by A L Berridge
This lot were in a hurry, probably afraid André would move on before they reached him. I could outride them a little while, but they were going to spot me belting just ahead of them and I didn’t think that would be healthy. I was still puzzling what to do when they swept me through the gate with them and the nearest man nodded and gave a half-smile.
They didn’t know each other. Why should they? Hired at different places, theirs wasn’t the kind of profession in which you make friends. I grinned at the man, dropped back through the ranks to get further from the leader, then adjusted my pace to my neighbours’ and rode right along with them. As we came out into the Faubourg Saint-Martin there wasn’t one of them who noticed they’d suddenly become eleven.
We rode on into the open country. The men closed up tighter together, scared of the air and the land and a world outside their own sewers, and I took the chance to observe as many as I dared. It was mostly swords we’d be up against, cheap infantry jobs like my own, but one had a musket strapped by his saddle and the man in front had a pistol.
‘All right, lads,’ he said. ‘Here it is, make it quiet now.’
We followed the track till it curved round between two high buildings, orangeries with slated roofs to keep out the chill. The leader turned his beast to face us, and began to load his pistol. I thought ‘That’s a good idea,’ and promptly did the same. Unfortunately I spotted another man at it, which was one more than I’d thought. Three guns to beat.
‘You know what he looks like,’ said the leader. ‘Black hair and clean shaven, though he’ll probably be dressed a little different from this afternoon.’
My neighbour sniggered. I went on loading and mentally promised him my sword through his neck.
‘Don’t worry about the others,’ said the leader. ‘Go straight for de Roland, and don’t forget he can use a blade.’
‘Witnesses?’ said a man near the front.
‘Doesn’t matter,’ said the leader. ‘He’s had the mort-civile, he doesn’t exist, we can do what we want. If someone’s in your way then deal with it, but keep your mind on de Roland.’
He finished loading and looked up. I kept my head well down.
‘Right. Leave the horses here, round the bend one at a time, find your cover, then wait for me. If the door’s bolted I’ll knock, be ready to rush whoever comes.’
There’s not a lot of cover in vegetables, Abbé, a man my size can’t hide behind a leek. The obvious places were already taken when I got round the bend, shapes lurking behind a loaded wagon, one behind a water butt, and one enterprisingly crouched behind the wall of the farmyard itself. In the end I just pressed myself against the manure-warmed orangery and let the slope of the roof cover me in shadow. The house looked quiet and peaceful, there wasn’t a hint of anyone on watch.
Oh, I knew what I’d got to do, the trick was going to be surviving it afterwards. I watched the last men hunker down among the leeks, then here came our noble leader striding confidently up to the farmyard, opening the gate and heading for the door. I’d intended to fire into the air, but fuck it, why waste a good ball? I lowered my pistol and shot him in the back.
Jacques de Roland
Charlot yelled ‘Stay where you are, Chevalier!’ and his footsteps thundered down the stairs.
André leapt for the door, but I thrust myself in front of him. ‘No, stay out of sight!’
Someone shouted outside, Stefan yelling ‘Ambush!’ André pulled open the door so fiercely it bashed me in the back, and was through into the anteroom before I could stop him.
I skidded out after him, trying to untangle my sword from my cloak, but he just stuck his hand on the rail and vaulted over, down the stairs and out of reach. I heard him yell at someone ‘Go back, all of you, get back, I’m going out!’
I went thudding down the wooden stairs, my body jolting at every step, but he was already at the door and opening it. I screamed ‘They’ll kill you!’
He turned in the doorway, and I’ll never, ever forget the look on his face. Then he swung back round and was gone.
Stefan Ravel
I drew my sword and belted for the house. Figures were rising confusedly from the field, but no one went for me, they probably thought I was going in heroic support of our leader. The man hiding by the wall actually held the gate open, poor sod, I felt almost bad about sticking him in the guts.
That rather gave me away, I’m afraid. Men dashed from cover, and I’d nothing at my back but a silent house with a closed door. I yelled ‘Ambush!’ and turned to slam the gate behind me, but one was already through, sword slicing down, open mouth and a yell like a fucking Saracen. I felt the shock of steel scything down my left arm, and whirled my own sword to drive him back, but he dodged and came back, the others behind him already at the wall. At least the door was opening, I saw the shadow crossing the lantern light and shouted ‘Give us a hand for fuck’s sake!’
It was Charlot, and for the first time ever I was pleased to see him. He charged out like a bull, sword in one hand, dagger in the other, and stuck my man neck and thigh. I forced myself back to the wall, slashing out at the shapes behind it, but a crocked left arm does nothing for your balance, Abbé, I was hitting nothing but darkness and buying us nothing but seconds. Charlot stood to the gate, and just the sight of him made them back off, but there was movement by the wagon, I remembered we’d still two guns against us and swore aloud.
Then shouting behind, someone coming through the door, I looked and it was André, bloody André, not even a sword in his hand, standing in the light like a target at a fair.
I yelled ‘Get down!’
Jacques de Roland
I hurled myself out after him, but heard a yell of ‘De Roland!’ and knew I was too late. Stefan tried to grab him, but there was something wrong with his arm, André brushed him off like straw and got his hand on the gate.
Yellow light cracked in the darkness, but a huge mass blotted it out as Charlot sprang forward, knocking André down on the stones. I saw the gun now, a long-barrelled pistol glinting briefly in the lantern light as the man ducked below the wall to reload. I bloody charged him, I leapt and got my knee on the wall, slashing down at the crouching shape beneath, I remember swiping once, then back, and the crunch of bone at the end of the slash. Another blade whipped in from somewhere, I didn’t know where, it was just blades and bullets in the dark and the boy behind me probably dead, I swung my sword two-handed to smash it back.
More shadows loomed at me, but I was off balance from the swing, my knee sliding off the wall and my elbow crunching sickeningly on the parapet as I went down. I was dizzy and useless and another sword striking at me from above, but someone else drove it back, and there was Philibert dancing beside me, jabbing at the dark shapes and saying ‘Don’t you try it, Messieurs, don’t you even try it.’
I don’t think they’d expected so many of us. They moved back uneasily, I had a moment to turn, and there was André kneeling up like a miracle, but Charlot was huddled in an untidy heap beside him, a gleaming wetness spreading down his side. I heard him whisper ‘Please, Chevalier,’ and saw him reach for the boy’s hand. André said ‘Yes, all right, yes,’ and his face was desolate.
But he was staying down, and the enemy backing off, I thought we’d got a chance. Stefan glanced at André, said ‘They’ve still got a musket, stay where you are,’ then strode to the gate and shouted into the darkness. ‘Give it up, why don’t you? We’re armed and ready, de Roland’s not coming out, you’ll never get your money so why fucking die for it?’
I heard murmuring and shuffling all round. At least they didn’t shoot him, but then I suppose there was no price tag on Stefan.
‘Go home,’ said Stefan. His hand was clasped tight round his wounded arm, but he still managed to sound matey and reasonable. ‘There’s easier ways to make a living. Go home.’
More movement and muttering, then someone made a hushing noise and I heard something else. Horses. Horses and wheels. A carriage was coming
up the track.
Stefan Ravel
Yes, yes, all right, mea culpa, I should have told the women. What you might remember is that I hadn’t expected an army of the bastards, I’d hoped to get here before them, and I certainly couldn’t have foreseen Anne clip-clopping herself into the middle of a fucking battle.
I yelled ‘See, there’s more of us, now give it up and go!’ but I’m not sure that helped. The carriage rattled briskly past the orangeries, then the assassins just leapt at it, two grabbing the horses, one springing up by the driver, another wrenching open the door.
A woman screamed. André’s head came up like a dog at a hunt, but the yard was our fort, if we left it we were mincemeat. I dived back for the door and groped over the dead leader for his pistol, but the lackeys were dragging out a girl in a grey cloak, and André had already seen her.
‘Anne,’ he said, coming up off his knees like a man in a trance. Charlot gripped his breeches, Jacques jumped back from the wall to block him, but André just straightened and yelled ‘Anne!’
Mistake. They didn’t want the women, they’d have simply let them run, but André’s yell told them the value of what they’d got. ‘Come out, Chevalier!’ called a taunting voice, and another of the bastards picked it up. ‘Come on, Chevalier, come out and get her!’
André drew his sword.
Jacques de Roland
He didn’t even look, his hand just went there like it always had and came out smooth with the sword, the blade flashing white in the glow of the lantern. Then he was moving, no scrabbling on the wall like I’d done, he simply leapt on the body of the dead man, jumped to get one foot on to the parapet, then sprang over into the darkness.
I hurtled after him, the shock jolting bang up my knees as my feet slammed to the ground. I jerked up my head to see them waiting for us, one on the carriage box to stop the driver jumping down, one holding Anne, but three with swords out and levelled, a wall of spikes André was charging straight into. They weren’t moving, there wasn’t an opening, he’d have to drop his guard to strike.
He didn’t. He veered at the last second, reached up to the man on the box, grabbed his belt and hurled him down into the others, knocking one sprawling on his back. The other two dodged and darted forward, but André was balanced and ready, he smashed the first blade aside, twisted for the back-handed parry against the second, then struck up at the first’s chest, a straight thrust in tierce, the point shooting out the other side. The other was recovering and at him again, but André sidestepped without stopping, and charged the one at the back who was holding Anne. The whole thing took about five seconds.
But the two on the ground were scrambling up already and the one he’d dodged was coming straight after him. He was the closest and most dangerous, I threw myself at him, sliding my blade under his own to drag him round to face me. He was stronger than he looked, wrenching his sword free and walloping mine so savagely I nearly dropped it, but I adjusted my grip and bashed back, I’d got to buy André the time to get Anne.
He couldn’t reach her. The man was holding her in front of him, jabbing out with his blade to keep the boy away, shifting to get the carriage at his back. Jeanette tried to climb out to help, but he slashed round at her, driving her back inside, then planted his back against the door. Anne was twisting and struggling, André was frantic but couldn’t get his sword in, and even as he hesitated the other two were coming from behind.
I yelled the warning but couldn’t get to him, my man was blocking everywhere I lunged. Philibert was panting up to us, the unarmed coachman was leaping down off the box, but we were all too late and by the time André turned both men were lunging at once.
All they got was air. André twisted into a crouch, whirled back on himself to skewer the man holding Anne through the foot, then spun round to lunge smack in the groin of the man who’d been on the box. The other backed off and Philibert caught up with him screaming with Gascon fury, but the one with the stabbed foot bellowed in rage and threw Anne slam into the side of the carriage so he could go after André himself.
Anne gasped with pain, and that was it, André stopped even being human. He leapt screaming at the man who’d hurt her, sword flashing high in the air then smashing down on the joint of neck and shoulder, ripping through bone and muscle halfway to the navel. I’d never seen a slash like that, never, I think there was a second we all stopped and stared while the man spouted blood like a fountain then toppled heavily to the ground. In the silence I saw the coachman shove Anne back into the carriage and pick up a fallen sword to guard the door.
A clash of blades behind me, then Philibert gave a cry and dropped on one knee. André spun round to take on his opponent and I threw myself back at my own. He was still good, still blocking me, but I didn’t give a stuff. His eyes were dead, he was looking at me as just one more to kill, but something inside me was singing like the swords because I knew he was wrong. That hard, grizzled face was probably the last thing dozens of innocent people had seen before they died, but it was ending here tonight, they were every one of them going to be avenged, because André was back and nothing in the world could beat us now.
Stefan Ravel
Oh, fuck all that, Abbé, I was looking for the musket. I’d been counting, I knew we’d a man unaccounted for somewhere. He wasn’t behind the water butt, the barrel would have stuck out. I kept the pistol steady and let my eyes flick between the only two possible places, field, wagon, field, wagon. Not a thing.
He was there all right, he simply hadn’t had a chance at his shot while his target was surrounded by his own people. But there were fewer of them now. The ground round the carriage was piling up with bodies, and there was nothing to see but André and Jacques working themselves back to back as they fought the last two men up. Then it was only one, as André’s man went down. He still hadn’t had enough, he was swivelling as soon as his blade was out and I knew he wanted Jacques’ too – and Jacques, like a gentlemanly fool, stepped aside. André’s back was exposed, the gold on that bloody doublet gleaming in the dark.
Something moved. A glow from the lantern was shining through the wagon on to the orangery wall, and in it was a hunched black shape and a barrel already levelling. I fired.
And missed. The barrel wobbled, but the movement drew my eye back to the wagon, and there he was, kneeling and ready, I’d shot at his fucking shadow. I yelled to distract him and grabbed for the gate, but the shot cracked out before I could take another step.
A thump and clatter by the wagon, and there was the musketeer sprawled on his belly, the gun lying harmlessly beside him. I looked round in confusion, and saw two figures on the track to the barns I’m sure hadn’t been there before. One was de Chouy with a sword in his hand, but the other was his Spanish-looking friend Lelièvre, standing elegantly still, the pistol levelled perfectly across his arm.
I’m not sure André even noticed. He was dancing about to lure his man into engaging properly, but this was a dour bugger, he was just blocking, blocking, never leaving an opening in his guard. Then I walked through the gate, André turned his head to the movement, and the man was in like a snake.
But André’d expected it, I’d guess he even planned it, he was already twisting aside, sword thrusting straight through the broken guard into the heart. He pulled out and skipped back, bloodied blade swinging as he looked for the next opponent, but there was nothing but us and a silence in which I could hear him breathe.
Anne du Pré
I watched the realization slowly illuminate his face. He gazed wonderingly at his sword as if he had almost forgotten he was holding it, then looked up again at Jacques, and I saw them exchange a smile. Then he looked at me.
I felt quite shy suddenly, but our driver was offering me his arm and I had no choice but to climb down. I could move no further and stood like a fool while André approached me over the grass.
‘Anne,’ he said. His hand crept out to rest on my sleeve, the first time he had touched me since the night
of the maze. ‘Anne, what on earth are you …?’
I looked up, and it was just André, looking at me almost humbly and with not a trace of blame. I said ‘I know I’m late, but if you still want me to come with you …’
His fingers tightened with the intake of his breath. ‘If I …’
I gave a tiny nod, I could not speak again.
I heard a faint thump as his sword fell to the grass. Then his hands slid to my shoulders, he gathered me up against him, then he was kissing me so hard my breath was lost. His hands were bloody, he was sweaty and trembling, everyone was looking, but I kissed him back as if I could never let him go.
Twenty-Two
Stefan Ravel
Oh, Christ knows, Abbé. Jacques said it was the sword, I thought it was the woman, but something had certainly lit a fire in André. When he came out of that farmhouse I’d seen a dead man looking for a bullet, but we’d got something like the old André now.
But perhaps a rather harder and darker version. We’d got ten dead Frenchmen at our feet, but there was none of the sentimental moping I expected, he just ordered us to pile them in the Vallon carriage and dump them in the nearest woods. He sent a bunch of farmhands to abandon the assassins’ horses in a distant churchyard, set another as sentry in case Bouchard sent anyone else, packed de Chouy off to the Faubourg to get a surgeon for me and Charlot, then calmly began to rake up the trampled and bloody leeks to get rid of the evidence. We ate them for supper, and very good they were too.
The Porchiers certainly weren’t bothered. Loyal retainers, Abbé, they cleared beds and prepared food like a besieged town looking after its defending heroes. Our own women helped. Bernadette nursed Charlot, while I had my own plebeian arm dressed by Mlle Anne du Pré. I’m still glad she wasn’t doing the stitching. She had the besotted look of a girl about to stop being one, and her first attempt at a sling brought my arm right up to my ear.