Liberty

by McWatters, Nikki;

  ‘No,’ he said and took the reins of the horses, leading us further along the cobbled road and down the carriageway between two houses. ‘You need to go, Jeanne. I’ve been given an important mission and it’s dangerous. If Lagoy sees us together … he’s made some serious threats.’

  ‘Lagoy gave you a mission? What mission?’ I asked.

  ‘I’m going out through the tunnels that lead to the woods by the edge of the river to spy on the enemy and to try to buy some of their Italian mercenaries. They are masters of gunpowder and have weapons we have never even heard of.’

  ‘The Italians?’ I asked, confused.

  ‘The Burgundian army is so powerful because it pays mercenaries to boost its ranks. Some of the artillery men are from Italy and they’ll fight for the highest bidder.’ Colin held up the pouch that Lagoy had given him and shook it. It jangled with coins. ‘Lagoy has a good load of silver for them if I can tempt them to come back with me to fight for us. With their help, we can keep up our defence.’

  I tried to unravel his words from the jumbled and knotted ball he had presented to me into something understandable. My words came out as slowly as my unfolding thoughts.

  ‘Why you?’ I said, shaking my head. ‘Lagoy has so many trained men and it is such a treacherous mission to go into enemy territory, unarmed and …’ And then it all began to make sense to me. Jean Lagoy was sending Colin Pilon on what could only be described as a death mission. He didn’t care two jots for the Italian mercenaries. What he wanted most was Colin Pilon out of the way. No person, no citizen or serf of Beauvais could refuse such a mission during active military engagement. To do so would be tantamount to treason and punishable by death.

  ‘You are being sent to your doom!’ I cried. ‘You cannot go, Colin.’

  ‘I must, Jeanne,’ he said, pleadingly. ‘Get yourself to safety. I hear you are being evacuated south. Go. This is my burden but I am up to the task.’

  ‘But Colin,’ I said, my voice breaking. ‘You can’t do this.’

  ‘I can and I will,’ he said firmly. ‘The Italians are camped not far from the old tunnels, beyond the brook that runs down past the quarry and the oak forest. I can lure them back here by offering them more money. This silver is just a small deposit. Lagoy will organise a payment from the King if they agree to fight alongside us.’

  Colin was about to take a pouch of silver and head into enemy territory. It was like sending a hare into a huge den of foxes.

  ‘We will see each other again,’ he said and handed up the reins to me, then broke into a run down the street. He turned, calling loudly, ‘I will bring back some soldiers. I will be a hero. Just like you were yesterday, Jeanne. Be safe.’

  I watched him disappear around the corner and I felt numb. I was torn between following him and turning back to the manor house. My heart was leaden and I could not think properly. I needed to formulate a plan. Colin was in dreadful danger; Lagoy was a ruthless soldier.

  Listening to the sound of cannon fire and muskets, I tried to come up with some kind of strategy, some way to make this wrong right. Arrows whizzed through the air like giant insects. It seemed as if Beauvais had descended into Hades and was being consumed by fire and brimstone. We were all doomed. I thought of the plight of my cousin Aimee and my father who was frail and defenceless. If Beauvais fell there would be nothing I could do to help them.

  And then I was hit with a very tempting thought.

  I had two good, strong horses. Colin had a pouch full of silver. I knew the tunnel exit well. It was wide and empty, built as an aqueduct by the Romans hundreds, perhaps thousands, of years earlier but long abandoned. It was only used for grain storage during the winter months. If I could manage to get in there unseen by Lagoy or his men I could collect Colin and we could escape from the city and make our way to some distant port. With enough money to fund a ship fare to England, we could start again, marry and live out our lives far from Lagoy and Charles the Bold and Beauvais. My imagination was sparking with dazzling and dangerous new possibilities. I knew now that Lagoy wanted Colin dead. Even if I married the Lieutenant quietly and obediently, Colin was a marked man and would never be safe. I was torn by loyalty to my father or to Colin.

  I sat upon the restless horse, deliberating, unsure of what to do. I wasn’t a bad person. I knew that to take the horses out of the city walls would open me up to a charge of horse theft. I might be considered a deserter or guilty of treason by leaving Beauvais. We could never return and I would never see Papa again. But he was old and not for this life for much longer and I had my whole life ahead of me. I knew that Papa would want me to take this golden opportunity. I shut my eyes and thought of Lieutenant Jean Lagoy and I knew that marriage to him would kill me – not necessarily in body, but in spirit. My Jeanne-ness, my soul, my dreams and wildness, would all have to be buried away. I would simply be a shadow of myself. A ghost.

  Colin Pilon made me laugh. I loved him most for that. That and his broad smile and dancing eyes; his warm cheek and the way he held me that took my breath away and made me feel like I was a bird, flying through a sky full of nothing and everything at the same time. I was sure that I loved Colin. But how could a girl be certain? My mother had been taken from me when I was a babe. She had never been there to tell me about such things. Had she loved my father? I could tell that he loved her, by the way his face crumpled and his eyes grew wet when he spoke of her. Still, he had left her behind when she had been in grave danger. He had not been there for her. He had abandoned her. I would not abandon Colin. I would not let him die out there like my mother had. I loved him too much.

  ‘Go on!’ I called to my horse, digging a gentle boot into his side as I tugged at the rein of the other, pulling hard to get him to follow. I rode down the narrow streets, keeping my head down, trying not to meet the eye of any of those hurrying past. I was dressed in my dirty peasant tunic, which was covered in the blood of the man whose hand I had severed the previous day. And I was riding along with two fine Parisian horses. It looked suspicious. While I was within the city gates I could always claim that I was returning to the Balagny manor house upon Madame Balagny’s orders but once I was in the old tunnels this excuse wouldn’t work and punishment was inevitable if I was caught.

  As soon as I entered the wide, old aqueducts, I breathed a sigh of relief that I had got this far without being questioned. It was cool and dark with only the distant glow of sunlight peeking through the hidden entrance at the other end of the tunnel to lead the way. The clop of the horses’ hooves echoed through the chamber and the sound of dripping water was amplified. My heartbeat thudded in my ears. I could not see Colin.

  The dim light in the tunnel had made me feel uncomfortable and I welcomed the view of the outside world when I got to the opening. I felt as if I was a budding shoot that had broken free of the earth. The woods were speckled with golden light and I stopped, pricking my ears for any sign of danger. Colin had said that the Italian mercenaries were camped close to the forest, beyond the aqueduct that spilled out onto a small tributary of the river.

  I hung cautiously on the rim of the outer world, scanning the forest floor, the curve of branches and the fuzzy green ceiling of foliage above. I listened keenly for any noise that might herald danger but I heard nothing except the gentle hum of insects and the lilting whip of birdsong. My horse shook his head and stomped his hooves.

  I moved him forward, leading the other horse beside us, and slipped quietly into the embrace of the woods. I knew them so well. Every moss-covered, rotting log was like an old friend.

  It was further along past the first open grove that I came upon the one log that meant more than all the others. It was the one where my life had been spared. Dismounting, I went to it and sat, shutting my eyes for a moment, giving thanks for my small life. My gratitude went out to my mother and in this place I always felt her presence. When my parents had been accosted by bandits on the path
so many years earlier, my father had fled in a panic and my mother ran, hiding me in the crumbling, damp, empty hollow of the log before running in the other direction to draw the men away from me. My father and a group of men from Beauvais had come back, fully armed, soon after, to search for us. They had found my mother ravaged and murdered. Eventually they found me, after hearing my sobbing from within the log. My father had cried that he thought his wife and child had a better chance if he’d gone for help. On that day he lost my mother and also the respect of everyone in Beauvais.

  The horses helped themselves to small grassy knots on the ground. Being in the forest was a lovely reprieve from the city and I imagined I was much safer in the woods than in the city. I stood up and left the log. I tied up the horses down near the trickling brook so they could water themselves, and I went on foot, stealthy and fast, to trail Colin, my hand tracing the hard metal of my one remaining hatchet at my side.

  I kept to the edge of the forest, following it around toward where Colin said the Italians had set up their camps. With a great deal of stealth, I scooted from one tree to the next, hugging the dim shadows, but I pulled up short when I saw a soldier relieving himself in the creek. I felt my stomach roil. He was dressed in a helmet of chain mail and the ducal colours on his tunic were emblazoned with the cross of Saint Andrew. I watched as he straightened and trudged back up the embankment. I gave a startled gasp as I saw Colin appear from the trees nearby, his hands raised in the manner of surrender as he approached the soldier. I watched, holding my breath, as they conversed awkwardly with much gesturing. I was close enough to hear that the man was speaking Italian. I knew well that Colin could not understand a word.

  Colin pulled the bag of coins from his shirt and held it up. As he did, two more men appeared over the rise, coming down toward the water, shouting and waving their arms. I pressed back against a tree, my heart hammering wildly. I watched helplessly as one man took the bag of coins and the other two hog-tied Colin and carried him back over the hill. I could hear their cruel laughter. Fear snarled in my belly like snapped fiddle strings.

  From the trees I followed them to the outskirts of their camp and watched as a man who appeared to be in charge of the Italians came out and spoke with Colin. I could just make out that they conversed in French but I could only snatch a word or two. The captain opened the pouch and counted the silver coins. I took this as a good sign. Surely the man must have been considering the proposal to jump sides and fight for us or he would have killed Colin on the spot?

  Colin was tied to a post in a central area in front of the tents, which were arranged in the shape of a crescent. I watched as soldiers came and went from the frontline, giving him nothing more than cursory glances. The Italian garrison seemed to have a steady stream of carts with all manner of strange contraptions – weapons I was not familiar with and a few others that I was. There were wheeled bombards and serpentines. Small cannons I could recognise, but others looked stranger and very, very menacing. Over in the far field I could see carpenters and masons with their tools, fashioning cart wheels and pickaxes to bolster their troops. It was a huge operation and it all seemed highly organised.

  I couldn’t be sure of what was happening. Colin was kept tied up in the hot sun, which beat down on him. I waited and watched. All afternoon, the sound of cannon fire and screams came from the two main gates nearby. I could see smoke filtering up into the sky and could not tell if it came from within the high walls of my city. As time passed slowly, I felt the dull ache of fear soaking into my bones. I had no clear idea about what I should do. I was beginning to panic, knowing that to stay would mean trouble but to return would have me in just as much strife. So I remained rooted to the spot, breathing in small, frightened gasps.

  The Italians appeared to be ignoring Colin, apart from the occasional passing jeer. No one even offered him water. Messengers came and went on horseback, ferrying information, presumably from Charles and his men who were camped in greater numbers all around the eastern countryside surrounding Beauvais. I watched Colin sag at the post as if he was falling asleep in the heat. If they kept him there long enough, he would become completely parched and that could kill him. I slipped back to the horses and bent by the brook, cupping my hands to drink the water that tasted like dirt and grass. I picked some wild berries and ate them to quell the churning of my belly. The sun was moving west and the high part of the day was long over. It would soon be dark. I had been gone for hours. Madame Balagny would be getting angry by this stage, sending the guard out to find me. To return would mean certain punishment. But the capture of Colin by the Italians posed a serious threat to my plans of elopement and desertion.

  The cannon and musket fire eased as the sun began its descent toward the Alps to the west, and the dense smoke started to clear. As the Italian soldiers filed back into camp, their swarthy faces masked with blood, sweat and dirt, the flagons of wine started to flow and the atmosphere became almost jovial, with the occasional drunken fight breaking out. Men in their hose and breeches and bare chests wrestled in the dirt and grunted, throwing punches. Fires were lit to cast light about the camp and I watched, hungrily, as three wild hares were roasted on a spit, the gamey smell of meat reminding me that I hadn’t eaten anything apart from a few forest fruits. Night came swiftly and I felt even more alone and helpless in the dark. Young boys carried platters of food down to where all the weary men were seated at tables and chairs set up like a grand banquet on a flat embankment along the creek, which burbled over polished river stones, making a gentle gurgling noise.

  Two men carried their crossbows to a tree close to where I was hiding and rested them there with a full quiver of bolts. I swung behind the trunk nearest to me and held my breath. They were speaking in their own tongue, which I did not understand, although it sounded quite melodic. When I peered around again, being careful not to be seen, the men were pointing to Colin and laughing. I felt a shiver of dread run down my spine. One man pointed to a spot between his eyes and the other nodded and chortled loudly. My blood ran cold. I pressed my back against the tree and tried to breathe slowly to keep my thoughts clear. It seemed that the Italians had no desire to fill their pockets further by jumping ship to fight for us. The invitation had been met with a refusal and Colin was a prisoner of war. Everyone knew that the Burgundian army took prisoners purely for sport. They meant to use Colin as target practice, pocketing the deposit of silver as a bonus.

  Colin was awake and I could see by the droop of his head and shoulders that he had given up all hope of staying alive. The two archers left their weapons and went to help a troop rolling in from the frontline with kegs on the back of a cart. This bought me some time to do something, but in my panicked state I could not think what that might be.

  They carefully unloaded the wooden barrels and I could smell the heady stench of saltpetre and sulphur. The kegs were full of gunpowder. This was what Beauvais feared most. We had weapons and boiling water and rocks and knives and heart and passion but we did not have the raw materials to make this powerful mixture, which could blow enormous holes in bricks and mortar. It made fire burn intensely and was the most destructive substance in all of Christendom. I narrowed my eyes and watched as they unloaded the kegs far from the camp and set down pails of water around them, with animal hides soaking nearby as a safety precaution.

  When all the men went down to the great bonfire by the water and began singing battle songs and drinking skins of wine, my thoughts became clear. I knew what I had to do, although it was unthinkably dangerous.

  I scrambled to remember the travelling jester who had shown the children of Beauvais his magic tricks. He had a pail of gunpowder and had thrown it into the fire, and we watched it fizz and pop, spitting fire like a flaming snake.

  Under the shadow of encroaching darkness, I went over to the barrels of gunpowder. There was no guard. I supposed that the Italians thought it was safe to leave them unattended because the enemy was all
walled up behind enormous stone battlements within the city confines of Beauvais, apart from the one slowly dying in their camp.

  I moved down along the line of pines, toward the ring of kegs. I carefully wrenched open a lid and smelled the contents. It almost blew the top of my head off, it was so strong. I held my breath, blinked rapidly, and tried to see through my watering eyes, which were streaming as if I were weeping. I took a bronze ladle by its long handle and dug out a full cup of the light, soft powder. In the silver light cast by a half moon, I began to sprinkle a long line, like a white-grey mountain range, from the kegs to the row of weaponry carts and all the way back to the ring of large, colourful tents. Back and forth I went until my arm was aching. I had to press back into the shadows as a drunken soldier came up the embankment to find more wine, singing a slurring song as he struggled with a wheelbarrow filled to the brim with swollen wine sacks.

  I rolled the last of the barrels of gunpowder all the way to the weapon carts and left some barrels there and others at the tents, sprinkling the last of the powder over them for good measure.

  Pulling off my tunic, which was covered in the dust of the dangerous sulphuric concoction, I washed my hands thoroughly in a nearby bucket of water. I stood up and wiped my hands on my underskirts, feeling naked in my coarse cotton blouse with the hatchet exposed at my side. After taking another pail of water, I slipped between the tents, fast and soft on my feet, and went to Colin. He startled into wakefulness and hissed at me, his eyes wide in the silver light.

  ‘Jeanne, what the devil?’ He was so upset, he spat the words. ‘You must get away from here. Oh Lord, if they find you … go … go! Get out of here. Now! Va-vite! They will tear you to pieces.’

  ‘No, Colin!’ I ignored his protests as I untied my hatchet from my side-skirts. ‘Be careful or I’ll cut off your hand.’ I smiled. ‘And you know, I’m quite capable of that.’