For Our Liberty (50 page)

“Claude?” I asked. A deathly white hand appeared from beneath the blanket and pulled it tighter over him. I heard a sob of fear.

“Claude, it’s alright. I come from Dominique. She is waiting. You are getting out.” I walked over to the bed and gently pulled the blanket off him. He was as thin as a skeleton. He looked behind me, expecting some trick. His skin was sallow and his hair lank, he would not have survived that place much longer. He looked younger than his fifteen years.

“It’s alright,” I said again, “I’m Ben Blackthorne, remember? Dominique sent me.” He nodded and struggled to stand, a wet cough wracking his emaciated body as he stood with the unsteadiness of a new born foal. I put my arm around him and dragged him from the cell. I took the guard’s keys from the door. There were four other doors. I went to the nearest and tried two keys before I felt one turn. I propped Claude up against the wall and opened the door. There was a pathetic bundle of rags on the floor. I went over and poked it with my boot. It groaned. I bent down and turned it over. It was Duprez. He had been very badly beaten. He could barely open his eyes the bruising was so bad, his hands were mangled lumps of meat and one leg was obviously broken. In a thin horse whisper he said something. I couldn’t make it out so leant closer, the smell of excrement, infection and fear was nauseating.

“Leave me,” he said. I nodded and left. I could do nothing else. I was running out of time. It might have been kinder just to put Duprez out of his misery.

I opened another door. A figure stood in the window silhouetted by the glow of the flames below. He turned.

“Ben!”

“Jules, can you walk?” I said. I would have preferred to have found Pichegru rather than Montaignac but beggars couldn’t be choosers.

“Yes, yes, of course,” he said and hurried towards me. “Moreau and Pichegru are in the next cells. I think Duprez is in one of the others.” He too had been beaten but nowhere near as badly as Duprez. I thought uncharitably that perhaps he had talked a little more readily.

“Yes, I found Duprez. He’s not coming with us,” I said as I started trying keys in the next door. I handed a pistol to Montaignac. He took it, grimaced at the sticky mess on the butt and wiped his hand on his coat. “Watch the stairs,” I told him.

I wasn’t having much luck with the keys. There were about twenty in the bunch and I must have tried ten of them. I banged on the door.

“General, are you in there?”

“Blackthorne. Is that you?” The voice was weak and muffled but I knew it was Pichegru.

“Yes, I’ll have you out in a minute,” I said. Beside me Claude collapsed slowly to the floor. I was running out of time. I tried another key, and then another. The crack of a pistol being fired echoed around the stone walls. I turned. Montaignac held the smoking weapon and was looking down the stairs.

“They are coming,” he said.

“Help me with Claude,” I said as I desperately tried another key. I could hear boots running up the stairs.

Montaignac picked up Claude, slapping his face gently to try and rouse him. The boy groaned. I heard the boots on the stairs stop. I turned to see a guard levelling a pistol at us. I watched, frozen, as he squeezed the trigger and the powder in the pan flashed. Montaignac dropped Claude and stepped into the path of the ball. I dropped the keys and tugged the pistol from my belt. I fired from the hip and hit the guard in the throat. He dropped to the floor a moment after Montaignac. I ran over to Jules. He’d been hit in the chest and blood was soaking his shirt and pooling on the floor beneath him. I cradled his head. He was trying to say something. His mouth was full of blood.

“Never got the chance to tell you,” he said between gasps. “It was Calvet, he denounced his…” His body arched and then slackened. I laid him gently back on the floor. Pichegru was banging on his cell door.

“Ben, go. Go now,” the General shouted.

“Sir, I…”

“Just go.”

Somebody else called from the last cell. “No, don’t leave us.” It was Moreau. I looked at the keys, at the doors, then at Claude. Pichegru was right. I had to go. I picked up Claude and dragged him to the stairs. I didn’t say farewell to Pichegru. There was nothing to be said.

I had to carry Claude down the stairs and he was a dead weight all the way. I had to step over the body of the guard Montaignac had shot on the way. I got as far as the gate in the inner wall before I was challenged by two guards.

“Help me you fools, we have to secure this wretch before the royalists get him,” I said and passed Claude to them before they had time to object. The prison was in chaos. Prisoners shouted from their windows, guards ran left and right and officers and sergeants shouted contradictory orders. The guards carrying Claude followed me as I marched towards the outer gate. I stepped out into the street, my heart beating like the drum roll before a hanging.
 

I ordered another guard to flag down a passing carriage, which of course happened to be the phaeton. I told the guards to dump Claude in the coach and that I was taking the prisoner to La Conciergerie prison as the Temple was no longer safe. I would have tipped them but I thought that was going too far. I climbed into the seat and took the reins from Dominique. One of the guards stared at Dominique for more seconds than was strictly polite. Who could blame him, the flames from the fire caused by my little diversion flickered in her eyes and gave her a glow that was enchanting.

“I do apologise mademoiselle, but I need to commandeer your rather elegant carriage for a matter of urgent state business,” I said.

“Sir, I must protest,” she replied in an outraged tone. I rolled my eyes at the guards, they grinned.

“Mademoiselle, the matter is urgent and you are welcome to protest to Consul Bonaparte himself.” I flicked the whip and we were away, leaving the Temple thankfully behind us, the little phaeton sped along, and before we turned for the river I looked back to see no sign of pursuit. We slowed down to not make ourselves look too conspicuous and so that we could minister to Claude’s needs.
 

We had brought some water and food. Dominique picked him up from the floor. I took off the gendarme’s coat whilst trying not to lose control of the horses and passed it to Dominique to wrap around her frail brother. He coughed again, and blood was on his hand as he took it away from his mouth.

“Dominique,” he said. That was all. Brother and sister held each other as we drove through the Paris streets towards the Quai de Saint Bernard. He drank and ate a little and seemed better for it. I even allowed myself a thin smile as I wondered how long it would be before Claude was missed. I pondered a moment on what Montaignac had told me, there was little I could do to change the plan but I was arrogant enough to think that I could improvise and carry on. Had I known what was coming I would not have felt the warm glow of success, I would have instead felt the cold grip of fear around my heart.

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

Dominique looked worried as she cradled her brother’s head in her hands. He was shivering and she took off her own cloak and wrapped him tightly in it. We were trotting through the Paris streets at a brisk pace but not too fast to be noticed. The occasional and feeble street lamps made small puddles of light and, if anything, emphasised the shadows. A light frost made the ground sparkle slightly, our every breath was marked by an exhalation of vapour and I felt our troubles too were leaving us. We were nearing the river and the Pont Marie and were beginning to slow down to cross the bridge. I looked at her in the moonlight; she looked beautiful. We were so close to being free from the tangle of intrigue, treachery and promises that governed our lives. So close to being together. So close to having our own personal liberty to do as we wished, together till death do us part. My mind began to wander, to dream of what could be in the future. Love. Laughter. Marriage. Children. It all seemed so close.

“As soon as we are out of Paris we will get a doctor for Claude,” I said, knowing it would be difficult but I wanted to give Dominique some of the hope I now felt coursing through my veins. Yes, I felt hopeful but also after what Montaignac had told me I knew there was trouble ahead. Calvet was waiting for us. How could I trust him? How could I tell Dominique the truth?

“Claude is young and stronger than he looks,” she said. “He will be alright, thanks to you.” She kept looking behind us, not unnaturally in the circumstances but there was something about the expression on her face. I thought back to my childhood when Lucy had accidentally broken mother’s favourite vase and hidden it.

“What’s wrong?” I asked as I slowed down to turn on to the bridge. There was a crowd of young men, probably students, weaving across the bridge having obviously been studying the bottom of a glass rather too intently. Most got out of our way and stepped to the walls of the bridge, one stopped to urinate in the middle of the road and only our horse nudging his arse got him to move, much to the merriment of his companions. I raised my whip in salute to their jeers and urged the horse on.

I looked back at Dominique again, she had not answered.

“What is it, my love?”

“Ben, that guard, I think he recognised me. I talked to him once, in a tavern, I was trying to find out where Claude’s cell was. I plied him with drink and asked him about his job,” Dominique said, biting her lip.

As you can imagine I cursed a few times and may have taught her some English phrases she hadn’t known before. If the guard had recognised her it wouldn’t take him long to put two and two together. Once the commotion had died down and the fires were out someone would find the bodies and that Claude Calvet was missing. As if on cue, I heard horses behind us. I looked back and could just see four or five dragoons emerging from the narrow streets on to the start of the bridge, we had crossed the Ile Saint Louis and were approaching the opposite bank so we had some distance on them. I cracked the whip over the horse’s ears and she went from a trot to a canter. The walls of the bridge sped past us in the dark. I had hoped that we would be able to leave the city quietly before the hue and cry caught up with us but I had taken precautions if that wasn’t to be the case. Precautions that relied upon Calvet.

As soon as we crossed the bridge I turned and raced through the Porte Saint Bernard and down towards the Quai. The dragoons were gaining on us, I saw their silhouettes as they crossed the bridge, there were more of them now. I urged the mare on, both she and I felt better now we were galloping along the wide and deserted Quai rather than the narrow twisted streets with their unknown hazards lurking in every shadow. We quickly approached the empty boatyards. Dominique twisted in her seat and looked behind us, she cocked her pistols, letting Claude slump to the floor and cling to her legs as we rattled over the frozen mud. The maze of alleys around the sheds and warehouses made me slow down but I had put a little distance between us and our pursuers. We reached Fulton’s yard and I yanked back on the reins and pulled the brake to bring the mare to a slithering stop near where Calvet waited for us. I jumped down and Dominique passed me her pistols, I gave her mine to reload. I stared hard at Calvet, he saw me and frowned questioningly but I didn’t have the time to deal with him then so ran back down the alley to a pile of barrels and waited for the dragoons. Calvet and Dominique lifted Claude from the phaeton and into one of the sheds.

I tried to still my breathing and calm my racing heart. I could hear the dragoons advancing steadily through the boatyards, and the voice of an officer shouting orders to check each shed and be cautious. They were obviously experienced troops and I was glad, their caution would buy me the time I needed. The sky was getting lighter in the east and it would soon be dawn. Calvet had already prepared the Nautilus for its final voyage. He and Dominique were to open the valves that enabled it to submerge beneath the water and push it off from the jetty then I would join them. I heard a footfall coming closer. The first dragoon appeared around the corner, the mist of his breath preceding him by an instant. I sighted down the barrel of the pistol, I could just see his outline. I couldn’t tell if he was young or old. Perhaps he had a family. I have never found killing easy but, call me a coward, I do find it easier when I can’t see their face. Perhaps that’s why I fired that night in Egypt before I could see it was my best friend I was killing. However, that night in Paris the only person I cared about was behind me. I squeezed the trigger, the flash of the powder blinded me and couldn’t tell if I had hit the dragoon but I heard him shouting for help. I waited, hiding down behind the barrels, expecting some shots in return but none came. Cautiously I lay down and crawled over the frost-rimed mud to a new position behind some crates. I peeked over the top and could just see the first feint glow of the east reflecting off a brass helmet behind the half-finished carcass of a small boat. Again, I aimed carefully, the range was thirty yards or so and I did not seriously expect to hit the target but wanted the dragoon to stay in cover and not be a hero until reinforcements arrived. I fired and was rewarded with a clang as the ball struck his helmet, although judging from the curses I had not killed my quarry.

I began to curse myself, wondering what was taking Dominique so long. I could hear the officer calling out to his men and I thought I heard voices to my left. I reloaded both pistols as quickly as I could. They were trying to flank us. I crawled back to another barrel and reached it just as a shot rang out. The ball hit the barrel. I fired blindly and ran back to the final corner before Fulton’s yard. At last I heard Dominique’s shout that they were ready. I fired again and raced to her, a volley of shots striking the sheds and boats around me but none coming close.