In the Name of the King

by A L Berridge

  Jacques shook his head violently. ‘André said to hide her –’

  ‘And take away his last chance?’ said the Comte.

  Jacques closed his eyes and gave a curious jerk of his head. It’s not often I felt sorry for him, Abbé, but I did right then.

  The Comte laid a gloved hand on his arm. ‘They’re both dead, Jacques. Unless you can go in there right now and persuade him to change his mind.’

  Twenty

  Jacques de Roland

  We walked to a cell at the back of the building, with four guards outside who searched us and took away our swords. They unlocked it to let us in, and there was a little grey windowless room with a single wooden chair and my brother standing with his hands in his pockets glaring defiantly at the door.

  His face changed when he saw me, and we couldn’t either of us speak. I just grabbed and hugged him, and for a moment I felt he was safe and home, that if I just hung on tight enough they couldn’t take him away. But of course that was stupid, and after a minute we pulled ourselves together and stepped back. He was pale from being kept indoors and his beard was gone, it was the boy I remembered from the old days.

  He rubbed his hand over his face and smiled. ‘I’ve been shaving. It gives me something to do.’

  The Comte said ‘You have to be alive to shave, André.’

  The boy looked at him, and the anger was back on his face. ‘I’m sure Grimauld will take great comfort in that. Have they crippled him?’

  I said ‘He’s all right, we’re taking him home.’ I tried not to remember what Grimauld’s legs had looked like when we put him in the carriage.

  André squeezed my hands. ‘I can rely on you, can’t I? You’ll see he’s looked after.’

  I avoided his eyes. ‘You’ll see it yourself. You could take him with you to England.’

  His hands slowly slid out of mine, and I felt him looking at me. He said ‘Uncle, would you mind if I spoke to Jacques alone for a moment?’

  ‘Not at all,’ said the Comte. ‘But I hope you listen to him for all our sakes.’

  He knocked on the door, and a moment later it opened and closed behind him.

  André stepped away from me and let out a long breath. ‘It’s all right, you can say what you like now. Have you got somewhere safe to take Bernadette?’

  I said ‘They know where she is, they won’t let us take her anywhere.’

  ‘So?’ he said. ‘Dress her up, smuggle her out, you can do it.’

  He always thought anything was possible. ‘She won’t go.’

  ‘Make her,’ he said. His lip was stuck out and his eyes hard, he looked like a little boy in a temper. ‘You don’t want her tortured, do you?’

  I pictured Bernadette mangled and sobbing like Grimauld and my mind screwed itself shut. ‘No!’

  ‘Then save her,’ he said, gesturing so vigorously his hand struck the wall. ‘Get her out.’

  The lump in my throat was almost choking me. ‘No, you save her. Do what they want, say what they want, then no one gets hurt and you’re free.’

  He went very still. ‘Dishonour myself? Shame myself and my whole family for ever and in public? Is that what you want?’

  I gripped his arms. ‘It’s just words. Get it over with, then you’re free.’

  ‘No,’ he said, and I felt him trembling under my hands. ‘No, you can’t make me.’

  ‘They’ll execute you if you don’t.’

  ‘Good,’ he said, and gave a little jerk of his head. ‘Good.’

  ‘It’s not,’ I said. ‘I saw it done in effigy, remember? How am I going to feel if it’s really you, how the fuck am I …?’

  ‘Don’t,’ he said. ‘Dear Jacques, don’t. It’ll be all right, you know it’s what I want.’

  I stared over his shoulder at the wall, grey, cracked plaster with odd red smears like someone had tried to write on it in blood. ‘They’ll still make you do it. The amende honourable. You’ll have to do it on the way to the scaffold.’

  His mouth tightened. ‘They can’t force me.’

  ‘They’ll torture you.’

  For a moment he almost smiled. ‘And you think that would work, do you?’

  I pushed him away in frustration. ‘All right, do it your way, let them make you an example. They’ll break you on the wheel, you’ll take days to die, they’ll display the body, you think that won’t shame the family?’

  He made a sort of muffled noise and turned away, but I couldn’t stop. ‘You’re not thinking about any of us. You’ll let Bernadette be tortured …’

  ‘I won’t,’ he said to the wall. ‘I’ve told you, get her away.’

  I came up behind him. ‘Suppose we do, suppose I break her heart and get her out. What’ll they do to us then? What’ll they do to your grandmother?’

  ‘Nothing,’ he said obstinately. ‘She’ll say she didn’t know.’

  ‘And me?’ I said. ‘We’ll all lie our faces off because you’re too proud to do it yourself?’

  He swung round, face stark with anger. ‘That’s enough.’

  I ignored him. ‘Can’t you see what it’s going to mean? The servants dragged off and questioned, your grandmother interrogated, Bernadette caught after all, her being tortured and killed, me having to watch it, all of us broken in bits just to save your bloody honour?’

  There was only the slightest twitch in his shoulder to warn me, but I’d fenced him nearly seven years, my hand was up and smack round his wrist before his fist reached my jaw. His eyes widened in sudden disbelief, and my brain caught up in shock. He’d tried to hit me. My hand opened by itself, he snatched back his arm, and we stared at each other, wide-eyed.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I’m …’ He looked at me helplessly, then slumped on the chair and put his head in his hands.

  Outside the door the guards were talking and laughing and I wondered how long they’d been doing it.

  André spoke through his hands. ‘If you could get me something. They wouldn’t hurt anyone else then, it’d be over. I know you’re searched, but –’

  I said ‘André, you can’t.’

  He still didn’t look at me. ‘You suggested it yourself once.’

  ‘That was for other people.’

  ‘So’s this.’

  ‘Not if there’s another way.’

  His hands slid down off his face and I saw the hopeless misery in his eyes. ‘I don’t want to go to hell.’

  I said ‘No.’

  His head moved from side to side. I followed his gaze: wall, wall, floor, ceiling, door with armed guards behind it, wall. He said ‘There’s no escape from the château either, not without killing someone.’

  I said ‘This is the only way. Please, André, you’ve simply got to.’

  He rubbed his hands over his face, then sat staring at them.

  I waited. Even the guards outside were quiet.

  ‘All right,’ he said at last. ‘I’ll do it. Tell the Comte he wins.’

  I looked at him doubtfully.

  He stood up. ‘No, I’ll do it. You can have my word if you like.’

  ‘It’s not that –’

  ‘Good,’ he said. ‘Then go and tell them, will you? I’ll see you tomorrow.’ He forced a smile, thrust his hands in his pockets, and went back to glaring at the wall.

  Anne du Pré

  Extract from her diary, dated 10 February 1642

  Florian said nothing on his return from the trial, but went straight to his room to wait for Pére Ignace. I was terribly afraid I knew why.

  He was still there when Bouchard himself strolled into the salon. I told him my brother was indisposed, but he said it was me he wished to see, and actually ordered wine.

  He dismissed Clement as soon as it was poured, then sprawled into a chair, propped his elbow against the arm and regarded me with malicious amusement. ‘I’d like you to come out with us tomorrow, Mademoiselle.’

  I said ‘Monseigneur is very kind. Is it to be the theatre?’

  He smiled.
‘Almost. We’re going to see André de Roland perform the amende honorable.’

  His face blurred and I had to grip the arms of my chair. ‘I don’t believe it.’

  He laughed delightedly. ‘You do still care about him, don’t you? I’ve often thought so.’

  I could hardly think sufficiently to answer. ‘I’ve never pretended otherwise, Monseigneur, I owe him a great debt of gratitude. Even if our allegiances are now different that cannot change the obligation.’

  ‘Obligation,’ he said, polishing the rim of his glass. ‘And that’s all, is it?’

  I pulled myself together. ‘Monseigneur does not doubt my loyalty?’

  ‘Oh, no,’ he said dismissively. ‘You wanted a title and the tabouret, that’s perfectly natural. But I’ve wondered sometimes if there wasn’t something else. What you wrote in your charming little journal, for instance.’

  I stared at the floor and tried to will away the burning of my cheeks.

  ‘Ah well,’ he said kindly. ‘Perhaps that’s natural too. But there was more to it for de Roland, wasn’t there? He could have had far better than a tradesman’s daughter.’ He sipped his wine and looked at me with an air of calculation. ‘So why you?’

  I could not stop myself saying ‘I might ask you the same question.’

  He waved that away. ‘Oh, that’s different. I need the money, and you’re an obedient little thing now you’ve learned proper manners. But do you know, I think de Roland actually has a passion for you. I really do.’

  Then I understood him. I said ‘M. de Roland did no more than honour a childhood agreement. I was never very much to him.’

  ‘Really?’ he said. He drained his wine, slammed down the glass and stood up. ‘Well I don’t agree. So you’ll come with me tomorrow, and I’m sure he’ll be glad to see you.’

  I rose hastily. ‘I beg you to excuse me, it would not be right.’

  He smiled even more. ‘I’m afraid I’m insisting.’

  I said ‘My brother shares the obligation, and would never force me.’

  ‘He might,’ he said, and took a step closer. ‘If I told him you’d insulted me I’m sure he would.’

  I had to fight the urge to step back. ‘I haven’t insulted you.’

  ‘Of course you haven’t,’ he said, laying his hand soothingly on my sleeve. ‘But that needn’t stop me saying you have, need it?’

  He is sick in his mind, he must be. ‘Please, I beg you.’

  There was a tickling sensation on my arm and I saw his fingers playing with my sleeve ribbon. He said ‘But I really do want this, Mademoiselle. Would you like me to suggest your brother has you confined to your room again? You know I could.’

  I felt a heavy softness on my arm as the ribbon gave way to his prying fingers and the gathered folds of sleeve fell loose. My mouth was suddenly dry.

  ‘Decide in the morning,’ he said, and turned away. He paused at the door and held out a loop of yellow silk. ‘My apologies, Mademoiselle. Your ribbon.’

  I could not make my legs move towards him, I could not so much as reach out my hand.

  ‘As you wish.’ He opened his fingers and let the ribbon flutter to the floor. ‘But it’s a pretty gown, Mademoiselle. I’m sure de Roland would like to see you wear it tomorrow.’

  Stefan Ravel

  I couldn’t see what the fuss was about. I’d have told him to cross his fingers behind his back, say what they wanted, and then kill the bastards afterwards.

  But it was a serious business at the Hôtel de Roland. The Comtesse shut herself in the chapel, the servants went round weeping, and the shutters were closed as if someone had died. They didn’t dare tell Bernadette. Jacques gave her some balls about André just being banished for a while, then packed her off with Grimauld to the Porchier farm to wait for him. He wanted me to go too, in case André backed out and the judges decided to torture all the witnesses, but I somehow didn’t think that was likely. André had given his word, so I stayed right where I was and sharpened my sword.

  There was a light snow that morning, and the syphilitic Comte wore furs when he went to hear the sentence. I suspect the judges knew they were pushing it and only banished him for seven years, but the amende honorable was pretty vindictive. It wasn’t the simple version that he could do quietly before the judges, but the full in figuris to be done in public. He didn’t have to say he’d murdered anyone, which was possibly just as well, but he had to say sorry to the lot of them, name by bastard name, and ending with the one they called Bouchard. I made a little point of remembering that name, Abbé. Bouchard.

  They delayed till after noon to attract a nice crowd. The Comte and his mother said André would hate them to watch, but Jacques was going, he said he wanted his brother to have at least one friend in the crowd. I thought ‘Sod it, we’ll make it two.’

  I watched Jacques ride off with Charlot, then strolled down to the Place de Grève, mingled with the scum who’d braved the sleet and slush to see a nobleman on his knees, and elbowed myself to a nice little place at the front. Not that I could see a great deal, there were soldiers all round the square with bayonets facing outward, and I guessed they were expecting a demonstration. The one in front of me was a sunburnt, grizzled trooper I rather liked the look of, so I said ‘Listen, soldier, the man they’re about to humiliate saved my life in battle, I’d like him to see I’m here.’ He looked me over, seemed to approve, and moved aside to give me a clear view.

  Empty space, that was all. Empty space and a square blue cloth arranged with a row of chairs for the people André had maligned. Some had only drapes over them indicating the crests of the families, but two were occupied, one by a dark man in the crimson and gold of the Cardinal’s Guard, and the other by a stocky blond with a thick neck who sat with his arms folded and legs splayed arrogantly apart.

  ‘Bouchard,’ said the trooper, with a contemptuous jerk of his head. ‘Calls himself other things these days, but everyone knows he’s just a bastard called Bouchard.’

  More vultures were gathering behind the blue square, all huddled in thick cloaks while a pack of liveried servants laid out stools for their pampered bottoms. I guessed them for friends of those named in the petition, but a girl sitting quiet at the front looked faintly familiar and so did the fidgety young man next to her. Then Bouchard swung round to say something, the girl lowered her hood as if in obedience to his wish, and the mass of red-gold hair that tumbled out was all the reminder I needed.

  I’d liked that girl, Abbé. I hadn’t wanted to believe she’d become as treacherous as Jacques said, but there she was in the ranks of the enemy, Anne du Pré herself.

  Anne du Pré

  Extract from her diary, dated 11 February 1642

  I had no choice, for today was the one day I must not be locked up. Today André would at last be freed from prison, and my plan was to escape and find him.

  I would do it from the Couvent de la Visitation. Father loves me to visit there, since it is frequented by so many fashionable ladies, so when I asked if I might spend tonight with the sisters he agreed with alacrity. From there I knew I could easily escape to the Hôtel de Roland, where the Comtesse would now have no reason to conceal her grandson’s whereabouts and would surely direct me to André.

  But first he had this ordeal to survive, and I knew how hard Bouchard would make it. He was well aware what vengeance André would seek if he survived the day, and I was certain he hoped to break him and secure his execution after all. I told myself he would fail, but even I was finding the prospect unbearable and what it would be for André I could not think.

  ‘I can’t see your dress,’ said Bouchard petulantly over his shoulder. ‘Can’t you take off the cloak?’

  For once Florian protested. ‘It’s very cold, Monseigneur.’

  It really was. The sleet had stopped, but the muddy slush on the ground was icy and my shoes already soaked through.

  Bouchard shrugged. ‘Well, I wouldn’t want you to be uncomfortable.’

  H
e turned back to face front, but a moment later spoke again. ‘Oh, look,’ he said. ‘A friend of yours, Mademoiselle, how nice.’ He lifted his hand and gave a little wave.

  Jacques de Roland

  Crespin grabbed my arm, babbling ‘No, Jacquot, no!’ I shook him off but Charlot moved smoothly in front of me and said ‘Tomorrow will do for him, Monsieur, today we are here for the Chevalier.’ He spread his arms wide, blocking the sight of that filthy grinning face, and the rage sank to a slow, dull thumping in my chest.

  ‘Charlot is right, my friend,’ said Gaspard, but his aristocratic face was hard and set. ‘There will be other ways, and we shall take much pleasure in thinking of them tonight.’

  Tonight felt like a sort of haven to be reached when this was over. Tonight we’d be at the Porchiers’ and the boy safe. He’d got a week’s grace to leave the country, so we’d sit in front of that blazing fire and have time to be warm and comfortable together before he set off for the coast. Tonight.

  A drum rolled, and people hushed to expectant quiet. My heart seemed to be beating in the top of my throat. A crier read out the verdict and sentence, then moved aside to show half a dozen pikemen standing either side of a wooden door. It had all carved panels on it, like pictures in thick frames hung on top of each other on a wall, then the whole lot jolted forward as the door began to open.

  The judges processed out first, long robes swishing the ground. The priest was next, but he stepped to one side to let the pikemen shuffle themselves into two ranks like a tunnel. Glimpses of white showed moving through the dark bodies, then André was walking out between them, the executioner on his heels to urge him on. The pikemen moved forward with them like walls, but were careful to fan out at the front to make sure everyone got a good look at the man inside. A sigh like a groan went up, as if everyone had breathed out at once.

  I’d known how he’d look, but I still wasn’t ready for the sight of him. His bare head seemed even more degrading between the floppy-hatted pikemen. His hair was dressed and the white shirt a good one of his own, but that made the shock even more brutal when it ended there, no breeches, no hose, nothing but bare legs and feet, as ridiculous as if a gentleman had gone out in the morning and forgotten to dress. Children near us pointed and laughed.