Tannhauser 02: The Twelve Children of Paris

by Tim Willocks

  ‘Is it true you’re going to leave us behind?’ asked Flore.

  ‘The city is no longer governed by the King or his servants, nor by Church or state, nor by any law, religious or profane, nor even by the militia, the police, or any of the other gangs sharpening their knives. Madness governs the city. A blood fever in every sense: bred in the blood, felt in the blood, for the joy of spilling blood.’

  He looked at Pascale.

  ‘Have not you and I been inflamed by this delirium?’

  Pascale didn’t blink. ‘All the more reason not to leave us.’

  Tannhauser took a deep breath. Boys were so much easier to handle.

  ‘Even if the will to extinguish the madness exists, which I doubt, the means to do so do not. The killers won’t stop until the fever exhausts itself, or they run out of victims. Every hour will see more men catch it and rave. The many – the bulk of the populace – will not succumb at all, but they will say little and will do very much less. What they say will be said in whispers, behind locked doors, which they’ll be too afraid to open to the likes of you, or anyone else they don’t know. In this they will play no more than the part expected of them. But the few, the ravers, will be more than enough to slake the fever’s thirst. Our problem is, that in a city of this size, that could take weeks.’

  ‘We’re with you,’ said Flore. ‘We want to stay with you.’

  ‘We love you,’ said Pascale. ‘Do you not love us?’

  Their desperation appalled him. He turned away.

  It took a moment to find what he was looking for.

  He turned back and held out his arms and beckoned them. They ran towards him and threw their arms around his waist. He put his hands on their shoulders and they pressed their faces against him and wept, this time without restraint. He patted each girl on her back. They cried harder. He rubbed their backs instead.

  ‘I’ve not always given love its due,’ he said. He sensed it was not the best of beginnings. ‘But yours is more precious than rubies. Whatever happens, I love you too.’

  He felt some strength flow into them. He waited and they caught their breaths.

  ‘We found a place to shed our tears. Now let’s smile at them and keep them in our hearts. I must do what’s best for you, as you would for me. If I have any allies in Paris, which is uncertain, they’re on the far bank of the river, and today that is far indeed. The bridges will be defended by militants and like any predacious beast they will scent their prey, which is you. But the Saint-Jacques Gate is close and most anywhere outside the walls will be safer than anywhere within them. I noted an abbey – a stone’s throw to the west?’

  ‘Saint-Germain-des-Prés,’ said Flore. ‘They’re Benedictines.’

  ‘I know the Order. Their word to me will be honest. Now, in case you are questioned, I found you here at the stables by chance. You fled from thieves to protect your virtue. Invent an imaginary past. Imaginary names. The shambles we left behind us will be delved into, and soon. Militia are not soldiers, they don’t expect to be killed. If they did, there’d be a sight fewer of them. Two or three dead volunteers might not raise much uproar, but the nineteen rotting in your father’s house will. You mustn’t be known as the daughters of Daniel Malan.’

  The girls looked at each other.

  Flore said, ‘It would be best if we pretended we’re not sisters.’

  ‘Very good,’ said Tannhauser.

  ‘How will we get through the gate?’ asked Pascale.

  ‘With lies and gold.’

  Flore said, ‘Will we ever see you again?’

  Tannhauser thought about the Temple manned by his own fearsome brethren – the great white tower, and the security it guaranteed beyond the reach of all but royal authority. Was it only two miles distant? The streets alone he would have dared, with the girls. The bright side of this labyrinth was that there was always an alternative route to be found. But the City was not the printer’s staircase. Men were killing on the merest whim. The wrong word, glance, inflection or gesture, could, at any moment, provoke a frenzy, and the girls would be dead.

  ‘Taking you across the bridges is too reckless.’

  ‘You’ve already explained that,’ said Pascale.

  ‘Even if we never see you again, we’ll still love you.’

  Flore spoke softly and with all the truth of her heart, and she cut to the quick of what remained of his honour. But madness had no respect for honour, and honour was no friend to reason.

  ‘When Orlandu’s fit enough, I’ll bring him to the abbey. We’ll be reunited.’

  The girls’ enthusiasm for this indeterminate plan was not great but they could find no reasonable objection. Before they could muster some other variety thereof, Tannhauser went to tighten Clementine’s girth strap.

  ‘You said you would show me some moves I could use.’

  Pascale held the short dress dagger she had taken from the captain.

  ‘I use tools all the time in the shop. Father says I’m as deft as Apollo.’

  He reckoned she wanted the fellowship more than the knowledge. It seemed little enough to give. He held the dagger flat against his forearm.

  ‘The body is a map of death but much is stony ground. The kill is hard to find, the quick kill most of all. You must know the landmarks.’

  ‘The bones.’

  ‘Those and more. Two moves, both simple. Both require extreme close range and nerve, but of that you have plenty. First. Here, inside the thigh, is an artery as thick as my finger. Sever that and a man will bleed to death before he’s worked out that he hasn’t lost his tackle, which is what will alarm him most. Speed is all, both in and out. Conceal the blade against your forearm, thus. Charge in, calling something womanly – for mercy, for help, or his name if you know it. That will give even a hard-hearted man a second’s pause, and in that second you kill him. Push your head in his gut, bent over, so he can’t see, then make a deep, strong cut through the inner thigh, below the groin, here, as if you’re cutting through a wheel of hard, stale cheese. Then get out, run away, get your distance, let him bleed, he’ll be in no state to follow.’

  ‘Don’t hesitate. Don’t linger.’

  ‘Excellent. Second, the same approach, a vulnerable girl seeking help. If he’s not too tall, throw yourself against his chest, your left palm outward as if to caress him – perhaps even touch his cheek. With your right hand, the blade flat as before, you come up and drive the tip down into the root of the neck, behind the collarbones, as with Jean. See?’

  Pascale nodded, her eyes bright. ‘Yes, I see.’

  ‘Then, as before, at once get out and run. In all this be fast and sly. As a fox. Escape is the best defence. Do not get wounded. Decide. At every instant, deciding is everything. Deciding is more important than what you decide to do. If you decide, you can do; if you don’t, you can do nothing but die. But choose combat only in the direst of straits. You don’t see me taking risks I don’t need to.’

  ‘You just killed seventeen armed men.’

  He noted how meticulously she had subtracted Jean and Ebert from the sum.

  ‘Half as many geese would have been harder. I was never close to getting a scratch. And you’ll recall I was set on flight across the roofs, not a confrontation.’

  ‘But you weren’t afraid. How do you not be afraid?’

  ‘I am afraid. Fear lives in the body, naturally, like hunger, not in the mind, as most believe. And knowing that, a fighter can harness it, for fear is a mighty power. Fear makes his mind clearer, faster; it makes him move faster; it doubles his strength, his daring; and so it becomes courage, which is but another point on the selfsame natural circle. If we see fear and courage as opposites, as contraries, we’re setting ourselves a magician’s job to turn one into the other. But if, in essence, they are one, like good luck and bad on Fortuna’s wheel, one can learn how to give the wheel a spin.’

  ‘I see. I see.’ Her eyes near bulged. ‘But how do you spin the wheel?’

  ‘Where
in lies the joy of, say, riding at the gallop, or diving into deep water?’

  ‘It’s scary.’

  ‘For many it’s pure terror, and they get thrown, or they drown.’

  Pascale thought about it.

  ‘So you find the joy in the terror.’

  ‘I correct myself. Terror has no contrary, except perhaps death.’

  ‘So terror isn’t on the wheel.’

  ‘Terror hunts alone and swallows you. Let those jaws shut and she’ll not let go until she’s finished, or you are. But if you’re quick, you can jump on her back.’

  ‘I’m quick.’

  ‘Learn to ride that she-wolf, and you become terror.’

  ‘I can see the wolf, but how do you know it’s a she?’

  Tannhauser laughed. Why was he telling a child such things?

  ‘Are you laughing at me?’

  ‘You’re keen, girl, I’ll give you that. And to answer, it’s just my fancy. If I can give some material form to a force that has none, I can better grasp it.’

  ‘Yes.’

  Pascale reached for the dagger in his hand. He gave it to her.

  ‘Can I practise? Just once?’

  ‘Sheathe the blade first.’

  ‘But then it won’t be real.’

  ‘That’s my intention.’

  ‘I’m not going to hurt you.’

  ‘Slowly, then. Very slowly.’

  Tannhauser gritted his teeth. She was swift and accurate. It took all his nerve not to cringe as the blade came close to his crotch. He nodded, to convey his approval. Over her shoulder he saw Juste’s head appear beyond the sliding panel in the wicket.

  ‘Can I try again?’

  ‘Later.’

  ‘Master? Are you there, master?’

  As Tannhauser opened the wicket he heard Juste mutter something about mice. When he stepped back, Juste herded Tybaut’s twin girls inside. They were holding hands and didn’t let go of each other. Juste followed, alone. Tannhauser looked up and down the street. There was no sign of Grégoire. He closed the door.

  Juste stood staring at Flore. No master painter could have better portrayed the effect of Cupid’s arrow, and likely as not would have chosen not to do so, for the lad looked as slack-jawed and witless as a young ram. Tannhauser reassessed Flore. She was pretty, though in such matters the contribution made by beauty was unpredictable. Amparo’s face had been half bashed-in, and she had won his heart. Flore’s bedraggled and tear-stained appearance may even have increased her allure. By the way she returned Juste’s gaze, Tannhauser guessed that the same arrow had pierced her, too.

  ‘Flore, Pascale, this is my good friend Juste. He’s a Pole of noble lineage and newly, if sadly, heir to his family’s holdings in that illustrious land. He’s brave but not rash, and he doesn’t insist on the deference and formalities that are his due. Isn’t that right, Juste?’

  Juste roused himself from his stupor to bow to each of the sisters in turn.

  ‘The honour is mine,’ he choked.

  ‘Does he always travel with prostitutes?’ asked Pascale.

  ‘I saw them all alone near the Hôtel-Dieu,’ blurted Juste. He looked to Tannhauser. ‘I knew you’d want me to help them.’

  Tannhauser looked at the twins. Their fingers were knotted together and seemed encrusted with purple mud, as did their arms to the elbows. The white lead, charcoal and beet juice with which their faces had been painted was smeared into antic patterns. They were shod in sandals woven from straw and so caked in congealed gore that their feet appeared twice their true size. They stared at the floor with a wretchedness that could not be imagined. He had provided them with soup and murdered their keeper, and then he had forgotten them. They increased his burdens, but only in degree and not in quality.

  ‘Well done, Juste. Do they know about Tybaut?’

  ‘When I found them they were trying to drag his body to the hospital.’

  Tannhauser recalled the state in which he had left Tybaut’s corpse.

  ‘Do you know their names?’

  ‘They won’t speak to me and they haven’t said a word to each other. I’ve been calling them the Little Mice and it seems not to offend them.’

  Tannhauser found this nickname a sight too dainty but didn’t quibble. He looked at the older pair of sisters. ‘Make these Mice look presentable for the Benedictines, and be gentle.’ He looked at Pascale and she blushed. ‘I’ll stand no more mean talk.’

  He beckoned Juste to examine a two-wheeled cart tilted on its shafts at one end of the yard. The cart was open at the front, where a driver could sit or stand. At the rear was a hinged tailboard. It was shabby but the wheels were tight and the bearings greased.

  ‘Well? Is Grégoire alive?’

  ‘Yes, forgive me, I should have told you at once. Lucifer, too.’

  ‘Where is he?’

  ‘He followed the two men but I don’t know where they’ve gone. Lucifer went with him.’ This seemed to disappoint Juste. ‘We decided I should come back to find you, and then I found the Mice near the Hôtel-Dieu –’

  Tannhauser pulled him to the tack room.

  ‘Who are these two men he’s following?’

  ‘Grégoire isn’t easy to understand, but I think he called one “Petit Christian”. He made a pantomime of a monkey, so you’d know who he meant.’

  ‘I know who he means. Who was the other man?’

  ‘He rode a marvellous sorrel horse with four white socks. He wore black with a gold chain across his chest. He was older, older than you, but not as old as the porter.’

  ‘The porter from the college? A withered insect in a wig?’

  ‘Yes, that porter.’

  ‘So you saw three men: Petit Christian, the porter and the notable.’

  ‘Yes.’

  A gold collar suggested a knight of some order of chivalry.

  ‘Can you describe the links of the gold collar, or its medallion?’

  ‘No, I didn’t really look. We didn’t want to get too close.’

  ‘You did well. Here, carry this.’

  Tannhauser dug out a breast collar with its traces and breeching. He piled them into Juste’s arms. They returned to the yard to harness Clementine to the cart.

  ‘Go back to the moment I left you in the street. Tell me everything.’

  ‘First of all we threw horseshit – no, first you killed the two men at the fire and dragged them inside the shop, then we threw horseshit at the men, well, very young men, almost boys, but they had knives and axes, and they chased us through the alleys, but Grégoire knew a hole into a tunnel by a church, where they stack the bones and where the lunatics live. The smell made me sick, and after the sunshine it was dark, I admit I was very frightened, but –’

  ‘Why did you throw horseshit at the boys with knives?’

  ‘Lucifer barked at them and I said, “They’re going to follow Tannhauser into the shop!” and Grégoire grabbed the dung. He’s used to it, you know, but horseshit really isn’t so bad, I think it’s better than any other kind, for throwing.’

  He nodded, as if to reassure Tannhauser on this point.

  Tannhauser quelled an urge to chastise their recklessness.

  ‘I’m sure it is. And you were brave. Go on.’

  ‘Well, the lunatics were furious when we ran over them – we trampled on their pallets, smashed jugs of wine, the tunnel was full of strange rubbish – and they screamed at us, and their dogs were barking, Lucifer was barking, some of them were women, hags, and some were naked, the men, too, it was like Hell, but Grégoire grabbed my arm and pulled me. We didn’t stop until we got to some steps. I heard the boys start shouting behind us, fighting with the lunatics and their dogs, I think, but I didn’t turn around. We ran up the steps to a graveyard, very small, behind the church, and Grégoire threw Lucifer over a wall – he didn’t like that, I must say – and we climbed over. We didn’t see any of the boys coming up the steps. And then we kept on running through the alleys. I was lost, but Grégo
ire wasn’t.’

  Juste paused to take a deep breath.

  ‘May I have some water?’

  Tannhauser tightened a harness buckle. He filled a dipper at the butt. Juste drank.

  ‘What happened next?’

  ‘We made a big circle, because we wanted to get back to Clementine, but as we passed the hanging man, near the bridge, Grégoire saw Petit Christian, and we stopped to watch. Well, in fact we first stopped to look at the fine red horse, and Petit Christian came out of the college with the porter, and the notable questioned them both. Then the porter went back inside and the other two crossed the bridge to the City and we followed.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Grégoire said that’s what you would do, that is, if you didn’t kill them. You did tell us to gather what facts we could.’

  ‘They didn’t spot you trailing them?’

  Juste shook his head. ‘The island was still in a tumult. There are boys everywhere, they love the excitement.’ With a note of accusation he added, ‘Though most of them have knives, or at least a stick.’

  ‘You’ve survived without either. Continue.’

  ‘Grégoire also said something about “Le Tellier”, I think.’

  ‘The captain of the Scots Guard. Dominic, you remember him.’

  ‘Of course I remember him. But he wasn’t there. I’m certain.’

  ‘Dominic is in league with Petit Christian.’

  ‘That’s what Grégoire was trying to explain, I suppose. We followed them towards the cathedral and they turned across the Pont Notre-Dame, to the Ville. That’s when we decided I should find you, so you wouldn’t worry, and Grégoire told me how to get here. From the cathedral it’s straight up the hill and –’

  ‘You crossed the Petit Pont?’

  ‘Audentes fortuna juvat,’ said Juste. ‘Which means –’

  ‘Fortune favours the bold. And let us hope it is so. But how?’

  ‘We – the Mice and I – tagged along with a gang. I let them think I was like Tybaut. Isn’t that what you would have done?’

  ‘What will Grégoire do when he’s done with his bold quest?’