'Give this one more water,' he said.
'Yes,' replied Daniel, filling a cup with a brackish liquid out of a wooden bucket before passing it through the bars to a prisoner. 'What about food?'
'He gets none till breakfast and only if I'm in a good mood.'
That seemed highly unlikely to Daniel but he said nothing. Rivot's warning had been timely. The reek was so powerful at first that it made him retch. He'd been assigned to the cachots, cold, dark, slimy, vermin-infested cells below ground where people were locked away and often forgotten. Some had clearly been there for a very long time because their clothes had worn away to shreds. One man, a human skeleton with hair down to his shoulders and a beard down to his chest, was almost naked. Rivot showed them no compassion. He simply held up his lantern so that he could see the occupants of each cell. The prisoners knew better than to try to talk to him but the sight of a new face roused a few of them. They came to the doors and gave Daniel ingratiating smiles.
'Ignore the bastards,' advised Rivot. 'They all want favours.'
'They don't seem to get any of those.'
'Not when I'm on duty.'
'Are all the prisoners kept in these foul conditions?'
'These are the ones nobody cares about,' said Rivot. 'We bury them underground like so many corpses. It's just as bad in the calottes, the cells under the roof. They're open to the weather up there. They get soaked by the rain and burnt by the sun. In winter, some of them freeze to death.'
'What crimes have they committed?' asked Daniel.
'It doesn't matter.'
'Are they thieves or kidnappers?'
'They upset important people.'
Daniel knew that the King had sent many of the inmates there by means of lettres de cachet, a pernicious document that had victims thrown into a rank cell without any judicial process. There was no appeal against such an indeterminate sentence. Louis XI V's favourites were also indulged. If one of them suffered a slight or was openly insulted, the offender could find himself deprived of his liberty on a royal whim. During their dismal tour of the cachots, Daniel checked every name and looked through every set of bars. Relieved that Emanuel Janssen was not among the miserable wretches kept there, he feared that the Dutchman might be housed instead under the roof and exposed to the elements. In some weathers, that amounted to continuous torture.
Some time during the night, they had a break from their duties and shared a tankard of beer and a piece of bread with the other turnkeys. Rivot preferred to eat in silence but one of the men was more talkative. He told Daniel that not everyone in the Bastille was treated like those in the cachots. Those imprisoned on the middle level of the towers had a more comfortable time. Being locked up was their only punishment. To relieve the boredom, they were allowed books, writing materials, visitors, pets and, if they could afford to pay for it, excellent food and wine.
'We had a Duke in there last year,' confided the man, 'and he lived in luxury. He was even allowed to have his mistress in the cell twice a week.' Nudging Daniel, he cackled. 'It must have been interesting to watch them in bed together. They say she was a beauty.'
'Who looks after prisoners like that?' asked Daniel.
'Not the likes of you and me. We only deal with the dross down here, my friend. Only the lucky ones get to work up there. They can earn a lot of money sometimes.'
'By taking bribes, you mean?'
'By doing a few favours,' said the man.
Daniel was heartened for the first time. It might be that Janssen had been given privileges as well. If he was imprisoned somewhere on the middle level of a tower, his health might not have deteriorated. His tapestries had earned him substantial rewards. Janssen would be rich enough to buy concessions from his gaolers. That vague hope helped to sustain Daniel through the long, malodorous, depressing hours below ground with inmates who might never see the light of day again. He put up with Rivot's bleak companionship and learnt not to be startled when a rat darted across his path. When his stint finally came to an end, he climbed back up into the courtyard and had to shield his eyes from the sun for several minutes.
He looked up at the imposing towers, wondering in which one of them Janssen was being kept. Daniel would never have the time or opportunity to search them all in rotation. He had to find another way to locate the tapestry-maker. He remembered the ledger that the duty sergeant used to check people in and out. That would surely contain the names and whereabouts of prisoners as well. Daniel had to gain access to it somehow. For the time being, however, he had to content himself with what he'd so far achieved. He was inside the Bastille and he'd acquired a convincing disguise. Further progress would have to wait. What he needed most now was fresh air, the chance to wash and a reviving sleep.
Major Simon Cracknell came into Tom Hillier's life when he least expected it. The drummer had been on the edge of the camp with Hugh Dobbs, throwing missiles playfully at him and trying to dodge the ones that were aimed at him. Twigs, clumps of grass and handfuls of earth flew through the air until Cracknell suddenly appeared. Both of the youths immediately dropped their next missile and stood self-consciously to attention.
'Is this how you spend your time?' said the major, looking at the dirty marks on their uniforms. 'You should be ashamed of yourselves.'
'We're sorry, Major,' said Dobbs.
'How long have you been in the army?'
'Four years, sir.'
'Then you should have grown out of these childish games.'
'We were doing no harm, sir.'
'Yes, you were,' said Cracknell. 'Apart from anything else, you were soiling your uniforms. This regiment prides itself on its appearance and your coats are covered in filth. What the devil did the pair of you think you were doing?'
'It won't happen again, Major,' said Dobbs. 'Tom and I didn't mean to get dirty. It was just horseplay.'
'Disappear and clean up that uniform. No, not you, Hillier,' said Cracknell as he tried to leave with Dobbs. 'I want to speak to you.'
'Yes, Major,' said Hillier, stopping in his tracks.
'What do you have to say for yourself?'
'I apologise, sir.'
'How often does this kind of thing happen?'
'It's the first time, sir.'
'Don't tell lies, boy!'
'Hugh Dobbs and I have never done this before.'
'Then what's this I hear about your getting into a fight?'
Hillier was startled. 'That was nothing, sir,' he said, guiltily.
'It's evidence of gross indiscipline and I deplore it.' He stood very close to the young drummer. 'Do you know who I am?'
'I think that you must be Major Cracknell, sir.'
'And how did you decide that, I wonder?' said the officer, leaning over to whisper in his ear. 'Could it be that your uncle told you about me, perhaps?'
'I have no uncle in this regiment, sir.'
'What else is Sergeant Welbeck?'
'The sergeant made it clear to me that family ties have no place in the army, sir. I've accepted that I'm no longer his nephew.'
'And yet he goes out of his way to warn you about me.'
'Sergeant Welbeck has no reason to speak to me, sir.'
'I don't believe that,' said Cracknell. 'The fact is that you know who I am so it's time you discovered what I am as well. I loathe horseplay of any kind, Hillier. I hate indiscipline. In my view - and it's been informed by years in this regiment - transgressors need to be taught a lesson they won't forget.'
'Yes, Major.'
'Do you like being a drummer?'
'I like it well enough, sir.'
'Do you enjoy marching with the others?'
'I do, sir.'
'Well, you're going to do some marching on your own now. Do you see that wagon?' asked Cracknell, pointing a finger.
'I want you to find your drum and meet me there as quickly as you can.'
'Yes, Major,' said Hillier before running off.
It was the best part of a hundred yards to the
wagon indicated. By the time that Cracknell had reached it, Hillier came panting up with his drum. He awaited instructions.
'You won't need the drumsticks,' said Cracknell.
'Then how shall I play it, sir?'
'You're not going to play it. You're going to hold it high above your head with both hands then you march from here all the way to where we were standing a while ago. When you reach that point,' said Cracknell, 'you simply turn round and march straight back here.'
'Yes, Major.'
'You'll keep going to and fro until I stop you. Is that understood, Tom Hillier?'
'Yes, Major.'
'Then let me see that drum held at arm's length.'
Hillier obeyed. Tucking the drumsticks into his belt, he held the drum above his head and set off, certain that the punishment would continue for a long time. As he marched across the grass, he knew that Major Cracknell would be watching him with grim satisfaction.
Refreshed by a morning's sleep, Daniel changed into the attire he'd worn on his arrival in Paris and rode off to the Flynn household. They were all pleased to see him again. Amalia's face brightened instantly, Beatrix burst into tears and Dopff grinned from ear to ear. It was Ronan Flynn who led the questioning.
'The Prodigal Son has returned,' he said, jocularly. 'Kill the fatted calf, Charlotte. We must celebrate.' He embraced Daniel warmly. 'Where have you been, man?'
'I've been attending to business,' replied Daniel.
'Here in Paris?'
'Yes, Ronan.'
'Then why didn't you stay with us?'
'You already had plenty of guests.'
'Isn't our floor good enough for you to sleep on?' teased Flynn.
'It's a wonderful floor,' said Daniel, 'and I have fond memories of it. With me out of the way, however, there was more room for the rest of you. Is all well here?'
There was a long pause filled by an exchange of glances between the others. Something was evidently amiss. Flynn broke the tension by offering Daniel a drink and the atmosphere became more convivial. Beatrix and Dopff soon drifted out of the room but it was a long time before Daniel was able to talk to Amalia alone. Flynn and his wife took the baby upstairs for her afternoon sleep, leaving the couple to speak in private. Amalia was desperate for good news.
'What have you found out, Daniel?' she asked.
'The situation is not as hopeless as it seemed.'
'But you told me Father was imprisoned in the Bastille.'
'Yes,' said Daniel, 'he is. Don't ask me how - it would take too long to explain - but I'm trying to get in touch with him.'
'Has he been badly treated?'
'I won't know until I can reach him, Amalia, and that may take days. I don't think you can stay here for that long. I have the feeling that you're not as welcome here as you were.'
'They've been very kind to us and I can't thank them enough. It must have been a shock for them to have us arrive on their doorstep the way that we did. But,' Amalia went on, 'we've been here for three nights now and I can see that Charlotte feels that we're in the way. We're starting to become a real burden.'
'I'll find somewhere else for you all to stay.'
'We have plenty of money, Daniel. That's one thing we don't have to worry about. There must be a tavern where we could hire some rooms.'
'There are dozens of them,' he told her. 'On the night that we fled across the city, however, I wanted you to be somewhere I knew was completely safe. That's why I thought of Ronan Flynn.'
Amalia smiled softly. 'He told me what you did for him when he was in the army,' she said. 'You rescued him from the enemy.'
'It was a long time ago.'
'It's still fresh in his mind. Now you're doing the same for us. If we do ever manage to get back home, then I'll never forget it, Daniel. You've been our guardian angel.'
She reached out a hand and he squeezed it gently, resisting the desire to bring it to his lips so that he could kiss it. Instead, he held on to her hand and Amalia made no effort to withdraw it. Searching each other's eyes, they realised the depth of their mutual affection. It was not the time to put feelings into words. In any case, Flynn chose that moment to come downstairs. The Irishman saw the way that their hands suddenly parted.
'Forgive me,' he said, winking slyly at Daniel. 'I didn't mean to interrupt a tê te-à -tê te.'
'We were just talking about moving out, Ronan,' said Daniel. 'Amalia feels that she's imposed on you too long.'
'Imposed on us? What gave you that idea? Instead of three guests, we had a cook, a servant and someone to nurse the baby.
And we didn't even have to pay them for their services.'
'You and Charlotte have been wonderful.'
'Then why desert us?'
'We have to go,' said Amalia. "Thank you very, very much.'
She excused herself so that she could warn Beatrix and Dopff about their imminent departure. Flynn spread his arms.
'Have I frightened them away?'
'Yes,' said Daniel. 'They enjoyed your bread so much that they're afraid they'll double their weight if they stay here. Seriously,' he said over Flynn's chortle, 'the business that brought us here is nearing completion. We need to be in another part of Paris.'
'I can't deny that it will be a relief to Charlotte.'
'Have they been that much of a nuisance?'
'No, no, they've been very well-behaved.'
'Then what's upset your wife?'
'Charlotte is a very law-abiding woman,' said Flynn, 'so I haven't told her about some of the trouble I used to get into in the old days. What's worrying her now is that we've been harbouring stolen goods.'
Daniel blinked in amazement. 'Stolen goods?'
'Well, one item, anyway. Charlotte went up into the attic when Kees wasn't there and she saw that tapestry. She couldn't believe that a man like that could afford something so ruinously expensive. She thinks that he must have stolen it.'
'Would you steal a loaf of bread from your own bakery?'
'It would never even cross my mind.'
'Well, that's the position Kees is in,' said Daniel. 'He didn't rob anyone of that tapestry, Ronan, because he helped to make it. You can't steal what you already own.'
'It's magnificent, Dan. I sneaked up there to take a peep at it myself. Are you telling me that Kees helped to create it?'
'He was working to someone else's design.'
'I don't care. He's a fine artist. Wait until I tell Charlotte.'
'That's all you must tell her,' advised Daniel. 'Neither of you must know why the tapestry ended up here. I'd be grateful if you didn't talk about it to anyone else.'
'We can keep our mouths shut.' He looked his friend in the eye. 'There's danger ahead, isn't there?'
'There may be.'
'You're carrying all three of them on your shoulders, Dan. I can see that. All I asked of you was that you didn't do anything that would put my family in any kind of peril.'
'It's the main reason I'm taking them away.'
'Let me help,' offered Flynn. 'As long as it's well away from this house, I've always got time for an old friend. Kees might be a wizard at a loom but I reckon he's not the man you need in a crisis, and the two ladies would be even less useful. You know my mettle, Dan,' he added, tapping his own chest. 'If there's adventure at hand and you need someone you can rely on, Ronan Flynn is your man.'
'Thank you,' said Daniel, gratefully. 'I may well call on you, Ronan, though you might live to regret your offer.'
Flynn grinned. 'Ah, who's worried about regrets?' he said, airily. 'A man who has no regrets has led a pretty dull life in my opinion. Turn to me when you need me, Dan. I'll be there.'
Chapter Ten
'He kept you out there for well over an hour,' said Hugh Dobbs with a blend of sympathy and anger. 'Major Cracknell is a bastard.'
'He was waiting for me to drop my drum,' explained Tom Hillier, rubbing an arm, 'but I didn't give him that pleasure.'
'I could never have kept it up there th
at long.'
'It was hard work.'
'By rights, I should have been there with you. We were both caught by the major yet he let me go. Why was that?'
'Go and ask him.'
'Oh no, I'll keep well clear of that cruel bugger.'
'I'll try to do the same, Hugh.'
They were in their tent. After suffering the pain and humiliation of marching up and down for so long, Hillier felt that his arms were about to drop off. His drum had got heavier and heavier until he felt that he was holding a ton of lead above his head. What came to his rescue was his determination not to buckle under the strain and the fact that his muscles had been toughened on the farm. He'd also recited some verses he'd memorised as a child and it helped to take his mind off the growing agony. Seeing that he couldn't bring the drummer to his knees, Major Cracknell had eventually stalked off.
'He came looking for you,' said Dobbs. 'Officers have got much more important things to do than watch a couple of lads having some fun. If he was that worried about us, he could have sent a corporal to break up the fight and bellow at us.'
'You could be right, Hugh.'
'I usually am.'
'Major Cracknell went out of his way to find us.'
'To find you, Tom,' corrected the other. 'He doesn't care a fiddler's fart about me even though I'm a lot prettier than you.'
'I hadn't noticed that,' said Hillier with a laugh, starting to rub the other arm. 'You should look in a mirror, Hugh.'
'I'm the handsomest drummer in the regiment.'
'Then the rest of us must be as ugly as sin.'
'You all are.' He saw the fatigue in his friend's face. 'Here, let me do the rubbing for you, Tom. You look as if you're going to fall over.'
Dobbs used both hands to massage one of Hillier's weary arms, managing to impart discomfort and relief at the same time. He then moved on to the other arm before turning his attention to the searing ache in his friend's shoulders. Hillier could scarcely bear the pain at first but it slowly eased.
Drums of War Page 12
