The Man who Killed the King

by Dennis Wheatley

  When he had finished, he came back to look at Athénaïs and found that, overcome by mental and physical exhaustion, she had dropped into a sound sleep. As quietly as he could, he fetched water from the well, mopped up the spilt blood, put the room to rights, then collected his hare, skinned it and set it on the stove to boil.

  His labours occupied the best part of two hours. It had been about three o’clock when he had gone out with the fowling-piece, so it was now a little after six. Sitting down at last for a badly-needed rest, he began to think about the future. As soon as he had realised that none of Hutot’s men had got away, he had felt confident that there was nothing more to fear until the next day, at the earliest. Hutot might or might not have told his confrères in Rennes where he was going. Even if he had, it was most unlikely that his failure to return would result in a search party being sent out to see what had become of him before he had been absent for twenty-four hours; but after that, to remain in Athénaïs’s hideout would be dangerous. They must leave the neighbourhood while they had the chance. It would be best, he felt, to do so during the hours of darkness, to avoid any chance of being seen by someone who might afterwards report which way they had gone; but whether they should make a start soon after dusk, or sleep there most of the night, then set out an hour before dawn, must depend on how Athénaïs was feeling later in the evening.

  He waited until the hare was cooked before rousing her with a kiss. For a second she peered at him through half-closed lids, then smiled and threw her arms round his neck; but she was very silent while they ate their meal, and he noticed that every now and then she could not stop her hands from trembling. When he put the position to her she remarked very sensibly that if they remained there the night there would be a risk of their oversleeping; so it was better that they should leave soon after dusk, and that she was quite prepared to do so. Then she added:

  “I feel much shamed at having broken down. I would not have you think, though, that it was remorse at having killed those men: it was relief at finding you had come through unharmed. That, and reaction from having gone mad for a few moments; but it is men such as those who have brought endless misery upon France, and I am glad now that the sight of them drove me into a frenzy. We could never have brought ourselves to kill wounded men in cold blood, yet having disposed of them so completely will give us a far better chance of evading capture.”

  Roger nodded. “If some of them had escaped, or been found wounded, ’tis a certainty that troops would have been put on to hunt us down; but, even if it is known that they left in pursuit of us, when they fail to return it is most unlikely anyone will suggest that the two of us accounted for all six of them. The odds are on it being assumed that they met with a band of Royalist peasants in the woods who killed them and buried their bodies—a thing quite likely to happen with the country in its present state. As for ourselves, no one can be certain yet whether I really made off with you or took you down to Nantes, as I gave out that I meant to do. Hutot alone had grounds to suspect us and reason to seek a private vengeance. Should a search party be sent out and find no trace of either him or us, it is hardly likely that they will bother their heads further about us. The question now is whither shall we proceed tonight?”

  “Wherever you wish to go, I will willingly go with you, Rojé.”

  He shook his head sadly. “My love, I thank you, and God knows the grief it will be to me to lose you after having found you again; but, for a time at least, our ways lie apart. The road which I have no option but to pursue is a difficult and dangerous one.”

  “I am grown used to danger, and would be all the more ready to face it at your side.”

  “After this afternoon no one could doubt your bravery; but, loving you as I do, how can you possibly expect me deliberately to bring you into jeopardy? I will go further: when I am gone the thought that you are still here in Brittany, in constant peril of your life from a continuance of your secret activities with the Royalists, will be positive torture to me. Can I not prevail upon you to let me have you conveyed to England and safety?”

  “Nay! To that I will never consent!” she cried, her eyes flashing. “I’ll seek no security for myself until once more a King reigns in France!”

  To her outburst he could find no reply, and she hurried on, “Your original intent was to see me safely to an inn near Dinan, then proceed to Paris, was it not? Oh, Rojé, I beg you to take me with you; I vow that I will be no burden, and I might prove of help.”

  “I’ll make no promise for the moment,” he smiled, “but I never had it in mind to thrust you from my life again quite so swiftly as you suggest. Batches of fugitives can be smuggled away to England only at intervals, so the odds are that you would have had to remain at the inn for some days at least. I am long overdue for a respite from the grim duties I perform, and had thought to bear you company until you sailed.”

  “Is there no urgency in your reaching Paris, then?”

  “From my own point of view, none; and for the Jacobins to whom I must report, the unsettled state of the country will provide an ample pretext of delays upon the road. In fact, I have been considering if it would not be prudent for me to keep out of Paris until the situation clarifies a little. If the half of what I have heard in the past few days be true, this Federal movement is spreading with great rapidity. Once back in Paris I’ll have no option but to support the Committee of Public Safety. Should it fail to maintain itself against the Federalists I should be involved in its destruction; and, Heaven knows, I tread a slippery enough path without courting the additional risk of being guillotined as a terrorist.”

  “Then why should we not go to this inn, where we know we shall be safe, and stay there together for a while?”

  Roger’s smile deepened. “I had not previously envisaged our staying there as man and wife; but since last night I can think of no more joyous prospect.”

  They had ample time in which to make their preparations. While it was still light, Roger went out to look for the horses that had brought Hutot and his men from Rennes. He found them, as he had expected, in the stables, and watered and fed them with the other two. Athénaïs, meanwhile, made up most of her clothes into bundles, ready to go on one of the spare mounts that they proposed to use as a pack-horse. After locking the door of her retreat and hiding the key, they spent half an hour heaving lumps of stone and brick on to the steps and across the path that had been trodden to them, so that the entrance should remain unnoticed if anyone came to the château next day in search of Hutot.

  A little before eleven o’clock they set off, taking the string of six horses with them. When they had covered about six miles Roger dismounted, unsaddled the five spare horses, hid their saddlery and bridles well off the track among some thick undergrowth, then turned the animals loose in the forest. No longer being encumbered by the string, they were able to maintain a quicker pace on the remaining six miles to Dinan, but it was well after midnight when they passed through it, so the streets were deserted and only a few chinks of light were to be seen in upper casements.

  Dan had said that Le Homard Rouge was some way along the road to the village of Plancoet and stood on high ground; so they had no difficulty in identifying it, even before they pulled up to peer through the semi-darkness of the summer night at its sign. It was a rambling building with several barns attached; so it appeared to be more a farm than an inn, and its size, coupled with its isolated situation, made it admirably suited for a number of people to lie hidden there. Roger estimated that it could not be much more than five miles from St. Briac Bay, and he had little doubt that refugees were only a new commodity among the secret cargoes that had long been smuggled to and from it by night.

  With the handle of his riding-crop he gave a series of irregular taps, as he had been directed, on the door. After a few moments an upper window was opened, and a nightcapped head thrust out. Roger asked for accommodation, but used the word “berth” instead of bed. This preliminary password brought a stout, red-fac
ed man, who was obviously the landlord, down to the door. His eyes narrowed slightly as he saw how his visitor was dressed, for although Roger had packed the feathers from his hat and his tricolore scarf in one of Athénaïs’s bundles, his clothes still gave him away as a Revolutionary official; but it was not the first time that fugitives had arrived there in disguise, and Roger soon reassured the man by completing the recognition signs, then addressing him in English.

  Using his second name, of McElfic, he said that he and his wife had come from Paris, where they had lived since their marriage; but a warning that he was about to be arrested had caused them to abandon everything; and having reached the coast they now hoped to escape safely to his relatives in Scotland. As they had no real intention of crossing the Channel with the next batch of refugees, he added that a faithful maid would be bringing their children to them, but might not be able to do so before the end of the month; so he hoped it would be convenient for them to remain there that length of time.

  Mine host of the Red Lobster said there would be no difficulty about that, and remarked that his house was empty at the moment; but he wished it to be understood that while staying there they must never go out, except into the orchard behind the big barn. He then roused a youth from a cubby-hole under the stairs to take the horses, shouldered Athénaïs’s bundles himself, and led them up to a low-raftered room on the first floor, which was plainly but comfortably furnished. Very tired now, but greatly relieved to have found such a pleasant haven, they undressed and slipped into bed.

  During the past year these two had lived in constant contact with fear, with death, and with horror; now for a blissful three weeks fortune made up to them for much that they had gone through by granting them all the joys of a honeymoon. Forgetting everything else, they lived only for each other, lazing away the sunny summer days and putting all thought of the uncertain future from them. Neither of them was capable of ever again quite recapturing the carefree attitude of youth, but they came near to it; and there were compensations which outweighed that minor loss. Both were experienced lovers, so they could give each other far more pleasure than they would have known had they married as boy and girl. The minds of both had broadened immeasurably since they had parted six years before, and dangers and difficulties had taught them not only restraint, tolerance and understanding, but how to count their blessings.

  They rose late and fed simply but well. The inn was named from the succulent lobsters caught down in the bay; there were home-baked bread and rich Brittany butter, fresh-killed veal, cheeses of many kinds, and wood strawberries, with red sweet-scented sparkling cider to wash them down. The big orchard was surrounded by a high mud wall, and they idled there for hours every day with no desire ever to leave it, except when appetite called them to another good meal, or the lengthening shadows of evening told them that it would soon be time to again find joy in a passionate embrace. After a few days the weary, hunted look had faded from Athénaïs’s eyes, while Roger’s face filled out and he began to put on some of his lost weight.

  They talked mostly of the past and of the years during which they had been separated, referring only rarely to the Revolution; but she told him something of the heroic exploits of the Royalists in La Vendée. He had not previously credited the statement that: the early successes there were due solely to the courage and initiative of an unorganised peasantry, but she assured him that: it was so, and that only after a score of spontaneous risings had taken place and some 30,000 men were under arms had they called, upon their old seigneurs to lead them.

  In the Bocage, Messieurs de Lescure, de Bonchamps, d’Eblée and Henri de la Rochejaquelein had swiftly emerged as bold and audacious commanders of quite considerable forces; while M. de Charette, operating in the Marais, had made himself master of a great area of fenland near the coast. Nevertheless, when the insurrection had succeeded to a degree that called for a commander-in-chief to co-ordinate operations, the local commanders had unanimously selected the brave wool-vendor, Cathelineau, who had initiated the revolt; and his aristocrat officers were now serving him with as much willingness as if he were a Marshal of France.

  In the Vendéens’ favour was the fact that with foreign enemies on all the frontiers the Convention could spare few seasoned troops to send against them, so they were opposed mainly to a rabble of unwilling conscripts and sans-culottes as little trained to war as they themselves. As against that they were greatly handicapped by lack of arms and ammunition. The capture of the fortified towns of Thouars and Fontenay had brought them much-needed supplies, including some artillery; but they were still pitifully short of weapons, and it was to arrange for a consignment of muskets to be smuggled from central Brittany that M. de Charette had been in Rennes when he had so narrowly escaped capture in the secret Royalist intelligence post of which Athénaïs had been in charge there.

  The greatest achievement of the Vendéens, so far, had been the capture, on the 10th of June, of Saumur, and their main army was now reported to be moving down the Loire on Nantes, while M. de Charette with his smaller force was moving up to the city from the south. If they succeeded in taking this great Revolutionary stronghold it would open for them the glittering prospect of being able to advance almost unopposed into central Brittany, Maine and Normandy; and, as these provinces contained large numbers of Royalist sympathisers, of rousing the whole of north-western France to march in a great crusade against the godless terrorists of Paris.

  Roger was by no means so sanguine as Athénaïs about their chances. Although many of the big towns were now openly hostile to the Convention, he felt certain that they would resist any attempt to restore feudalism and the thraldom of the Church with as much, if not more, vigour than they were beginning to show against communism and anarchy. Moreover, many of the Convention’s best officers were brave and experienced leaders, and the dyed-in-the-wool Revolutionaries were capable of fighting with as much fanaticism as the Royalists.

  That proved the case at Nantes, as they learned on the 1st of July. To Roger’s sorrow and Athénaïs’s acute distress, the news reached them that three days earlier a full-scale assault had been launched against the city and a battle of unexampled ferocity had raged for nine consecutive hours. During this time innumerable feats of valour had been performed by both attackers and attacked, but at four o’clock in the afternoon Cathelineau had received a mortal wound while leading a last desperate onslaught, and the terribly-mauled Vendéens had then fallen back in despair. For the time being, at least, all hope was gone of their inciting other provinces to rebellion by carrying their white and gold banners across the Loire.

  That the news was authentic there could be no doubt, as it was brought by an elderly Nantes shipowner who had succeeded in escaping from prison there owing to the confusion that had reigned in the city during the battle. He was the fifth guest to arrive at Le Homard Rouge after the “McElfics”, the others being two priests who were anxious to reach Ireland and an ex-Councillor of the Parliament of Rennes with his wife. The company was further augmented the following day by a Comte and Comtesse de Bourlainvilliers, their three children and governess, and a banker named de Kock.

  It so happened that Roger witnessed the interesting manner of the arrival of this last party, a touch of collywobbles having sent him down to the yard exceptionally early in the morning. As he was about to cross it a covered wagon entered the gate and drew up. Its smock-clad driver got down from his seat, walked round to the back with long lazy strides, and called in excellent French, “You can come out now”; upon which the seven dishevelled and woebegone-looking people crawled out from a hollow space cunningly masked by bales of hay. When his charges were assembled the driver pushed his battered hat on to the back of his head, began to whistle cheerfully, and led them towards the back door of the inn. As he did so he passed within a few feet of Roger and touched his forelock politely, but in that second their glances met. Both remained poker-faced, but each had recognised the other. The last time Roger had seen that smoc
k-clad lout he had been exquisitely dressed in satin, gambling 50 guineas a time on the: turn of a single card at White’s.

  So far, the presence of other guests at the inn had bothered Roger and Athénaïs very little. They exchanged civilities whenever they met in the dining-room or about the farm; but the fugitives; appeared much depressed by their experiences, and had evidently formed the habit of reticence, as they showed no inclination to talk about their affairs. M. de Kock, however, proved an exception, and to the “McElfics’ ” annoyance displayed a strong inclination to attach himself to them.

  He was a dapper little man of middle age, with a sharp nose and very bright eyes under beetling brows; and their only consolation for the infliction of his company was that he was extremely well-informed. As he had done the greater part of the journey from Paris on horseback and joined the de Bourlainvilliers in the covered wagon only at a secret rendeavous in Dol—which was all that had been disclosed to him on setting out—he was pretty well up to date with events in the capital. He described it as a den in which a thousand loose tigers had been driven mad by having Chinese crackers attached to their tails.

  The Mountain now completely dominated the Convention, but was menaced by enemies on all sides. Mayence and Valenciennes, the two bastions of the north, were cut off and besieged; the Piedmontese were attacking in the east, and the Spaniards in the south; Lyons, Bordeaux and Marseilles were firmly in the grip of the Federalists; there were insurrections in La Vendée, the Jura and the Rhône Valley; the Departments of Normandy had formed a federation of their own; Félix Wimpffen, the Convention’s General Commanding-in-the-West, had gone over to them and was now marching his army on Paris. It could hardly be wondered at that Danton, Robespierre and their associates were striking out right and left like wild beasts at bay, since, should they fail to ride the whirlwind, their lives would not be worth a month’s purchase.