The Chevalier

  As in Petersburg, much is still under construction. We pass a building that the Captain says will house a picture gallery, and another that will become a miniature Chinese pagoda. I see many men walking around the gardens, but no women. I point out this discrepancy.

  Gaudi believes it creates a more peaceful environment: I think it indicates misogyny. I have to agree the setting is tranquil, and leave my other thoughts unspoken. A nagging in my brain tells me I must rush on. After a genuinely thankful farewell to my guide, saying I must return to Bayreuth, I hurry to the stables.

  * * *

  There is a dark cloud overhead that promises rain, and the afternoon light is fading. Guerchy and Marie are strolling along an avenue of lime trees in Berlin, Monin a few paces behind, the pistol with which he is covering her hidden in his cloak.

  “So where will he have gone to ground? Think hard, can’t you?” Guerchy is hot and sweating from the close, charged atmosphere.

  “You know I have not the faintest idea,” she says. “And even supposing I did, I’d never dream of telling you.”

  “Admirable loyalty. But my question was rhetorical, my dear. He will have gone straight into the cannon’s mouth: to the home of King Frederick himself. He will be at Sans Souci.”

  “What makes you so sure?”

  “Because I recall we had a pass for Frederick’s Prussia from Bayreuth. I don’t have it on me and therefore the only logical assumption is that he does.”

  “You think he will use that old passport?”

  “I know so. It’s his only hope. We’ll go there straightaway.”

  * * *

  I have enjoyed my stay in Frederick’s golden lair for long enough. It is time for me to head for Saxony, Bavaria – and on to France. Unsurprisingly, Kazimir – eager for his reward – agrees and we race south. Now my old fear of pursuit resurfaces, with all too real a cause. I think I hear a carriage constantly behind us.

  Hurrying past Bayreuth, lest I be spotted by the well-meaning Margravine and quizzed upon my travels, we take the road for Nuremberg. Once more the city is hosting a fair. My heart leaps when I seem to recognise Marie in the crowds milling between the Town Hall and the Frauenkirche. If my love is here, my enemy must be nearby. The next moment, I am calm. It is not her: but she reminds me of Marie and I beseech God that no harm has come to her. Should I have taken her advice to run? Could I have done more for her? She must be suffering. Weeks with only Guerchy and Monin for company… and they might be anywhere. I will rescue her when I can. Granting myself no more delays, I take a quick meal at the Silver Cross before making for Ansbach and Tubingen. My confidence swells once we are on the road. I feel in my bones that the restitution of my lands is drawing near.

  * * *

  It’s raining hard, but I urge Kazimir to throw caution aside. I sense that Guerchy is closing in. It will be his last real chance to forestall me. We are nearing the French border and my journey’s end. My carriage is rushing along a muddy road. Just after Reutlingen, as we are about to come into a village, a dog rushes in front of the horses. They swerve to avoid a collision, but it is too tight a corner: the carriage sways uncontrolled from side to side, like a drunken seaman, and teeters on the brink of overturning. As the carriage lurches, I put my head through the window to observe our predicament, and this saves me. I am thrown into the mud, and spasms of pain shoot through my limbs. Poor Kazimir is hurled from his perch, and I hear the hideous splat as his head hits the trunk of a tree. He is, I think, dead in an instant. I writhe there, clutching my leg, and narrowly escape being crushed beneath the wooden coach when it topples. Instead, the valise containing my books and papers lands on me – I am trapped by the fruits of my own learning, shouting in vain for help.

  It seems that I lie in the ruts for hours, washed by the rain, slipping between lucidity, unconsciousness and death. At last I think I hear voices. Familiar voices. I twist my neck as far as I am able, to look up to the glowering skies. It is the happiest coincidence. The faces of Rosa and Johann loom above me, but I can tell that at first they do not recognise my sodden, blood-stained appearance.

  “This man is still alive,” says Rosa, gathering up her skirts to kneel in the mud.

  “N-n-now what has happened here?”

  “Rosa. Johann. Good people, help me,” I croak. “My driver Kazimir is dead, I’m sure, and I can’t move my legs.”

  “Why, Rosa, I think I kn-know that voice,” says Johann.

  Her long red hair brushes against my cheek. “Yes, it is our little friend.”

  “You are from the inn, as I thought,” I say, babbling. “God – and the Red Cat – be praised!”

  “We were n-nearby visiting my n-nephew.” Johann tries to push the portmanteau from my body. “This case is weighing heavily on you.”

  “Here – we can set you free.” Rosa passes her husband a broken plank to use as a lever. Soon the pressure bearing down on me is being eased, and I am hauled by my numb hands from the wreckage. I faint with my exertions and the pain.

  * * *

  As I regain consciousness, I’m lying on the most comfortable of beds in the Red Cat. Rosa’s bed, one I remember well. My torso is covered in weals and bruises and my bare leg, stretched out at an odd angle, is being patched up by bandages, applied with Rosa’s gentle touch.

  She leans forward to whisper in my ear. “Now I have you exactly where I want you.”

  “Rosa, surely you could not take advantage?”

  “Would you not concede that I am a deserving case?” She smiles, teasing. “I believe this is the second time I’ve rescued you. Once from death, and once from who knows what…”

  “Naturally, I’m grateful,” I say. “But, Rosa, please, I still have hopes.”

  “You mean that lady who was travelling with you?” At this, her fingers leave my wounds and travel slowly up my thigh. “But where is she?”

  I flinch, half with ticklish pleasure and half in trepidation. “I’ve absolutely no idea. But I believe her companion, who you know as Lord Douglas, is hot on my heels. And I pray that she is still alive and with him.”

  “Amen. May your luck change.” Rosa smiles, pats my hand and leaves.

  * * *

  The summer storm is blowing itself out. Johann is polishing his wine glasses, applying some spittle to his cloth when, unobserved, Monin pokes his head around the heavy doors and scans the thinly populated room. Shortly thereafter, Guerchy and Marie enter the inn.

  With a start, Johann looks up from his work. “Good evening, my Lord Douglas. How n-n-nice it is to see old friends.”

  “Indeed, Johann. Good evening to you. We would like rooms, if you please. Lady Douglas and I will be requiring supper as well.” His servant looks at him in dismay. “Very well, and you, Monin. Anyone else staying here?”

  “N-n-n-none but an old aunt of mine, my Lord, who appears to n-n-need my constant attention. I have to leave Rosa to cope with trade as best she can.”

  “You were always hard-pressed, the two of you; I recall it well.”

  “A landlord’s lot is n-never easy. One’s work is n-never done.”

  “Of course.” The General shakes some drops of rain from his umbrella. “You haven’t by any chance seen our little friend, have you?”

  “Why, is he n-n-not travelling with you?”

  “No, he is riding as our vanguard. Now we’ve no wish to hold him back, you understand, but we have some information we are anxious to impart to him.”

  There is a very short pause – just long enough to cause Guerchy’s brow to furrow.

  “We have n-n-n-not seen him. Perhaps he has gone by another road. Are you all returning to France?”

  “We are. No matter. Come, my dear, to rest before dinner.” He tugs at Marie’s sleeve. “We shall be off in the morning, and see if he’s at Strasbourg.”

  * * *

  That night, I have a surprise visitor to my bedroom at the inn. First Rosa comes, says she is busy with the guests and tells me there’s ins
truction in store for me. It seems I am to be the listener, not the lectrice. My entertainment: a philosophical reading from Johann. He shuffles in as she departs.

  “This is very kind of you, Johann. I am once more in your debt.”

  “Let me assure you, it’s n-no trouble.”

  I sit up eagerly. “What shall be your text?”

  “I think you are aware I am a disciple of Leibniz. I wish to read to you mostly from his masterwork, The Monadology, concerning the unity of all things.”

  “It’ll be a delight. Will you read it in the original?”

  “N-n-no. I have a French translation, to which I contributed at the university.”

  “You were a professor there?”

  He hesitates, blushing. “I was, Monsieur, and Rosa, although she will n-n-never say so, was one of my prize students. The only girl. But she had to conclude her studies early, and I was forced to resign. You see, I’m afraid I let my lust get the better of me, and ruined both our lives. I’m sure you can understand the compulsion that drove my desires. Just look at her. She was so beautiful – she is so to this day – and we all have our n-n-n-needs. The child was lost. I don’t think she’ll ever forgive me.”

  “But, Johann, she’s still with you, isn’t she?”

  “That’s true, n-now that you come to mention it.” He gives a shy smile. “Perhaps she finds some merit in my person.”

  “I’m sure, she does, my friend. You must not reproach yourself. Please proceed.”

  And so the once professor of philosophy begins: “Moreover, it must be confessed that perception and that which depends upon it are inexplicable on mechanical grounds, that is to say, by means of figures and motions. And supposing there were a machine, so constructed as to think, feel, and have perception, it might be conceived as increased in size, while keeping the same proportions, so that one might go into it as into a mill. That being so, we should, on examining its interior, find only parts which work one upon another, and n-n-never anything by which to explain a perception. Thus it is in a simple substance, and n-not in a compound or in a machine, that perception must be sought for.”

  I find that I am in agreement. The matter should be indisputable.

  He continues: “And since the world is a plenum everything is connected together, and each body acts on every other body more or less according to the distance, and is affected by it by reaction, it follows that every monad is a mirror that is alive or endowed with inner activity, is representative of the universe from its own point of view, and is as much regulated as the universe itself.”

  Well, I can sympathise with that. It starts me thinking of Marie, her wondrous form a glass wherein I see myself.

  Johann reads on: “Thus there is a perfect harmony between the perceptions of the monad and the motions of the bodies, pre-established at the outset between the system of efficient causes and the system of final causes. Herein consists the concord and the physical union of the soul and the body, which exists without the one being able to change the laws of the other.”

  I consider I am drifting into this amorphous state. Yet all of a sudden, the sound of a piercing cry invades my consciousness. The timbre of the voice is unmistakeable: it’s Marie. Marie, what’s more, in pain.

  Although he twitches in reaction, Johann delays the reading of Leibniz only a moment: “And so it may be said that n-n-not only the soul, the mirror of an indestructible universe, is indestructible, but also the animal itself, though its mechanism may often perish in part and take off or put on an organic slough.”

  Guerchy must have caught up with me at last. I try to rise to save Marie from whatever knavery he is pursuing, but I cannot. My struggles are weak, ineffectual. Johann’s hands push me back upon the bolster, and his finger on his lips bids me keep silent. I do not wish it but my body prepares to shut down, at least for the night.

  * * *

  Some lump is pressing down on my chest, constricting my breathing until I choke, forcing me into the earth. I try to call out for help, but no sound comes from my throat. It is the end. I can see nothing, no one…

  Rosa comes in to wake me from my nightmare. “So, my little one, they’re gone.”

  “Who’s that?” I’m gasping, sunk in semi-delirium, forgetful of events the night before. Daylight floods the room and starts to ease the glue constricting my memory.

  “Your so-called friends. My Lord and Lady Douglas, or whoever they are.”

  “Well, why didn’t you tell me they were here?” Slowly my mind unblocks itself. “Wait. I thought I heard her scream last night. I would have stopped the cur.”

  “In your condition, that would not have been wise. There was nothing you could do for her. Besides, Johann was quite convinced you realised – but then you fell into a swoon. Your full recovery is more important. You must rest.”

  “Nonsense, I must go after them at once. This is a matter of vital importance. Can you find me a horse?”

  “Out of the question.”

  “No. I have to.”

  “You’re set on this?”

  I nod, and soon regret it: my head aches with the sudden movement.

  “In that case, we’ll send for a pony to make it easier for you. Don’t look at me like that – it’s the only way we can possibly let you go. You’ll have to spend some time re-learning how to walk, bringing the suppleness back to your limbs.”

  “How long?”

  “At least the morning.”

  Rosa’s minimum is my maximum: I can allow Guerchy no more than half a day’s start. Any delay in my appearance at the French Court will give him time – time to concoct a story that will tarnish my name. She fortifies me with many cups of the Red Cat’s black coffee, which I love and whose equal I’ve yet to find in Germany. I struggle to regain my strength throughout the morning, my arm upon her shoulders as I limp around their yard.

  I eat a substantial lunch of potatoes, cabbage and veal, the first full meal I have known for a few days, and prepare to set off. Assisted by Johann, I hobble towards my mount, one so small that “pony” is a generous description. He pushes me upwards and Rosa pulls from the other side. At last I’m in the saddle. Waving farewell to my rescuers, I head west out of Tubingen, pace rising to a steady trot.

  Now all I have to do is cross the Rhine, make progress for a day or two, maybe hire a coach in some country town with promises of huge payments at Versailles, and I am all but home. Provided, of course, that I can find someone to assist me from my horse at every stage.

  Chapter Twenty Nine

  Homecoming

  For the first league or two, all seems well. Under the lightest of blue skies, the weather is late summer fair, the birds chattering in the trees, butterflies flitting from flower to bush, the scythed grass and corn giving off those glorious smells reminding me of harvests long ago. The minuscule pony rides well enough, and although I am still in great pain, each hoofbeat jarring all my bones, the joys of the day and my impending triumph are a sufficient palliative. Hope is flooding into my veins.

  The lane enters a small wood and I am shaded from the sun. My mind relaxes: I start to imagine how long it will take me to catch up with my oppressor. If I can bear the agony, it should be somewhere in Champagne, I estimate. Lost in such happy reveries, I’m paying scant attention as my mount rounds a sharp corner. Ahead of me I see a narrow bridge over a slow-running stream.

  One second the bridge is open, the next it is blocked. Guerchy stands towering in my path, his pistol aimed straight for my head. Too late I jerk at the reins, try to avoid him, but Guerchy’s free hand grabs the bridle, sending waves of shock through my bruised arms to the rest of my body. I sway. I try to think. Maybe if I can shake myself free from the General’s grip… I look to the rear: grinning with malevolence, Monin bars my retreat.

  “Chevalier! This is, I’m sure, the last and most fulfilling of our reunions,” laughs Guerchy.

  “How did you know I’d be coming?”

  “You betrayed yourself a
t the inn.”

  “But I did nothing!”

  “How many ageing aunts does Johann have who are devotees of Leibniz? I saw his book.” He sneers in a most cruel fashion. “You didn’t have to do anything.”

  “So why not confront me there?”

  “Well, I tried to flush you out with my, let’s call it, treatment of young Marie. When you didn’t take the bait, I knew you were either laid up or set on staying low. Either way, I wasn’t coming into the bedroom after you. Not again. Not really kind to our hosts, don’t you think? After all they’ve done for you. Much better, I believe, to deal with this out here in the open.” His smile piles insincerity on savagery.

  I am forced into an unwise show of defiance. “You’re right about me being laid up, but when I’m fit, you’ll be no match for me.”

  He bares his teeth. “The race isn’t always to the swift, my little friend.”

  “Nor the battle to the strong. Leave me be and get out of my way.”

  “As you wish.” He snaps his thick, long fingers. “Monin!”

  The dwarfish servant seizes my whip from the saddle, and lashes my innocent pony across its undefended fetlock. Whinnying in anguish, the animal rears up: not very high, of course, but high enough to throw me to the ground. The impact is so severe that I pass out.

  I seem to spend hours hauling my senses back to life. When I clear my head, the first thing I notice is a pistol pointing straight between my eyes. The General’s finger twitches on the trigger.

  “You don’t listen. I told you – it’s always the Minister who reports the good news.”

  The other thing that strikes me is a violent shooting pain in my already injured leg. The shock is intense: I can hardly move. It takes me several deep, long breaths before I can respond. “You’ve done nothing to earn it.”