Honour and the Sword (40 page)

It was lovely seeing them tender with each other. I said ‘I’m sorry about Philippe.’

Mother reached out her other hand to me, all warm from the fire. ‘It’s not your fault, my darling, we’re just glad you’re all right. And André too, we heard terrible things, people saying he was crippled and M. Ravel having to operate to save him. I’ve been so worried.’

Father sat back suddenly and let go Mother’s hand.

I said ‘It wasn’t Stefan, it was me. I got him a surgeon all the way from Doullens, and he’s walking already, he’s going to be good as new.’

‘Is he?’ said Father. ‘There you go, Nell, you can stop worrying now.’ His voice was still soft, but he didn’t take Mother’s hand again, he just went on staring into the fire and hardly said another word.

Anne du Pré

Extracts from her diary, dated 8–9 November 1638

8
NOVEMBER

I am so happy. Jeanette says André is expected to make a full recovery. Her friend Mercier told her our linen was the best of anyone’s and it is all they use for his dressing now. I feel quite strange about that. I took it from the press with my own hands, and it feels so odd to think of it now being wrapped round André’s body.

Jeanette said ‘Who knows, Mademoiselle, perhaps once he is stronger he may think of coming to rescue you to express his gratitude.’

It is a very salutary experience hearing one’s own fantasies spoken aloud. I managed to laugh and say ‘For a little linen, Jeanette?’

‘Ah, but this was very special linen,’ said Jeanette, and there was something coy in her manner I could not explain. ‘M. de Roland is a gentleman and will doubtless soon work it out for himself.’

9
NOVEMBER

We had a visitor today, and it was that loathsome Pablo Colette liked so much at the dinner. I could not understand how it was permitted, but it was the Slug who let him in and I should not be surprised if he took bribes. Florian made no objection, but I think that was because Pablo brought us a cake. Poor Florian, he is getting so thin, and the soup has been very watery this week. Last night I dreamed of cheese.

Pablo pretended his was merely a visit of courtesy, but since he sat next to Colette and spoke to her the entire time his real purpose was clear to us all. What is most distressing is that Colette did not seem to mind. She fluffed up her hair and stuck out her chest and giggled, so that I was really quite ashamed. She seems quite to forget that Pablo is Spanish and our enemy.

He seems to forget it too, and speaks as if we were all on the same side. He even expected us to commiserate with him that there was still no sign of André’s body when Don Francisco wanted to put it on a gibbet. I had difficulty remaining silent when he said that, and jabbed the needle so hard into my embroidery I pricked my thumb. I would have left the room, but then he said casually ‘Some people think we shall never find it. Don Miguel’s informant says de Roland is still alive.’

The thought of anyone being so disloyal made me burn with anger. I listened intently in hope he would say more about the informer, but naturally he did nothing so useful. He only sighed and said ‘It is very hard on poor Don Luiz. There was a bonus promised for whoever killed de Roland, but it won’t be paid now.’

‘Don Luiz?’ said Colette, her eyes wide open, as if everything Pablo said had to be interesting.

‘Oh, he is a splendid fellow, Mademoiselle,’ said Pablo. ‘He comes from a very old family, one of the greatest in Spain. You will meet him yourself soon, for he is to be transferred from Dax to replace poor Santos, who was killed at the gorge.’

I know who he means by Don Luiz, it is that man at the dinner who told Carlos he killed André. I am not looking forward to seeing him again, I don’t see why these officers must visit at all. I told Colette so this evening, but she said I was only in a bad mood because I will bleed again soon. She says it is always like that, and I must accept it as part of being a woman.

I do not see why being a woman means one must be nice to people who have tried to kill our friends. I may be very stupid, as Colette says, but I do not see it
at all.

Jacques Gilbert

By mid-November he was out trying to fence again and this time there was no stopping him. He’d have healed much faster if he hadn’t tried to do stuff so quickly, but that was André, he wanted to be back to strength right now and no one was going to tell him not. Stefan said it wouldn’t do him any harm, I’d got to let him go at his own pace, but it wasn’t anything to do with Stefan, it wasn’t his job to look after André, it was mine.

He didn’t need Stefan’s encouragement anyway, he was just pushing and pushing himself so I could hardly bear to watch. Those fencing exercises were the worst, he’d be doing that crouching down and springing up thing over and over again, his breath coming in gasps and sweat breaking out on his forehead, and I’d say ‘You can’t, André, you can’t, you’re going to tear yourself open.’ Then one day he put his hands on my shoulders and said ‘Jacques, I’ll have to wear this sword all my life, do you really want it to be just an ornament?’

I understood then. He was
noblesse d’épée
, and that was something M. Gauthier said, he’d said the boy needed honour, courage, and the use of the sword. So I made myself bear it, I stood back and watched him rip himself open time and time again. The next week I even let him fence me, I let him keep at it, stabbing and thrusting, stamping and lunging, smashing and scraping his blade against mine till there were blue sparks from the force of it, I let him fight till he could beat me again, and only then did he collapse.

That’s what started it all, I suppose, him collapsing and needing more stitches. Stefan grumbled like it was my fault, so I said it was him told me to let André go at his own pace, but he only looked at the boy lying flat on his belly and said ‘And what pace is he going at now exactly?’ He wouldn’t even let me help with the dressings at first, but I spoke to Marcel, I said it was me was André’s aide, and he agreed it was my job to look after him. Stefan just shrugged and said ‘Well, if you want to get possessive about pus, that’s up to you.’

So it was me changing the boy’s dressing that day in December, and maybe that’s why things happened how they did. I was rubbing in ointment while the boy lay on his stomach idly looking at the old bandage, which I know is disgusting but everyone does it, when suddenly he froze quite still, and his back went tense under my hands.

‘What is it?’ I said. ‘There’s nothing yellow, is there?’

He twisted his head round to look at me. ‘This linen, it’s from the Château at Verdâme, how on earth did we get it?’

It was our very best linen, white and new and so fine it was almost shiny, but the boy was right, it was from the hostages. Stefan was always careful not to let him see it.

I said lightly ‘Oh, I think a maid who works there gave it to Jean-Marie.’

‘Well, she shouldn’t have,’ he said. ‘Look what it is, Jacques, this is Mlle Anne’s own linen.’ He showed me the monogram embroidered on a corner in fine white silk. ‘It’s her dowry linen, it’s just like my mother’s. They’d no right taking that. Is there much left?’

I riffled through the bale and saw there was a little lump in the middle. I peeled off the sheet above it, and there it was, a crushed rose, dried and falling to pieces, but still dark red and smelling beautiful.

‘What’s that?’ said the boy before I could hide it.

I showed him. ‘It’s just a flower, to keep it fresh.’

He reached out and took it. I watched him apprehensively as he turned it over in his hands then smelt it.

‘It’s not,’ he said decisively. ‘It’s too new for that. It’s this year’s.’

I quickly slapped the new dressing on his back. ‘You think Mlle Anne is sending you flowers?’

‘Of course not,’ he said, reddening. ‘That’s silly.’ He laid his face back down in the blanket.

I stared down at the back of his head. I’d always known he liked Mlle Anne, he liked her even more after what she’d done about the Pedros, but this was the first time the thought of her made him blush. Something inside my chest gave a single soft thump.

I should have seen it coming. He was fifteen, his body had changed, of course he was going to be thinking about women. There hadn’t been any obvious signs of it, he never talked about them or anything, but then I suppose he wouldn’t, he’d think it dishonourable. He’d always been romantic that way. He wasn’t interested in Stefan going on about all the women he’d had, he liked books like
Amadis de Gaul
about knights being faithful and saving ladies in distress.

And now here was a girl imprisoned in a sort of castle actually smuggling him out a rose. It was bound to appeal to him whoever she was, and this was Mlle Anne, the only girl of his own kind he’d ever known. I tried telling myself she was only like a childhood sweetheart, then I remembered that so was the heroine of bloody
Amadis de Gaul
and I could have groaned aloud. She was so obviously perfect for him, perfect in every way, except that she was locked up in the Château and he’d only go trying to rescue her and getting himself killed.

I forced myself to go on with the dressing. I said ‘You’d better not tear this any more, André, you’ll end up with more scar than back.’

‘Mm,’ he said into the blanket. He reached out for some bits of straw and began twisting them in his fingers. ‘I wonder how old she is now. She wasn’t much younger than me, she must be at least fourteen. What do you think? Did you ever see her?’

I had a sudden memory of the two of them sitting side by side on the wall of the sunken garden, their heads close together as they talked.

I said ‘She’s still a little girl. Lift up a bit, I need to get the bandage round you.’

He hoisted himself a few inches off the straw. ‘Girls can marry at twelve.’

I pulled the bandage as tight as I dared. ‘Not when they’re stuck in the Château Petit Arx.’

That was a mistake, I knew it as soon as it fell out of my mouth. The boy sucked in his breath and said ‘You’re right, it’s cruel leaving them there. At her age, it’s just cruel.’

Panic prickled me all over like pins and needles. I said ‘Their father doesn’t seem to mind, he could ransom them if he wanted, but he knows they’re all right there. They’re probably safer than anyone in Picardie.’

He sank slowly back down. ‘That’s what Stefan says too.’

I finished the dressing and gave it a little pat. ‘All done. We could fence now if you like, as long as you’re careful.’

He didn’t get up for a minute, he kept his head down and started making the straws into plaits. ‘I wonder what she looks like now.’

‘Probably fat,’ I said quickly. ‘They’re being looked after with the officers, aren’t they, I’ll bet they eat a lot better than we do.’

He rolled on to his side so he could look at me. ‘She had beautiful hair,’ he said. ‘It was brown, but there was gold in it and flashes of red like little flames. There was so much of it, Jacques. It was thick, and looked soft and heavy, like silk. I wanted to play with it, but she wouldn’t let me.’

I said primly ‘You were only children.’

‘Not any more,’ said André, and suddenly there was a flash of his old grin, only with something in it I’d never seen before. ‘Not any more.’

This was bad. If he was just romantic about Mlle Anne that could still be harmless, it could be a nice little dream, he could even go singing slushy songs outside her window if he wanted, but if he was thinking about her with that look in his eye he wasn’t going to be content to adore her through three feet of solid wall, he was going to want her out and in his arms and in his bed.

I knew I’d got to do something, but couldn’t think what. The obvious answer was to distract him with another woman, but I wasn’t very hopeful about that. I’d watched him help Giles train the loaders while he was convalescing, and he’d never shown the slightest interest in the women, not even Simone. She and I had sort of fallen out when the boy was ill and I never felt the same about her afterwards, but she was still a beautiful girl, and she really tried hard for André, she wanted a go at a real live Seigneur. She’d leave her blouse unlaced and sit there sort of panting, pumping the ramrod in and out the muzzle, her eyes full on the boy’s face, but he never responded, he just went pink and looked away. Stefan said ‘What’s the matter with him? She’s practically begging for it,’ but Marcel just sniffed and said ‘I think André’s looking for something more meaningful than a roll in the grass with Simone Lefebvre.’

That was the problem. The boy was too chivalrous to go pouncing on people, he wanted love and romance, that’s why he got so excited about Mlle Anne and her bloody rose. I tried to think of anyone I could push him into falling in love with instead, but the only girl he had any kind of feelings for was Margot, and that wouldn’t do, I mean Margot was Margot, even Giles hadn’t tried. The one thing beautiful about her was this lovely soft skin, but when I said that to her once she laughed and said it came from working up to her neck in flour, which I wished she hadn’t actually, it kept me awake nights wondering what she’d taste like. But André never thought of her that way, he liked her because she used to gob in the pies she made for the soldiers. He wasn’t going to go falling in love with Margot.

I think the truth is he’d already decided to fall in love with Mlle Anne and there was nothing I could do to stop him. I did my best to keep him busy with fencing and stuff and changed the subject every time it looked like he might mention her, but none of it was any good. That evening he said casually ‘When does Jean-Marie next come on duty?’ and looked hard at the wall like he wasn’t in the least interested in the answer. I said ‘Oh, not for a couple of days. Why?’ He looked at the floor instead and said ‘Oh, just wondering.’

Jean-Marie Mercier

I enjoyed guard duty at the Hermitage, it was always very sociable. I was particularly looking forward to today because Jacques was spending time with his family for Christmas, so André would be especially glad of my company. I thought we might play boules.