A stinging pain seared across his back and his body swung a little from the force of the blow. Tears welled up under his closed eyelids but no sound passed the twofold barrier of his clenched teeth and lips. The belt hissed again and the pain was worse because the steel tang of the buckle tore his flesh, while the swinging increased the agony in his wrists. As he waited for the third blow, Gilles was feeling slightly sick. But the blow did not fall. Instead, Morvan came and stood before him.
'Now that you know what is in store for you, suppose we talk,' he said, in such silken tones that Gilles opened his eyes.
'Talk – I have nothing to say to you, you villain!'
'Oh yes, you have! A great deal… things that could mean you'll still have a shred or two of skin on your back when I kill you. And I'll make it quick, I promise you. You see, you did us a good turn by coming here. We were just going to look for you, my friends and I.'
'What for? Because you don't like Blavet water?'
'I don't, but that's another story. What interests me is the General's little secrets. You are his secretary, and must be somewhat in his confidence. So be a good boy and tell us about the gold—'
'Gold?'
'Come on, don't play the innocent. There was a seaman from the Duc de Bourgogne in the hospital on Conanicut muttering in his delirium about a huge sum in gold that had been brought aboard the vessel.'
In spite of his agony, Gilles laughed. But at the same time his throat tightened in terror. The secret! Rochambeau's great secret was known to Morvan. For all the secrecy with which it had been carried aboard, someone had witnessed it.
'Your seaman must have been raving, then. Every captain has a chest to defray the expenses of the vessel, but that is common knowledge.'
'I am not talking of that money. I am talking of a cargo taken aboard very mysteriously at dead of night in Brest, bales of hay that seemed peculiarly heavy and gave off a strange sound. I should say that the seaman's tale only confirmed a certain rumour I myself had heard at L'Orient. It was said that the Chevalier de Ternay's fleet would be carrying much gold. That was why I embarked, to look into it. As far as I'm concerned the Rebels, as they call them—'
The gesture which accompanied the words indicated very clearly what Morvan thought of the Rebels. He moved closer to his victim.
'So, you'll talk?'
'I don't know anything about it. You'd better ask this seaman of yours, since he knows so much.'
'We began with him. But he knew nothing more. He searched for it, naturally, on the voyage, but he found nothing.'
'Because there was nothing to find.'
'Or because it was too well hidden. But if there's one person who can tell us anything, it'll be you.'
'Supposing there were any gold aboard, how do you know it is still there?'
'The Duc deBourgogne has never been alongside the quay, and you can't unload a weight like that from her anchorage. But it may not be there for much longer now. Young La Fayette will have come to collect it on behalf of his pals. So you'd better tell us where it's hidden, and mighty quickly too, if you want to make a pretty corpse. Why, I might even do you the honour of crossing swords with you. A fine, noble death for a bastard. But I'm a generous man…'
'You are a maniac! I know nothing of this phantom hoard.'
'You know nothing, eh? Grégoire!'
The torment recommenced. Two, three, five times the impromptu lash fell, leaving beads of blood. His back on fire, his stomach heaving, Gilles set his jaw and managed to bite back the shrieks of anguish for which his whole tortured body cried. Not a sound passed his lips. Now and then, Morvan would put a question to him, always the same. And then, suddenly, there was something like an explosion, followed immediately by two shots. The tavern door fell inwards, torn from its hinges by an irresistible force and on the threshold, growling ferociously, like a mastiff about to charge, Tim Thocker stood upon the ruined panels, a pistol in either hand. Grégoire, the man with the lash, and one of the other two lay dead, the first with a ball in his neck, the second shot through the heart. But Tim had already dropped his now useless pistols and drawing from its sheath the long knife that hung from his belt, he flung himself on Morvan while the fourth scoundrel, abruptly sobered and terrified by the appearance of so formidable a fire power, seized his chance to vanish through the gaping doorway without further ado.
Gilles, reviving miraculously, wriggled on the end of his rope, savaging his wrists still more, and panted: 'Don't kill him! He's mine!'
The knife had pierced Morvan's shoulder and Tim was already drawing it out, stained with blood.
'Sorry,' he said coolly. 'But don't fret. I've only damaged him a trifle. He'll be there when you want him.'
With that he picked up 'Samson', who was clutching his wounded shoulder with an agonized expression, by the scruff of his neck and carried him, one-handed, to the doorway. A resounding kick directed to the seat of his breeches sent him sprawling on the quay.
'And now for you,' Tim said, hooking a stool to stand on.
With unexpected gentleness, he supported his friend against him with one arm while he cut the rope and then lowered the bleeding body to the ground.
'Hey, Flint! Where are you? You can come out now. We need you.'
The innkeeper emerged at once, as white as his apron, but his maid was with him and she, at least, seemed to have kept her head for she was carrying water, lint and bandages. Gilles, mercifully unconscious at last, was laid face downwards on a table.
'They've certainly made a mess of him!' Tim growled. 'It's a good thing I happened to glance through the window when I saw the door was shut. Those damned curs! And they are Frenchmen! Cornplanter, chief of the Iroquois, couldn't have done better!'
Flint had been feeling the need for several glasses of rum as a restorative while his maidservant gently bathed the lacerated back with a mixture of oil and wine, but at this he started.
'My God!' he said. 'The Indian! Where is he?'
'The Indian? What Indian?'
'The kid the big red-headed one brought in under his arm. He tied him to that post, and now he's gone!'
Tim, busy trying to force Gilles' head up and make him swallow a few drops of rum, merely shrugged. He jerked his head at the little heap of rope lying at the foot of the post.
'That just shows that he untied himself. The day has not yet dawned when a trooper from Europe can tie up an Indian securely. No doubt he took his chance while they were looking the other way and is well away by now. Much good may it do him.'
'Idiot!' Gilles gasped, spluttering through a mouthful of rum but himself again. 'Go after him! We need him—The General says—God almighty! What are you doing to me? Are you trying to take off what's left of my skin?' he added, writhing under Molly's strong fingers.
'Yell all you like, sir,' the girl retorted, spreading on a thick layer of nauseating greenish-coloured ointment. 'You'll thank me tomorrow when your wounds begin to heal.'
'What a stink!'
'You can't expect it to smell like roses. There's spermaceti in it, and bear's grease, St John's wort – and a host of other things. This ointment is a secret I had off an old Narragansett medicine man, but it will heal you better than a needle and thread can cobble up your stocking. Now stop wriggling, do. Or you'll get it up your nose.'
Gilles did as he was told and while Molly made a sort of bandage round his body, he explained to Tim as best he could without mentioning the gold, why it was that he regretted the Indian's disappearance.
'What are we going to tell the General?' he finished gloomily. But it needed more than that to upset Tim Thocker's calm.
'The best way to find out is to go and see. If you can get up, let's go at once.'
In another minute Gilles, dressed and fortified with another drink, was leaving the inn, leaving Flint to deal as best he might with the bodies of the two dead hussars. It was a little cooler than it had been and the sea was slowly reverting to its normal blue. The harbour and the streets
were coming to life again. Women in straw bonnets were entering the shops, holding by the hand small girls identically dressed. Martha, with a wide goffered cap on her piled-up hair, was standing in her shop engaged in energetic argument with fishermen, an assortment of tobacco jars spread out before them. But none of this could take Gilles' mind from his obsession.
'Where can the boy have got to?' he muttered, gazing about him. 'He can't go unnoticed, at any rate.'
'Oh yes, he can! Indians are a common enough sight. But wait, there he is!'
They were just passing a pile of casks with a tall negro seated on top of them staring vacantly at the wheeling gulls, when the Indian boy suddenly rose up in front of them. He made no attempt to hide again, but came straight up to Gilles and stood before him. Then, raising his right hand to shoulder level, he held it palm outwards and performed a circular motion which brought it to a level with his black eyes which all the time stared fixedly at Gilles. Tim whistled softly.
'What have you been doing?' he murmured. 'He is giving you a greeting.'
But the boy had already begun to speak in short, clipped sentences which Tim made haste to translate, not troubling to hide his excitement.
'He says he wishes to be your friend because you are a true warrior! He says that he saw you laugh under torture as only his brother Indians know how to do, that he is your prisoner and proud of it. His name is Igrak, which means "the bird which never sleeps" and, as I thought, he is indeed brother to Sagoyewatha, whose name means "he who speaks to keep others awake". You've made us an ally there, my boy. If your General is not pleased with this, then he's a hard man to satisfy.'
Oblivious of his friend's condition, he was on the point of dealing him a hearty slap on the back. Gilles dodged in time but such was his delight that already the pain seemed less. He was, in fact, feeling much better. The giddiness which had affected him on leaving the inn had worn off. But he was still so pale that Tim insisted on stopping at Martha's for long enough for him to eat something and drink a cup of coffee.
'Otherwise you'll never get as far as the Wanton house.'
Rosa, Martha's fat black maid, was back and standing in the kitchen peeling peaches for a pie but she abandoned her task at once to produce an impromptu meal for the two men and Igrak, although not without much rolling of her eyes in disapproval at the latter. Martha was busy in the shop and did not appear.
'Tell her we'll be back in a while,' Tim said, swallowing the last of his coffee. 'And now for the General.'
They went on towards the Wanton house but were just crossing the road to enter Point Street when Axel Fersen stepped out suddenly from behind a tree and blocked their way.
'I was waiting for you,' he said. 'Don't go on. General's orders.'
'The General? But he's expecting us,' Gilles protested. 'We are late already.'
'I know. All the same, you must not be seen at the Wanton house. If you are, the General will have no alternative but to order your arrest.'
'Our arrest?' the two young men exclaimed indignantly with one voice. 'What for?'
'We can't stay here,' Fersen said quickly, drawing them into a narrow gap between the wooden wall of a big red-painted barn and a thick hedge of nut trees. 'We've not much time and you must be gone as soon as possible. You are accused of murdering two men of Lauzun's legion in Flint's tavern.'
'Mur—'
'Hear me out! Lauzun has been badgering headquarters for the past half-hour. He has with him two of his men, one wounded in the shoulder, and the three of them are kicking up the devil of a row! They say you attacked them in order to get hold of a young Indian, presumably the one with you now.'
Tim, who during this brief explanation had been turning all colours of the rainbow, now burst out: 'I swear on my father's bible, I never heard a more shameless tissue of lies! Murdered, eh? Let me tell you I killed those two scoundrels with my own hand and for my friend here I'd have killed the red-headed one too, and with great pleasure—'
'He saved my life, that is all!' Gilles put in indignantly. 'Look here!'
Eagerly, he pulled off shirt and waistcoat, grimacing with pain as he did so, to show the bandages, already stained with blood, which covered his back. Then, in a few swift words, he told what had passed.
'But for Tim Thocker they'd have beaten me to death,' he said grimly. 'And are we to be arrested for that? They might as well hang us!'
'Which is precisely what Lauzun is demanding,' Fersen retorted coolly. 'He is even threatening to embark his men again if he does not obtain satisfaction. I may add that the General does not believe a word of his tale and, as I said, it was he who sent me, in order to avoid having to put you under arrest.'
'Surely he and the Chevalier de Ternay are still in command? What can Lauzun do against his decision?'
'As I said, re-embark! And we cannot risk being deprived of his legion. Rochambeau would rather temporize, gain time. He has told me he was sending you on a mission which would keep you away from Rhode Island for some time. That will enable him to get at the truth and calm down Lauzun. I am to tell you to wait for him in one of the forts of the old English defences at the back of the town, the one directly in line with the church tower. He will join you there after curfew to give you your instructions.'
'That won't do,' Tim complained. 'A mission means a journey and a journey means the necessary equipment. My weapons are still at Miss Martha Carpenter's house. And my friend Gilles here has literally nothing fit for travelling in the forest. That red and blue uniform will make him as conspicuous in the woods as a parrot on its perch. Besides that, we'll need food for ourselves and our young friend, hunting gear – and some other, more suitable for Englishmen than hares—'
'All right, all right!' Fersen interrupted. 'You shall have what you want, only for the love of God make haste and get to a place of safety! And should you, by ill luck, run across any men of the legion, I beg you will curb your fighting instincts and take cover. They are quite capable of killing you on sight and a dead body never made a good messenger.'
Tim muttered something to the effect that it would give him great pleasure to wring the neck of a certain French duke but nevertheless he did as he was told and, followed by the other two, slipped along in the shadow of the hedge while Fersen, hands clasped behind his back, sauntered idly in the direction of the home of the Hunter family, prominent in the town, where he was a frequent visitor and passed his time paying casual court to the daughter.
Thanks to Tim's expert knowledge of quiet byways, untrodden paths, deep hedges and unfrequented orchards, the three fugitives arrived without incident at the old defence works which Rochambeau had not yet found time to put in order. Pushing their way through the thick vegetation with which it was overgrown, they found themselves inside a half-ruined enclosure with timbers roughly hewn from tree trunks emerging from piles of broken stones. There they selected an old casemate which was more or less habitable and settled down to wait for nightfall.
None of them had spoken since they parted from Fersen. Tim sat hunched up, elbows on knees, sucking at the pipe which he had pulled from his pocket without thinking and stuck in one corner of his mouth. He gazed absently in front of him, as though all that had happened were no concern of his. But Gilles was shaking with helpless anger and indignation, so that he even forgot the sting of his lacerated back. Only Rochambeau's direct order prevented him from hurling himself into Lauzun's camp, sword in hand, to rout out Morvan and purge the unworthy accusation levelled at his friend Tim, who had done no more than plunge into the hornet's nest in defence of his friend's life, in that wretch's blood. But he knew that he must obey his orders without question or be lost for ever. As for Igrak, he sat on a stone by the doorway, so still that he was almost indistinguishable from his surroundings.
Night was a long time coming. At last the sounds of the small town ceased one by one. When nothing broke the stillness but the call of the nightjar and the distant barking of a dog, cautious footsteps were heard in the underg
rowth. Then the yellow beam of a darkened lantern nicked over the ruins, gleaming on the silver buckles and red heels of a pair of well-made shoes, above which loomed the tall figure of the General. Behind him came Fersen, loaded like a porter.
Rochambeau stood for a moment, studying the two men who had risen at his entry. His eyes rested gravely on Gilles' face which already showed the signs of pain and fever.
'Take off that coat,' he said. 'I want to see.'
But when Tim would have undone the bandages round the young man's body, he prevented him.
'No need. A man isn't bandaged like that for nothing and besides, it does no good to disturb it when it's been well done.'
'General,' Gilles cried, 'I swear as I hope to be saved that we are no murderers!'
'If I believed you were, my boy, I should not be here. But just at present it suits me to pretend I do believe it. However, carry out your mission to my satisfaction and you shall have justice. We'll see that Monsieur de Lauzun is made to see things as they are—'
'I do not ask so much, sir.'
'What do you ask then?'
'Your permission to meet the man who had me beaten like a cur and settle my account with my sword.'
'Do you need my permission for that? A duel between soldiers—'
'No. A duel with a gentleman who refuses to cross swords with a bastard. Samson is not what he pretends to be. He bears a great name.'
'And does no credit to it, then. You shall have your duel, Gilles, and I know who will be your seconds. Now, take this letter. You will give it to General Washington and then remain with him for long enough for me to sort out this business—'
'One more word, General. The man in question was trying to make me divulge a secret which was not mine to disclose. It seems that the nights in Brest are not so dark as it was thought. A sick seaman from the Duc de Bourgogne let fall some incautious words in his delirium in the hospital on Conanicut. The men we are talking of from the legion were showing a good deal of interest—'
Falcon 1 - The Lure of the Falcon Page 20