep praying I was not pregnant.
Next morning, Florian was not lying next to me. I got up in confusion, and glancing at the doorway, and I saw a crowd at the main hall. A guard was yelling names. I had slept very, very late, for usually mother woke me up, but not that morning.
‘Florian Antin!‘
‘No!’ I yelled and jerked instinctively, as I got up on wobbly feet. They were taking my precious friend, and I knew I had no time to waste. I ran out of the dank cell, causing a commotion as I slipped on wet floor and saw some stoic prisoners being lead towards the door. I turned and saw Florian push out from the crowd. He strode forward, confident and tall, perhaps too thin, but attracting looks with his resolve, and I willed him good luck, as he eyed Andre. Andre pulled him aside, and then Florian’s eyes met mine. He nodded at me, but there was something in his eyes I did not understand. He was not afraid, he was not sorry. His eyes were hard. Perhaps this was the way he would prefer to meet death. Devoid of feeling. I waved at him and they were gone. I spat and cursed my cousin. His torture was effective.
Mother and I sat down. She took my hands. ‘I am sorry, Jeanette. She had become bitter and fey after Robert was taken, but she truly was sad for me.
‘It cannot be helped, not while we sit here.’ I told her, and prayed for Florian to be lucky, at least blessed with a swift death, and no need to wait for his turn for long.
‘Did you…’
‘Yes,’ I told her.
‘God help you and become pregnant, Jeanette. I doubt they dare to kill a helpless pregnant woman.’
‘Mother,’ I said, surprised at her wish. ‘How many pregnant women have left this place? No laws of the Gods hold them anymore. You know this.’
She waved her hand tiredly. ‘Many die. I know. But one can still have humane thoughts, and hope the people outside have them, as well, God or not. None else is left, love, but us. It won’t be long.’
CHAPTER 10
On the 3rd of April, scowling Andre came to the main hall. We gazed at him carefully, and knew something was going to happen. He massaged his fat fingers, worker’s hands rough and calloused, and without looking at us, he spoke. ‘I think Agnés; the fool has been telling you about things we are struggling with? Choices, money, future? Yes. Your Georges really messed their things up. Gave power to the silent, little man and his brother, and then tried to preach moderate thoughts.’
Henriette nodded, her eyes in slits, waiting.
Andre grinned. ‘I did go to Gilbert, but Georges is a keen man and made sure we were well compensated. He liked Pierre, you see, and knew that without my brother, I was tempted. Agnés convinced me, she is the brain of our family, mad that she is. Poor Pierre. I am not as agreeable a person as he was.’
‘No, it appears you are not.’ Henriette said as she was waiting for him to continue and I sat next to her. Andre enjoyed giving us bad news, looking around at the despondent faces in the room. Finally, he lifted his hat and wiped some sweat and grease off his forehead. He placed a foot on a bench and leaned forward.
‘So, soon you will go to Gilbert Baxa or this Revenant he likes to be called,’ Andre said happily. ‘I have no passions about this, not like Agnés, who hates you both for being pretty and you especially for kissing Pierre.’ He leered and grabbed my shirt, touching my breast. I slapped his hand off, angry. He grinned. ‘Perhaps if you were kind to old Andre, I might…’
‘No!’ I yelled and pushed him. Everyone in the cell turned to look at him, and a furtive look of doubt played on his ugly face. He came closer. ‘Very well. Smart of you. It would not help you, only please me. Keep your treasures, but perhaps we shall see later, if you and I find a moment together? Your cousin does not have warm, protective feelings for you, no. He surely does not follow the new God of Reason! Tomorrow, you will go.’
‘Georges and Camille made promises to us, that…’ I started, but he snickered nastily, apparently having waited for that very argument.
‘The corrupt Georges, yes. Well, the food you ate this past day? Georges is no longer in a position to pay anyone anything. His culottes and fancy clothes are all he has, and his small purse. The food, it came from Gilbert. I have a new master. It is not healthy to be seen as a man to monsieur Danton, not anymore. Tomorrow, they will fetch you. You will go for a trip.’
I leaned forward. ‘Do you know Gilbert killed Pierre? Do you know this? That he killed him for speaking about us and what we did to Gilbert?’
His face twitched in amusement. ‘Agnés thinks she is the only one Gilbert approached. Yes, I know. It hurt me, for weeks it was like a burning hot iron in my soul to dwell on it, but in the end, I realized it was your fault. Therefore, I will get satisfaction and new position with coin to match. I have forgiven Gilbert.’
‘Gilbert knows you know about his past,’ I hissed. ‘Gilbert will have to…’
‘I will take your tongue, if you do not shut up, girl. No, Gilbert has hired me, and so there is trust between us,’ he hissed and we glowered as he left, whistling a happy tune.
There was no escape. Our hands were tied, and I was afraid, Marie. Of Gilbert the Revenant, who seemed like a mad, determined bulldog. Impossible to stop, impossible to reason with and his minions were all around us.
Next morning, on the 4th of April, for we had not adopted the revolutionary calendar, preferring the old less confusing one, we heard a wagon stop in the yard. There was nothing unusual about this, but today, our names would be called. So, we combed our long hairs, dusted ourselves off as best we could and gave away our few belongings to other prisoners. We did not have much.
Yet, the guards were tardy, for we could not hear the clanks of doors and clapping of soles on stairs, and this break in the normal rhythm disturbed our small community greatly.
There was some commotion down in the yard, and I looked down from a small window. This time, there were two wagons. Andre was talking to a sergeant in a shabby uniform, who was gesturing at a wagon full of somber citizens, while the guard, the usual one in the Temple, sitting spread legged on the other wagon was gesturing wildly with his many papers. Apparently tired of the arguments, the strange sergeant guard waved his hand, dismissing the others, clapped his hands, slapped a paper on Andre’s hand. Still arguing, the sergeant gestured towards Andre with his head, and some cursing so
ldiers jumped down from the wagon and evidently threatened Andre with immediate violence. Our regular guard sat in his wagon, silent, apparently happy to wait his turn.
The soldiers took Andre and disappeared into the tower, and soon, we heard sounds. Andre was complaining in the stairway. ‘He had orders to fetch them. He did! As was expected.’
‘I am not sure,’ said the sergeant, utterly bored, ‘how it is a mere guard of the Temple know who is to be fetched and who is not? Perhaps you were planning to set them free? Hmm? Never mind! We are making a detour, man, and will suffer hunger for it, and therefore we will bring them as my fucking orders say. I will not stay to discuss the matter with insipid little snot-nose like you. We use my orders, man. Mine, not his.’
‘Citizen! There are two sets of important orders! Surely you must at least make sure….’
The sergeant scoffed as the key rattled loudly on the lock. ‘I do not care. I have mine. And if you are not careful, perhaps my orders will have your name on them next time.’
‘Citizen Baxa will know about this, he will,’ Andre said, his voice trembling terribly, in fear and disappointment.
Mother and I looked at each other in wonder, joining trembling hands. Something unusual was going on, and anything that made Andre so miserable was undoubtedly good news for us. The door opened with a bang.
The bearded sergeant stepped in with equally bearded Andre, confidently. He looked around at the multitude. ‘Well, well. La Force and Luxembourg are nicer than this. Filthy and seedy, guard. Jeanette and Henriette Baxa! Step forward now. Be lively! We are way out of our normal route.’
We did, and he smiled lecherously at us. ‘Though I do not mind these two. Usually we only have the terribly old and the horribly ugly. Come, come, off to the Concierge.’
Reign of Fear: Story of French Revolution and Napoleonic Wars (Cantiniére Tales) Page 18