The Silk Weaver's Daughter (4 page)

Chapter 6

I
n the last week of July, the day came when Pierre realized they could no longer delay; they must leave their village forever. Jacques and Marc arrived with two wagons—one loaded with wine barrels—the other a hay carrier. They reported the horrifying events happening throughout the country, and Jacques cautioned that the tyrants were quickly approaching their pleasant valley.

“These soldiers move into peoples’ houses without permission,” he explained. “And then the persecution begins. In some cases, they beat them with clubs, and then burn everything combustible in the fireplace, until it chokes them with smoke. Others, they stab all over their bodies with pins; or they pull out their hair and whiskers by the roots.”

“Maudit,
do these bullies have no mercy for their fellow man?” Pierre exclaimed.

“No, my cousin, there’s no end to what they inflict on people to get them to renounce their faith. Even worse, they are now raping Huguenot women.”

As well, around La Rochelle, the dragoons had hanged several more Protestant ministers who refused to leave the country. On the other hand, they killed regular parishioners if they caught them trying to flee. The only way a Huguenot could be protected was to sign they would convert. Even then, they were under suspicion, and their actions watched for months.

“Cousin Guillaume and his family are on their way to Geneva,” Jacques continued. “He came to see me again before he left. He says there are people along the way who will help him. When they reach safety, he’ll send Marie a letter. All we can do now is to pray for them.”

These stories horrified Pierre. With heavy hearts, he and his family went about packing. They took the looms and the clock apart and carefully placed the pieces inside the wine barrels. On the second cart, they piled fresh-cut hay.

“You will all have to lie at the bottom of the cart and be covered over by the hay,” Jacques explained to Claudine and the children. “Men alone probably wouldn’t have any trouble. However, they would show no mercy if they capture a whole family of suspected Huguenots driving to the coast. I’m sorry it won’t be comfortable, but it’s the only way.”

“How far will we go like this, Jacques?” Pierre asked.

“We’ll travel most of the night until we reach Sugéres. My friends, the
Compte et Contesse de Colbert
own a chateau there, and they have said you can stay for the day. They are Catholics. But they don’t agree with what the dragoons do to our people, so they’ve offered to help. It’s a brave thing they do.”

“You’re sure you trust them? We wouldn’t be walking into a trap, would we?”

“Definitely not. I’ve represented their cognac in cities all over Europe and handled thousands of francs for them. They’ve been my good friends for many years, and I trust them—both with my life and yours.”

“They take a huge chance then, no?”

“Yes, they do. If discovered, they’d be tried for treason—not just hung—drawn and quartered, as well. I suppose that could be my fate too,” he added with a grim smile.

“Oh Jacques, I’m afraid we ask too much of you,” Claudine exclaimed.

“Not at all. I’m used to danger. It’s what I do. Now perhaps you two would like to look around once more before you start. I’ll leave first, and you and Marc follow in about an hour. It’s too perilous for us to travel close together, so I’ll meet you at the chateau. May God be with us all, this night!”

He snapped the reins and started the horses hauling the load of wine barrels towards Sugéres.

“Pierre. To leave all this. I do feel like my heart will break.” Pierre and Claudine walked hand in hand through the house, and into the workshop, taking one last look at the lovely home they had created together.

“Claudine, dearest, when we married, I made a solemn promise to your father that I would always take care of you, and I pray I never go back on it. Thanks to Jacques, we’ll be fine in London. It will be a new way of life, of course, but our children will be with us, and we can do this thing. Please, my dear, try not to be so unhappy. For their sake.”

“Yes, you’re right.” She sighed, and then smiled up at him. “And if it’s God’s will for us, it must turn out for the best.”

“That’s the right attitude.” He kissed her then, and held her for a moment before guiding her out the door. “And now we’ll begin our journey and leave it in His hands.”

They returned to the wagon where Louise, Jean Guy, and the children had snuggled under the hay. “Are you all right,
mes enfants?”
Pierre asked.

“Jeanette is with me. We’re fine. It rather prickles but we can breathe,” Louise answered in a muffled voice. She had scarcely spoken to him since the evening he sent her to her room, although she had been exceptionally helpful to her mother and never again mentioned not leaving France.

I’m sure the idea of being in La Rochelle with Marc for a time makes it bearable for her, he thought. It worries me though. I’ll have to watch that situation.

“I’m fine,” said Jean Guy, obviously in excellent spirits. “I’m going to tell stories to the twins. It will keep their minds off their discomfort.” He dug himself in as close to them as possible.

Pierre smiled to himself as he mused. At least he will be all right. I’m sure he sees this as a great adventure. He has always looked up to Marc and now, I’m sure he feels quite grown up experiencing this himself. He’s far more like his uncle and his cousin than he is like me. I’m glad the twins are young enough to be adaptable about where they live, and I suppose Baby Andre will never even remember this place.

Claudine, with tears still running down her cheeks, took one last glance at the house. Then, she lay down on the cart beside her youngest child. The little lad had fallen asleep on his blanket. Pierre piled extra hay over them all, so it looked like a regular load.

A sound on the bridge made him look towards the river. It was Marc’s brother arriving in another cart. With him were the middle-aged couple, who would look after the farm, while he finished his university training. Pierre gave Philippe last-minute instructions about the livestock, and handed over the keys.

“Don’t worry, Uncle,” his nephew said. “I’ve always loved this place. We’ll take good care of it and, if things ever change, you can come back.”

“Merci,
my boy.
Au revoir,”
he replied, embracing the younger man. He smiled bravely, although in his heart, he knew he would never see this farm or the village again. Fighting off his own tears, he clambered up on the seat beside Marc, and they started towards the coast.

The first part of the night went by without any danger. Once or twice, Pierre thought he heard the muffled sounds of travellers further along the road. However, at no point did they catch a glimpse of anyone walking. “Most likely, they hide in the forest whenever someone comes by,” he remarked.

Eventually it occurred to him that the children might be ready for their picnic supper and asked Marc to stop. They turned off the track into a barely discernible break in the trees. There, in a little clearing, another group had finished their meal and looked ready to leave. Pierre recognized them as fellow Huguenots from a neighbouring village. He noted they carried little with them. The father came over to the wagon and helped Pierre’s family out from the layer of hay.

“Thank you, brother,” Pierre said. “You’re moving on tonight? Where are you heading?”

“We’ve been resting here for awhile,” the Huguenot said. “It’s best to travel at night. We’re going to a secret beach not far from Aiguillon. We must be there by the middle of August to meet an English ship. They’ve promised to take any Huguenot, who makes it in time, to the Americas— to a settlement called South Carolina. It’s our only hope. We can’t give up our beliefs.”

Pierre’s eyes again filled with tears. What faith these people have to leave everything behind and walk all the way to the coast, he mused. Here am I, feeling sorry for myself and I have so much support from Jacques and Marc.

He gripped the father‘s shoulder. “May God be with you, my brother. We both have a long and dangerous journey ahead of us. I’m sure He has a plan for us all in allowing this, perhaps to spread His message abroad. I pray He will keep us safe.”

Chapter 7

E
ver since, they left the farm, Pierre had felt the tension between himself and Marc. It was almost palpable. The younger man answered some of his questions about the Chateau Colbert, but for the most part remained silent. Even in the clearing, he stayed by himself near the wagon, as Pierre kept Louise busy handing out the food.

Now, as they progressed through the moonlit night, the forest sounds quieted, and even the small hoots of the owls stilled. Pierre, agitated as he was, could no longer hold back his concerns about the couple’s plan. Speaking softly to keep his family from hearing the conversation, he said, “Louise tells me, she’s going to marry you. Did you put that idea into her head, Marc?”

Marc started in surprise. He turned to Pierre. “I love her, Uncle Pierre. I always have. I think she loves me, as well. I meant to speak to you on this visit; but so much has happened that I thought I’d wait until we reached La Rochelle.”

“I don’t like the idea of this going on behind my back. You might as well know I will never sanction a marriage of my daughter to a Catholic.”

“I haven’t revoked our Huguenot faith. It’s true that the monks gave me most of my education, but they’ve never asked me to sign anything. Perhaps they take my choice for granted. I don’t know.”

“Nevertheless, I want you to say nothing more to Louise about this. She’s still young, and I’ve no desire to discuss any marriage plans for her until we are safe in England. Do you understand me?”

“I understand what you say. I don’t understand why, though. My parents expect it. Our families have always been so close; it never occurred to me, you would feel this way. However, since you do, I’ll keep out of her way for the time being.” With that, he snapped the whip in an effort to hurry the team through the woods, discouraging further conversation.

Soon the forested areas of pine and oak vanished, and they passed mile after mile of healthy looking vineyards. A silver grey dawn was breaking in the east, and Pierre could make out clusters of luscious, dark purple grapes hanging low on the rows of leafy plants.

“It’s going to be a fine harvest,” was his wistful comment, thinking of the delicious
pineau
he made each year. Once more, his heart sank as he thought of how much he would miss the peace and security of the fabulous life he and Claudine had made together.

Around six in the morning, they arrived at the chateau of the
Comte and Comtesse de Colbert.
Marc drove the hay wagon straight into a large barn attached to the immense chateau, where Jacques and the couple came out to greet them. The aroma of hot chocolate and warm croissants wafted in from the adjoining winery. Pierre and Marc cleared the hay from the wagon and, stiffly, they all crawled out.

“Welcome to Chateau du Colbert. I am
Aimée
and my husband is
Édouard.
We thought you would appreciate a small breakfast. It’s right through here.” The
Comtesse
smiled at them as she guided them into the spotlessly clean distilling room.

“After you eat and wash up a little, it’s necessary you stay inside the chateau,” explained her husband. “If the harvesters see you, they may be suspicious and say something to the dragoons. My own servants are completely loyal and do whatever I say, so I’m not worried about them. You will be quite safe here until tonight. I’m sure the local authorities would never suspect me of such a terrible crime.”

“We realize the risk you are taking, my lord. We hardly know how to thank you,” Pierre said.

“Well, I’m not happy with my Catholic brethren right now. I can’t understand the way King Louis reasons at all. It’s distressing to think that so much talent must leave this country. There will be sad consequences of this in our future, I fear.”

“I agree,” Jacques spoke up. Then turning to Pierre, he said, “Try to get a little sleep, if you can. I’ll be back later this afternoon. With the wagon, it’s about a four hour drive to La Rochelle, and I’m afraid this evening will be somewhat more dangerous than what we’ve faced so far.”

“You think we’ll run into the soldiers on the way to La Rochelle then?” Pierre asked.

“Most of the dragoons are between here and the seaport, so, yes, I’m afraid we will. I must think of a plan to smuggle you into the city without alerting them. Taking a wagonload of hay into the city would certainly arouse suspicion. They’re wary of large numbers travelling together. We’ll have to keep in two groups. In the meantime, you’ll be safe enough here until tonight when I return.”

After saying
adieu
to the
Comte
and gallantly kissing the hand of the
Comtesse,
Jacques and Marc mounted their waiting horses and galloped off towards the coast. Pierre watched until they rode out of sight, and then trailed after his family toward the chateau.

On the way to Sugéres, Marc had answered Pierre’s questions about the Colbert estate. The family had owned it for over four centuries, and it was vast. Over fifteen hundred acres of vineyards, fields, and forest surrounded the main buildings. The chateau itself was a handsome residence rebuilt in the fifteenth century, after having suffered a great deal of damage during the Hundred Years War. A moat, left over from its medieval heritage, still surrounded it.

As Pierre looked around, he noted that the chateau and the attached buildings formed a large L-shaped structure, with the main entrance facing into the square. From the barn, they followed the
Comte
and
Comtesse
across the wide courtyard and in through a doorway, surrounded by four Ionic columns, inlaid with marble.

Inside, to the right of the entrance hall, he observed the
grande salon,
an enormous space with a massive marble fireplace. The room was opulent with magnificent wool carpets strewn about a floor of inlaid wood. With his artist’s eye, he particularly noticed the walls coverings—four huge, richly coloured tapestries featuring hunting scenes, which rose almost from floor to ceiling. Knowing the price his own, much smaller tapestries commanded, the size of them astounded him. They were approximately twenty feet high and about two-thirds as wide. Surely, the group would cost as much as his earnings for half a year, he thought.

The
Comptesse
ushered them up the majestic staircase to a suite of three adjoining rooms in one wing of the house. In the master room, stood a stately King Louis style bed made of warm oak with curved boards at the foot and head. On either side of this room, doors led to lesser quarters, with smaller beds, where the young people could sleep. Andre, now clean, dry, and fed, settled down to his nap in the main bedroom.

Aimée
showed Pierre a slightly darkened brick in the main bedroom fireplace. “Press there,” she instructed him. As he pressed it, the wall of books slowly began to turn allowing an opening the width of a large man. Behind it was a room with enough space for about ten people.

She smiled at him as she explained, “This part of the house was left over from the One Hundred Year War. I imagine the ancestors hid here many times. If you hear any commotion downstairs, you should all go in there. Just pull that cord inside to make the bookcase return to its position. Then do the same to get out.”

Pierre reached in and tugged on the cord; the door swung shut. “That’s astonishing,” he exclaimed. “Your ancestors were well prepared.”

“Yes. Well, it was how they survived, I imagine. We don’t expect any trouble today, but it’s best to be ready. Jacques asked that dinner be early tonight. The maid will come and wake you about an hour before to give you time to freshen up. Now have a good rest, and I’m sure all will be well.”

After she left the room, Pierre walked to a window overlooking the courtyard. He placed a chair where he could look out at the scene below. Speaking quietly, he cautioned, “As much as Jacques trusts these people, I feel we should be on guard. We’ll alternate sleeping, I think.” He turned to Jean Guy, “Get some rest now,
mon fils.
I’ll take the first watch and wake you in about three hours. After you, your mother can take a turn. Jacques may be right about them. Nevertheless, I’m taking no chances.”