Honour and the Sword (42 page)

That was a nice little hypocrisy I hadn’t anticipated. I said pleasantly ‘Did he now?’

‘Yes he bloody did,’ he said. ‘Those are friends of mine, Stefan, they’ve been living like convicts all this time and I never knew. I’ve been free and doing what I like while they haven’t even got enough to eat. What the
hell
must they have thought of me?’

‘Vanity, little general,’ I said. ‘You want to watch that.’

That was possibly a mistake. He threw the candles down so hard they bounced and rolled all over the straw. ‘Don’t you dare judge me, you’ve got no right. I know how selfish I am, all this time I’ve only thought about me, and she, she’s been
crying
for me, Stefan, can’t you see how that makes me feel?’

I said ‘You can’t help them, you’ll only get yourself killed, what was the point in letting you suffer?’

‘Because it’s my choice!’

The sound of raucous singing outside suggested Pinhead had found the barrels in the outhouse and the party was starting already. I was running out of time.

‘This isn’t a choice,’ I said brutally. ‘You haven’t thought about it, you haven’t even looked at the problems, you’ve just started chucking promises around without the smallest idea how you’re going to honour them. I’m ashamed of you.’

He sucked in his breath. ‘And what makes you think I need your approval?’

I said evenly ‘Take that tone with me again and I’ll show you.’

He glared at me in fury, then turned hard for the door. I grabbed his arm and jerked him back. ‘Oh, come on, André …’

He shook me off like something filthy. ‘Don’t you
dare
touch me.’

I stared at him. He was suddenly a little nobleman again, prickling all over with outraged dignity. He brushed down his shirt, then jerked his chin up at me, and there it was, Abbé, that look again, I might have been back in the mud of La Mothe watching an officer looking down at a poor drunken devil of a private soldier.

I stepped back as if he had plague.

He said calmly ‘I’m sorry, Stefan, I understand you meant well, but please don’t ever tell me how to live my life again.’

He gave a curt little nod and walked out.

Oh, it was my own fault, Abbé, I’d been a fool to expect otherwise. I thought he was a soldier, I’d maybe even allowed myself to feel a little affection for him, but there, even I make mistakes sometimes. I should have known he’d revert to type.

They were his own kind, you see. There are people starving in this world, and others risking their lives for the sake of a flag that’s never put a crumb of bread in their bellies, but André de Roland was in a chivalrous frenzy because three children of the nobility were living in rooms bigger than my whole house and eating food some of us would probably kill for. Oh, I’ll admit they were prisoners and that’s all very sad, but really, think about it, Abbé. What could be safer than that?

Anne du Pré

Extract from her diary, dated 1 January 1639

I wished to begin the New Year by behaving better, but I’m afraid I have not done very well. The Weasel allowed loathsome Pablo to visit, which was enough to annoy me in any case, but he also brought with him the officer who shot André, whom he says is transferred here to stay.

I could not have liked him under any circumstances. He clearly considers us lowly
parvenus
compared to his noble self, and talked incessantly about his ancestors and their great achievements in Spanish history. He is older than Pablo and strikingly plain, but with very shiny hair which he appears to admire very much, judging by the time he spends running his hands through it. He told us we could call him ‘Luiz’, but I worked sedulously at my embroidery and paid him no attention at all. I am doing the collar about the pheasant’s neck, and only hope I have enough white silk.

Pablo seemed even more determined to show off than usual, perhaps to impress his new friend. Today he demonstrated his ability to extinguish a candle by parting the wick from the flame with one swipe of his sword. Colette clapped her hands with pleasure and said she thought Pablo must be as good a swordsman as Don Miguel. She makes her voice very breathy when she speaks to loathsome Pablo, and I do wish she wouldn’t.

Pablo smiled modestly and said ‘No one is as good as Don Miguel, Mademoiselle. He is the finest swordsman in Europe.’

I had had quite enough. I said ‘As good as André de Roland?’

They all turned to me, and I stared hard at my embroidery.

‘Hullo, little Mademoiselle,’ said Pablo affably, with that appalling boyish smile Colette likes so much. ‘You’re with us, are you? What do you know about André de Roland?’

Luiz spoke in my direction for the first time. His voice is deeper than Pablo’s, and I do not like the way he stares. He said ‘You remember, Vasquéz, this is his little sweetheart, who was so distressed to hear we had shot him.’

Pablo laughed, and I quickly reapplied myself to my embroidery.

This evening Colette took me to task for my behaviour. She said I must be more polite to the officers, because they could make life much better for us if they chose. I said I considered she gave them quite enough politeness for all of us, but she only sniffed and told me not to be childish. I feel rather bad about it now. Poor Colette, she only does what she does for our sake, and because it is hard for her to be growing up so pretty with no one to notice.

But I do not like that Don Luiz and cannot pretend I do. Perhaps it is because Pablo’s gallantries seem even more insufferable now he is here, as if he is pretending an intimacy with Colette he does not have. Perhaps it is to do with that strange conversation he had with Carlos, in which they talked about being recognized. There was something very furtive about it that makes me feel most uneasy.

I wish he had not come.

Carlos Corvacho

Oh now, forgive me, Señor, but you’ll admit it’s all too funny. So she spoke Spanish all the time, that little girl? Oh, the joke’s on me this time, no denying that.

But really, Señor, being fair now, I can’t see why it’s so very important. This was all back in 1636, what happened at Ancre, all over and done with long ago, I’m not sure why you want to talk about it now. Oh no, I don’t mind telling you, I’ve nothing to hide. Yes, certainly I should have told you from the first, but you’ll understand I was a little concerned how M. Jacques would react. You won’t tell him, will you, Señor? You and me, we’re men of the world, but M. Jacques … You understand.

It was no more than an accident really, no harm intended to anyone. The Chevalier Antoine, that was quite a fight he put up, he killed five of us at the doorway, five. You know how it is, a man needs to be
apasionado
, yes, he must be hot-blooded to kill, and we did kill him in the end and burst through that door, ready to go on killing again and again, everything that was his. And there she was, Señor, Madame de Roland, dressed in nothing but a shift. Even then the abanderado was honourable, he merely dashed the knife from her hand and grabbed her shoulders, telling her there was no need to be afraid, she was a prisoner. She wouldn’t have it, Señor, she struggled and fought him, she called him
canaille
and spat in his face.

Now that’s going to be too much for any gentleman, especially this one. I’ve told you about de Castilla, Señor, very noble family but no money, had to sell their estate to
nuevo rico
and resenting them all the while. There’s a man like this being spat at by a woman who’s nobody, Señor, only a rich girl who married a man with a title, well, it was too much for him to take, that’s all. He said ‘You don’t know who you’re dealing with, Madame,’ and when she went to claw his face he straight and ripped down her shift, tore it right down the front, and pushed her back on the bed while he showed her.

Well, it was funny, Señor, I’m sure you can see that. One moment she’s giving it haughty French aristocrat, the next she’s on her back with her legs open and our officer giving it her hot and strong where she needs it. You’ll understand why we laughed, Señor, you’d have laughed yourself. Yes, maybe it got a little out of hand, though I took no part in it myself, you understand, never laid a finger on her, but it’s still harmless enough. There’s not a lady in the world going to tell about something like that, no, not even a French one, it’s all safe enough until the child comes in.

That’s what turned things bad, Señor, the child. Rushing in, hurling insults, slashing poor Bárba’s face, killing young Serrano stone dead, if you’ll believe me, then fighting the lot of us while Madame suicides herself, and that’s a terrible thing, Señor, that’s a mortal sin. Then it’s all very different, it’s something the Capitán mustn’t ever hear about, or de Castilla’s in real trouble. Not us, Señor, we were only obeying orders, but the officer’s another matter, and more than our lives are worth to go against him.

So you’ll understand why I kept it from my Capitán, won’t you, Señor? It’s not as if he was dangerous. No, not the nicest of men, and that’s why my gentleman had him transferred to the Château, but he only did what he did under those circumstances and because of the lady acting so foolish. It wasn’t as if he was likely to do it again.

Oh, didn’t I tell you, Señor? It was Luiz, I think. That’s right, the Don Luiz de Castilla.

Why?

PART III

The Chevalier

Eighteen

Anne du Pré

Extract from her diary, dated 3 January 1639

I knew as soon as Jeanette arrived she had something important to say, but it seemed the Slug was hanging about on purpose to prevent us. He always comes in now when Jeanette is here, he leans against the wall by Florian’s door, and simply watches. There is a dark smear coming on the wall from the grease he puts on his hair. Today he seemed to be lurking even closer than usual, but at last Françoise finished cleaning the bedroom, so I retreated inside and Jeanette followed.

She said she had seen and spoken to André himself, and he was willing to help us. I sat down rather hard on the bed, and Jeanette patted my hands and said ‘There now, Mademoiselle, I always said so, didn’t I say so?’, then Françoise came back with the empty chamber pots and we had to sit in awkward silence until she went away.

There were a hundred questions I wanted to ask, but Jeanette glanced at the open door, produced a slip of paper she had concealed inside her chignon, and pressed it into my hand.

André de Roland

Letter to Anne du Pré, dated 31 December 1638

My dearest Mademoiselle,

I hope you will forgive this liberty, but beg you will allow me at least to thank you for the generous gift of your linen.

Your other gift touched me even more profoundly, and I keep it always by me. I am fearful of construing too much from your kindness, but its scent is all about me as I write, and I cannot help but stroke the petals and dream. At the least I hope I may take it to mean you remember the day of our first meeting, and can perhaps forgive my boorish behaviour on that occasion. Certainly this is a far lovelier present than your first, although I fear it is
less well deserved
.

But
it will be
, as our mutual friend will explain, and when that time finally comes, I shall send the finest rose at Ancre as both a token of our intentions, and a reminder of the most beautiful gift that ever a man received.

Until then, dear Mademoiselle, I beg to remain your most devoted servant,

A de R

P.S. I’m sorry this is such a poor letter, but my education has been a little disrupted. I wish there were a proper way of saying I am thinking of you all the time, because that is what I really mean.

Anne du Pré

Extract from her diary, dated 3 January 1639

I am ashamed to write that for a moment this did not seem to me an odd letter. It was almost as if he had shared the same dreams as I. Then I recollected that in reality we have not seen each other for quite three years, and truly it made no sense at all. I could do nothing but pass it to Jeanette, and hope she could explain.

She coloured a little, then confessed that when we sent the linen she had slipped a rose into the bale in the hope he would believe it came from me.

I said ‘Jeanette, O Jeanette, whatever will he think of me?’ and hid my face in my hands, almost as if André could see it himself.

‘Now don’t take on, Mademoiselle,’ said Jeanette. ‘Look at the letter, and you will see exactly what he thinks of you.’

I looked at it again, and truly it did seem kind.

‘Oh it’s ever so much better than that comes to, Mademoiselle. He was such a nice young gentleman, your M. de Roland, very sympathetic and most upset when I told him how you’ve been treated. He says he won’t rest until he’s found a way to get you all out of this horrid place and you know what that means, Mademoiselle, you know what it means when a Roland gives his word.’

I do know. When I thought of it, it was almost as if someone had knocked a window into our bedroom and daylight came flooding in. I couldn’t allow myself to think of it properly, it was almost too frightening.

I said ‘But it isn’t fair in us, Jeanette, it’s not right to make M. de Roland think something that isn’t true.’

‘Who says it’s not true, Mademoiselle?’ said Jeanette, and her eyes were twinkling. ‘Yes, M. de Roland may imagine you have been thinking of him, I dare say he may even think you’ve harboured a romantic notion or two, but now I ask you, Mademoiselle, who says that’s not true?’