Reign of Fear: Story of French Revolution and Napoleonic Wars (Cantiniére Tales) (22 page)

I tried to forget
the thoughts of possible pregnancy, as I enjoyed the sensation of his hard manhood filling me. A momentary pain, that is all I felt, and for the first time, Marie, it was good. I enjoyed it, though his movements were a bit awkward and jerky, our rhythm a bit off, and we were trying to be quiet; a hopeless task, as the treacherous bed betrayed our movements by squeaks. He was kissing me, fondling my breasts in the awkward position, stroking my face, and I nearly felt an overpowering force filling me with fire, but not quite, because he come first, gasping, giggling, trembling, his movements stopping next to nothing, stiffly. I teased him and grabbed his balls, keeping him inside me and he got a lot of enjoyment from it, but he was done, the cock shrunk and I cursed, confused, as he slid out of me. After this, he relaxed next to me and fell asleep.

I stared at him. It was very confusing. How could he just fall asleep like that, and not say anything?

Then I realized mother must have inkling on what had happened, as in our small gossip-mongering society there were few secrets. That thought made me spring up like a hare, find some relatively clean cloth to wipe some of the mess off my thighs, semen mixed with blood but as I sat there, I knew I did not love Florian and I was sure I would rather be his friend, and begged to God he would be happy with this. He should, but I had given him my virginity, and as far as I understood idiotic men, this would indicate that I was his and the bargain had been sealed. We would talk the next day, I decided. I went to lie down next to him, dressing up, but I was unsatisfied, craving for release, and so I touched it myself, rubbing myself gently, for it felt good, and Marie, do let nobody tell you it is wrong. For me, it gave me heaven that night, where Florian did not.

I went to sleep praying I was not pregnant.

Next morning, Florian was not lying next to me. I got up in confusion, and glancing at the doorway, and I saw a crowd at the main hall. A guard was yelling names. I had slept very, very late, for usually mother woke me up, but not that morning.

‘Florian Antin!‘

‘No!’ I yelled and jerked instinctively, as I got up on wobbly feet. They were taking my precious friend, and I knew I had no time to waste. I ran out of the dank cell, causing a commotion as I slipped on wet floor and saw some stoic prisoners being lead towards the door. I turned and saw Florian push out from the crowd. He strode forward, confident and tall, perhaps too thin, but attracting looks with his resolve, and I willed him good luck, as he eyed Andre. Andre pulled him aside, and then Florian’s eyes met mine. He nodded at me, but there was something in his eyes I did not understand. He was not afraid, he was not sorry. His eyes were hard. Perhaps this was the way he would prefer to meet death. Devoid of feeling. I waved at him and they were gone. I spat and cursed my cousin. His torture was effective.

Mother and I sat down. She took my hands. ‘I am sorry, Jeanette. She had become bitter and fey after Robert was taken, but she truly was sad for me.

‘It cannot be helped, not while we sit here.’ I told her, and prayed for Florian to be lucky, at least blessed with a swift death, and no need to wait for his turn for long.

‘Did you…’

‘Yes,’ I told her.

‘God help you and become pregnant, Jeanette. I doubt they dare to kill a
helpless pregnant woman.’

‘Mother,’ I said, surprised at her wish. ‘How many pregnant women have left this place?
No laws of the Gods hold them anymore. You know this.’

She waved her hand
tiredly. ‘Many die. I know. But one can still have humane thoughts, and hope the people outside have them, as well, God or not. None else is left, love, but us. It won’t be long.’

CHAPTER
10

On the 3
rd
of April, scowling Andre came to the main hall. We gazed at him carefully, and knew something was going to happen. He massaged his fat fingers, worker’s hands rough and calloused, and without looking at us, he spoke. ‘I think Agnés; the fool has been telling you about things we are struggling with? Choices, money, future? Yes. Your Georges really messed their things up. Gave power to the silent, little man and his brother, and then tried to preach moderate thoughts.’

Henriette nodded, her eyes in slits, waiting.

Andre grinned. ‘I did go to Gilbert, but Georges is a keen man and made sure we were well compensated. He liked Pierre, you see, and knew that without my brother, I was tempted. Agnés convinced me, she is the brain of our family, mad that she is. Poor Pierre. I am not as agreeable a person as he was.’

‘No, it appears you are not.’ Henriette said as she was waiting for him to continue and I sat next to her. Andre enjoyed giving us bad news, looking around at the despondent faces in the room. Finally, he lifted his hat and wiped some sweat and grease off his forehead. He placed a foot on a bench and leaned forward.

‘So, soon you will go to Gilbert Baxa or this Revenant he likes to be called,’ Andre said happily. ‘I have no passions about this, not like Agnés, who hates you both for being pretty and you especially for kissing Pierre.’ He leered and grabbed my shirt, touching my breast. I slapped his hand off, angry. He grinned. ‘Perhaps if you were kind to old Andre, I might…’

‘No!’ I yelled and pushed him. Everyone in the cell turned to look at him, and a furtive look of doubt played on his ugly face. He came closer.
‘Very well. Smart of you. It would not help you, only please me. Keep your treasures, but perhaps we shall see later, if you and I find a moment together? Your cousin does not have warm, protective feelings for you, no. He surely does not follow the new God of Reason! Tomorrow, you will go.’

‘Georges and Camille made promises to us, tha
t…’ I started, but he snickered nastily, apparently having waited for that very argument.

‘The corrupt Georges, yes. Well, the food you ate this past day? Georges is no longer in a position to pay anyone anything. His culottes and fancy clothes are all he has, and his small purse. The food, it came from Gilbert. I have a new master. It is not healthy to be seen as a man to monsieur Danton, not anymore. Tomorrow, they will fetch you. You will go for a trip.’

I leaned forward. ‘Do you know Gilbert killed Pierre? Do you know this? That he killed him for speaking about us and what we did to Gilbert?’

His face twitched in amusement. ‘Agnés thinks she is the only one Gilbert approached. Yes, I know. It hurt me, for weeks it was like a burning hot iron in my soul to dwell on it, but in the end, I realized it was your fault.
Therefore, I will get satisfaction and new position with coin to match. I have forgiven Gilbert.’

‘
Gilbert knows you know about his past,’ I hissed. ‘Gilbert will have to…’

‘I will take your tongue, if you do
not shut up, girl. No, Gilbert has hired me, and so there is trust between us,’ he hissed and we glowered as he left, whistling a happy tune.

There was no escape.
Our hands were tied, and I was afraid, Marie. Of Gilbert the Revenant, who seemed like a mad, determined bulldog. Impossible to stop, impossible to reason with and his minions were all around us.

Next morning, on the 4
th
of April, for we had not adopted the revolutionary calendar, preferring the old less confusing one, we heard a wagon stop in the yard. There was nothing unusual about this, but today, our names would be called. So, we combed our long hairs, dusted ourselves off as best we could and gave away our few belongings to other prisoners. We did not have much.

Yet, the guards were tardy, for we could not hear the clanks of doors and clapping of soles on stairs, and this break in the normal rhythm disturbed our small community greatly.

There was some commotion down in the yard, and I looked down from a small window. This time, there were two wagons. Andre was talking to a sergeant in a shabby uniform, who was gesturing at a wagon full of somber citizens, while the guard, the usual one in the Temple, sitting spread legged on the other wagon was gesturing wildly with his many papers. Apparently tired of the arguments, the strange sergeant guard waved his hand, dismissing the others, clapped his hands, slapped a paper on Andre’s hand. Still arguing, the sergeant gestured towards Andre with his head, and some cursing soldiers jumped down from the wagon and evidently threatened Andre with immediate violence. Our regular guard sat in his wagon, silent, apparently happy to wait his turn.

The soldiers took Andre and disappeared
into the tower, and soon, we heard sounds. Andre was complaining in the stairway. ‘He had orders to fetch them. He did! As was expected.’

‘I am not sure,’ said the sergeant, utterly bored, ‘how it is a mere guard of the Temple know who is to be fetched and who is not? Perhaps you were planning to set them free? Hmm? Never mind! We are making a detour, man, and will suffer hunger for it, and therefore we will bring them as my
fucking orders say. I will not stay to discuss the matter with insipid little snot-nose like you. We use my orders, man. Mine, not his.’

‘Citizen! There are two sets of
important orders! Surely you must at least make sure….’

The sergeant scoffed as the key rattled
loudly on the lock. ‘I do not care. I have mine. And if you are not careful, perhaps my orders will have your name on them next time.’

‘Citizen Baxa will know about this, he will,’
Andre said, his voice trembling terribly, in fear and disappointment.

Mother and I looked at each other
in wonder, joining trembling hands. Something unusual was going on, and anything that made Andre so miserable was undoubtedly good news for us. The door opened with a bang.

The
bearded sergeant stepped in with equally bearded Andre, confidently. He looked around at the multitude. ‘Well, well. La Force and Luxembourg are nicer than this. Filthy and seedy, guard. Jeanette and Henriette Baxa! Step forward now. Be lively! We are way out of our normal route.’

We did, and he smiled lecherous
ly at us. ‘Though I do not mind these two. Usually we only have the terribly old and the horribly ugly. Come, come, off to the Concierge.’

‘You make sure they do not get away!’ Andre shrieked as we stepped away.

The sergeant scoffed again, kicking the door open as he pushed us along. I saw Mathilde and Agnés covering in a side room one level below us as the soldiers ushered us out. I could not help but hate them both. They were poor, I knew it, as miserable as their most miserable prisoners, but I hated them. I knew how to hate, Marie. It was because of fear.

We were put on the strange wagon, with the guards running after. Our usual guard was hovering on the yard with his men, apparently contemplating on challenging the sergeant, but the sergeant had eyes that would not take part in arguments, unless to finish them. So the back of the wagon was opened with practiced and deft movements, the sergeant lifted us, enjoying his liberties as he pushed us up by our rears. In the
sorry wagon, confused men sat. Some were young nobles, others scruffy workers, all silent and forlorn, most wondering why they were at the Temple. Some had hoped they would stay here, but it was not to be, for we heard harsh laughter, sharp commands and so the wagon took off with a jerk, the horses whinnied in surprise, and soon mother and I stared around the sights so long denied us.

We passed the
shadowy gateway, and while it was cold breeze whipping across it, outside the Temple the sun shone brilliantly, covering us with gentle spring warmth. I cried as I felt the joy, unexplainable, all encompassing joy of being free, at least of the Temple. It was a curious feeling to be out of the Temple, as if nothing was real, but a cruel dream and even mother looked strange and unfamiliar in the strange setting. Yet, we felt both happy and detached as we gazed at Paris. The smells and sounds engulfed our senses, most we had nearly forgotten. We rumbled along the streets, holding on to each other. A man wept, as the wagon headed for the Il d’la Cite and I smiled like the happiest person for seeing the filthy streets again. Not much had changed. We crossed a bridge and saw the Notre Dame, or Temple of Reason as they called it now, and heard people shout at us. Whether in encouragement, or thirsting for blood, we did not know. Birds sang in their uncaring freedom, and mother and I were speechless in the brutally sudden change of habitat. We drank in the sights and sucked in the smells of Paris, no matter how foul.

Then, all too quickly the wagon pulled at the medieval prison of La Concierge, near the Revolutionary Court. A fat merchant sitting near us grinned. ‘Ah, the final stop. A chance to plead innocent, then meet the Madame and Sanson. Brave faces, girls,’ he said, and jumped down, ready to be ushered forward by harried looking guards. People were walking in and out of the prison, some evidently seeing their relatives before the end. Many were streaming to see the court cases in the nearby tribunal.

We were confused by everything we saw and heard, jumpy and nervous. The sergeant pulled us down, again groping us while smiling a good-natured, innocent smile. A boy-like guard of La Concierge stepped up, as the sergeant slapped an order to his thin hand. The man read the paper, slowly, apparently not the most literary person. He glanced at us and went to speak to another guard, who fetched some more papers. Then, burdened with documents, he came back. He had a confused look on his face, harried and desperate. ‘Citizen, there is some confusion. This order says one thing, the other something else.’ His eyes looked aghast and terrified at making a mistake, not something to embrace in his current employment.

The sergeant shrugged, pulled him closer, whispered something
harshly, and gave him a small leather bag and the guard nodded, his confidence returned. He eyed the bag, weighing it and it jingled. The sergeant winked at us and hope was rekindled in our hearts. The guard tore an order and stacked the other one to his pocket. He grunted at us and stomped closer.

‘Henriette Baxa?’ he asked brusquely
, despite his child-like looks. Mother nodded, eyeing the medieval entry hall, the shadows, and the men around it. A man was laughing fiercely somewhere.

‘Georges Danton wishes to talk to you,’ he said. ‘After that, you go free. Rare thing! Did you piss your skirt?’

She stared at him, wonder evident on her face. ‘Not quite.’

They laughed, the sergeant gathered his men, gave me a wet kiss on the cheek, which I happily granted him, and left. Then I realized we would meet with Georges, perhaps Camille soon.

They were in prison.

The guard escorted us through the hallway, and
to the upstairs by wide, crude stairs. A rat scuttled away, but not fast enough for the swift guard to miss it. He kicked it, and it squealed as it spun to the darkness. People were laughing in their final hours, gambling away as they would not have to pay their debts, reading as much as they could and some were crying helplessly in the cells, and finally, we were stopped in front of a lavishly decorated one. A large man in fine coat was seated there, his hands on his face. He looked up and saw us. The guard hesitated, and Georges scowled, as he threw the man some coins. ‘I have more people I must see.’

The guard laughed. ‘They will be here! If you have more coin.’

Georges spat. ‘Have you not heard? I am corrupt! Of course, I have more money. Now, open the door.’

‘No humping them, then,’ the guard said
sternly. ‘I got admonished for the whore last night.’

‘This one is a friend,’ Georges growled. The guard smiled
in a disbelieving way, as he locked us up with Danton. We stared at Georges; he looked back, his eyes sad, moist. He was heavier he used to be, but otherwise almost the same. A man bursting with strength and life.

Yet, he was about to die.

After awhile, he opened his mouth and closed it. Then he spoke: ‘I spent a lot of my remaining pilfered coin to save you.’

Henriette looked incredulously at him. ‘You spent coin? We are grateful. Yet, you never set us free, as you promised. Remember? You got the power, then left us to rot there, in a fucking prison. People died there, you know, of pneumonia,
terrible fever and things we do not understand.’

He looked uncomfortable at the way the discussion was going. ‘I did, yes. I coul
d tell you that it was because in that place I could keep you safe. Pierre was very loyal to me. Then, suddenly, things were going to hell. I did not know thousands would die. I had to fight, you see, to stay alive. I failed. I was also afraid you would go to… some other man.’

Henriette looked down. ‘You were jealous of Camille
, or just damnably proud and possessive?’

He nodded, a man with nothing to hide. Unlike my father, he was not concerned with survival. ‘I do not know if I was jealous of Camille. Yes, he is a better man than I am.
Romantic and fine. Perhaps I was afraid that you would go with any other man than me and I could not stand the thought. You see, it has been hard.’

‘Hard?’ I asked, my voice
rising, but he was waving his hands frantically, and I let him continue.