The Silver Blade (7 page)
The household was already awake by the time they got back, muddy and wet. The fires had been lit and hot chocolate, bread and butter waited for them on the table.
Yann took no notice of these niceties. He didn’t even take off his coat. Instead, he asked for three of the Duke’s fastest horses to be made ready, so they could leave without delay.
‘Surely you will eat something?’ asked the Duchess.
‘There is no time,’ said Yann. ‘We should have left over an hour ago. If we fail to make the tide, the boatman won’t wait for us and all hope of escape will be lost.’
The Duchess understood the need for urgency. She embraced her husband, both gathering courage, as their sons were brought down the stairs by their nurse, Marie.
The Duke stepped forward and without a word led the little boys towards the front door. At that moment, Louis, realising something was wrong, broke free. He hadn’t said goodbye to his mama. He ran to her, sobbing. Hugo too, anchored himself to his mother’s waist.
‘I want to stay, Papa, please let me stay,’ said Hugo. ‘I will look after
Maman
.’
Maman
.’
The Duchess, her eyes filled with tears, did her best to reassure the boys that all was well. Still they clung to her, knowing it wasn’t.
Didier shrugged his shoulders and looked at Yann as if to say, ‘Now what?’
Yann knelt in front of little Louis and turned the small tear-streaked face to his.
‘You know you must be quiet,’ he said gently. Louis nodded and, fixated by those deep dark eyes, stopped his crying. A sleepy calmness overcame him.
‘You know you must be brave,’ continued Yann.
Louis nodded and put his thumb in his mouth, letting go of the folds of his mother’s pale-blue, watered-silk dress, his small handprint like a treasure shadowed there. He leaned his head on Yann’s shoulder. Yann lifted him and handed him to Didier.
Then he knelt again and, cradling Hugo’s face in his hand, stopped his crying. Didier carried them both out of the hall and down the stone steps to the waiting horses.
The Duchess watched, tears running down her face. She handed Yann a long thin rag of patchwork.
‘Louis is fond of it,’ she said. ‘Thank you.’
Yann went down the steps two at a time, mounted his horse, took hold of the reins, and checked that all was as it should be. Didier had Hugo in front of him, just as the Duke had little Louis.
They set off at a gallop. Only at the gates did the Duke glance back at the chateau and say, ‘How did it come to this?’
L
ast night’s storm had brought down branches, filling the roads with debris, so for safety’s sake they went by untrodden paths beside furrowed fields and stagnant streams, through empty forests, the horses’ hooves sounding like a drumbeat as they galloped over the moor where the sky was vaster than the land.
ast night’s storm had brought down branches, filling the roads with debris, so for safety’s sake they went by untrodden paths beside furrowed fields and stagnant streams, through empty forests, the horses’ hooves sounding like a drumbeat as they galloped over the moor where the sky was vaster than the land.
Yann stood in his stirrups and breathed in, feeling at one with his horse, relishing life.
I have seen too much of death. I have seen too many good men defeated at the guillotine. And what has been gained by such senseless waste? If the tree of liberty grows out of bloodshed what rotten fruit will it bear?
Sido is like me, he thought. Why have I doubted her? She is my strength, not my weakness. She is my desire. We are bound by the golden threads of light.
Ahead lay a dense wall of fog. It rolled in off the sea, taking with it all the surrounding scenery, swallowing up the horizon. Hidden somewhere in its folds was the faint sound of waves rushing in on the pebbled shore. ‘This is as far as we go,’ said Yann.
The Duke looked worried as he dismounted. Holding Louis tight, he shouted, ‘There’s no way down the cliff here. It’s an almost sheer rock face.’
Yann took no notice of him. He gathered the reins and walked the horses a little way off.
‘I tell you …’ The Duke stopped what he was saying. He was watching Yann whispering to the horses before letting them go. ‘I thought gypsies were the only people on God’s earth who could talk to their animals like that.’
‘So I’ve been told,’ said Yann.
He went over to Didier. ‘I think we might find a reception party waiting for us down there.’
Didier took out his pistol. Yann nodded. ‘We’d better hope the boatman hasn’t left.’ He looked back at the Duke. ‘Are you ready?’
Yann went first, edging his way along a narrow path at the top of the cliff, and then dropping into a crevice. There, hacked out of the rock, well hidden from view, was a flight of precarious stone steps leading to the pebble beach.
‘It was a smugglers’ cove, I believe,’ said Didier. ‘Still is, more than likely.’
They could hear the roar of the sea close by. Out of sight, hidden in the pocket of fog, the tide had begun to turn. It wouldn’t be long before the cove was under water and all hope of rescue gone.
Suddenly they heard voices.
‘Soldiers?’ whispered Didier.
‘Yes,’ replied Yann. ‘Half a dozen, I think. No doubt waiting for the butcher, to make sure they’re not swindled out of their money.’
‘Where do you think they are?’ asked Didier.
‘Hard to tell, but we must find the boatman before he’s forced to leave.’
They set off along the beach. Even the sound of the foaming waves failed to mask the noise of their feet ringing loud like bells on a Sunday.
‘Halt! Who goes there?’ shouted a disembodied voice. ‘It’s Sergeant Berigot. Is that you, Citizen Loup?’
‘That’s right,’ growled Yann, as Didier continued down to the sea, relieved to see their boatman rowing with difficulty towards the beach. He waded into the sea to greet the sailor. Holding the prow of the boat, like Gulliver he hauled it towards the shore, as if it were a child’s play-thing, then carefully put Hugo in it. The boy sat quietly. He seemed in a trance.
‘Have you got Tull with you?’ shouted the sergeant from the beach.
Tull, thought Yann, shocked. That old rogue is in on this. He called out, ‘Yes. Where are you?’
‘Over here. Where are the goods? Have you got them down on the beach? My men are waiting to help.’
The Duke, certain he was about to be arrested, pushed past Yann and began wading towards Didier and the boat.
‘Tull, where are you?’ Out of the white fog a blue-coated soldier appeared, pistol at the ready. He stared at Yann, amazed. ‘Who the blazes are you?’
Yann’s answer was to rush at him. The pistol went off. The Duke, turning to see who was firing, lost his footing, and he and Louis disappeared beneath the waves. As Didier let go of the boat to try to save them, the Duke emerged from the water.
‘Louis has gone! I had him in my arms and then—’
By now Yann had another Bluecoat down on the pebbles. Sitting astride him he knocked him unconscious. In the distance came the sound of more feet crunching along the beach towards them. He stood up, tore off his coat, and ran into the sea.
‘Get out of the water, Didier! You can’t swim; the weight of your coat will pull you under. Just keep these soldiers off me.’
Didier did as he was told and waded towards the shore, pulling a knife.
‘Get into the boat!’ Yann shouted to the Duke.
Hugo had woken from his trance and was standing in the boat crying, while the sailor tried his best to stop it from capsizing.
Yann dived. Instantly the freezing water blinded him. He could feel his skin shrink on his head, the coldness of the water snatching his breath. He came up, then went down again, everything so dark, time running out. His mind was whirling.
‘Don’t use your eyes. Your eyes can’t be trusted.’ The words of Tobias the gypsy came to him in the misery of the icy water.
He could sense the child being buffeted one way and another by the strong current that slowly but surely was sucking him out to sea. Yann grabbed the threads of light. They were losing their living zigzag quality. He knew the child’s life was ebbing, and pulled as hard as he could, coming up for air again as he did so.
Didier was still battling with the soldiers when the fog cleared sufficiently for them to be distracted by the sight of a child emerging from the sea as if being reeled in on a giant’s fishing line. It was the last image the soldiers saw, for in that moment Didier delivered his final knockout punches.
Yann climbed into the boat, lifting Louis up and instinctively breathing into him.
‘Oh Lord,’ wept the Duke, ‘is he dead?’
Gradually Yann felt life coming back to the child as Louis began choking and spluttering.
‘Quick, a blanket!’ he ordered the sailor, and wrapping Louis up tight gave him to the Duke. He climbed out of the boat into the sea.
‘When you arrive in Brighton, ask for Mr Laxton.’
‘I owe you my life, sir,’ said the Duke, ‘and that of my son. God bless you.’
Yann waded back to shore and, picking up his coat, draped it over his soaking clothes; he watched the boat disappear into the fog.
Didier looked at the prostrate bodies of the sergeant and his men, all knocked out cold, sprawled on the shingle like flotsam and jetsam.
‘I wish we could leave silver blades pinned like medals to their coats.’
‘Come on, Didier.’
‘Don’t you think they deserve them?’
‘I think I should never have done such a foolish thing in the first place.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because it could easily have given us away. Anyway, Tetu has forbidden it.’
Didier sighed. ‘That’s another story.’
Yann didn’t reply. He walked wearily towards the cliff steps. Both of them were soaking wet and shivering, water squelching in their shoes. Up on the cliff top Yann whistled for the horses.
Didier mounted and rode off, imagining Sergeant Berigot’s face when he came to.
Yann sat for a moment in his saddle looking over the Channel toward the English coast and asked the wind how long it would be until he saw Sido again.
Chapter Six
A
notice had been posted at the front of the theatre of the Circus of Follies. It read:
notice had been posted at the front of the theatre of the Circus of Follies. It read:
BY ORDER OF THE COMMITTEE OF PUBLIC SAFETY
the show The Harlequinade will reopen tonight.
The whole company knew exactly what that meant and how much danger they were all in, for Yann and Didier had not returned from Normandy, and without Mr Margoza there was no Harlequin.
Basco, the Italian fencing teacher, was at his wits’ end and he had good reason to be. Since the success of
The Harlequinade
, Citizen Aulard had let it be known that the star of the show was Aldo Basco, the great Italian clown from Naples.
The Harlequinade
, Citizen Aulard had let it be known that the star of the show was Aldo Basco, the great Italian clown from Naples.
‘But I am a fencing master from Sicily,’ Basco protested.
‘It doesn’t matter,’ said Citizen Aulard firmly, ‘that’s our little secret.’
‘What if I have to act?’
Heaven help us if that day arrives, Citizen Aulard thought, but said, ‘Don’t worry; as long as we keep Yann’s true identity from the authorities all will be well.’
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