'Who spoke of murder? You have a sword, sir, and so have I. Use it—'
The other officer, who had so far said nothing but had merely watched the scene with evident amusement, now intervened. He was smaller than his companion, who was tall and slim and elegant in a way that could not help but appear slightly affected, with quick black eyes and a bronzed complexion which he must have acquired under some distant sun.
'Suppose you were to tell us first who you are?' he suggested. 'One cannot fight just anyone, especially here, where his lordship the Comte de Rochambeau is so strict in the matter of duelling. You have the look of a gentleman but that is not enough. Your name, if you please.'
The light, insolent tone caught Gilles on the raw. He looked down his nose at the speaker, who was a good head shorter than himself, and answered curtly: 'My name is Gilles Goëlo, sir. Is that enough for you?'
It was the turn of the dark young man to lift his eyebrows.
'By no means! What kind of a name is that? Are you even a gentleman?'
'No, sir!' Gilles exclaimed in exasperation. 'I am not, or not in the sense that you mean, for the name I bear is my mother's. My father, who was a gentleman, not having found the time to acknowledge me. If you prefer it, I am a bastard! Bastard of Tournemine, as they would have said in the middle ages. And now I have said enough. Kill me, sir. It is preferable to insulting me.'
The dark young man was about to answer but his companion intervened.
'Let be, my dear Noailles,' he said with a shrug and a light laugh. 'Since he insists, let us give him the pleasure! In any case, a little exercise in this chill wind will warm us up. Follow us, sir. You may leave er – our horse with my servant there.' He nodded in the direction of a man standing a short way behind. 'He will restore your baggage to you – if you should return alive. If not, it will be my unhappy task to restore it to your worthy mother. Have you any seconds, by the way?'
'I have but this moment arrived, sir, and I have an introduction to Madame de Couédic, but I know no one here. I have already told you that I ran away from Vannes.'
The stranger considered Gilles with some perplexity.
'You are a curious character, my escaped seminarist! May I inquire how old you are?'
'Seventeen.'
'No more? Almighty God, I had hoped for more. But then, if I kill you, surely I am going to appear an infanticide?'
His aggrieved tone drew a smile from Gilles and a quick bow.
'Fear not, sir. I am very much older than my years. And I think your friend is one who might fill the place of all the seconds in the world.'
The subject of this laughed and returned the bow.
'Upon my soul! That was bravely said and I'm much obliged to you, young man. I shall do my best. Come – only I warn you, it's some distance. Here, one can't fight just anywhere. It must be done in secret if you want to avoid being called to account for it.'
He took his friend's arm and they walked on to the ferry below the castle. Gilles followed, trying not to think and gazing wide-eyed on the martial and naval scene which, he felt sure, was soon to be extinguished for him for ever. Above all, he tried not to think of Judith, since he would not even have the consolation of a glorious death about which she would know nothing.
The three young men crossed the Penfeld whose shores, hemmed in by the fortifications and the magazines, were like one vast workshop, and came to the Quai de Recouvrance. From there, they made their way along the walls skirting the village. It was behind these walls that affairs of honour were regularly settled, being well out of the way of the prying eyes of authority.
They stopped at the foot of a bastion. The place was deserted, the ground level and the grass short. From it, one could see the magnificent panorama of the Channel and the roadstead with the dancing red sails of the fishing smacks. A big frigate out of Bertheaume was tacking as gracefully as a seagull. The sky was a soft grey and the sea a beautiful dark green and Gilles thought that he could not have chosen a nobler view to close his eyes on.
Calmly, he slipped off his cloak, tossed his hat away and took off his coat. Then he drew his sword and saluted.
'I am at your service, sir,' he declared firmly. 'Will you do me the honour of telling me who I am to fight?'
The young colonel's almost too perfect features were disturbed by a slight smile. The wind had put some colour into a face as pale and delicate as any woman's and his eyes had a brighter shine in them. He, too, had removed his coat and the wind was swelling his shirt of fine lawn trimmed with costly lace.
'That is fair. I am Count Axel de Fersen, a Swedish officer in French service, acting colonel in the Royal Deux-Ponts regiment and at present aide de camp to General de Rochambeau, as also is the Vicomte de Noailles here. Does that satisfy you?'
'Entirely, and honoured to cross swords with a gentleman of your quality. Believe me, I appreciate it. May I ask one last favour, however?'
The other's eyebrows rose again in slight disdain.
'A – favour?'
Gilles laughed. 'Oh, nothing for myself, never fear! It is simply that, since I know no one here, I should like news of my fate to be conveyed to the one person who cares about me, my godfather, the Abbé Vincent-Marie de Talhouët-Grationnaye, rector of Hennebont.'
'I will see to it, sir,' Noailles broke in. 'If your godfather is a Talhouët, then you are practically one of us. You may die in peace!'
Gilles thanked him with a smile and, murmuring a brief prayer inwardly, took up his position without more delay. The Swede engaged as coolly as if he were in the fencing school. The same faint smile lingered on his lips and he gave every appearance of one prepared to despatch the thief of his horse with all speed. But Gilles, who had few illusions about himself, was surprised to find that he could parry the first passes fairly easily. Some faint hope stirred in him and he did his best to remember all that Guillaume Briant had taught him and, above all, to curb his impatience. This was not easy, for the long, pale figure opposite seemed activated by a kind of indestructible mechanical force and fought so neatly as to leave no opening.
All at once, he heard Fersen laugh and flushed angrily.
'Will you tell me what you find so funny?' he cried.
'Funny is hardly the word. It is merely that I should like to know how many duels you have fought before this, young sir.'
'You mean, I take it, that I am clumsy? Well, let me tell you, this is the first.'
'I thought so. And you are not in the least clumsy. But a novice, yes – that much is evident.'
'It need not induce you to spare me—'
Holding his point high, he was about to rush in wildly to the attack when Noailles threw himself in between the combatants, at grave risk of injury to himself.
'Sheath your swords, gentlemen, I implore you!' he cried. 'Look who is here!'
Two men had just come round the corner of the bastion and were advancing on the scene of the duel. The sight of them drew something like a groan from the Swede.
'That's just our luck! When I do break the law for once, it has to be the General himself who catches me at it! I'm for a court martial at the least—'
'And the Admiral with him into the bargain,' the Vicomte muttered. 'We are done for!'
'I beg your pardon, sirs,' Gilles broke in, uneasily, 'but do you mean that these two gentlemen—'
'Are our commander-in-chief, the Comte de Rochambeau, and the Chevalier de Ternay, Admiral of the fleet which is to carry us across the Atlantic. We have been caught red-handed and our jobs as ADC's are not worth a brass farthing. You, sir, are saved.'
Gilles was about to retort that his salvation was rather less assured than the Vicomte seemed to think, but those walking towards them were already within earshot. One, a very tall man of about fifty with a full face and regular features somewhat marred by a deep scar on the temple, showed a glimpse of the order of St Louis under his cloak. This was the General. The other, a wizened, sad-faced little man of uncertain age, wore the red wai
stcoat and dark blue coat and breeches of a naval officer. He was the Admiral. He walked with a stick on account of a limp caused by an old wound.
'My compliments, gentlemen,' Rochambeau said curtly. 'You arrived yesterday, you have been members of my staff since this morning and already you are contravening my orders? Duelling is forbidden. You know that and yet—'
Here Gilles, moved by a faint hope, was prompted to intervene.
'If you please, General,' he said hesitantly, bowing as respectfully as he knew how, 'but it was not a duel.'
Rochambeau turned and stared at him.
'Do you take me for a blind man or a fool? What, then, was it, may I ask?'
'A well-deserved lesson.'
'Indeed? And who may you be?'
'A presumptuous young Breton. Only yesterday, I was still a pupil at St Yves college in Vannes and I am but newly arrived in Brest. I have an introduction to Madame du Couédic—'
He recounted, with a fine assumption of innocence, how he had gone to have a look at the harbour and, meeting the two officers there, had asked his way of them and fallen into conversation.
'I told them it was my most earnest wish to sail with the army under you, General. At that, they fell to mocking me, saying that to fight a war you needed people who could wield something other than a pen, and I offered to show them what else I could do. I must admit,' he added with a smile, 'that these gentlemen were right. I am not very proficient with a sword—'
'Not at all, not at all!' the Vicomte interrupted, entering into Gilles' plan with enthusiasm. 'You acquitted yourself very well, young sir.'
The General's eyes rested coldly on all three young men in turn, but lingered on the Swede.
'And do you confirm this, Count Fersen?'
'Most definitely, General. The young man is extremely – er – promising, in every way. He could make an excellent recruit.'
'Very well. In that case, I will leave you to your amusements, gentlemen, and Monsieur de Ternay and I will resume our inspection of the defences. Ah, but I was forgetting you, young man,' he added, turning back to Gilles. 'You did say you had an introduction to Madame du Couédic?'
'Yes, sir.'
'Then you are out of luck. Madame du Couédic has left for her house at Kerguelénen. Brest was too painful for her after her husband's death. If you wish to see her you will have to go back to Douarnenez. Good day to you, sir.'
'But, General—'
Gilles' protest died on the wind. Rochambeau was already turning away to rejoin his companion who had strolled a little way off and was staring out to sea, leaving the commander-in-chief to deal with his subordinates as he thought fit. The two men strode off rapidly, their great, black cloaks billowing in the wind and Gilles watched them in near despair. His luck was going with them, for with Madame du Couédic away from Brest he had no other way of approaching either of the two commanders on whom his hopes rested. By the time he had been to Douarnenez, especially on foot, since he no longer possessed a horse, and returned again, the fleet would certainly have sailed.
A gentle cough reminded him of the existence of his chance companions, whom he had temporarily forgotten.
'Well, sir,' Noailles said. 'Are you coming, or do you mean to spend the night here?'
He turned and saw that the Swede had resumed his coat and was already fastening his cloak.
'Forgive me,' he said. 'I had forgotten you. Are we not to resume our fight?'
Fersen shrugged. 'Do you not feel we have done enough? It has been a close shave but I acknowledge that your presence of mind got us out of a tight corner. I thank you, and deem myself the more satisfied since you have restored the horse you – er – borrowed from me. Let us leave it at that and return to Brest.'
Without waiting for an answer, he began to stroll slowly down to the ferry. Gilles was left to finish dressing in his turn, feeling almost sorry in his disappointment that he had been deprived of a death which would have solved all his problems. He was watched interestedly by the Vicomte de Noailles who had remained with him.
'What will you do?' the Vicomte asked at last, when they were on the path. 'And what was it you expected Madame du Couédic, whom I know only by name, to do for you?'
Responding to his new acquaintance's sympathetic tone, Gilles explained, concluding, with no more than a sigh: 'Now, it is all done with. By the time I have been to Douarnenez and back, you will all be gone. I failed to speak to the General just now, and in any case he has no reason to take an interest in me. I shall never be his secretary and I shall never go to join Monsieur de La Fayette who, they say, is a hero worthy of antiquity. Unless I can enlist in one of the regiments that are going.'
'Don't pin your hopes on that. They are turning men away.'
'How can that be? It would surely be the first time a recruiting sergeant ever turned down a recruit. I've seen them at work often enough. They'll do anything to get more men.'
'Oh, yes. They'll take you with open arms if you choose a regiment like Karrer's or some other that is garrisoned here. But for America, they are turning people away. You see, there are too many troops already for the transport available. The Chevalier de Ternay, whom you saw just now, is always looking on the black side and he absolutely refuses to take more than five thousand men on board. There are nearly ten thousand here. As for the volunteer officers, I know of more than one who will have to stay behind in the faint hope of securing a passage at a later date. They'll not take you.'
Not wishing to repay the young nobleman's interest with a display of self-pity, Gilles struggled to put a brave face on and smiled courageously, even though there was death in his heart.
'Well,' he said, 'then that is the end of my dreams. But I thank you, sir, for your interest.' He made the other a bow.
They returned, as they had come, by the ferryboat. Fersen found his valet still waiting stolidly beneath the tower of La Motte-Tanguy, walking Merlin up and down. He restored Gilles' baggage to him.
The three men bowed and parted. But Gilles felt a pang as he watched the horse he had come to love being led away by the manservant. Now he would be truly alone.
At that moment, Noailles, his interest thoroughly aroused, turned back.
'Where are you staying, young man?' he asked. 'Lodgings here are as hard to come by as berths on the king's ships.'
'It hardly matters now. My best course might be to leave at once.'
He did not say where he meant to go, for the truth was that he did not really know. He had promised his godfather not to return to Hennebont until he had become a man. Perhaps, after all, Douarnenez would still be the best place to make for. Madame du Couédic might find a way.
'I should not advise it,' the Vicomte said seriously. 'Night is falling, and rain too. God forgive me! This is no weather to be travelling the roads – especially on foot, now that you are without a horse. At least spend the night here.'
'In that case, I was recommended to the inn of the Pilier Rouge, by the posting house of the Seven Saints. The landlord is a countryman of mine.'
'Go there, then, and don't stir before tomorrow. They say the night brings counsel. That is not always true but it does bring rest, at least, and you could do with that.'
'Noailles, what are you doing?' the Swede called irritably, retracing his steps. 'The weather's turning nasty and we shall be soaked. Let the boy go hang himself where he will. The matter is at an end.'
Gilles started forward impetuously, ready to hurl himself angrily at the insolent Swede, whom he was beginning to dislike exceedingly, but he was brought up short by young Noailles' hand on his arm.
'I'm coming,' Noailles said calmly and, in an undertone, he added: 'Promise me you will not leave Brest before noon tomorrow.'
'But I—'
'Don't go imagining things, but only promise me. If you have had no sign from me by noon, then you are free to go.'
'It will be a waste of time – but I promise, sir, and either way I thank you.'
Left alone on t
he quay, Gilles firmly refused to speculate further on the unknown Vicomte's oracular words and set out to look for the Pilier Rouge without more delay. He had had enough disappointments for one day and preferred not to let his imagination run too freely.
However, another disappointment awaited him at the inn. When he made himself known to the landlord, that worthy raised his arms to heaven in a tragic gesture.
'A room? What does cousin Guillaume think I am? Does he think my house is as big as the king's palace? Not only have I no rooms left at all, not even for myself, but I have not even the smallest closet! In the ordinary way I take in country folk, small tradesmen and packmen, but with the city so crowded as it is now I am lodging officers. I even have a colonel – a Monsieur de something-or-other, all over gold lace. At home—'
Clearly, while he could not get over the honour of it, the colonel was also something of a mixed blessing. His demands were no doubt inconvenient.
'Listen,' Gilles pleaded, 'can't you find me just a tiny corner anywhere, not even in the loft? I simply have to stay here until noon tomorrow. I – I am expecting to hear from a friend. And I am very tired and hungry. Guillaume Briant told me you would look after me. I can pay, you know.'
Mine host Corentin Briant pulled off his cap, the better to scratch his head.
'It's easy enough to feed you. It's lodging that's the problem. Do you know there are people sleeping on the beach at this moment? On the other hand, if I let you sleep out, cousin Guillaume is not the man to forgive it… Very well, listen. If you can be content with a bale of straw and a corner of the coach house, maybe we can do it. There's not much room, because the coach house is full. The colonel's carriage is a great thing with fine cushions in it, and it fills the place completely.'
'That's all I need,' Gilles cried joyfully. 'Give me something to eat, quickly, and then show me my bale of straw.'
An hour later, his stomach the better for a rich and fragrant cotriade stuffed with every kind of fish in the Iroise, and a huge bowl of mulled cider, Gilles, much cheered, was crossing the Pilier's small stable yard in the wake of the innkeeper who carried a lantern in one hand and a bale of straw in the other.
Falcon 1 - The Lure of the Falcon Page 13