'What sort of prisoners are they?' asked Daniel.
'There's only one kind, Marcel. Whatever they're like when they go in there, they soon end up the same. It doesn't matter what they did to get locked away. All we see is a lot of miserable, godforsaken wretches, crawling slowly towards death.'
'Our work is boring,' said Philippe, the man with the warts. 'We lock them up, we feed them and, if they're very lucky, we take them out for exercise. Most of them never leave their cells. And if they try to complain, we have some fun knocking them about.'
Georges smirked. 'That's what I enjoy,' he said. 'When one of them dared to throw food at me today, I beat him black and blue. That'll teach him.'
They were an uncouth bunch and, in the normal course of events, nothing would have induced Daniel to befriend them. Since he wanted to penetrate the Bastille, however, he would have to do so as part of its large staff. The men laughed, sang, joked and boasted about the way they mistreated the prisoners. At the end of the evening, Philippe wrapped an arm around Daniel's shoulders and grinned at him.
'Do you still want to be a turnkey, Marcel?' he asked.
'Yes,' said Daniel. 'I guarded prisoners in the army. I liked it.'
'Meet me outside the main gate at noon tomorrow. I'll take you along to meet someone. I can't promise anything, mind you,' he added, drunkenly, 'but I'll put in a good word for you.'
'Thanks.'
When Daniel eventually limped away, he was equally satisfied and dismayed. He was pleased to have the possibility of work at the Bastille but alarmed to hear how some of the inmates were treated. There was no point in trying to liberate Emanuel Janssen if the Dutchman was in no condition to walk out. In the brutal regime of the prison, he might by now be barely alive. On the other hand, if the intention had been to kill him, Janssen would already have been executed as a spy. For some reason, he'd been spared. Daniel therefore consoled himself with the thought that he might - if he was fortunate enough to secure employment at the Bastille - find out exactly what that reason was.
Chapter Nine
When business took him back to The Hague again, Willem Ketel made a point of calling on his close friend. Johannes Mytens shook him warmly by the hand then conducted him to the parlour. It was a large room with a polished oak floor and solid oak furniture. Paintings by Rembrandt, Vermeer and Hobbema adorned three walls. The fourth was covered by a magnificent tapestry depicting The Hague. They went through the social niceties before turning to the subject that exercised their minds most.
'What's the feeling in the States-General?' asked Ketel.
Mytens sounded weary. 'Most of us are as tired of this war as you are, Willem,' he said. 'We've spent far too long fighting the French with no prospect of ultimate victory. I freely admit that I was carried away by the rhetoric when the Grand Alliance was first formed. With England, Prussia, Austria and others to help us, I felt that we could defeat the French army at last. They've held sway over Europe for far too long.'
'It's easy to see why, Johannes. They've always had the finest soldiers and the most astute commanders.'
'I'd hoped that the Duke of Marlborough could match their commanders and, in all fairness, from time to time he did.'
'It was only because he was supported by able Dutch generals.'
'Marlborough says that our generals held him back.'
'They merely saved him from making rash decisions.'
'Our soldiers are brave,' said Mytens, 'but the fact remains that we fight best at sea. While our army is competent, our navy is our real strength. Unfortunately, there's little chance of using them in this war. We're restricted largely to land battles.'
'That's one of my complaints. The English steal all the glory at sea.'
'I don't see much glory,' said Ketel, removing his wig to scratch his head. 'I know that they captured Gibraltar and withstood a French siege but what else has the navy done? Those leaky, old, disease- ridden ships of theirs have spent most of their time carrying soldiers to Portugal and Spain.'
'I approved of the treaty with Portugal,' admitted Mytens, his jowls wobbling more than ever. 'I accepted Marlborough's argument that he needed naval bases there. He was eager for his men to cross the border into Spain supported by the Portuguese army.'
'Never trust the Portuguese, I say.'
'They've been dubious allies, I grant you.'
'It's a question of resources,' argued Ketel, replacing his wig. 'We need all the men we have to defend our boundaries and to advance into French territory. Yet Marlborough, our commander- in-chief, the self-proclaimed hero of Blenheim, the man who boasts that he has a grand strategy, has diverted almost as many soldiers to Spain.'
'His mistake was in thinking that he could control operations in the peninsula from here.'
'We're all paying a high price for that mistake.'
'I agree, Willem.'
'On a single voyage from Lisbon to Valencia, we lost over four thousand men who could have been put to better use in Flanders.'
Mytens smiled. 'You're remarkably well-informed.'
'I'm a merchant, Johannes. My success depends on knowing what happens where. When a ship of mine puts into port, I always go out of my way to talk to the captain to hear what news he has for me.' He sucked his teeth. 'And I have other sources of information as well.'
'It's no wonder that you've prospered.'
'There are ways of making money out of war and I've used every one of them. I don't deny it. That's what anyone in my position would do. But my prosperity - our prosperity as a nation - relies on a long period of peace that allows us to invest our money prudently instead of wasting it on a war we can never win.'
Mytens clasped his hands across his paunch and gave a nod. 'We've had this conversation before, Willem.'
'And are you still of the same mind?'
'I am. Marlborough must go.'
'But whatever means necessary?'
'By whatever means,' repeated Mytens, firmly.
'Where is he at the moment?'
'I thought you'd know that. You seem to know everything else.'
'Is he still in Flanders?'
'No, Willem, he's on his way to Dusseldorf to wheedle more troops out of the Elector Palatine. After that, he's visiting our other allies to get promises of men and money out of them. Give the man his due,' he continued, 'Marlborough is a sublime diplomat. That English charm of his works time and again.'
'And it sends men off to pointless deaths on the battlefield.'
'Why did you ask about his whereabouts?'
'I wanted to make sure that he'd be out of the way.'
'Marlborough won't be back here until December.'
'That will give us ample time,' said Ketel. 'I hope to be bringing a friend to meet you in due course, Johannes.'
'Is it someone from Amsterdam?'
'No - he comes from Paris.'
Mytens was guarded. 'Who is the fellow?'
'You don't need to know his name yet and you certainly don't need to feel perturbed. My friend wants exactly what we want and that's a promise of peace and a rest from this perpetual warfare.' He slipped a hand under his wig for another scratch. 'If we can reach agreement with France, we all stand to benefit.'
'Marlborough will oppose any peace manoeuvres.'
'He won't be here to do so, will he?' said Ketel with a smile before turning to look at the tapestry. 'I'd know the work of Emanuel Janssen anywhere. Whenever I'm in this room, I always admire it.'
'I'm not sure that I should keep it, Willem.'
'Nothing would make me part with such a masterpiece.'
'Emanuel Janssen is a traitor. He's working at Versailles.'
'King Louis always had exquisite taste.'
'That doesn't entitle him to lure away our best tapestry- maker. It's true,' said Mytens, studying the tapestry, 'that it's a masterpiece but should I have it hanging there when the man who created it is now in the pay of the enemy?'
'Leave it where it is, Johannes,' urge
d Ketel. 'It deserves a place in any house. Besides, Janssen may be in the pay of our enemy at the moment but that enemy could soon become our friend.'
Daniel rose early next morning and, after breakfast at the tavern, rode off to explore the city carefully and to find the best way out of it for them. Because it covered a relatively small area, it was densely populated. Straddling the river, it was bounded on the north by the boulevards from Porte Saint-Antoine to Porte Saint- Honore. Its southern border was the Boulevard Saint-Germain. Paris was divided into 20 quartiers and had something close to 500,000 inhabitants. Early in his reign - and he had been on the throne for over four decades now - Louis XIV had instructed Jean-Baptiste Colbert, his Superintendent of Finance, to create a capital city worthy of the name. The enterprising Colbert did so by embarking on an ambitious programme of building and he transformed Paris.
Working people, along with the poor and sickly, were forced out to the suburbs so that the centre of the city could be occupied by wide new thoroughfares, impressive monuments, grandiose palaces, vast mansions and splendid gardens. New bridges spanned the Seine and factories manufacturing glass and carpets were set up. It was a compact, bustling city where beauty and ugliness lived cheek by jowl and where fabulous riches contrasted with the most degrading poverty. Though Daniel was bound to marvel at the superb architecture of buildings like the Invalides hospital and the Hotel Colbert, he preferred Amsterdam in every way. The Dutch city, the greatest port in the world, was altogether cleaner, healthier, safer, more modest in its aspirations and, because of its plethora of lamps, the best lit city in Europe.
Daniel yearned to be there again, ideally in the company of Amalia Janssen. His orders had been to take her father to The Hague but the Janssen family would in time return to their home. He hoped that his friendship with Amalia would continue and blossom. When it was known that the tapestry-maker had not after all betrayed his country, he'd be acclaimed once more in Amsterdam. All that Daniel had to do was to convey him there. The task seemed more difficult every time he contemplated it but he responded to the challenge. Riding from gate to gate, he saw how well-guarded all the exits were and was sure that those on duty had descriptions of Amalia and her companions. It was Daniel who'd killed Jacques Serval but the others would be regarded as confederates and punished accordingly.
After his tour of the city's portals, he returned to the tavern well before noon and stabled his horse there. As midday was approaching, Daniel was lurking outside the Bastille. Among the many faces coming towards him, he recognised those of Philippe and Georges, the turnkeys with whom he'd been drinking the previous night. They greeted him with a wave then escorted him to the main gate. Daniel had put a stone in one shoe so that he was forced to limp as he walked. Having passed himself off as a wounded French soldier, he had to keep up the pretence. When the gate was opened, the gaolers went through it for another day's work. Before they were allowed to go to their posts, their names were checked off in turn. The man in charge of the list was tall, cadaverous and beady-eyed. He wore a dark uniform. Philippe spoke to him and indicated Daniel. After subjecting the newcomer to a long stare, the man flicked a hand to make him stand aside. Philippe and Georges bade him a cheery farewell before going off to one of the towers.
Daniel waited until the incoming turnkeys had all been accounted for and those they'd relieved had all departed. Only when his ledger had all the requisite ticks on it did the emaciated man look up. Daniel felt the intensity of his scrutiny. The man's eyes were so keen that they seemed to see right through the newcomer.
'What's your name?' he demanded.
'Marcel Daron, sir.'
'Do you have papers?'
'Yes, sir,' replied Daniel, taking them out and handing them over. He stood there for several minutes while his papers were inspected. They were eventually handed back to him. 'I was a soldier until I was wounded in battle,' he explained. 'They have no room in the army for invalids.'
'We have no call for them here either. Our turnkeys must be fit and strong enough to control unruly prisoners.'
'Apart from my foot, I'm in good health, sir. Being a soldier has kept me strong. Put me to the test, if you doubt it.'
The man did so at once, shooting out a hand to grasp him by the neck and pulling him close. Daniel's response was equally swift. He grabbed the man's wrist and squeezed it tighter and tighter until he saw the pain clouding his eyes. Strong though he was, the man was soon compelled to release his grip. Tucking the ledger under one arm, he massaged his wrist with the other hand.
'You're a powerful man, Marcel Daron.'
'You'll not find me wanting, sir.'
'Have you guarded prisoners before?'
'I did so many times in the army.'
'Why do you want to work here?'
'The work appeals to me, sir.'
'But why choose the Bastille?' asked the other. 'Why not go to the Chatelet or the Eveque? They are always looking for new men.'
'I heard that there might be a job for me here, sir.'
The man sniffed then walked around him, as if examining livestock at a fair. He opened his ledger and glanced down the list of names. The beady eyes shifted to Daniel once more.
'Are you afraid of the dark?' he asked.
'No, sir.'
'Are you frightened by rats and mice?'
'Nothing frightens me,' said Daniel, levelly.
'Very well,' decided the man after another prolonged survey of him. 'You can go on duty tonight. There'll be a uniform waiting for you when you arrive. If you're late, you'll be turned away.'
'Yes, sir.'
'My name is Bermutier - Sergeant Bermutier.'
'I'll be here on time, Sergeant,'
Bermutier gave him full details of how long he'd be expected to work, where he'd be assigned and what wage he could expect if he proved himself capable. Daniel thanked him before being let out through the door. As it closed behind him with a loud thud, he was profoundly grateful. Even during his brief visit to the place, he'd felt extremely oppressed by the high, thick walls of the Bastille. He could imagine how much worse it was to be imprisoned there.
Ronan Flynn was a genial host. Unfailingly pleasant to Amalia and Dopff, he was so impressed by the way that Beatrix had cleaned the house that he jokingly offered her a permanent job there. Amalia didn't even bother to translate the words into Dutch for her servant. She knew that Beatrix was as eager as she to leave Paris altogether and would hope never to set foot in France again. While they were there, however, it was important for the visitors to express their gratitude by giving the Flynn family ample time on their own. That was what prompted Amalia to take Beatrix for a walk that afternoon. Dopff, meanwhile, retreated to the attic.
Alone with his wife and child, Flynn sat in a chair and dandled Louise on his knee, chuckling as she gave him her toothless grin and happy burble. Charlotte watched them fondly. Her thoughts then turned to their guests.
'They're very good,' she conceded. 'They've been no trouble while you were at the bakery. Amalia looked after Louise for me.'
'They all adore her.'
'Yes, she's getting a lot of attention from them.'
'She deserves it,' he said, lifting the child high to shake her before bringing her down and planting a kiss on her forehead.'
'Where is your friend, Daniel?'
'He'll be back in a few days, my darling.'
'A few days", echoed Charlotte. "They've already been here two nights. I thought they'd have been on their way by now.'
'Dan has some business to see to first.'
'What kind of business?'
'He didn't say.'
'There are lots of things he hasn't told you, Ronan. He hasn't said why they're all here, for a start. And he hasn't explained why they're all so nervous.'
'They're nervous because they're in a strange house in a foreign country and unable to speak the language.'
'Then what are they doing here? Why come to Paris when they can't speak French an
d when they have nowhere to stay?'
'Who knows?' said Flynn, tolerantly. 'I don't want to poke my nose into their business. I told you how Dan Rawson came to my aid when I was captured by the enemy. He risked his life to do that, Charlotte, and it's not something you forget in a hurry, believe me. I owe him a great deal. These people are
Dan's friends and I was willing to help. I'd hoped that you'd be just as willing, my darling.'
'I am,' she said, 'in some ways.'
Seeing her concern, he put the baby gently into the crib then took his wife by the shoulders. He kissed her tenderly.
'Something is upsetting you, isn't it?'
She shook her head. 'It puzzles me, Ronan, that's all.'
'What does?'
'Why they seem so ill at ease and whisper in corners.'
'You can't accuse Kees of whispering anywhere,' he said with a laugh. 'The poor fellow can't utter a word.'
'He's the one who puzzles me most. I never know what he's thinking. Have you seen what he has up there in the attic?'
'A lot of dust and spiders' webs, I daresay.'
'I slipped up there when he was in the garden.'
'You shouldn't pry, Charlotte.'
'This is our house,' she said with spirit. 'I've the right to go anywhere I like in it. That's why I went up to the attic.'
'And what did you find there?' asked Flynn.
'I found a tapestry. It was the most beautiful thing I've ever seen and must be worth a small fortune. Do you understand why I'm so puzzled now?' she asked. 'Why does a man like that have such a valuable tapestry with him?'
'Follow me and do as I do,' ordered the Frenchman.
'I will,' said Daniel.
'And don't breathe in too deeply.'
'Why?'
'You'll soon find out.'
Daniel arrived for work late that evening to be met by another duty sergeant. He was issued with a nondescript uniform, the most significant feature of which was the thick leather belt to which a large metal ring of keys was attached. His partner for the night was Jules Rivot, a fat, slovenly man in his forties with a dark complexion. Rivot's manner was less than friendly and his face was a study in solemnity. Daniel could smell the beer on his breath. He trailed round obediently after the Frenchman. Rivot was slow and methodical. Patently hating the work, he unloaded as much of it as he could on Daniel.
Drums of War Page 11
