Drums of War

Chapter Seven

They waited until evening shadows began to lengthen and the streets began to clear of people. Daniel then issued his instructions. Amalia Janssen was ready to obey them to the letter but Beatrix was fearful.

'I don't want to go out there, sir,' she said with a shudder.

'Why not?' asked Daniel.

'That dreadful man is waiting.'

'He won't trouble you for much longer.'

'What are you going to do?'

'I simply need to speak to him.'

'Well, why can't you go out there and do that, sir?'

'Listen to Captain Rawson,' said Amalia. 'He knows best. All that we have to do is to walk for ten minutes. No harm will come to us if we're together.'

Beatrix was not convinced and it was clear from Dopff's face that he, too, had qualms. On the other hand, the weaver had been impressed by their visitor's decisiveness and had no doubts about Daniel's good intentions. He just wished he understood why a British soldier had come to their assistance out of the blue. Daniel repeated his orders slowly.

'Give me five minutes and then leave the house together,' he said. 'Walk past the man at the corner and lead him around in a circle before coming back here. Is that understood?'

'Yes,' replied Amalia.

'Where will you be, Captain Rawson?' asked Beatrix.

'I'll be waiting for him,' said Daniel.

After giving them all a smile of encouragement, he let himself out into the street and mounted his horse. He trotted off in the opposite direction to the corner where the watcher was stationed. Turning into the adjacent street, he rode on until he reached another corner. When he turned right again, he kept his eyes peeled.

Amalia Janssen, Beatrix and Kees Dopff stood in the parlour and watched the pendulum of the clock as it swung to and fro. Dopff wanted to point out that it was a Dutch mathematician who first invented the pendulum clock over half a century earlier but he felt it inappropriate. It would also take far too long for him to convey the information by means of gesture and facial expression. When the five minutes had elapsed, Amalia gave a nod and led them to the front door. Beatrix was still reluctant but she could not refuse to go. She pulled a scarf around her shoulders and gritted her teeth. With mixed feelings, Dopff opened the front door and the women went out into the street. They heard the door being shut behind them.

'I don't like this,' confided Beatrix.

'Stay close to me,' said Amalia.

Crossing the street, they walked side by side, trying to appear as natural as they could. They turned left at the corner and expected the burly man to confront them but he was not there. For a second, they dared to relax. The man had apparently gone away. Their sense of relief was rudely shattered when he stepped out of a doorway opposite and tipped his hat in a mocking salute. They walked quickly on. His heavy footsteps soon fell in behind them. Neither of them dared to look over her shoulder. They were both quietly terrified.

Daniel had found a dark alleyway where both he and his horse could hide. It was only a question of waiting now. Certain that Emanuel Janssen had been identified as a spy, he prayed that the man was still alive and had been spared torture. He winced at the thought of having to tell Amalia that her father had been killed. She seemed so young and fragile that the news could destroy her. From the way Lefeaux and his wife had been summarily hanged, it was evident that no mercy would be shown to spies. He could only hope that Janssen's exceptional skill as a tapestry- maker had saved him. A monarch who took such delight in the work of artists of all kinds might think twice about condemning a supreme craftsman to death.

Daniel had no more time to reflect upon what was only a faint hope. A horse and cart went past then an old man staggered by on a walking stick. What he saw next as he peered around the corner of the alleyway were the two women, walking in step and staying close together. Yards behind them, he could just pick out a brawny figure in the gloom. Flattening his back against the wall, he was ready to pounce. Amalia Janssen and Beatrix got nearer and nearer until he could hear their matching footsteps. When they went past him, they didn't even think to look down the alleyway. Neither did their stalker and it was a bad mistake. Daniel leapt out, grabbed his collar to pull him into the alleyway then held a dagger at his throat.

'Who are you?' demanded Daniel.

'I've got no money if that's what you're after,' said the man.

'I want to know why you're following those two ladies and why you've been outside their house all week.' Daniel shoved him hard against the wall then pricked his neck with the point of his weapon. The man yelped. 'Next time, I'll cut your throat. Now — who are you?'

'My name is Jacques Serval,' admitted the other, 'and I wasn't following anybody. I live nearby and was on my way home.'

'Don't lie to me or I'll slice you to pieces.' Daniel reinforced the threat with a kick on the shin and a punch on the nose. Blood gushed down on to the man's beard. He glowered at Daniel. 'Where is Emanuel Janssen?'

'I've never heard of him,' said Serval, a hand to his nose.

'Why keep his house under surveillance?'

'I don't know what you're talking about.'

'Then you're no use to me,' said Daniel, pulling back his arm as if to thrust the dagger into him. 'Goodbye, my friend.'

'No — wait!' exclaimed Serval, cowering.

'Have I jogged your memory?'

'I didn't take him away. The others did that. I was just asked to watch the house to see what his daughter did. You've got no argument with me, sir. I'm not important.'

'You're important to me because you're the one person who can solve this mystery. I'll ask you once more and, if you still insist you don't know, I'll send you off to the Hell you deserve for tormenting those ladies.' With his free hand, he slammed the man against the wall, knocking off his hat. 'Consider your answer very carefully, my friend. Where is Emanuel Janssen?'

'Somewhere you'll never reach him,' said Serval, defiantly.

'He is alive, then?'

'Yes.'

'Is he still here in Paris?'

'Janssen won't ever be leaving here.'

'Why do you say that?'

'He's in the one place where nobody leaves.'

'And where's that?'

Serval smirked. 'The Bastille.'

Daniel was stunned. Relieved to hear that Janssen was still alive, he was dismayed to learn that he was being held in the city's most notorious prison. It was like a body blow to Daniel. As he tried to absorb the impact, he took a step backward. Serval saw his chance and took it. Lunging forward, he grabbed the wrist of the hand that held the dagger and tried to twist it away from him. Daniel fought back at once, grappling hard, looking into the Frenchman's crazed eyes and recoiling from his foul breath. With a sudden move and a swing of his leg, he managed to trip Serval up. Falling to the ground, Serval kept an iron grip on his wrist and pulled Daniel after him. They struggled violently. It was a trial of strength now.

Serval was a powerful man who had come off best in many tavern brawls. He spat into Daniel's face then turned his head sharply to bite his wrist, forcing him to drop the dagger. They were on even terms, needing to subdue or kill their opponent with bare hands. After trying to gouge Daniel's eyes, Serval rolled over so that he was on top for the first time, his substantial weight bearing down on Daniel. The Frenchman was sweating freely and panting hard but he now had the advantage. Rising up to sit astride Daniel, he got both hands to his throat and began to throttle him, blood from his nose dripping on to Daniel's face. Anticipating success, Serval let out a growl of triumph.

It was premature. Daniel was not finished yet. Gasping for breath, he put all his strength into a punch that caught Serval on the ear and knocked him sideways, weakening his hold on Daniel's neck. A second punch dislodged his hold altogether and Daniel was able to throw him off and scramble to his feet. Serval was quick to recover, getting to his knees and pulling out his own dagger. Daniel reacted by instinct. If he let the Frenchman get up, then the result would not be in doubt. Serval had to be disarmed. With a firm kick, Daniel caught him in the crotch and made him double up in agony. Then he dived in to grab Serval's wrist, twisting it so that the dagger turned towards the Frenchman's chest. With a howl of rage, Serval tried to pull himself upright and turn the weapon back on Daniel but he slipped on the cobbles and fell backwards. As Daniel tumbled to the ground on top of him, the dagger went straight through the Frenchman's heart. Serval's body convulsed for a moment then all resistance drained out of him.

When he was sure that the man was dead, Daniel searched him quickly and took some papers from his pocket. Then he lugged the body down the alleyway and hid it in a doorway. Retrieving his own dagger, he put it in its sheath and went to collect his horse. Now that the fight was over, he was able to address his mind to what he had found out. He did not relish the task of passing on the information to Amalia Janssen. Her father might be alive but he was incarcerated in the infamous Bastille. That was a death sentence in itself.

Amalia was increasingly worried. After their walk, she and Beatrix had returned safely to the house, expecting Daniel to join them almost at once. While they'd been on foot, he had a horse. She could not understand why he'd been delayed and was immediately prey to all kinds of fears. Daniel was the only person who had brought hope into her life and she needed him. Even on such a short acquaintance, Amalia had been drawn to Daniel, struck by his bravery, grateful for his honesty and touched by his charm. It was only when she heard the clip-clop of hooves in the street outside that she began to calm down. Instead of leaving the task to Beatrix, she ran to open the front door herself. Daniel had come back.

'What did you find out?' she asked, breathlessly.

'We must leave tonight,' he said, dismounting and holding the reins. 'I'll fetch the cart and be back within the hour.'

'What about my father?'

'He's alive, Miss Janssen.'

'Thank God!' she exclaimed. 'Where is he?'

'I'll explain that later,' he said. "The important thing is for us to reach a place of safety as soon as we can. In due course, you'll understand why.'

Amalia gave a stifled cry. It was fairly dark in the street but she had just stepped close enough to Daniel to see the blood on his face and the tear in his coat. She also noticed the dirt on his clothing.

'What happened, Captain Rawson?' she said.

'This is no time to discuss that.'

'Were you involved in a fight with that man?'

'Forget him,' said Daniel. 'Impress upon Kees and Beatrix that this is an emergency. If they have to leave things behind, so be it. They must be ready to go the moment I get back. It won't be a coach and four,' he apologised, 'but it will get us there in one piece.'

'I'm worried about you, Captain. Are you badly injured?'

'I'm not injured at all, Miss Janssen.'

'Something has obviously happened.'

'Tell the others what I said,' he urged, mounting his horse.

'Where exactly are we going?'

'You'll find that out when we get there. Now please hurry up. There's no time to lose. If you stay in this house one more night, then all your lives will be in danger.'

Ronan Flynn was a lanky, raw-boned man in his early forties with long grey hair and curling eyebrows. Having served in an Irish regiment that fought in Louis XIV's army, he had picked up a certain amount of the French language. It was when he had met Charlotte Rousset that his fluency had perforce improved by leaps and bounds. Falling in love with the pretty young Parisian woman, he had courted and married her. Charlotte was almost eighteen years younger than her husband yet they were so contented that the age difference became irrelevant. Flynn lived happily in a small but comfortable house with his wife and baby daughter. It was, he reminded himself every day, far better than being a soldier.

'There are four of them?' said Charlotte with concern.

'It will only be for a short time, my darling.'

'But we don't have enough room for so many.'

'We'll fit them all in somehow,' said Flynn. 'There's room in the attic for the man and the two women will have to share.'

'What about your friend?'

'Oh, Dan Rawson will lay his head down anywhere. He's the one person you don't have to worry about. He's a soldier, used to sleeping on the ground in all weathers.'

'Why are they coming here, Ronan?'

He hunched his shoulders. 'They need a roof over their heads.'

Flynn had told his wife as little as possible. All that she knew was that Daniel and her husband had once fought alongside each other in the army. Charlotte didn't realise that Flynn had been in the British army at the time. She assumed that both men had served under the French flag. The salient point about their friendship was that Daniel had rescued the Irishman when he'd been captured by the enemy. There was an unpaid debt that had to be honoured. Flynn would not, in any case, have been able to give his wife full details of why four strangers were about to descend on her because he didn't know them himself and didn't wish to know. A friend was in trouble. That was enough for Ronan Flynn.

'Who are these people?' asked Charlotte.

'They're friends of Daniel and they've had to leave their house.'

'Why?'

'I've no idea, my darling,' he said, kissing the chevron of concern on her brow. 'Let's wait until they tell us, shall we?'

'It seems so odd, coming here at this time of night.'

He beamed at her. 'Paris is an odd place. Where else could an ugly old Irishman like me marry the most beautiful woman in the world?' Charlotte softened and hugged him in gratitude for the compliment. 'If looking after these people for a few days is all we have to put up with, I'd say that we were very lucky. Doesn't the priest tell us every Sunday that it's good to help others? Or has my French let me down? It sounds to me as if that's what he's saying.'

She was still worried. 'Are they in trouble, Ronan?'

'Yes — they have nowhere to sleep.'

'Where is their house?'

'I don't know,' he told her. 'Somewhere on the other side of the city, I think. There are all kinds of reasons why people have to look for accommodation. Perhaps they had a quarrel with the landlord or discovered the place was infested with vermin. Maybe there was a fire. Whatever the cause, we mustn't pester them with questions. Be nice to them, Charlotte, please. Will you do that for me?'

'I'll do anything for you,' she said.

Flynn embraced her and kissed her on the lips. Before they could savour the moment, however, there was a cry from upstairs as the baby came awake again. Charlotte smiled tolerantly and went off up the steps. Flynn followed her.

For the three Dutch passengers, the ride through Paris at night was nothing short of an ordeal. Having lived in such a pleasant quarter of the city, they hadn't realised that most of it was given over to narrow, fetid, swarming streets lined with tenements and decaying old buildings. The pervading stink was matched by a continuous din. Boisterous taverns and pleading beggars supplied most of the noise. Yapping dogs and screeching cats added a descant. Daniel drove the rattling cart with Amalia beside him. Amid a pile of belongings, the others sat uncomfortably behind them. Beatrix clung to her bag so that none of the grasping hands could steal it while Kees Dopff held the tapestry in his arms as if clinging to a piece of timber in a swollen river. Both of them were highly distressed at the number of drunks who lunged wildly at the cart or threw missiles out of random malice. They were all relieved when they entered the wide thoroughfare of a more respectable district. As the hubbub subsided, they were able to hold a conversation at last.

'Who is this friend of yours?' asked Amalia.

'He's a mad Irishman,' said Daniel, 'and his name is Ronan Flynn. We met when he served in the British army but he later joined a French regiment. That's when we were on opposite sides.'

'Is he ready to help an enemy?'

'We're good friends, Miss Janssen, and we're no longer on the battlefield. Ronan owes me a favour, that's all I'll say.'

'How much does he know about us?'

'Precious little,' said Daniel, 'and I wish to keep it that way. Kees is not going to tell them anything and I doubt if your servant speaks much French but you're obviously an intelligent young lady. I daresay you have some knowledge of the language.'

'I like to think that I do, Captain Rawson.'

'Don't admit that or you're likely to be interrogated.'

'Am I?'

'Ronan won't ask you any questions but his wife is a different matter. Charlotte is French and can't be expected to show the same sympathy to foreigners.'

'I understand.'

'Do you like children?'

The question surprised her. 'Yes, of course I do.'

'They have a baby daughter,' said Daniel. 'I only caught a glimpse of her but she's a gorgeous child. Ronan loves showing her off. Luckily, I'd had time to wash the blood off my face before he handed her over to me or I'd have frightened her.'

'You still haven't told me what happened with that man.'

'We exchanged blows, Miss Janssen.'

'Won't he run off and summon help?' she asked. When Daniel remained silent, she gulped. 'You didn't kill him, did you?'

'I stopped him from bothering you ever again.'

Amalia reeled from the shock. 'No wonder you were covered in blood,' she said. "This is terrible, Captain Rawson. I had no idea you'd have to go to that extreme.'

'My hand was forced.'

'I can see now why we had to leave in a hurry.'

'It's only a matter of time before the body is found,' said Daniel. 'When that happens, the first place they'll go to is your house. We need to be as far away as possible.'

'What about my father?'

'We'll talk about that later.'

'I want to know now,' she insisted. 'Where is he?'

'Your father is being held, Miss Janssen. He's in prison.'

Her face fell. ' Prison? What have they done to him? Is he being fed? Has he been tortured? Father's not a strong man. Being locked up will break him, Captain Rawson.' She tried to hold back tears. 'How can we possibly reach him if he's held in prison?'

'There has to be a way,' said Daniel, thoughtfully. 'All that I have to do is to find out what it is.'

When they finally reached their destination, they were given a cordial welcome by Ronan Flynn and his wife. Charlotte had prepared a meal for them so they all sat around the table together. Even Beatrix, who, as a servant, always ate apart as a rule, was allowed to join them. Dopff was very impressed with the cooking and went into an elaborate mime to congratulate Charlotte. There were some awkward moments but the supper passed off without incident. Having always had her own bedchamber, Amalia was unhappy that she had to share her bed with Beatrix but accepted the situation without complaint. Dopff was content to sleep in the bare attic as long as he could have the tapestry beside him. Daniel agreed to spend the night downstairs.

The visitors adapted slowly to a house that was very much smaller than the one they'd just left and possessed none of its luxuries. They all seemed to be on top of each other. When the women had finally retired, and when Dopff was snoring in the attic, Flynn produced another flagon of wine so that he and Daniel could talk over a cup of it in private. The first thing the Irishman did was to clap his friend heartily on the shoulder.

'You always did have an eye for the ladies, Dan,' he said. 'She's a real beauty is that Amalia. If it wasn't for the fact that I have a lovely wife waiting for me upstairs, I'd be very jealous.'

'I'm simply here to look after her,' said Daniel.

'It always starts that way.'

'I'm serious, Ronan. The girl is young and innocent.'

Flynn laughed. 'They're the best kind.'

'There's nothing like that going on.'

'Well, there damn well ought to be, man,' said Flynn, nudging him with an elbow. 'Look at those eyes of hers. Think of that divine face. Saints in heaven, Amalia could seduce the Pope!'

'She's a frightened woman who needs protection.'

'Then why aren't you in her bed, protecting her?'

Daniel sipped his wine until Flynn had finished his jocular teasing. When they'd first met, they'd been two of a kind, lusty young soldiers who fought bravely on the battlefield and took their pleasures where they could find them. Flynn had now settled down into family life but he had some warm memories. Daniel tried to steer him away from them so that they could talk about something more serious.

'What made you give up army life?' he asked.

'Old age and the sight of Charlotte Rousset,' replied Flynn.

'Was that her maiden name?'

'Yes, Dan, but she didn't hold on to it much longer once I'd met her. I worship that woman. She's changed my life and given me that little angel of a daughter. And that's not all,' he went on. 'When her father heard that I had a little money to invest, he took me into the family business. I'm a baker now, un boulanger de Paris. You tasted some of my bread earlier on.'

'It was delicious, Ronan.'

'The only problem is that I have to be up so early to make sure the servant has lit the ovens. Then we toil away while the city sleeps. When the bread is baked, I help to deliver it with the horse and cart. We've a lot of customers and they expect fresh bread every morning.'

'Which do you prefer — being a soldier or being a baker?'

'If you'd asked me twenty years ago, I'd have said that nothing could compare with army life. It was tough, I grant you,' said Flynn, 'and it could wear you down at times, but it was just the thing for a young fellow like me with fire in his belly. I craved the excitement of it all. I loved the danger.'

'You loved other things as well, as I recall,' said Daniel.

'That was my downfall, Dan. It wasn't the women. I think every man has the right to spread his love far and wide. No, it was the drink and the fighting. When I'd had too much of the one, I couldn't get enough of the other.' He gave a rueful laugh. 'I probably did more damage to my fellow-soldiers with my fists than I ever did to the enemy with a musket. It's the reason I never rose higher than a corporal. I had warning after warning but there was no heeding them when the drink had a hold on me.'

'You knocked out a captain, didn't you?'

'He was a lieutenant, actually,' said Flynn, 'and he deserved every blow. But striking an officer is a crime. When they'd finished flogging me, they threw me out of the regiment altogether.'

'Is that when you went over to the French?'

'No, Dan, I had a spell of drifting all over the place, taking whatever job I could lay my hands on. But I couldn't stay out of the war too long. I had friends in an Irish regiment serving the French so I threw in my lot with them.' He looked quizzically at Daniel. 'What about you? When we first met, we were both black-hearted corporals. Then you got yourself promoted.'

'I was lucky,' said Daniel, modestly.

'That's nonsense, man! Luck doesn't come into it. I know what it takes to work your way up and why so few people manage to do it. Captain Daniel Rawson, is it?' he added with a twinkle. 'I like it, Dan. It has a ring to it.'

'Thank you, Ronan.'

'It also gives the game away. If someone like you tricks his way into Paris, then it's to do with something more important than wishing three Dutch guests on the Flynn household.'

'It is,' confessed Daniel, 'but I'd rather not go into details.'

'It's probably better if I don't hear them, Dan. I count myself a loyal Frenchman now. On the other hand, I have to think of my wife and child. You and your friends are welcome to stay here as long as you don't endanger us.'

'If it reaches that point, Ronan, we'll move out immediately.'

'Then I won't pry any further.'

He poured them both a second cup of wine and they shared army reminiscences for a while. When his friend was in a mellow mood, Daniel turned to another subject.

'What do you know about the Bastille?' he asked.

'I know that I'd much rather be outside its walls than inside.'

'It's in the Rue Saint-Antoine, isn't it?'

'Yes,' said Flynn, 'and I get quite close to it when I deliver my bread. It gives me the shivers. My father-in-law would love to have the contract to provide bread for the Bastille itself but one of his rivals has got that. Mind you,' he went on, 'the bread probably only goes to the turnkeys. They starve any prisoners locked away in there. What are you interested in the Bastille for?'

'I've heard so many tales about it. If your delivery round takes you in that direction, you must have a wide circle of customers.'

'They've heard how tasty Flynn bread is. Strictly speaking, it's Rousset bread because my father-in-law taught me everything I know. There's a real art to baking, Dan. It took me a year to master it.'

'I'd like to see you at work, Ronan.'

'You won't get much sleep if you do that.'

'Who cares?' said Daniel, intrigued by the fact that Flynn would be going close to the Bastille. 'I'm used to broken nights. Would I be in the way if I came with you to the bakery tomorrow?'

'No,' said Flynn, 'you can help to load the cart.'

'In that case, I'll snatch a few hours' sleep while I can.' He drank the last of his wine. 'I can't thank you enough, Ronan. You helped us in our hour of need. We simply couldn't have stayed where we were.'

When the body of Jacques Serval was discovered that night, the police were informed at once. While some of them removed the corpse, others rushed to the house occupied by the Dutch visitors. Two constables were sent around to the rear of the building to block off any attempt at escape then someone banged loudly on the door. When there was no response, he pounded even harder with his fist. Still nobody stirred within the house. Forced entry was required. Two of the heftiest men threw their combined strength at the door until the lock gave way and it swung open on its hinges. Policemen poured into the dark house with lanterns and searched every room. When they met again in the hall, it was the sergeant who summed up the situation.

'They've gone,' he declared, purple with fury. 'We must catch them before they can leave Paris.'