Honour and the Sword (36 page)

Giles turned to face ahead, but not before I saw a tiny smile crinkling the corners of his eyes. I heard Stefan muttering ‘Bloody little hero,’ as he came worming after André, and saw to my surprise he was grinning too. For a second I caught sight of Philippe’s old smile as he bent to start crawling again, while Bettremieu was actually rumbling an odd little tune under his breath as he followed. I looked round at the new volunteer, who was crawling at the back with Bernard, and said ‘It’s all right, Pepin, we’ll get through.’ He beamed at me and continued wriggling along, happy as an eel in sand.

The smoke seemed to have grown thicker as we talked. I felt it tickling my throat, and was afraid I might cough. I tried to suck in a breath, but my lungs constricted and panic tightened my throat. ‘Heads down, lads,’ Stefan was intoning ahead of us. ‘Faces down, it’ll clear in a minute.’ Behind me Bettremieu was making a noise like ‘Pom, pom, ti-pom-pom,’ and Stefan’s voice drifted back ‘Stop that Flemish grunting, Libert, or I’ll kill you.’

As Giles led us slowly eastwards, the smoke gradually thinned again and my hopes began to rise. The maquis grew more sparsely now so I knew we must be getting nearer the gorge, but we were progressing northwards too and I began to wonder if we mightn’t have passed the Spanish line after all.

Giles looked back and put his finger to his lips, and after a moment he held up his hand to stop us altogether.

‘Can’t get past that,’ he whispered. ‘Let them come to us, then we’ll break through.’

We crawled into a dense area of tall bracken and waited. Now we’d stopped moving, I found I could hear the enemy for myself. I heard swords jingling, the rustle of leather against steel, the faint clinking of the little flasks on the bandoliers, all the usual noises of an army on the move, but almost eerie because of the total absence of voices. There was a swishing sound as well, and I guessed they were beating the bushes. Stefan drew his knife. André coiled himself into position, knees bent, sword poised, his other hand resting lightly on the ground to give purchase to the spring, long fingers spread in an arc in the dirt.

Giles was whispering again. ‘When it goes off, we all run like bloody hell, right? Follow Ravel and head for the gorge.’

He’d hardly finished when the bracken parted ahead of us and a pair of dark breeches suddenly appeared. André thrust forward at once and the breeches went down, but another man behind let out a yell, and I knew we were finished.

‘That’s it, boys,’ said Giles, not even whispering any more, and crashed forward through the bracken. Stefan overtook him, and we all followed, running as fast as we could, not looking at anything or anyone but Stefan running ahead of us.

There were shouts all around, and the crack of a musket as someone recovered enough to take a shot at us, but it came from behind, and I realized we were through the line and past them, we had only to keep running to reach safety. But Stefan was still going east, he was heading for the gorge, and after a moment I realized why. There was movement far ahead of us in the trees, someone was shouting, and I knew there were more soldiers coming down at us from the north. It felt as if the whole Verdâme garrison must be loose in that forest, they were hunting us like animals, and nowhere to run but the gorge.

Stefan Ravel

No choice, Abbé, we’d got to cross the bloody thing or die. There were a couple of hundred dons out there, and even with the fearsome André de Roland on our side those were odds I didn’t fancy at all.

I got them to the edge of the gorge and started leading them north along its bank. The dons had lost sight of us for a while, but I guessed we wouldn’t get far before hitting the next cordon. At last I saw what I wanted, a good sturdy tree with high branches sited near the edge on the far side. I halted them and asked Libert for the ropes. It took him long enough unwinding them, he was carrying so many muskets he looked like a giant hedgehog, but he got them in the end, Leroux knotted them together, and I ripped off a branch to make an anchor. I looked round for a volunteer as I worked, and saw the perfect one right away.

‘Now then, young Pepin,’ I said in my most fatherly tone. ‘How’d you like to be a hero?’

Jean-Marie Mercier

Stefan and Bettremieu swung Pepin between them and simply threw him over the gap. He landed quite easily on a large patch of heather and seemed almost to bounce to his feet as if this were all a great game. Then he took his end of the rope, scrambled up a big tree and secured it above a high branch, while Stefan reeled in the other end, and we had a crossing.

Unfortunately only one man could cross at a time, and the Spaniards were bound to search this section of the gorge any minute. Stefan was clearly aware of it too. While Pepin was still tying the rope he glared at the rest of us and said ‘No argument about this, you’ll go when I say. André first, then Mercier –’

‘No,’ said André. ‘I can’t give cover, you know I can’t. Marksmen first.’

Stefan’s head jerked towards him, then he hesitated and dropped his eyes. ‘All right. Mercier, you first, then Rouet, then Durand, then Leroux. Don’t hang about when you get there, we’ll need all the covering fire we can get if we’re all to cross. If we’re in trouble, Libert, throw André over before crossing yourself.’

‘If we’re in trouble,’ said André, ‘you’ll need a swordsman to cover your back.’

Stefan said calmly ‘I’ll need soldiers who’ll do what they’re fucking told. Now keep your voices down or we’ll draw the dons.’

The rope was ready and people were pushing me towards it, then Bettremieu was slinging two more guns round me, and there wasn’t time to think about anything else. I clutched the rope tight and closed my eyes as I stepped off the edge.

It was only when I was in the air that I thought with sudden panic I might simply crash straight into the opposite wall of the gorge, but of course Pepin had secured the rope very high, and my feet no more than skimmed the grass of the far bank. Stefan started reeling it back as soon as I let go, then I quickly found cover and positioned my first musket. I’d hardly laid out the others when Bernard was dropping beside me, and on the far bank Stefan was hauling the rope back for Philippe. We might do it yet. I pulled off my bandolier so I could reach the flasks quickly. There were twelve reloads, Stefan used to call them the ‘Twelve Apostles’. Twelve shots, but it could take twenty minutes to load them all.

‘I can load, M’sieur,’ said Pepin, sitting behind me with crossed legs. ‘Pass me your guns as you finish and I will load.’

Beside me, Bernard finished ratcheting up his string, locked the bolt in place, sat back and cracked his knuckles.

Jacques Gilbert

We were belting through the forest as fast as the horses could go. The sight of Tempête galloping beside me gave me an odd kind of superstitious hope. He’d saved the boy’s life once, a bit of my brain thought he could do it again.

We stopped on the
gabelle
road to take stock of our position. The smoke was well south of us, the Spaniards had only fired the bit between the last two foresters’ roads, but it was enough to drive anyone more than a mile south of us east and to the gorge. We were about to ride down and follow it, when there came muffled reports off to the east, gunfire reaching us through the smoke.

‘Bloody hell,’ said Margot. ‘It’s on the other side of the gorge.’

That was impossible. The bit north of the Château between the gorge and the Wall was just called the ‘dead land’ because no one could get to it, except of course by crossing the gorge at the
gabelle
road and riding down, which it had never been worth our while to do.

‘It is now,’ said Marcel. ‘Come on.’

Jean-Marie Mercier

Two soldiers appeared further down the gorge, looking up and down the bank, trying to see where we’d got to. Our men were hidden by the trees that grew right up to the edge, but just then Philippe came sailing over on the rope, it was too late to signal him to wait, and they saw him at once.

I fired immediately, and Bernard loosed his bolt, but we’d had no time to consult, and both fired at the same target. Philippe landed safely, but the second soldier was firing even as he touched down, and suddenly he was falling backwards and away from us, his mouth open in a kind of terrible surprise, his hands open and releasing the rope, his body dropping out of sight, thudding terribly against the side of the gorge as it fell.

Pepin was pulling the musket out of my hands, I grabbed the next and shot the second man. There was still one loaded musket left, but no one yet to fire at. André, Stefan, Giles and Bettremieu were alone in the clearing, and Stefan was reeling back the rope. Unfortunately the sound of our shots was having its effect, and I could hear distant shouting as the pursuing Spaniards began to realize our direction. I said to Bernard ‘You take right, I’ll take left,’ and he nodded dumbly even as he was screeching back the string for his next bolt. Another man appeared higher up the bank, I shot him quickly, then Giles was swinging over towards our side.

Pepin was loading frantically, but there were soldiers nearly up to our men, I could see movement in the trees behind the clearing. Giles skidded to a halt on our bank, his heels scoring up two great furrows in the dirt, and I stood to snatch the musket out of his hands as two dark figures rushed into the clearing on the other side.

I fired half-blind, but even as I jerked to the recoil I heard Bernard call out, and turned to see horses pounding towards us from the north. I jumped back into cover, but the rider in front was blond, he was blond, and I realized with shattering relief that it was Marcel.

Stefan Ravel

Someone shot straight, I’m glad to say, and André had the other, stabbing straight into his belly before he’d even taken in the sight of us.

Me, I just kept hauling in the rope and said ‘André next.’ The kid went on facing the trees, sword in hand, but I’d known he’d be trouble, I was ready for it. I jerked my thumb at Libert and said ‘Get him.’

The big Flamand moved fast enough when he needed to. He was scooping up his young Sieur under one arm and back to me before I’d finished reeling in the rope. I left them to it, drew my own sword, and turned to the trees where three of the buggers were bursting through at once. I slashed one, saw the furthest fall to a bolt, and punched the third hard in the jaw, but the bastard had a pistol which flamed out as he fell. Libert cried out and clutched his arm, then another shot cracked out, and he collapsed on his knees. Then for the first time there was something like a real volley of answering fire over the gorge, and we were covered.

I legged it back to André, who was wrapping the rope under Libert’s armpits. The poor brute was protesting feebly, but André was saying ‘They need your guns, Bettremieu, I’m ordering you over,’ and the Flamand was too dazed and sick to resist. I didn’t bother either, we couldn’t waste another second on argument, and the man would never get over alone. He managed to get one hand on the rope, and between us André and I launched him across the gap. To my surprise, the men who emerged to catch him on the other side were Lefebvre and Pinhead, and I gathered we’d somehow acquired reinforcements.

Jacques Gilbert

I couldn’t believe it. They’d got themselves over and left the boy behind.

Marcel was frantic. He was snatching pistols from the saddle holsters and throwing them to Jean-Marie and Giles, while Colin and Pinhead pulled Bettremieu in cover and grabbed the muskets still slung round his body. It was all about firepower now, there was nothing else going to save the boy, not with half the Spanish army thundering towards him through those trees.

‘Pin them down,’ Marcel was shouting. ‘Keep them out of the clearing while our men cross. For God’s sake, pin them down!’

Stefan finished reeling in the rope, and his arm went out for André so they could cross together. Shadows shifted in the trees behind them, Margot blasted away at the movement, but there was an answering orange flash in the darkness. Marcel fired at the gunsmoke, but something was wrong, Stefan was jerking back from the rope, he was spinning on his heel, then his whole body crashed heavily to the ground.

Jean-Marie Mercier

Marcel cried out behind me, and I think I did too. It seemed impossible that Stefan could be down, but he was, and even from this distance I could see the bright redness of blood running down his face and soaking into the earth. André dropped to his knees beside him.

More soldiers were charging through, but Colin, Giles and Jacques all fired at once. The smoke faded, and for a moment the clearing was empty except for André, kneeling all alone, looking bewildered and shocked. I turned desperately to Marcel, but he was staring over in disbelief at Stefan’s body, and for the first time since I’d known him he seemed at a loss.

‘The rope!’ yelled Jacques, scrambling to his feet. ‘André, the rope!’

André turned jerkily round towards us as if he didn’t know who we were.

‘The rope!’ I shouted.

He understood all at once, and picked up the rope where it lay limply across Stefan’s open palm. His movements were very slow, he seemed dazed and confused. Only there wasn’t time to delay, the woods behind him were simply bristling with movement.

‘André!’ called Jacques in anguish.

André’s head came up and he seemed to pull himself together. He climbed to his feet and came towards the edge just as more soldiers appeared through the trees. I seized the last gun from Pepin and fired at the first, and just for a second André glanced behind him.

And Stefan moved. His arm stretched and clenched, he seemed to be trying to roll over.

A soldier sprang forward, sword raised to hack down at Stefan, but André leapt at him, parrying and thrusting him back, then turning fast to face the others. The rope slipped unregarded through his fingers, and flopped uselessly to the ground.

Jacques Gilbert