Honour and the Sword (6 page)

He said ‘I told you, we’ll have everything back the way it was before. You’ll still have your jobs, Jacques, there’s no need to worry about that.’

I tried to look like I hadn’t been, but he only nodded importantly and said everyone was safe, but us especially because his father had made him promise the groom’s job was Pierre Gilbert’s for his lifetime, and mine afterwards if I wanted it.

That was interesting. I passed the brandy and asked why.

He said ‘I don’t know. Maybe your father saved my father’s life or something?’

I didn’t think so somehow. If my Father had come across the Seigneur drowning in a river he’d have been more likely to chuck a rock at him than pull him out.

‘It doesn’t matter anyway,’ he said dismissively, ‘because now you’ve saved my life, so I’d look after you myself.’

I felt guilty for a moment, then remembered I really had saved him when I shot that soldier, so it was perfectly fair after all. I passed him the brandy and he drank my health, then I took it and drank his, and thought this was all right, actually, this could be good. I saw me telling Colin how I’d sat and drank with the Seigneur and we’d toasted each other, I could say ‘my friend, the Seigneur’. I could say that to Simone too, and maybe she’d let me kiss her again. Maybe she’d let me do more.

He asked if I did want Father’s job when he gave up, and I told him no, I was going in the army at sixteen, and he brightened because he was going to be a soldier too. He said we’d go and kill lots of Spaniards together, hundreds of them, and maybe France would actually invade Spain, then we could go and burn their homes down for them and see how they liked it. Then we’d come home to Dax to make sure the Manor was all right and the village being looked after, then we’d go and fight some more. Then he said he felt a bit funny.

I said ‘Have some more brandy.’

He took another gulp obediently, and asked if I’d enjoy a life like that. I said I wanted to get married and have children too, maybe a little girl like my sister Clare. I told him all about Clare and what it was like when she had her fits, I think perhaps I was a bit pissed too. He still listened carefully, watching my face like what I was saying was really important. I’d never had anyone listen to me like that before.

He said ‘I’ve got to get married at fourteen and have at least two sons right away. My father did say I could marry Mlle Anne, the Baron’s daughter, but Mother says I can’t because her family’s nobody.’

He’d forgotten they were dead.

‘Do you like her?’ I asked.

He started pulling up tufts of grass with his fingers. ‘Well, she’s a girl, of course, but not as silly as most of them. She doesn’t giggle.’

I said cautiously ‘She sounds all right.’

‘She was sensible,’ he said. ‘I made her sit on the grass and she got green stains on her dress, but she said it didn’t matter, the stripes would disguise it. She said a dress you couldn’t sit down in was no good at all.’

I thought of my Mother’s dresses, the light blue for day and the dark blue for Sunday. I said ‘I think she’s right.’

He threw down the tufts of grass like he didn’t know why he’d pulled them. He said ‘It doesn’t matter really, I’ve only met her once, that day when they all came, and I hid in the stables and Father … and Father …’

He tailed off and looked round, like he was expecting to see his father standing in the woods beside us and couldn’t understand why he wasn’t. I shoved the bottle at him quickly, because it looked for a moment like he might actually cry, which would have been awful. He took it like he didn’t know what it was, then drank again and looked at me.

‘She was all right,’ he said. ‘I liked her. She had pretty hair.’

Then he had to go into the bushes and be sick.

I washed his face again with water I got off the trees, and next thing I knew he was curled up in a ball in the wet leaves, fast asleep. I wrapped him up in the hairy blanket, and sat back to relax for the first time in hours.

Anne du Pré

Extract from her diary, dated 3 July 1636

There was a battle last night, and I think the Guard are all killed. When they brought us in here I saw two of our soldiers dead on the landing, and one was our nice Sergeant Lebriel who used to do the trick with the three coins. We did not see Marcel, but Florian says he was probably killed downstairs. He also says I am not to speak of him as ‘Marcel’ because that is too familiar, but if the man is dead defending us I don’t see why I can’t be allowed to say his name. And Sergeant Lebriel is really called Raymon. Florian doesn’t think I know that, but I do.

I wish I knew what had happened to the servants. The fat guard with the big lips says they are all run away except for Françoise, but the screaming was quite dreadful last night and I am not sure I believe him. Jeanette says I am not to think about it, I must stay calm and brave until Papa rescues us, but I am finding it quite difficult.

I am so grateful Jeanette came. She went to the Capitán
herself
to get permission, and will ask if she can come every week. She said she used to be a lady’s maid when she was a little girl, and surely the soldiers must let us have somebody. I hope she is right. I managed to dress Colette myself this morning, but she said I was clumsy and did not lace her hard enough, so I will need someone to teach me.

At least we are in Mama’s apartments, and that is comforting. Papa has had nothing changed, so everything smells of her lavender as if she is still alive and watching over us. We have things to do too. A nice elderly guard who looks like an untidy owl fetched us what we needed from our own rooms, so at least I have my embroidery. I have this book too, and am determined to keep a proper journal. Colette says nobody will read what a twelve-year-old child writes, but I notice she has looked over my shoulder twice since I started. If she does it again I shall write ‘Colette is a fool’ in very large letters.

The senior officer came this afternoon, a Capitán called Don Miguel. He said it was likely we would soon be exchanged for Spanish prisoners, but whatever happened we would be protected, because neither Spain nor the Holy Roman Empire made war on children.

Perhaps it was the word ‘children’ to which my brother objected, but he certainly responded with unusual haughtiness, saying ‘It doesn’t seem to have bothered them at Ancre. We heard it was burned down.’

‘Did you?’ said the Capitán gently. ‘From whom, I wonder?’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ said Florian quickly, for we did not wish to get Jeanette into trouble. ‘But you’ve killed André de Roland, haven’t you? How do we know you won’t kill us?’

The Capitán did not answer for a moment. He was standing at the curtain, playing with the tassel, and I thought perhaps he was angry at Florian’s directness, but he was still smiling when he turned, so I thought myself mistaken.

‘No,’ he said. ‘We haven’t killed him. Tell me, Monsieur, would he be a suitable companion for you here? Or might his age make that inappropriate for your sisters?’

Florian was amused. He said André was only twelve, and he had no fear for us in his presence. The Capitán agreed André looked young, then asked if we would say he was as dark as his father.

I realized suddenly he had not seen André at all, and was merely attempting to learn what he looked like. That must surely mean André is free and they are seeking him. I said quickly that indeed no, André was very fair, rather like a plump, blond cherub, and stared hard at Florian that he might not contradict me. I tried to catch Colette’s eye too, but she was watching the Capitán (who is rather handsome) and burst out laughing at what I had said.

‘Who
are
you thinking of, you silly girl?’ said she. ‘André is slim, with long black hair, I remember him very clearly.’ There was a long silence, in which Colette looked at our faces and said ‘What?’, then the Capitán came over and stood by my chair. I was a little nervous, but he merely said I was a clever and loyal girl, but I must not worry because no harm was intended to André. Then he left us, with Colette bursting out in recriminations that she was not to know and we ought to have told her.

Florian does not seem overly concerned at what we have done. I think he does not like André anyway, because he showed surprise that Florian had only just begun to fence. Papa explained the Rolands are Sword Nobility, and we must be friends with them because they have been noble so much longer than we have, but I think it is all very silly and I do not wish to marry André, whatever Papa says.

I don’t think he would wish it either. We only met that once, and he didn’t seem to want to be there at all. He joined us very late and covered in straw, and when Papa asked him to show me the rose garden he took me round the corner and gave me a display of fence instead. He rather annoyed me by saying what a pity it was girls weren’t allowed to do anything useful of that kind, so I put a grass snake in his pocket when he wasn’t looking. I wished I hadn’t afterwards, because we sat and talked, and he didn’t laugh when I said I was sometimes lonely. He said he had a friend who worked at the stables, and looked defiant, as if I might criticize him for playing with a servant, but I only said I wished I had someone like that, and he looked so kind and sorry that I quite forgot the snake. I think he found it just as we were leaving, because he put his hands in his pockets then took them out again rather quickly, but he only looked at me thoughtfully then thrust his hands back inside to show he wasn’t bothered. I can remember exactly how he looked as we drove away.

I hope they do not catch him. But we have given them his name, his age, and his description, so I do not see how they can fail.

Jacques Gilbert

I had to wake him in the end because it was dark and time to go. He didn’t say much on the journey, and sat on Duchesse’s back like a sack of wet corn.

We came back through the forest in case there were still soldiers around, and emerged from the woods behind the Home Farm. Everything seemed quiet and safe. In the distance I could see light from the farmhouse, so it looked at least as if M. Legros was all right. I hoped the boy might let me leave him there, but he said no, we’d go to my cottage first to make sure my family had got back safely from the Market.

We went quietly as we could down the lane, but saw nobody the whole time. The only sounds were the sleepy clucking of chickens in the farmyard, the jagged barking of a fox in the woods behind us, and the gentle
clop-clop
of our horses’ hooves. Then we turned into the Ancre drive and there was candlelight coming from my own cottage, so I knew Father was home and everything was going to be all right.

I was looking forward to seeing Father. It wasn’t often he could be proud of me, it was my little brother who was better at everything, but even Father was bound to be impressed this time. I’d saved the Seigneur’s life, I’d saved our jobs and future, I’d saved us all from starving, he was going to practically hug me he’d be so pleased.

I went in front to warn them, but they must have heard the horses because I’d hardly reached the yard when the door opened and Father came out, peering into the dark to make out the shapes. It was odd seeing him when he couldn’t see me, he looked almost menacing. He was an impressive-looking man, my Father, maybe not that tall, but with huge broad shoulders and brawny arms.

I said quickly ‘It’s only me.’

Father stopped. ‘Only you.’ He glanced back at the cottage, then came on softly towards me.

‘You’ve got Tonnerre,’ he said, his eyes brightening. ‘And Perle and the foal. Quick now, into the barn with them before anyone sees.’

I said quickly ‘Look, Father, it’s André de Roland.’

The boy joined us on Duchesse and Father stared in shock. There was an awkward sort of silence, then the sound of running feet and here was Mother rushing out of the house, her hair flying like a great golden cloak, and her arms stretching out like she couldn’t reach me quickly enough. I grabbed her to my chest, her hair soft under my chin, and that familiar smell of crushed roses rising up from her shabby old dress. I’d been so worried. She ought to have been all right at the Market with Father, but with Mother you could never be sure, not the effect she had on men. Only here she was, safe and warm and babbling in her usual way, saying she’d thought I was dead, she’d heard everyone was dead, it was all so terrible, she didn’t know what we were going to do.

I disentangled myself, and saw Father still staring at the boy like he didn’t know who he was.

I said again ‘It’s André de Roland, Father. I’ve been looking after him.’

I gestured proudly as he dismounted, but that was probably a mistake. He was covered in mud, blood and scratches, with that wounded ear, and a big bruise coming up on the back of his neck where I’d hit him. His expression was groggy with hangover, his nightshirt had all bits torn off it and a sick-stain on the collar, and his breeches were covered in horsehair from my blanket. It maybe didn’t look like I’d done a very good job.

Mother gasped and opened her arms wide to hug him, which I suppose was natural since she’d been his nurse so long, but Father stuck his hand out fast to stop her.

‘No, no, Hélène,’ he said, like he was reproving her, except when he was really reproving her he used to yell, and sometimes he’d hit her as well. ‘You must remember this is our new Seigneur.’

Mother stepped back like the boy was hot, but he didn’t look cross, just a bit tight round the face. He turned stiffly to my Father and said ‘I owe your son a great deal, Pierre. He saved me from the soldiers.’

Mother looked at me all glowing, which was lovely. Father did give a sort of smile, but there was something odd about it I couldn’t explain. He said ‘Then we must hope he can keep doing it.’

The boy was quicker than I was. ‘The soldiers are still here?’

‘I’m afraid so, Sieur,’ said Father. ‘This isn’t a raid, it’s an invasion. They’ve taken over the Saillie, and the talk says half Picardie’s overrun.’

My stomach did something strange, like that gun had just hit me again. I looked at the boy, but he was just standing still, his face getting paler and tighter, his hands curling into little fists.