Honour and the Sword (25 page)

They shuffle their feet and say nothing. I knew them both, Señor, the big one was Pedro Jiménez, the other was Pedro Sánchez, very nasty pieces of work, not typical of our men at all. Another fellow speaks up and says it’s all true, he was escorting them back to Artois, and he gives my gentleman a letter from Capitán Martínez which he was to hand to the commanding officer at Arras before returning home.

My Capitán reads the letter, then looks at Jiménez and Sánchez as if they’re something nasty he’s asked me to clean off his boot. He snaps his fingers for a pen, and starts to write on the end of the letter.

Moya says ‘Do we let the lad go, Señor?’

My Capitán glances at the boy, opens his mouth, then shuts it again without speaking. It’s the hair he’s looking at, Señor, long and wavy, black as my own gentleman’s, just like the hostages said. He says ‘I haven’t decided yet. I think I’d like him to meet Abanderado de Castilla first.’

I know what he’s at, Señor, he’s still convinced there’s more went on at the Manor than de Castilla’s letting on, and hoping he’d recognize de Roland if he saw him. It’s naive of him perhaps, seeing as de Castilla’s hardly likely to admit any such thing, but that was my gentleman, always inclined to think people more honourable than they really were.

Meanwhile Jiménez and Sánchez are still waiting, so he signs the letter, gives it back to the escort and tells him to get them out of his sight before he hangs them himself. The other escort, that was Galiano, Señor, he begs to be excused on account of an injury to his hand, so Moya details a replacement and we think that’s the end of it, but suddenly our little captive goes wrenching himself away from the men supporting him and actually starts shouting at my Capitán.

He’s yelling ‘So that’s it? You’re just going to send them back to Flanders? You’re going to let them get away with it? That’s it?’

He’s acting like a madman, yelling the same things over and over again, we think he’s lost his mind. My Capitán tells him to calm down, but there’s just no reasoning with him. Straight away he’s off again, saying the Capitán has to hang them, he can’t just let them go back to Flanders, he’s yelling and yelling and no stopping him at all.

Jean-Marie Mercier

Stefan was already handing out muskets to the others. ‘They’re going by the Flanders Road, and they’re going now. Cut through the woods, get them just beyond the bend. This lot will hear the shots, so get the hell out of it fast, run all the way back to base. Warn them André’s taken and they need to prepare for evacuation.’

Robert said ‘Jean-Marie’s the best shot.’

Stefan snapped at him. ‘I need him with me. Durand can use the bow, they’re unarmoured, you’ve enough. Here, take this, that’s five shots.’

He handed Bettremieu his own pistol. Bettremieu nodded and started to run, Colin, Robert and Philippe hard after him. Margot seized her own musket, but Stefan grabbed her arm and said ‘Not you,
fifille
, you can’t run in those skirts, start back to the Hermitage right now.’

Dear Margot. She hoiked her skirts up over her elbow, showing really quite a quantity of bare leg, said something very rude to Stefan and ran after Bettremieu.

Only Pinhead hesitated. ‘There’s no time, we can’t get there in time.’

Stefan lost his temper. ‘He’s buying you time, you stupid bastard. He’s buying you time with what might be his life, don’t you dare fucking waste it.’

Pinhead took one look at his face, then turned and fled after the others.

Carlos Corvacho

Naturally I understand it now, Señor, but at the time you’ll appreciate we found it rather irritating. When Jiménez made to mount his horse, the lad even took hold of the bridle to stop him riding away.

My Capitán had his limits, Señor, and finally raised his own voice to call for silence. The lad was quiet at last.

‘Release the bridle,’ said my Capitán.

The lad hung his head, but his hand remained firmly on the reins. The Capitán indicated with a jerk of his head I was to deal with the matter, so I’m afraid to say I cuffed him, just a little blow on the side of the head, Señor, perhaps a little box on the ear, just enough to show he must do what the Capitán said.

The lad reacted as if I’d really hurt him, which I’ll swear I didn’t. He jerked his head and cried out sharp, and if you’ll excuse me, Señor, it’s best I give you his exact words. He said ‘Take your filthy Spanish hands off me.’

It wasn’t just the expression, haughty as it was, but the way he said it. There was no mistaking it now, Señor, this was the voice of an aristocrat.

Jacques Gilbert

It’s no good asking me, I don’t know. To suddenly snap like that, after everything he’d taken already, it didn’t make sense. Maybe it was because it was in front of another gentleman, I don’t know. It didn’t matter anyway, the fact is we were stuffed.

There was total silence, and some of the soldiers actually had their mouths open. D’Estrada flinched, then recovered himself, looked at the boy, and said what sounded like ‘Ah.’ I started wriggling closer to hear better.

André knew he’d screwed up, but there was no going back now. He shook off the servant, stood himself straight, and looked right in d’Estrada’s face, ignoring everything I’d ever taught him. I found myself suddenly remembering his father.

D’Estrada just said ‘A gentleman then.’

André half smiled. I don’t know when I’ve seen an expression so insolent.

D’Estrada nodded, like he hadn’t expected anything else. ‘Well, are you?’

‘Are you?’ said André.

D’Estrada actually laughed. I noticed he’d shifted his position, like a mirror reflection of the boy’s. They were facing each other very upright, legs apart, hands hovering near their hips as if to draw a sword. I was looking at them from the side, and that was odd, I even half thought it at the time, because I could see the boy’s sword hand, but I could see d’Estrada’s too. Then d’Estrada spoke again and everything else got shot out of my mind with shock.

‘Are you André de Roland?’

My last bit of hope sort of fizzled and died.

André said nothing. He looked like d’Estrada hadn’t even spoken.

D’Estrada sighed. He turned to the Pedros, told them to get the fuck out of it, watched them start to wind their way through the column towards the Flanders Road, then gave his attention to the boy.

‘Then will you tell me your name?’

‘Will you tell me yours?’ said André.

D’Estrada smiled. ‘I am not ashamed of
my
name, Monsieur. I am the Capitán Don Miguel d’Estrada of the Spanish Netherlands’.

André made a little bow. ‘You are a long way from home, Señor.’

D’Estrada acknowledged the hit with a smile. ‘Where is your home, Monsieur?’

André smiled back. ‘Where I stand.’

‘And your name?’

The boy was silent.

D’Estrada sighed. ‘Monsieur, I say your father was Antoine, Chevalier de Roland. Will you give me the lie?’

The boy was finished. Nothing on earth would make him deny his father. He lifted his head higher and spoke in his clearest, most carrying voice.

‘No. I am André de Roland, Sieur of Dax. And I say to you, Don Miguel d’Estrada of the Spanish Netherlands, that you are on my land, and I demand justice for the atrocities committed against my people. I demand it before God.’

And in the silence there came the crash of musket fire from the Flanders Road.

D’Estrada turned at once and ordered men to investigate, but they were in an almost superstitious panic, like the boy had called for justice from God and been granted it right away. They stumbled about, bumping into each other, and took ages setting off after the two Pedros. D’Estrada turned back to André with a stunned expression.

He said ‘This is your doing.’

The smile on the boy’s face was lovely.

‘I, Señor? I have been with you the whole time.’

Jean-Marie Mercier

Marcel was already running back towards us, ducking in and out of cover, only just making it into the ditch before d’Estrada turned to face the woods. I think perhaps he suspected we’d been there, and wondered if we still were. His head turned slowly in a half-circle, scanning the whole area of woodland. Jacques had stayed near the road, but I saw him working his way carefully through the brambles until he’d disappeared right inside. Stefan motioned me to pick up my musket, and slung his own over his shoulder.

Marcel reached us safely behind the tree. ‘They know who he is. And now, of course, they know he’s army.’

Stefan closed his eyes for a second, then bent to pick up the last gun.

Marcel said urgently ‘He mustn’t talk.’

‘I know,’ said Stefan, and threw him the musket.

‘Not here,’ said Marcel. ‘They’ll get Jacques for certain, he’s almost on top of them. They were headed for Dax, I’ll do it there.’

Stefan nodded. ‘Take Mercier too. Make sure of it.’

I jumped. I was being terribly slow, but simply didn’t know what they meant.

Marcel nodded, and turned to me. ‘Come on. We’ll have to run to get there first.’

I got up, still confused. ‘Are we going to rescue André?’

They looked at me, and I was alarmed to see something almost sad in their expressions.

‘We can’t do that, Jean,’ said Marcel gently.

‘We’ll save him this way,’ said Stefan, and tapped my musket.

It was only then I understood what they were asking me to do.

Carlos Corvacho

My Capitán sent men to check the woods, but it was only a gesture, Señor, he knew the rebels had been and gone. All we found were a handful of abandoned bandoliers.

He looked even grimmer when Moya’s team came back from the Flanders Road with the bodies of the escorts, and told us Jiménez and Sánchez had disappeared. My Capitán didn’t like to lose men, Señor, he took it very personal. He turned to de Roland and said ‘Where have they taken them?’

The Chevalier said only ‘I’m afraid I cannot help you.’

He looked quite different now, Señor, really quite the gentleman, but he was still an enemy soldier, that latest escapade had proved it certain sure.

My Capitán said ‘I will have an answer to that question, Chevalier.’

De Roland smiled, but this time he said nothing at all.

‘Very well,’ said the Capitán. ‘We will resume this discussion at the barracks, when I’m afraid I shall have to insist.’

The Chevalier bowed correctly and seemed quite unmoved, but he wasn’t really, Señor, nor was it likely. He took care to clasp his hands lightly behind his back, but not before I noticed they’d started to tremble. It was a shame of course, and him so young, but duty’s duty, we all know that. He never shirked that, my Capitán, nor could he afford to, not with the Colonel Don Francisco on the way and likely to ask a few questions if we didn’t get everything we could from our only rebel captive.

He still felt sorry for the lad, Señor, and said in view of his rank he would take him on his own horse. Young de Roland appreciated that, and went to the animal at once, stroking its nose and murmuring to it. I’d always found it a most bothersome beast, but the lad seemed quite at home with it. He looked less happy when my Capitán explained he’d have to be bound, but he understood it, Señor, he nodded silently, and when one of the men came with the rope he held out his hands in a detached way, as if they were servants waiting on him. He never even looked at them, but gazed firmly at the woodland as if they simply weren’t there.

Jacques Gilbert

He was looking at me. He couldn’t possibly see me, but he knew I was there somewhere. He’d seen the soldiers search the area and report it empty, but he still knew I’d never have left him.

A soldier lifted him on to Tempête’s back, then another raised him so they could loop his bound hands round the gelding’s neck. Finally d’Estrada himself mounted behind him and signalled the troop to move ahead. They rode off towards Dax, then the road was empty and the boy was gone.

I fought my way out of the brambles, picked up his sword, and started the walk back. As I passed the bracken where the boy had hidden, something moved and rolled under my foot, the stupid ball he used for his exercises. I picked it up. It was the sun, of course, just the heat of the sun, but I thought I could feel the warmth of the boy’s hand still in it.

I set off into the forest, and saw Stefan dropping out of a tree ahead of me. I half thought he might say something kind, but I didn’t want it, I didn’t want anybody to be kind.

He wasn’t, anyway. He just said ‘Come on, for fuck’s sake, we’ve got to hurry. You’d better get your family safe, and warn the others at Ancre; it’s only Gauthier, isn’t it? I’ve got the Hermitage on standby, if we haven’t heard in an hour I’ll get them to evacuate and pass the word to Mercier’s family.’

I didn’t understand. ‘Warn them?’

‘If he talks,’ said Stefan, impatiently. ‘If he bloody talks. He doesn’t know people in Verdâme except Mercier and me, but he knows just about all our people in Dax. Christ knows how we’ll warn them all if we can’t shut his mouth first.’

I was suddenly so angry I didn’t know what to do with myself. I said ‘He won’t fucking talk, you know he won’t, he’ll die first.’

‘I hope so,’ said Stefan. ‘Marcel’s gone to make sure of it.’

It took me a second, then went right through me all at once. I know I cried out.

‘It’s the only way,’ said Stefan, and he was suddenly gentle. ‘Better for him too, a nice clean bullet.’

I think I was almost screaming at him. ‘You can’t. He can’t be killed by his own people, it’s wrong, we’ve got to stop them.’

‘Calm down and think about it, you’ll know it’s best.’

‘That’s easy for you to say. You never bloody liked him anyway.’

He turned on me so suddenly I didn’t see him coming, the next I knew my back was slamming into a tree so hard it smashed all the wind out of me. He had his hands on my collar, he was pressing me against the tree, and his breath was right in my face.

‘Do you want him tortured? Is that what you want? You, you couldn’t even stand seeing him get a kicking just now, what do you think they’ll do to him in there, what the hell do you think they’ll do?’