The Silver Blade (34 page)
D
idier was in the last batch of accused to be sent before the judge, who was an imposing sight, severe in his black hat and cloak with his dark hair and eyebrows.
idier was in the last batch of accused to be sent before the judge, who was an imposing sight, severe in his black hat and cloak with his dark hair and eyebrows.
‘You,’ said the judge to the designer of cards, ‘you have a brother who is an aristocrat and an emigre.’
‘No, no, sir, I have no brother,’ replied the young man, seeing a glimmer of hope. There had, after all, been a misunderstanding. ‘I am an only child. I live with my mother, a widow.’
‘Quiet!’ boomed the judge. ‘As I said, you have a brother and a father who are both emigres and who have escaped to London, working for the British government.’
The young man looked dumbfounded. ‘No, no, that’s not—’
‘Quiet!’ shouted the judge, turning his attention to the next prisoner.
Didier had decided to say nothing. There was no justice here.
‘Well, mooncalf, what have you to say in your defence?’ said the judge. ‘You’ve been denounced as a traitor and a spy.’
Seeing that Didier wasn’t in the mood to argue his case, the judge moved on with relish to the poor man with the long white beard.
‘Name?’
‘The Duc de—’
The judge didn’t even let him finish.
All the men were found guilty as charged.
Chapter Thirty-One
B
asco, beside himself, was hardly aware of anything as he walked blindly along the street.
asco, beside himself, was hardly aware of anything as he walked blindly along the street.
He as good as jumped out of his skin when someone grabbed his sleeve, and a man in a battered hat said, ‘Slow down, my friend.’
‘Yann,’ said Basco. ‘Oh, thank goodness.’
Yann put his finger to his lips.
‘What has happened to Didier?’
‘He was found guilty along with fourteen others. He has been condemned to death. They are taking him to the Place du Trone. We must do something.’
‘What about Citizen Aulard?’
‘He’s not on today’s list,’ said Basco.
Yann and Basco mingled with the jeering crowd across the Pont au Change, then through the rue de la Coutellerie to the Faubourg St-Antoine. It had been Robespierre who had ordered the removal of the guillotine from the Place de la Revolution to the Place du Trone.
His excuse for its removal was that it would waken the sleepier parts of Paris to the true meaning of the terror. Those on the executioner’s tumbril had a longer, slower journey in which to contemplate the injustice of their sentences.
D
idier, staring down from the cart, was unaware of his friends in the sea of faces. He stood taller than the rest of his companions in the tumbril. Next to him was a girl who reminded Didier of a young deer, fresh-faced, her whole life before her and about to be cut short. He heard her sob and say a ‘Hail Mary’ under her breath.
idier, staring down from the cart, was unaware of his friends in the sea of faces. He stood taller than the rest of his companions in the tumbril. Next to him was a girl who reminded Didier of a young deer, fresh-faced, her whole life before her and about to be cut short. He heard her sob and say a ‘Hail Mary’ under her breath.
‘I’m frightened,’ she whispered. ‘They took my mother and I can’t see which cart she’s in.’
‘Give the lady your seat,’ Didier said to the man sitting next to him.
‘What’s the point,’ he replied. ‘We’re all dead.’
‘Listen to me. Look at that crowd. You know why they’re jeering?’
‘The same reason I jeered when I went to see the guillotine. They’re grateful it’s not them.’
‘Yes,’ said Didier, ‘and did you shout louder when you saw a man stumble, when a woman pissed herself?’
‘For my sins, I did.’
‘And did you feel humbled when a man walked with his head held high and showed courage?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then hold your head high, be proud that for the moment it’s still connected to your body, and for the sake of this young terrified girl, be a man.’
The procession continued its agonisingly slow journey and when they reached the rue du Faubourg St-Antoine, in sight of the Bastille, Didier looked up to see the sky darkening.
Yann and Basco had so far failed to attract his attention, and Yann was beginning to think that saving Didier might be beyond him, for the crowd was clumped together, a wall that seemed impossible to break through.
Suddenly the sky turned black, pitch black. The gods were angry. Thunder rolled over Paris, Zeus sent lightning to rend the sky and rain fell in huge gobbets, giant spit balls that bounced and burst in small puddles. The mob, frightened by the power of the elements, hurried for shelter in doorways and shop fronts. Only Yann stood in the rain, soaking wet. Taking off his hat, his face illuminated as lightning flashed through the sky, he opened his long pale coat, which in the eerie light was incandescent, like butterfly wings.
Didier saw him then, silver in the storm, like an avenging angel, and his spirits rose.
Balling his huge hand into a fist he tipped back his head. ‘I knew he wouldn’t let me down. I knew it!’ He turned to the girl. ‘Don’t give up hope. Keep praying.’
The rain was still falling by the time the guillotine came into view. The stalwarts of the scaffold did not care about the weather, as long as heads fell as well. They had claimed their seats, waiting for the drama to begin.
The girl’s cries could be heard loud and clear above the din of the storm as she called for her mother.
The guards, soaked through, took their places round the tumbrils. The executioner and his two attendants examined their human cargo. The executioner enjoyed making the most of their misery, for the crowd fed off the drama of these executions. The girl was exactly the kind of rosy plum he liked to begin with. He ordered the guard to pull her out. As she clung to Didier the guard wrenched her away. Didier had tears in his eye and a lump of fury in his throat. He would willingly kill all the guards, and the executioner.
‘Be brave,’ he said, as the girl was taken screaming from him.
A woman’s voice cried, ‘Odette, where is my Odette?’
‘
Maman!
Don’t let me die!’ the girl screamed, ‘Help me, someone, help me!’
Maman!
Don’t let me die!’ the girl screamed, ‘Help me, someone, help me!’
‘Come on,’ said the guard. ‘Let’s get this young aristo executed. Bring the mother, let her watch.’
Didier shouted to Yann, ‘Don’t worry about me, save her!’
Basco eased himself closer to the tumbrils as the girl was brutally dragged to the scaffold, screaming, fighting and kicking for all she was worth.
‘Let’s see,’ one of the old hags shouted.
The executioner tore off her hat.
‘Oh, she’s a piece of liquorice if ever I saw one!’ shouted one of her companions.
The girl, still sobbing, was tied to the plank.
The drums started to roll. The blade fell, to the screams of the mother and the cheers of the onlookers, then came to a shuddering halt, less than a metre above the girl’s head.
Yann, throwing his voice across the boom of the thunder, shouted, ‘Set the innocent free.’
The mob went silent, wondering what could have gone wrong.
Yann, his head aching, held tight the threads of light, keeping the silver blade fastened in midair.
Basco took his chance while the guards all had their heads turned towards the guillotine. He leaped on to the cart and cut the ropes tying Didier. Didier jumped down and, to a great cheer from the onlookers, pulled back the plank and untied the terrified girl. Yann could see that the guards were about to fire at Didier, and he threw threads of light round them, pinning them down as Didier hoisted the girl over his shoulder. Basco, still on the tumbril, cut the ropes of the other prisoners.
Only the executioner was free to examine his killing machine. Yann let go of the threads and the blade fell, too quickly for the executioner to remove his hand and in horror he stared at the stump, screaming in agony as his blood spurted over the knitting women.
In the chaos that followed, the prisoners clambered down the carts and ran to freedom. Some of the mob who tried to stop them found themselves pulled out of the crowd as if caught on a giant’s fishing line, to be left hanging from the top of the guillotine like dead crows.
The mob was terrified. The old hags by the scaffold saw their knitting unravel. Hats flew off heads; swords fell out of their sheaths. The crowd began to disperse hurriedly. Was the Supreme Being sitting in judgement on them?
Rejoining Basco, Didier said, ‘We’d best get Yann and be gone.’
Yann was so drunk with exhaustion that Didier had to prop him up.
‘Is he all right?’ said Basco.
‘Yes. It takes its toll, working the threads of light,’ said Didier, setting off towards the Circus of Follies.
‘Not that way,’ said Basco, ‘Yann told me we should go to the house of a Citizen Dufort.’
‘Dufort?’ said Didier. ‘Well, I never.’
‘Tetu and Signorina Sido are there already,’ said Basco.
I
t didn’t take them all that long to find the house, well hidden behind a rusty gate in a deserted street. If they hadn’t known better, they would have thought that it had been long abandoned.
t didn’t take them all that long to find the house, well hidden behind a rusty gate in a deserted street. If they hadn’t known better, they would have thought that it had been long abandoned.
Tetu came out to greet them, followed by Dufort, who took them into the kitchen where a meal was already laid and waiting.
‘It’s good to see you,’ said Dufort to Didier.
‘I didn’t imagine …’ He stopped. ‘You’re a good man, Dufort.’
‘Tell us what happened,’ said Tetu.
Didier started to relate the story.
Yann was beginning to feel more like himself. ‘Tetu,’ he asked, ‘where is Sido?’
‘Upstairs, sleeping.’
Yann left the merry party to go and find her.
The house was strangely preserved, wrapped up in huge dustsheets as if at any moment it would be brought back to life by tall-wigged, corseted women and elegant men.
Yann, uncertain of which way to go, spied a monkey in a wig and wearing full court dress. It jumped on to the shrouded furniture and sped towards him screeching, its teeth glimmering white, then stopped abruptly and banged on one of the doors in the corridor before running off.
As Yann watched it go, the door opened and there stood Sido. She threw her arms around him.
‘Oh, thank goodness, you are safe.’
Whatever he had planned to say, to do, was lost the moment he saw her. He held her like a starving man and kissed her, not knowing how long it was since he had been this hungry, thinking it must have been years. He could feel her, feel her hunger as great as his. He knew then that there was an element beyond himself; a river, and he was weightless in its warm waters. He longed to understand its tides; pulled by its urgency, he was aware of the wave breaking, his whole being lost, drowning as it emerged breathless in another soul, knowing that this was the pull of the tide, this was the flow and the ebb, this was what love could do, transport you until you reached the sea, where the waves rise higher still, waiting, white-tipped and rolling. He was there and she was there and this was theirs and theirs alone, as if they were one, washed gently up on a longed-for distant shore, a land that would take a lifetime of togetherness to explore.
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