For Our Liberty (16 page)

We had passed through Le Titre and Bernay-en-Ponthieu and I had begun to let my guard down and relax just a little but, of course, that was when we began to encounter the camps. Dossonville had neglected to tell me that the road to the coast took us through half the French Army. Endless blue columns of infantry marched into equally endless rows of white tents. I tried, for a while, to keep a mental note of the number and type of troops we saw but I soon lost count. Huge tented cities were being set up on the side of the road all along the chalk cliffs. Most were still empty but uniforms of blue, green, white and yellow already dotted the fields like a rash of late spring flowers. Latrines were being dug and supplies of every kind being piled up ready for the invasion of England, recruits were being drilled and remounts broken by rough riders. This was an army preparing for a major campaign. So far they had ignored us and we had done our best to ignore them.

The sound of horses from behind grew louder and I resisted the urge to speed up, even reining the mare in slightly, but I could not help myself leaning out and looking behind us. It was a troop of dragoons; the same green jackets and brass helmets that had attacked us as we left Paris. There was no way that we could outrun them and given the amount of troops in the area it was possible that they were not pursuing us at all. I gripped Dominique’s hand, more to reassure myself than her, and pulled over to the side to let them pass. The captain touched his hat in thanks and the men leered at Dominique. It took them a full minute to go by in column of twos. When the last troopers went by I urged the horse into a trot again. Perhaps if we kept close behind them then we might be taken as part of their party, the young wife following her officer husband perhaps. It was worth a try and, despite choking in the white chalk dust that they left in their wake, it worked for the first checkpoint, but just before the second they turned off into their lines and dismounted. Dominique and I were left facing a bored looking corporal and two recruits. Their uniforms were the deep blue that I had seen march through the smoke toward me in Egypt.

A cart was in front of us and the corporal seemed to be demonstrating the proper procedure for checking a vehicle, even walking around it with the recruits and poking his bayonet into the sacks of supplies. He was barely older than his young charges but a scar that crossed one cheek and the easy way he held his musket meant that he must have seen at least one previous campaign. The recruits barely fitted their uniforms and held their muskets like dead fish. We had no passes or papers, presumably because Dossonville wanted nothing incriminating with his signature on to be found on our bodies, so I decided to stick with the story about Dominique being the wife of an officer. I promoted her make-believe husband to colonel and whispered this to her. I said I would do all the talking, playing the part of her groom. I certainly smelt bad enough to be a servant after a night in that cell.
 

The cart was cleared and I began to ease us forward when Dominique leapt down and walked over to the corporal. I couldn’t shout out to her without attracting even more attention. She spoke to the corporal for several minutes. I couldn’t hear what was said but Dominique was almost flirting with him and he, not unnaturally, seemed to appreciate it. When she returned to the cabriolet the corporal even helped her back up onto the seat, his hands lingering where they shouldn’t long enough for Dominique to blush. She said farewell and smiled. I said nothing. He then waved to the recruits to let us pass. When we were out of earshot I quietly asked her just what she thought she was doing. Well, all right, I exploded like a siege mortar.

“What in damnation were you thinking?” I shouted loud enough to spook the mare and had to keep a firm hold on the reins to stop her bolting.

“Calm down, Ben. You’re scaring the horse.”

“What did you say to him?” I said through clenched teeth.

“I explained that it was my husband’s birthday and that I was going to surprise him. That is why I didn’t have a pass. I might also have intimated that we had been apart for a long time and that his birthday gift would involve a secluded picnic near the battery that he commanded. I think he somehow got the scandalous idea…”

“Stop right there. I really don’t think that I want to hear any more.”

“Why, Ben, you are a prude. How sweet.”

I think I had preferred it when she was quiet but now, whilst she still seemed distracted, she had at least taken my arm. It was getting late in the afternoon, and the swallows were dipping in front of us on the track and a skylark was serenading us from the deep blue sky. We were now riding along the edge of the white cliffs and through the haze I could just make out a thin white line across the turquoise sea. Home. It looked so close. There were several sail in sight, possibly part of the blockading British squadrons or perhaps just merchantmen. One of the sails could be the frigate that would meet us tonight, but they would only approach the coast as darkness fell. We had passed two batteries already; big twenty-four pounders dug into permanent emplacements along the cliff. The gunners had been sitting around in the sun near their tents but a watch was always being kept.
 

I wondered how Dossonville knew the frigate would be there? Had he arranged it himself or just intercepted the information? Were we luring the frigate into a trap? Was it in fact going to be there or was he just setting the scene for him to charge down on to the beach with a party of dragoons to arrest us and take the credit where Lacrosse had failed? That to me still seemed the likeliest outcome but short of trying to make our own way home by stealing a boat I could not think of anything else we could do but wait and see what happened. I had thought about finding a boat but my previous nautical experience consisted of sailing a foot long toy ship under the watchful eye of my mother in a pond in Vauxhall Gardens. The chances of me successfully navigating a boat across the Channel were about the same as me swimming across.
 

In the fading amber light as the sun sank to the horizon we passed a milestone that indicated we were only a couple of leagues from our destination, an area of sand dunes near the mouth of the River Canche, known as Le Touquet, just outside Etaples. I started to look for a path or a road down to the shore. I found a small steep lane deeply cut into the chalk and let the mare make her own pace down towards the beach below us. Dominique was looking nervous again. We had chatted spasmodically during the couple of hours since the roadblock but as the sun got lower she got quieter. I suspected it was the thought of leaving France behind, of not knowing the fate of her uncle and brother, of not seeing her home again for however many years it took for the war to be won, by either side. I said all that to her and she said nothing in reply.
 

The track was winding down to the sea in a series of tortuous bends. It was dusk but there was still enough light to glint off a brass helmet as I looked back up the way we had come. They were behind and above us, just two dragoons, probably from the troop we had passed. They may have been a regular patrol but that optimistic thought left me as soon as they saw us. They went from a walk to a trot, and from a trot to a gallop. I had to try and outpace them. I cursed and whipped the mare faster and faster, struggling with the reins to keep us on the track. Dominique was almost thrown out when we hurtled around the penultimate bend but she hung grimly on. We were near the beach and the road straightened up ahead. At the last curve I hauled on the brakes until they smoked and leapt off the cabriolet. Before Dominique could say anything I slapped the mare on the rump and she sped down the road in a cloud of dust. I had one pistol and two dragoons were charging down the lane towards me. I sank into a ditch opposite the bend and levelled my pistol at where I knew they would appear as they rounded the corner.

The bends in the road hid them from sight but I could hear them coming. Hooves drummed on the chalk and their harnesses rattled. They were racing around the turn faster than was safe. Someone must have told them to look out for us. They knew what they were hunting. The first dragoon came around the corner but I let him go. The second one I killed.
 

My shot didn’t hit the rider but the horse sank to its knees throwing the dragoon forwards and he hit the hard chalk surface with a bone-breaking crunch. I ran up to him and took his sword from his quivering hand and sank it into his back but guessed that he was dead already. I had to place my foot on the dragoons back as I tugged the sword free. The horse was writhing on the floor, blood and foam coming from its mouth. The first dragoon had taken twenty yards to come to a stop and was now riding back towards me. His horse was a big grey and had wide, scared eyes. If it was a remount it might not have been fully trained yet, I thought. Horses have to be taught to run men down. It takes practice and skill. I suspected the dragoon and his horse had neither. At least I hoped so. No bet that I had made before had higher stakes.

I stood holding the sword loosely in my left hand and walked to the centre of the narrow track. The dragoon kept on coming although my confidence should have warned him to be cautious. He might have been friends with his dead comrade and so was consumed with rage, or he might just have been very inexperienced. When he was about ten yards away it was obvious he was going to pass me on my right. I had assumed he would so he could use his long straight blade to deliver a deadly thrust but I had also tempted him by making him think that the right was my weaker side. I swapped the sword from my left to my right hand and stepped into the path of the horse. It reared and shied to my left, the dragoon dropped his sword to dangle at the end of its sword knot whilst he tried to keep control of the animal. It was simplicity itself to swing upwards with the sword and thrust it towards the dragoon’s stomach. It was a good plan, but it didn’t work. At the last second the horse shifted towards me, knocking me off my feet. Hooves crashed down next to my head. I rolled away just in time to avoid being crushed, losing my sword in the process. The dragoon had been thrown to the ground as well and the terrified horse ran from between us, leaving us facing each other through the dust. His helmet was off and there was blood on his forehead.

His sword was closer to him than mine to me. He grabbed it and stood running towards me, blade outstretched and a snarl on his face. He sliced downwards but I rolled and kicked him in the shin. He was off balance already and almost fell. I made it to my sword and got up on to one knee just in time to parry his next blow. I followed up with a quick and clumsy slice at his legs. He backed off and I struggled to my feet. He came at me again, a more careful thrust this time but I blocked again, feinted left and then stabbed at his chest. He got his own blade there and sparks flew as the steel met. While our swords were locked together I tried to knee him in the groin but hit his thigh instead. I backed off this time, letting my knee buckle slightly. He sensed weakness and made another wild cut, his sword slicing through the air like a sickle. I jumped back, let him over balance and thrust at his unprotected side. The blade sank into his abdomen. He yelled and turned, his sword swinging at me again. I parried it away easily but as I stepped back I stumbled over his fallen helmet and he swung again. I got my blade up in time but fell backwards on to the road The breath was knocked from me and for a moment I was helpless. I could see the pain on his face but also the hope and the triumph. He thought he had me. He raised his sword to finish the job.

His blade was already coming down when his head snapped back and a spray of red erupted from the rear of it. He looked surprised as he fell beside me. I struggled up, using the sword to help me. Dominique was standing a few yards away, the smoking pistol still raised.

 
I threw down the sword and limped over to her. I was spent. Bruised and battered, and covered with thick white dust, I must have looked like a ghost. The dusk was deepening into night.

“Thank you,” I said. She dropped the pistol and we held each other. She didn’t say anything. The sea softly washed on to the beach, white surf stark against the moonless sky. From the road down the cliff came the sound of more dragoons approaching. We didn’t have much time.

Dominique had managed to stop the cabriolet just at the edge of the sand. I went to it and got the lantern. Dossonville had included a tinderbox and after a few strikes of the flint I got the lantern alight, covering the flame with the red lens. I went to the edge of the surf and held the lantern as high as I could. I thought I saw the vague outline of a ship.

“I think it’s there,” I said to Dominique, expecting her to be beside me, but she wasn’t. She had caught the bridle of the dragoon’s grey and was walking her towards me. “What are you doing?”

“Ben, I can’t come with you,” she said, not looking me in the eye but glancing between the approaching dragoons and the sea.

“What?” I said, incredulous.

“I have to stay.”

“Why?”

“I cannot leave Claude,” she said. I should have seen that coming. I should have had my arguments ready.

“But you can’t go back. Lacrosse knows who you are. You’ll be arrested. Killed,” I said. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a blue light at sea. I turned and waved the red lantern.
 

“I think not. Dossonville will protect my uncle. I have many friends in Paris. Claude and I will be safe enough. We can carry on the work.”

“No!”

“Yes. I must. I will.”

“But someone in Paris betrayed us. You can’t trust them,” I said.