Commedia della Morte (25 page)

Another gust of wind sent the rain spattering, and two of the horses shying, while the barge rocked more energetically.

“May they all perish from boils!” Corporal Niege shouted.

Madelaine, who had been looking south along the tow-road, suddenly narrowed her eyes. “I think Faille is returning.”

“And the barge-master?” Corporal Niege demanded, swinging his roan around to get a better view of the road.

“I don’t see him,” she said. “And no tow-horse, either.”

Corporal Niege forgot himself enough to swear “By the Virgin’s Tits!”

It was apparent that Faille was alone as he rocked cumbrously on his horse’s ungraceful canter, his elbows flapping like useless wings. As he drew near, he shouted, “The tow-horse threw a shoe. The farrier is with him. As soon as he’s reshod, the barge-master will bring him and we can be under way.”

“But that could take up to an hour!” Corporal Niege complained. “Did you impress upon him the urgency of our mission?”

Faille slowed his horse to an uneven trot. “I did: the barge-master said he wouldn’t risk the tow-horse going lame on the tow-path. He said that if he did, it could slow us down by more than a day, having a lame tow-horse.” He came up to Corporal Niege. “The farrier is already working on the tow-horse, Corporal. What else could I do? I thought you should know as soon as possible.”

Corporal Niege mumbled something; when Genevere asked him to repeat himself, the Corporal said, “Cursed reactionary. He probably supports the Royalists.”

“The horse cast a shoe,” said Bonfils to Claudin, who had brought his team back to the small paved area in front of the wharf. “That has nothing to do with politics.”

“Hah! How did he come to cast the shoe?—tell me that,” said the Corporal. He sat back in his saddle. “Well, we might as well go into the town and get some cheese and a cup of wine. Bonfils, you stay here and guard our prisoners and the horses. I’ll bring you something to eat when we return.”

Bonfils sighed. “And the mules?”

Before Corporal Niege could answer, Madelaine said, “I’ll help you walk them, since I’ll have to walk my horse.”

“And do what to them?” Corporal Niege inquired with the air of one prepared to criticize.

“See that they don’t…” She let the words fade. “I’m concerned about the animals, not your mission. I have no reason to harm any of these animals, nor would I; my argument is not with them. But think the worst if it suits you.”

“Why would you aid us?” Claudin asked, suspicion apparent in his tone and posture.

“I thought that was obvious. It’s not
you
I want to help, it’s the animals. Why should they suffer on your account?” She squinted up at the sky. “I think the rain is lessening—not much, but a little. In an hour, you may have drier skies and a tow-horse. Until then, these creatures need to be treated well, or they won’t be able to carry us as far as Cours la Pleine, let alone Lyon. That is where you are planning to stop for the night, isn’t it?” She looked directly at Corporal Niege. “Cours la Pleine?”

“I suppose it must be.” He gave a weary sigh, then motioned toward the gates of Sainte-Sophie. “Let’s go. Claudin, turn your mules over to Bonfils.” He pointed to Madelaine. “And you, Madame, will dismount and stay on the wharf. Don’t try to get off it. Bonfils will tend to the horses and the mules. You can keep to the planks of the wharf.” He leveled his finger at her as if it were capable of firing a ball.

“You’re being careless with your animals,” Madelaine said as she dismounted and held out the reins to Bonfils.

“Do you think so? I wonder why,” said Corporal Niege as he gestured to the rest of the Guardsmen to follow him, calling over his shoulder to Bonfils. “Watch Madame as well. She’ll probably try to slip away, as she did in Temps d’Ete.” The unfamiliar new name of the ancient monastery town came ineptly to his lips. “Don’t be afraid to shoot her, in the leg if you must, but be sure you stop her, even if you have to kill her to do it.” The grin he wore was vulpine, and he put his hand on the handle of his pistol.

Madelaine wanted to give the Corporal a sharp answer, but was sensible to the risk she would be taking, and, having watched Corporal Niege kill the Comtesse Saint-Sorrai hardly more than half an hour ago, was certain that he would not be adverse to adding another victim to his roster, so instead she turned to Bonfils. “I won’t try to run. Where could I go that you could not catch me—or shoot me?”

“She has a point,” said Genevere, who was bringing up the rear of the Guardsmen. “Walk the horses but keep her in sight. The nearest stand of trees is a long way off, and the fields are open and flat.” He whistled, the derisory sound echoing off the village walls.

For the next half-hour, Madelaine stood on the wharf, as close to the land as she could without going beyond the limits that Corporal Niege had set for her. She felt overwhelmed—she missed Theron and she longed for Saint-Germain. For a while she paced up and down its confines, hoping that movement of her own would off-set the enervating impact of the water moving beneath the heavy planks; she soon grew tired, so sat on the edge of the small loading platform and cast her thoughts back over all she had hoped to do in the next century, but that soon disheartened her, so she abandoned it for a more consoling line of thought: her time with Saint-Germain at Lecco and Padova. She had to admit that his warnings were correct, and she had been unwise to return to Montalia. Better to have remained with him, she told herself. It had been only a summer, but she had treasured every moment of it. They could no longer be lovers, but that, much as she missed the singular passion they had shared, was a small price to pay for his company. Of all the things she despaired of that came with the True Death was the loss of him. There had been so little time to take advantage of her undead life! Had she not lost her tears when she changed, she would have wept with vexation. She had made many plans for travel to ancient places in order to explore the vanished peoples who had lived at those sites. The certainty that that could no longer happen brought a new rush of despondency, and she focused her thoughts on Theron, hoping that would assuage her increasing sorrow. She began to pace again. Finally, as the rain was turning to mizzle, she saw the barge-master approaching, leading a large sorrel draught horse; this was not the horse that had pulled the barge since their journey began, and Madelaine became curious.

So had Bonfils. He stopped the animals in his charge and shaded his eyes to stare at the unfamiliar horse on the barge-master’s lead-rope. The horse had his collar and surcingle already buckled on, and moved energetically in spite of the gelid morning. “What happened to Forte?” he asked, meaning the missing tow-horse.

“The farrier says he’s developing ring-bone and is unsound.” the barge-master answered, raising his voice.

“What misfortune.” Bonfils studied the new tow-horse. “Belgian?”

“And Percheron, so the breeder assures me—not so big but just as sturdy. He’s taken Forte in trade for a stud. He says for so large a horse to be fourteen and only now getting ring-bone should be a good mix for his horses. Big horses, like big dogs, don’t last as long as the smaller ones do.” The barge-master came up to the wharf. “This fellow is six. He’s got at least another six good years in him, God willing.” He crossed himself, though such a pious act had been forbidden by the Revolutionary Assembly of Paris, then pretended he had not made this illegal gesture. “He will reach Lyon without difficulty, and bring the barge back to Avignon without difficulty.”

“Then hitch him up,” said Bonfils brusquely. “I’ll go into Sainte-Sophie and get the others; let’s hope they’re not too drunk to ride.” He rounded on Madelaine. “You. Hold these reins until I return.” He turned back to the barge-master. “Keep an eye on her; she’s a prisoner and must not escape.”

“I will stay with the horses.” She looked about and shook her head. “There’s no place around this town I could run that you wouldn’t find me. The land’s too open.”

“See you remember that,” said Bonfils as he thrust the reins into her hands. “I won’t be long.”

The barge-master gave Madelaine an appraising glance. “You’re the one who gets sick on the water, aren’t you?”

“Sadly, yes,” said Madelaine.

“Fine folk have delicate senses, I’m told.” He had led the horse onto the wharf and positioned him for harnessing him to the barge.

Madelaine could think of nothing to say in response; she watched the barge-master finish his task, keeping all other thoughts from her mind.

Ten minutes later Bonfils came back, Corporal Niege and Claudin with him. They strode up to the barge-master and inspected the new tow-horse. “More problems?” Bonfils asked.

“Only adjusting the harness. Forte had more heart-room than this fellow does.” He patted the flank of the sorrel. “But he’s sturdy enough for the work, never fear.”

Corporal Niege shook his head. “And if he gives out on the road, what then?”

“He won’t,” said the barge-master. “He can move against the current all day and take no harm from it.” He gave the Corporal a skeptical look. “How do you come to know about horses so suddenly?”

“My father kept a posting inn. I’ve seen horses aplenty.” There was more bluster than information in his words.

The barge-master harrumphed and went back to work on the harness.

“The horses are ready?” Corporal Niege asked.

“I have the reins,” Madelaine said from her place at the edge of the wharf. “The piebald chestnut is restive.”

“Aren’t we all,” said Claudin, taking the reins for the wagon’s mule-team from her. “A good thing they didn’t try to bolt. You couldn’t have held them.”

Madelaine said nothing; although she knew that she was stronger than the breathing men around her, in her depleted state she had to admit that Claudin might be right. She gave the reins of the other horses, save her spotted gelding, to Bonfils. “Where are the others?” she ventured to ask.

“They’re having a basket of food made up, so if we have to eat on the road, it will be better fare than what we have eaten these last three days. So we’ll have a good meal come noon, just as we had a good breakfast. And those at the inn are enjoying a last cup of hot wine.” Bonfils hesitated, then added, “Not that it means anything to you.”

“Meaning you won’t feed any of it to the prisoners,” said Madelaine, trying not to sound too acrimonious.

“Meaning that even if we did, you wouldn’t eat it.” With that, he swung around on his heel and led the horses away.

Watching him go, Madelaine had the uneasy sensation that she had been careless, letting the Guardsmen see that she did not take food with the rest of the prisoners. She got back on her horse and brought him around to the tow-path just as the rest of the Guardsmen came pelting through the gate of Sainte-Sophie, both Troisbec and Genevere carrying large baskets.

“There’s cold tongue-and-mustard and new bread in this,” Genevere crowed, holding up his basket. “The cook was generous with us.”

“Vive la Revolution!” yelled Bonfils, and was echoed by the other Guardsmen.

Madelaine watched them, her expression unreadable, as she prepared for another day on the banks of the Rhone, with the Revolutionary Court and the Guillotine of Lyon waiting for her, a day and a half away.

*   *   *

Text of a report filed by Vivien Zacharie Charlot, Deputy Secretary for Public Safety of the Revolutionary Tribunal of Lyon, and presented to the Committee for Public Safety on the 7
th
of October, 1792.

To the Members of the Committee for Public Safety, the Deputy Secretary for Public Safety presents this report for their review:

Most worthy Members of the Committee,

As you are doubtless aware, there is great unrest and dissension in the city due to the conflicts arising from arguments between those citizens who support the policies of the National Convention and those who support the policies of the Girondais, who continue to oppose the execution of Louis XVI. There have been violent confrontations in the streets that have left men injured or dead, and for now, the Revolutionary Guard has been unable, or unwilling, to call these groups of antagonists to order, claiming that they are not concerned with such issues.

I have made a list of those citizens who are known to be active on both sides of these issues and I urge you to consider imposing fines or jail sentences for inciting their comrades to these extreme measures, for it is my belief and the belief of many of the staff of the Department of Public Safety that these disputes are going to become more frequent and more violent unless steps are taken to contain them.

Whatever disagreements these factions have may be taken up by the Revolutionary Tribunal and the Revolutionary Assembly in order to establish the means to resolve any bones of contention that exist. It may be necessary to detain those who are the most vociferous members of the opposing groups in order to allow more reasonable men to arrive at terms that both sides can endorse and uphold. I am convinced that if you fail to act, more slaughter will result, either from these citizens, or from the authorities in Paris who are committed to uphold and champion the Revolution at any cost.

The more ferocity we display now, the longer it will be until we can restore Lyon to the market-city it is, and begin to rebuild our fortunes. Bad fortune breeds bitterness as surely as it contributes to crime and poverty; the Revolution can still bring favorable business to our citizens if we do not allow this degree of enmity to continue unabated. There are men of good-will on both sides of the arguments, and it is through their efforts, not the extreme posturing of the most avid of their leaders, that we shall find a way to restore unity to our government and remain true to the principles that brought about the Revolution. As men sworn to defend France and the Revolution, surely you can do no less than bring about a restoration of order among our citizens.

We have established our Courts as centers for justice: it behooves us to show that we extend that concept to those among us who are unwilling to observe the conduct appropriate to citizens of a great city and an olympian country.