by A L Berridge
Our darling Jeanette. After all she was threatened with, she still braved everything to give me this message and the hope it brings with it. André is coming. He is coming when I asked it, on 18 June. He is coming to rescue us.
Oh God. Oh God. He is coming at last.
Nineteen
Jacques Gilbert
18 June 1639. That’s the day my world ended.
I remember waking up that morning. You know what it’s like when there’s something scary ahead of you, it’s like your body has a better memory than your brain. You wake up with that kind of distant sick feeling in your belly, and you say to yourself ‘What’s this?’ and then your brain catches up and you remember. That’s what it was like when I woke that morning, and remembered it was Saturday 18 June, and it was today.
I sat up and looked around me. Stefan was flat on his back snoring as usual but Marcel was sitting hugging his knees and biting his nails, and we exchanged a look that said he was feeling as sick as me.
The door banged open, and sunlight smashed into the Hermitage as André strode in. His breeches and boots were all muddy, his jerkin was over his arm and his shirt unlaced, he was glowing with sweat and reeked of outdoor energy.
‘Sod off, André,’ said Stefan, burying his face in the straw.
André chucked his jerkin at him, came briskly up to the platform end and started rustling about in our food basket.
‘Did you see her?’ I asked blearily. He rode to the Château every morning these days, just to see Mlle Anne feed the birds. It was his way of assuring himself she was still all right.
He nodded. ‘I was only just in time, she’d nearly finished.’ He picked the least slimy bit of cheese, broke it in two and handed me half. Then he grinned sheepishly and said ‘Maybe she couldn’t sleep either.’
Everyone was feeling the same. When I went outside there were people arriving already for last-minute preparation, and somewhere in the trees I could hear the tell-tale thunk that was bloody Bernard practising his crossbow again. He was always at it, Bernard, he knew everything was depending on him, and the trees round the Hermitage were starting to look like giant woodpeckers had been at them.
We were all taking this seriously. Marcel had made sure of it, he didn’t want a repeat of what happened at the gorge. He’d told everyone over and over again about the importance of secrecy with the whole army at stake. We’d been careful anyway, nobody knew the whole plan but the four of us, but the thought of what could happen still scared me. If anything went wrong, the boy would be trapped in the Château, and me not with him to protect him and get him out.
That’s what was really bothering me. It was only Marcel, Stefan and André going in the Château, and for the first time ever I wouldn’t be with him. I knew it made sense, they couldn’t have more than three for the inside team, not with all that furtive shuffling down corridors and hiding round corners, but that didn’t make me feel any better. Stefan couldn’t look after the boy like I would, he didn’t care about any of it as much as we did, all he said when we found that window was ‘I suppose that means we’ll have to do it.’ A bit of me thought André might have insisted on me going in instead, but he didn’t, he knew Stefan was stronger and was only thinking about the best way of getting to Mlle Anne. I understood that, obviously I did, I just couldn’t help wishing we were together, that’s all.
I went back inside, but the boy was poring over the map of the Château with Stefan and Marcel, so I just grabbed my cloak and went to see my family. Lots of people did that before an action, and somehow I was just in the mood. I felt a bit guilty about them actually, because I’d let them down over Christmas and Father had been very disappointed.
It was a good thing to do. Father went on again about giving them notice, and even offered to go to the farm to get something special, but all I really wanted was one of Mother’s omelettes and she’d got eggs enough for that. I used to spend a lot of time thinking about my Mother’s omelettes, especially the ones with cheese in. Simon Moreau was the best cook at the Hermitage, but he couldn’t make omelettes, they came out like sponge.
She made one for me now, and just the smell was calming, but Father still noticed I was jumpy. He said ‘All right, boy, spit it out. What are you up to this time?’
I told him. There wasn’t anything wrong with that, he’d guessed anyway, and this was family, they weren’t going to tell anyone. Besides, it was important what I was doing, Marcel had put me in charge of the whole outside team, I was one of the leaders myself.
Father looked thoughtfully at me. ‘A big operation, then. A lot of men could be killed.’
I mopped up the last bits of omelette with my bread. ‘Someone from just about every family in the Saillie.’
He nodded. Little Pierre wanted more detail, but Father said ‘No more questions, lad, we’ve got to think of security,’ and asked after the horses instead.
I was a bit pissed off actually, I’d have liked him to be more interested, but I knew he meant it for the best. When I was going, he came out after me and said ‘Look, boy, you’ve got to understand this is all very worrying for your Mother.’
I felt bad then, and said I was sorry.
‘It’s done now,’ he said. ‘She’ll be up all night fretting. Isn’t there any way you can let her know you’re safe?’ He talked like it was only Mother who worried, but I noticed he was the one who asked.
I said ‘It’ll be late, you’ll be in bed.’
‘We’ll be awake,’ he said.
He said ‘we’. That meant he was worrying too.
So I said ‘All right,’ and he patted my arm, and I set off for home. I turned back at the stable track, and he was still standing looking after me, my Father, so I waved and he lifted his hand in reply, then I walked on a bit, and when I next turned round he was gone.
Anne du Pré
Extract from her diary dated 18 June 1639
We have had a dreadful scene with Pablo. I do wish we could have told him sooner, but both Florian and Colette were adamant the good food should continue as long as possible and nothing be done to rouse his suspicions.
We did our best. Colette hid in the bedroom, and when Pablo came strolling in with wine to ‘get her in the mood’ for tonight, Florian told him firmly she had a headache and could not come after all.
Pablo was furious. He said she was expected, people would be disappointed, she was going to make him look a fool. I think he is afraid of what Luiz will say. He went to the bedroom door and tried to call Colette, but Florian told him she mustn’t be disturbed.
Pablo looked him up and down in the most despising way, and said ‘Hullo, you’ve woken up at last, have you?’
Florian flushed, but held his ground. ‘My sister is unwell, that is an end to it.’
‘Is it indeed?’ said Pablo. ‘It will take more than you to stop it, hijito.’
Poor Florian. He tried to speak but failed, and in the presence of such insolence I am not surprised. Finally he said only ‘This conversation is concluded. Please leave us,’ and retired to his room.
Pablo looked at his closed door, then at Colette’s, then last at me. He said ‘Do you know, niña, I have the strangest suspicion this is somehow your doing.’
I said ‘I can’t give my sister a headache.’
He laughed and said ‘I think you could give anyone a headache.’
I couldn’t think of a single thing to say, so I picked up the jug of wine and offered it back.
‘Keep it,’ he said. ‘You’ll need it.’ Then he walked out without another word.
Colette was very worried afterwards. She said ‘He sounded very angry, Anne. He could make a lot of trouble for us.’
I told her he couldn’t, because tomorrow we will be gone. There is nothing any of them can do to us now.
Jacques Gilbert
As dusk fell we went over the wall and into the cover of the orchard. We went one at a time so the patrollers wouldn’t hear the rustling, but it was odd how ex
posed we felt. We were still hidden in thick trees, but they were trees on the other side of the wall, and suddenly we weren’t peering down at the guards, we were all on the same level. It made them look bigger.
The first signs were good. The trees were soughing in the wind, which was useful cover for any rustling or whispering. There was a flickering light in the upstairs window, which meant the hostages were there and awake. Best of all, the big room downstairs was blazing with light and laughter, like every soldier in the place was in there getting pissed, instead of prowling round looking for people like us.
A bored-looking soldier came and lit the flambeaux, then wandered back towards the west entrance. The flambeaux on the north side were a bit puny really, they only lit like this little puddle in the middle of the terrace, but that was perfect, we needed those dark shadows to hide in. As I looked, I saw they really were dark now, and so were the grounds. A double owl hoot from the south wall told us the musket teams were in position and ready. It was time.
Marcel signalled, and Bernard and Marin brought up their crossbows. Colin’s boots creaked as he eased his position, ready to run at my word. He was the first of our substitute patrollers and I’d have thought he’d be really nervous, but he wasn’t, his face looked its usual blank. He’d spent the whole ride here talking about the new gates he and his dad had made for the back entrance to the barracks, like it was the most important thing on his mind.
The next patroller came round the corner and started on the straight. There was a pink bush about a third of the way across I’d picked for the target area, far enough from the west side for the sound not to reach them but still leaving us time to make the changeover before the east-wall guard noticed the patroller hadn’t come round.
He was two steps from the bush, Marcel’s hand was up, then there came the sudden crack of a musket from the south side.
Jean-Marie Mercier
It was the most terrible bad luck. Somebody in Giles’ team must have shifted position, and the barrel caught in the branches, jerking the trigger. I guessed afterwards it was poor Pepin, who was on his first official action. He must have felt dreadful.
It alerted the enemy at once. I was on the near corner of the south wall, and was one of the few who could see up the west side as well as our own. The nearest patroller yelled, while the guards at the porte-cochère furiously brought up their muskets to the stands. Soldiers at the lodge ran down the drive towards the Château, while others charged out of the gates to come round and take us from behind. I simply didn’t know what to do.
But Giles did. He came hurtling down from his tree, the spent musket in one hand, and his own in the other. He ran straight for the big middle gap between our teams, and started yelling at the top of his voice in very bad Spanish, calling the soldiers appalling names, and doing his best to sound extremely drunk. He hauled himself halfway up a tree, called the soldiers sons of whores, fired his musket over their heads, gave a great drunken laugh, then dropped and ran, leaving Pepin’s empty musket on the ground behind him.
There was yelling on the Château side of the wall, and the crash of at least two muskets returning fire, but I simply daren’t look. The soldiers were coming up fast from the west gate, and running right by the trees, I could almost have reached out and touched the helmets of the closest. Georges, who was loading for me, had managed to squeeze himself between the trunk of my tree and the perimeter wall, but I was afraid not everyone would find such good cover. If they saw the loaders we would be forced to shoot, and that would be the end of the mission.
They stopped at the sight of the spent musket, and began talking and laughing. A couple did glance up at the trees, but of course there was nobody there. We’d left a gap between the teams, you see, to accommodate the horses and ladders later.
A soldier shouted ‘There he is!’ and one fired over the fields in the direction Giles had run. Two more raced after him, but the others seemed more amused than anything. None of them seemed concerned with making a proper search, which was quite understandable. They couldn’t possibly know the entire musket section of the French Occupied Army was clinging for cover in the trees all around them.
The soldiers came back laughing and shaking their heads, which I hoped meant Giles had escaped them, then picked up Pepin’s dead musket and ambled back towards the gate. We listened as their voices slowly died away.
Anne du Pré
The shots sounded muffled, and we guessed they came from the other side of the building, but that was all we could tell. We pressed our heads to the floor to listen downstairs, but could only hear doors banging, and booted feet running in the hall.
Florian was sure it must be our rescuers, and it had started at last. He put on his cloak, and wished Colette and me to do the same with our wraps, but I argued against it, in case the soldiers visited and wondered why we wore outdoor garments over our nightclothes. It didn’t matter so much with Florian, who had obstinately remained dressed throughout, because the soldiers knew him to be eccentric, and would have thought little of anything he did.
Florian poured us all wine to keep up our spirits. It felt strangely exciting sitting round the parlour table in the middle of the night, with Colette and me both in nightclothes and Florian dressed for a hunt. However, the noises from downstairs grew quieter, music came again from the drawing room, and it seemed clear that if the Château had indeed been attacked, then the raiders had been driven off and everything was back to normal.
We were silent a while, hoping to hear other noises. Florian poured more wine. Then Colette burst out at last. She said she should never have trusted me, she had known this would happen all along. Our rescuers had been beaten off, and now we were stuck here to face the anger of the officers on our own. She said she ought to have gone with Pablo after all, and now what would become of us? Florian was quite stern with her, and said he was sure our rescuers would still come. I was cheered by that, but when Colette asked the reason for his confidence he turned to me and said ‘Because you said so, didn’t you, Anne?’
I felt terrible. I did still hope André’s men would come, but was dreadfully afraid they might not. They might have been hurt or even killed in the fighting, and be unable to continue the attack tonight. However, I feared a further disappointment would totally disorder Florian’s wits, so I said yes of course they would come, and what we had heard was probably a diversion. Florian nodded a great deal when I said this. He explained to Colette the military importance of diversionary tactics, although she could scarcely bear to listen. At last she broke away and ran into the bedroom, where she flung herself on the bed in despair.
Florian refilled his glass. I wasn’t sure that was wise, and suggested we should rest instead, but he only said ‘Last night I swore I would never sleep in that bed again, and I never will.’ So I left him sitting alone and joined Colette, but she lay with her head turned away and wouldn’t speak.
I couldn’t sleep. I was straining to listen for sounds outside, hoping desperately for more gunfire, or any sign at all to let us know we weren’t alone.
Jacques Gilbert
Everything was quiet. In the distance the Verdâme clock struck ten.
Marcel waited for the next patroller to get almost to the bush, then signalled Bernard and Marin. The two bolts flew at once, both good shots, face and throat, they didn’t even need to pierce the armour. Both wall guard and patroller crumpled and fell in total silence.
Then I was pelting through the trees with Colin and Bruno beside me and the inside team behind, all pounding across the grass towards the Château. It felt strange after looking at it all these months, like having a painting you know really well then finding yourself actually inside it. Stefan and I lugged the patroller into the darkest corner of the terrace, while Marcel and André bundled the wall guard out of sight. Bruno stood in his place with his face in shadow, and Colin took up position near the corner, brushing the leaves off his Spanish dress. I signalled him ‘Now,’ and he nodded and walke
d round the corner to the east side as easily as crossing the Square in Dax. Just as he disappeared, the second patroller came round the west corner, and we were off.
This one was easy. We were close enough and well hidden in the shadows, it didn’t take a second for Stefan to grab a hand over his mouth, and me to stab him in the neck, the only sound was a wet gurgle. Roger was through the trees and in position, but I waited a second so he wouldn’t be too soon on his beat, then signalled him ‘Go,’ and he went, just as easily as Colin.
The third patroller trudged round the west corner and was nearly up to us when there was a great rustling from the orchard, which must have been bloody Pinhead shoving through too eagerly. The guard veered sharply out from the terrace and peered cautiously into the dark. He was too far away for us to leap on him, but the bowmen couldn’t get him either, if they’d stepped out for a shot he’d have seen them instantly. One shout was all we needed to screw the whole operation, we’d been banging that into everyone for days. One shout.
He stood listening to the trees swishing in the wind, then looked back towards the terrace to see if the wall guard had heard anything. The instant his back was to the trees I heard the whizz of a crossbow and he dropped where he stood. Stefan and André were nearest, they just belted on to the grass to pull the body back into cover. Pinhead dashed out from the trees and I signalled him round the east corner, but there were footsteps behind me, someone was coming from the west, we’d been too slow and the fourth patroller had caught up. In a second he’d see Stefan and André, he’d yell, we’d be finished.
I was running even as I was thinking it, but Marcel was nearer, he just hurled himself at the man and smacked a hand round his mouth, elbow jutting back for the thrust. But this was a big bugger and more awake than the others, he grasped Marcel’s knife-hand and they were swaying and grappling as I reached them. I couldn’t see clear to stick the knife in, but then the man punched out wildly at Marcel, slamming him back hard on the terrace, and I was up and on him, slashing at his throat before he could take breath to shout.
