Battlesaurus (19 page)

“I was no hero last night.” Willem almost spits the words out, so great is his distaste for himself, and the person they think him to be.

“What are you saying?” Fran
ç
ois asks.

“I was terrified,” Willem says. “I could not move. If it had been left to me, then Cosette and her father would have been food for the beast, and perhaps the children in the church also.”

“But you—”

“I could not move,” Willem says. “I did nothing. It was H
é
lo
ï
se who attacked the dinosaur, throwing the burning torch. Only then, after a girl had shown greater courage than I, could I persuade myself to step forward.”

Fran
ç
ois shakes his head. “You do not understand it, but God is working in you. You did what you had to do, despite the cost to yourself. Like Jesus sacrificing himself on the cross.” He stops for a moment, closing his eyes, reflecting on what he has just said.

“I was—I am—no hero,” Willem says.

“You saved her life. She deserves to know,” Fran
ç
ois says, opening his eyes again. “And she deserves to know that the boy who saved her did not perish. I will tell her.”

“No!” Willem says.

“Why?”

“Because she will hate me,” Willem says. “Because I could have saved her mother. But I was afraid.”

There is silence for a moment. Fran
ç
ois says, “We all must face things that terrify us.”

“Do not say anything to her,” Willem says.

“I must go and prepare for the journey,” Fran
ç
ois says, and abruptly turns.

As he walks off, Willem reflects that it was the most normal conversation he has had with Fran
ç
ois since the accident.

 

LA FORÊT DE SOIGNES

“The well-used trails are the easiest to travel,” Fran
ç
ois says, “but we can save time if we avoid them.”

“And there is less chance of encountering soldiers dressed as peasants,” Jean agrees.

They are on the bank of the river by the old stone bridge. Fran
ç
ois squats and draws a rough map in the dirt with his knife. “The shortest distance is a straight line through the forest,” he says. “We keep to the river until the fork at Lightning Rock, then branch left. It will take us to the old trails through the deepest heart of the forest and past the abbey.”

“You can find your way through this part of the forest?” Jean asks. “It has been a long time since we ventured this way.”

Fran
ç
ois shrugs as if it is a stupid question. “From there we can follow the ridgeline down to the north river, which will lead us to the Waterloo–Brussels road. We can be there in a few hours if we walk swiftly.”

“Then let us be on our way,” Jean says, rising.

Fran
ç
ois stops him with a hand on his arm. “Cousin, regardless of the outcome of the battle, you know that many in the village will hate us for what we are going to do.”

“I know. And it does not deter me at all,” Jean says. “A man must be true to what is in his heart. I cannot sit by and see Wellington's troops slaughtered because they were not forewarned. Whatever the cost.”

“And no one could persuade you otherwise,” Fran
ç
ois says.

“No one,” Jean agrees.

“Not even me,” Fran
ç
ois says.

“Especially not you.” Jean laughs.

*   *   *

The dinosaur looks smaller in death than it had in life, now just a flaccid sack of flesh, sagging on the ground in the church graveyard. Willem circles it, inspecting the remains of the saddlecloth, scarcely able to believe that men could actually ride these great beasts.

The small statue of an angel stares implacably out over the corpse, as if it, not Willem and Jean, had killed the beast. Perhaps it had, Willem thinks. Perhaps it was, as many think, a miracle from God, and Willem had merely been His emissary on earth.

A group of men is approaching, including the mayor and Monsieur Lejeune. Through the gap in the saur-fence Willem sees Jean and Fran
ç
ois cross the bridge to the far side of the river. He wills them to hurry up before they are spotted. For the moment, at least, the men are more preoccupied with the dinosaur.

“We must get rid of it,” Monsieur Lejeune says as they reach the corpse.

“What do you mean?” Monsieur Beauclerc asks. He walks up to the animal and kicks it. It does not even ripple the hide.

“On this, the mayor and I agree,” Monsieur Lejeune says. “Napol
é
on will not be pleased when he learns that his dinosaur is dead. I suspect it came to them at great difficulty and expense. If he discovers that we were the ones who killed it, there will be a heavy price to pay.”

Willem grasps hold of the wide leather strap that encircles the neck of the beast. He uses it to climb onto the neck, and straddles it, looking at the remains of the saddle, imagining what it would be like to ride this creature when it was alive. Living, breathing, moving under him. He imagines also what it would be like to ride it into battle.

“He is right.” Monsieur Claude nods. “We must dispose of the carcass. Repair our church and the fence. And we must never speak of this to anyone outside the village.”

“How?” Monsieur Beauclerc asks. “It would take a month to dig a grave for something this size.”

“We will have to dig many graves,” Monsieur Lejeune says. “Out on one of the farms. Then we dismember the beast with axes and saws. We take it out piece by piece.” He starts to glance around at the gap in the saur-fence, through which Jean and Fran
ç
ois are still clearly visible on the river path.

“There are no reins,” Willem calls out.

“What do you say?” Monsieur Lejeune asks, turning back to the carcass.

“Reins,” Willem says. “If there is a rider, then he must be able to steer the animal. But there are no reins.”

“Perhaps they were torn off with the rest of the saddle,” Monsieur Beauclerc says.

“Probably,” Willem says.

“Assemble as many men as have strong arms and backs,” Monsieur Lejeune says. “It is a monster, and a monster job to render it down. But it must be done.”

On the neck of the beast Willem sees two metal wires protruding from the skin at the rear of the animal's head. He shuffles forward on the neck, reaches out and grasps one of the wires. It does not move. It is clearly deeply embedded within the flesh. He points out the wires to the others.

“Could these be the reins you seek?” Monsieur Claude asks.

“They seem too fragile to control such a massive creature,” Willem says. “But perhaps.”

In the distance the cousins disappear into the trees.

*   *   *

The forest closes in more and more as Jean and Fran
ç
ois venture deeper into the forest. The banks narrow and the trees join up overhead, turning the lively river into a grim tunnel.

“I would not want to meet a dinosaur here,” Jean says.

“Nor anywhere else,” Fran
ç
ois says. “Do you really think there are more of them?”

“I hope not,” Jean says. “But even so we must take great care.”

“It is a vast forest,” Fran
ç
ois says.

“Then let us hope our paths do not cross with those of the soldiers,” Jean says.

They reach a set of rapids, bubbling vigorously over rounded rocks. After some thought, Fran
ç
ois declares that this is where they must leave the river, that there is an old path here.

It takes him a long time to find the path. Eventually he pushes aside a thick bush and declares that this is it.

It is not a path, although clearly it once was. It is long disused and the undergrowth has filled in the void. The brush is so dense and the going is so slow that they keep off the path, instead moving through the forest adjacent to it.

“I think that I will never see such a thing in my life,” Jean says, pushing through a patch of prickly blackberry vines, “as little Willem standing up to the giant saur.”

“Don't say that to him,” Fran
ç
ois says. “He does not see himself as a hero. He says he is a coward.”

“Willem? A coward?”

“That is what he says.”

“Cousin, you have known me all my life.” Jean laughs. “Have you ever seen me afraid of anything?”

“Apart from the tongue of your mother?”

“Apart from that,” Jean agrees.

“Seldom if ever,” Fran
ç
ois admits.

“Yet when that monster came to our village, I was terrified. I could never have approached it as Willem did, without even a weapon in his arms. Had he not walked toward it, I would have run in the other direction.”

“As would I, cousin,” Fran
ç
ois says.

“Yet he thinks himself a coward? I will have to set him straight when we return from Brussels,” Jean says.

“He is a good man,” Fran
ç
ois says, and adds, “for a Fleming.”

“He is not strong, or tall,” Jean says, “but he is clever and quick and brave. And he has a heart that is true. I like him immensely.” He laughs again, this time a big booming sound that echoes off the trees. “But tell him I said that and I will kill you.”

Fran
ç
ois laughs too but at the same time puts a finger to his lips and Jean immediately hushes. There are predators of many kinds in this forest.

They step from the forest out onto another path, at a right angle to the first. The paths couldn't be more different. The first is overgrown and knotted. But this new path is clearly well used. The dirt is flat and free from growth.

“We must find another way,” Jean says. “I am uneasy here. A well-trodden path in the heart of the forest? This is very odd.”

“There is no other path,” Fran
ç
ois says. “We can only continue to fight our way through the trees. But the bush is dense here. At the rate we are going, we will not make Brussels by nightfall. The forest is a dangerous place at night, even without giant saurs.”

“Then we stick to the path,” Jean says. “But move silently and keep your ears open.”

*   *   *

The stench of the blood and the saur flesh is almost overpowering, even from the single barrow-load that Willem wheels out through the gap in the fence, across a heavy plank that has been laid across the tar pit, and along the riverbank to Monsieur Canari's barley farm, to the east of the village.

Oxen have been working all morning to plough deep furrows, and men with shovels have followed behind, deepening them into trenches.

Other men, naked from the waist up, swarm over the carcass. Their trousers and torsos are stained completely red with the blood of the beast. They work with saws, ripping through the tough flesh. When they get to a bone, the men with axes move in.

Before they started, Father Ambroise came to bless the beast. To sanctify it, because it had tasted human blood and dined on human flesh. After that, he stripped off his cassock and picked up a saw with the others.

Willem has little taste for the sawing of flesh, and not the strength for the chopping of bones, so he volunteered to help barrow the macabre cargo out to the farm.

Even that is hard work, and after the first few loads his muscles are aching, but he looks at the far greater exertions of the other men, and does not complain.

After many trips out to the farm, he arrives back to find the cutters waiting, while the ax-men hack into the huge bones of the creature's hind legs.

He waits behind Monsieur Lejeune and his brother the priest. A girl brings water and scoops some out for each of them with a ladle, so they do not have to use their hands, now black and sticky with dried and drying blood.

At the head of the animal, Monsieur Claude stands, still unbloodied, directing the operation, but not participating in it. Such is the right of a mayor.

“Our mayor buries his head in his own arse and does not see what is happening in the world,” Monsieur Lejeune says.

“Our mayor is more interested in his own affairs than the affairs of the village,” Father Ambroise says bitterly.

“You leave an empty nest and cannot be surprised when the cuckoo moves in,” Monsieur Lejeune says.

“I did not say I was surprised, brother. I am never surprised at the depravity of man.”

“Yet you say nothing to him,” Monsieur Lejeune says. “You ask nothing of him.”

“What could I ask?” Father Ambroise says. “As a man I want to kill him. As a man of God, I must forgive him. I am his neighbor, but I am also his priest.”

“You are a fool.”

“And you are an unbeliever.”

“I choose to be an unbeliever.”

“And I choose to be a fool.”

The conversation ceases as the mayor approaches.

“The bones of the legs and the spine are thick,” he says. “We could use the strong back of your boy, and his ax.”

“I do not know where he is,” Father Ambroise says.

“What about Jean?” Monsieur Claude asks. “I have not seen him since we started. It is not like either of them to shirk their duties.”

He looks closely at Monsieur Lejeune, who shakes his head. “I do not know where they are. I was looking for Jean myself earlier.”

“If you have sent them to warn Wellington, you go against the whole village,” Monsieur Claude says. “We made a decision.”

“I do not know where they are,” Monsieur Lejeune repeats, and Father Ambroise also shakes his head.

“Boy,” Monsieur Claude says, “where are those friends of yours?”

“I don't know,” Willem says truthfully. He knows where they are going, but not where they are at this moment.