by A L Berridge
So I checked the soldiers weren’t searching people outside, swiped the letter on the quiet, and ran straight round the base to give it the Seigneur in person. Maybe I’d have thought twice if I’d known what was in it, but I’m a plain man, it had the Seigneur’s name on the front, that was good enough for me.
He wasn’t in the Hermitage, and can’t say I blamed him. Place packed solid with refugees, stuffed in like so many herrings and stinking like them too. I backed out again fast and headed down for the stream. Few chaps out and about changing the guard duty, Ravel laying turfs on a fire, controlling the smoke, you know, and there was the Seigneur himself washing his face in the stream. Looked a touch peaky to me, but there, he was fond of old Jacques, never said he wasn’t.
I got him moving all right. Gave him the letter, and he read it right away, then he was up on his feet and saying ‘Col,’ he said, ‘Col, this is the best news you could possibly have brought me.’ Slapped me on the back and set off to the Hermitage at a run.
Miguel d’Estrada
Letter to André de Roland, dated 19 June 1639
Chevalier,
This is to inform you we have in our custody a certain Jacques Gilbert. He has been condemned to death for the crimes of murder and sabotage, and his execution is to be by public hanging two days from now.
However, the Colonel Don Francisco Mendéz and I are prepared to show him clemency on the grounds that the crimes of the servant are the responsibility of the master. Should the Chevalier André de Roland surrender his own person that justice might be executed upon him, we would immediately release the said Gilbert and grant him amnesty for a period of twenty-four hours to enable him to leave Spanish territory. He is at present unharmed and as captured, and it is in that same condition he would be released. That this is a true offer I give my word both as a gentleman, and as an officer of Spain, and it remains open until midnight tonight.
I have the honour to sign myself
Miguel d’Estrada
Jean-Marie Mercier
The door banged open, and André strode in. He looked determined and somehow happier, there seemed even a spring back in his step. Marcel rose to meet him, but André only gave him a brief smile, then carried on up to the platform where his blanket lay. He shot me a meaningful look as he passed, so I waited a moment then followed him.
He’d unearthed the latest clothes Jeanette had made for him and was calmly changing his shirt. I was puzzled. It was a beautiful shirt, very full and pleated, really far too good for everyday wear. He laced it at the neck, shook his long, black hair down over it, then said under his breath ‘Will you lend me your sword?’
My sword was honestly very ordinary and nothing like as good as his own, but he nodded insistently, so of course I gave it to him and he put it in his belt. He laid his own sword and scabbard on the blanket and said ‘If anything should happen to me, you’ll know to give these to Jacques, won’t you?’
I said carefully ‘Jacques has been captured.’
‘I know. I’m just saying, that’s all.’ He reached for his cloak.
The door was thrown open and Stefan came bursting in with Colin. He made straight for André and demanded rudely ‘What the fuck was that letter?’
André straightened, but seemed to avoid looking Stefan in the eye. He fumbled on his cloak, said ‘It’s all right, I’m just going out for a bit,’ and stepped off the decking, but now Marcel came up too, asking ‘What is it? What letter?’ and they were both in front of him, blocking his way to the door.
André stopped and looked at them. Then he sighed and produced a paper from his breeches pocket. ‘I have d’Estrada’s word that if I give myself up they’ll let Jacques go.’ He handed Marcel the paper.
‘And you believe him?’ said Stefan.
‘He is a gentleman,’ said André.
Stefan laughed bitterly, but Marcel didn’t. He read the letter carefully, then handed it back without a word.
Stefan glared at him. ‘Well, go on, tell him he can’t do it. Tell him it’s mad. Doesn’t he know they’ll kill him?’
‘He knows,’ said Marcel wearily. ‘D’Estrada is quite explicit.’
Stefan swore violently and really shockingly, I’m sorry but I honestly couldn’t repeat it. He turned on André and said savagely ‘You don’t know. You think you do. You think this is going to be a nice honourable thing to do, lay down your life for your friend, go out in a blaze of glory. Don’t you know they’ll torture you? Have you thought of that?’
‘Yes. It’s all right, Stefan, it’s what I want.’ He laid a tentative hand on Stefan’s arm, but Stefan absolutely shrugged it aside.
‘No, it isn’t. Christ knows what kind of nice, clean, dignified picture you’ve got in your mind, but it’s not going to be like that. They won’t spare you anything.’
‘I know,’ said André. ‘They didn’t spare Giulio.’
‘You think doing this makes up for Giulio?’
‘No, I think it’ll save Jacques.’ He turned to Marcel. ‘At least I don’t know as much as he does. The Verdâme men, I know Christian names but that’s all. I know the Hermitage, of course, but maybe I can confuse them a little.’
We were all staring, and he seemed suddenly almost embarrassed. He said in a small voice ‘Well, I’ll do my best anyway,’ put his head down, and started again towards the door.
Marcel hesitated, then stepped back to leave him a clear path.
‘Stop him,’ said Stefan, his voice curiously high. ‘What’s the matter with you? Stop him.’
‘I can’t,’ said Marcel. ‘I’ve got no right.’
Stefan didn’t even pause, he ran ahead of André and pushed him back, making him stumble against a pillar.
‘You don’t go until we’ve talked about this.’
‘We have talked about it,’ said André. He stepped back and drew his sword.
There was absolute silence. Nobody moved. We hadn’t the right, you see. Stefan was a leader in the army, but André was Sieur of Dax, and no one could possibly take sides.
‘Come on now,’ said Stefan. He took another step towards André, speaking softly. ‘There’s no need for this.’
André brought his sword up fast, and levelled it at Stefan.
Stefan gave a short laugh. ‘Have it your own way. But you won’t kill me, not for trying to save your life.’
He reached out to take hold of the sword. André feinted to drive him back, but Stefan ducked away from the blade and reached to grab his other arm. The sword came whipping round, Marcel gave a cry of protest, and there was Stefan standing back, his left hand wrapped round his right arm, and blood trickling down between his fingers. Marcel stepped quickly to his side.
I didn’t think Stefan could be badly wounded, but he raised his eyes to André, and the hurt in his face was shocking. Then he stepped forward.
André cried out ‘Don’t!’
His voice cracked a little, and people shifted in the room. Stefan sensed the change. He gave a little smile and moved forward again, bringing his body right up against the point of André’s sword.
‘Get back,’ said André desperately.
Stefan moved forward, pressing his own chest against the sword. André jerked the blade back fast, and at once Marcel seized his sword arm from behind. André struggled to wrench it free, he twisted his head round and cried out ‘Jean-Marie!’
It was like waking from a dream. I started forward at once and jumped from the decking, but of course I was too late. Stefan’s fist flicked out and caught André deftly under the chin, and Marcel caught him as he fell.
Jacques Gilbert
I knew he’d come. I tried telling myself he’d have too much sense, but I knew he’d come. He was never going to stand by and see me executed, he just couldn’t do it.
But I didn’t want him using my life to make things right with his honour, I didn’t want my life at all. There was only one thing I wanted to stay alive for, and even then I’d have to kill myself after
wards. I knew that was wrong, but thought God would understand. I thought the boy would too. I dreamed I’d find him on the other side, and he’d be missing and needing me again, the way he used to before Stefan and Anne got in the way. Maybe it was stupid to think like that, but you’ve got to grab something to hold on to when everything else is dark.
Then I opened my eyes and saw it wasn’t all in my mind. The chair across the room was in shadow, I couldn’t make out the cracks in the opposite wall. I turned my head towards the window, and saw the sky was a deepening grey and the clouds had turned black. It was getting dark, and André hadn’t come.
Twenty-Two
Jean-Marie Mercier
People were frightened. All round the base they were murmuring in little groups, trying to decide what they’d do if they had to flee the Saillie. People like Bettremieu could just walk anywhere in France and be sure of finding work, but the weaker ones or those with businesses were afraid they might be destitute. Marin and Bruno were worrying how their fathers would cope at the bakery and mill, and Simon was the same about the Corbeaux. Those places were their whole lives, you see. Since they were small they’d known they’d grow up to inherit them, and now it might all be taken away.
It wasn’t honestly so bad for me. My own family had lost their business ages ago, and we’d really only been surviving because of André. He used to call me his ‘agent’ and pay me for doing little errands, like fetching supplies or selling jewellery in Lucheux. I don’t think he needed to, lots of people would have done it for nothing, but he knew my family were struggling and wanted to help. He was like that, you see.
Only now he needed our help, and we were none of us giving it. Even with our own problems, we were all terribly conscious of André suffering, and it cast a miserable shadow over everything. Stefan had locked him in the stable outhouse, and we could hear him shouting and banging at the door for what seemed like hours. After a while he stopped sounding angry and that was even worse. He was calling ‘Please, Stefan, please, Marcel, you have to let me out, please!’ I simply couldn’t bear it.
Neither could the guards. Stefan caught Simon trying to release him, and poor Simon could only say ‘It’s André, I have to, he’s the Seigneur.’ I think Stefan did understand really. He had a plank nailed over the door, refused to allow any more Dax men to stand guard, and told André if he gave any further trouble he would have him tied up and gagged. It was very quiet after that, but somehow it made us even more aware of him than before. People felt uncomfortable simply walking past the building.
I knew I’d let him down. Of all the men in the Hermitage that morning, it was me André had called. Not Colin, not the Dax men, but me. I knew he needed my help, but simply couldn’t see what to do for the best. It’s hard when someone you love wants you to help them die.
The best answer for everyone would be to rescue Jacques, but the reports from Dax showed it was hopeless. There was a cordon of extra guards all round the barracks, and Colin even had difficulty getting home because he lived right next door. Nobody was being allowed inside, not even the civilians who worked there regularly. There was no hope for Jacques at all unless André gave himself up, and that was the real difficulty for me. I loved them both, you see, and couldn’t bear to have to choose.
Only in the end it was André, and if he wanted to do it, I knew it had to be right. I thought he might even have a plan to escape, and then we’d have them both back and everything would be wonderful. We’d thought he was lost before, but he always came back, and I simply couldn’t believe he wouldn’t this time. I think that’s what finally made me realize what I had to do.
I had one hope. Bernard and I were the only Verdâmers Jacques knew well enough to be in hiding, so I knew I must get my chance to guard him in the end. But Bernard was replaced with Stefan himself, and then by Giles, who really shouldn’t have been there at all, and it wasn’t until Stefan went on outguard duty that Marcel sent me out to take my turn. By then it was dark.
Giles was quite happy to be relieved. He only said ‘Keep your wits about you, soldier, he’s up to something. There hasn’t been a sound out of him for over an hour.’ We laughed together, then I watched him out of sight.
It took me a little while to unpick the nails with my knife, especially as Bruno was on roof guard and I was afraid he’d see, but I did it at last, slid the plank down on one side, then unbolted the door and opened it. It was quite black inside, and at first I saw only the horses, their eyes gleaming white in the dark. Then I heard rustling at the far end, and there was André sitting with his back to the wall, looking innocent.
‘Oh, hullo, Jean-Marie,’ he said.
I said ‘I’ve come to get you out. Look, here’s my sword. There’s still time.’
His smile was just beautiful. He stood at once to embrace me, and I saw what he’d been hiding. There was a deep trench gouged out of the earth, and a gap of almost a foot under the wall. Goodness knows how he’d managed it with only his hands and a sleeve-knife, but I should have known André would never simply sit still and wait to be rescued.
He brushed himself down, wedged the knife in the lining of his boot, then straightened and said ‘Ready for anything.’
I couldn’t answer. I knew it might be the last time I ever saw him, but I couldn’t speak at all.
He grinned and said ‘It’ll be all right, Jean-Marie, I’ll be a really horrible prisoner, they’ll wish they’d stuck with Jacques.’ He went to choose a horse, and said casually ‘You won’t need to worry about anything when I’m gone. I’ve still got money, Jacques knows where it is, you’ll be looked after.’
I managed to say ‘It’s not that …’
I think my voice may have choked a little, because he turned and put his hands on my shoulders.
He said ‘Do you remember what Stefan said about Martin Gauthier? Because that’s what you’re doing, Jean-Marie. You’re giving me the choice.’
He patted my shoulder, and turned to lead a horse from the wall. It was quite a scruffy-looking beast, and I knew he’d only chosen it because there was a good chance we wouldn’t get it back.
The movement of hooves must have covered the approaching footsteps, but the door gave a sudden creak, and when I turned in panic there was someone coming in, the moonlight gleamed on blond hair and I saw it was Marcel.
André’s hand flew at once to his sword.
Marcel said mildly ‘I’m unarmed.’
He was. He wore no belt, no sword, just ordinary shirt and breeches, and really looked astonishingly relaxed. He took a step forward and said ‘Bruno reported no guard on duty.’
André’s hand never left his hilt. ‘Don’t blame Jean-Marie. He knows I have to do this.’
Marcel only nodded, as if the debate didn’t interest him. He reached out to pat André’s horse and said lightly ‘It will break Stefan’s heart if you go.’
André’s eyes seemed to be searching him in the dark. ‘He’ll understand. I’d do the same thing for him.’
‘Would you?’ said Marcel. The horse was blocking the moonlight, his face was in shadow. ‘So would I.’
He gave the horse a last pat, then stood aside to leave the doorway clear. He said ‘You’ll need to be quick. Bruno’s alert, he’ll give the alarm immediately.’
‘I’ll be quick,’ said André. He touched his hair in salute, gave me a last little smile, then led the horse out into the night.
Père Gérard Benoît
Compline was poorly attended that evening. Many of my regular congregation seemed unaccountably to have disappeared, while others may have been deterred by the cordon of soldiery stationed about the barracks to a distance of some thirty feet. As I stood on the steps to bid the remnant goodnight, there came a horse fast approaching from the north, and as the rider entered the Square we beheld with amazement the figure of our Seigneur himself.
I could not imagine what had impelled him to such a foolhardy course of action and stepped down quickly to remonstrate with him
, but he did not check his horse until he had reached the cordon, which parted to let him through as if he were expected.
I stood helplessly beyond the soldiers and watched as he dismounted. Although regrettably hatless, he yet presented a splendid figure and seemed altogether in the greatest of spirits, as if on the edge of some particularly stirring adventure. He gave me a wave, then turned and cheerfully announced himself to the guards as André de Roland, Sieur of Dax, come to call upon the Don Miguel d’Estrada as arranged. The soldiers seemed inclined to be merry with him, but his look silenced them, and one at least of their number had the grace to bow and run ahead to take his message. As the others escorted him politely through the entrance he turned for a moment, said ‘Goodbye, Father,’ then walked into the courtyard, and the gate was shut behind him.
Jacques Gilbert
I knew he was there before they told me. My window overlooked the courtyard, and there were shouts of excitement and sounds of people running, then this tremendous outbreak of laughter and cheering. I peered out and could actually see him. He was walking by himself, nobody was touching him, he walked like he was in charge and they were his servants. The church clock was just striking eleven.
I squeezed as much of my head as I could out of the window, which wasn’t much because they’d stuck a bar in the middle, and yelled ‘André!’
He looked up, and I saw his face quite clearly in the torchlight. I don’t know how it’s possible to look into someone’s eyes from that distance, I only know he did it. Then he waved.
