by A L Berridge
André patted his arm and turned to Stefan. ‘There’s no danger. If they’ve heard I’m around, they still won’t know it’s me.’
‘Apart from the manacle, you mean?’ said Stefan. ‘Or the fact you might run into Praslin?’
I shut my mind on the memory of a severed head on a pike. ‘We won’t run into Praslin.’
André looked sharply at me, then softened his voice. ‘Well then, it’s quite safe. Only the Aubéry officers would know us, and they won’t be there, will they?’
Stefan began to check his pistol. ‘All right, but we’ll keep out of sight all the same. We’ll just see where they are, then come back for the others.’
André shook his head impatiently. ‘No, we need to bring back an escort for the money.’
We stared at him, but he was tucking his manacle into his cuff and didn’t look up.
Stefan rammed the pistol in his belt and said expressionlessly ‘What money?’
Albert Grimauld
Ah, I knew. ‘Thief’ they called me, ‘thief’ that Ravel said to my face, but André trusted me when it came to it, me and no one else.
Ah yes, he maybe told the smith, but he’d no choice there, see, he needed him to break open the voiture and put on new locks. I’d told Francine’s boys myself so we could load the horses, but not one other soul. Oh come on, big chunk of money all in gold? Not something you want to tell the troops about, no, nor yet no females. They’d have been halfway to Hamburg with it in less time than it’d take you to pass that jug.
It wasn’t just our own lot we’d to worry about neither. Our sentries picked up dozens of our men lost and looking for their units, all wanting the comfort of company and finding it with us. ‘De Roland,’ says our guards, ‘we’re being looked after by the Chevalier de Roland’, and in they come, more and more of them setting down comfortable to wait for André to lead them out of it.
There was a lot of Aubéry there, poor buggers. Their officers had just abandoned them in the forest, left them with nothing but the knowledge they left their posts in a battle. There was one old veteran crying like a baby, twenty years in the army and never done nothing but his duty, and they’d gone and made a traitor of him with their lies. Bernadette tries to cheer them, she’s smiling at them nice, saying it’s not their fault and André’ll put them straight.
But time’s going by and after a while I says ‘Seems to me they ought to be back by now,’ and she looks at me with no smile at all and says ‘Yes,’ she says. ‘Yes, they should.’
Stefan Ravel
We found the battlefield all right, but it didn’t get us any nearer the army. Oh, we met a few stragglers, a lot of Aubéry, some German pikemen from the Streiff, a couple of musketeers from the Persan, but they knew even less than we did. We directed them down to our own little camp, which was beginning to look like the closest thing to an army we’d got left. The only other soldiers of our own were sprawled on the ground with bullets in their backs.
We heard desultory fire and shouting as we approached the fringes of the battlefield, so it seemed wise to go the last part under cover. An overgrown gully took us to within ten feet of the open, then we crouched behind the biggest trees we could find and peered round.
You ever seen a field after a battle? No, I don’t mean the fucking paintings, all that magnanimous piety of a dignified surrender, there was nothing dignified about La Marfée. We were looking at three thousand dead men on that field, and the grass was soaked red. Horses were down too, some still kicking, poor brutes, but at least the screaming had stopped. There were moans though, feeble little sounds coming from the heaps of men, and here and there maybe an arm or a leg moving. The air smelt of blood, and the flies were already moving in.
‘Christ,’ whispered André beside me. ‘Oh, dear Christ.’
I pressed his head back down. We weren’t in the healthiest position just there, Abbé, with Imperial troopers picking through the debris and Sedanaise infantry marching off prisoners into the woods beyond, but what I liked the look of even less was a bunch of officers over the far side talking to men from the cavalry who’d attacked our train. No, of course I didn’t recognize them, I’m not a fucking hawk, but I saw they were unhappy about something and had a nasty feeling I knew what. An armoured bastard on a white horse stood in his stirrups and shouted, and next moment the horsemen were wheeling round again, back towards the baggage train and coming our way.
We crawled back down the gully rather quicker than we’d come up it. It was only a couple of feet deep, but the bracken was thick above us and I thought we’d get by. The sound of hooves crossing the field was still distant when I heard something closer, a rustling of leaves, then footsteps and voices. They sounded French, which didn’t mean much under the circumstances, so I lifted my head to peer through the fronds. A second later they came into view, glimpses of red flashing intermittently between the trees, men dressed like ourselves. The approaching hooves were growing louder.
‘They’ll be caught,’ said André. He sprang to his feet and was out of the ditch before I could get a hand up to stop him. All right, they were Aubéry, but they weren’t running or creeping furtively, they were a sight too confident altogether. I hissed at the others to stay put and leapt out of the gully myself, but André had already reached the men, I heard him say ‘Quick, into cover, cavalry coming.’
They whipped round at the sound of his voice, and André stopped dead. His hand shot to his sword, but three of them piled on him, grabbing his hands, arm round his neck, jab in the guts to quiet him, while the fourth pressed a pistol to the side of his head. No, I wasn’t surprised, Abbé, not now I saw their faces. Three looked vaguely familiar, NCOs from other companies, but the fourth I’d known for years.
I nudged my coat over my pistol, stepped into the open and said ‘Hullo, Sury.’
He was a cool bastard. His eyes turned to me all right, but he kept that gun screwed tight to André’s head. ‘Ravel,’ he said pleasantly. ‘Looks like you chose the wrong side.’
‘Depends how you look at it.’ I moved slightly aside to make sure Jacques saw what we were up against and didn’t try anything stupid. ‘No harm to come to the men, isn’t that what you said?’
‘There wouldn’t have been, would there?’ said Sury. ‘You could have all been out of it, if it hadn’t been for this one.’ He ground the gun against André’s temple, sending a little trickle of blood down his face.
Those hoof beats were getting nearer, there was no time for argument. ‘Come on, let him go. What’s one more prisoner on a day like this?’
The others were watching the bend for the horsemen, but Sury looked at me and I looked right back. André was only a blur on the side of my vision, but he didn’t seem badly hurt, he could bluff if he had to.
I said ‘You owe me, Jean.’
The sound of hooves lightened as the first horsemen rounded the bend. Sury muttered to the others ‘Let him go,’ stepped back and lowered the pistol. André shook himself free, but the horsemen could already see us, and there was nothing to do but stand still as if we were all the best of friends.
We bowed respectfully as the first riders passed. Then another horse’s legs came into view, but these were slowing, the bastard animal stopped, and then above my head a familiar voice said ‘Good afternoon, Chevalier.’
My favourite don, Abbé. The fucking Don Miguel d’Estrada.
Jacques de Roland
They couldn’t let him go now, not in front of an officer. The one called Sury brought his gun back up to André’s head, while another pulled his sword from his belt and chucked it away. Frustration banged in my head. There were six now, we should have rushed them when they were only four, I’d just lain and let it happen and now the boy was disarmed with a gun to his head, and more riders already appearing round the bend.
D’Estrada glanced back at them, then leaned forward in his saddle. ‘Oh, Chevalier, what have you been up to?’
André actually smiled. ‘I thi
nk the Señor already knows.’
D’Estrada smiled back. ‘I think he does too. Will you tell me where it is?’
The money, of course, the bloody stupid money, we should have just left it. André had insisted the guard had sworn oaths to protect it, he’d said he was bound to honour them, but it was all bollocks, he should have just left it and run.
He said ‘I’m afraid it’s out of the Señor’s reach.’
D’Estrada shrugged gracefully. ‘I regret it is also out of my hands. These gentlemen have a greater concern in it than I.’
The last horsemen had caught up now, four more. One was that treacherous git Aubéry, two were Sedanaise officers, but the one on the white horse was in full gold-inlaid armour. He was obviously someone very grand, the infantry all sort of grovelled and even Sury swept off his hat, though he made good and sure to keep his gun on André.
Charlot was fidgeting beside me. ‘That’s … But Monsieur, that’s …’
I stopped listening. Stefan had edged to the back with his head well down, but I saw his hand sliding under his coat and suddenly remembered he had a pistol.
Hope and panic clamoured together inside me. Only one shot, and it had got to be Sury. André was unarmed and helpless, if Stefan shot anyone else he was dead. I was willing him in my head, Sury, shoot Sury, do it now.
Stefan Ravel
I couldn’t shoot Sury, there were three men between us. Considering the last time I’d seen d’Estrada he’d cut a slice out of my face in revenge for his own little scar, I rather thought the best place for me was at the back.
But there was something else Jacques had missed. André had a weapon no one had even thought of, it was there right in front of them, dangling from his left wrist. I missed it myself until I saw his hand curl round to grasp the chain into his fist. He was going to go for it, Abbé, one against ten and with a gun to his head, he was going to fucking go for it.
He needed a distraction, and I knew what. My pistol was dog-back and ready, I’d a clear sightline to the front horsemen and only needed to choose which. I’d have gone for the armoured one, anyone encased in that much steel was obviously important, but it was the expensive kind and I wasn’t sure a pistol could pierce it. Corvacho wasn’t worth the waste of the ball. It had to be d’Estrada, and if you think I was sorry about it you’d be wrong.
Then the armoured man leaned right across my line of fire to speak to André. Sury stepped back a little in respect, the man raised his own pistol to lever up the visor of his helmet, and there was his face right in front of me.
Well, what do you think I did? I fired.
Jacques de Roland
I didn’t understand at first, no one did, I thought he’d shot himself with his own pistol.
Everything froze like a tableau in a play, then the armoured man slumped sideways and everyone cried in shock. His officers pressed forward to support him, Aubéry backed away in a kind of terror, the men on the ground looked wildly about them, Sury lowered his pistol – and André moved. He bent his knees and swivelled, left fist smashing upwards and driving that heavy manacle crack into Sury’s skull. I didn’t see any more, I was out of the ditch and running, Charlot hard after me, and I was yelling as I ran. Someone else was shouting, Stefan had his sword out and was attacking the infantry from behind, we’d got them from both sides.
D’Estrada reacted first. He was already sliding off his horse, sword whistling out of the scabbard, but André dived sideways and whirled the manacle crash against his helmet. D’Estrada reeled back against his horse, then I was at the infantry and lunging straight for the man nearest André. Stefan had another in the back, and the third just turned and ran.
The riders were panicking. Their leader was dead, they were being ambushed and didn’t know by how many. One officer wrenched his horse round and galloped back up the track, but the other was pinned in his saddle by the weight of the armoured man’s body, and sat screaming like a woman. Corvacho’s horse was trying to bolt from the noise, it was all he could do to control it. Aubéry was the best of them, he’d got out his pistol and was tracking for André, but Charlot simply lunged from ground level and took him clean through the side. The pistol thudded to the ground and Aubéry sagged in his seat, the stupid nut-brown wig slipped ridiculously skew on his grey head.
André was searching the ground for his sword, but I heard more horses, what sounded like the whole rebel army on its way. Charlot shouted ‘Run!’ but André whirled the other way and I saw d’Estrada was still up. He was dazed and off balance, clutching at his horse while he shook his head to clear it, but Stefan was straight in with raised sword.
André threw himself forward, grabbed Stefan’s sword arm and screamed ‘No!’ Stefan wrenched free, but Charlot was still yelling and the first horses already charging round the bend. Stefan gave d’Estrada one brief regretful glance, said ‘Fuck it,’ and turned to run, dragging André with him. Charlot and I belted after them.
The horsemen stopped as they caught up with their dead leader, but we just kept our heads down and kept going. Men shouted behind us, a loud bang and a tree in front of me splintered into clean white wood. A fragment whizzed back into my cheek, a sharp sting and sudden wetness of blood, I screwed my eyes shut and swerved blindly into Charlot. His hand struck me hard between the shoulders, I opened my eyes and ran on.
We were running for our lives. No talking, no thinking, just legs pumping, boots hammering the ground till our feet burned. Stefan veered into the trees and we raced after him, anything to get off that track before a hundred vengeful horsemen came thundering down it. We zig-zagged through trees, I bashed my shoulder into one, squashed down the sick feeling and ran on. André was alongside now, Charlot behind us panting ‘Faster, Messieurs, faster.’ I kept my eyes on Stefan and ran.
My chest was hurting, my throat tight, odd little black specks came and went on the back of Stefan’s coat. A large branch appeared in front of my face, I whacked it away, ignored the pain and stumbled on. We were slowing, wading up to our thighs in bracken, the green blurring into a kind of sea, I heard André gasping for breath and knew we’d have to stop, then I banged into Stefan in front of me and realized we actually had.
‘Steady now,’ said Stefan’s voice. ‘Steady.’
His hands were firm on my shoulders as he pushed me down into the bracken. André flopped beside me, then Charlot flattening the stalks as he collapsed on top of them. Stefan sat leisurely beside us, stretching out his legs into the green fronds. No one spoke, I don’t think I could have, my throat burned like I was breathing smoke. We were listening desperately for sounds of pursuit, but all I heard was the panting of our own breath and an odd kind of roaring in my ears.
Stefan Ravel
La Marfée’s a big forest, Abbé, we’d gone fast enough to get out of sight and they hadn’t a chance of tracking us. I relaxed and took out my flask.
Jacques was still struggling to get his breath. The big valet was suffering too, I’d never seen quite that shade of red on a man’s face before, but he hadn’t done badly for someone over fifty. André was quiet and exhausted, but his eyes were open and I knew his mind was with us. I shoved the flask at him and said ‘Here you go, soldier, get that down you.’
The valet’s face became even redder. ‘Monsieur, I beg you not to use this form of address –’
‘It’s all right, Charlot,’ said André. ‘Stefan’s my superior officer.’ He took a sip of the brandy, looked at it in surprise and took another before handing it back. Oh, it was good stuff, Abbé, I’d swiped it from Praslin’s supplies when André wasn’t looking.
Charlot didn’t seem reassured. ‘Chevalier, Madame would –’
‘Madame would have a fit,’ said André. ‘But she isn’t bloody here, and you’re not going to tell her.’
I thought the poor bugger was going to choke. I offered him the brandy, but he refused with a slow shake of his head and a distinctly cool look in his eyes, so I chucked the flask to Jacques and tu
rned to reloading my pistol.
Everything seemed suddenly rather quiet, and when I looked up both André and Charlot had their eyes riveted on my hands. I said ‘What?’
André swallowed. ‘Stefan. That shot back there – was that you?’
I turned the spanner and listened for the click to lock the wheel. ‘We needed a distraction, didn’t we?’
The silence was even deeper as I primed the pan. As I shut the cover I heard Charlot saying ‘Soissons. Monsieur le Comte de Soissons,’ and he made it sound like a prayer.
André said ‘Stefan, do you realize …?’ He stopped and tried again. ‘You’re saying you shot a prince of the blood as a distraction?’
‘Oh, did I?’ I said, and blew away the loose powder. ‘Oops.’
Eighteen
Stefan Ravel
Look, the man was an enemy soldier, he was in the fucking way and I shot him, all right? But you’d never believe the fuss they made about it, they were yapping all the way back.
‘The rebellion will have to fold now, won’t it?’ said André cheerfully, ignoring the fact the woods were full of Imperials just listening for our voices. ‘It’s nothing without the figurehead. We must tell the Maréchal at once.’
Charlot demurred. ‘We must tell no one, Chevalier. This was a prince of the blood, and assassination rather than death in battle. You know the penalty for lèse-majesté.’
I did, as it happened, they have you torn in quarters between four horses and doubtless do something unpleasant to the pieces afterwards. I suggested we keep our mouths firmly shut, starting right now, and concentrate on making our way back to the others.
We found them all right. De Chouy had had the sense to move them away from the track, but he’d left sentries to watch for us and they pointed the way. A baby was crying as we got nearer, a thin, unhappy sound, but strangely clean and familiar just then, and we followed it like a lantern to guide us home.