Honour and the Sword (20 page)

‘Is it?’ he said mildly.

‘You know it is. I’m your servant, and I’m only nice to you because I’m paid, it’s stupid to pretend anything else. I mean it’s best to be honest, isn’t it?’

‘Yes,’ he said after a moment. ‘It’s best to be honest.’

I said ‘It would be stupid to be any different, I mean what would I do when you went away?’

‘Who says I’m going away?’

‘When the Spaniards leave. You’ll be going home, won’t you?’

He was swirling the cloth round in the basin, making faint little circles of pink. ‘Yes, of course. But I always thought you’d be coming with me.’

I stared at him. Mother said that, but then it sounded ridiculous, and suddenly it didn’t, it was sort of obvious. Then I remembered everything else, and a cold weight settled back inside me.

I said ‘You won’t want me, not when you’ve got proper people round you again, you’d be ashamed. I’m not like you, it’s stupid to pretend I am.’

‘No, it isn’t!’ He smacked the cloth down into the basin, splashing up little drops of water on the straw. ‘We’ve managed all right, haven’t we? We do the same things, there’s no difference that matters.’

I remembered the contempt on his face. ‘That’s not what you thought this morning.’

He lowered his eyes. ‘I should have understood.’

‘You understood. You despised me because I didn’t stand up for my Mother.’

He started wiping again. ‘You protected her tonight.’

I risked a snort. ‘Didn’t do any good, did it? I mean look at me.’ He did, but I suddenly found I couldn’t meet his eye. I stared at the straw and said ‘He kicked me while I was lying on the ground.’

André’s hand left my face. I raised my eyes cautiously and saw him sitting back on his heels with an oddly confused expression on his face.

‘What does it matter what he did? What matters is what you did.’

‘You mean I tried.”

‘So?’ he said. ‘Isn’t that better than nothing?’

‘Not for you,’ I said bitterly. ‘You just had to win that stupid fight with Stefan, even if it killed you. Well, it’s not like that for real people. I tried to be you tonight, I tried to be a hero, but all I get is the shit kicked out of me and everyone fussing round me like a baby.’

‘You still did the right –’

‘No, I didn’t,’ I said. ‘I fucking didn’t. You can sit there giving it all that noble stuff about standing up for things, but we’re not all like you, André, we can’t all be bloody heroes.’

‘Don’t,’ he said. ‘Don’t.’ His hands were gripping the sides of the basin, his knuckles all shiny white.

‘Then stop pretending you understand!’

‘But I do,’ he said, his voice so quiet I could hardly hear it.

‘No, you don’t,’ I said savagely. ‘I’d like to see you feel all noble and honourable if you couldn’t even protect your own mother.’

He stood up so suddenly he kicked the basin. ‘But I didn’t!’ he said, and now he was almost shouting. ‘I didn’t, did I, and now it’s too late!’

Instantly his face went taut with shock, like it was me who’d said it, not him. Then he made an extraordinary noise and turned violently away, slamming himself against the wall.

I remember hearing the Dax clock striking four in the distance. I remember hearing it while my heart slowed back to normal, and this awful heavy sadness came with it as at last I understood.

I said ‘I’m sorry.’

He didn’t answer. After a moment he turned round, but he was too far from the candle for me to see his face.

I said again wretchedly ‘André, I’m sorry.’

He glanced up. ‘You’ve done nothing to be ashamed of. Only me.’ He leaned back against the wall and slowly slid himself down till he was sitting on the straw.

‘Will you tell me?’

‘If you like,’ he said. ‘It doesn’t matter now.’

We sat quiet a moment, then his voice began to talk. He took me right back to that hot night in July, back when I was sleeping in the Ancre stables with the straw prickling me and the horses restless, and César still alive in the coach-house next door. He never looked at me the whole time he was talking. He rested his chin on his knees, looked straight across to the other wall and spoke to that instead.

He said he’d woken to the noise of a musket being discharged nearby. He wasn’t scared at first, just interested and excited, so he sat up in bed and listened. He heard running footsteps on the Gallery and stairs, then more shots, some of them outside, and realized it was a raid.

He scrambled out of bed and opened his door. It was dark on the Gallery, but someone was bringing a lamp from the other wing, and he could see shapes of people moving about, servants and some of the Guard. He wandered out among them, then saw his father running from his apartments calling for M. Chapelle. The Seigneur was bare-chested and putting on his coat as he ran, but as he reached the stairs he saw André standing there in his nightshirt, and stopped to tell him to go back to his chamber at once.

‘He didn’t seem worried,’ said the boy. ‘He was grinning at me, and when Chapelle reached him he just clapped him on the back and said “Let’s try a bit of steel instead,” and they ran down the stairs together. At the bottom he looked back up at me and called out “And bloody stay there!” He was laughing. He looked happy and alive, he was almost shining with it.

‘I hung on the rail, I wanted to see. But Camus, one of the Guard, he pulled me away and said “Come on, Mondemoiseau, the Sieur wants you back in your room.” I told him I wanted to watch, but he said “Please, André, don’t give me any trouble now, I’ve your mother to see to as well,” so I went back to my room and he closed the door. I still wasn’t frightened, because my father was there, but I put my breeches on just in case and stuck my knife in my belt. I was just getting my boots on when I heard more running footsteps and somebody stopping outside. Camus’ voice said “All right, André, it’s only me,” and then I was alarmed because he sounded scared. Did you know him, Jacques?’

I thought he’d forgotten I was there.

‘He was so funny. He had a woman in Doullens and another in Beauval, and neither of them knew about the other. The one in Doullens was a widow with a nice little house, but the one in Beauval was a blonde and he couldn’t decide between them. Poor Camus. He used to throw dice to help him choose, but whenever it came up for the one in Doullens he always found a reason to throw again.’

He was quiet a long time. I wondered if I ought to say something, but then he started again, and he was talking a lot quicker now, like it was falling out of his head and into his mouth and he’d got to get rid of it quick.

‘There was fighting on the Gallery, I heard it, swords and men shouting, some of it in Spanish. Then my father was there, somewhere in the other wing, I could hear him. He was calling the men, but there were no more footsteps and I don’t think anyone came. Then there was the clash of swords right outside my door, and I knew Camus was fighting. I had to help him, I started to open the door, but he pushed it shut right in my face. I didn’t want to distract him so I waited while the fighting went on, swords and little panting noises, feet slipping and stamping on the boards, then a great thud against the door, a sword point flashed through and stuck there, and someone was crying out. I tried to open the door, but it was blocked by something heavy and the screaming was hoarse and agonized. After a moment it stopped and I tried the door again, but it would hardly budge, it took ages to open it enough to squeeze past. I got out at last, and there was Camus, he’d been thrust clean through and pinned to the panel like an insect.

‘I came out then, as I should have done fifteen minutes earlier if I’d been any kind of man. I came out, and I wasn’t looking to do anything brave even then, I was looking for my father. I ran for his apartments, but all I could hear was my mother, and she was screaming. Screaming. It wasn’t just noise. There were words. She …’

He stopped again. I glanced at him out of the far corner of my eyes, and he’d stopped looking at the wall, he was watching an ant climbing up his leg, he watched like it was the most important thing in the world. He picked a bit of straw, pointed it at the ant like a sword, and stared in fascination as it took hold of the blade.

‘She was begging,’ he said at last, but seemed to stick at that, he couldn’t get past it. The ant let go of the straw, and he brushed it off his leg and went back to looking at the wall.

‘There were only dead men on the landing, three in our uniform, but the others in black, all in those helmets with red plumes. The antechamber door was slightly open, and I pushed it and went in. There were dead soldiers everywhere, all of them enemy, there wasn’t one of our own, but when I picked my way through the bodies I saw my father lying in the middle of them.’

He’d got his arms round his knees, but now he moved them up round his body like he was hugging himself.

‘He was right by the doorway to the bedchamber. He’d been protecting my mother, stopping them going in. I counted five. He killed five just in this one room before they got him, and even then the wound was on his back. I knelt down beside him, I think I hoped he might just open his eyes and tell me what to do.

‘My mother was still crying in the other room, she was begging them to stop, but there was no one answering her, only laughter. I knew what I had to do. I had to kill as many as I could to avenge my father, and I’d got to save my mother from what was happening in that room. I knew what it was, of course, or at least I knew the word for it. So I pulled out my dagger and went to the door.’

He made it sound really matter-of-fact, like it was what anyone would have done.

‘There were six of them,’ he said. ‘Three just standing by the bed, and two holding my mother down, one each side, they were pressing her arms down, and holding her legs apart. The last man was between them.’ He stopped and swallowed suddenly.

I said quickly ‘You don’t need to tell me this, don’t tell me about this.’

He nodded vaguely, but I don’t think he actually heard.

‘She saw me,’ he said. ‘She turned her head to the door and called out my name. I went to her, I tried, I tried to get to her, but they stopped me, they were grabbing at me, and I slashed out with the dagger to keep them off, and I got one, Jacques, I cut full across his face, then one was in front of me and he wasn’t armoured, only leather, so I pushed the knife right deep in and out again, it stopped him and I got past. I made it up to the bed, but the others caught me, I tried, I wasn’t strong enough, there were too many, and they seized my arm and twisted it and I dropped the dagger, then one of them punched me, and I fell back and banged my head against the wall.’

It must have been a hell of a punch. I remembered how badly bruised his face was, how swollen and black he’d been round his ear.

‘Two came after me with their swords drawn, but one by the bed said “No,” he called out “No” and something else I didn’t understand, and they put their swords away. He was an officer, Jacques, an enseigne, tassets and a red sash. He ought to have been stopping it, not joining in like some rutting animal.’

‘At least he stopped them killing you.’

He shrugged. ‘I suppose they’d had orders. They’d have done it otherwise, I know they wanted to. They were angry because I’d stabbed their friend, and I think I must have killed him, I got the knife in really deep.’

I thought he must have too. I remembered his arm being soaked in thick blood right up to the elbow.

He said ‘They dragged me off the floor, they held me tight between them. The officer told them … he said to make me … they turned my head towards my mother, I tried to fight but they …’ His hand went uncertainly up to his hair. ‘They held my head up, they made me … they made me …’

They made him watch.

‘They found it funny,’ he said. ‘They should have killed me. It would have been better.’

He sat back and closed his eyes. When he started speaking again his voice sounded calmer. ‘There was a shot outside. I hoped it might be the militia come at last, but the officer went to the window and said there was no one there.’

I said ‘I think it was me.’

‘Was it?’ he said. ‘I thought it was the militia. But it helped. The officer stayed down that end of the room watching, because it was still going on, Jacques, it was going on and on, and now they started up this awful kind of chanting, emphasizing every thrust, it was animal and vile and I had to stop it. I wrenched myself towards them, I almost got loose, and the nearest one holding my mother came with arms spread to stop me, and I saw her hand come down off the bed and pick up my knife.’

There was a silence. Then he said ‘They didn’t kill her. She did it herself. I saw her. She saved herself because her son couldn’t.’

I tried to think what it would be like to see your own mother kill herself. I remembered watching the boy cleaning that knife on the wet grass.

He said ‘The officer was furious, I think he knew he’d be in trouble. They forgot about me, they let go, and I didn’t wait, I turned and ran.’

I said ‘Of course you did, there wasn’t anything else you could do,’ but he looked at me blankly as if he didn’t understand what I was saying.

He said ‘I needed a sword. I couldn’t fight them with nothing, I needed my father’s sword. I ran into the anteroom, and bolted the door behind me to buy time. I knew where my father’s sword would be, I bent down and tried to take it from his hand. His grip was still firm, I had to loosen his fingers, but they were warm, and when I looked at him his eyes were open. He was alive.

‘He shouldn’t have been. He was cut wide open, he shouldn’t have been breathing at all. But he looked at me and knew me, he said “André.” He looked agonized, he looked frightened, I’ve never seen him …’

I tried to imagine seeing my own father frightened, and couldn’t do it. I couldn’t imagine it with the Seigneur either, it just couldn’t happen.

‘The soldiers were at the door, they were shoving against the bolt. My father said “Run.” I said “No,” and he said “Run, or it’s all for nothing.” I said “I’ve got to have the sword,” and he understood and smiled at me, and his fingers relaxed, and he let me take it. No one else, Jacques, he wouldn’t have let anyone else in the world take his sword but me, and when I had it in my hand he said “Now run,” and there was blood dribbling down his chin.