Honour and the Sword

by A L Berridge

  André knew it, and after a moment he sheathed his sword. Then he lifted his head and said ‘I acknowledge your right, Monsieur. What I question is your decency.’

  He practically spat the word, but Father only smiled again.

  ‘I am required to look after your horses, Sieur. I am not required to be decent.’

  The boy stared, wrong-footed and weaponless. He turned suddenly to me, the question glaring out of his face, but I couldn’t do anything, I just gave a sort of shrug. There was a moment’s awful silence, then he slammed his way past me and out of the yard. Father looked after him with satisfaction.

  ‘Firmer hand on those reins, boy,’ he said, just like when I was breaking Tempête. ‘That’s all he needs. You’ll see.’

  He tossed his last piece of bread in the air, caught it neatly in his mouth, grinned at me and strolled inside, whistling ‘La Pernette’ as he went. I looked wretchedly at Mother, but she only smoothed her hair with shaking hands and went in to Blanche, who was whimpering somewhere indoors. I didn’t follow them, I didn’t want breakfast, I just wanted to be on my own. That horrible gnawing feeling was back from yesterday and it was getting worse.

  I trailed round to the front, thinking I’d just stay out of the way till it was time to go to the Hermitage, but as I came round the corner I saw André standing in the yard in front of me. He was head down and scowling with his hands thrust hard in his pockets, and as I stopped he gave a savage kick at the barn doors, making them bang and rattle. After a second he did it again. Then he lifted his head and saw me.

  I’ve never felt such contempt from anybody, not ever. It sort of stabbed into me, it made me shrivel inside, right where the bad feeling was. I ducked my head to get away from it, I couldn’t bear to look. I just wanted him to say what he’d got to say and get it over.

  But there was nothing, only silence, then the scrape of his boots on the cobbles, and the awful finality of his footsteps as he turned and walked away.

  Stefan Ravel

  I knew we were in for trouble right away. He came stamping through the door with Jacques creeping behind him like a dog that’s been whipped.

  I didn’t let it deter me. Marcel and I both knew it was decision time for the young Sieur of Dax, even if we disagreed on the right way about it. Me, I’d have had him flogged like any man in the real army, but Marcel wouldn’t countenance such a thing for a gentleman. He said persuasively ‘There’s no need, Stefan, there’s really not. Words will hurt André more than a whip, you won’t need anything more.’ So I sent the rest of the unit outside for sword-drill, dispatched the sidekick on to the roof as look-out, and took the master aside for the bollocking he so thoroughly deserved.

  I gave it to him straight. I pointed out he’d disobeyed an order in the face of the enemy, and that was a hanging offence.

  I’m rather good at insolence, Abbé, but I had nothing on André de Roland. He said ‘We beat them, didn’t we?’

  ‘I told you to run.’

  He sniffed. ‘I don’t run from Spaniards.’

  ‘You do when I order it. You run like bloody hell.’

  He shook his head. ‘You don’t understand. It’s not something I can do.’

  You’ll note it was something scum like myself could do with ease.

  I said patiently ‘I don’t need to understand you, André, this is the fucking army. You gave your word to obey orders, and the first time in action you broke it. You’re young, and I’ll allow you one mistake. But no more, ever. From now on you’re in the army on my terms, or you’re not in it at all. Understand?’

  He scowled as if he’d like to have had me taken out and flogged, but I went on staring until he finally lowered his head.

  ‘All right,’ I said. ‘Now pick up a foil and get out there with the others.’

  He did it, but he slapped his sword against his boot as he went through the door, and I rather sensed I wasn’t finished with him yet.

  Jean-Marie Mercier

  André did seem to be rather angry that day. He was really quite terrifying in the bouts, and even when he was sitting out he produced that little ball he used to carry about with him, and sat kneading and squeezing it so hard I was afraid it might burst.

  Stefan continually glanced round at him, but sword-drill was one activity when it was simply impossible to pick on André because he was so much better than anyone else. I think perhaps that’s why Stefan ended the bouting and explained the weak points in a soldier’s armour instead. He made a lot of the fact the officers were better protected than the men, and I was quite sure it was all directed at André. André didn’t say a word.

  When it came to the demonstration we naturally expected Stefan would choose André, but he didn’t, he chose me. I was horrified, because I’m honestly not very good with swordplay, and I thought Stefan knew that. I did try, I tried my very best, but really I think I was quite dismal.

  Colin Lefebvre

  Never saw such a shambles. Ravel started laughing at him, goading him to try harder, and poor Mercier going redder in the face all the while. Seigneur wasn’t happy, I could see. Perched on this fallen tree, sword swinging dangerously, swish-swish in the long grass, looked like trouble to me.

  Mercier begged Ravel to let him stop. He said ‘I’m no good at this, you know I’m not. Couldn’t one of the others try?’

  Ravel swore at him something shocking. Mercier never liked that, never, always very careful in his own speech, and now Ravel calling him names he’d maybe never even heard. Looked for all the world as if he was going to cry.

  Ravel thought so too. He said in disgust ‘For Christ’s sake, if you can’t be a soldier, at least try to be a man.’

  Then bang, there was the Seigneur suddenly on his feet. Didn’t yell, didn’t stamp, just walked up to Ravel and said ‘No.’

  Stefan Ravel

  I took one look at him and knew he’d snapped. A pity, after all he’d taken on his own account, but here he was throwing it away for that wretched little Mercier.

  I told him to shut up and sit down.

  ‘Not until you apologize to Jean-Marie.’

  Poor Mercier was in a real panic now. He said ‘It doesn’t matter, it doesn’t matter,’ but it was a little late for that.

  I told André I was giving him an order.

  He said ‘Don’t you try to hide behind that, Ravel, that’s bloody cowardly.’

  That’s when it stopped being professional. I’d had a bellyful of his arrogance already that day, and I’m afraid I lost my temper. I told him he was pretty cowardly himself, insulting people when his position kept him safe from retaliation.

  He looked me right in the eye. He said he had no desire to hide from anything, he was happy to abide by the consequences of his actions. He stood there looking noble and heroic, his birthright shimmering round him like some kind of halo.

  ‘Good,’ I said, and knocked him down.

  There was a shocked silence, then oh Jesus and Mary, all chaos broke loose. There was a crash and clatter from the Hermitage roof, and I thought ‘Hullo, here comes the bodyguard.’ Lefebvre protested, Thibault sprang to his feet, and Mercier actually tried to pull me back. I batted him away with one hand, but then André yelled ‘Leave it, Jean-Marie!’ and I turned and saw he was getting up.

  All credit to him, he was getting himself up, and looking fucking determined about it too. He straightened up, leant against a tree, and began to push up his sleeves. Mercier stood back obediently, but looking confused and frightened, which I could rather understand. It was obvious to us all that André was going to fight.

  It was quite ridiculous really, but I’m an obliging man, Abbé, and when someone asks for something that desperately I don’t have the heart to refuse. So I shoved up my own sleeves and prepared to give him another lesson.

  Jacques Gilbert

  I was down off that roof so fast I hurt my ankle landing. I didn’t give a stuff about guard duty, I knew the relief would be in soon anyway, I just had to
get to the boy and nothing else mattered.

  I ran up to them and grabbed hold of Stefan’s arm, but André stuck his hand out and said fiercely ‘Stay out of it, Jacques.’

  Stefan jerked his sleeve out of my hand without even looking at me. André turned again to face him, he turned back to Stefan and shut me out.

  All I could see was his back, all mud and grass on it where that bastard had knocked him down. I’d come to help him, it was my job to help him, but he just said ‘Stay out of it,’ and turned his back.

  Stefan Ravel

  The kid came at me with his fists up, but it was sadly amateur, and I had difficulty keeping my face suitably grave. He aimed a punch at my guts, which I thought was probably all he could reach, so I went to block him, but next second he’d swung up and got me clean on the jaw, and God help me if I didn’t nearly go down with it too.

  My own fault, Abbé, I should have remembered he was a swordsman. He’d feinted like a fencer, and caught me out like a novice. If he’d followed through right away he could have had me on my back, but no, he was waiting like a gentleman for me to get my balance before he had another go. So I weaved about as if I was still groggy, then gave him a quick jab in the belly to wind him, followed up with a two-hander on the back of the neck, and down he went flat on the grass.

  Jacques screamed at me to stop. He was red in the face with rage.

  I said ‘Relax, kid, it’s finished anyway.’

  ‘No, it bloody isn’t,’ said André, and I saw he’d got up again.

  I really didn’t want to hit him any more. I don’t know what kind of man you think I am, Abbé, but it seemed to me he’d been hurt quite enough to make the point.

  I said ‘Yes it is, kid. You’re beaten, that’s all.’

  He was still coming towards me, and I was a little wary, because I knew he was stronger than he looked. That last one certainly ought to have kept him down.

  He said ‘How can I be beaten if I don’t give in?’

  I said sadly ‘Like this,’ and dropped him with a neat little crack to the side of the head. For the first time he let out a yelp and I knew he was really hurt.

  At once Jacques came tearing at me. Mercier was one thing, Jacques quite another, he was a powerful lad and boiling with outrage because I was hurting his pet. I sidestepped and he only grazed me, so I reached for him while he was off balance, but then it was André yelling ‘No!’ and the shock made us both stop and look.

  He was struggling to his feet, which ought to have been impossible. His mouth and ear were bleeding, one eye was swollen, but he was using the tree to haul himself up, and he was only looking at Jacques, no one else.

  He said ‘Please, Jacques, no.’

  They were staring at each other. I wanted to say ‘Excuse me, this is my fight actually,’ but I doubt they’d have even heard. Then Jacques turned away looking baffled, and the kid managed to stand himself straight and face me.

  I said ‘That’s enough now.’

  ‘It’s not,’ he said, and came at me again.

  I wouldn’t hit him, I wrestled him instead, but he wriggled his arm away and whacked out at my nose, a good hard punch which actually rather hurt, so I’m afraid I swore at him and pushed him back down.

  And again he got up.

  That’s when I knew I was fucked. I didn’t dare try to knock him out, I could break his neck without even thinking about it, but the bugger was quite prepared to go on till I killed him.

  I got him by the elbows and held him firm.

  ‘Enough,’ I said. ‘I’m not going to fight you any more.’

  He tried to headbutt me, and I only just dodged in time. He fought like a gamin, that one, I’m only surprised he didn’t bite. I said ‘Pack it in, will you?’

  ‘All right,’ he said breathlessly. ‘As long as you apologize to Jean-Marie.’

  For a second I wanted to knock him right back down again and fuck the consequences, but there was something about him, something about the glint in his eyes, and all I know is suddenly I was laughing.

  ‘All right,’ I said. ‘If it means that much to you.’

  I went over to poor Mercier, who’d gone the colour of pork fat, gave him my best gentleman’s bow, and told him I was sorry, which really perhaps I was. André put me in a temper, and I oughtn’t to have taken it out on harmless little Mercier. Then I returned virtuously to André and said ‘Satisfied?’

  He grinned at me and nodded, but he was looking a touch wobbly for all that.

  ‘Good,’ I said. ‘Now we’ll talk about the army.’

  He looked wary again. ‘The army?’

  ‘Forgotten that, hadn’t you?’ I said. ‘I ought to throw you out this minute’.

  ‘I know,’ he said. Green, green innocent eyes, like a meadow with fucking lambs frisking over it. ‘But you won’t.’

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘I won’t.’

  He looked right at me, as if he could really see me. Then he raised his voice and said ‘I was wrong to call you a coward. I think I was wrong about a lot of things. I’m sorry.’ He held out his hand.

  Well, well. The amende honorable, and not forced at that. I took his hand, Abbé, I don’t see anything hypocritical in that, and I didn’t crush it either, we’d got a little beyond that now. But he stumbled as I released him, so I whipped my arm under his elbow to support him, and looked down at the bloody mess I’d made of his face.

  ‘Why?’ I said, as softly as I could. ‘Why, you silly bugger? For the son of a Verdâme merchant?’

  He was still dazed. He half shook his head, then said simply ‘Someone who couldn’t hit back.’

  Tragic, really. I’d found his weakness now all right, and it was about as bad as it could be for a soldier. Oh, I may have made a mess of his body, Abbé, but someone else had done a first-class job on his mind.

  Eight

  Jacques Gilbert

  I took him home.

  Mother was alone in the cottage so I brought him inside. She stared in horror, then ran and wrapped herself round him so I couldn’t see her face. ‘Oh, André, it wasn’t …?’

  He lifted his head quickly from her shoulder and said ‘No, no, it was an accident.’

  That seemed to frighten her even more, but he couldn’t say anything else without mentioning Stefan, because he just couldn’t lie, the boy, he never could. So I lied instead, and said we’d had an accident with the horses. My parents knew we’d got them hidden away somewhere, so I said the door blew shut with the boy inside, that Tonnerre started kicking, and I only just got him out in time.

  Mother’s face calmed a little, but she still hugged the boy close and said ‘Oh, my darling,’ and he let her. Then she started rocking him against her, and her face was like she was dreaming or something, and she started humming ‘En passant par la Lorraine’. Everyone at Ancre knew that one, it was a favourite of the old Seigneur’s. Mother used to sing it to André when he was tiny, and sometimes she’d sway his little feet along to the ‘Oh, oh, oh, avec mes sabots’ bits, and he loved it. I wondered if the boy remembered too. He rested his head comfortably against her chest and closed his eyes.

  Then Father came in.

  The boy jerked away at once to face him, but Father took one look and was immediately all concern, so I understood we were going to pretend the morning had never happened. I told him the story about Tonnerre, and he lectured me on being careless with horses, but I thought it was somehow giving him pleasure to see the boy all battered, and when he reached out to his face to get a better look, André pulled away without a word. I felt my sad, hollow feeling coming back like a memory.

  Mother got the boy cleaned up and I took him back to the barn, but the feeling just came along with me like it was there to stay. I wondered if fencing would help, but the boy wasn’t up to it, he was still wobbly and sick. I wondered if I ought to read to him, but I looked at all those books about honourable people doing honourable things and just couldn’t face it and hoped he wouldn’t ask. He dozed off afte
r a while, so I went back to the cottage because I needed a drink.

  Father was already having one, and as the jug was full I knew it must be at least the second. That usually meant trouble, but when I drained the first cup Father poured me another, and when I filled his pipe he took it from me with a hand that was somehow gentle, and said ‘Thank you, lad.’ There was something in his face I hadn’t seen for years.

  I drank the wine and watched him sort of furtively, but I wasn’t imagining it. He even passed me the tinder box for his pipe like he used to, and nodded approvingly when I sparked it right first time. He started to whistle ‘Bransle des Chevaux’ half under his breath, and I found myself remembering things that went back to when I was little. Sometimes when there was no one around we’d play horses, he’d sit me on his shoulders and run all the way down the bridle path, then put me down and walk into the cottage all sedately like we’d never been running at all. Mother used to look at him suspiciously, and he’d smile and look innocent, but he’d be whistling ‘Bransle des Chevaux’ all the while, and sometimes when I caught his eye he’d wink. I looked at him now and the picture was so clear I half expected him to wink again.

  He reached out a finger and pressed the tip of my nose. ‘Big eyes,’ he said, and smiled. Something warm flooded over me inside. The dull aching feeling sort of went and hid in a corner so I could forget it was there.

  Mother sat watching us, looking nervously happy. Father poured her some wine, and she actually had a sip and smiled as if she liked it.

  ‘That’s right,’ Father said encouragingly. ‘Drink it up. Let’s celebrate getting your favourite son back. No more dreaming of being a gentleman now, is there, Jacques?’

  Another picture came up to shut out the ones of me and Father, a picture of André’s face as he’d looked that morning by the barn door. I screwed up my eyes to get rid of it and said ‘No.’