Honour and the Sword

by A L Berridge

  The officer hurled himself forward, sword thrusting over my shoulder full at Luiz’s face. Luiz stumbled back against the chaise-longue, pulling me against him with one hand while the other groped for his sword. I tried to twist round and away, but Luiz stuck out his leg as we turned, tripping the officer so he fell backwards over the Slug. Brave Pablo, who had stayed quietly hidden behind the door, at once came rushing out with his own sword drawn, and charged straight at the officer while he was still on his knees. Luiz started forward with a grunt of triumph, but I seized his arm and pulled him back, just as Pablo thrust violently downwards. The officer flung himself hard to one side, and Pablo’s sword plunged right into the Slug behind him, hitting the floor with a thunk on the other side.

  The officer scrambled to his feet, but Luiz was on him at once, shoving me away with such force I crashed into the dressing table and fell down hard by the Slug. Something struck my head and glanced off, and it was my silk box, jarred from the table by the impact, scattering its contents and rolling away under the green chair.

  The officer and Luiz were wrestling each other, too close to use their swords, and I could hear the panting of their breathing as they fought. The officer was saying words too, he was almost sobbing them, I heard him say ‘Bastard’ over and over again. Pablo would have intervened, but Luiz’s back was towards him, and there was no opening for his sword. Then the officer managed to free his elbow, wrenched back his arm, and smashed the guard of his sword into Luiz’s jaw with such force he broke his teeth. I heard them crack.

  Luiz fell on his knees, making a bubbling, moaning sound, and I turned away, dazed and sick, to find myself looking directly into the face of the Slug. There was a skein of bright-blue silk hanging absurdly in his hair. He was making a curious grunting noise, and there was thick, dark blood oozing out of his mouth. Then his face seemed to freeze, and I think he died there and then. There was tinkly music coming up through the floor beneath my head, and I was looking in a dead man’s eyes.

  I heard the ring of swords above me as Pablo and the new officer locked blades in earnest, fencing fast and savagely. I was afraid for my officer, because Pablo was the best swordsman in the Château and the newcomer looked really very young. Pablo’s face was stretched wide in a grin of anticipation.

  I struggled to pull the Slug’s sword out of his belt, but it was cumbersome, and my hands were shaking for fear I would be too late. I had it at last and turned back to the fight, just in time to see Pablo dart his rapier straight at the officer’s chest. The officer swivelled sideways, then swept Pablo’s sword aside with his own, and thrust the blade hard into Pablo’s body. Pablo made a terrible noise like a kind of whoop, his eyes bulged, then his hands began twitching and groping at his belly. The officer tried to withdraw his sword, but Pablo’s hands clutched desperately at the blade, trying to keep it in, trying to hold his insides together.

  Luiz was on his feet again, blood over his face but his sword in his hand. He was coming at my officer from behind, but the officer did not seem to hear, he was struggling with Pablo to retrieve his sword.

  I cried ‘Look out!’ as Luiz lunged forward, and my officer twisted to one side, but his blade was still stuck in Pablo and he was helpless. I thrust the Slug’s sword up at Luiz with all my strength, but I was on the floor, and it only stabbed in the lowest part of his body, just between his legs. Luiz pulled away, making a dreadful noise like a cow in pain, but my officer wrenched his own sword free and turned on him, slashing the blade across his face like a whip, once, twice, before pulling back and thrusting him full in the throat.

  Luiz was falling, and there was blood running down the Slug’s sword on to my hand. I turned away in panic, and jumped at the sight of a huge man standing in the doorway. He wore a military buff jacket, but his brown beard was ragged, his whole appearance unkempt, and in his hand he carried a bloodied knife. I realized with an almost overwhelming sense of relief he must be one of André’s men, and our rescuers come at last. Everything was suddenly very quiet, and I became aware of Florian beating his palms more and more weakly against his bedroom door, and the sound of his muffled sobs.

  The big man stepped forward, and I was afraid for my gallant young officer, who was staring down at Luiz’s body and seemed quite unaware of anything else. I said ‘Wait!’ as fiercely as I could, and they both turned to me on the instant. I was suddenly acutely aware of the appearance I presented, crouched on the floor with my chemise torn open and the Slug’s bloody sword in my hand.

  Then the big man spoke. He said ‘For Christ’s sake, André, get it off her before she sticks it in anyone else.’

  It was only then I realized who he was.

  Twenty

  Stefan Ravel

  Right in the balls, and no mistake. You’ve got to hand it to that girl, she knew how to hurt a man, and wasn’t scared to do it either. It made my eyes water just to watch.

  Oh, don’t get me wrong, I’ve a lot of time for your Mlle Anne, but she was a strange sight all the same, first time I clapped eyes on her. There was that hair, of course, you know all about that, but the first thing that struck me was how pale she was. I’d never seen a living person that white. They’d been in that room three years without seeing the sun, and she certainly looked it. Her face was thin too, which gives you some idea how the dons had been feeding them; there seemed to be nothing of it but these big, dark eyes. I’m not generally attracted to ladies of the nobility, M. l’Abbé, but I’ll admit I quite took to this one.

  For one thing, she didn’t waste time. There was no bleating for explanations, she was on her feet in a moment and unlocking a door to release her brother. He was a thin, wretched spectacle of a youth with trembling hands and red eyes, and the only thing that made him even lift his head was when André bowed and called him ‘Seigneur’. Nobility and titles, Abbé. Most wouldn’t even need torturing, just call them rude names, and they’d break in a week. This one was broken, and in my opinion fatally. He said only ‘Thank you, Monsieur,’ in a ghostly voice, then turned towards his little sister as if waiting for her orders.

  What came out of the second door was even worse. It was blond, with a shy, fluttery expression on its face that would have worked better without the acres of heaving bosom beneath it, and wore the kind of nightdress that was never intended to keep anyone warm. If it had been up to me I’d have shoved her and the lad back in their bedrooms and let the dons keep them. The only one with her mind on the job was Mlle Anne.

  Anne du Pré

  I feel such a fool for not recognizing him at once. I think it’s because when I’ve dreamed of this moment he used to come sweeping superbly into the room wearing a pourpoint of bright turquoise with a white sash. I don’t even know why turquoise, except I like it. Of course it was silly to think that way, because he can hardly dress like a proper gentleman in the life he is living now, it wouldn’t be practical. In fact, I’m glad he wasn’t. He looked very fine as he was.

  And once the big one said his name, I knew him immediately. The hair is as black as I remember, and the face as attractive, but perhaps a little slimmer and finer and harder than it was. He is almost as tall as Florian, but then I always thought he would be by now. Of course we were only children when we met before.

  I am not a child now.

  He saw me tip the rose out from the vase to retrieve the bedroom key, and when we were releasing Colette he reached out and picked it up.

  I said ‘My rose, Monsieur,’ and held out my hand. I knew we couldn’t bring luggage, but didn’t think he would grudge me that.

  He said ‘It was always your rose from the moment I picked it.’

  I was so surprised I looked up at him, and for a second our eyes met. I turned away at once, but my heart was hammering against my nightgown, I felt as if everyone in the room must see it.

  The big one started uncoiling a rope from around his waist and left the room, saying to André ‘I’ll do the window, get them there as soon as you can.’


  Colette asked if we had time to dress, because she was wearing one of Mama’s more revealing nightdresses and seemed to have lost her wrap, but André shook his head and regretted not, so I took off my shawl and draped it round her. André made a little noise of protest, took off his own cloak and wrapped it round me instead. He was very gentle, and his hands only just brushed my shoulders when he did it. He clasped the cloak round my neck so it shouldn’t get in my way, and I felt him looking down into my face. I couldn’t meet his eyes after what I’d seen there before, so I looked at his throat, his chest, his hands as they fastened the clasp. I turned as soon as I could and picked up my diary, but he took it from me, saying I would need my hands free, and put it into his breeches pocket.

  He hurried us out into the Gallery, and it felt very strange just stepping out of the room, as if the barrier had only ever been inside my head. The feel of the boards under my bare feet transported me right back to that first night when they brought us into Mama’s rooms and it all began, but the floor felt rough and sticky, much of the balustrade is broken, and the portraits are all gone from the walls. I almost wish I hadn’t seen it, for now when I picture our Gallery that is how I will remember it. Yet I will also see André’s back as he walked in front of me, sword in hand, tense, strong, ready to die for us if he had to.

  We walked quietly round the Gallery towards the main staircase. Colette whispered anxiously there would be a guard at the top, but André turned and gave her a reassuring smile. ‘Not now there won’t be, Mademoiselle,’ he said. ‘Stefan has come ahead of us.’ His confidence in this one man is extraordinary, but also clearly justified, for there was no one there, only the great sweep of empty marble. The sound of music and the rumble of men’s voices floated up towards us from the hall below, but André ushered us swiftly past, and I saw with relief we were not to take that way. Instead we walked along the east landing to the musician’s gallery on the south side, and there was the big man standing by the arched window, indicating a rope tied round a stanchion which was to be our way out.

  There was no time to think or be afraid. The big man showed Colette how to stand so he could stoop and hoist her over his shoulder, then at once stepped on to the sill and seized the rope. My poor sister was clearly shocked at the indignity, but had no time for more than a faint squeak before the man began to descend and she disappeared from sight. André signalled Florian to follow, but my poor brother looked at the great drop of the rope and said he could not do it.

  I said ‘You can, Florian. It’s the way out.’

  I guided him on to the sill, André placed his hands round the rope, and together we helped him start down. But his head had hardly dropped below us before his voice came weakly up to say he could go no further. I peered down into the dark and saw his hands still clutching the rope, but his eyes were closed and he seemed unable to move. The big one was trying to climb up again for me, but could not get past.

  André leant out of the window and said quietly ‘Help him, Stefan, I’ll bring Mademoiselle.’ Then he turned to me and held out his arms as the man called Stefan had done. I hesitated a little, for he was not of as substantial a build as his companion, and indeed he is older than me by only a few months.

  He smiled and said ‘Oh, I think I can manage you, Mademoiselle.’

  I stood to face him and he lifted me easily. His hands were warm and firm through my chemise, and it was quite different from what Luiz or Pablo had done. I grasped his belt behind his back so he wouldn’t need to keep his arm across me while he climbed, and he said ‘That’s good, stay like that,’ then turned sideways to the sill to hoist himself up.

  There were footsteps on the little gallery staircase, and the sound of voices and laughter. I twisted behind André’s back to see two soldiers walking cheerfully round the bend of the stairs.

  Jean-Marie Mercier

  Jacques was wonderfully calm. As soon as his patrollers had killed the wall guards he came strolling round to the south side, showed Edouard where to put the ladders, signalled Dom to start bringing up the horses, then called Bettremieu over and showed him a window directly facing us where he said the hostages would come down. Marcel was much better by this time and insisted on going back over to help.

  We all stared intently up at the window. I was still telling myself it would be a long time yet, when suddenly it opened and there was Stefan leaning out and throwing down the rope to Bettremieu. Jacques turned to the patroller going past and signalled him to be ready to break and run when Dom gave the call. Colin nodded and walked on. A moment later Roger came round, and again Jacques signalled.

  Margot reached out from her tree to nudge me, and said ‘Look!’

  A nudge from Margot was rather like a punch from anyone else, but I recovered enough to see Stefan starting down the rope with a girl in a nightdress over his shoulder.

  ‘I wouldn’t mind Bettremieu’s view of that,’ said Marin, which I thought was rather coarse.

  ‘Closest you’ve ever come, is it, Marin?’ asked Margot, with interest.

  Marin reddened and went on setting up his crossbow.

  A minute or two later a young man followed. He seemed to be in difficulties, but Stefan climbed underneath to take his weight, and brought him safely to the ground.

  ‘Where’s André?’ said Margot. ‘What’s happened to André?’

  Anne du Pré

  André released me immediately and drew his sword.

  The soldiers dropped the platters they were carrying and ran straight for us, shouting an alarm. The clatter of the pewter as it bounced down the stairs was even louder than the shout, and I heard voices responding below.

  ‘Climb down,’ said André, stepping in front to shield me.

  I was reluctant to leave him, but he turned and repeated ‘Climb down!’ so sharply that I swung myself on to the sill at once. I could not see how to back down on to the rope, but the one called Stefan was coming up again below me, and he said ‘Just let yourself go now,’ and pulled me backwards into the air. He must be immensely strong. He simply clapped me one-handed over his shoulder, winding me completely, and started back down. I heard the clash of swords above us and more shouting, and knew André must be overwhelmed.

  Stefan struggled down another two steps, then let me drop into the crook of his arm so he could lower me. A voice with a Flemish accent said ‘Is all right, I have you,’ and there was an even larger man taking my weight from behind, and bringing me safely to the ground. I straightened up to find myself looking directly into the face of a third man, illuminated in the glow of the flambeau. He had bright-blue eyes and very black hair, and I’m sure I’d never seen him before, but he looked familiar in a way I can’t explain.

  Everything seemed very unreal. The stones of the terrace were cold under my feet, and there were weeds growing through them that felt like rough grass. The smell of the flambeau was overpowering, and its light shimmered and made rippling shadows over all of us. Florian looked lost and confused as the glare of the flames made dark caverns of his eyes. Across the lawn I saw the white of Colette’s chemise as she was helped over the wall, while a man with a bandage on his head walked quickly towards us, coming nearer the light and suddenly turning into Marcel Dubois, our Caporal Dubois, who I thought was killed the night the Château was taken. There was a Spanish soldier actually walking past, but even he only smiled vaguely at us and kept walking, as if we were no more than figures in a dream.

  Stefan was already on his way back up the rope, and the blue-eyed man hard after him. I didn’t want to leave until I knew André was safe, but the huge Flamand said ‘I’m sorry, Mademoiselle,’ lifted me in his arms as if I weighed no more than a kitten, and began to run towards the wall. Florian came pattering quickly after us. As we went, I heard the insistent hooting of an owl, and became aware of other men running across the grass to join us. They seemed to be Spaniards too, but made no attempt to hinder us, and only ran just as we did. I thought I really must be dreaming, and tonight w
as still to come.

  Stefan Ravel

  He had his back to the window and was close enough to touch, but I didn’t think he ought to be distracted just then, Abbé was fighting three of them all by himself.

  He couldn’t keep it up much longer. He was parrying well, but couldn’t reduce the odds; if he stuck one, the others would have him while his sword was engaged. He was weakening too, his movements jerkier, they’d get in a lucky thrust any second. I took my weight on the stanchion, drew my pistol, and fired the thing one-handed into the throng.

  It stopped them dead for a moment, and one quite permanently. It stopped André too, which gave me the second I needed to drop the pistol out of the window then grab him from behind. I’d no hand free to climb with, I could only drag him over the sill and lower him, but Jacques was close behind me and reached out to take André’s weight while he jumped the last feet to the ground.

  Then we slid down the rope ourselves, and only just in time, because some bastard had set about cutting it at the top, and it fell in a heap just as I hit the ground. We were out, we were down, and time to get the fucking hell out.

  Jean-Marie Mercier

  It was extraordinary to see the hostages being helped over the wall. We had talked and thought about them so long, it felt honestly unreal for them to be actually among us. All three were pale as linen, which made them look unearthly and strange in our midst. The ladies were barefoot and in their nightclothes, while the young lord was dressed in elegant but old-fashioned hunting dress.

  A ripple of murmuring ran all along our line, the men were saying ‘André’, ‘André’s out.’ The last hostage, the younger lady, turned back quickly as if she could see through the wall, and her face seemed to glow in the moonlight. I looked over myself, and saw Pinhead running round from the east wall, and Bruno almost at the ladders, with Roger just behind him. André, Stefan and Jacques all seemed to be safe at the bottom of the rope, and were starting back towards us with Colin and Marcel, but to my left I saw soldiers beginning to pour out of the courtyard gate, and knew our turn had come at last.