In the Name of the King Page 3

  The others swung back to the boy and I heard a great shing of steel as they drew their swords. André shouted ‘This is an affair of honour!’ but he was in the wrong bloody world, they weren’t after a nice fair fight, they were all charging him at once.

  I shoved the girl away and yanked out my rapier. I’d never drawn it except to clean it, but it slid out smoothly to my hand, three good feet of shining steel. I shouted ‘Come on, André!’ and clashed my blade hard against the first sword I could see.

  It was an older man with a red face wielding it, but he struck at me with a roar of rage. I was in and stamping with the front foot, blade up backhanded to deflect his thrust, then back to lunge at the throat. Only I couldn’t, I couldn’t, this was a Frenchman, I just scratched down his neck and jumped back.

  At least André was drawn now, but he’d got two against him and I couldn’t turn to help. Mine was at me again, trained as well as I was, he plunged in sharp at my face, and even as I sidestepped I knew he meant to kill. I slashed out desperately, using the edge, ripping his sleeve, but he twisted up to come at me overarm. I flinched away, feet tangling, and lost balance. His blade chopped down, then another flashed in to parry it, André of course, André, he’d pinked one man who’d dropped his sword and was clutching his shoulder, he’d got his other backing off to the inn and shouting for help, now he’d got mine, one, two and a stab in the thigh and the man was down and yelping.

  ‘Run, Messieurs!’ screamed the girl, as men came piling out of a door into the courtyard, drawing swords as they ran. A little dark man with a beard stopped and exclaimed ‘¡Madre de Dios!’ but I hardly took it in because there beside him stood our hunchback. His hood was down, his head exposed, and for a second he and André stared at each other, then again the girl screamed ‘Run!’

  Bernadette Fournier

  My gentleman turned to face them, so I appealed to the other, he with the blue eyes and the scar on his cheek, I cried ‘Your master, get him out!’ For one little second his eyes were on me, then he seized his master’s arm and said ‘Now, André, now!’

  This was a servant, his voice more common even than my own, but the gentleman heeded him and ran for the gate. The servant said ‘Our horses!’ but I said ‘Come back for them,’ and pushed them both through. The gentleman protested ‘Yourself, Mademoiselle!’ I said ‘I shall be safer when you’re gone,’ and turned to slam the gate behind them, but a weight smashed into my back, the gate was wrenched from my hands, and I was swept aside as our guests pressed through after them, shouting with the excitement of the chase.

  I looked back into the courtyard. The dark stranger remained and the two wounded gentlemen who sat groaning on the stones, but at that moment I had eyes only for M. Fontrailles. He had a great temper, Monsieur, I had often heard him scream with fury, but now he stood utterly still with something in his face that frightened me more.

  ‘It’s all right, Monseigneur,’ said one of the wounded, the older man with the florid face. ‘It’s only a bit of a game.’

  M. Fontrailles said quietly ‘He saw my face.’

  Now it was the others who were still, and even the groans of the pale plump one ceased.

  M. Fontrailles nodded savagely. ‘That’s what you’ve done with your games, Dubosc. That boy saw my face.’

  Two

  Jacques Gilbert

  We sped round the corner and into another street. There were people carrying furniture back inside their shops at the end of the day’s trading, so we slowed and sheathed our swords, but the footsteps behind never paused, and I turned to see six men charging right at us.

  We put down our heads and kept running. No one was bothered, the traders kept moving, nothing to do with them at all. My sword was half in, half out, I was trying to wrestle it free and went crashing into a stack of wooden chairs crossing the road all by itself. A hideous old woman behind it gaped at me with outrage, but the boy gasped ‘Your pardon, Madame,’ and actually touched his hat. She stared, but we were through and past, and behind us came a great clatter as she pushed the stack over in front of our pursuers. She did it on purpose, she did it because of the boy.

  Others felt the same. Two men were grappling a bedstead flat across the road, but one gave a jerk of his head and we leapt up and on it, springing down safely on the other side. The boy ran backwards a moment, panting ‘Thank you, Messieurs!’ and I did the same because I was beginning to understand a bit of what Paris was and how it worked.

  But the men after us weren’t bothered by things like bedsteads, they just shoved it out of their way and kept coming like they weren’t going to stop till we were dead. Fear was drying my throat as we scudded round the corner and saw another long street in front of us, nowhere to hide and lots of people who didn’t care. Carriages rattled past in the dusk, and a driver slashed at me with his whip for getting too close.

  ‘Come on,’ said André, tugging me round behind it. ‘Cross into the Rue Vieille du Temple, my home’s off there somewhere.’

  We dodged across the street ahead of our pursuers but the next road was even longer and straighter. We paused at a gated archway with liveried servants outside, but when the boy said ‘Your master, please tell him the Chevalier –’ they just levelled their halberds and told us to piss off. The pounding footsteps were getting louder and harder behind us and when they chased us past a gate with flaming sconces I saw the bastards’ shadows almost merging with our own. I imagined a sword in my back, I almost felt it between my shoulder blades, it was all I could do not to turn round.

  ‘Any of the hôtels,’ panted André. ‘If we can just explain …’

  The portes-cochères were all shut, we couldn’t wait for admission. My feet hurt from the cobbles, I’d got a stitch in my side, we practically fell into the next turning and lurched blindly down it. It had great high walls that echoed the sound of chasing footsteps like a hundred men were after us, and roses on one side that tore at my cloak. Another opening loomed through a thick stone archway to our right, an alley half-blocked with piles of stacked crates. I shot through the gap, but André stopped in the archway, turned and levelled his sword.

  I swivelled back, but the men were already hurtling round the corner and stopping dead at the sight of the boy. I was trapped behind him, and he was on his own.

  The blond stepped forward, sword waggling loosely in his hand. He held his neck a bit stiffly, but otherwise seemed unhurt.

  ‘Now then,’ he said, and smiled.

  André didn’t move. The wall of the arch was to one side of him, the crates to the other, they’d have to take him one at a time.

  ‘Would you care to make your apologies now?’ said the blond. He flexed his blade in his fingers, then pointed it languidly at the boy. ‘Perhaps I won’t even kill you.’

  André rested his elbow against the corner of a crate and I realized how tired he was. ‘I’m sorry I treated you like a gentleman and not a cowardly bastard. Next time I’ll know better.’

  The blond changed colour, and behind him the others went curiously still. One in the shadows gave a little, soft laugh.

  The blond changed grip on his sword. ‘I’m afraid there won’t be a next –’

  I shouted a warning as his blade shot forward, but my voice was lost in the clash as André’s flew up to meet it. The blond dropped quickly to reprise in the throat, but André twisted to let the thrust pass him, scything his own blade backwards to strike with the edge. The blond stepped back with a hiss of breath and I saw a fine scarlet line across his neck. His eyes looked hot with rage.

  Then he was in again, hard and fast at the face, André whirling the blade to drive him back. The blond was older and stronger, the boy had to avoid close body and keep distance, but he couldn’t step back beyond the crates, if he opened the gap they’d cut him down from all sides. And he was good, that blond, really good. He was drunk, of course, he hadn’t got André’s accuracy, but he was fast as well as strong, and he wasn’t trying just to get a hit like the boy
had done, he was looking to kill.

  I looked desperately down the passageway beyond the arch. On one side the wall was just twelve feet high with no roof, but it was still too smooth to climb. After all those years of fighting Spaniards we were going to be killed in a stinking alley by a pack of noblemen looking for an evening’s entertainment, we were going to be murdered by the boy’s own kind.

  André drove the blond back again, but now a thickset dark man pressed in, they were taking turns to have a cut at him. The boy was using the crates to guard his flank, but they were just boxes, they could be knocked over, kicked aside, then they’d be all round him, six against one. Then at last I saw it and knew what I’d got to do.

  I grabbed a crate from the back of the pile. André was holding, the blades were clashing and I knew he was all right as long as I could hear that sound. I stacked three crates against the wall beyond the arch, two more in front of them, one in front of that.

  I lifted another, but a man yelped behind me, the swords stopped, and I spun round with the box still in my hands. The thickset man was staring in disbelief at his ripped and bloodied sleeve, while André swung his blade in a rapid half-circle, watching for the next to make a move. I couldn’t see his face, but the tip of his sword was wavering, and the panting of his breath seemed magnified by the echo of the arch.

  I smashed my crate right into the stack beside him, toppling the whole lot down towards the mob. The stocky man dodged, but the others were jumping back and cursing, I dragged André behind me and shoved him at the makeshift steps. The dark man leapt forward, but I thrust my guard in his face, brought up my leg and bloody kicked him, sending him staggering back into his friends.

  The boy was already clambering on to the wall. I jumped after him, got an arm over the top and kicked back down, scattering the crates below me. André hauled me to the top, then swivelled round and was gone. I dropped after him into the dark.

  And landed on grass. I was expecting cobbles, but I landed on soft, sweet-smelling grass, like I was dreaming all of it and we were back in Dax and a world I knew. There were trees above my head and in front of me a fountain playing, water splashing and sprinkling like there was nothing in this world to worry about except getting wet. Ahead of us lay a silvery grey path with the oddest trees each side of it, tiny, stunted little things at the front but the further ones all bigger till I couldn’t see their tops. Beyond them was a building stretching from wall to wall of the garden, and out of it were running a bunch of men shouting orders to someone I couldn’t see. Then I spotted the great brown leaping things pelting towards us, and scrambled up in panic.

  ‘It’s all right,’ said André, shaking his head groggily. ‘I think we’re –’

  He stopped as he saw the dogs. I didn’t, I shoved him towards the nearest tree, screaming ‘Climb, climb, get off the ground!’ but he pushed me aside and shouted to the men ‘Call them off!’

  It’s no good trying to tell a dog you’re the Chevalier de Roland, it could chew halfway through your groin before you’d finished. I tugged frantically at his sleeve, but he shook me off and shouted again ‘Call them off, Guillot, it’s me.’

  The dogs came lolloping on, horrible great mastiffs with huge heads and about a million teeth, but one of the men gave a shrill, agonized whistle, and they stopped. They looked a bit fed up about it, but they stopped.

  The handlers stayed with them, but one great giant of a man strolled calmly on. He reached us, peered down and bowed.

  ‘Chevalier,’ he said, his voice surprisingly gentle.

  ‘Charlot,’ said the boy, and stepped into his arms.

  My head cleared. I looked at the other men and knew the crest on their coats, I’d seen it on the carriages at Ancre every day of my childhood. I looked again at André hugging the big man and told myself, ‘Four years, four bloody years, I’ve done my job, he’s home and safe and not my responsibility any more,’ then the relief was washing over me in waves like drowning, and leaving nothing behind but an emptiness that felt like loss.

  Bernadette Fournier

  I, Monsieur? I was the ‘girl’. I did as I was directed and undertook the care of the wounded.

  M. Fontrailles took the dark stranger into the private room while I set myself to work. First was the red-faced Dubosc, who had helped carry me to the trough and now sat groaning with a sword cut to his thigh. I washed the wound tenderly and dressed it with linen, and beneath the salve I laid an even coating of salt. Oh, it was safe, Monsieur, the ointment must melt before the salt could penetrate, and when a surgeon examined it there would be nothing to see. Then I turned to the plump man who had a trifling cut to his shoulder which I served in the same way. Then I went out to the plot beyond the courtyard and buried my little cat.

  When I returned the others were back, and I rejoiced to hear that my avengers had escaped by climbing the wall of a great hôtel. There was still much laughter at the thought of the drubbing they would undoubtedly receive for their impertinence, and Bouchard spoke of the whole event as a pleasant evening’s sport.

  The languid army officer lounged silently in his chair through all this, but now he studied his wine glass and remarked ‘Only playing with the boy, were you, Bouchard? Do you know, for a moment there I thought he had you worried.’

  Bouchard flushed red. ‘What do you mean by that, Desmoulins?’

  The officer smiled. ‘I merely commend your humanity. The fellow struck you, didn’t he? In your place I’d have wanted to do a little more than … play.’

  ‘Had he been a gentleman, I would have done,’ said Bouchard. ‘As it is, I think making him run for his life through half Paris is sufficient of a lesson, don’t you?’

  Dubosc grunted. ‘Not sure Fontrailles will agree. He thinks the lad saw his face.’

  And there it was again, Monsieur, that strange uneasy silence as they looked from one to another but said not a word. I took advantage of their distraction to salt another dressing and began humbly to wash the scratches of Bouchard.

  ‘Oh, what does it matter?’ said he, twisting his thick neck irritably as I wiped. ‘Why shouldn’t Fontrailles visit an alehouse with friends?’

  Desmoulins raised his eyebrows. ‘Dressed as a Capuchin monk?’

  ‘If he likes,’ said Bouchard. ‘He could be conducting a secret liaison.’ He twined his fingers in my damp hair and said ‘What about it, girl? Would you say no to a hunchback?’

  The laughter stopped abruptly as the door banged open to admit M. Fontrailles.

  ‘I’m glad you’re amused,’ said he, his face dark with anger. ‘Our guest was not. I have placated him for now, but until this is resolved I decline to go further in the business.’

  Oh, such uproar as they made at that! They insisted everything was going so well, they were so near success, it would be madness for M. Fontrailles to withdraw now.

  He silenced them with a single savage gesture. ‘The damage is done. If word should reach the ears of – someone we know, what will he make of my travelling about the country in this disguise? Next time I will be followed. Blois may not matter, but the Sedan? No, I must tell Monsieur my usefulness is at an end.’

  Bouchard leapt to his feet. ‘This is ridiculous. A fellow like that won’t even know who you are. He’s nobody.’

  ‘Nobody?’ said M. Fontrailles, giving me a curt nod of dismissal. ‘The rapier was a good one, I observed it closely. His speech was rough, but his instincts are those of a gentleman. And if he is, Messieurs, if he is the kind of man who will be in society, then mine is not the only name he will learn.’

  Bouchard stopped still and stared at him. ‘Then, by God, we’d better learn his first.’

  I closed the door softly behind me.

  The ‘boy’ was in the courtyard, and I told him on no account to let anyone know about the horses in our stable. He asked a kiss for the service and I gave it him, for he was fourteen years old and in love with me, then I went to the stables myself. Louis had eased the beasts of their bagg
age before laying their blankets over their backs, but I found the packs in a corner and looked inside.

  The contents, oh, Monsieur, they made me laugh. A burnt wooden horse, a tennis ball with its inners hanging out, why, I owned almost as much myself. But as I rummaged deeper I heard the familiar chink of coin, and there at the bottom were two leather bags, one containing jewellery but the other filled with money. There was enough to buy me Madame’s house, enough to buy me a dowry and a husband of my own.

  I dared not really steal it, but thought a man with so much might not know the exact sum, a man so rich might not miss three little coins. I took them and replaced the bags, but my hand brushed a bundle beneath them, and inside I found a dagger engraved with a crest I knew as well as anyone in the Marais. The Roland crest, Monsieur, and on the dagger of a man who used a sword as if he had been born with it in his hand. I sat back on my heels and began furiously to think.

  Yes, I had heard of André de Roland, everyone in Paris knew that name. There had even been a play about him, Madame had seen it herself. She had come back with eyes like boiled gooseberries with love of the leading actor, but she told Monsieur the story, how a nobleman disguised himself as a peasant and lived with ordinary people to protect them from the invaders, how he spent his money to feed them and risked his life to protect them, and was saved in the end by the love of a Mlle Celeste, who was really some rich lady in Paris. It sounded foolish to me, Monsieur, and I knew no nobleman really does such things, but still I remembered the day the criers said the Saillie was liberated, I remembered how everyone cheered. Now I knelt in the straw and wished just a little that I had cheered too.

  I did not doubt the identity of my gentleman, though I wondered about his companion, for if he had been in the play Madame had said nothing of him. I thought of these things and hesitated, then I replaced two of the coins, keeping only one shining golden écu for myself, then repacked the baggage and returned to the house.