Reign of Fear: Story of French Revolution and Napoleonic Wars (Cantiniére Tales) (21 page)

On 16
th
October, we watched from our windows as the former Queen was put on a commoner’s cart, wearing white. She stood there like a queen would, regal and noble, a scion of the Austrian crown, the queen of the rebellious French and silence reigned with her, at least briefly as all stared at her and I doubt few could hate her, the widow and a solemn warrioress. Soon, the brave woman was taken forward for her execution. Her eyes swept our tower, and I wished I could save her the way she had saved me, but it was not to be. I fingered the fine handkerchief she had given me, one of the few things I had from my past life. I cursed Georges and Camille for their unreasonable zeal and what was going on in the land.

It was 1794. I was seventeen, past the age to marry; yet, I only thought about feeding mother, Robert and myself, and helping where I could
, for everything was scarce, from victuals to privacy. Screams of hopeless terror, whisperings of remorse and laughter born of false hope were heard all over the cells, especially when the wagon arrived, men ran up the steps, the rusty doors opened, and a guard with a long list stepped forward. The people on the list would go to meet their maker; none imagined it could be otherwise.

At the end of March, on the 20th, the door opened, and new prisoners were pushed in.
They were mainly dirty peasants and surprised merchants, people who had offended someone, uttered a wrong word in public, betrayed by their opportunistic friends and sometimes by their hateful family. The present prisoners did not enjoy their arrival, no welcoming words were to be heard, for it would make us even more crowded, increasing the hunger and chance of diseases, but I screamed in joy for with them, came Florian.

He had grown up tall and broad of shoulders, and was not as clumsy as he had once been, for he danced around with me in the crowd and
we laughed, babbled, poked and hugged each other, as if witnessing a miracle of rebirth itself. He was a tall man, his fair hair long, his tight trousers and loose shirt of good make, even if he still would put his hand before his mouth when surprised. He laughed as we twirled crazily and we finally hugged each other fiercely. Then I sobered and pushed him further, concern replacing the exuberant joy.

‘Why are you here? Did you make a patch of bad chocolate and kill a
damned Jacobin with nasty dysentery?’ I asked him. Henriette was gazing at us, smiling happily, Robert holding her as they whispered.

Florian twirled me against my will. ‘By God! Citizen Jeanette, you are a rare beauty!’

I giggled. ‘I am not!’

‘You are!’ he insisted. ‘Why am I here?’ He stopped twirling me and shrugged. ‘We have competition,
perhaps. The competition, Jeanette, is rich but apparently wishing to be richer, and they managed to pay someone high enough to put us squarely on the list of suspects. For what? I am not sure. Father was in La Force before his execution and I had the joy of being brought here after they found me guilty of something I could not quite understand. But my question, love, is more curious: I was told you are dead!’

And that is when I realized the death of his father and his predicament was likely Gilbert getting rid of his past. My face twitched and he looked at me curiously as he tried to understand. I nodded my head, clearing the mood. I cursed Gilbert. Had he sent Florian here to suffer, so I would suffer? He would take Florian away at will, but not us, not if Georges defended us, but he could torture us.

I adopted a calmer face and answered his question. ‘I am not dead, nor entirely alive. This sad excuse for a hotel has gone down part years, the excuse for food is not so good, the sheets are dirtier than a sewer, and people sometimes die. Shit and piss are not private matter and you will have to learn how to tell a joke to the one next in long line as you are creating a turd. You will see.’

His eyes played around the faces looking on, and I noticed he had a beginning of a mustache. ‘You look like an aristo, Florian. That weak moustache is very impressive, dear.’ I scrubbed his lip
painfully and he smiled happily. The guards who brought him took out people, many of whom looked almost relieved to finally know their fate. It was always the highlight of the day. Guards opening the damnable door, the yellowed lists on their hands. Andre with a sloppy bicorn hat, people gathering around, some praying for release, others dreading it. I smiled, and wondered if Florian thought us mad. It was our strange hell, and the pains and joys in it were likely unfathomable to him.

That day, they called Robert.

‘Robert de Dreux!’ yelled the guard, and mother jumped as if physically struck. ‘Come! The Revolutionary Tribunal wants you.’

‘Robert’ Henriette asked
desperately, clutching Robert’s arm. ‘You told me your crime was not political.’ Her eyes betrayed her; she cared for the old man. Then her eyes rounded in sudden suspicion and we both looked at Andre, who was smiling coldly. Robert noticed it too, and he looked resigned. What Gilbert wanted with Robert, whom Andre knew to be Henriette’s lover and confidant in the cells, was not a mystery. I thought frantically if we had told him about our lives and the siblings, while I feared for my dear friend.

Robert got up to his full len
gth, his faded culottes dusty. He hugged and kissed Henriette, who looked alone and pale, utterly sorry and Florian and I moved next to her. I grabbed mother’s hand, not able to look into Robert’s eyes. Robert grunted and bent over me. ‘Some advice, Jeanette, lovely Jeanette. When you fence, offence is your forte. You are terrible at defense. I think, perhaps, it is so with other things as well. It is not your fault, and I know nothing. You are safe. Find my grave, one day, if they give me the dignity of one. I love you both.’ I hugged him fiercely until Florian and mother pried me off him and then he walked to the impatiently fidgeting guard. Other names were called but none as precious as Robert had been to us. We cried for him until Florian escorted me aside to comfort me.

That night, Florian sat with me,
as I was miserable from the terrible mistake I had made, one that would cost us another friend. I prayed Robert would not suffer, I prayed it was not Gilbert who wanted him, but I could not convince myself, and so I wept. Florian, my staunch fried was there, silently stroking my back, but I was afraid for him as well. His turn would indeed be soon. Slowly, patiently he coaxed me from desperate tears by recalling some of our old adventures as so we recounted our past as I took comfort in his presence.

Finally, he got me talking about
the events that led us to prison. He nodded with understanding as I told of Georges and Camille, and what Gilbert had done. ‘I hate him, he is relentless, unreasonable. He went mad, I’m sure, from Adam’s abuse. Why did he not drown in the cellars of the underworld, where we pushed him,’ I spat. ‘I tried to tell him I am sorry, but he will not…’

Florian ruffled my head, cutting me off. ‘This Marie-Louise should have helped you with the knots,’ he
said reprovingly, smiled and changed the subject. He waved his hand around. ‘Did you know the queen was here? She was charged to appear in the Revolutionary Tribunal? On 3
rd
of October? She had been cursed for treason, attempt to coerce her husband to crimes against his nation. She had planned to place a mine under the National Assembly…’

‘She was here, yes, I know, in the
stinking Temple. They took her husband. They took her like a common criminal and God knows where her unhappy family is,’ I said, angry that he had changed the subject.

He grinned. ‘Well, know this. She stepped on the executioner’s toes and asked for forgiveness. Just like you want to ask pardon from Gilbert. Yet, Gilbert, Jeanette, is
apparently like the executioner. I have not seen him, but you know he was always a bit mad. If it is so that he wishes to be reborn, then it is hopeless to reason with him. He does not care about pardons nor does he understand them. He lost his family, legacy, and eye. He lost you too, did you ever think about it? So, love, a pardon will not do it. Neither did it do so for the polite queen, though I think she stepped on Sanson’s toes on purpose.’

I pouted. ‘I did perfectly good knots.’

He laughed, incredulous. ‘That bothers you? No, you failed,’ he poked me.

‘Fine!’ I agreed. ‘But what am I to do? I cannot beat him. He has his
twitching fingers all over the corrupt government, Paris and God knows where. He helps powerful men and knows, I suppose, many who are not yet at the helm. He knows whores and murderers and as the men in power use the whores and murderers, none dare turn on Gilbert. We are alive only due to Georges.’

He laughed. ‘A
musket ball will stop anyone. Did he truly threaten to destroy your family?’

‘He did,’ I said, frowning at the thought, for the
siblings were often on our mind and as we spoke, Robert was likely suffering terribly.

Florian spat on the floor and looked troubled
and disgusted. I was grateful to him. He mumbled apologies and I took his hand, and told him: ‘he probably cannot find out where they are, not easily. We did not tell anyone, not even here. Robert will suffer for nothing.’ I was wringing his fingers in agitation, and he hugged me and gave me a kiss on the cheek, to help dispel the fears.

‘Someone will know, so keep it tha
t way. Georges knows, surely?’ he asked.

I nodded. ‘Georges
said he would pretend to keep letters from our family on his person or desk, I know not. He hopes Gilbert will, should he try, concentrate on finding the information he needs from him. Yet, he promised to make sure Camille would keep all the letters safe. He has loyal men looking after poor Camille. And then, of course, our family.’

‘Ah, Camille Desmoulins?
He a good man?’ Florian asked me with concern. ‘I’ve heard he is a bit unhinged.’

‘Yes.
Sort of. Not good for his wife, though. He loved mother, and that Lucile was terribly hurt by it.‘

Florian smiled
, relieved. ‘That is good. So, what do we eat here? Best cuts of a fine, wine boar and delicious steamed vegetables, perhaps? Sweet cake and cheeses of many kinds of desserts, with some perfect red wine from Loire? Hmm?’

I laughed merrily at his
hopeless tone and we changed our thoughts from dark to light as I told him lightheartedly of the prison, and how one survived there, and he shrugged in disbelief. ‘Nothing to look forward but your sweet company? Worry not, though. I doubt I will stay here for long,’ he said gallantly. ‘They put my father thorough the surprisingly springy process in under a short week.’ He looked miserable, few tears came, and I pulled him to my lap and held him there, afraid for him, should Gilbert take and kill him as well. He stopped crying, looking up to me. Out of curiosity, as my face hovered near his, I kissed him.

Florian was the first boy I kissed, for what I had given Pierre, was just a peck, and
that held no real meaning other than friendship. Yet, after kissing him, I knew I had no such feelings for him either. I had known Florian forever, he and I had grown and dreamt together, played on the dangerous streets, caused dreadful havoc with our pranks, fought together and laughed merrily at small nothings and endured Gilbert’s moods and plans. He was tall and somewhat handsome, and he reluctantly answered my kiss, as if surprised by it.

It was not a bad kiss, Marie. It was clumsy, but we experimented with it until my neck was overstretched and tired and I ended it. He got up
to a sitting position and put a warm hand on mine. People on the cramped cell, most people I did not know, grinned, and a sturdy woman pulled the rest up, finding a different place to sleep. I half regretted them leaving, for I would have had an excuse to back off, but they went and we were left behind.

To be honest, I was terrified, Marie. I was quite old, many girls my age were married already; some had children, but
I did not feel like I was in a hurry. I had spent years without thinking about such matters and though I occasionally pleased myself, no doubt clumsily I had not had a yearning for a man, despite flirting with Pierre briefly. Adam’s leering face hovered in my thoughts, and what we had endured would never go away. I also remembered Colbert’s deeds and those of Madame Fourier, and I did not yearn for love.

Yet, I had kissed him, and saw desire in his eyes, and I looked down, gathering myself, convincing myself it might be a good idea. Gilbert knew where we were, people died hourly.
We might die, any time, and even if I did not feel a burning furnace of passion, I felt kindness and gentleness for him. His eyes probed mine, I took a deep breath, swallowing my fears and I nodded. I got to my knees and so did he.

I removed my
old shirt, baring my breasts, and I saw his breath stop, his eyes probing them as he took off his jacket. I covered myself in a sudden burst of modesty, but Florian no longer hesitated as he landed forward to bury me with a hug, kissing my neck, removing my hair from his mouth, and then touching my throat with his surprisingly gentle lips.

I touched him, his shoulders,
stroked his sides, his thighs and we kissed passionately, letting go of restraints, our lips hungering for care. His hands and mouth were on my breasts now, and his lips were hungrily devouring my nipples, which were hardening almost painfully in the chill air of the cell.

He pulled his pants down with one hand, I pulled my
skirt off, and he pushed me to the creaky bed. He opened my legs, admiring what he saw and touched me gently, and I remember whimpering as he stroked the parts that make a woman weak. He did this for a while, experimenting, and I grabbed his hair and pulled his face down, pushing him there, until his lips touched me, and I felt suddenly wet, my spine arched with pleasure, as his tongue caressed me, going deep, then shallow. Finally, he pulled his head free, panting, and climbed over me. I saw his erect penis, and I took it carefully, fingering it, noticing it responded to my caress. His mouth opened in ecstasy as I pulled and pushed on it, moving it back and forth. It was wet, strangely heavy and apparently ready, and he fell over me, his hand holding his penis, gently probing with it, deciding where it should go, though Marie, he did not find the right place at first. I helped him, and so he put it in me, pushing it resolutely in, balancing precariously over me.