Honour and the Sword Read online

  The weapons outhouse still needed a lot of shoring up and rebuilding, but Marcel had been putting the word round Verdâme and we had loads more volunteers. We’d already got Philippe and Bernard, of course, and Stefan also brought in Giles Leroux, chief verderer for the Baron’s estate. We were a bit shy of him at first, because he was older than the rest of us, maybe even thirty. He had a brown, lean face with hard cheekbones, and looked like an intelligent fox. He seemed to be an actual friend of Stefan’s, but I suppose he had to be, I mean the local tanner’s got to be on good terms with the keepers. They didn’t seem close though, Stefan would just say ‘Leroux’ and Giles would say ‘Ravel’, then they’d reach out and sort of smack hands together in a hard grip, and push against each other like rams fighting. It looked really tough and manly, and I watched them closely to see how it was done.

  Some of the other Verdâmers were a bit sneery, like that cowman everyone called ‘Pinhead’ because he had a huge body and the smallest head you ever saw on top of it. When he saw us struggling to lug turfs up to the Hermitage roof, he and his friends perched on a pile of logs to jeer at the Sieur of Dax working like a day labourer. André was seething, he dropped his turfs with a great thud and started to climb down, but luckily Giles came by before he reached them and said he wanted to ‘borrow’ them a moment. They all swaggered off after him, and when we went to feed the horses we saw he’d got them mucking out the stables. Giles didn’t say a word, he just flicked his hat casually over his eyes and grinned.

  We could have done with more like Giles. We’d a few veterans like Jacob, who could load and fire a musket twice a minute however shaky his hands were, but otherwise it was like I thought, the volunteers were mostly young and inexperienced. I understood their fathers couldn’t be spared from their work, but Marcel and Stefan were obviously concerned too, and as soon as the base was finished they held a proper meeting to start things off.

  It was impressive seeing the Hermitage filled with men for the first time, we had to pick our way over loads of legs to find a place of our own in the straw. I’d no idea we were so many, but there had to have been at least sixty. With them all talking at once it sounded like two hundred.

  Marcel put that into perspective right away. He stood on the platform at the far end, and told us we’d got maybe a thousand Spaniards in Dax-Verdâme so we didn’t have anything like enough men or arms to drive them out yet. Our job was just to harass and kill as many as we could so the Spaniards couldn’t turn the Saillie into a fortress against France. He said ‘One day our own troops will come. It’s up to us to see Dax-Verdâme is ready for them.’

  People started cheering with excitement, but then Stefan stood up and it started to sound real instead. He said we’d got to form ourselves into units of six for training, then we’d stay in them for guard and stable duty as well as what he called ‘actions’, which seemed to mean killing people to nick their guns and powder. We could pick our own units, but since this was the Occupied Army of Dax-Verdâme they each ought to contain people from both villages.

  The whole place turned into a livestock market in a minute, with everyone milling around trying to find friends to form a unit. I grabbed Colin and he managed to grab Robert, and M. Gauthier practically trampled about twenty people as he thundered across to join us. I looked round for Philippe as our Verdâme member, but he’d been snaffled up already, which wasn’t surprising considering he was such a good archer. So Marcel brought us over this young man all dressed in tatty silk and lace, and said he’d better join us because nobody else wanted him. I could understand why. He was thin and weedy with watery eyes and bony little wrists sticking out of his sleeves like sticks. He also had the most appalling cold, his nose was dribbling and he had to keep wiping it on this hard sodden ball of a handkerchief. He whispered his name was Jean-Marie Mercier, then sneezed all over Colin and went bright red with shame.

  We’d just started to organize our first training session when Stefan came strolling up, and I saw he was starting to smile. He really did have the slowest smile in the world, Stefan, it took about five minutes to get all the way there, by which time there was usually nothing in the world left to smile about.

  ‘This your unit then, is it, André?’

  ‘Yes,’ said the boy firmly.

  Stefan’s smile just kept on growing. ‘Chosen a leader yet?’

  ‘Martin Gauthier,’ said André. ‘He’s much the most experienced.’

  Stefan’s smile reached its peak. ‘We can’t ask the Sieur of Dax to take orders from a verderer.’

  André dismissed that. ‘I’ll take Martin’s orders, I respect him.’

  ‘That’s nice,’ said Stefan genially. ‘Martin Gauthier isn’t going to order you into danger, is he? I can see why you like the idea.’

  M. Gauthier moved so quickly he was just a hairy blur. He got his hands on Stefan’s shirt-front in a second and actually shook him. ‘You dare imply that, Ravel, you dare even hint our Seigneur’s a coward, I’ll wring your evil neck.’

  André cried ‘Martin!’ but Stefan was already reaching out a big hand and just shoving M. Gauthier back and away till he had to let go.

  ‘Oh, come on, Gauthier, I’m only saying you’re too loyal to be the slightest good to him, and I rather think you’ve proved my point.’ He brushed off his shirt like M. Gauthier had left dirt on it, which actually he probably had, then looked down at the boy. ‘This really what you want, is it? Someone who’ll let you run the whole thing yourself?’

  The boy was simmering with anger. He knew Stefan was right, but he couldn’t have had anyone be as rude to him as this ever, he looked like it was choking him. He said in a kind of strangled voice ‘I won’t take orders from anyone else.’

  ‘Oh, you will,’ said Stefan. ‘You’ll take mine. We’ve decided I’m going to lead you myself.’

  I thought ‘oh fuck’. The boy went very still, which was sort of like him saying ‘oh fuck’ as well. M. Gauthier just stared at Stefan in impotent fury.

  ‘You’ll still get to lead, Gauthier,’ said Stefan. ‘I’ve a unit of estate men over there who need your experience.’

  André’s head was up at once. ‘Martin’s staying with us.’

  ‘We’re too many,’ said Stefan. ‘Gauthier’s going, and that’s that.’

  André’s mouth tightened and his eyes narrowed into little green slits. I hadn’t seen it for months now, but I knew exactly what was coming. Stefan had pushed it too far.

  Stefan Ravel

  He blazed up at once, the whole routine, head up, hand on sword hilt, he was as predictable as a gun dog and a lot less effective. His voice got shriller and his face redder, and at one point he even stamped. All over the building people turned to look, and that was all to the good, I thought they’d find it edifying to see their heroic little Sieur make a champion fool of himself. So I let him ramble on till he ran out of breath, then told him I was sorry but it was an order.

  It stopped him like a blow to the chin. He wanted his gamekeeper, but he wanted to fight even more. He couldn’t bear people to see him back down to a humble tanner, but he couldn’t bear to break his word to Marcel. I watched him fighting it, then at last his eyes dropped and I knew I’d won. More than that, I’d always win. He wanted to be part of our army, but if he didn’t take my orders he was out.

  He did it with grace, I’ll give him that. He told his gamekeeper he was sorry but I was right. Gauthier said ‘Sieur,’ and trotted off to the other group at once, but he gave me one of the filthiest looks I’ve ever seen, and I’ve had a few over the years, Abbé, as I’m sure you can imagine.

  I can’t say I was that bothered. I was doing what I had to, that’s all. Hardly my fault if it happened to be fun as well.

  Jacques Gilbert

  Colin and Robert were wide-eyed with shock. They didn’t like seeing their Seigneur humiliated by a tanner from Verdâme, and it didn’t help hearing Pinhead and his mob jeering away in their corner. I tried to explain there was n
othing shameful in what the boy was doing, it proved it wasn’t a game, him dressing like a peasant and letting us call him ‘André’, it proved he was really going to be like one of us. But it was difficult because I didn’t like it myself, there was a bit of me wanted to say sod the army, let’s kick Stefan’s head in and go home.

  I tried saying that to the boy on the way home. I said ‘You don’t have to take it, you don’t have to be in their stupid army at all. You’ve done everything the Seigneur needs to do, you’ve given them the base and the weapons, you don’t have to muck in like everyone else.’

  ‘Don’t I?’ said the boy, kicking savagely at dead leaves. ‘You think I should let other people fight my battles for me?’

  I did actually, but knew him well enough not to say so. I said cautiously ‘You mean it’s a matter of honour?’

  He paused a moment, then reached out his arm and pulled it through mine, just like I was another gentleman myself. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I knew you’d understand.’

  But I didn’t, and I know that now. I didn’t understand at all.

  Jean-Marie Mercier

  From his interviews with the Abbé Fleuriot, 1669

  I knew they didn’t want me. Why would they? I was nobody.

  I’d perhaps been somebody once. When there was still trade with Artois my father built up a thriving business, buying the best of the Flanders cloth, having it made into fine garments in our workshop, and selling it on for a profit at Lucheux. That all ended when the war came. We kept going a little while, but then the Spaniards invaded and stole everything we had left, and times had become very hard. I knew I wasn’t dressed properly, but they were the only clothes I had, you see, the ones I’d worn in the old days.

  I wasn’t even a very soldierly person, but I did just want to do something like everybody else. We’d used Stefan Ravel for leather in the old days and I hoped he might be welcoming, but he called me ‘Mercier’ and seemed to think my volunteering was rather funny. I might have just gone quietly home again, but Marcel found a unit to put me with, and then it was too late. It was the Sieur of Dax’s own unit and they had hundreds of friends they’d like to have had, instead of which they were forced to take me.

  We met next morning at the old hunting lodge in the Forest of Verdâme, which Marcel was planning to turn into a second base for emergencies. I was anxious to arrive early, so I’d been there quite a while when I heard chatter and laughter then saw Jacques coming through the trees with André himself. I suddenly wished I’d come later, but it was too late to hide so I said hello and tried to smile.

  They said ‘hello’ back and sat down beside me, but I couldn’t think of anything to say, and the silence was awful. I remember I had a little chill at the time, and was afraid they might find me irritating if I sniffed.

  Jacques said ‘Aren’t you cold?’

  I was rather, because my clothes weren’t very suitable for January. I tried to say I was fine but André actually took my hand and said ‘You are, you’re freezing. Jacques, he’s freezing.’

  He began to take off his cloak, but Jacques wouldn’t allow it and started to remove his own. I tried to protest but Jacques showed me he was wearing a thick woollen shirt underneath, so I gave in and let him wrap the cloak around me. André smiled in satisfaction, and a wonderful warmth began to grow inside me like a glow.

  Colin and Robert joined us soon afterwards, but that was all right too. Colin was a little difficult just at first, but when he saw André was anxious to include me he really became quite kind. Robert was charming from the first. He’d brought some apple brandy to warm us up, and gave me a sip for myself. Everything felt very friendly, and by the time Stefan arrived I was beginning to think the army might be all right after all.

  He started us on gun drill. We were working with half-muskets because you can use them without a stand, but they were still rather heavy, and Stefan showed us how to use branches for support, or prop up the barrel on a rock if we were lying down. André was a little awkward at first, because he was younger and perhaps less strong, but Stefan was really quite beastly about it. He tried to make us all laugh at him, and said dreadful things like ‘For Christ’s sake, André, it’s a gun, not your bloody knob.’ I’m so sorry, but he really did talk like that. I thought he was very coarse.

  I hoped it might be better when we went on to loading. A wheel-lock misfires terribly easily, so you need to be careful to load it properly, but Stefan said we needed to do it quickly as well. In the proper army we’d have pike to protect us, but without them we were what he called a ‘Forlorn Hope’ and very vulnerable. Our best chance was to keep some men loading and passing fresh muskets to the front line, but if we were caught unloaded we’d have to protect ourselves with the empty guns.

  Robert said ‘How?’ He never seemed very intimidated by Stefan, I thought he was terribly brave.

  ‘I’ll show you,’ said Stefan, and grinned. ‘You do this.’

  He reversed his musket and clubbed down viciously at André’s head, only stopping short at the very last second. André quite flinched in shock.

  ‘You beat the bastard’s brains out, that’s what you do,’ said Stefan. ‘Oh, sorry, André, did I scare you?’

  It went on like that all morning. When we tried loading ourselves, Stefan stood right over André, yelling ‘Too much powder’ or just ‘Faster!’ until poor André’s hands were shaking so much he spilt his powder on the grass. Stefan was horrid. He said what André had wasted could have saved a man’s life.

  I know it sounds ridiculous, because of course Stefan was a professional soldier, but he honestly did seem quite determined to bully André.

  Jacques Gilbert

  As soon as it was over I went straight to Stefan and told him to leave the boy alone.

  He was sitting watching the rest of us pack up the guns, and didn’t even bother to look up. ‘What’s the matter, scared I’ll make him cry?’

  I said ‘It would take more than you.’

  ‘If he doesn’t like it, he can always leave, can’t he?’

  ‘He won’t do that, you know he’s desperate to fight.’

  ‘Then I’m doing him a favour,’ said Stefan. ‘He needs a lot of toughening up before he’s going to be ready for that.’

  I couldn’t think of an answer and he knew it.

  ‘You look after yourself, stable boy,’ he said. ‘Leave the kid to me.’

  The boy shrugged it off, he said it was just Stefan teaching him discipline and he could handle it, but the next day we did pike and that was even worse. We were using great long poles to practise with, and the boy just wasn’t tall enough to work them properly. When we started trying to knock a man off a horse, Stefan deliberately made André try first so we could see how bad he was. He himself was the rider, and the boy made a desperate effort to sweep him off, but lost control of the pole, slipped and went flat on his face. Stefan almost fell out of the saddle laughing.

  Colin was red with fury, Jean-Marie was nearly crying, but it was Robert who lost his temper. He threw down his pole and said ‘This is stupid. Of course he can’t bloody do it, he’s shorter than the rest of us.’

  Stefan smiled. ‘Pick up the pole, Thibault.’

  Robert glared at him and folded his arms. He never seemed that scared of Stefan, he used to say he was only a smelly tanner and if he didn’t start treating us better then he’d just leave.

  The boy scrambled quickly up on his knees, and said ‘Please, Robert, it’s all right.’

  Robert looked at him in confusion. He couldn’t let his Seigneur get pushed around by someone like Stefan, it went against everything he believed in.

  ‘Please,’ whispered André.

  Robert lowered his eyes, then bent and picked up his pole.

  ‘All right,’ said Stefan, amiably. ‘But if André wants to stay in the army with the rest of you, he’s got to do the same as the rest of you. Right, we’ll try that again.’

  There was this awful silence. The boy cl
imbed slowly to his feet and I handed him his pole. He wiped the earth from his face with his sleeve, and walked into position. His expression was grim.

  Stefan went off round the corner on Duchesse, then came cantering back towards us. This time André didn’t even try to sweep him off, he just leapt out in front of Duchesse and thrust the pole right at her eyes, making her rear in fright. Stefan was thrown clear off her back and smack on the ground, and the boy had the pole across his throat in a second.

  I didn’t dare laugh. We all watched in silence as Stefan picked himself up and brushed the dirt off his clothes. The boy stood back and waited, looking nervously defiant.

  Stefan walked over to him and looked down with an expression I couldn’t read. Then he said ‘All right, good enough,’ and turned away.

  That’s when I realized how close to cracking the boy really was. He came back to the barn that night, and just sat on his blanket thumping his fist against the wall and saying ‘That bastard. That bloody bastard.’ I knew he was only hanging on for the chance to kill the enemy, and had the feeling if it didn’t happen soon he’d go and kill Stefan Ravel instead.

  The last day we were doing sword drill. André would have been brilliant at that, of course, so Stefan said he didn’t need it and made him clean muskets instead. The boy didn’t complain, he just sat miserably working away and trying not to watch the rest of us enjoying ourselves, but when it was over Stefan had a go at him anyway and said two guns weren’t done well enough, a fouled musket could cost a man’s life in action.

  He picked up the dirty muskets and slung them at André. ‘There you go. Get those strapped to your back, run round the base ten times, then report back to me.’

  Nobody moved. We were all staring at André, and I knew this was it. Then he bent down, picked up the two heavy muskets and looked Stefan full in the face.