Honour and the Sword (33 page)

I felt André’s hand cool against my skin as he held the dressing in place.

‘Your wrists need looking at,’ said Jacques obstinately. ‘And I need to check your bruises.’

‘They’re all right,’ said André. ‘But I’m thirsty, I don’t suppose we’ve got anything to drink?’

‘Of course,’ said Jacques, suddenly cheerful. ‘I’ve got wine in the basket, I’ve got everything. You’ll need food too, I’ll get you something.’

He padded off purposefully. Stefan wrapped a length of bandage round my arm then lowered it gently back into the straw.

André said quietly. ‘But you care. Look what you’re doing. You care.’

‘Not me,’ said Stefan. ‘Mercier’s a good marksman, he’s worth patching up. That’s good husbandry.’

‘Is it?’ said André. ‘You wanted to get Martin’s body back as much as any of us, and where was the use in that?’

Stefan chuckled. ‘They’ll like you at the Sorbonne if you live that long. But Gauthier, it’s the soldiers’ bond, that’s all.’

‘It’s still caring, isn’t it?’

‘Self-preservation. A soldier asks your help, you give it him, because next time it might be you.’

There was a long silence, then André slowly rose to his feet.

I felt Stefan lean back from me to look up at him. He said softly ‘Don’t go moping over it, all right?’

André’s voice sounded light. ‘I wouldn’t dream of it.’

‘Course not,’ said Stefan. He turned to lay the blanket over my back.

Carlos Corvacho

Oh now, it could have been a lot worse. The fighting was all very scrappy, wild and in the dark, most of our men wounded rather than killed, and they’d put paid to a fair number of the rebels too. We’d have had them all if it hadn’t been for their cavalry, but you don’t expect a pack of peasants to have their own cavalry, no one could blame my Capitán for not predicting that. As for the explosion, we didn’t lose many to that, it was mostly flash and noise.

No, it was the loss of face bothered the Colonel, that and what was done to my gentleman. He wanted reprisals, Señor, he was for burning the whole village, church and all. He’d quite a feeling about fire, our Colonel, said it was what he called ‘cleansing’. Fortunately my Capitán got him to reconsider. He said if we destroyed the village we’d have to leave it, and where was the Cardinal Infante’s new foothold in Picardie then? ‘Very well, d’Estrada,’ says the Colonel, all silky-like, ‘then see you get on and destroy the rebels instead.’

My Capitán intended that, but it was a question of finding them first. We knew they’d a base somewhere in the forest, but they were being careful, they were sticking to the foresters’ roads and riding up the streams, never so much as a hoofprint for us to start tracking. We still hadn’t the men to search it end to end, nothing like, and I couldn’t see how we’d ever find them.

‘We won’t,’ says my gentleman. ‘We’ll get someone to tell us where it is instead. All we need is to catch one alive, and I think I know how.’

It seemed he was sure one of them was a tanner, so we went after both local men right away. It seemed he was right about it too, the Verdâme man was away from home in the middle of the night, and guns and all manner of contraband hidden in his tannery. I thought the Capitán would be pleased at that, but no, he cursed himself something terrible. He said ‘I should have waited, Carlos, I should have had more patience. The man must have stayed at the base, and now he knows I’m looking for a tanner he’ll never come back.’ And he was right, Señor, the tanner never did come home. I tried to say the man might not be important, but he wasn’t having any of it. ‘He was one of those in the barracks, Carlos,’ he said. ‘I saw his hands close enough. Filthy, stained hands and that animal smell, I shall never forget him.’

I understood him then, Señor. He never said a word about what happened that night, all I knew was we found him bound and gagged in his own office and a nasty deep cut right on his cheek, but he was most upset about that scar, he seemed to feel a shame in it he needed to wipe out. I don’t know, Señor, I was only his servant, but it seemed to me the shame was theirs.

But my gentleman put his own feelings aside and set about catching one of the others instead. He said there’d been men speaking good Spanish on this raid, so next thing he’d got hold of the last tax lists and was reading all through them for names that sounded Spanish. There were a fair few, as you’d expect so near the border, but we narrowed it down fast enough, especially when Muños remembered one had a club foot. Muños was one of our inquisitors, Señor, the only man survived the fight in the corridor. He was slashed right across the belly, but played dead and lived through the whole thing. He identified this Giulio Romero from Verdâme, we whipped him into the Château where the rebels couldn’t even think of rescuing him, and the Colonel had him put to the question without delay.

He was an elderly, rather bookish sort of fellow, so we went straight in with
bastinado
, which got us results in no time. It’s no good with these peasant types, feet like old leather, you could be beating them for hours and they’d never even notice, but this one had nice delicate feet, he was jabbering away in no time. Not that it helped a great deal, as he turned out not to be part of the rebel army himself and had only been helping them this once. He didn’t know much at all, not even when the Colonel tried him on the rack to make sure, but at least he gave us one thing before his heart gave out, and that was the rebel base.

He’d never been there himself but he’d heard it was the old hunting lodge in the Forest of Verdâme, and that was enough for my Capitán. He didn’t know where it was, but he knew who would, and that was the Baron’s children. They’d never been exchanged, you understand, the father being nobody to speak of, but the Colonel was after a ransom to buy his pardon, so there they still were, poor creatures, in the Château all this long while. We paid them a little visit, all very friendly and social, and my gentleman led them into a casual conversation about hunting in the old days, wondering where might be a good base to take a party for a boar hunt, oh, all very subtly done. The younger lady, that’s your Mlle Anne, Señor, she seemed a touch suspicious, but her brother was a weak-minded, sickly kind of lad, and he told us where the lodge was right away.

The men must have been careless approaching because it was empty when they arrived, but they found guns and signs both men and horses had been there recently, so we knew we’d got the right place. The Capitán had it burnt down, and we all felt better for it. If the rebels stayed in the Saillie now they’d have to hide in the villages, where we’d a good chance of catching them. The Capitán had criers out and handbills up everywhere, offering three hundred livres for any man who’d taken part in the raid, and five for the Tanner of Verdâme. For your Chevalier we offered a thousand, and if we got him alive we’d make it two.

We knew he was the real leader, Señor, whatever Romero said. The villagers were always singing that dirty song of theirs, and the Colonel had to make it a punishable offence. They’d added a new verse about a soldier trying to catch the bird that was robbing its fruit trees and one morning he found his two finest plums had gone and the bird had hung his own testicles in their place. Very childish really, but that’s the French for you, no sense of dignity, or so the Colonel used to say.

My Capitán had other reasons for wanting your Chevalier too. He was still after confronting him with de Castilla, Señor, he wasn’t going to let that go, especially since there’d been trouble while we were away, something about raping a serving girl for not showing respect. But it was your gentleman’s swordsmanship intrigued him most. Muños said he’d never seen anything like it, never, and the Chevalier not much more than a boy. It was only natural in a man of my gentleman’s calibre to be interested, Señor. He’d have given a great deal for the chance to meet young de Roland blade to blade.

The Colonel didn’t seem so fussed, not once we’d found the rebel base. He had us burn down a few cottages for the look of the thing, but seemed content to leave it at that. He was inclined to believe our finding the base meant the end of the Rebel Movement, and they were all fled into France with your Chevalier. He said ‘De Roland won’t bother with a place like this now he’s out of it, he’s nobility, after all.’

‘He came back last time,’ said the Capitán grimly.

‘And I should have anticipated it,’ said the Colonel. ‘You paraded him like a hunting trophy over its miserable streets, he had to make some gesture to save his face. But he’ll be safe in Paris now, drinking chocolate in the salons, he won’t risk himself further for the sake of a few wretched peasants. Relax, Miguel, I shall eat my own hat if he returns now.’

My Capitán bowed. ‘If he does, he won’t escape me again.’

‘Well then,’ said the Colonel, ‘it seems to me that whatever happens we cannot lose.’

He still wasn’t convinced, my gentleman, he kept us all looking and listening out for any sign of the Chevalier’s return or the rebels still being about. He had Muños almost living in the Quatre Corbeaux watching out for faces he recognized, but there was nothing ever came of it. The months passed, and our patrols weren’t attacked, our couriers weren’t interfered with, there was no resistance when we took the harvest, it looked for all the world as if the Colonel was right and the rebels had given up or gone away.

Jacques Gilbert

We hadn’t, of course, we were just lying low. Thanks to Giulio being so brave and sending them to the other base, the Spaniards thought they’d driven us out, and Marcel said we’d keep it that way till things calmed down.

So the boy and I had a quiet summer settling into the Hermitage and trying to make it feel like home. It would have been a lot easier with just the two of us, but then Marcel and bloody Stefan went and moved in with us too. It wasn’t their fault really, I mean it wasn’t safe for them to go home, there were soldiers watching the tannery day and night. Giulio had obviously said something about Stefan being a leader, because d’Estrada was offering more money for him than anyone except André.

I didn’t actually mind Marcel living with us, he was nice and friendly and didn’t smell. What really spoilt everything was Stefan. He went swaggering about the place, bringing in his women, eating all our food, calling the boy ‘little general’ like a private joke, and tousling his hair like he’d got any kind of right. This was André’s own property we were in, he ought to have been grovelling with gratitude at being allowed to lay his smelly carcase down in it at all, but it got to the point we couldn’t have a private conversation without him shoving his way into it like it was our food basket. I thought Marcel might have kept him in order, but he was always very tender with Stefan, it was one thing about him I couldn’t understand. I think it even made Stefan uneasy, he sometimes looked at Marcel like he couldn’t understand it either.

If it hadn’t been for Stefan I’d have enjoyed living at the Hermitage. I liked having friends around and people to look after the horses, and not having to walk miles when it was our turn for duty. We still got fresh food too. Colin used to bring stuff from the Home Farm, Jean-Marie bought supplies from outside, we got meat from Philippe and game from Giles, and the streams were full of carp and eels. I worried about cooking because of the smoke, but some charcoal burners started up on the Artois side and after that we lit fires whenever we wanted. Simon Moreau made soups and stews, because he cooked for his dad at the Corbeaux, and Bettremieu used to do this Flemish thing with beef soaked in beer, he’d heat it in a pot then wrap it up in a box of warm straw and by evening it was wonderful. People started hanging about the Hermitage even when they weren’t on duty, it was a place to eat and drink and see friends. I did miss Mother’s cooking, though. I used to dream about her omelettes.

André was mostly all right. He was a bit more distant and moody these days, but he was just growing up, that’s all. He turned fifteen that August, he was getting taller, his voice was breaking, no soldier would even think about chasing him now, they’d take one look and shoot him. They’d have been right too, he was still yearning to fight and getting more and more frustrated at the lack of action. He was haunted by what happened to Giulio and desperate to avenge the murder of M. Gauthier, but where a year ago he’d have been stamping and shouting ‘We’ve got to
do
something!’ now he just waited for Marcel to say it was right, fenced longer and harder every day, and gnawed himself to pieces inside.

What made it worse was him being cooped up at the Hermitage. He couldn’t even go into Ancre, he was known by sight and had to stay mouldering in the woods like a hermit himself. He couldn’t do much at all except listen to bloody Stefan giving his opinion on everything like someone who knew. He got more and more restless, and quicker to lash out with his fists, and that wasn’t as funny as it used to be, he once nearly broke Marin’s nose when he said Margot had a face like Bettremieu’s arse and wouldn’t take it back. There was one day Dom came running in to say he was fighting Pinhead, and he was, they were down by the stream simply hammering away at each other, I was terrified he’d get his ribs broken. Stefan practically threw Pinhead across the clearing and bawled at him to pick on people his own size, but Pinhead said ‘Tell
him
that,’ and sat wiping blood off his nose, looking all injured. I asked the boy afterwards what it had been about, and he said ‘I don’t really know,’ and grinned.

I knew he couldn’t last much longer, and he didn’t. In October we heard there was going to be a thanksgiving service for our new Dauphin, and that was a huge thing for us, I mean we’d waited years for an heir to the throne. Everyone was going except Stefan, who didn’t give a toss, and at last André said sod it, he was bloody well going too.

I didn’t try to stop him. It was safe enough really, the soldiers never came to St Sebastian’s, they had Mass in the barracks with their own priests. Besides, it was a chance for André to be the Seigneur again, and I thought it mightn’t do people any harm to be reminded of that, like Pinhead and Stefan for a start.