Tannhauser 02: The Twelve Children of Paris (40 page)

Juste stood staring at Flore. No master painter could have better portrayed the effect of Cupid’s arrow, and likely as not would have chosen not to do so, for the lad looked as slack-jawed and witless as a young ram. Tannhauser reassessed Flore. She was pretty, though in such matters the contribution made by beauty was unpredictable. Amparo’s face had been half bashed-in, and she had won his heart. Flore’s bedraggled and tear-stained appearance may even have increased her allure. By the way she returned Juste’s gaze, Tannhauser guessed that the same arrow had pierced her, too.

‘Flore, Pascale, this is my good friend Juste. He’s a Pole of noble lineage and newly, if sadly, heir to his family’s holdings in that illustrious land. He’s brave but not rash, and he doesn’t insist on the deference and formalities that are his due. Isn’t that right, Juste?’

Juste roused himself from his stupor to bow to each of the sisters in turn.

‘The honour is mine,’ he choked.

‘Does he always travel with prostitutes?’ asked Pascale.

‘I saw them all alone near the Hôtel-Dieu,’ blurted Juste. He looked to Tannhauser. ‘I knew you’d want me to help them.’

Tannhauser looked at the twins. Their fingers were knotted together and seemed encrusted with purple mud, as did their arms to the elbows. The white lead, charcoal and beet juice with which their faces had been painted was smeared into antic patterns. They were shod in sandals woven from straw and so caked in congealed gore that their feet appeared twice their true size. They stared at the floor with a wretchedness that could not be imagined. He had provided them with soup and murdered their keeper, and then he had forgotten them. They increased his burdens, but only in degree and not in quality.

‘Well done, Juste. Do they know about Tybaut?’

‘When I found them they were trying to drag his body to the hospital.’

Tannhauser recalled the state in which he had left Tybaut’s corpse.

‘Do you know their names?’

‘They won’t speak to me and they haven’t said a word to each other. I’ve been calling them the Little Mice and it seems not to offend them.’

Tannhauser found this nickname a sight too dainty but didn’t quibble. He looked at the older pair of sisters. ‘Make these Mice look presentable for the Benedictines, and be gentle.’ He looked at Pascale and she blushed. ‘I’ll stand no more mean talk.’

He beckoned Juste to examine a two-wheeled cart tilted on its shafts at one end of the yard. The cart was open at the front, where a driver could sit or stand. At the rear was a hinged tailboard. It was shabby but the wheels were tight and the bearings greased.

‘Well? Is Grégoire alive?’

‘Yes, forgive me, I should have told you at once. Lucifer, too.’

‘Where is he?’

‘He followed the two men but I don’t know where they’ve gone. Lucifer went with him.’ This seemed to disappoint Juste. ‘We decided I should come back to find you, and then I found the Mice near the Hôtel-Dieu –’

Tannhauser pulled him to the tack room.

‘Who are these two men he’s following?’

‘Grégoire isn’t easy to understand, but I think he called one “Petit Christian”. He made a pantomime of a monkey, so you’d know who he meant.’

‘I know who he means. Who was the other man?’

‘He rode a marvellous sorrel horse with four white socks. He wore black with a gold chain across his chest. He was older, older than you, but not as old as the porter.’

‘The porter from the college? A withered insect in a wig?’

‘Yes, that porter.’

‘So you saw three men: Petit Christian, the porter and the notable.’

‘Yes.’

A gold collar suggested a knight of some order of chivalry.

‘Can you describe the links of the gold collar, or its medallion?’

‘No, I didn’t really look. We didn’t want to get too close.’

‘You did well. Here, carry this.’

Tannhauser dug out a breast collar with its traces and breeching. He piled them into Juste’s arms. They returned to the yard to harness Clementine to the cart.

‘Go back to the moment I left you in the street. Tell me everything.’

‘First of all we threw horseshit – no, first you killed the two men at the fire and dragged them inside the shop, then we threw horseshit at the men, well, very young men, almost boys, but they had knives and axes, and they chased us through the alleys, but Grégoire knew a hole into a tunnel by a church, where they stack the bones and where the lunatics live. The smell made me sick, and after the sunshine it was dark, I admit I was very frightened, but –’

‘Why did you throw horseshit at the boys with knives?’

‘Lucifer barked at them and I said, “They’re going to follow Tannhauser into the shop!” and Grégoire grabbed the dung. He’s used to it, you know, but horseshit really isn’t so bad, I think it’s better than any other kind, for throwing.’

He nodded, as if to reassure Tannhauser on this point.

Tannhauser quelled an urge to chastise their recklessness.

‘I’m sure it is. And you were brave. Go on.’

‘Well, the lunatics were furious when we ran over them – we trampled on their pallets, smashed jugs of wine, the tunnel was full of strange rubbish – and they screamed at us, and their dogs were barking, Lucifer was barking, some of them were women, hags, and some were naked, the men, too, it was like Hell, but Grégoire grabbed my arm and pulled me. We didn’t stop until we got to some steps. I heard the boys start shouting behind us, fighting with the lunatics and their dogs, I think, but I didn’t turn around. We ran up the steps to a graveyard, very small, behind the church, and Grégoire threw Lucifer over a wall – he didn’t like that, I must say – and we climbed over. We didn’t see any of the boys coming up the steps. And then we kept on running through the alleys. I was lost, but Grégoire wasn’t.’

Juste paused to take a deep breath.

‘May I have some water?’

Tannhauser tightened a harness buckle. He filled a dipper at the butt. Juste drank.

‘What happened next?’

‘We made a big circle, because we wanted to get back to Clementine, but as we passed the hanging man, near the bridge, Grégoire saw Petit Christian, and we stopped to watch. Well, in fact we first stopped to look at the fine red horse, and Petit Christian came out of the college with the porter, and the notable questioned them both. Then the porter went back inside and the other two crossed the bridge to the City and we followed.’

‘Why?’

‘Grégoire said that’s what you would do, that is, if you didn’t kill them. You did tell us to gather what facts we could.’

‘They didn’t spot you trailing them?’

Juste shook his head. ‘The island was still in a tumult. There are boys everywhere, they love the excitement.’ With a note of accusation he added, ‘Though most of them have knives, or at least a stick.’

‘You’ve survived without either. Continue.’

‘Grégoire also said something about “Le Tellier”, I think.’

‘The captain of the Scots Guard. Dominic, you remember him.’

‘Of course I remember him. But he wasn’t there. I’m certain.’

‘Dominic is in league with Petit Christian.’

‘That’s what Grégoire was trying to explain, I suppose. We followed them towards the cathedral and they turned across the Pont Notre-Dame, to the Ville. That’s when we decided I should find you, so you wouldn’t worry, and Grégoire told me how to get here. From the cathedral it’s straight up the hill and –’

‘You crossed the Petit Pont?’

‘
Audentes fortuna juvat
,’ said Juste. ‘Which means –’

‘
Fortune favours the bold
. And let us hope it is so. But how?’

‘We – the Mice and I – tagged along with a gang. I let them think I was like Tybaut. Isn’t that what you would have done?’

‘What will Grégoire do when he’s done with his bold quest?’

‘You said you were going back to the chapel of Sainte-Cécile, so he will wait for you in the Hôtel D’Aubray.’

‘A grim choice. Why?’

‘There’s no one left to kill and nothing left to take, so there’s no reason for anyone else to go in there.’

‘You lads will soon be outfoxing your master.’

Tannhauser hooked the last of the traces to the swingletree and stood back. He had left the saddle on Clementine’s back as he intended to donate the cart and harness to the abbey. Some gold pieces on top and the Benedictines would sing a weekly Mass for his soul.

‘I hope you don’t expect us to ride in that manure cart,’ said Pascale.

With scrubbed faces, the Mice seemed even younger, their inner scars more visible. They still held hands and stared at the ground. Tannhauser gave Pascale a stiff smile.

‘The cart’s been used for fodder and it’s cleaner than most plates. You will all ride in it. If you’re so particular, get some blankets from the tack room to cover the floor, but be quick. And see if you can find some gloves to cover those ink stains. Flore, will you fill that goatskin with water? Juste, see if there’s anything else worth taking.’

Juste glared at Pascale’s dagger. ‘Can I have a knife, too?’

‘You won’t need a knife at the abbey. Neither will you,’ he said to Pascale. ‘Put the dagger in the wallets.’

‘You’re going to leave me with these girls?’ Juste was unsure as to whether the prospect was unwelcome or not. He stole a glance at Flore.

‘They’ll need a brave gentleman to protect them,’ said Tannhauser.

Pascale’s laugh was less than kind.

‘Did you find your wife?’ asked Flore.

Tannhauser was bemused. ‘Carla?’

‘You told us you came all this way to find her and we haven’t asked if you’ve done so. You must think us selfish and thoughtless.’

‘We’ve all had a lot on our minds,’ said Tannhauser.

‘Well, did you find her?’ asked Pascale.

Tannhauser did not have the stomach for expressions of sympathy, and the girls had no need of more woeful news. He glanced at Juste, who stood silent.

‘Yes. Carla’s on the other side of the river, in the Ville.’

He set about stowing his weapons in the cart.

The children stood looking at him in a kind of silent mutiny.

‘Do as you were told,’ said Tannhauser. ‘We’re on the move.’

TANNHAUSER’S SCHEME SURVIVED
as far as the Porte Saint-Jacques, where a crowd of fugitives, thirty or so, huddled before the gatehouse. Its entrance was barred by a portcullis. Soldiers loitered behind the grate, indistinct in the gloom, and a wall of darkness beyond meant that the leaves of the great gate itself were closed. The fugitives conversed in a cowed murmur while their children cried, fractious in the heat of high noon.

They put Tannhauser in mind of blind ants fleeing from a stomped hill. The spectacle made his skin crawl. He realised it was because he was one of them.

He was standing at the front edge of the cart bed, holding the reins. He had draped the wagon sheet over the cart and the children were sheltered beneath, though imperfectly concealed, for at close range the bobbing of their heads betrayed them.

A postern opened and an officer of the guard appeared. His livery was unknown to Tannhauser; the defence of the walls was in the hands of Montmorency. A soldier brought out a mounting stool and the officer climbed on top and raised one arm for attention. The murmuring stilled. The officer made his announcement with the air of one who had performed the duty several times before.

‘In preparation for the impending threat of the Huguenot army or armies, the Porte Saint-Jacques has been closed and locked. All the gates of Paris, north and south, are closed and locked. The keys to all city gates, north and south, have been taken into the physical custody of the Hôtel de Ville. In short, the gate is locked and no one here has the means to open it. I myself cannot leave the city. My men cannot leave the city. You cannot leave the city, nor can anyone else, regardless of rank or eminence. The city is sealed.’

A groan escaped from the gathered.

‘If you wish to petition the Bureau de Ville for use of the keys, you may do, but I grant you no hope of success. In the meantime, you must move away from the gate, which must be kept clear for military purposes. If you do not leave immediately, I will be obliged to instruct my men to disperse you. I hope I have made myself clear. God bless the King.’

Tannhauser began to wheel Clementine about.

‘That means we’re not going to Saint-Germain after all,’ explained Juste.

‘We’re neither deaf nor stupid,’ said Pascale.

The officer pushed through the crowd, ignoring questions. He saluted Tannhauser.

‘I am sorry to disappoint a Knight of Malta, sire. I’d gladly let you through, but for now Paris is a prison.’

‘I want to get these orphans to a safe haven.’

‘The Abbey of Sainte-Geneviève took in some people this morning – you can see the Tower of Clovis, just yonder – but I’m told the militia have it under blockade, the swine. I don’t know how much one can trust the churches for sanctuary, or if such is being respected. Why not take them to the Temple? Surely you’d be welcome there, though it’s likely they’ve blockaded that, too.’

‘It’s good to meet a gentleman. Thank you.’

‘Did you fight in the Great Siege?

‘I did.’

‘I am in awe, sire. Was it as terrible as they say?’

‘It was worse. Yet not as bad as this.’

‘I think I understand. I fought the Huguenots at Jarnac, under Tavannes, but that was war. Our duty was laid out clear, and duty keeps death honest.’

‘Death is always honest. His is the only promise we can count on.’

‘Surely we can count on Christ’s promise of salvation.’

Tannhauser made the Sign of the Cross.

‘Let’s hope so.
Dominus vobiscum
.’

Tannhauser started the cart back down the hill.

‘Pascale, do you know the Place Maubert?’

‘Of course I do.’

‘Clementine and I await your directions.’

They turned east into a
quartier
of colleges and abbeys.

As they rode, Juste, in his appointed role as their guardian, tried to entertain the girls with a variety of gallant tales but found himself defeated by Pascale’s tongue. Squabbles ensued beneath the canvas but they seemed as good a diversion as any and Tannhauser did not intervene.