The Silk Weaver's Daughter (8 page)

He knew they were far from safe yet.

Chapter 12

C
aptain Trudeau raised the lid of the oak barrel and Pierre climbed out, stretching his aching muscles. “How do you feel,
Monsieur?”
the master mariner asked. As he spoke, he worked swiftly with a metal lever on the cover of the next barrel, his face clouded with a worried frown.

“I’m fine, Captain. Anxious to see the rest of my family, though,” Pierre replied, recalling it was Claude’s barrel.

“Good lord, lad, you’re bleeding,” the captain exclaimed, as he yanked off the top. “Are you badly hurt?” He turned to one of the sailors and handed him the tool. “Here, you, help the rest of them out.” To a second one, he shouted, “Get the first mate. Tell him to bring a needle and bandages. He’ll have to stitch this up. Hurry now.”

Pierre gasped and rushed to the captain’s side. He peered into the barrel to see Claude weeping convulsively, as he clutched at his left shoulder. Blood poured from a gash on his arm. Together the two men lifted him out of the container, trying not to hurt him. Pierre tore off his shirtsleeve and wound it around the boy’s upper arm to staunch the bleeding.

Claude tried to speak through his sobs. “I didn’t cry out, Papa. I knew they would kill us all. But now, it hurts so much.”

Pierre held him close to his chest. “You are very brave, my son. I’m so proud of you.” Turning again to the master, he asked, “Captain Trudeau, wouldn’t the soldier realize he had hit something other than cognac?”

“Oui, Monsieur.
That he would. I’m thinking there were two brave souls here tonight. The wound is not deep—only the tip of his sword. Almost immediately, he must have realized there was a body in there.”

“Dieu merci!
He didn’t say anything. Isn’t that strange?”

“He must be a sympathizer. There are still some of them in the King’s army. It takes real courage. If the Dragoon Captain realized what he’d done, they’d charge him with treason, and it would cost him his life. I wonder how he concealed the blood.”

By now, the others were out of their barrels and crowding around young Claude. His mother looked as if she would faint. “Oh, my poor boy,” she cried. “Will he be all right, Captain?”

“It doesn’t look too bad,
Madame.
Here, is the man who can better tell us,” he said, as a pleasant faced, older man with a full beard pushed his way through the small group of family and sailors.

“Make way, please. Let me look at the young fellow,” the first mate said, as he took a cloth and dipped it in the open barrel of cognac. “The alcohol keeps it from putrefying.” He wiped the wound with the dampened material. “I don’t think any muscle’s been cut. You’ll still have the use of it, lad.”

Turning back to the captain, the older man spoke, “We’d better give him a glass or two of the cognac. It will dull the pain while I sew him up. I think we’ll take him upstairs to do that.”

“Good idea, Didier. Don’t worry,
Monsieur Garneau.
He’s going to be fine, and Master Marceau will take good care of him. The rest of you should try to get a little sleep now. Stay under the beams. We’ll give you plenty of warning if any of those rogues come back.”

The first two days of the voyage were agonizing for all of them. The weather in the Bay of Biscay changed for the worse and the ship, buffeted by the waves, never ceased its relentless rolling. The captain kept Claude in the officer’s quarters on the main deck to make sure the wound didn’t become infected. In the event that the soldiers might return, they dressed him in sailors clothing. “They’d not be suspicious. We often get cabin boys that young,” he assured Pierre.

Louise and Andre were the sickest of the family. The air was foul with the smell of vomit and unwashed bodies. Even so, Captain Trudeau only allowed them out on deck in the darkness each night, for an hour or two. There they took in the fresh air and a meal of hot soup. Their breakfast of bread and cheese they had to eat in the stuffiness of the hold. The second day, Pierre begged the captain to let them out during the day.

“The King’s patrol ships are everywhere,” the captain explained, shaking his head. They’ll sight you for sure if you come out in the daytime. We’re away from the French coast now, and you’ll soon be safe. Only one more night will do it, so please,
monsieur,
listen to me, or we will all be drawn and quartered.” He handed Pierre a pewter cup. “Give them all a little of the cognac the soldiers opened. It will settle their stomachs. Even the little ones.”

That night Pierre and Claudine sat huddled close to each other on the deck, breathing the fresh, salt air. It was the first time the two of them were alone. Usually they came out of the hold separately bringing two or three of the children with them.

“It’s too much to have you all out at once,” the captain had made clear to him.

Once the storm they encountered in the Bay of Biscay had abated, the young ones all fell into deep sleeps. Even Louise, who had been ill since the first night, said she was too tired to get out of her makeshift bed.

Pierre gazed at the star-studded sky, a large, deep-blue velvet canopy filled with billions of tiny glimmering lights. It gave him the impression he could reach right up to heaven and touch them.

“I feel so sorry for Claude,” his wife spoke up. “He must be in pain.”

“He’s a remarkably brave little fellow, Claudine. You realize he saved all our lives.”

“Yes, I know. And to think he’s only eleven. I’m not even sure what I would have done.

“I’m so thankful it wasn’t one of the little ones. They would never have understood they couldn’t cry out. Our God was certainly with us that night.”

“Oh, Pierre. Do you not miss our home?” She sighed.

“Yes, sweetheart, I do. It feels like a big hole in the pit of my stomach. However, there’s no use longing for what cannot be.”

“What will you miss the most, do you think?”

Pierre thought he would rather not dwell on these memories. The loss of all he had strived for was far too painful. The future and, what that might bring, concerned him now.

Still, talking about their home seemed to sooth Claudine, so after considering for a moment, he said, “Of course, I loved the farm house. It’s so beautiful and so old. Grandfather said it was built over one hundred years ago. However, perhaps I’ll miss the manufactory even more. After all, I built that, myself. And my mulberry trees. Jacques said they were as healthy as any he saw around Lyon. Well, I don’t suppose I’ll have any silk worms to feed in London.”

His smile was sad.

“What will London be like, Pierre?”

“Big and noisy—worse than La Rochelle—I expect. Mind you, a huge fire about twenty years ago destroyed most of the old buildings. Many areas will be fairly clean and new. We’ll be living in Spitalfields where many of the French have settled. We’ll hear our own language all the time. At least it won’t be strange in that respect. What about you, Claudine? What will you miss?”

“The lovely river winding by our door; such a pretty spot, with the ducks and the swans nesting in the rushes. Louise often used to sit on a rock there and day-dream. I really had to get after her about doing her chores. I guess she was thinking about Marc. I used to dream like that when I was young. Well, not about Marc, of course.” She laughed.

“Humph. She should have thought about improving her soul, or at least learning her lessons. Anything but Marc.”

“Why, Pierre? You always loved Marc as a boy. Why have you changed so? I thought he was like another son to you.”

“Yes, my dear. In many ways he still is. I simply don’t want him as a husband for my daughter.”

“But why ever not?” she persisted. “His parents have always wanted it. I thought we did as well.”

“As you say, Louise is a dreamer. She needs someone steady—someone firm. Marc is like his father—fun-loving and adventurous—perhaps, even, a little selfish.”

“Pierre, how can you say that? Jacques risked his life for us.”

“Of course, what he did was splendid. We are forever in his debt, and I don’t mean to sound ungrateful. However, I mean about his wife. He had always been a little self-seeking in pursuing what he wants in life, and not worrying about what Marie wants.”

“Why, Marie has a wonderful life, don’t you think?”

“In some ways, yes. It’s true she has everything of a material nature she could ever want. Nevertheless, it’s not good for a marriage—this being away all the time. I have sensed they have grown apart over the years. Did you not see it?”

“I—I never thought of it. She has so much—a grand house—elegant clothes. She has everything she could want, no?”

“I never meant to speak to you about this, Claudine. However, I’m sorry to say I don’t suppose you will ever see Marie again. So I’ll tell you this. Jacques is an extremely good-looking man. A charming man. And he likes woman. I’ve noticed how he looks even at you sometimes. Do you think he stays faithful when he is away from his wife for two or three years at a time?”

“Oh, my, Pierre! It never occurred to me.”

“In fact, he has admitted to me, he doesn’t. That’s not what I want for our girl, Claudine. Wealth isn’t everything. She is beautiful, and I think she can do better among our people. Someone who’s a sincere Huguenot. And I’ll see to it, she does. After all, I am her father.”

He softened his tone as he looked fondly at her. “Now, you were telling me who you used to dream about.” He didn’t wait for an answer; but leaned over and kissed her with passion. He loved his attractive wife intensely and, unlike his cousin, not once in all his married years had he ever desired another woman.

“Well, Monsieur Garneau. We are in sight of England,” Captain Trudeau said to Pierre on the morning of the third day. He had come down to the hold to speak to him. “The weather is perfect, so we’ll be there by nightfall. We’ll go into Plymouth just at dusk. I can’t let the French see me make for an English port. They believe I’m heading towards the Celtic Sea.”

When the ship finally docked, and the family allowed up on the deck, Pierre thanked the first mate profusely for his care of Claude.

“Your boy will soon be as good as new,” Master Marceau said. “I suppose he could get a twinge in the arm when the weather is bad. Other than that, he’ll be fine.”

Pierre then turned to the captain to thank him for his bravery. He was well aware what a chance the man had taken. From under his jacket, he drew the remainder of the gold they owed for the trip, and handed it over. The officer looked pleased and kissed Claudine on both cheeks as he said ‘good bye’ to her and the children.