Falcon 1 - The Lure of the Falcon

by The Lure of the Falcon (v1. 0) (lit)

  The coach-house door opened to reveal an immense apple-green chariot with its shafts in the air occupying almost all the available space. Gilles' jaw dropped.

  'I'm not fat,' he said, 'but do you really think I can fit in there?'

  'Why, to be sure,' the landlord answered calmly, scattering hay in a random way between the two huge wheels. 'It doesn't look like it but from this side, you see, you can even get the door open. Oh yes, it's a fine vehicle as fine vehicles go! And then the inside of it! I'd stake my hat on it, one could sleep in there as well as in a bed.'

  This was said in such a way that Gilles stared fixedly at the man for a second, and then broke into laughter.

  'I'm sure you are right, Master Briant! This straw will enable me to sleep soundly until dawn. I was always an early riser.'

  'Then shut the door well and don't make a noise. The coachman sleeps above but he is drunk most nights and never awake before mid-morning. A fine sort of coachman, he is! If I were the colonel—'

  Not many minutes later Gilles, comfortably settled on the cushions of the green berlin, had forgotten all his cares and was fast asleep. He dreamed that he, too, was a colonel and charging the convent gates at Hennebont at the head of his men, to snatch Judith away and bear her off on Merlin's crupper deep into a forest full of vast trees peopled with men of every colour.

  The crowing of the cock roused him from this felicity to the uncertain present which, however, he was able to face with more confidence than the night before. And the first rheumy light of dawn found him stripped to the waist, washing himself at the pump in the stable yard.

  He dressed and combed his hair with particular care and then, having breakfasted on a bowl of thick ham soup, settled himself in the common room of the inn to await developments – which might not even occur. However, noon had been set as the limit to his waiting. After that, he would see about taking the coach to Landerneau, whence it should be possible to reach Châteaulin and from there, Douarnenez and the chateau of Kerguelénen in Pouldergat, the home of his last hope. If he ran much of the way, he might still be back in time to catch the fleet before it sailed, and surely Madame du Couédic would find some captain of a frigate or other vessel to send him to.

  Gilles waited for a long time, keeping one eye on the long-case clock of chestnut wood whose loud ticking punctuated the whole life of the inn. Nine o'clock struck, then ten and then eleven, nibbling away at the hopes that rested in the young Vicomte's, admittedly vague, words.

  All hope was quite gone and the hands of the clock moving towards twelve when the broad blue and white figure of a marine appeared in the inn doorway.

  'Is there a gentleman named Gilles Goëlo here?' he bawled from the threshold, without deigning to enter.

  He did not have to ask twice. Already Gilles was on his feet.

  'I am he.'

  'Will you come with me.'

  'Where to, if you please?'

  'To the Quartermaster General's office, where you are awaited most urgently. You must make haste.'

  'Then I am with you.'

  Entrusting his slender baggage to Corentin Briant, Gilles followed the soldier, aware that his heart was beating a good deal faster than usual. Not a word was spoken as they made their way in single file across almost the entire width of the city as far as the Arsenal and the imposing mansion with a military guard outside which served both as lodging and headquarters for the man known as the White Admiral, the Deputy Quartermaster General, all-powerful representative of the Navy Office and absolute master of the docks and depots of the Grand Arsenal. The present incumbent of this office was the Comte d'Hector, a chronically nervous man who endeavoured to combat his frequent attacks of giddiness by long days hunting.

  The whole house was in an uproar. Gold-laced officers and busy clerks with pens behind their ears moved here and there, running up and downstairs carrying papers and fat ledgers. The entrance hall and staircase echoed to the drumming of feet and a buzz of conversation.

  Still following his guide, Gilles reached the first floor, where he was handed over to an orderly. He was led, by way of a short gallery and a long corridor, to a door which was opened to the announcement: 'Here is the gentleman you were expecting, sir.'

  Somewhat dazed, Gilles found himself in a room whose lofty, uncurtained windows let in as much light as was possible on such a dreary day. The walls were covered with naval charts, diagrams and a rather fine painting of a naval engagement under a smoke-filled sky. Besides a large cupboard, the chief furnishings were two tables, a large one piled with papers and ledgers and a small one equipped only with writing materials. The man seated at the larger table looked up as Gilles entered. He was a thin, pale, lugubrious person with a pair of spectacles perched on his long nose, but his wig was powdered and he wore a suit of fine, chestnut-coloured weave with a plain stock at his neck.

  He sat for a moment, silently nibbling the end of his pen and contemplating the new arrival who saluted him courteously, although in some bewilderment. At length he cleared his throat and, stroking his clean-shaven cheek with the quill in a thoughtful way, he spoke, somewhat patronizingly.

  'It has come to our ears that you are soliciting an appointment as secretary to his excellency, the Comte de Rochambeau, young man. Is that correct?'

  Gilles flushed. 'Quite correct, sir.'

  'Hmm… Very well. You will appreciate, however, that to solicit such an appointment is not invariably to obtain it. You must first demonstrate your capacity. Good secretaries,' he added, stressing the words in such a way as to leave Gilles in no doubt of how he personally estimated the importance of such persons, 'are few and far between.'

  The younger man repressed a smile.

  'Believe me, sir, I am very sure of that. But may I derive some encouragement from your words?'

  'Not so fast. It is true that fate seems to be on your side, for that position was occupied until yesterday by a most capable young man from Angers with a fine head for figures, but he has received news of an alarming nature from home which has obliged him to quit his post for what will undoubtedly be many weeks. The count was in some perplexity when one of his ADC's, the Vicomte de Noailles, most warmly recommended you. He seems to have a high opinion of you. We have decided, therefore, to give you a trial. Sit at that little table. Take pen and paper and be ready to write at my dictation. We have to see, first, how well you can write.'

  Gilles obeyed mechanically arranging his papers, taking up a pen and assuring himself that it was well cut, and then waited. He was feeling somewhat uncomfortable, for he guessed that this pompous individual was about to put him through some kind of examination, and would not spare him, so that his palms were moist and there was a tiresome lump that kept coming and going in his throat. But when the secretary began to dictate, that small discomfort vanished. After all, it was a battle like any other and, while the pen might not be as noble as the sword, it could prove an effective enough passport to America.

  The letter, addressed to the Minister for the Navy, M. de Sartines, began with a long string of formal courtesies enunciated with droning pomposity, and then launched into a lenghty requisition of supplies for the Chevalier de Ternay, concluding with an unequivocal call for money. But by then Gilles' pen was scratching away merrily, carried along by the new hope uplifting him.

  When it was finished, the secretary peered down his long nose at it and read it through carefully before laying it down on his desk and subjecting Gilles to a fresh test. This time it was a long column of figures to be added up and otherwise dealt with in a variety of ways that made the young man screw up his face in anguish, for he was not overfond of mathematics. Even so, he acquitted himself creditably enough, or so he hoped.

  After that, his tormentor went on without a pause to a further trial, consisting this time of a stream of point-blank questions on the subject of oceanography, posed with an alarming casualness and, what was worse, in English.

  But if the secretary had thought to disconcert th
e candidate, he soon found his mistake. Thanks to his godfather, Gilles possessed a more than adequate knowledge of the language of Shakespeare and, if his accent left something to be desired, at least it was not too obviously provincial.

  It was at this point that the door opened again and Gilles had barely time to jump to his feet, for the newcomer was none other than Rochambeau himself.

  His cool gaze swept over Gilles and came to rest on his examiner who had stopped dead with his mouth open. 'Well, Monsieur Jego?' he inquired. The secretary's thin back bowed obsequiously. 'We have almost finished, my lord. Indeed, I do believe that the young Victomte de Noailles' recommendation of this young man was fully justified. He expresses himself well, seems well educated, writes a fair hand and his English appears to me quite satisfactory.'

  'We'll have Monsieur de Fersen's judgment on that. He speaks the language perfectly. Very well, sir. I'm much obliged to you. Will you leave me now to speak to the young man alone?'

  The secretary effaced himself and the commander-in-chief was left alone with his would-be follower.

  Rochambeau seated himself in the chair Jego had vacated and studied the young man attentively.

  'It would appear, sir, that you are most fit for the post for which Monsieur de Noailles has recommended you. But you will understand that I should like to know a little more of you before making you a definite offer. Who are you, exactly?'

  Instantly, Gilles took from his pocket his godfather's letter and the other papers he had with him, such as his certificates of birth and baptism, and held them out.

  'Here are all my papers, General. And, with your permission, I should like to add this letter, which will certainly not reach its destination now. It is from my godfather, the Abbé de Talhouët-Grationnaye, and it is addressed to Madame du Couédic de Kerguelénen, however, since I am not acquainted with the lady I feel sure that it contains a full introduction. If that is not enough, I will engage to answer any questions you may care to ask me as fully as I can.'

  The General took the letter in silence and read it carefully, which, since it was fairly lengthy, took some time. He then returned it to its owner, but for the first time Gilles saw the shadow of a smile cross his face.

  'Ran away from the college at Vannes, eh? Good blood but no name – or as good as? I see. Tell me, though, what makes you so eager to come and fight with me overseas? Because, make no mistake about that – all my men are going to have to fight, even my secretary!'

  The young man's eyes flashed.

  'I hoped you might have said: "Especially my secretary",' he said with a youthful enthusiasm which produced an instant softening of Rochambeau's frosty eyes. 'As for America – I have a feeling that there is something waiting for me there. I don't know what, precisely, I only know that I must go there, at all costs!'

  'Well, well. We shall see. Where are you lodged?'

  'A – at the inn called the Pilier Rouge, in a way.'

  'Why, in a way?'

  'I mean I spent the night there, but the fact is that I slept in a carriage belonging to a colonel whose name I do not even know.'

  This time Rochambeau laughed aloud.

  'Most ingenious. However, I cannot feel that any colonel's carriage is a proper shelter for my secretary. Take your baggage over to my quarters in the Cours Dajot, in the admiral's house. They'll find you a bed. Settle in and come to me at two this afternoon on board the Duc de Bourgogne. We shall have work to do. Off with you, sir!'

  A moment later, Gilles found himself, still dazed with his good fortune, in the passage leading to the main staircase. He was so happy that he seemed to be on wings.

  In his elation, he almost precipitated himself straight into the arms of young Noailles who was pacing up and down the same corridor, evidently waiting for something.

  'Hey there!' he called out, laughing. 'Steady on! Anyone would think you were in a hurry!'

  Flushed equally with happiness and embarrassment as he realized that he had all but knocked down his guardian angel, Gilles endeavoured to regain his balance sufficiently to make his bow.

  'Indeed, my lord, my humble apologies,' he exclaimed. 'I did not see you there.'

  'So I see! You were not looking at anything at all! You were charging like one of Marshall de Saxe's Tartars at Fontenoy! It seems that all is well with you?'

  'Wonderful! Thanks to you! Oh, sir, I am so grateful to you! You see, I am appointed secretary to the Comte de Rochambeau – and given a lodging into the bargain!'

  'I am delighted to hear it. But don't thank me too much. I merely put your name forward, that was all. You owe your appointment to your own ability and capacity to please. It makes me very happy. So now we are going to fight the English together! I think you will find some rare opportunities to better yourself there.'

  'I hope so with all my heart. But – will you set the seal on your kindness by answering me one question?'

  Noailles laughed. 'Oho! My kindness, is it? You do me too much honour. I am not kind, young man. Indeed, I can be quite nasty when I put my mind to it. But ask away—' Gilles looked the Vicomte very directly in the eyes.

  'Why did you help me?' he asked bluntly. 'The manner of our first meeting was scarcely in my favour. I stole your friend's horse. Moreover, I am neither of your rank nor of your world. I have no quality—'

  'Rank can be acquired,' Noailles interrupted him seriously. 'Worlds are there to be entered. As to quality, I flatter myself that I have some skill in reading faces and I think you have more than you know, and that you will do credit to my judgment. And then—'

  'Yes?'

  'Well, you displayed such a touching reverence for our good La Fayette that I felt I must bring so stout an ally to him instantly. He has none too many, and you are quite the most enthusiastic I have met. Damnation! A lad who runs away from school and steals a horse to join him! Gilbert will be overjoyed.' In his innocence, Gilles was on the point of stopping him and pointing out that joining La Fayette had not been his only motive in the business, but he checked himself. Especially as it had just dawned on him that the Vicomte had called his hero by his Christian name.

  'You call him Gilbert?' he said with new respect, for the name Noailles had meant little to him. 'Are you so well acquainted with him?'

  This made the Vicomte laugh outright.

  'Anyone can see that you are country bred! My dear fellow, he's my brother-in-law. We each of us married one of my uncle Ayen's two daughters. But, alas,' he made a comical face as he spoke, 'I can see that my humble efforts have not made quite the same impression on the youth of Brittany as his! You dream about him and I dare say you haven't the faintest idea that, while he's been making love to the Rebels, I've been getting sunburnt with M. d'Estaing in Grenada? Oh, fame is a capricious mistress. It's true, of course, that I wasn't quite alone.'

  It seemed to Gilles as if the heavens had opened. His saviour was a hero.

  'You were? Oh, sir, you will never be rid of me now. I shall dog your footsteps until you tell me all about it. I am going to—'

  'You are going to do precisely whatever you have been ordered, and quick about it!' Noailles broke in, clapping his young admirer on the shoulder. 'The General is a stickler for accuracy and he dislikes vagueness and unpunctuality above all things. As for my adventures, there will be plenty of time for those during the long days at sea! Run away, now. You won't have much free time between now and when we set sail. The General wants to be off in two days, but we can think ourselves lucky if we are away inside twelve.'

  Gilles very soon found out that Noailles had not exaggerated. A gruelling work-load lay ahead of him that went far beyond merely dealing with the commander-in-chief's correspondence. He was up at dawn and dividing his time between Rochambeau, who shuttled back and forth continually between the ships and the cramped barracks where his troops were quartered, and the Quartermaster, M. de Tarlé, to whom the General obligingly lent him because of his quick understanding. M. de Tarlé was everywhere at once, since it was
his task to collect the necessary supplies for an army of embarkation and assemble them in the port of Brest.

  Gilles, in his innocence, had imagined that despatching an army to war was a simple and beautiful affair: troops in brand new uniforms with gleaming weapons being marched on board great ships, lovely as castles in a dream, then up with the sails and away they sailed to glory, with the sun shining and the bells pealing. He soon found out that before that sublime moment arrived, a good many people had to work like slaves in a thoroughly inglorious atmosphere of flour bags and ill-ventilated stores where every barrel of salt pork and even every piece of cloth had to be disputed with the rats. He discovered that a fleet was a many-headed monster with a belly that must be stuffed endlessly with food and ammunition, to say nothing of a host of other assorted supplies, ranging from cows and crates of chickens to communion wine. He was not the plumed servant of a noble knight quite divorced from sordid earthly cares, he was quite simply Gargantua's scullion.

  Then, with a ledge or a roll of documents under his arm, he galloped away from the Quartermaster's office to the warehouses where blankets, shirts and shoes by the thousand were stored, along with tools of every kind, cooking pots, flour, fat, rice, oil, wine, salt meat, cabbages, dried peas and turnips, and from there to the quays along the Penfeld, where they were still working frenziedly on the unfinished vessels which were to carry all this gear.

  The Arsenal, the rope walk, the smithies reddening the night with their great fires, the sailmakers' and all the other workshops involved in preparing the ships, some of which were still in dry dock, were scenes of frantic activity. Extra gangs of workmen and convicts worked day and night: in the rain which fell incessantly by day and at night by the light of guttering candles. Tired out and fractionally disappointed though he was, Gilles still had the feeling of being present at the birth of a giant. Brest was in labour with a fleet and an adventure.

  From time to time, as he sat at his small table in the great after cabin of the Duc de Bourgogne, writing to the General's dictation one of the countless letters with which he bombarded the War Minister, the Prince de Montbarrey, Gilles would catch a glimpse of the brilliant little group of the six aides de camp, Damas, Dillon, young Rochambeau and Lameth, with Noailles and Fersen among them. But although the young Vicomte always had a smile and a kind word for him, the handsome Swede scarcely deigned to acknowledge him. Possibly he was still brooding over the theft of his horse.