“Let’s see.” The officer dismounted, came over to us and pulled up the smock Darvy was wearing. The tight bandages, although dirty, were obviously the work of someone who knew his trade.
“No country sawbones did that,” the young man said. “You had better come with us. You are riding a horse with a sword wound and your injuries have been treated by a man who knows what he is doing. Your Docteur Larrey perhaps?”
“No.” Easy enough to deny and the truth. Larrey had been at the battle, but not at the convent.
“You are French soldiers escaped from the battle.”
“We aren’t! We’re the sons of Charles Duval on our way home!” I said vehemently but it did me no good.
“Let’s find out. I’ll send for your father and, if he acknowledges you, we will let you go.”
They made us remount, which Darvy did with difficulty, not having a mounting block. I had to assist him and I had a sick feeling I pushed him too hard. Then they formed up around us and led us down the slope where we had been heading. When we got to their camp, we were put with some others under guard, and our horse was led away to the picket lines. I could hear a man muttering about the state of the beast.
“What are we going to do now?” I hissed to Darvy, who was white about the lips, as if he was in pain.
“Buggered if I know,” he whispered, “unless you do have a father named Charles who lives nearby.”
“If any Duvals live here, I’m unlikely to be related to them.”
“Thought so.”
“Let’s wait till it’s dark and then try to sneak away.”
“Without a horse we wouldn’t get far and I doubt I’d go very fast on foot. Something shifted when I mounted last time.”
“Let me see,” I pulled up his smock and saw that some of his bandages were covered in blood. “You’re bleeding.”
“I could have told you that.”
“You need help.”
I got to my feet. “My friend is injured, he needs a doctor,” I shouted.
One man came towards me holding his musket threateningly. I groped for the few words of English that I remembered.
“Friend…hurt…blood.” The next thing I knew, the stock of the musket hit me and I measured my length on the ground.
When I came to, nothing had changed. Darvy lay by my side and did not move when I groaned and sat up holding my head. The slight movement brought the attention of the guards to us but I ignored them. The sight of Darvy almost made my heart stand still. His face had a greenish tinge and there was frothy blood on his lips. I rolled over and knelt beside him, taking his wrist and searching for the beat of his heart. It was still there but very faint. I looked at his bandages and, as I expected, they were covered in blood. Darvy was bleeding to death before my eyes! Wildly I turned and yelled,
“A doctor! Fetch a doctor, this man is dying!”
“They won’t come,” a voice said behind me. “They’ve more than enough of their own wounded to care for. Their battlefield doctors aren’t as good as ours. Let me look at your friend; I have some knowledge of such things.”
The young man had shuffled up to us on his bottom. I moved aside and let him take my place. His examination was deft and obviously skilled.
“Are you a doctor?” I asked.
“Medical student or I was, before I got into this mess, apprenticed to my uncle.” Then he sat back on his heels. “I’m sorry, but there is nothing I can do for your friend. His ribs have shifted and one of them has pierced his lung. Listen.” He tapped the right side of Darvy’s chest and it sounded dull. “Not even Larrey could save him. He has only moments left.”
Not another one! The thought flashed through my mind as I recalled the friends I had lost, first Pierre, then Gilbert and Lefebvre, now Darvy. Perhaps I was cursed and so were the people who befriended me. At that moment, Darvy gave a great heave, struggled to sit up and vomited a gush of frothy blood. I put out my hands to hold him upright but he slumped backwards and his eyes opened for a second, turning up so the whites showed. The medical student took his wrist and then put his hand on Darvy’s bloodstained smock over the place where the heart is. Then he turned and told me what I already knew.
“He’s gone.”
I wanted to scream, to run at our guards and kill them or to die myself, but I did none of those things. The medical student stopped me. He must have guessed at the thoughts running through my mind and he certainly knew the foolishness grief can lead a man to. He put a hand on my arm and held onto me.
“Getting yourself killed as well won’t bring him back. Drink this.” He handed me a small flask. “Finish it.” The flask was half full of brandy and it burned a pathway down my throat. I corked the flask and gave it back to him.
“Thought they would have looted something like that,” I said, “but I’m glad they didn’t. Thank you.”
“It was safely hidden. Your friend – did he have kin?”
“A father in Boulogne. Don’t know about anyone else.”
“No woman?”
“He used to say that no soldier should marry in wartime. He’s right.” I suddenly pictured Eugénie’s face. My expression must have changed because the medical student said,
“But you did.”
“No. I’m not really a soldier. I was once, a long time ago but I was invalided out…”
“It sounds like an interesting tale. Tell me, it will help us to pass the time.”
When I thought about it later, I realised that he was trying to stop me making a fool of myself over Darvy’s death. His strategy worked. Telling my story made me remember all the reasons I had to live. If I could have saved Darvy it would have been different, but his body was cooling even as we talked. An officer, not the one who had arrested us, and some soldiers came through the prisoners from time to time and they stopped beside us. Two of them bent down to pick up Darvy’s body but I threw myself over him.
“I want to bury him!”
One of the soldiers pushed me aside and I went sprawling. Then the medical student said something to them in their language and they looked at me. The officer stood over me, looking down, with his hands on his hips. The medical student spoke again.
“What are you telling them?” I asked.
“I said that this man was your friend and you don’t want him to be thrown into a pit with the others. You want to bury him. If they will give you a shovel, you will dig his grave and I will help you.” He turned again to the English officer again, speaking and waiting for a reply.
“What did he say?”
“Says it will save his men work but he wants our parole that we will not try to escape while we are digging. I told him we were all officers and that obviously means something to him. He understands French, by the way,” he said hurriedly as I opened my mouth to answer. “I will give him my parole, what about you?”
“Tell him he has mine too and thank him for me.” The main thing was to get Darvy properly buried.
I picked up Darvy and heaved him over my shoulder. They gave us a shovel and a pick to break up the hard clay and then we were led outside the camp into some woodland. I could not help thinking of Lefebvre, Pierre and Nathan as we worked. I had certainly dug enough graves recently to last me a lifetime. This one was easier than the others though, because the medical student helped.
“What’s your name?” I asked. “You’ve never told me.”
“Luc Evrard. You?”
“Alain Duval.” We shook hands and then continued to dig.
Eventually the grave was finished. Darvy’s initials were carved on the bark of a nearby tree. Evrard recited most of the burial service, which surprised me. When I asked him how he knew it so well, he shrugged and said,
“My mother’s devout and I go to a lot of funerals in my profession.”
I smiled in spite of myself. We bent down to pick up our tools and as we did so, Evrard murmured to me, “We’ve finished digging so our parole’s over. Can you run?”
I
was too astonished to answer anything but “Yes”.
“Be ready when I say the word and go left.”
I tensed and my heart throbbed. The soldiers surrounded us again and we began the journey back to the camp. I kept my eyes in the ground but I was aware of Evrard walking by my side, alert for any change of movement. It came as we passed through some bushes and we had to walk in single file.
“Walk slowly,” Evrard hissed.
I was in front of him, with two soldiers ahead and two following us. I slowed down and pretended to limp more than I usually did. Then I realised Evrard’s plan. The soldiers in front had kept the same pace as before and a gap opened between us. As soon as I passed through the bushes, Evrard shouted, “Now!” and I heard the sound of a thump and a gasp behind me.
I ran to the left, not looking back, concentrating on keeping my feet on the rough ground. My lame leg was actually a help for once, because it made me lopsided when a musket ball flew past my ear. If I had been upright, it would have undoubtedly been the end. Evrard came crashing after me. Then he called.
“Hide!”
I threw myself down by some bushes and squirmed under them, lying still and trying to stifle the sound of my breathing. Everything was silent until I heard footsteps. My skin began to crawl, but the man, for he was alone, walked right past me. I did not dare move and, after a while, he returned and passed me again. It seemed like hours, but it must have only been minutes, when Evrard called softly,
“Where are you?”
“Here.” I rolled out of my cover and got to my feet. He was grinning from ear to ear and clutching the handle of the shovel as if it was a sword.
“What did you do to the men following us?” I asked him.
“Drove the shovel into the first man’s belly. It winded him and the other fellow tripped over him. We’re not clear yet, though. They’ll be after us on horses as soon as they’ve reported. We’ve got to find somewhere to hide.”
“Let’s hope they don’t have dogs.” It was one of my worst fears, being chased by dogs.
“Unlikely in an army camp wouldn’t you think?”
“The English had them in Spain, so I was told.”
“Well perhaps they’ve left them at home this time.”
I suppose it was the shock of Darvy’s death, but I seemed unable to think for myself then and for some time afterwards. I followed Evrard blindly, doing what he told me to do without question. As it was, my faith in him was rewarded. He led me through the woods and fields. As darkness fell, we were some distance from the spot where we had broken away and we could see flickering lights in a farmhouse window.
“What do you think, will they give us shelter?” I asked.
“They should, the old woman is a patient of my uncle.”
“What?”
“I’m from Arras, but my uncle lives at Noeux-les-Mines which is just over that rise. He knows most of the people around here and I’ve been with him long enough for them to know me too.”
“How did you come to be a prisoner then?”
“Long story which I’ll tell you some time. I was tending three wounded soldiers when the English arrived. They didn’t ask questions or rather they didn’t listen to me. They just bundled us all together and took us to where you found me. Come on then, let’s find out how good Mère Hébert’s memory is.”
Fortunately it was excellent. She welcomed us warmly, pulling us into the warmth and exclaiming how nice it was to see Evrard again. She served us stew and crusty bread, which tasted like manna. I didn’t realise how hungry I had been, ever since I left the windmill. When we had eaten, we wanted to leave, but she wouldn’t let us. She shooed us up a ladder onto a platform built into the rafters, where we could sleep. We went, after making her promise to call us if anything happened.
An hour or so after dawn, I awoke to find Evrard’s hand gripping my arm.
“What’s up?”
“Voices down below. The old woman and at least two men. I can’t understand what they’re saying.” He stood and went to a corner of the roof and started pulling at the thatch, to make a small gap. He put his eye to the hole and then motioned me to have a look. Mère Hébert’s voice floated up to me.
“I’m a respectable woman. What would I do with men in my house? My husband would flay me alive if he found anyone here, but come in and look if you’re not satisfied.” We heard her thrust the door open and then she walked back inside. Evrard and I lay down flat on the platform, keeping well away from the edge. I was certainly praying that her bluff would work and, no doubt Evrard was doing the same.
“What’s up there?”
“Nothing. Used to be hay and some sacks until one of the poles broke. I’m still waiting for my man to fix it and that was three years gone Christmas. He’s a lazy blighter. Go up and see if you want to. There’s a ladder around here somewhere.”
Now I really held my breath. Would the men take her up on her offer? I breathed again when the man said something in his own language, which Evrard translated for me later,
“There’s nothing here, lads. Best be off and search elsewhere.”
“Try those woods down there if you’re looking for vagabonds,” the old woman said. “There’s a road on the other side of the trees.”
“Thank you.” With a clatter the men left. We did not move. Eventually Mère Hébert called to us,
“Stay there, they might come back.”
They didn’t, but we did not come down from the platform until evening was falling. The old woman fed us again. We were profuse in our thanks to her, for she had put herself in danger for our sake.
“I wouldn’t be here if your uncle hadn’t saved my life last winter,” she told Evrard. “God go with you.”
Evrard decided to make for one of the villages where he knew people. He hoped to find a horse or a cart going in the right direction. Accordingly we took a roundabout way across the fields until we came to a hamlet, whose name I never found out. Evrard led the way into the village, which seemed deserted at this hour and knocked on one of the cottage doors. Their greeting was the same as Mère Hébert’s. They ushered us in, fed us and promised us a ride into Arras in the morning with the carter. We slept well, without any rude awakening. The carter picked us up and we spent a few uncomfortable hours, with some lumpy vegetables and assorted sacks and boxes, jolting over a road full of ruts. The carter let us out at the outskirts of the town and we were glad to stretch our legs. We kept a wary look out but no one bothered us and we arrived at Evrard’s house just off the Grand Place without difficulty.
There we received a welcome beyond any of the others we had been given so far. Evrard’s parents were delighted to see him alive and well. They had heard rumours that he was missing and naturally feared the worst. I was welcomed as a friend who had shared his troubles. We washed properly for the first time in days. Martin found me some clothes that transformed me from a farm labourer into something much more like myself, although the coat was a bit tight and pulled under the arms.
At dinner that night, we discussed ways of getting me to Paris. In the end it was decided that a bold approach would be disarm suspicion.
“Fugitives lurk in the woods, honest men take a coach,” Monsieur Evrard said.
Accordingly, one of the servants was dispatched to book me a seat on the diligence which would leave early next morning. I had taken out my purse to buy my ticket when Evrard’s father stopped me.
“Keep your money, you may need it later. I will pay for your journey.”
“I can’t do that, Sir. I have no claim on your generosity.”
He smiled. “Call it a thanksgiving to God that we have our boy safe with us again.”
In the end I gave in and thanked him.
It was hard parting from Evrard next morning. We had become good friends in a very short time. He packed a small bag for me and put into it some of the tools of his trade.
“If anyone asks, you are a doctor, travelling to Paris at the request
of one of your rich patients. Invent a horrible disease and I doubt you’ll be troubled any further.”
We both laughed. We shook hands and hugged each other, knowing it would be a long time, if ever, before we saw each other again. I told him I would write to him when I was safely home. I also made a private promise that I would return his father’s money as soon as I could. If he did not accept it, I would request that he give it to the poor or the church, whichever he chose. I climbed into the diligence and the coach clattered out of the courtyard and onto the road to Paris.
Chapter 13
I arrived in Paris late in the evening, tired and glad to get out of the swaying coach at last. We had been stopped at the gate and I was questioned about my purpose in coming here. Fortunately, the guards did not seem to be interested in me, nor could their search be called anything but perfunctory.
I decided to call on Fournier first and find out what was happening. Afterwards I would have to visit Madame David and Lefebvre’s daughter, Lucienne. So I crossed the city to Fournier’s apartment. The streets seemed to be full of Prussians, strutting about and enjoying themselves. I did not want any trouble, so I avoided them and arrived at Fournier’s building unscathed.
I leaned wearily against his doorpost and tapped at the scarred panel. A bustle inside told me that, at least, there was someone at home. Thank heavens. I couldn’t have borne the disappointment of finding no one there and having to find somewhere else to sleep for the night. The door opened. Berthe Fournier gasped when she saw me. Then, suddenly, she was hugging me so hard, I thought my ribs would crack.
“Alain! My God, we thought you were dead! Claude! Claude! Come and see who’s here!”
“Let him be, woman. Look at the state he’s in.”
They led me into the apartment and sat me down on a chair.
“Are you wounded?” Fournier asked.
“I was, but I’m better now.”
“You look like hell. What’s the matter with you?”
“I’m only tired.” A great yawn escaped me and he grinned. “I hate travelling.”
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