Liberty

by McWatters, Nikki;

  Luke nodded. It was his turn to reassure me and he gave me a broad grin. ‘You only live once. Might as well make an impact!’ he said and pulled his draft notice out of his pocket and inhaled deeply, puffing out his chest.

  Everyone was marching in rows, linking arms tightly, like we were stitches on a knitting needle all woven and connected. Slowly we pressed forward. One step at a time, carefully, like a choreographed chorus line. And then as we rounded the bend, all hell broke loose.

  I was separated from Luke as kids started running helter-skelter all over the place, panicking. The happy dance was over.

  Someone screamed.

  I felt my chest constricting with fear.

  ‘Sit down!’ came a booming voice over the chaos. ‘Everyone sit down peacefully.’

  It was Barton on the megaphone. Around me, kids began dropping into cross-legged yoga poses on the road. As we sat, I could see the line of uniformed police ahead, their faces set like concrete. There were hundreds of them, all with truncheons at the ready.

  ‘Golly,’ I murmured because I couldn’t think of anything else to say.

  I looked around to see if there was any way I could escape and slink off into the city and run home, but I was hemmed in by hundreds of bodies. Barton came back to us, avoiding standing on anyone as if he was in a gauntlet university game challenge stepping between tyres. People leaned away to avoid being trampled by him.

  ‘Luke! Luke!’ he called.

  I groaned as Luke stood up and waved. Some of my bravado had left me. I was scared too. I crawled on my hands and knees over to Luke and sat at his feet like a hypnotised devotee. Barton came over and took him by the hand and spoke into his megaphone again.

  ‘Here’s a young man, Luke Sheehan, who has his draft papers.’

  Luke held them aloft and waved them to the crowd and then back at the police. I couldn’t believe he actually said Luke’s name. I could see people with television cameras up ahead and their big round lenses were trained right on us. I was sitting right beside Luke’s leg.

  ‘He doesn’t want to murder innocent people just because they happened to be born in a certain part of Vietnam. He doesn’t want to be Uncle Sam’s foot soldier. He doesn’t want to line the pockets of all those capitalists who get rich out of the spoils of war. He is not afraid to stand up and say so! Don’t put guns in our hands against our will! Don’t send us to war. This is a march for our lives. For Luke’s life.’

  Barton pulled out matches from his pocket and handed them to Luke who lit the papers and watched defiantly as they caught alight. He waved them around until the flames were high and then dropped them to the road before stomping out the ashes. I rolled into someone else’s body just in time to clear a spot for Barton’s shoe. I flicked light specks of ash from my jeans. I was acutely aware of the television camera getting closer so I tried to hide my face. The crowd roared its approval and Luke looked really pleased with himself.

  The police surged forward and began to grab the student marchers in headlocks, pushing them down, screaming at them to lie face down on the road, pulling their hands behind their backs. I saw one girl get her hair yanked by a policeman. I hoped that the cameras were capturing what was happening because this response to a peaceful march wasn’t right. I was iced by terror and I looked around frantically for Agnes.

  Barton was running straight at the police while Luke was jack-rabbiting back through the crowd as he’d planned. He was now on the run from the law. The police were grappling with anyone they could get a hold of, dragging kids by their feet, their hair, their arms, off the road and dumping them like sandbags on the pavement.

  Two policemen tackled Barton while he shouted out ‘freedom’ and ‘liberty’. Handcuffs were clamped on his wrists.

  I was so mesmerised by the interaction between the police and Barton that I didn’t notice the policeman standing beside me yelling. I looked up too late and felt a boot in the back of my spine. Instinctively, I shouted in pain, then struggled to my feet to try to run away. The policeman grabbed me around the waist and picked me up like I was a stray dog. Flashbulbs exploded around me.

  ‘You’re under arrest,’ I heard someone shout, and felt myself get dumped into the back of a truck along with a crush of other kids. I didn’t recognise any of them. I fell back against the side of the vehicle and closed my eyes. My ribs hurt.

  ‘What a buzz, hey?’ Someone laughed near me. ‘What a trip.’

  ‘We really stuck it to them. One for us. Nil for The Man!’ another voice shouted triumphantly.

  I looked down at my ripped shirt and broken shoelace and felt like throwing up. I was awash with remorse and wished I had not gotten out of bed that day but as I looked around at the other students, all beaming and hugging one another, I began to rethink the situation. They thought they’d won. They felt like winners. And I let the regrets slip away. I’d made a point. I was only one little sardine in a sea of sardines. But we were swimming upstream and that was somehow really important in the grand scheme of things. I felt a bit taller, a bit stronger, for having done something so powerful and significant and defiant. I looked at one of the girls beaming at me and imagined my mother as a teenager. She’d looked a lot like me. And I thought about all the women in our bloodline who had fought, and to be completely honest, I felt a little bit like Joan of Arc, and I started laughing with the thrill and power of it.

  ‘I’m Joan of Arc,’ I said aloud.

  ‘Damn straight, sister,’ the girl on the other side of the paddy wagon said, and raised a fist. ‘We all are!’

  We left the scent of gunpowder in the woods and clopped through the tangle of the overgrown entrance to the aqueducts. It was an in-between place, like purgatory, a waiting room, a place of purification and penance. Dark, damp and cool. I felt that I was no longer a part of the world but somehow removed from it, as if I was in a bubble with Colin. I was not in the crumbling, besieged city of Beauvais, nor was I in the woods. I was not betrothed in that place, nor was I free.

  ‘Colin,’ I spoke into the darkness and my voice echoed back, metallic and eerie. ‘We could still go. These horses are fine creatures. Selling just one would pay for our passage to London. We can still be together.’

  Silence. Except for the sound of dripping water.

  ‘Jeanne.’ Colin’s voice bounced off the old stone walls. ‘If we ran away, you would never forgive yourself for leaving your father. I would dishonour your family and my own. If everyone disobeyed the laws and did whatever they wanted, everything would descend into chaos.’

  Chaos sounded a lot better to me than being in a loveless marriage to a tyrant. ‘I don’t care about dishonour.’ I sulked like a petulant child. ‘I only care about you and escaping from my awful fate.’

  I felt sure that Lagoy had deliberately sent Colin into the Italian mercenaries to have him killed. In my bones I knew now that my betrothed would stop at nothing to have Colin permanently removed from my life. Dead, he posed no threat for my heart. The only way that Colin could escape this fate was for us to flee.

  ‘You will be happier with yourself if you do the right thing.’

  ‘I will be miserable,’ I said although I did not want to concern him with my fears of Lagoy’s murderous intentions.

  Our horses’ hooves clipped in the darkness as we moved through the dense gloom toward the light ahead.

  Outside the aqueduct, we stood our horses beneath a lamp-post, the lantern swinging and creaking hauntingly above us. The moon seemed to shine on only us, full and ominous.

  ‘We don’t choose our fate, Jeanne,’ Colin said. ‘It chooses us.’

  He was right, but I wanted it to be different. If our fate was predestined, what was the point of life? To fulfil someone else’s promise? Whose? God’s? Captain Balagny’s? Jean Lagoy’s?

  ‘But Jean Lagoy chose me,’ I said, sniffing back tears. ‘He gets to choose h
is destiny. His wife. His life. It’s not fair.’

  ‘No. Life isn’t fair, Jeanne. It is different for different folks and the more things you have – land, standing, royal favour – the fairer it is,’ he said. ‘We are born where we are born and we must make the most of the life allotted to us. I am a chicken farmer. My father was a chicken farmer. You now have the chance to lead a life that I cannot offer you. Take it, Jeanne, make it the best life you can.’

  ‘But I want you and the chickens and …’ I sobbed, lowering my head, feeling my chest heave with pain. ‘I don’t want finery and bone china and I don’t want … ermine gloves and … and …’

  A whistle ripped through the darkness, so shrill it chilled me to the core. I heard the thud of footsteps, running, marching. And another short sharp blast of the whistle. I sat up straighter in my saddle, my ears ringing, stunned by the sudden noise.

  ‘They are here!’ a voice cried and I turned my head to see a group of men in uniforms heading toward us. ‘I’ve found them.’

  ‘It’s all right, Jeanne,’ Colin said in a soothing, calming voice. ‘We’ll explain and—’

  They were upon us, surrounding our horses, swords drawn.

  ‘Dismount,’ one man commanded and from the dim shadows behind him I saw a figure striding along the street, his white ruffled shirt shining like the moon, the brass buttons on his coat winking like glow-worms, his hair an unruly mess, his chiselled jaw.

  ‘I’ll have you know that we have been on important King’s business,’ Colin said firmly to the townsmen who had formed a circle around us, but he obeyed the order and swung off the horse, reaching up to offer me assistance in sliding off my own horse.

  ‘Unhand that woman!’ I heard Jean Lagoy roar into the night. ‘Let her be.’

  My belly dropped as if I’d swallowed a stone and I slipped off the horse onto the cool street.

  ‘Monsieur,’ I stammered as he came to me, his nostrils flaring with anger. ‘Good news. We have disabled the Italian stock of gunpowder and—’

  ‘It is true,’ another soldier stepped forward and spoke. ‘From the eagle’s nest on the battlements we saw the sabotage but did not know who was responsible. The entire northern encampment is obliterated.’

  ‘Yes! Yes!’ Lagoy tutted. ‘We all saw it and certainly heard it! But there is no evidence that it was anything other than a fortuitous accident. To conclude that this pair were responsible—’

  ‘I saw the line of fire,’ another man said. ‘It seemed clear to me—’

  ‘Silence!’ Lagoy shouted. ‘You and you, Dupre and Berjot, arrest this man on the charge of kidnapping, horse theft and, Monsieur Pilon, pray, do you have my bag of silver?’

  ‘No,’ Colin said nervously. ‘I was captured by the Italians and they took the silver but Jeanne, she took out all the barrels of gunpowder … the explosions … you must have heard. This was better than getting them to fight for us … she took them out … all of them … it was incredible and—’

  ‘And theft of the King’s silver. Take him away,’ Lagoy roared. ‘Chain him up in the dungeon beneath the chapel of St Etienne. I’ll deal with him later.’

  My eyes grew as wide as saucers and my mouth fell open as I watched a pair of men take Colin by the elbows to lead him away.

  ‘No, he was captured,’ I pleaded. ‘The Italians stole the silver. Colin only did what you asked …’

  My words sifted away into the darkness like smoke evaporating into the night. The Lieutenant looked down at my chest. I followed his eyes and gasped, reaching to cross both arms over myself. My under-blouse was ripped and torn and parts of my skin, scratched and bleeding, were exposed.

  ‘You are an embarrassment, Jeanne,’ he seethed. ‘Look at you!’

  Taking my upper arm in a vice-like grip, Lagoy marched me along the cobbled street, away from Colin, yelling back to his men. ‘One of you come with me,’ he called. ‘The others take the horses back to the Captain’s stables and see that you apologise to him. Tell them the culprit has been caught and will be dealt with very harshly.’

  ‘I took the horses.’ I corrected him, not caring if he threw me into the dungeon for it. I was hoping against hope that he just might. ‘But I didn’t steal them. I only borrowed them and I really did blow up the—’

  ‘Shut your mouth, Jeanne,’ Lagoy hissed, squeezing my arm harder as he all but dragged me down the street.

  I felt the hatchet at my side, bumping against my leg as I walked. Part of me wanted to take to him with it but I gave a silent prayer of apology to the good Lord for having had that terrible thought. As we neared the poorest quarter of town, my quarter, the devastation from the siege became more apparent. Houses had been hit by cannon shot and were crumbled rubble.

  ‘Where are you taking me?’ I asked as I staggered beside him.

  ‘Home to your father. He was brought back when the fighting stopped at sunset. There is no room in the Cathedral.’

  My heart leapt and for a moment I thought he meant to return me to my father’s keeping and break the betrothal contract, but he dashed that hope.

  ‘You will begin to pack whatever you need and tomorrow I will have you interred at my residence, under lock and key, until we are married, which will be posthaste. Then woe betide if you ever get it into your head to disobey me again. I will break that will of yours, Jeanne. Mark my words.’

  ‘If you don’t like my will and my spirit,’ I said brazenly, ‘then why do you insist on taking me as a wife? Why did you not choose someone more meek and demure?’

  We walked on for a moment and then Lagoy stopped and turned me around to face him. He glared into my eyes until I trembled.

  ‘Because, Jeanne,’ he smiled a cruel and cold smile, ‘sometimes the unbroken horse is a challenge. Buying a tame horse is one thing but breaking one in yourself is so much more satisfying.’

  He leaned forward and pressed his mouth against mine, crushing my lips. I kept my mouth closed and shut my eyes, putting up a barrier of resistance between us until he pulled back. ‘You will be my wife, Jeanne Laisné, and you will bend to my will.’

  Never, I said silently to myself. Never would I ever be bent to suit Jean Lagoy. I would sooner snap in two.

  We walked to my father’s small house, which was mercifully undamaged, apart from the damp rot. The door was ajar. Inside, my father was lying on his bed in the corner, asleep. I could just make him out in the dim light from the candle burning low by the back door. It was sitting in a wide plate of molten wax.

  ‘Who is it?’ my father’s voice came, cracking with sleep as the door banged shut. ‘Who’s there?’

  ‘It’s just me, Papa,’ I called. ‘I am safe. You go back to sleep.’

  Shadows danced over the walls. I left Lagoy in the doorway and went to take the candle and a holder. I turned back to glare at him but said nothing, willing him to leave.

  ‘I will return at daybreak to claim you,’ Lagoy said roughly.

  I watched my father struggle up onto one elbow, trying to rouse himself.

  ‘Is that … you, Lieutenant? So soon?’ he stammered. ‘You mean to marry Jeanne so soon? What of the siege? What of my bride-price? When will it be paid?’

  Lagoy laughed, throwing his head back and tossing his dark hair from his high forehead. ‘You stupid old man,’ he snorted. ‘Jeanne owes me a bag of silver. You won’t be getting any bride-price. You owe me now. Twenty pieces of silver. Jeanne might be worth ten at a stretch, but you will need to work off the rest of it.’

  My father looked at me, bewildered by what Lagoy was telling him. I could not believe my ears. Jean Lagoy was taking me from the slums as his wife and making my father indebted to him for the silver the Italians had stolen from Colin? It was an outrage, but I knew I had no recourse. I had no power and my father had even less.

  ‘What of Colin Pilon?’ I asked Lagoy. ‘What wil
l become of him? He tried to secure the Italian mercenaries. He did everything you asked. But you hoped they would kill him, didn’t you? It was cheap at the price. Twenty pieces of silver to get the Italians to do your dirty work.’

  Lagoy was smiling, his eyes flickering in the candlelight. ‘There’s no doubt about you, Jeanne,’ he said slowly. ‘You’re as quick as a snake. But no mind. Your chicken boy will still end up like one of his little headless chooks in the square. Stealing silver and horses during a time of military engagement is punishable by death. The guillotine is too good for him. Ah, yes, you’ll make a beautiful bride and I hope you’ll come to see how lucky you are and be grateful one day.’

  Lagoy left without shutting the door. I went to it, looking out at him speaking with the man who had accompanied us through the streets. Lagoy paid him a coin to stand guard outside.

  I closed the door, bolted it, and went back to my father who was scratching his head.

  ‘What did he mean, Jeanne, love?’ he asked me. ‘What was all that about not paying me my bride-price? He says I am indebted to him. I don’t understand. Jeanne, what did he mean? Because as soon as we have it you can flee with Colin and start a new life.’

  ‘Go back to sleep, Papa,’ I said, the words sticking like dry bread in my throat. ‘I will be up in the attic.’

  ‘Jeanne?’ he asked as I took to the narrow stairs, leaving him in the dark.

  ‘Go back to sleep, Papa,’ I soothed.

  He did not need to be troubled by the news of what had befallen poor Colin. It would only scare sleep away from him. I postponed telling him that I would be leaving the next day. I could try to get a message to Aimee’s mother to look in on him until I could make other plans for his care. Without me he would die.

  Upstairs in the dusty, cluttered attic, I put the candle and my hatchet on the windowsill, watching a moth spinning outside. I sat between two heavy trunks, my knees pulled up to my chin, and I began to cry.

  ‘Mama,’ I sobbed. ‘Where are you? I need you.’