Distant Fires (19 page)

He gestured to divide them into three groups and gave directions. “Two torches apiece, to minimize the possibility of fire.”
 

Leaving several troops to guard the remaining prisoner and see to the dead, they trailed off into the forest, brandishing muskets, eyes straining into the shadows, searching hollow stumps, behind tree roots, potholes and fissures, any spot capable of harbouring a fugitive.
 

Chapter 13
 

Sunrise met with the futility of their search. With too large an area to cover and too little men, Nicholas was forced to send some back, with orders to rest awhile and fold up camp with the intention of scouting further into the interior.
 

Several men volunteered to continue the hunt, among them, Henri Benoit, whom he selected with two others, curious to see if he could prove his mettle.        
 

Carving a route along the precipice of the peninsula enabled them to scan the waters for any telltale sign. Splitting his numbers further, he left two soldiers on higher ground with orders to shoot the fugitive on sight, while he and Benoit took to the lower reaches along the shoreline.          
 

With the exception of a few commands, Nicholas had not spoken to his sub-ordinate, reasoning that had it not been for the seriousness of their quest, he would have enquired of his singular behaviour throughout the mission. The latter appeared engrossed in the task at hand, uniform torn, musket braced for any sudden intrusion or sighting.
 

Fortunately, as they made their way along, the woods became less thick, than tall, well-spaced stands of trees, and the going became easier.
 

Again, it began to rain. What started, as a thin mist rapidly became steady drizzle, saturating their clothes and hair. Sliding down a gully ending in the smooth flat rocks along the water’s edge, they stopped to catch their breath.
 

The trudging, heavy laden thoughts and lack of sleep, clearly caught up with Nicholas, as he leaned his weary body, against a large boulder near the water, and slowly sank to his knees, for a much needed rest.  
 

Benoit, reluctant to pause, merely stood by a wall of rock at his side, wearing an expression at once lugubrious and disdainful.
 

Nicholas bent over in an effort to drink the water, all the while, feeling his eyes upon him. He had no wish to confront this man, but if they were to keep company on this mission, it was necessary to understand the cause.  
 

“Tell me, Benoit, is something troubling you?”
 

It was just the spark he needed. He saw the man’s face change; blazing through the covering of sweat and dirt into an inferno of barely held emotion.
 

“Yes,” he vented harshly, “It happens, that I am, as you put it  ... Bothered.”  
 

He moved toward the area where Nicholas still crouched by the water, towering over him  “Do you really want to know, sir?”   
 

“Certainly,” Nicholas replied, attempting to appear unperturbed in his intimidating presence, but diffused the tension in as rational a manner as possible. “As your Commanding Officer, it is my duty to assist you and if it is within my means, I will endeavour to do so.”
 

Benoit smiled sardonically, crouching beside him a space apart, his head against the rock. He began a bit tentatively, and swiftly gained momentum. “Tell me Sir, what would you do if your woman was carrying your child, but she refused to marry or leave with you, on the grounds that you were not good enough for her... That she needed someone of her own class, and instead, left you for another?”  
 

So that was it! Problem with a woman, he should have known!  Whenever there was a difficulty with soldiers, you could bet that either drink or a woman was at the root. He might humour a man in similar circumstance, but this fellow had an intensely serious nature, verging on desperation. He seemed too intense and clearly in pain to be dealt with in any other manner. Nicholas decided to counter the piercing of his gaze with sensitivity and understanding.  
 

 “Well,” he began, as evenly as possible, “I should tell the woman that if the child be mine, we should wed, otherwise... Threaten to tell her family, or the other suitor.”
 

Pleased with his satisfactory response, Benoit casually rested back against the rock. “Thank you for your wise counsel,” A barely disguised look of scorn swept his tough features. “At least, we agree on the action to be taken... But your advice has come too late...you see, I’ve already put to her what you have suggested... Would you like to guess what I was told?”  His face darkened with the passion of remembrance, words trailing in despair.  
 

“She said... I...I was not worthy of her hand ... Although I had her heart, and she had chosen to marry...Another. Another! Someone else to raise my child, because I’m not good enough!”
 

His anger was such that Nicholas’ regret having opened the conversation, but he had released the floodgates now and he supposed that he would have to listen.
 

 “She begged me to continue seeing her, promising that, in exchange for a vow of silence, I would be granted her charms ... She had a plan, she said. Soon she would be rid of her husband. It would not be long. Then, she would be mine.”
 

Tears began to fall down his broad face, and he turned away.       
 

At seeing this, Nicholas felt slightly sorry for the foolish man, but the woman was a moral degenerate. He was better rid of her. Still, the man was half mad with grief and anger and he wasn’t about to convince him otherwise.  
 

When he composed himself, the rancour returned.
 

“Much as she tortured my soul, I loved and believed her. I could not refuse her terms. She was... Is, like drink to a dying man... I know she doesn’t love him, but though she as lain with me many times since her marriage, lately, I have begun to think differently...”
 

Nicholas was chilled to the bone, bored and tired. If this story was leading somewhere, he wanted the fool to get on with it, so they could get back.
 

“Now, with the child about to be born, I can no longer believe that she will be rid of him ... Maybe now, she means to trick me ... But I will stand up and take what is rightfully mine,”  
 

His eyes took on a crazed quality, voice trembling with escalating rage.
 

 “For it’s
you
, you stinking bastard,” he spat, moving toward him, “ I am speaking to the one who wrenched from me all hope of happiness...
You
, you idiot, who married a woman carrying another man’s child,” His demoniac laugh split the air. “Whatever plan she had, you fell for it, she wanted your name, and with you gone, she will have the wealth and prestige she desires, and be free to marry me!”
 

Nicholas felt he had been split between the eyes with an axe.   
 

That was it! The wily bitch! She had used him as a means to an end. He had been an even greater fool than he imagined. He should have known that she was capable of sinking to the
lowest depths of depravity to save her skin.  His mind was assaulted with thought, but within a millisecond, everything fell into place ... The rendezvous she had arranged with him that night, in full knowledge of her pregnancy by a dim-witted private, who could slake her libidinous desires, but not her dreams of grandeur. She had fabricated the tale about her brother’s involvement in an unlawful scheme, as a ruse to arouse his sympathy and interest. Once she had him alone ... Perhaps a sleeping draught in his drink, causing him to fall asleep, enabling her enough time to set the scene, for the appearance of a forced sexual encounter. She feigned the role of wronged maiden to the hilt. Once the ring was upon her finger, her true personality had revealed itself. She was a diabolically, ruthless person, who was no above doing anything to secure her fortune. Now she had it all; a name for her bastard, a title ... a crazed but obsequious lover and a husband robbed of choice and personal integrity, by an act of treachery.  
 

Fool that he was, Benoit would be willing to stand by her and feign his involvement ... The crazed and love struck man would as soon kill Nicholas, as stoop to dishonour his unscrupulous lover.
 

The madman continued, “I could not believe my good fortune in finding you alone like this ... For months now, I have been planning every possible means for your demise, but she wanted it her way ... And now, by this stroke of luck...”
 

He deliberately dropped the musket, realizing that the fire would draw attention, and withdrew his knife, leaping to confront his nemesis, on the flat rock.  
 

Nicholas, knowing that his own musket was not near enough, drew out his knife, and sprang towards him, slicing at the air.  
 

He made contact with Benoit’s cheek. In surprise, the man reacted by touching the wound, giving Nicholas time to slash his hand, forcing him to drop the knife, which fell off the rock, and into the water.  
 

He grabbed Nicholas by the wrist, in an attempt to wrestle the knife, and it too, slipped in.
 

Benoit jumped off the rock and scrambled for his musket, but not before Nicholas lunged at him, landing two solid punches to his brow and head, knocking him off balance.
 

He recovered quickly, shaking the rain and blood from his eyes, he grabbed Nicholas by the uniform and countered with a cut to the left and another to the chest, causing him to fall back into the shallow water, winded and slightly dazed.         
 

He made to stand, and in the same moment, Benoit, and right eye nearly swollen shut, swooped over him.
 

Nicholas bent his leg and thrust it sharply against his chest, vaulting the larger man back into the water.
 

Benoit cursed, and by luck, felt one of the knives by his side in the water.  He came at his opponent full force, before Nicholas had a chance to rise.
 

 “Now it is your turn to do the suffering,” he spat, venomously, raising his arm in an effort to plunge it into his chest.  
 

In that split second, an arrow hit him straight in the back. Benoit fell forward, driving the knife into the thigh of his adversary, and falling atop him, in the same motion. The pain was searing as Nicholas attempted to free his legs, bent, trapped beneath him. For several seconds, he tried but he was no match for the bulk of a dead man.  
 

He lay unmoving, nearly in shock, partly covered in water. The rain increased in force, driving heavily upon him. He closed his eyes.
 

He heard a rustle, a footstep nearby, but was too weak to respond. Then, he felt like a boulder had been lifted off his chest, and in the next moment, was dragged from the water, and turned on his side.  
 

A pair of hands ripped open his uniform, searching, feeling for ... His heart?  
 

... Another moment passed, and he felt an excruciating tug on his leg, sending him into a spasm of agony ... And then the smell of moss, and the vague sensation of something springy pressed against his tortured limb.
 

The rain continued to lash across his face, while fingers forced his eyes open, and for an instant, deep, enquiring brown eyes bore down into his.       
 

He was poked and prodded a while longer, then, having reached the threshold of his pain tolerance, he mercifully passed out, unaware that he had been hoisted and carried off into the dark depths of the rainy wood.   
 

………
 

“I see them coming... Their coach ...Maman, is it not grand!” the young woman cried, excitedly, her long black hair streaming rhythmically in the warm summer breeze, as she stuck her head out the window, and observed the first of the carriages meander up the promenade to the stables and coach houses.
 

Her face, softly featured in palest copper, held the percipience and charming animation of a budding young woman.
 

“There now, my sweet, you must not do such things,” responded the exasperated mother, good naturedly, “would you have us keep our guests waiting, while you dilly dally.”
 

She tugged her in, and clasped the window shut, with a little laugh.  Standing face to face with the girl, nearly her height, she began, more seriously,
 

“I understand that soirees of this kind are new to you, but we must remember our manners and show a proper sense of decorum. The time for playfulness is over.  You must show yourself to be a lady.”  
 

Her light blue eyes shone on the girl, admiringly, but her tone was not lost on Shanata. Her mother would not be trifled with. During her youth, she had been free of many restraints, but rules regarding manners and education, were now strictly upheld and unyielding.
 

“Now scurry off, and let Marie attend to you, while I welcome our guests.”
 

Louise carried herself down the wide staircase, with great aplomb, exaggerating her natural elegance like one in sudden need of displaying it.
 

Her hair, gradually changing from blonde, to white, was dressed in side curls and swept off her forehead and nape, over a pad to make it appear higher, then finished in pomatum and powder.  Etched in soft lines, her face, still held the loveliness of youth, though her slight figure now appeared a bit fuller, more mature, yet not unattractive, swathed as it was, in a gown of richly embroidered sea green taffeta, with matching fan, giving her an air of respectability befitting her title, and surroundings.