In the Name of the King Read online

  Everyone moved at once, and even our gentlemanly audience finally peeled their arses off their horses. The two capitaines were busily settling their gambling debts with Aubéry, but Praslin came straight over and stooped to examine Fauvel. Bonnier had already ripped off his stock and was furiously wadding it to stem the bleeding, but it didn’t look good to me. Fauvel’s face was ashy grey.

  Praslin stood and put a hand on André’s shoulder. ‘Not your fault, soldier. A fair fight, we all saw it.’

  ‘Indeed we did,’ said a voice, and there was Desmoulins himself, ignoring his wounded cousin and strolling straight up to André. ‘A very fine display.’

  André ducked his head, but it was no good, Abbé, I already knew it from the smile on Desmoulins’ face. He reached out a languid hand, cupped André’s chin and forced the kid to face him. ‘But then we should expect no less of the Chevalier de Roland.’

  Maybe it wasn’t really that quiet around us, but it suddenly felt it. There’s no silence in the world like the one that tells you you’re utterly fucked.

  Bernadette Fournier

  ‘Run,’ said Grimauld, rising shakily to his feet. ‘They’re on to the laddie, you’re next. Francine’ll hide you, now run.’

  It was too late, Monsieur, for faces were already turning towards me, and Mme Messant said ‘Then who the hell is that?’ Others echoed her, and fat Mme Becquet declared in outrage that they had a whore among them, at which the eyes of the nearest soldiers gleamed with anticipation. They knew as well as I that such women are thrown to the men and followers before being driven from the camp.

  Grimauld’s hand closed round my wrist. ‘Bugger off out of it, the lot of you. She’s a friend of the Chevalier de Roland, that’s who she is, now clear the bleeding road.’ His legs were tottery, but he clutched my hand and led me firmly towards André, who was now indeed my only hope of safety. He might be a fugitive but he was also a nobleman, and he and the Marquis were already exchanging respectful bows.

  There was no such look on Desmoulins’ face when he recognized me. He said ‘Ah, our little Bernadette, what a pleasant surprise,’ but his eyes were like dark flint.

  André reached out quickly to draw me before the Marquis. ‘Mlle Fournier is an important witness in my defence, Monseigneur, and I beg you to take her under your charge.’

  The Marquis was a very great gentleman, and he did not hesitate. ‘Of course, Chevalier, she shall go with you to Paris as soon as I can arrange an escort. I regret I have no women in my entourage, but she can remain here under my protection.’

  Desmoulins’ face was taut with anger as he saw his prey disappearing under the mantle of the Marquis. Nor was I the only one, for the Chevalier now reminded us of the promise that M. Ravel’s life should be spared, and Colonel Aubéry himself conceded it. Why this should matter to Desmoulins I did not know, but he gave M. Ravel a most savage glare and M. Ravel returned him an ironical bow.

  Then Sergeant Sury spoke. ‘Just a minute. What about Ravel’s other crime?’

  The Marquis regarded him in puzzlement. ‘Other crime?’

  Sury pitched his voice that the whole parade might hear. ‘Ravel served in the Saillie, he must have recognized de Roland from the start. He’s been deliberately hiding a fugitive.’

  Oh, but it was true, Monsieur, and André understood its implications all too well. He had saved his friend from one death only to commit him by his own actions to another.

  He turned in desperate appeal to the Marquis. ‘You cannot punish loyalty, Monseigneur. Ravel knows I’m innocent, he’s served the King as well as I.’

  The Marquis shook his head sadly. ‘That is for a Paris court to say. He may share your captivity, he will be treated well, but I’m sorry, Chevalier, the rest is out of my hands.’

  There was nothing to be done. André looked at his friend in helpless apology, but M. Ravel gave him only a little shrug as if it did not greatly trouble him. They walked side by side as they were led away together, their heads held high as if they regretted nothing.

  Yet perhaps not quite, for I saw André give a brief look back at the men and the tents and everything that had been his home these weeks past, as if sad this should be his very last time. And in that he was foolish, Monsieur, as you know very well. This was the last night at that camp for any of us, and as they walked away it was already growing dark.

  Fifteen

  Jacques de Roland

  I didn’t even know. We were in the village celebrating Raoul’s fête day and by the time we got back the camp was in total upheaval. Orders had come for an urgent move, and everyone was packing in the pouring rain.

  Crespin had friends on Châtillon’s staff so we sent him to find out what was going on. We weren’t really worried, there’d been loads of moves already and they only meant swapping one muddy field for another, but Charlot said this one was sudden, the gallopers only brought the news in the last ten minutes. He was quite unruffled himself, of course, he wouldn’t even let Philibert pack the pans till he’d made my evening chocolate.

  Then Crespin came back, his face pale and his eyes wide and shiny. He said ‘It’s the whole army, chaps. Heavy baggage off tonight, the rest of us at daybreak. Châtillon’s listening to Fabert at last.’

  ‘But why now, my child?’ said Gaspard. ‘Has something happened?’

  Crespin gave a little twitch of his head. ‘Some of the chaps think the enemy’s moving. Châtillon saw them himself, heading to Bazeilles. If they cross the river in the morning there’s talk of them taking the high ground first.’

  No one said anything after that, we just got our heads down and went on packing.

  Everyone round us was doing the same, moving faster and clumsier in the driving wind and rain. No one could keep the fires going in a downpour, and the only light was what spilled from the field ovens, glowing red in the night like a dozen devils’ eyes. People were hurrying everywhere, cursing and yelling and bumping into each other, all the order suddenly gone. Men scrambled up the fodder carts to hurl covers over the top, wet ropes flying about like thick whips. I remember the chaos of it, horses snorting and stamping, gallopers plunging about shouting orders, tents flapping wildly, canvas cracking to the wind like musket shots, rain on my hands and in my eyes and running down my face like tears.

  That’s what it was like, that last night in camp. That’s how I remember Friday the 5th of July 1641, the night before the Battle of La Marfée.

  Carlos Corvacho

  Oh, bless you, Señor, a little rain didn’t bother us, you don’t catch veterans of the army of Flanders hanging on for a bit of sunshine. We were only waiting for the report from our men in the royal army, which came in prompt at midnight.

  Well, you know all about it, I expect, you know what we learned. The best part was where the Aubéry were to be placed, really almost a gift, as you might say. The Duc arranged for his equerry to stay at the highest point during the battle and give the signal when it was time to make the turn.

  But you’ll know what interested my Capitán most, Señor, and that was the little story this Desmoulins added at the end. Say what you will about your Chevalier, he had the kind of audacity we like in Spain, and the idea of him hiding in the ranks of France’s own army was enough to tickle anyone. The Comte de Soissons says ‘That’s a man France should be proud of, that’s a man I’d like to meet.’

  My Capitán smiles and says ‘I’m not sure you would, Monseigneur.’

  Now that’s maybe not the right thing to say to the Comte, given the conscience he’s got on him. Three times that day he’s been confessed already, the Duc his own self caught him at it in the bushes. Now he says ‘You think de Roland would not approve of me, d’Estrada?’

  My Capitán sees the danger. ‘Not approve of the man who did so much to defend Picardie in the year of Corbie? I meant only that this is one man I would rather have with us than against us.’

  Bouillon’s quick to agree. ‘Quite right,’ he says. ‘We should just be grat
eful he’s been caught. He’ll spend the battle in irons, poor fellow, and what harm can he do us like that?’

  Stefan Ravel

  It raged all night, that storm. Not that I gave a stuff, I was sat in a tent with a double-canopied roof sipping a goblet of rather good wine. If you’re ever going to be captured, Abbé, make sure you do it with a nobleman.

  The Marquis himself was dashing about organizing his squadron for the move, but he left us in the care of a charming aide called Lapotaire, who cleared the tent of servants, fetched a nurse to bandage André’s arm, stuck a couple of footmen outside as sentries, and left us well alone. It was all very discreetly done, since the Marquis seemed reluctant for anyone else to learn who André was. He didn’t want to make the malcontents a present of the best figurehead a popular rebellion could possibly have.

  I wasn’t sure we wanted to make the King a present of him either, but André was confident it wouldn’t come to it. He said ‘We’ll be travelling together, won’t we? We can escape on the way.’

  I watched him prowling round the tent tapping his hand against his belt, and knew he missed the feel of a sword. ‘Why not now?’

  He paused to stare at me. ‘And leave Bernadette?’

  Little things like life obviously didn’t mean much when it came to chivalry. ‘All right, we’ll take her with us. We knock out the sentries, sneak back to camp, and –’

  He was shaking his head before I even finished. ‘We can’t, it would be abusing the Marquis’ kindness.’

  I sighed and continued to abuse his wine. ‘Well, get us out before Paris, won’t you, I don’t fancy the block.’

  He stopped again and looked subdued. ‘I’m sorry. I got you into this, didn’t I?’

  ‘Naturally,’ I said, refilling his goblet. ‘But if I’d stayed in the camp I’d be dead anyway. Sury thinks I’m going to blab on him.’

  He took the wine. ‘Why?’

  I told him. It amounted to bugger all, but I told him and he didn’t seem surprised. He said ‘At least it proves we’re not imagining things. I’d better tell Praslin.’

  But he didn’t come, Abbé, the man was just a little busy. A fumbling at the canvas announced only the return of a soggy Lapotaire, announcing apologetically that the Marquis thought there might be a bit of bother in the morning and there wouldn’t be an escort free to take us to Paris. We’d stay in his care, of course, we’d travel in a nice dry baggage wagon, but since we couldn’t be guarded on the road he was afraid we’d need to be put in irons for the journey. Unless, of course, the Chevalier was prepared to give his word not to escape …?

  André looked at him.

  ‘No,’ said Lapotaire, flustered. ‘Of course not. It’ll have to be irons then, but I’ll have them struck off the moment we arrive.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said André. ‘But might we speak to the Marquis before we leave?’

  Poor Lapotaire. A move and probably a battle on the way, and now a prisoner wanting his officer’s attention. He said ‘I’ll ask, Chevalier, I promise. The very first chance I get.’

  I knew what that meant, and our next visitor was a friendly blacksmith who stuck the pair of us in manacles. Ten minutes later we were loaded into a wagon full of Praslin’s furniture and trundled off with the rest of the baggage into the black night.

  Bernadette Fournier

  I too was with the baggage. I travelled with the wounded, for Desmoulins would take no chance of my telling the other women what I knew. Mme Bonnier was permitted to fetch me our own luggage, but other than that my only contact was a friendly wave from Francine, who accompanied us in her own cart.

  At least I had Grimauld for company, for the doctor said he should rest while he was still pissing blood. The only other patient was M. Fauvel, who refused to stay in the village with the sickest men and was of too senior a rank for the doctor to deny. He was a strange man, Monsieur. Yesterday I could have killed him with fury at his injustice, but today he lay with his insides cut to pieces and was as bewildered and grateful for my attentions as a sick child. Once he clenched my hand and said I was a good, kind girl, then screwed up his eyes while tears crept out from under the lids.

  Yes, I knew he was dying, Monsieur, he knew it himself, but then time was running out for us all.

  Jacques de Roland

  We were all up at dawn, sitting on horseback waiting for an order that didn’t come. The sun rose higher behind the rain, senior officers said ‘Sod this’ and went to look for breakfast, and still we sat there while Châtillon looked at the weather and went ‘Oh dear.’ I don’t think we moved till gone nine.

  At least we went fast. The infantry had mostly gone ahead after the baggage, it was only us cavalry pounding down the broken roads to catch up and get in the nice neat order of battle that came round the last dispatch but six. We were in the first line with the Sieur de Puységur, and had to absolutely thunder down the slow-moving baggage to our proper place at the front. As we passed Chaumont we saw the heights of Frénois looming ahead of us, and I thought ‘It’s all right, we’ve beaten the bastards, we’re still in time.’

  We started to climb by the village of Noyers-Pont-Maugis. The rain had slowed to a soft drizzle, but it was pouring down the ruts and crevices like little waterfalls, the ground was sloshing with it and even the infantry were slipping. It didn’t matter, every inch gained was an advantage over the enemy, so we just toiled on, giving the wagons and cannon a shove when they got stuck, getting higher and higher all the time.

  Then we saw horses coming down to meet us, the scouting party back to report. Praslin was leading, his horse stumbling and slithering as he urged it faster over the boggy terrain. Then I saw his face and understood. We all did. Behind us I felt the whole army rippling to a stop, as eleven thousand men waited in silence to be told what they already knew.

  The enemy had got there first.

  Albert Grimaud

  We were jolted off the road to form baggage lines, and it was there all round us, that little edge to one man’s voice, a high-pitched note to another, people suddenly doing familiar jobs clumsy, others shouting when there ain’t no need. Fear, boy, it’s as catching as plague.

  I knows why too. Coming off the road that hasty ain’t what the Maréchal would have planned. We was reacting to something the enemy’s done, and that’s what you don’t want, see, that’s them in charge instead of you.

  I checked my bundle. I’d got my piece and a full bandolier, but it didn’t seem much the way things was looking. I said to Bernadette ‘You get out your wheel-lock, I’ll find us ammunition,’ but I’m just climbing over the side when the lieutenant says ‘And me, soldier. Get me a musket too.’

  Ah, he was a dead man, sewn up pretty on the outside, ripped to Rocroi on the inside, but he’d a hard-set look on his face and hands fit to hold a gun, and them were things we needed. I said ‘Yes, M’sieur,’ and dropped down.

  It was our own regiment guarding us. There’s a company from the Uxelles round the war chest and another by the bread charrettes but otherwise it’s all red coats of the Aubéry. Our own company’s by the officers’ wagons, Desmoulins seeing to the ordering and Michaud tagging after him as acting lieutenant. Our wives are huddling up with them of other regiments, and women with babies begging places in the wagons with prostitutes and sutlers, people they wouldn’t normally give so much as good morning. They’re out in the open with a battle coming, see, them things don’t seem so important no more.

  I knew the guards on one of the armoury wagons, they’d camped near us at Douzy, and they handed me guns and powder easy when I said they was for the wounded. The younger one give me chaff for it, he said ‘What’s the matter, dad, think we’re that desperate?’ The older one behind him, his eyes said ‘Yes.’

  Stefan Ravel

  I didn’t usually spend my battles in baggage lines, but it didn’t look a very conventional ordering to me. Aubéry had us packed in to form lines two wagons deep, the whole lot making a square with one side missing
, like a box without a lid. It seemed reasonable, any enemy would have to attack through that one open side, and we’d a whole regiment to defend it. I can’t say I was worried.

  André was. He was thrashing up and down between Praslin’s stacked chairs saying ‘This is it, Stefan, the big battle, we can’t be sitting here with the bloody women.’ It’s difficult for a man to look martial and heroic with his hands manacled together, but he was stamping about enough to shake the wagon.

  Our driver brought us neatly to a halt, then called over his shoulder ‘We’re all in, I’ll wait with you till M. Lapotaire sends us a sentry.’

  André was up with him at once. ‘Could we have our irons off, do you think? M. Ravel’s wrists are chafing him.’

  It seemed to me M. de Roland was chafing too, but I said nothing, only held out my raw limbs for inspection.

  The driver hesitated. He had a country look to me, ruddy skin, puzzled eyes, he was probably straight off one of the Marquis’ village estates. ‘I’ll ask M. Lapotaire, M’sieur, just the very minute he comes back.’

  André said carefully ‘M. le Marquis will need his aide on the battlefield, he won’t have time to return here.’

  The driver climbed down to the horses, as if he felt safer when he couldn’t actually see us. ‘Oh, he’ll come, M’sieur, there’s always a lot of hanging around before a battle.’

  I wasn’t so sure. I looked round at the fodder carts without their covers properly secured, the wagon of travelling players backing hastily out of the line and bumping away over the fields, the munitions guard giving muskets to a bandaged figure I recognized as Grimauld. It seemed to me the time for hanging about was over, and I only hoped we hadn’t realized it too late.