The Châtelet Apprentice (11 page)

‘I think I may be of some assistance to you,' said Sanson. ‘It so happens that in my family, for obvious reasons, we are well versed in the study and understanding of the human body. On occasion we care for people and reset dislocated limbs. I myself learnt to my cost the usefulness of this science in one appalling instance which also earned me several hours in a prison cell and
forced my uncle Gilbert, the executioner at Rheims, to resign his office.'

He added with a sad smile:

‘People have a strange idea of the hangman. In fact he's just a man like any other, but one whose position imposes on him greater duties and a greater rigour.'

‘What is this appalling instance you refer to, Monsieur?' Nicolas asked, intrigued.

‘The execution of the regicide Damiens in 1757.'
3

In a flash Nicolas could see in his mind's eye the engraving from his childhood, depicting the ordeal of Cartouche.

‘In what way was this execution different from the others?'

‘Alas, Monsieur, it involved a man who had struck out at the sacred person of the King. He was liable to the special punishment meted out in such cases. I can still see us, my uncle and myself, dressed as is the custom in the executioners' uniform. We had on blue breeches, a red jacket embroidered with a black gallows and ladder, as well as dark-pink cocked hats on our heads and swords at our sides. Our fifteen servants and aides were for their part dressed in fawn-coloured leather aprons.'

He broke off for a moment as if waiting for very distant memories to come back to him.

‘I should tell you, Monsieur, that Damiens – may God receive his soul, he has suffered too much – had not only attempted to commit suicide by tearing off his private parts but, prior to his execution, was subjected to torture, in this very room. They wanted him to denounce his accomplices but it was clear that he had none and he merely kept repeating: “I did not intend to kill the King, otherwise I would have done so. I only struck the blow so that God might reach out to him and enjoin
upon him to restore all things to their proper place and bring back tranquillity to his estates.” He never said anything else, and yet his stomach had been swollen by water, his ankles broken by the boot and his chest and limbs burnt by red-hot irons. He could no longer move nor stand upright.'

Nicolas listened in fascination to this account given in a soft voice by a young man who would probably have gone unnoticed in the street. He gave the impression of both distancing himself from his account and of betraying his emotion by the trembling of his hands and the beads of perspiration trickling down his forehead.

‘Once he had reached Place de Grève and been laid out on the scaffold, Damiens had to suffer the punishment of regicides. The hand that had held the knife was burnt over a brazier of flaming sulphur. He raised his head and let out a scream as he beheld his stump. He was then subjected to the pincers. They tore away pieces of flesh, leaving gaping wounds onto which were poured molten lead, blazing pitch and liquid sulphur. Gentlemen, he was screaming and foaming at the mouth and even at the height of his pain shouted, “More! More!” I can still see his eyes – they were bulging out of their sockets.'

Sanson fell silent for a moment. His throat was tight with emotion.

‘I don't know why I'm telling you all this,' he continued with difficulty, ‘I've never spoken to anyone about it before. But we are of the same age and I know that Monsieur Bourdeau is an honest, upright man.'

‘We are touched, Monsieur, by your trust in us,' said Nicolas.

‘The worst, however, was to come. The victim was placed upon two beams nailed together in the shape of a Saint Andrew's
cross. His upper body was pressed tight between two planks, which were themselves fixed to the cross in order to prevent any of the horses from drawing him in one piece. The purpose, as you will have guessed, was to have him quartered.'

Sanson leant against an armchair and mopped his brow.

‘An assistant armed with a whip controlled the horses, four fearsome beasts that I had bought the previous day for
four-hundred
-and-thirty-two pounds. I was the one directing operations. The horses set off in four different directions, but the joints of the body held firm and the limbs became unnaturally distended as the victim let out a terrible scream of pain. After half an hour I had to command a change of direction for the two horses attached to the legs, in order to inflict on the condemned man what we call in the trade “Scaramouche's swerve”. For this the four horses pulled in parallel in the same direction. Eventually the femurs became dislocated, but the limbs continued to stretch without breaking. After an hour the horses were so tired that one of them collapsed; the assistant had the utmost difficulty in getting it back up on its feet. I consulted with my uncle Gilbert. We decided to goad them by whipping them and shouting. They resumed the task. In the crowd spectators were fainting, including the priest of Saint Paul's church who was reciting the prayer for the dying. Others, alas, took pleasure in this sacrifice.'
4

He stopped and stared down at the ground.

‘Was there not a way,' asked Nicolas, ‘of cutting short the condemned man's agony, whilst still complying with the formalities of the law?'

‘That was what I decided to do. I ordered Monsieur Boyer, the surgeon on duty, to run to the Hôtel de Ville to tell the judges that dismemberment was impossible, that nothing could be done
unless the main sinews came away. Through him I requested authorisation to have them cut. Boyer returned having persuaded the magistrates to agree. The next problem was to find the necessary implement. What was required was a sharp knife for cutting into the flesh, as used by butchers. Time was short and I ordered Legris, one of my servants, to take an axe and hack away at the joints of the limbs. He was soaked in blood. I got the quadriga moving again. This time the horses broke off two arms and a leg. But Damiens was still breathing. His hair was standing on end and within a few moments it had changed from black to white. His torso was writhing and his lips tried to say something, but none of us could hear it. He was still breathing, gentlemen, when he was thrown onto the pyre. I have forgotten nothing of that fateful day, and after that I decided to study anatomy and the workings of the human body, in order to perform my duty in the best way possible, without inflicting unnecessary suffering. Every day I pray to Heaven, gentlemen, that no Frenchman may ever strike at the sacred person of our King again. I don't wish to relive all that.'
5

A long silence followed this account. It was Sanson himself who broke it by going up to the table.

‘Before you arrived I took the liberty of examining the remains that your two medical men so promptly dismissed in their usual way. I understand your disappointment and will attempt to open up some avenues of investigation for you. First of all I can tell you, without fear of contradiction, that the decomposition of this body is not due to frost. The most frost can do is dry out and stabilise the state that the body was in at the outset. In fact it has been devoured by beasts of prey, rats, dogs and crows.'

 He turned round and invited them to come closer.

‘Look at what remains of this leg bone. This piece was crushed by a powerful jaw, a dog's or a wolf's. But the torso, which is almost intact, has been nibbled at by thousands of tiny teeth – rats. If you now observe the head you can still see the marks of sharp beaks. Crows, gentlemen. The place where you discovered the body also tallies with these indisputable facts and our reading of them.'

‘And the head, what can you tell us about that, Monsieur?' asked Nicolas.

‘Plenty. First of all that it is a man's. Look here, at the base of the cranium, these two bony protuberances that we call apophyses. In children and woman they are not prominent. In addition, a child's head can be recognised by the fontanelles, which are not yet fully closed, and from an incomplete set of teeth. However, here we have the head of a mature individual: see how I can grip it by the apophyses and lift it up? It belongs therefore to a man. Besides, as you yourself observed, Monsieur Le Floch, the jaw has been broken; a bit of it has been taken away by beasts of prey and the remaining part has a clean break caused by a steel or iron implement, a sword or an axe. Take my word for it. Lastly, as vermin do not devour hair, the victim could only have been bald or else scalped, as is customary with the Iroquois, but that seems unlikely. However, I can't find an explanation for the black mark at the top of the skull.'

Nicolas and Bourdeau made no attempt to hide their admiration.

‘And what about the torso?'

‘The same applies. It has been severed from the body by a sharp instrument, probably the same as that which fractured the
skull. There are no internal organs left, only a few dried-up pieces of flesh. The
cavitate pectoris
is also empty of blood, even congealed blood. The body therefore had no blood left in it when it was deposited in Montfaucon. Would you like my conclusions?'

‘Monsieur, we would indeed.'

‘We have before us the remains of a bald individual, of the male sex, in the prime of life. He was probably killed with a sharp or spiked instrument. Before being deposited in Montfaucon he had been cut at least in two, otherwise you would have noticed a pool of blood on the ground. The body, or what remained of it, has been mauled by vile creatures, which have scattered various missing anatomical parts. This is not surprising; we know that in that foul place a horse carcass can be picked clean overnight. The jaw has been deliberately broken. Finally, gentlemen, permit me to remind you of what you have seen for yourselves: the clothes were not covering the remains. I believe that the dead man could not have been wearing them at the time he was murdered, otherwise they would have been much more bloodstained. In conclusion, I believe that your hypothesis is right: the mutilated body was covered by snow and frost which have preserved it until today in a state I can only describe as fresh – the dark red complexion is proof of this. The process of decomposition began only after you had the body brought to the Basse-Geôle. I may be mistaken, but I believe that the man whose remains we have here really was murdered in the night of Friday to Saturday, then abandoned in Montfaucon just before it snowed at Carnival.'

‘Monsieur, I cannot thank you enough for your help. I must tell you …'

 ‘You have already done so by listening to me and shaking my hand. Gentlemen, I bid you farewell and remain your humble servant, should you need to call upon my limited knowledge.'

He bowed and left. Nicolas and Bourdeau looked at each other.

‘I shall never forget this moment,' said the inspector. ‘This young man has amazed me. The young definitely have the ability to surprise me these days.'

‘Monsieur Bourdeau, you are a born flatterer.'

‘He has solved the business as quick as a flash. It really is Lardin: a bald man, in the prime of his life, the cane, the leather doublet. What do you think?'

‘All indications do indeed seem to be pointing us in that direction.'

‘You're becoming very cautious!'

Nicolas was aware of an inner voice advising him to think twice. It whispered to him that appearances could be deceptive. He regretted that everything had suddenly become so simple, that everything fitted together like a construction kit. His mind seemed to close up, as if in revolt against certainties when so many other elements in the drama still seemed obscure. He suddenly thought about what he had discovered in the pocket of the leather doublet and feverishly, with Bourdeau looking on in bewilderment, he laid out on the table a folded sheet of paper and a round, metal object.

‘Where did you get all this from?' asked the inspector.

‘From the dead man's doublet.'

‘Lardin's?'

‘The dead man's, for now. This is part of a torn-up letter, without a seal or an address.'

Nicolas began to read:

Bourdeau, unable to contain his excitement, began to dance on the spot, shouting:

‘The proof, here's the proof! It's the piece of paper that was in Descart's pocket when he came to blows with Lardin in the Dauphin Couronné.'

Nicolas glanced at the metal object. It was slightly rusty and he had to rub it on his sleeve to be able to see the outline of a fish surmounted with a crown.

‘That's a funny sort of currency! It's the Dauphin Couronné again.'

‘This is a different thing altogether, Monsieur. It's a token for a house of ill repute. You go in, pay the madam in charge and in exchange she gives you a token that you give the girl once … once the bottle is empty. Do you follow me?'

Nicolas blushed and did not reply to such a direct question.

‘It appears then that this token does indeed come from the Dauphin Couronné. The suppositions are piling up, the
evidence is being given to us. Destiny is being far too kind.'

‘Pardon?'

‘I'm telling you the easy route is not the route to the truth and that fate is offering us some dubious gifts. The fact remains that all this must be carefully checked. Bourdeau, organise old Émilie's release: we'll learn no more from her for the time being. Give her this small sum of money from me. Then hurry to Rue des Blancs-Manteaux and try to find Catherine Gauss, the Lardins' cook. She wants to speak to me and as she has been thrown out of the house I was unable to see her this morning. Meanwhile I'll go immediately to Rue du Faubourg-
Saint-Honoré
to make the acquaintance of La Paulet.'