“Great! That thing is always so interesting. And this year I’ve got something I want to take.”
Eve started to laugh, “You really are a nerd. You know that don’t you?”
Jim just grinned.
“What do you want to sell?”
“Well, I’m not really sure. Remember that stuff my great grandfather brought back from World War One? I’m hoping someone at the show will recognize it and be able to tell me a little bit more.”
“Like if we’ve been hauling junk around the world for the past thirty years or not?” Eve asked in a gentle dig.
“Well, yeah,” he grinned. “In any case, I thought this was a good chance to have it appraised. At least someone might be able to tell me what it is. And if not, maybe the Tigers are playing.”
“I knew there was more to this than an antique auction! C’mon, call your dog and let’s go in. I’m hungry.”
Chapter 1
Paris
3 June 1789
General Nicolas Luckner was out of bed before the man, for a man it surely was, on the other side of the door pounded a second time. In a moment he had a brace of .60 caliber holster pistols in his hands and was standing, naked, back to the wall, next to the door. The woman in the bed felt a wave of fear wash over her. The wave crested, then, human nature what it is, she admired the view.
From outside the door a young man’s voice called, “Mon General, it is urgent.”
Luckner recognized the voice of his new adjutant and relaxed. The man, boy really, had been with him for only the past two weeks. This was the first time he’d been to the General’s room after their morning drill. Luckner opened the door and let the man-boy in. The adjutant instinctively began a salute, saw the General was naked and attempted to look away. He turned his right shoulder to the General and found himself facing a young, naked, red-haired woman sitting cross-legged on the bed. His surprise evident he involuntarily took a step backward, whereupon he collided with the General. Shaken he spun around to meet the now angry glare of the man he feared more than anything in this life and, he was convinced, the next as well.
He stammered once, cleared his throat and before the General had finished inhaling in preparation for what surely would be one of history’s great tongue-lashings he managed to stammer out the news he had been sent to deliver. “Sir, ah…Col DeAubry asked that…you have…you are supposed to…” The Adjutant’s young eyes couldn’t overcome the powerful draw of the woman’s naked body. Like a bee to honey his eyes, without command, turned to her. The woman caught the glance, and vixen that she was, instantly decided to toy with the man-boy. She went into an exaggerated yawn, stretching her arms over her head, thrusting her bare breasts at the Adjutant. Then, like a cherry on top of a banana split, she smiled. The Adjutant’s slim hold on his composure cracked.
The breach only lasted a moment as a thick hand slapped him on his left ear. The General stared down a long pointed nose, suppressed a smile and waited. The young officer regained his composure, stiffened, looked directly at the General and said, “Sir, Col DeAubry has asked that I relay a message.”
“Well?” General Luckner’s expression was stern, as befit a General. He was enjoying this little game. The man-boy tried again, “The King has summoned you.” Luckner’s brain instantly went to full attention.
“For what purpose? When and where? These things should have been said already.” Luckner did not suffer fools gladly, the game was over, the humor gone. The young man was now angering the General. Had he never seen a naked woman before?
“Le château de Versailles. Immediately.”
“Tell the Colonel ‘thank you’ and I shall be with him in five minutes,” Luckner said. The Adjutant, from sheer habit, saluted; stole another glance at the naked woman and fled the room. The General closed the door behind him. “No, he probably hasn’t,” he thought. Then his mind snapped back to the summons.
It was time, he was sure of it. This was necessary. There had been enough of patience, negotiations, maneuvering, politics and talk, talk, talk. Now, he was going to be told to round up the rabble and stuff them into the Bastille like so much sausage. Or, better yet, he’d put them to the sword tonight. He began to assemble his uniform. In a few short minutes he was dressed; except for the boots. He could not find his boot hooks. His frustration grew as he looked under the bed, under the rug, behind the door…then he remembered. Reaching into the pile of woman’s clothing on the floor he found them. The woman smiled at him. In a moment his boots had been pulled on and he was out the door.
Outside the tavern Col DeAubry sat comfortably astride his horse, his attention focused on the hard piece of bread and moldy cheese which constituted his breakfast. A tall, rather lanky man, DeAubry had been born to a shoe cobbler. He had run from his apprenticeship at the first chance. At the age of twelve he’d taken a job as an assistant to a farrier and developed considerable expertise with horses. Five years later the man who had become more a father than employer was killed when a horse with an abscessed foot kicked him in the head. DeAubry found himself without means, a great deal of expertise in horses and a perfect fit for the cavalry.
The Colonel was known as a calm, sensible officer who could make things happen. He’d been with the General his entire career. Except, of course, for the three years he’d spent, at Luckner’s insistence, with Rochambeau. He had survived a fever in the West Indies and distinguished himself on more than one occasion while fighting the British in their war with the American colonialists. His study and knowledge of siege warfare had been particularly useful in the later part of that campaign.
Under Luckner’s sponsorship he’d risen to an almost unheard of rank for a man so low born. He was a trusted second to the General and the men feared and respected DeAubry as much as they feared and respected the General.
A few moments after DeAubry received the message a smartly dressed, fully alert General Nicolas Luckner exploded from the tavern’s front door and mounted the horse held by the Adjutant. DeAubry relayed what little information he had, took up his position on the General’s left and they began the short ride to the château de Versailles. It was mid-afternoon, a light rain fell from a gray sky. The rain was welcome in Luckner’s mind. It kept the rabble in their houses and it washed the sewage and animal droppings from the streets.
As they approached Le Potager du Roi the General noticed several handbills tacked to the trees outside of the royal garden’s tall fence. Before he could pull one from its posting he spotted several men running across the road into the buildings and fields to his right. Instinctively his hand went to his pistol and he surveyed the doors, windows, alleys and bushes along his route. He wished he’d taken an escort; two men and a man-child would not do. He was not afraid of these traitorous fools, but he did not wish to be delayed. He would speak to DeAubry later about this.
Not knowing what the handbills were all about but feeling they may play a part in the upcoming meeting with the King he stopped, dismounted and ripped one from the trunk of a large oak tree. The Colonel did the same. DeAubry was shocked by what he read, the author accused the Queen of being a lesbian and whore. “More attacks on the Queen’s reputation.” DeAubry muttered as he shook his head. Luckner read the paper in his hand. It railed against the King’s treasurer Monsieur de Barentin, incompetent government and the King’s intelligence. He snarled, crumpled the paper and tossed it to the ground. Other bills peppered the trees and buildings for the next several hundred yards. They walked their horses for a few moments, silently reading the posters.
DeAubry examined the fields and buildings. A boy appeared from behind a cottage. He yelled something and threw a rotten apple in their direction. The apple landed well short. What were these people about? There had been a time, not so long ago when the French military had faced down the British across the globe. People had looked at him with pride. Now? Well, now things were different weren’t they? DeAubry couldn’t put his finger on it, something was happening. He was l
ooked at with contempt, sometimes hate. He didn’t understand it, he didn’t know what it was, but he knew change was coming. And, from all he had seen, it wasn’t change for the better.
Luckner was mounting his horse. The rain was thicker now; the sky seemed a darker shade of gray. Settling into the saddle the General pulled his collar up against the wind and the rain. He pulled his sword, indicated to the Adjutant to do the same, then leaning toward the still dismounted DeAubry he said, “Have as many men as possible, with good horses, at the palace in an hour. I suspect we’re going to be busy tonight.” Luckner then turned his horse in the direction of the château, kicked the animal with his heels and cantered away. DeAubry would do his best, but horses were becoming scarce.
Chapter 2
“The Detroit Antiques Show is the biggest in the mid-west and I’m not going to miss it. Who knows, we could have something worth bizzillions of dollars.” Herman James Crenshaw, retired Air Force Colonel, now proud co-owner with his wife of a sixty acre farm called from the attic of his cottage styled log home. “Hey, do you know where that box of my great grandfather’s stuff is?” The sound of boxes being moved and old furniture banging could clearly be heard above Eve Crenshaw’s head. “Damn!…..” More thumping of boxes. “Eve could you bring up a flashlight please? I forgot to turn on the light.”
She stood at the bottom of the attic ladder, face turned up to the dark void overhead and smiled. “Yes Jim, I’ll get you a flashlight.” Eve walked into the kitchen and retrieved one from the pantry. “Hon, here’s the flashlight.” She climbed the ladder, flicking on the light switch next to the attic door and pulling a cobweb from her shoulder length honey auburn hair. Light filled the room, making the flashlight superfluous. “Did you find it?” she asked, doing her best to suppress a grin and failing.
“No, but I did find that lamp you bought in North Dakota.” They both laughed. It was the worst lamp they’d ever seen. They bought the lamp to use as a gift in their squadron’s dirty Santa Christmas gift exchange; the object of which was to find the ugliest, funniest gift possible. Unfortunately, Jim had received orders before the party and they’d spent that Christmas moving into another house at another Air Force base. Now, here they were nearly thirty years later, retired from the Air Force and they still had it. She laughed at the absurdity of the thing. Jim smiled at his wife, he loved how her golden eyes sparkled when she laughed.
“Hey, here it is!” Jim triumphantly held up a wooden Boraxo soapbox. He sat the box on the floor, knelt beside it and opened the top. Inside was a mess kit, with his Great grandfathers name crudely etched onto the back of the pan. Jim held up the mess kit, showed it to Eve, still standing on the ladder, and then placed it on the attic floor. Next he held up a cigarette lighter with “Ardennes 1918 – Crenshaw” carved into the side. “Can you believe these things were used in the mud and trenches of World War One? It’s amazing.” Jim was an unabashed history nut. In rapid succession the lighter was followed by a knife, a badly aged book with a faded cover, a handful of uniform decorations, none of which Jim recognized, a patch with a red arrow pierced by a small line and a dirty light coffee brown coloured tube with dirty brass ends.
“What’s that?” Eve asked.
“I don’t know,” said Jim “but this is what I’ve been looking for. I’ve been wondering about this thing since we found it when we went through Mom’s stuff. I’m betting it’s a map case, maybe German. I’m hoping someone can tell me at the show. But maybe it was used to carry something like a unit flag or maybe it was a spacer of some sort.”
“Let’s open it and see what’s inside.”
“I’ve tried. I can’t unscrew the damn thing and these lids don’t pop off. I’m afraid of breaking it if I put too much pressure on it,” Jim replied. Studying the tube for a moment Jim looked at Eve and said, “It just seems like it’s pretty well made, it’s a quality piece; but what it is I’m totally blank on. I’ve tried looking in museums and on-line and I’ve never seen anything remotely like it. So, this is my last hope at solving the great Crenshaw mystery.”
“Well, let’s hope the mystery is solved then,” she said.
They examined the tube. It seemed fairly stained and dirty. It had some markings on the side but they couldn’t make out what they were. The ends were metal and appeared as if they would polish nicely.
“This thing’s filthy. I’ll get a couple of rags and some soap and water.” Eve started for the workbench.
“No, no, we can’t do that. They say you shouldn’t clean an antique; it makes it less valuable. We better wait. I want an expert to see this thing.”
“Jim, that’s nuts.”
“No it’s not, any expert will tell you that.”
“Name one.”
“That fat guy on TV, he says that all the time,” Jim began to grin.
“You’re making that up…but okay.” She looked at Jim and smiled back. “Just wrap that thing up before you put it on my car’s carpet.”
“Okay, okay, you’ve got a deal,” Jim said as he began putting the various items on the attic floor back in the box.
“That’s all you’re taking? It’s a forty dollar ticket! We’ve got to take more than just that,” she exclaimed.
“Well, I’ve got a couple of tools that I could get rid of. And, we could take this lamp,” Jim smiled.
“The lamp? No, that’s special.” Eve laughed and backed down the ladder.
Chapter 3
Louis XVI studied the scene outside the rain-streaked window. The lead lined windowpanes distorted the view of the ornate gardens of the Château de Versailles. He didn’t see the distortion, he didn’t see the gardens. He simply stared in the direction of the Hotel des Menus Plaisiers. The afternoon was cold, gray, wet. It seemed as if a dark cloud simply grew from the horizon, centered on that damned hotel. The cloud expanded up and over him. It closed in around him, through him and squeezed his heart so that it was hard to breath; even harder to think. And now, more than ever he needed to think.
Things were going badly and he knew it. It was a slow, rumbling avalanche and it was coming right at him. Insults had been shouted. Shouted at him! Things were said in the newspapers and on handbills. Most of France had suffered poor harvests, the Treasury was empty, and his wife was making a mess of things. A raucous group of Parliaments, the councils in each region, had demanded action. That fool, François de Paule de Barentin, had encouraged a general meeting with the nobility, the clergy and the people, an Estates-General. It was a rarely used thing, it would be the first since 1619. And now, there they were, assembled in that damned hotel. Things were not calmer; they were worse. The Estates-General was a disaster. The whole thing was a mockery to his reign.
He had lost control from the beginning. His advisers had no advice of course, worthless fools. They simply made matters worse. The commoners had not understood their role. They even tried to sit in the front of the theater! These uncultured fools didn’t even recognize the protocol of such a meeting. The rules for the conduct and proceedings were clearly established in L’Etiquette of 1614. The clergy and nobility were to sit in the front, dressed in the formal regalia defined by their station in the nobility. The representatives of the Third Estate; landsmen, tradesmen and minor members of the nobility were to sit at the back; far away from the throne as befit their standing. It was simply the way things were done.
That had been the first issue, harangued and argued with but finally overcome. It had been, well…uncomfortable.
Then Barentin began with a procedural process formalizing the rules for the conduct of the assembly. The fool completely misread the crowd. He talked for hours, forgot what he was about and tried to get right to the financial situation of the country and address taxes. It resulted in a near riot. They wanted to talk about procedures. Louie had already agreed to double representation for the commoners. He had made a major concession. Was that not enough? Surely that had no impact on the procedures for votes on issues before the Estates-Ge
neral. Each estate would vote by orders – thus each estate had an equal voice. That was certainly fair; he did not see an issue. Individual votes would apply only insofar as how the total order voted. To do otherwise, was contrary to the rules. Besides that, well, damn-it, he was the King.
Last week these fools had formed the Communes. What the hell was that? Worse, they had invited him to participate! Participate! Of course he had refused, what choice did he have? This was an action against God! He was King and a representative of God. It could not stand!
Finally, his Councilors understood; military force would be necessary. He didn’t want to do that to his own people. Yes, it might work. No, he couldn’t do that. He vacillated. He couldn’t decide. Now even that seemed to be slipping away. What was happening?
He could sense a growing danger. It was out there, perhaps in this black cloud of mist sweeping up from the river Somme. It pushed down on him and his Palace. It crept in, hidden on the back of that mist. He could not stop it; he didn’t know how to fight it. But he knew, he knew that change, danger and, perhaps death itself was stalking him. He could feel it, sense it and it chilled him. His stomach had tightened; a taste of bile had risen in his throat and was with him day and night. He had waited long enough; he would not be irresolute about this, now was the time. Now he needed to protect the throne and his son.
And that was the purpose of this afternoon’s meeting. Was he being prudent? A coward? Or, realist? He hadn’t decided, and he no longer had time to think of it. The heavy clap of boots on stone echoed behind him. He glanced one more time in the direction of that hateful hotel, noticed the rain had increased. An omen? He turned to face Lieutenant General Nikolaus Luckner.
H.J. Gaudreau - Jim Crenshaw 02 - The Collingwood Legacy Page 24