The Wind Dancer/Storm Winds

by Iris Johansen

  Juliette froze. She could barely discern the heavy form of a man humping over the figure of a woman, moving rhythmically between her pale thighs.

  Catherine. The woman had to be Catherine.

  “No!”

  Juliette didn’t realize she had screamed out the word until the stout man looked over his shoulder in startled dismay. “What! Who are—”

  Juliette didn’t make the same mistake this time. The sword came down on his neck blade first. He slumped over, covering Catherine’s slender body like an obscene blanket.

  Juliette ran forward, pushing his heavy carcass off Catherine. “Filth! Canaille!” She knelt, cradling Catherine’s still body, rocking her back and forth in an agony of sympathy. “Sweet Jesus, they’re all filth. Are you hurt?”

  Catherine shuddered and didn’t answer.

  “A stupid question. Of course you’re hurt.” Juliette smoothed Catherine’s hair back from her face. “But you’re safe now. I’m here.”

  “Filth,” Catherine whispered. “You’re right. Dirty. I’m so dirty.”

  “No, not you. Them,” Juliette said fiercely. She pulled Catherine’s gown down about her thighs and sat her up. “Listen, we have no time. They’ll be looking for us soon. We must get away from here.”

  “It’s too late.”

  Juliette shook her. “It’s not too late. We’re not going to let them best us. I’m not going to let them kill you.”

  “Filth. I won’t ever be clean again, will I?”

  “Shh.” Juliette gave Catherine a quick hug, picked up the sword again, and rose. “Can you stand up?”

  Catherine looked at her dumbly.

  Juliette took her wrist and yanked her to her feet. “Do you want them to catch me? Do you want them to do the same thing to me they did to you?”

  Catherine slowly shook her head.

  “Then come with me and do as I say.” Juliette didn’t wait for an answer but pulled Catherine stumbling from the tomb. “We have to hurry or they’ll—” She stopped, her gaze fixed on the abbey. “Bon Dieu, they’ve set fire to it.”

  The abbey wasn’t fully ablaze yet. Only intermittent flames showed in the windows of the chapel. Well, what had she expected? This final desecration was no less terrible than what had gone before. It might even be for the best. Perhaps Dupree would think she had been butchered like the rest or burned up in the fire and wouldn’t search the surrounding countryside. She turned away, pulling Catherine through the gates of the cemetery. “We’ll skirt the road and try to make our way to the forest. Then after they’ve left we’ll walk toward Paris.”

  “They’re singing.”

  “It’s easier to hide in the city than it is in the open countryside, and it will—” Juliette broke off. Dear God, they were singing. The stirring strains of the song lent a macabre beauty to the destruction below. She knew if she lived to be an old woman she would never forget standing on this hillside and listening to those murderers singing their song of liberty and revolution.

  “Filth,” Catherine murmured, rubbing frantically at the front of her gown.

  “Shh. We’re too close.” Juliette pulled her forward through the vegetable garden, angling past the abbey wall south toward the forest. “Just be quiet a little longer and we’ll—”

  “Wait. You’re going the wrong way.”

  At the deep masculine voice Juliette whirled to face a man standing in the shadows of the convent wall. Only one man, she realized with relief. Juliette’s grasp tightened on Catherine’s wrist as she lifted the sword. “Take a step toward us and I’ll slice your heart out.”

  “I have no intention of attacking you.” He paused. “You’re the Citizeness Justice that Dupree had sitting at the tribunal. You carry Dupree’s sword?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you kill him?”

  “No. You’re not going to stop us. I won’t let—”

  “I’m not trying to stop you.” His voice was heavy with weariness. “I’m only trying to tell you that you’re going the wrong way. Dupree’s set a watch. They will capture you if you are within a stone’s throw of this road.”

  She gazed at him suspiciously. “I don’t believe you. Why should you tell me the truth if you were in the courtyard with those …” She searched for a word, but there was none vile enough. “Why are you here? Did you grow bored with slaughtering innocent women?”

  “I didn’t kill anyone. I don’t—” He stopped. “I came into the courtyard just before Dupree took you from the tribunal. I was sent here to witness—I didn’t know it was going to be like this.”

  Juliette stared at him in disbelief.

  “I tell you I didn’t know,” he said fiercely. “I have no love for either you aristos or the church, but I don’t murder the helpless.”

  “Murder.” Catherine’s words came haltingly. “They … killed them?”

  “Yes.” Juliette shot her a worried glance, but the news seemed to have little impact on Catherine’s shocked state.

  “All of them?”

  “I think so.” Juliette’s gaze shifted to the man in the shadows. “He should know better than I.”

  “I didn’t stay to count the dead.”

  “You didn’t stay to help the living either.”

  “I couldn’t help them. Could you have helped them?”

  “You’re one of them. They might have listened to you. Why should—” A sudden shout caused Juliette to stiffen with fear.

  “Hurry. Come with me.” The stranger stepped from the shadows and Juliette registered a swift impression of a man above medium height with a square, hard jaw. His eyes were arresting. They were fierce, light-colored, the eyes of an old man in a young man’s face. “They’ll probably come streaming out of the gate any moment. I have a carriage waiting around the turn of the road about a quarter of a mile from here.”

  He wore a dark brown cutaway coat, well-fitting trousers, knee-high boots, a fine white linen shirt. He didn’t look like those canailles in the courtyard, but Dupree had also been dressed in the guise of a gentleman and he was even more monstrous than the others. “I don’t trust you.”

  “Then die here,” he said harshly. “What are two more aristos to me? Why should I care if you’re bludgeoned like cows in the marketplace? I don’t know what impulse made me offer my aid in the first place.” He turned on his heel and strode away in the direction he had indicated the carriage waited.

  Juliette hesitated. It could be that he was like Dupree and merely wanted the exclusive use of their bodies before he dispatched them.

  Another shout. This one sounded dangerously close.

  “Wait.” She hurried after him, dragging Catherine along with her, her other hand clutching the handle of the sword. As long as she had a weapon, the danger of trusting him was not so great. She could always split the bastard as she had the man in the tomb. “We’re going with you.”

  He didn’t look at her. “Then be quick. I have no desire to be found with you and have my own throat cut.”

  “We are hurrying.” She turned to Catherine. “It’s going to be all right, Catherine. We’ll be safe soon.”

  Catherine looked at her blankly.

  “What’s wrong with her?” The young man’s gaze was fixed on Catherine’s face.

  “What do you think is wrong?” Juliette stared at him scornfully. “She’s been treated as gently as those other women have been treated. She’ll be fortunate if she keeps her senses.”

  His gaze slid away from Catherine. “I’ve always found women have a greater strength than we men think they have. She’ll survive to get her own back.”

  “She wouldn’t know how. I’d have to teach her.” Juliette smiled grimly. “I may do it. Oh, yes, I’d delight in sending you all to perdition after this night.”

  “I can understand how you’d feel that.” The heaviness of his voice startled her. They reached the curve of the road and he stopped abruptly. “Stay here. I have to get rid of Laurent.”

  “Who is L
aurent?”

  “The coachman. I don’t want word of my helping you getting back to Paris. I’ll send him to the abbey on some pretext or other.”

  “A massacre is permitted, but a rescue is forbidden?”

  “Stay hidden in the shrubbery until I return.” Without another glance he disappeared beyond the turn of the road.

  Juliette pulled Catherine behind the screen of holly bushes at the side of the road. They were still too close to the abbey. She could hear the sound of shouts and the dull roar as the flames engulfed the buildings of the convent.

  “Dirty,” Catherine whispered.

  “It’s not true.” Juliette gently pushed a strand of light brown hair back from Catherine’s face. “You’re clean, Catherine.”

  Catherine shook her head.

  Juliette opened her lips to argue but closed them again without speaking. She wasn’t sure there were words to pierce the stupor enveloping Catherine. She would have to worry about Catherine’s sanity later. Now she had to keep them both alive.

  She stiffened as she saw a figure hurrying around the bend of the road. The man was tall, lanky. The coachman Laurent? Whoever he was, he hurried past them down the road in the direction of the abbey.

  Three minutes later two men followed him around the turn. One man was powerfully built, deep-chested, a veritable giant with a huge leonine head. The other she recognized as the young man who had led them from the abbey. He now carried a coach lantern, and the flickering flame lit the square planes of his cheekbones and deepened the green of his eyes.

  Juliette stepped out of the shrubbery to confront them. “Can we go now?”

  The larger man stopped in surprise. “Bon Dieu. What have we here?”

  Juliette gave him an impatient glance. He was probably the ugliest man she had ever seen. A scar twisted his upper lip into a permanent sneer, his nose was smashed into his face. Smallpox scars added to the ruin of his visage. “We have no time to chatter. We’re still too close to the abbey.”

  “I see. My young friend didn’t explain the exact nature of the situation.”

  “There wasn’t time, Georges Jacques.”

  “I think we must take time.” The older man glanced at the sword Juliette still clutched. “Introduce me to the ladies, François.”

  “I don’t know their names. We should be on our way while the confusion—”

  “Stop hurrying me, François.” Steel layered the softness of the ugly man’s voice. “We have a situation here that may be very dangerous for me and I think you know it.” His gaze switched to Juliette. “Let us introduce ourselves, shall we? I’m Georges Jacques Danton and this fierce young man is François Etchelet.”

  “Juliette de Clement. Catherine Vasaro.” Juliette’s gaze narrowed on Danton’s face. “I don’t care how dangerous it is for you. I’m not going to let you take us back there.”

  “No? I didn’t say I would turn you over to the tender hands of the Marseilles. Though the possibility does exist.”

  “No, Georges Jacques.” François Etchelet shook his head. “It does not exist. We’re taking them back to Paris.”

  Danton glanced at him in surprise. “Indeed?”

  François looked at Juliette. “The carriage is down the road. Wait for us there.”

  Juliette gazed at him suspiciously. Then she turned away and led Catherine in the direction he’d indicated.

  François waited until they had vanished from view before he whirled back to face Danton. “You didn’t tell me it would be a slaughter.”

  Danton went still. “Was it? I had hoped Dupree would be content with rapine here.”

  “He was not. The debauchery and slaughter sickened my very soul.”

  “How extraordinary when you’re quite accustomed to violence.”

  Etchelet’s eyes were suddenly blazing. “Not like this. I want no part of it.”

  “You’re already a part of it. You were eager enough to go to the abbey when I sent you.” Danton smiled grimly. “You were like a hound scenting a stag in the forest.”

  “I didn’t realize they would …” Etchelet gestured impatiently with his free hand. “What does it matter? We must get these young women away before Dupree discovers they’ve escaped.”

  “You’re upset.” Danton shrugged. “Truly, I did not imagine it would be so bad when I sent you to represent me. Actually, knowing how hot-blooded you are, I hoped to give you enough of a taste of the savagery of these affairs to make you shy away from Marat’s other parties.”

  “Parties? There are going to be more?”

  Danton nodded. “One at the Abbaye Saint Germain-des-Prés this afternoon and another at the convent of Carmel earlier this evening. There will be others.”

  François felt the nausea rise in his throat as he remembered the horrors he had just witnessed. “In the name of God, why?”

  “Who knows? Marat claims the aristos and clergy within France are plotting to overthrow the government and hand the country over to the Austrian armies. He calls it a necessary elimination of the royalist scum in the prisons.”

  “And that was why thousands of aristos and priests were rounded up last week and thrown into prisons?”

  “But if my memory serves me, you made no objection to the arrests, François. Are you becoming softhearted by any chance?”

  “No!” François made no attempt to hide the violence in his tone. He drew a deep breath. “A convent is not a prison. Nuns are not aristos.”

  “It was Marat’s choice which places would be attacked.” Danton glanced away. “We made a bargain. I would not interfere if he kept his hands off the Girondins in the assembly. You know without the Girondins the assembly would be dangerously unbalanced.”

  “I cannot understand you. Why would you sanction this atrocity? I thought—”

  “You thought Madame Revolution was all shining virtue?” Danton shook his massive head. “Only her soul is pure. Her body is that of the lowliest whore, passed from man to man and gowned in the tawdriest compromises.”

  “I have no use for this particular compromise.”

  “Nor do I.” Danton’s gaze went to the turn of the road where the two women had disappeared. “And so I’m willing to give you a sop to your conscience as long as it can be done safely. What excuse is Dupree giving for the massacre of the women of the abbey?”

  “Prostitution and treason.”

  “Flimsy. However, the war hysteria is high enough in Paris for them to accept anything Marat tells them—which means your ladies in distress will likely be condemned as enemies of the revolution.” He shrugged. “I’ll drive to make sure you get through Dupree’s sentries. My ugly face is known well enough so they probably won’t stop the coach. If they do, I’ll let you deal with them.”

  “It will be my pleasure.”

  “I’m sure it will.” Danton smiled sardonically. “I can see your temper is not of the best.” He started walking to the bend in the road. “I think you’d better ride in the coach with your highborn waifs, my young firebrand. I want no more deaths unless I deem them necessary.”

  “They’re not ‘my waifs.’ After we get them to Paris, they can take their own risks. I’m done with them.”

  “We shall see.” Danton shot François a speculative glance as he climbed up onto the driver’s seat. “Before now I would never have believed you’d have turned knight for any aristo. It’s clearly an evening for surprises.”

  François had scarcely seated himself opposite Juliette and Catherine when the coach started with an abruptness that sent him lurching back against the cushions.

  Juliette waited for him to speak.

  He said nothing.

  Juliette gazed at him in exasperation. The hard, stormy intensity François Etchelet radiated would ordinarily have intrigued her artist’s eye, but at the moment it served only to annoy her. “Well?”

  He gave her a glance. “Georges Jacques will get us through the sentries.” He did not elaborate.

  “How can you
be sure?”

  “He is Danton.”

  Juliette tried to restrain her irritation. “And what does that mean?”

  “He’s the hero of the revolution.”

  She gazed at him scornfully. “Heroes don’t participate in massacres.”

  “He’s the Minister of Justice, the head of the Executive Council, and a very great man. Today he spoke before the entire assembly and saved the revolution. The representatives were like frightened sheep because the Prussians had taken Verdun and might march on Paris. They would have disbanded the assembly and surrendered. He wouldn’t let them.”

  “I don’t care about your revolution.” Her arm tightened around Catherine’s shoulders. “I care only about her … and about myself and the Reverend Mother and all those—”

  “You don’t understand.”

  “Do you?”

  “Most of the time I do.” He shook his head wearily. “Not tonight. Why were you even at the abbey? You should have taken warning when they forbade the nuns to teach you. To be an aristocrat in France today is to be in peril. You should not—”

  “Catherine is no aristocrat.” Juliette cut through his words. “Her family is in the perfume trade in Grasse, but your fine patriots didn’t question her heritage before they raped her.”

  François’s gaze shifted to Catherine. “She’s not of the nobility?”

  Juliette shook her head. “It scarcely matters now.”

  “No, it doesn’t matter.” He looked at Catherine with a curious intentness that bewildered Juliette. Catherine was a sight to stir sympathy in the hardest breast—sitting so still, pale as the moonlight streaming through the windows of the coach. She reminded Juliette of Sister Bernadette’s effigy.

  However, Juliette somehow doubted if François Etchelet could be easily moved by any woman. Still, she sensed he was no immediate threat to Catherine. Lethargy was attacking Juliette’s body and she forced herself to sit up straighter in the seat. She mustn’t give in to it. There were still threats to be faced and decisions to be made.

  And this François Etchelet could very well be one of the greatest dangers of all. Whatever had motivated him to save them, it certainly wasn’t gallantry, and it was clear he resented being thrown into the role of rescuer. “Where are you taking us?”