Honour and the Sword (17 page)

Poor de Castilla was in real trouble now. Oh, I’m sorry, Señor, I’m forgetting you don’t know about him. Not that he was important, not in the least, he was only the abanderado in the raid on the Manor. My Capitán had given orders most particular the family wasn’t to be harmed in any way, seeing they’re of real value as hostages, and first de Castilla lets the lady escape by suiciding herself, and next we find out about this child he swears blind he’s never seen at all. My Capitán was a little suspicious of his story, felt something about it didn’t seem right, but it was no more than truth, Señor, I can testify to that myself. None of our men so much as broke into their apartments, and as for the child, there wasn’t one of us saw him, not one. Why do you look at me like that, Señor? We were never in those rooms at all, not until it was over. There’s no one alive says different, is there?

No, my Capitán had no reason to doubt it, only that he never much cared for de Castilla. Very old family there, father at Breda, but poor as peasants and he’d a very unfortunate manner. He liked to swagger round the place, bully the men to show what a fine dog he was, you know the type I mean. He was forever picking on the
nuevo rico
, I don’t know your word for it, Señor, the rich officers with no breeding. My gentleman was already looking for an excuse to transfer him to Verdâme.

Not that it mattered now, Señor, bless me, we don’t want to waste your time on
him.
What mattered was young de Roland was loose in the Saillie, and from the look of it going to turn out more trouble than we’d ever dreamed. My Capitán sent his description round again, but more than that we couldn’t do.

‘For the moment,’ said my Capitán, and to my surprise I saw he was smiling. ‘You’ve never fenced, have you, Carlos? Let them think we know nothing. Let them get confident. Sooner or later they’ll give us the opening we need.’

Jacques Gilbert

I got pissed that night.

I didn’t mean to, I only went into Dax to check Colin and Robert got home all right, but they were both celebrating in the Corbeaux and of course I had to join them. Everyone there guessed I was involved because they all knew André had to be, so people kept buying me cider and treating me like some kind of hero.

After a while I began to feel like one. When it got late I went across to see Simone, and when I left I felt better than a hero, because now I was a man, I was really a man at last. The sky felt huge, but so did I, I felt like I was part of everything, instead of just an ant crawling over the surface.

Of course I was just drunk, I know that now. I remember finding myself sitting by the side of the road giggling at nothing, and knew I must have fallen over. I was still staggering when I finally reached the cobbles in front of my cottage, shoved the door open and stepped inside.

I hadn’t realized how late it was. The candles were on their last inch, the fire was low, and there wasn’t any steam coming out of the pot. My parents were still at the table with Little Pierre, but Mother looked weary and slumped, and when she turned her face towards the door it felt like it cost her a lot of effort. Then she smiled and said ‘Hello, my darling.’

Father grinned at me, his face glistening in the firelight. ‘Sweet Jesus in Heaven, look at the state of it.’

I moved carefully to a chair, while Mother got me some soup. I said ‘Has André had his?’

Father’s face clouded. His eyes went like stones when you take them out of the stream and they stop being pretty, they just go on being stones. ‘Been and gone.’

‘Was he worried about me?’

Father gave an odd little grunt. ‘Not him. Your Mother’s been worried sick, but I don’t suppose that bothers you, does it, boy?’

Mother said ‘It’s all right, darling, André said you’d had a hard day, he quite understood.’ She put a bowl of tepid soup in front of me, but there was hare in it and the fatty smell made me feel sick. I reached for the wine instead.

‘What kind of hard day would that be exactly?’ asked Father, watching me pour.

I said ‘Hard,’ and drank the wine.

Little Pierre laughed. ‘Playing with your swords again? I’ve seen you in the back meadow, it’s just games.’

I thought of the games we’d played this afternoon. I said ‘You don’t know anything, just shut up, you don’t know.’

‘I do,’ said Little Pierre. ‘I know real men went out today to fight for Dax. While you were playing at soldiers, they went and killed a dozen Spaniards stone dead.’

The room seemed to be going further away. There was just this bowl of soup in front of me making me want to throw up. I heard my own voice saying ‘It wasn’t a dozen, it was nine. And we didn’t mean it like that, it just happened.’

Everything went very quiet. I wondered if I’d actually spoken or if it was just in my head, but when I looked up they were all staring at me and I knew I had.

‘You’re lying,’ said Little Pierre, but he didn’t really think so, his eyes were wide.

‘I’m not.’ I dug out my handkerchief and slammed it on the table. The blood was dry now, but it was still thick and sticky where I’d wiped my hands. ‘Me and André fought today, we fought with our swords side by side.’

Mother whispered ‘Jacques …’ but couldn’t get any further.

Father threw back his head and gave this great, loud laugh that hurt my head. ‘You and André? I might have known.’

‘We’re soldiers,’ I said stupidly. ‘I can use a sword and everything.’

‘And what does a stable boy like you want with a sword?’

‘I’m not a stable boy, I’m a soldier. I’d have been going in the army this year anyway. This is like training for that. André and me, we’ll be going in together.’

‘You won’t need a sword then, boy,’ said Father. ‘A pike or musket will be good enough for you.’

‘It won’t, I’ll be in the cavalry with André. I’m his aide, aren’t I?’

‘When the Occupation’s over?’ His voice was almost kind. ‘When he’s back living in the Manor or staying with the Comtesse in Paris? Still be his aide then, will you?’

The room felt too hot suddenly, it was starting to move round and round, I put my head down in my lap. Mother sat beside me, stroking my hand and making anxious murmuring noises.

‘Don’t fuss, Nell,’ said Father’s voice. ‘He’s pissed, that’s all.’

‘He’s upset,’ said Mother.

‘He’s pissed.’ I heard the scrape of his chair as he stood. ‘Aide to the Chevalier de Roland, drunk as a stablehand.’

Little Pierre laughed.

I saw Mother’s hand take my cup and pour the wine back in the jug. The material of her dress looked smooth and clean, I thought it would be nice and cool to lay my head against, and behind it was my Mother’s softness and comfort and that smell that was like roses. I reached for her, and she leant forward to stroke my hair.

‘And why not, Pierre?’ she said. Her voice sounded louder, maybe because I was hearing it through her chest. ‘Who says my son can’t be a gentleman?’

‘Oh, don’t be a fool.’ Father’s voice was sort of amused, but there was something hard in it I didn’t like at all. I dragged my head away from Mother and tried to look at him, but he was only pouring more wine.

‘It’s not foolish,’ said Mother. ‘André’s taken such a fancy to him, you know he has. He might have him educated. With a little help, why couldn’t Jacques …?’ Her voice was trailing away even as she said it.

Father gave a soft little laugh. ‘Not kind, Hélène. Not kind to get his hopes up. The poor lad’s beginning to forget who he is.’ He picked up the cup and brought it over to me. ‘Here you go, boy. A little more of this, and you’ll start to remember.’

Mother made an infuriated noise and smacked the cup out of his hand. The pewter crashed and rolled noisily on the stone, and the wine slooshed out in a great red puddle on the floor. Father looked expressionlessly at it, then cracked Mother hard against the face, making her stumble backwards against my chair. I closed my eyes.

‘Clean it up,’ said Father. ‘It’ll stain.’

I’d got to get out. I pressed my hands on the table and managed to clamber to my feet. Father was telling Little Pierre to go to bed, and I knew it was only just starting.

‘Don’t forget your trophy,’ said Father.

He nodded towards the handkerchief. It looked disgusting and horrible, I picked it up and threw it on the fire. The smell as it burnt was filthy, and I only just made it out the door before I was sick.

I crouched on the cobbles, sucking in deep breaths of night air. I’d walked over this yard feeling happy and excited, a man and a hero, and now I was nothing. I’d sicked up what felt like my whole guts, but there was still this cold weight somewhere like undigested porridge, something sad and aching inside my chest. I forced myself up and staggered back to the barn.

The boy was already asleep. One hand was sticking out of the blanket, and I saw how brown and rough it was now, the nails nearly as scuffed and broken as mine. But I knew it didn’t mean anything, it was only on the surface. The ache inside me grew heavier as I started to understand just how very stupid I’d been.

It was still there in the morning, along with the most appalling headache. I rolled myself up in my blanket and didn’t even put my head out when André got up for his fencing exercises. I just wanted to be dead.

When I woke again he was back. He was pacing up and down making the boards creak, and as soon as he saw me moving he was right there.

‘Are you ready for breakfast?’

‘I’m not hungry.’

‘Neither am I.’

I peeled my eyelids open to look at him. He was wearing his sword, and that puzzled me. He’d never done that in daylight, it was too risky. I wondered what had changed.

He said ‘The fire wasn’t lit when I went out. I want to make sure everything’s all right.’

I got myself up fast. I knew exactly what would have happened, and didn’t want him charging in and making it worse. Father had been very careful about that kind of thing since André came, so I hoped he had this time too.

But he hadn’t. Mother was nowhere to be seen, it was Father salvaging the fire, and only Little Pierre at the table, eating his bread in silence. Father looked up and gave a little grin when he saw how ill I was, but he winced when I shut the door so I knew he wasn’t much better himself.

The boy didn’t seem to notice, he only wanted to know about Mother. I kept my head down while Father said she was just tired and wanted to be left alone, but when we heard a noise from the back yard André was out and gone before I could stop him.

I went straight after him but of course I was too late. He’d found Mother at the well, he’d seen the black eye and bruises and was already asking what happened, who did it? I could see he was furious, his face was white with it.

Then Father was standing in the doorway looking at us, and we all went quiet. André faced him with his chin up and I knew he knew.

‘Who did this?’

‘It was an accident,’ pleaded Mother.

‘Who did this?’ the boy asked Father, and his hands were bunching into fists, though he must have known my Father could break him in two. ‘What kind of coward would do a thing like this?’

Father’s face twisted and he made a sudden move forward. Mother cried out, but André just took one step back on his left foot and drew his sword.

Father stopped. The sword wasn’t pointed at him, it was just there, but the boy’s hand kept it totally steady. Then slowly Father smiled. He leant against the doorway, and took a bite out of the hunk of bread in his hand.

‘Sieur,’ he said, and at the sound of his tone the boy brought the sword up into the
en garde
. ‘This is your house and your property, I and my family owe you our duty. But there is one thing you cannot do, and that is to interfere between husband and wife. That, Sieur, is only for the good God.’

He chewed his bread slowly, watching André with bright, malicious eyes. He was like a bull in his own territory, and the boy had blundered into the wrong field.

André knew it, and after a moment he sheathed his sword. Then he lifted his head and said ‘I acknowledge your right, Monsieur. What I question is your decency.’

He practically spat the word, but Father only smiled again.

‘I am required to look after your horses, Sieur. I am not required to be decent.’

The boy stared, wrong-footed and weaponless. He turned suddenly to me, the question glaring out of his face, but I couldn’t do anything, I just gave a sort of shrug. There was a moment’s awful silence, then he slammed his way past me and out of the yard. Father looked after him with satisfaction.

‘Firmer hand on those reins, boy,’ he said, just like when I was breaking Tempête. ‘That’s all he needs. You’ll see.’

He tossed his last piece of bread in the air, caught it neatly in his mouth, grinned at me and strolled inside, whistling ‘
La Pernette
’ as he went. I looked wretchedly at Mother, but she only smoothed her hair with shaking hands and went in to Blanche, who was whimpering somewhere indoors. I didn’t follow them, I didn’t want breakfast, I just wanted to be on my own. That horrible gnawing feeling was back from yesterday and it was getting worse.

I trailed round to the front, thinking I’d just stay out of the way till it was time to go to the Hermitage, but as I came round the corner I saw André standing in the yard in front of me. He was head down and scowling with his hands thrust hard in his pockets, and as I stopped he gave a savage kick at the barn doors, making them bang and rattle. After a second he did it again. Then he lifted his head and saw me.

I’ve never felt such contempt from anybody, not ever. It sort of stabbed into me, it made me shrivel inside, right where the bad feeling was. I ducked my head to get away from it, I couldn’t bear to look. I just wanted him to say what he’d got to say and get it over.

But there was nothing, only silence, then the scrape of his boots on the cobbles, and the awful finality of his footsteps as he turned and walked away.

Stefan Ravel

I knew we were in for trouble right away. He came stamping through the door with Jacques creeping behind him like a dog that’s been whipped.