Henriette took the letter with shaking hands
‘It is from your sister,’ he said, gravely. ‘There are others hidden in Camille’s desk. However, do not go there, no. Not safe.’
The message told of a hard life in Lyons. The war, counter-revolution, the famine, illness. Julie had been gravely ill but had survived. They had food, and they hoped Henriette would answer. Henriette read it and stopped in desperation. ‘He knows where they live?’
Georges shook his head. ‘I do not know, but he is clever. He bought you from Andre, the dog, but he left for Lyons, few days ago. He had something devilish planned. He is driven to you’re your family gone from this world, he want’s his past hidden. I hope that does not include the children. Anyway, you should go after him. My wife will give you my old guns and my fine carriage horses, and a nice wagon.’ We got up, and turned to go, shaking the bars. The guard yelled that he is coming as soon as he has relieved himself.
‘Camille? Can you tell I forgive him too?’ I said.
He smiled wistfully. ‘So you forgive me! I will. To be honest, he never did anything wrong, he was just a fool when it came to trust. I was not a good friend to him, and I am sorry for that as well. Perhaps your words will help him face the final road. I think not, he is terrified to the bone, like a child. Beware of Gilbert. He makes Judas look like Jesus.’ He gazed at us. ‘By the God, you both are so terribly beautiful. Henriette like a fallen goddess and you, Jeanette, turned into a woman of ravenous glory, even if you look like a beggar. Fight them, girls. For me.’ He waged his hand sternly and sat down, shaking as fear consumed him.
Henriette hesitated and put her hand through the bars. He kissed her fingers. ‘I loved you too, for a moment. Thank you for saving us, that day. And perhaps today.’ Georges smiled wistfully, shrugged, and let go of her hand, though reluctantly.
We left him there, and soon, he would share the king’s last bed.
CHAPTER 11
We left La Concierge, avoiding the multitudes of soldiers. None stopped us. We found the fine, marble laden home of Georges, and his wife opened the door. She was his new wife, Marie-Madeleine, and while she did not know us, she knew we were coming and was expecting us stalwartly. With her willing help, we acquired an old, faded blue wagon, not as fine as Georges had told us, but serviceable. Then we were fearfully rushing about as we got some packets of food from her and started to load our new wheeled home. Mother knew about horses from her childhood, and we had confidence and hope, for a change. We were afraid, yes, for Gilbert had helpers, and coin from Georges would no longer keep us safe from the suspicious and brutal authorities. It would take us three to four long days to reach war-torn Lyons.
Marie-Madeleine also handed us forged permits and the two pistols, the ones we knew, banes of Colbert and Adam. Mother took them and we left bloody Paris, the terrible clamor of the Terror and the hunger.
Henriette steered us to the wide countryside, taking a broad, muddy road towards the east. I sat there holding a thin scarf around my shoulders, jumping up and down in the creaking wagon, eyeing the crisp, clean country and thought about the short trip to Versailles I had so enjoyed at first. After that, we had spent years in a cell, terrified to the bone of many things, but mainly the ambitious toad Gilbert. Weeks had blended into months, a kingdom into something confusing, religion was dead, at lest officially, and so were the familiar weeks and months, and even years, as we knew them. I was not the happy girl I had been before father had left us, and it bothered me. I had been a child; now I was a woman and I could not fathom the loss of time and the choices that had led us on that muddy road, together against the might of the Revolution, renegades and likely to die unhappy deaths despite our struggles to right things. I yearned to be in peace. I wanted to be happy. I had been happy. Now I worried constantly, feared everything around me. It was all so unfair. I was terrified of being caught, our family being mauled and tortured. The innocence of youth was replaced by an acute fear of betrayal and an enduring gloom of helplessness. I did not expect good deeds from strangers and happy, optimistic thoughts trying to invade my darkness would be repelled and turned inevitably into a thrumming, heart-rending expectation of doom. Truth is; we should have died already.
Father, Gilbert, Colbert, Adam, Georges, Camille, Andre.
Men had foully betrayed us. I felt like a victim, and I hated it. I clutched a gun and decided not to let any man hurt me again, and I swore, like an idiot, never to be attracted to one. I had not been so far, so it was an easy oath to give. I cursed and mumbled the promise, my eyes keenly fixed on the future, mother saw the look in my eyes, and I think she understood. Our story was not the only story of loss and betrayal in France those days, but it was ours, mothers, and mine, shared and mutual. We would run, get our poor family to safety, and hide forever in some valley, growing vegetables and hunting. We might be happy one day. I would cry for Florian, Robert, Adéle, and Marie-Louise. I would hate Gilbert, but from afar. In addition, at the same time, I would miss our childhood and the Gilbert who had not yet been maddened by his father.
Yet, the Temple had also taught me ways to endure, when one cannot change things.
There, one learnt to enjoy the small things. Fear lurked behind the rusty door of the Temple, and death would visit us from that door. Yet, I loved a close chess game or a fearfully wild fencing bout with Robert, while the door was closed and had managed to push things that should scare us to death, push them far away. So now I enjoyed our sudden freedom and scenery I had never seen. I enjoyed the crisp gouts of whipping wind, and the sights of fields swaying gently with unknown produce, the massive clouds chasing across the sky, and yearned for a life in such a place where one could only stare at such sights. I had loved home. Now, I hated Paris. Georges and Camille were surely dead, their mutilated bodies dumped with little ceremony into a common grave, perhaps, and all my memories of the terrible city were painful to bear. Sure, in the wide countryside, things were much the same what came to the revolution, with terror on local level, but the air here, Marie, the nature. It made it all feel realer. Life that is.
So I sat, knew I would fight soon to survive, but I did it stoically, fearing silently, enjoying what life there was left.
Days after leaving Paris, we saw a farmhouse in the distance, on the side of a hill. It was a wooded hill; a nice mix of brilliant flowers and tall grass, shimmering with welcoming shades of calming greens and browns. Henriette pointed that way. ‘Our home, where I was born. Lyons is to north. Not that far.’ I barely noticed as we passed some soldiers on the road. Some were tall, one fat, most in new green uniforms and casques, crested leather helmets, though one man was rather a ragged one. They saluted us gaily as they walked on, carrying packs, pots, and muskets while cursing the shabby looking man, apparently their slave driver.
Then, our eyes hardened, for there was smoke rising from the main building. Henriette hesitated, and then whipped the horse. I grabbed the gun resolutely and prayed to God for deliverance.
We rode up the road and glimpsed the house. It was a country house, red painted, with a white fence and a muddy yard. Other buildings were scattered down hill, but they seemed abandoned. Smoke was rising from the windows in gentle plumes, the mood disquieting. We pulled up and saw animals, two dogs, and a pig, dead on the yard and flies were buzzing around them. We jumped down.
Then we saw a man hanging from a tree, his face dark as he slowly turned around and around in the shadows.
Henriette walked over with weak, wobbly knees, and turned the body around. She sobbed. ‘It’s not my brother,’ she said. ‘A worker? But Gilbert must have killed him.’
‘Indeed,’ said Gilbert, who came out of the house, with a bushy bearded man holding a musket. It was Andre, both coughed a bit from all the smoke.
Gilbert had grown up. His eye was patched with a leather slab; his clothes were richer, even if they were ill kempt, ill fitting, dusty from traveling. He was tall, intense, and angry. He thumbed at the hung man. ‘He
did not invite us in and set the mangy mutts on us instead, but we did him in. He screamed like an animal, Henriette, as Andre hoisted him high. Speaking like that to the employee of the Committee of Public Safety? Foolish, but welcome.’ He eyed us with contempt as we stood there. He took a ragged breath and shook his head, as would a man who has finally reached his goal in life. ‘I knew Georges did not kill you. He was too soft to do you in.’ He took off his coat and stood there in his shirtsleeves.
‘Did you hurt Robert and poor Florian?’ Henriette asked, clutching her dress, shocked as the dead man’s leg brushed her shoulder.
Gilbert was nodding sagely as he folded the coat away. ‘I did hurt Robert. Unfortunately, he did not know where your children live. Matters not, I managed it anyways. As for you, when I found the man who was speaking about Jeanette and me in the taverns north of the river, I knew you were alive. It was hard, my friends to make Pierre understand he should tell me where he learnt this story, but he did. Sadly, Pierre died of infection. As for Florian, he did not suffer. He used to be my friend.’
Mother held me back as I raged at him. He looked at me calmly as I did, until I sobered. I spat. ‘This is fine with you, Andre?’ I asked the former guard, who just snickered.
The man thought about it. ‘It was hard, but…’
‘Andre,’ Gilbert said happily, ‘is paid. Very well.’
‘Pierre was your brother!’ Henriette insisted and Andre looked down for a second, then back up, his eyes steeled with resolve.
Gilbert had looked at Andre with a sideward glance. ‘Yes. He is paid. Also, should he develop sudden sodden feelings for his lost brother, he should remember he served Danton before me, and such men do not fare well with the Committee. He has children and a wife, and knows better than to make this brother thing an issue.’
I stared at Andre, who was clearly suffering and confused about his feelings and then at Gilbert, who expertly manipulated and extorted him, and I could see how this shark would navigate the confusing and muddied waters of the politics in Paris. He had grown indeed.
I spat. ‘Gilbert, the foe of girls and children.’
‘How am I a foe of children, cousin?’ Gilbert asked languidly, fingering a sheathed sword.
‘You threaten people by the lives of children, like Andre’s. You killed Marie-Louise. A girl who was dancing, stabbed her from behind,’ I said angrily, biting my tongue so as not to betray fears that Georges had.
He shook his head at us. ‘That is called leverage. I am no foe to children, but not afraid to use them, either. It is usually up to the adults to keep them safe. Sometimes they fail. Like you did, here.’ His eye glittered as he glanced at the house and I had to keep mother back, for Andre’s musket was unwavering. Gilbert shrugged. ‘Killing is easy, my ladies. The only time I have personally killed was Marie-Louise. It is so much more efficient to have others take such risks,’ he said callously as he clapped Andre’s broad back. ‘And now you are here.’
‘You are a coward, Revenant,’ Henriette said softly, trying to see inside the house. Gilbert noticed this, glanced inside the door and smiled. ‘Are they there? Give them to me,’ Henriette pleaded. ‘The house burns.’
‘No,’ he said. ‘They will be part of the legacy of the Revenant, just like you. I am fixing what is broken. I told you. I wish to be reborn and safe. Soon, this is so.’
Henriette took up her gun and aimed it at them. Gilbert half moved behind Andre, not losing his smile. ‘Give them to us.’
I stepped forward. ‘You are no Revenant, Gilbert. You only try to bury what you fear. Your past. The past of a boy being beaten and bullied by his hateful father. That is what you try to hide. The children have nothing to do with that.’
‘They too, remind me of my past, girls,’ he growled. ‘I cannot live with the knowledge of any of the people from our past lives living and breathing, any of you and you did fail to protect them. The slate must be clean. I need to forget in order to start living, and I cannot forget, until all this is gone. Then I am the Revenant, no longer Gilbert.’
‘I doubt you know what you will be, other than a sad husk of a man,’ Henriette said with a quivering, angry voice bordering on desperate. ‘Stand away.’ Andre shook his head as Henriette took a step forward. ‘Are they in there? Tell us, or we will hurt you.’
Gilbert shook his head. ‘There is nothing in the world you can do to hurt me, Jeanette and Henriette. I warned you. I told you; should you surface one day, tell stories of my past, I would not give you mercy. That you live is a thing I cannot turn away from. I play strange games with men of power, I dine and wine high men and women I will betray or ally with one day. This is my life now. My circles, loved ones, are so far from your small, sad world that I should not bother with you. You have no allies and no means to gather them. You are maggots. I am dead, ladies. Gilbert is dead. But only after you are gone.’
‘You think too highly of yourself, Gilbert,’ Henriette said with a sneer, agitated, as there was a lot more smoke pouring from the windows. ‘You make yourself sound like the most important man in the Republic, one whom the mighty ones take note of. Likely, they have never heard of you, no matter if you do shifty jobs for some of them. You are a sad boy, Gilbert. I pity you. They will one day drop you and your fantasies will not change the fact of what you are and where you came from.’
He bristled. ‘You claim I am just one of the many schemers in Paris? No. The important ones know of me.’
‘Your deals to kill Mirabeau? The contract you stole? You think….’ Henriette spat, but shut up abruptly, remembering Georges.
‘What do you know about that? You met Danton?’ he asked, his voice full of steel. ‘That in it self is enough to doom you. There are men who will want you dead, now. He dared…’
Henriette shook her head. ‘He said nothing concrete, Gilbert. He, like Andre here, fears for his children. They always planned on killing Mirabeau, didn’t they, and…’
He shook his head softly, his eyes hard. ‘I do not believe you. He told you I planned it, didn’t he? He told you about the contract? For I do have it.’
We didn’t answer his question, we did not have to. I shook my head sadly at him. ‘You are nothing more than a puppet and these men laugh at you, no matter what you do and plan.’
He hissed. ‘Laugh at me? They can try. Oh, they can try. My master and I are tied, and my master, girls, is the most powerful man in the land. And I don’t even need him, not with that contract in my hand, for there are many names in it. No, now I have to finish you, for more reasons than my own. But let us move on, and get to the part of your family. I thought I would be merciful, unable to hurt them. But it seems you are right, Jeanette. I am good at killing unwary children and now, I have actually killed thrice.’
Henriette screamed and pulled a pistol and aimed it at him and so did I. Gilbert was momentarily scared, his eyes furtive, but he was also mad in a dangerous way and thought himself a man with a destiny and a purpose. Perhaps he thought he was indeed an undead creature. Therefore, he stood resolutely just beside Andre who was getting nervous. ‘Guns down!’ Andre shouted.
Henriette aimed, pushing me back protectively, but I sidestepped her, aiming mine. Pistols are not accurate weapons, and we had no real experience or training with them, but we had nothing else. Andre was grinning nervously, half thinking it a game, two women with aimed pistols. Henriette sobbed and fired. I did too. We did so too soon. The smoke lingered in front of our eyes, and the two men looked at each other. They were unhurt.
Visibly relieved and assured of his invincibility, Gilbert smiled. ‘In a moment I will let Andre speak to you privately, as part of his many rewards,’ he told us calmly. The jailer’s face bore a grin that made me twitch with fear. Henriette grimly began to load the gun, and Gilbert rushed forward, wielding a thin, glittering sword. Andre stalking after him with a leer. She would not make it, not by far. I wished I had a fine sword, but in absence of it, I flipped the pistol to be used as a club, but w
e would die. Worse.
A musket banged loudly and we shook in shock, sure one of us would fall dead. Neither did.
Instead, Andre fell on his back, his musket firing in the air, and a red dot on his chest was growing.
Gilbert turned in shock to look at the shadows of the orchard. The man who had fired came forward, holding a smoking musket, his cheek blackened by gunpowder. It was one of the soldiers we had passed just now, the ragged one in a dirty green uniform. He was fixing a wickedly glittering bayonet, quietly looking at his foe. Gilbert licked his lips, contemplating flight.
‘You won’t get to finish with us, cousin, if you flee now,’ I told him grimly. ‘Surely the Revenant would be mocked if he did! I shall make sure of it. Go and show us you can kill with your own hands, cousin!’
He cursed, rushed Henriette, and hit her savagely on the cheek, stopping her from loading the pistol. He kicked the weapon aside and glanced at me. ‘You wait, Jeanette. I will be right back.’ I eyed his sword, as he rushed the soldier. He was no expert with the weapon, I saw that much by the way he held it. The soldier grinned at Gilbert as the Revenant vaulted a fence crazily, rushing. I bent down on Henriette to get her ammo and powder in case Gilbert won, but that was not to be. The soldier calmly faced the rushing young man. Gilbert’s sword was trembling in anticipation, and he shrieked shrilly in anger as he got near. The soldier stood back almost casually, knocked the sword aside with the bayonet, sparks flying brightly, and the bayonet blade flashed forward. Blood spattered the soldiers face. Gilbert fell over the musket, his face in a terrible agony.
Reign of Fear: Story of French Revolution and Napoleonic Wars (Cantiniére Tales) Page 20