Thinking fast, Steel looked about the room. He still had his sword. There was a single door and a guard, he knew, outside. They were two storeys up, too high to jump without serious injury. He also presumed that Malbec would have placed further guards, and concluded quickly that if there was to be a chance of escape it was not now.
Malbec was still speaking, toying with a miniature of an ensign of French infantry. ‘Where could it be? I asked myself. I went over again and again in my mind every dealing I had had with the Irish in the past few years. I wondered, were you in England, perhaps as a prisoner?’
As Malbec was speaking the door opened and Steel turned towards it, expecting and hoping to see Charpentier and perhaps a means of deliverance. Instead, however, he found himself staring into the unforgettable green eyes of the Marquise de Puy Fort Eguille.
She smiled at him and raised a single fine eyebrow. ‘Captain Johnson. How delightful to see you again.’ She turned to Malbec. ‘
Cheri
, I came as quickly as I could. Your note seemed very urgent.’
‘It was of no account. The captain and I have been diverting ourselves with a game of Charpentier’s tin soldiers. In fact he was doing surprisingly well. For an Englishman.’
Steel turned and began to speak, but Malbec cut in. ‘I was just informing the captain here from where it was that I had recognized him. Don’t be surprised. I was sure that I recognized you when we met, and now I know where it was. Once I learnt that you were a British officer it came back to me. You remember an incident some four years ago? How could you forget? You were, I believe, the officer in command of a party of infantry passing through a small Bavarian village. I forget the name. It’s not important. There you made a most unpleasant discovery. Certain German villagers had … erm … got in the way of our plans and looked set to be a most useful means of raising the populace against you. They were … disposed of. Of course their bodies were not meant for you to discover, but for their own kind.’
‘You? It was you and your men did that? You bastard!’
Steel made to move towards Malbec, but only now did the French officer draw his sword. Swiftly and before he could match the move the tip came to rest against Steel’s throat.
‘Careful, Captain. There are ladies present and I would so much regret having to spill your blood. So soon, at least. But, yes, I have to admit that it was the work of my men – a crude attempt to discredit your dragoons, who at the time, you may recall, were burning the Bavarians out of their homes as they have so recently done to the poor people of Artois. Of course I know that your Duke is as always careful not to hurt anyone. I believe that he has a standing death sentence for any soldier who rapes or kills? Well, in Bavaria we merely took things a stage further. We did the job for you. Dreadful smell, though, wasn’t there? I never shall forget that.’
Steel’s hand went to his sword hilt, but Malbec pushed the tip of his own weapon a fraction deeper against Steel’s neck.
‘You evil bastard. You murdered innocent women and children.’
Malbec shook his head. ‘Murder? In time of war? Come, come. Surely you cannot believe in that? In time of war there can be no morals. The death of the villagers was merely a sad consequence of the sort of warfare that we must all fight today. So different from the neat affair on this table, no? A pity to interrupt our game. And I do believe you might have been winning.’
Still holding the sword against Steel’s throat, Malbec took his left hand and swept it across the ranks of the red-coated figures, scattering them across the table. ‘Ah well, you see how easily the ranks of the British fall. And that will be the way when next we meet them on the field. There was one other moment when I think I saw you. I believe that I may have encountered you briefly in the fight for Blenheim. I seldom forget a good swordsman.’
Steel nodded in acknowledgement of the compliment. So that was where he had seen the man before. It was true. Although a sword fight in the heat of battle might last for only a few minutes, there were certain faces that Steel would never forget. Mostly he saw them in his dreams, contorted into a rictus of pain as he had left them, dying. Malbec’s, though, had never appeared thus, for he had managed to flee with his life. Steel wished to God now that he had been able to finish him at the time.
He wondered who might have betrayed him or guessed his true identity. For a moment he considered Simpson, but quickly thought better of it. It was impossible to think Alexander would have done so. Possibly the Irishman, O’Driscoll, had given him up before he had been killed. He decided that was the most likely explanation, but sought confirmation.
‘How did you discover me? You have no way of knowing who I am.’
‘No? It was really quite simple. You know this man?’
Malbec clapped his hands, and from the still open doorway another figure appeared. Steel recognized him as Simpson’s butler, Gabriel.
‘Monsieur Gabriel is an officer of the King. He holds the rank of captain in the regiment of Mousquetaires, although for the past two years he has been employed as a spy – one of our best, as a matter of fact. He is currently employed as butler to a man we have suspected for some time, a man calling himself St Colombe. Clearly he is also a British spy. Soon the trap will close on him and we will bring him to justice. You, though, were an easier fish to hook. Naturally, Gabriel informed me of the arrival at the house of St Colombe of a handsome Irish captain. And when I mentioned it to the Marquise it transpired that you two had already met. You can imagine how keen she was to renew your acquaintance. She has an eye for a pretty face. But that’s of no matter now. Now you are my prisoner, Captain Johnson, or whatever your real name might be. I’m sure you will tell me that in good time. You see, there is so much that you have to tell me. And sooner or later you will.’
Strapped to a carved wooden
fauteuil
, Steel tried to wrest himself free, but the thick black leather straps that bound him had been fastened so securely around the sturdy oak arms that to move at all merely caused the edge of the hide to cut into his wrist. Malbec watched his futile attempt with amusement, shaking his head.
‘It is quite pointless, Captain. Consider your situation. Accept it. And ask yourself what you would do if you did free yourself. First you have me to contend with, and then there’s our friend by the door, and once you’re out of here you would find yourself where? In the Hôpital des Invalides. In the very heart of the French military establishment. What chance do you really think you have? No, why don’t you simply tell us what we want to know and then you can go and rest. Please, Captain. And on my honour as a soldier I promise that no further harm shall befall you.’
They were in one of the rudimentary cells in the cellars of the Invalides normally used to detain miscreant inmates. Aside from the chair the furnishings consisted of a low wooden plank which served as a bed, a slop bucket and a small wooden table. The only source of natural light was a small window near the ceiling which gave out onto the cobblestones. At present the room was lit by two pitch-soaked torches which flickered in their cast-iron brackets and threw moving shadows around the walls. Steel was not sure whether his present lack of clear vision was due more to the poor light or the fact that his right eye was now partly closed and bloodied on account of having been punched repeatedly by both Malbec and Gabriel, who had gone to take a break from his exertions.
By the door stood an armed sentry, a tall infantryman of Malbec’s own regiment of grenadiers with a tall, bearskin cap. Another stood outside. Steel knew one thing: he was not going anywhere. Apart from the guard, Malbec and Steel, there was only one other person in the room. Steel noticed a wicked smile cross the Marquise’s face.
‘My dear Claude, be reasonable. You cannot really make the captain such a promise. You know my plans.’
Malbec, pretending not to hear, continued with his questions. ‘Captain, we do not yet know your name, but we do know that you are a British secret agent and that you have been working with the spy Simpson who calls himself St Colombe. We have known about him for some time. In fact we have waited for just such a moment before taking him. Sadly, at the present time he has evaded us, but be assured we have a shrewd idea of his possible whereabouts. He will not leave the city and will soon be joining you. I do not know for certain the purpose of your mission here in Paris but I am sure you are intent on undermining the will of the French people to wage the war to which their King has pledged them. France shall not rest until she is victorious and Britain and her allies crushed. That is the only way it will end, however long it might take and however many lives it might cost.’
Steel spat blood from his cut mouth and spoke. ‘You’re insane. The people of France don’t want this war any more. You’ve lost touch with your countrymen, Major. You think they’ll follow you to death and glory, but they wouldn’t follow you if you offered them the bloody moon.’
His words were cut short by the punch which the major landed hard in his stomach. Steel groaned.
Malbec stood back and shook his head. ‘Don’t be stupid, Captain. Save yourself unnecessary suffering. All I want to know are two things: your name, and the purpose of your mission. That’s all. Nothing more than two things. What harm can there be in that? And you are an honourable man. You know it is the honourable way out. And it will save you so much pain.’
Steel stared at him through half-shut eyes and shook his head. ‘Do you really think that I would ever consider betraying a confidence and my country? What code of honour do you follow, Malbec? None, I’ll wager. Certainly, none that I acknowledge.’
Malbec drew closer to him so that Steel could smell his breath with its pungent, lingering aroma of garlic and spices, while the scent of lavender also hung about him. He hissed in Steel’s face, spat out the words: ‘I’ll tell you the code of honour I follow, Captain: the code of honour that killed my wife and children in Le Havre. The code of honour of your Royal Navy. The code of honour that killed hundreds more innocent civilians at Ostend when your warships opened fire and sent their bombs raining down into its streets. That’s my code of honour, Captain. Surely you recognize it? Your generals invented it.’
Malbec paused and gazed at this troublesome British officer. He had spent some months in custody in England, under house arrest in the town of York. He had hoped that he might see the true nature of the British people, that the dreadful shadow might be lifted from his mind. But what he had seen was a nation not ground down by war but enjoying the bounties of victory and prosperity. Families happy together. It had made him only more bitter and determined to avenge his family’s death at every opportunity.
He whispered to Steel. ‘Don’t worry. By the time I’ve finished with you you’ll be begging to tell me your name.’ He turned to the Marquise. ‘My dear Marquise, perhaps you should leave now. I think that this will not be a sight for such eyes as yours.’
She smiled. ‘Oh, Claude, how can you think such a thing? You know that the one reason I am here is to keep a careful eye on your treatment of the captain. After all, he is mine, is he not?’
Malbec smiled. ‘True. It is as we arranged. I owe you so many debts and I did swear that you could take him. Once I have finished with him.’
‘And you also swore that you would leave him in good condition. Remember, Claude, a bargain is a bargain.’
Malbec shrugged, and Steel froze. So he was to be her prize. To what end, he could only imagine. Clearly their conversation was intended to be only too audible, to fill him with the terror of anticipation. She laughed.
Malbec smiled and looked at Steel. ‘What exactly do you have planned for our friend?’
She turned to Steel and stared at him with a look which chilled him to the bone. He looked away and found himself staring at the huge emerald pendant which hung at her breast.
‘I detest the British. So would you if you had seen your father die from the wounds he received in battle with them, blinded and unable to see his children grow up. And if you had nursed the ruin of a man, which was all they brought me of my husband. He had been reckoned one of the handsomest men in France, Captain. After the battle of Ramillies, when they brought him home, he was hideous. He had been wounded by your English dragoons. They had found him in a corner of the field, detached from his regiment and confused by a fall from his horse. There were four of them. He had surrendered, offered them his sword. It meant nothing. They still cut him down. One sabre cut slashed his face from above his right eye to his left jaw. Another took off his nose. As they did it, they were laughing. Then they left him to die. But he was a strong man. His servant brought him home, back to Agen. He died in my arms sobbing like a baby.’
She was trembling now. Pausing, she looked at Malbec and then back to Steel. ‘And so, Captain, I have sworn to be avenged against my husband’s murderers and their fellows. With you I intend to play a game of like for like. I shall take your eyes. The rest of you, however, I intend to preserve in as perfect and beautiful a state as you are now. And then I shall think of all the delicious ways in which you can amuse me. You will stay with me at my château at Agen. At least until I tire of you.’
Here was a fate Steel had never contemplated. What was more, Malbec, a brother officer bound by a code of honour that transcended allegiances, appeared to condone her barbarity. He knew that he must escape. Perhaps, he thought, if he only played for time he might have an opportunity to find a way out. He realized, however, that he would have to endure the next stage of the major’s interrogation. He wondered what now lay in store for him; something more sophisticated, no doubt, than the brutal Neanderthal pummelling he had already suffered. When, he wondered, would he lose his eyes? And how would it be done? He shuddered and tried desperately to find a means of escape.
At length Malbec broke away from his embrace with the Marquise and turned back to Steel. ‘You seem surprised, Captain, that an officer should behave in such a fashion. But you forget. I gave myself up at Ostend. I had seen too much blood for one day. In England as a prisoner I had supposed that I might at last be able to understand the people who had robbed me of my most precious possessions, my wife and children, killed at the bombardment of Le Havre by your navy. Instead I found only hatred for an indolent and bigoted nation. It merely served to fuel my loathing for your race. So now we intend to make you pay, Captain, pay for all the injustices perpetrated by your barbarous army. But in truth I can make it easier for you. You see the influence I hold over milady. Perhaps if you were to tell me the names of your accomplices, I might be able to sway her from her unpleasant plan. At least I might be able to save your sight.’
The Marquise shook her head. ‘Claude, you must not tease the poor captain. I am resolved. An eye for an eye.’
Steel was not really listening. If I can only manage to infuriate this man enough, he thought, he might just beat me into unconsciousness, and then at least they would have to wait until I was capable again of telling them Major Charpentier’s name. It was worth a go, as was anything that might give him more time – time to think of a plan of escape, anything.
Steel waited until Malbec’s face was close to his own, and then he spat at him, a mouthful of blood-streaked phlegm. The major recoiled and carefully wiped the muck from his cheek and mouth. Then with a sudden and unexpected swiftness he raised his arm and brought the fist crashing down upon Steel’s jaw, smashing his head to one side with a ferocity which shocked and surprised him and in an instant made him wonder whether another such blow from this man might break his neck. When it did come, an instant later, it did not do anything quite so dreadful. What it did do, though, was send him and the chair crashing to the floor, and as Steel slipped gratefully from consciousness he knew that his plan had succeeded.
Steel lay in the coal-black darkness and trembled with fear. He could not see, and for a few minutes now he had been putting off the moment. Now, though, he knew that he must do it. Slowly he reached up to his face and felt for his eyes. The first touch told him what he needed to know. There rather than the empty sockets he had feared, he could feel the roundness beneath the lids which proved that he still had his sight. The Marquise could not have yet fulfilled her terrible promise. There was no pain in that part of his head, which was more than could be said for the rest of his anatomy. He moved a leg and felt a twinge across the muscle and into the bone. He ran a hand across his face and felt the dried blood and the swollen, puffy tissue. By God but they had made a mess of him. Slowly, and with the experience of a dozen battles, he felt carefully up and down first one arm and then the other and then down both his legs, checking for possible fractures. As far as he could tell there were none. Yet.
Steel thanked God that his plan had worked and that he had passed out with the pain. It came to him, though, that soon they would come for him again and that this time their method might be such that he would crack and give away the name of the major. After that he would be at the mercy of the Marquise, and that was not an option that he wanted in the least to explore. However it might be achieved, escape within the next few minutes was the only way, no matter how painful it might be and even if he died in the attempt.
He stood up and bumped his head on a low ceiling. Clearly he was no longer in the high basement cell. More than likely, he had been carried upstairs and thrown into some sort of an attic. Gradually his eyes became accustomed to the lack of light. Slowly, to his left he saw a square of light, which suggested the square outline of a small window. He walked across to it on the bare boards, listening lest they should squeak and being careful to feel his way first in case he might fall over some obstacle, but the room appeared to be empty. Reaching the wall, he felt at the window and eventually managed to lever up a small corner of what felt like a piece of wood that had been nailed into place. With a supreme effort, Steel pushed up on the wood, splintering it and cutting his hands. Instantly a shred of light flooded into the gloom and he knew that he had found a way out.
Half an hour later, his hands torn and bleeding from pulling at the rough wooden panels, Steel had managed to rip a length away, and now moonlight filled the little room through the small hole. It was a window. Cautiously he peered out and saw nothing but the sky and a rooftop perhaps some eighty yards away. He raised his head and peered down. He was, as he had surmised, in an attic room some forty feet above the ground. Directly below him lay a courtyard. He recognized it at once as the Cour Royale of the Invalides. So he was still in Paris. Thank God at least for that, he thought. Turning, he assessed his surroundings in the moonlight. The only access to the room save the window was the low door through which he must have been carried. There was no furniture to speak of, expect for a broken table and a pile of sheeting.
He walked over to the window and peered down again into the courtyard. He would have to act as fast as he could. Every moment now was precious. He pulled at the remaining slats of wood and threw them into the room to leave the window opening as wide as he could. Then, trying to remember the appearance of the roof, he eased open the window and, turning so that his back rested on the thin edge overlooking the sheer drop to the yard, he reached up with his hands to grasp the edge. The slates cut into his hands and his raw wrists, already lacerated by the leather straps, were grazed by the edge of the tiles. Making a supreme effort, Steel pulled as hard as he could and his body eased out of the window and hung above the courtyard. To anyone looking up now he knew that he would be in full view. He glanced down to check, and instantly thought better of it. His head began to swim with vertigo, and for an instant he thought he might let go of the roof. Recovering, he turned back and, looking up at the slates, managed to manoeuvre so that his feet were standing on the window ledge.