The moment soon passed, and the anguish on Jeanne’s face no longer furrowed her brow as Etienne reminded her of the town whence she could take the route to Amsterdam. Yes, she was sure she would not have him ride with her. Of course, she would be fine, she insisted. Moreover, Etienne would be needed at the mill, and quite possibly in the regiments of Prussia, if the French attacked again.
‘But a woman travelling alone, my dear Jeanne,’ said Claire above the din, again keeping herself from pleading with her friend to stay, albeit for just a few more weeks.
‘Worry not, Madame Claire. My mother is not alone,’ said Paul in his important voice. ‘I will look after her.’
‘Well said, and I’m sure ye will, my lad,’ said Jean Fleuret, with a large hand on the boy’s shoulder. ‘But we’ll miss ye all the same,’ said the carpenter, who had not the strength to resist taking the boy in his arms. ‘Remember what I said to ye, my boy. I want you to grow up strong with the goodness in your brave heart intact. You hear me?’ The boy gave a nod as the man ticked off moisture from his tear duct. ‘You make me proud, Paul, you hear? And I will be proud to call our baby after you, should the baby kicking in Ginette’s belly be a boy, that is!’
‘And if it ain’t, we’ll call it Paula, so there!’ said Ginette, ready as ever with a quip.
‘All aboard, Ladies and Gentlemen, please!’ cried the master boatman again. Jeanne and her son took their place amid the cargo, the crew, and the other passengers.
*
The boy sat by his mother, secretly clenching her hand as the rear boatman steered the vessel downstream in the easy-moving waters, the falls now but a distant haze of mist behind them. Just the two of them again, venturing into the unknown, but now their goal was to reach husband and father.
Jeanne had learnt to sit as still as possible, wrapped in her shawls, her hands in her muff, in the most comfortable position so that the pockets of air beneath her clothes remained undisturbed and were constantly warmed by her own body heat. In this way, she could sit like a mother goose, head shrunk into her plumage, offering as little exposure as possible to the elements as the meandering river carried them between forestland and bourgeoning orchards.
By mid-morning, thankfully, the sun was strong enough to warm the timber, which gave off the sweet smell of pitch. Jeanne shared provisions and polite banter with the other passengers, who, it turned out, were all on their way to Berlin. In this spirit, they passed under the covered wooden bridges of Rinaud and Eglisau, continued past Röteln, Kadelburg, and a quantity of huddled villages. Towards the end of the day, they pulled into the landing stage on the edge of Laufenburg, where they spent the night in a wood cabin on the outskirts of the castle town.
The following morning, as per usage, the three boatmen sent the boat empty of people down the short, impracticable stretch, strewn with rocks. The passengers joined the barque on foot a little further downstream, where they were allowed to take up their places.
Despite Jeanne’s initial reluctance of the river journey, only once was there any cause for alarm. They were passing under the covered bridge of Rheinfelden, where the Rhine narrowed into a bend and suddenly became fast-flowing. The boat took a bad furrow of water and soon found itself caught in a swirl. Surprised, the three boatmen found themselves in a spin and hurtling towards the rocks broadside. The master boater roared an order that neither Jeanne nor Paul understood, though the tone indicated the urgency of the situation. Scenes of the horrific shipwreck on Lake Geneva reeled through Jeanne’s mind as she found herself scouring the boat with her eyes for something to cling onto, should they capsize. But two of the seasoned navigators dug in their oars in unison to bound off the rock face, while the rear boater steered with his punt to straighten the raft as it rounded the obstacle.
All was re-established, with more fright than hurt, but then a parcel the size of a pillow had become detached and fallen overboard. Paul was nearest the packet. His reflex was to reach for it to save it from being taken with the current. He managed to get both hands on the string that bound it, but on lifting the waterlogged parcel, he was pulled off balance. Jeanne saw the boy about to keel into the water and managed to grab him by his breeches just in time. The lad brought back the packet with commendations from the crew. Jeanne, however, was not in a mood to cheer, and kept the boy within her reach for the rest of the day’s journey.
By evening, they made footfall in the beautiful city of Bale, to Jeanne’s great relief, for neither she nor Paul could swim if by misfortune they were dumped overboard like the parcel. She was more anxious than ever at the prospect of boarding the barque once again, and the night’s sleep in a tavern had not calmed her fears this time. They had not been very fortunate whenever it came to boat travel, and taking no heed of the last episode would be irresponsible if they did not turn to a means of transport more favourable to their capacities. Would going on the water again not be refusing to hear God’s warnings?
‘But it is the fastest way. Etienne told you, Mother.’
‘I know, but certainly not the safest!’
‘It is if you consider marauders, wild animals, and soldiers, though. That’s why he insisted that we stay with the boat till we reach Worms, where we are to pick up another vessel to Amsterdam.’
‘That may be so, but I have had enough frights on the water, thank you very much. It would be different if we knew how to swim, but we do not. And even if we did, it would still be like battling an onslaught of Titans to fight against the current!’
‘That is true,’ conceded Paul, who understood perfectly well his mother’s tacit reference to Pierre’s death. Pierre, his best friend, Pierre, who could swim like an eel, and yet who had drowned like a trapped rat.
‘We shall go by land the rest of the way to Worms, Sir,’ said Jeanne to Herr Fandrich, the master boatman. ‘It will take us a good deal longer, I know, but we shall endeavour to catch rides on northbound carts . . .’
She was standing in the nascent light of dawn by the embarkation point; the other passengers were boarding and taking their places of the day before. The half darkness of the spring dawn was quickly growing lighter, and Jeanne could now fully perceive the pleats on the boatman’s forehead, and the look of concern under his eyebrows.
He lifted his hat and smoothed back his long, thinning grey hair. ‘With all due respect, Madame,’ he returned in perfect French, ‘I would rather see a lone woman on my boat than think of her walking that road alone. I would not have my lady walk on her own, especially not in days as these, Madame.’
‘You are kind, Sir. However, I am afraid I will have to take my chances and feel the earth beneath me with the Lord as my guide.’
‘Alas, the Lord will not defend you against villains and soldiers, will he now?’ said the boater. ‘And what will I say to the gentleman who gave me instructions to make sure you arrive safely in Worms?’
‘You will kindly tell him that to arrive safely, I have taken the land route,’ said Jeanne, who realised she had painted herself into a corner. For seeing the boater’s genuine show of concern, she realised deep inside that the dangers would be far greater travelling without company.
However, the boatman, who had dealt with many a traveller stricken with water fright, took a different approach.
‘Madame,’ he said, adopting a softer tone, and holding his hat with both hands, ‘I was not going to bring the subject up so early in our travels, but news has reached my ears since last night that would give you no choice . . .’
‘What news?’ said Paul, looking up intently into the man’s eyes.
‘The French have again entered the Palatinate,’ said the boater, with a glance down at the boy before appealing to the lady. ‘Even if you kept to this side of the river, it is highly likely that you would encounter French soldiers, or they you, Madame.’
The French entering the Palatinate was what had delayed her journey the previous autumn. Jeanne stood wordless as the boater filled the silence. ‘They may well be g
oing further into the Palatinate,’ he said, ‘but there will still be soldiers patrolling. And with all due respect, a woman with a French accent travelling alone with her boy can only mean one thing, can it not?’
‘That we are Huguenots trying to reach the Dutch Republic,’ said Paul.
‘Believe me, I have seen their work: they have no pity. They will take you back to France if they spare your life at all, I fear, Madame. You may be well aware that soldiers are not tender souls.’
‘I am,’ said Jeanne.
‘Then, please, take your place aboard, Madame. Besides, the worst of the rapid waters is behind us. The Rhine is an old, slow river from now on.’
‘I see,’ said Jeanne. ‘Very well, I see we have no other option, as you say, Herr Fandrich,’ she said with a slight bow, and proceeded with Paul to the landing stage, her fear of the soldier a good deal greater than her fear of the elements of God.
‘And laddie,’ said the boater, glaring at Paul, ‘if you see a parcel fall overboard, you leave it for a boater to pluck out, eh?’
‘Oh, that he will, all right,’ said Jeanne. But her thoughts were already turned to the voyage ahead down the Rhine, where French soldiers were prone to cross.
NINE
Paul sat on deck, eyeing the clutches of French soldiers posted on a bridge and patrolling the quays near Strasbourg.
‘It’s where the French troops crossed the river to take Philipsburg,’ said the master boater in German. It was in response to the boy’s question on the river’s great width where it meandered past the Alsatian city. By consequence, it was also shallow in places, which made it a crossing point par excellence for French cavaliers to access the regions of the Palatinate.
Continuing in French as he pulled the oar, Herr Fandrich said: ‘The scoundrels then advanced on Mannheim further north and razed it to the ground . . . They gave the people a week to get out, but they had no place to go, and right in the middle of winter too. So many of them were given refuge in Worms. Running out of wheat now, though. That’s what this lot’s for.’ He nodded to the cargo of barrels neatly stacked in rows on their sides. ‘Strange times these, lad, strange times!’
As the barque slipped along with the current through the slow, meandering river, he told the lad about the sack of the Palatinate commanded by the French king to burn down towns and villages. Mainz had been razed to the ground, Heidelberg castle partially destroyed.
‘Won’t we get stopped, though?’ said Paul, articulating his mother’s fears.
Jeanne was sitting inside on the cabin bench, hidden from view. Crudely built at the aft-most part, the cabin also housed a latrine partitioned by a drape for the convenience of the ladyfolk, of which there was now only one. The others had disembarked to continue their journey by cart to Berlin.
Herr Fandrich said: ‘No fear of that. Who would feed the people otherwise? The French might be villains, but they’re not stupid. They need folk to pay their taxes, you get me?’
Jeanne felt relief once they had cleared Strasbourg. She could once again sit with her son in admiration of the passing vistas: now of pretty riverside villages and rolling hills of tender-leaved trees and blooming wild flowers; now of cultivated fields and lush green pastures where the land had been deforested.
The barque carried them at a steady pace through the wide and tranquil river that presented no treacherous traps along this stretch to the experienced Rhineland boatmen. They stopped for the night at the only inn of the monastery village of Leimersheim, just five miles short of the Philipsburg fortress which harboured a detachment of French troops. Though Herr Fandrich was authorised to transport wheat for the population, there was no point tempting the devil, so he had decided to travel past the fortified town in the early hours, before the officers were at their posts. He could always bribe a lower-graded guard if need be.
Early next morning, they came into view of the flat fields surrounding the citadel of Philipsburg, situated on the right bank. Jeanne braced herself on seeing neat lines of hundreds of canvas tents. She could hear the distant crackle of the camp kitchen fire and the faint banter of Frenchmen amid the distant bleating of lambs—lambs whose lives would most likely be short, she thought, judging by the number of mouths to feed. It was a wonder that the shepherd had not herded them away from the reach of the soldiers, but then she recalled what Herr Fandrich had said about the French policy of banishing the populace.
Yet it was a strangely picturesque sight to behold as the morning sun shone down on the encampment. Female camp followers were busy cooking in the field or scrubbing down by the river; soldiers were shaving, smoking, cleaning weapons, and tending to horses. Jeanne even felt a guilty pinch of pride at the orderliness of it all.
‘Part of your king’s army,’ uttered Fandrich, seeing Jeanne at the cabin doorway contemplating the activity of the camp.
‘Not our king’s,’ corrected Paul, who sat cross-legged on a warm stack of barrels.
‘No, not our king’s,’ seconded his mother.
‘No, of course, otherwise, you wouldn’t be on this here boat, would ye?’ said the boater with a satisfied smile. ‘And besides, we are in conflict with Louis, not France.’ She sensed his feeling of revolt. It was right for him to test her partiality, given the affliction her country’s army had brought to this land. And she was right to implicitly recall her own predicament as another victim of the Sun King. It cleared the air.
‘You are certain our passage shall not be hindered?’ she said.
‘Like I said, we are authorised to navigate,’ said Fandrich. ‘The king and his henchmen have no interest in civilians, apart from collecting their taxes.’
‘What about the wheat?’ said Jeanne.
‘They will burn down our homes if by misfortune they deem them in the way of their defences, but it is not their policy to let the king’s future taxpayers starve to death. But that said, I suggest you return to the cabin, Madame.’
The boater gave a short, reassuring nod, but Jeanne had been in a similar situation before. It had nearly cost her life in prison and cost her guide his head. But what else was there to do?
‘Everything will be all right, with God’s grace,’ said Frantz, the boater’s son, sensing the lady’s scepticism. A lean and genial lad in his early twenties, he understood French but spoke mostly in German. Paul translated his words, to which Jeanne responded with a polite but straight smile. She had often said those exact words herself. She had said them before the shipwreck on Lake Geneva. She returned a nod to the boater, then turned to her son.
‘Paul, come inside with me, please,’ she said in a non-negotiable tone.
As they rounded a kink in the river, they were met with the fortress ramparts that stood before them, firmly implanted into the river bedrock. A little further along, the grim stone walls jutted out, forming a V-shape. The fortification extended at this point to the opposing bank. Jeanne and Paul, peering from behind the drape, did not require any leaps of the imagination to understand the fort’s total dominance. The cannons strategically placed on the rampart walls could blast any vessel from the surface of the Rhine.
‘Steady as she goes, keep her midstream, boys!’ commanded Fandrich in German in a confidential tone, as they slowly passed between the fortifications on either bank.
Jeanne sat back on the rustic bench, and twisted her torso to peer through a knothole in the timber wall to spy the land on the left bank. It was equally occupied by the army of her home country, an army which had become the object of her worst nightmares. She had come so far, and, given the choice, she would rather die on the Rhine than be dragged back to France.
Paul was peeking through the gap between the curtain and the door frame. ‘Cannons on either bank,’ he said in a low voice, keeping his mother informed. He was about to say something else when a deep voice, calling from the right riverbank, caused Herr Fandrich to shout out a reply.
‘What is it?’ said Jeanne, moving to the opposite side of the cabin to see throug
h a knothole that Paul had previously punched out in a pinewood plank.
‘There are two soldiers on horses,’ whispered the boy. ‘One’s waving to pull us over by the bridge a bit further down.’ Paul then kept silent in order to take in the boater’s answer and to process it through his brain. Then he said: ‘Herr Fandrich is trying to tell them he is carrying wheat, and that his family have been boaters for five generations.’
‘Dear God,’ said Jeanne, her face suddenly drawn and livid. ‘I knew we should have taken the land route!’
The boater stepped to the cabin doorway. ‘Stand back,’ he said under his breath, then swiped the drape to one side and stood half inside the cabin, reaching for his leather pouch which Jeanne presumed contained his papers. ‘Fear not,’ he whispered. ‘Just stay inside and say nothing. I will tell them you are my wife if need be, but do not speak!’
The helmsman steered the barque in the slow current towards the right bank. The soldiers followed downstream on horseback. Once the barque was ten or fifteen yards from the shore, the boater resumed the exchange in French in a genial manner.
‘Ah, vous parlez français!’ Jeanne heard one of the soldiers call out. Herr Fandrich gave an affirmative answer and reiterated his purpose and right to travel, saying so in broken French. It was an old trick to flatter the soldier and make himself appear dull and inoffensive.
Jeanne sat, trying to steady her nerves and consider what she might say should she need to play the part of the boater’s wife. She knew enough German from her stay in Schaffhausen to deliver short, varied replies. If the Frenchmen did not know she was French, and if they did not speak German, she thought optimistically, there would be no reason to suspect her, would there? It was plausible enough, but what about the boater’s son? He was old enough to be her brother. She now wished she could have planned for this eventuality beforehand; if she had, she would have suggested to Fandrich that she was his second wife and that Frantz was born of his first wife, now deceased. But she had succeeded in duping soldiers before. With the grace of God, she could do it again, couldn’t she?
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