Drums of War

Alone with his wife and child, Flynn sat in a chair and dandled Louise on his knee, chuckling as she gave him her toothless grin and happy burble. Charlotte watched them fondly. Her thoughts then turned to their guests.

'They're very good,' she conceded. 'They've been no trouble while you were at the bakery. Amalia looked after Louise for me.'

'They all adore her.'

'Yes, she's getting a lot of attention from them.'

'She deserves it,' he said, lifting the child high to shake her before bringing her down and planting a kiss on her forehead.'

'Where is your friend, Daniel?'

'He'll be back in a few days, my darling.'

'A few days", echoed Charlotte. "They've already been here two nights. I thought they'd have been on their way by now.'

'Dan has some business to see to first.'

'What kind of business?'

'He didn't say.'

'There are lots of things he hasn't told you, Ronan. He hasn't said why they're all here, for a start. And he hasn't explained why they're all so nervous.'

'They're nervous because they're in a strange house in a foreign country and unable to speak the language.'

'Then what are they doing here? Why come to Paris when they can't speak French and when they have nowhere to stay?'

'Who knows?' said Flynn, tolerantly. 'I don't want to poke my nose into their business. I told you how Dan Rawson came to my aid when I was captured by the enemy. He risked his life to do that, Charlotte, and it's not something you forget in a hurry, believe me. I owe him a great deal. These people are

Dan's friends and I was willing to help. I'd hoped that you'd be just as willing, my darling.'

'I am,' she said, 'in some ways.'

Seeing her concern, he put the baby gently into the crib then took his wife by the shoulders. He kissed her tenderly.

'Something is upsetting you, isn't it?'

She shook her head. 'It puzzles me, Ronan, that's all.'

'What does?'

'Why they seem so ill at ease and whisper in corners.'

'You can't accuse Kees of whispering anywhere,' he said with a laugh. 'The poor fellow can't utter a word.'

'He's the one who puzzles me most. I never know what he's thinking. Have you seen what he has up there in the attic?'

'A lot of dust and spiders' webs, I daresay.'

'I slipped up there when he was in the garden.'

'You shouldn't pry, Charlotte.'

'This is our house,' she said with spirit. 'I've the right to go anywhere I like in it. That's why I went up to the attic.'

'And what did you find there?' asked Flynn.

'I found a tapestry. It was the most beautiful thing I've ever seen and must be worth a small fortune. Do you understand why I'm so puzzled now?' she asked. 'Why does a man like that have such a valuable tapestry with him?'

'Follow me and do as I do,' ordered the Frenchman.

'I will,' said Daniel.

'And don't breathe in too deeply.'

'Why?'

'You'll soon find out.'

Daniel arrived for work late that evening to be met by another duty sergeant. He was issued with a nondescript uniform, the most significant feature of which was the thick leather belt to which a large metal ring of keys was attached. His partner for the night was Jules Rivot, a fat, slovenly man in his forties with a dark complexion. Rivot's manner was less than friendly and his face was a study in solemnity. Daniel could smell the beer on his breath. He trailed round obediently after the Frenchman. Rivot was slow and methodical. Patently hating the work, he unloaded as much of it as he could on Daniel.

'Give this one more water,' he said.

'Yes,' replied Daniel, filling a cup with a brackish liquid out of a wooden bucket before passing it through the bars to a prisoner. 'What about food?'

'He gets none till breakfast and only if I'm in a good mood.'

That seemed highly unlikely to Daniel but he said nothing. Rivot's warning had been timely. The reek was so powerful at first that it made him retch. He'd been assigned to the cachots, cold, dark, slimy, vermin-infested cells below ground where people were locked away and often forgotten. Some had clearly been there for a very long time because their clothes had worn away to shreds. One man, a human skeleton with hair down to his shoulders and a beard down to his chest, was almost naked. Rivot showed them no compassion. He simply held up his lantern so that he could see the occupants of each cell. The prisoners knew better than to try to talk to him but the sight of a new face roused a few of them. They came to the doors and gave Daniel ingratiating smiles.

'Ignore the bastards,' advised Rivot. 'They all want favours.'

'They don't seem to get any of those.'

'Not when I'm on duty.'

'Are all the prisoners kept in these foul conditions?'

'These are the ones nobody cares about,' said Rivot. 'We bury them underground like so many corpses. It's just as bad in the calottes, the cells under the roof. They're open to the weather up there. They get soaked by the rain and burnt by the sun. In winter, some of them freeze to death.'

'What crimes have they committed?' asked Daniel.

'It doesn't matter.'

'Are they thieves or kidnappers?'

'They upset important people.'

Daniel knew that the King had sent many of the inmates there by means of lettres de cachet, a pernicious document that had victims thrown into a rank cell without any judicial process. There was no appeal against such an indeterminate sentence. Louis XI V's favourites were also indulged. If one of them suffered a slight or was openly insulted, the offender could find himself deprived of his liberty on a royal whim. During their dismal tour of the cachots, Daniel checked every name and looked through every set of bars. Relieved that Emanuel Janssen was not among the miserable wretches kept there, he feared that the Dutchman might be housed instead under the roof and exposed to the elements. In some weathers, that amounted to continuous torture.

Some time during the night, they had a break from their duties and shared a tankard of beer and a piece of bread with the other turnkeys. Rivot preferred to eat in silence but one of the men was more talkative. He told Daniel that not everyone in the Bastille was treated like those in the cachots. Those imprisoned on the middle level of the towers had a more comfortable time. Being locked up was their only punishment. To relieve the boredom, they were allowed books, writing materials, visitors, pets and, if they could afford to pay for it, excellent food and wine.

'We had a Duke in there last year,' confided the man, 'and he lived in luxury. He was even allowed to have his mistress in the cell twice a week.' Nudging Daniel, he cackled. 'It must have been interesting to watch them in bed together. They say she was a beauty.'

'Who looks after prisoners like that?' asked Daniel.

'Not the likes of you and me. We only deal with the dross down here, my friend. Only the lucky ones get to work up there. They can earn a lot of money sometimes.'

'By taking bribes, you mean?'

'By doing a few favours,' said the man.

Daniel was heartened for the first time. It might be that Janssen had been given privileges as well. If he was imprisoned somewhere on the middle level of a tower, his health might not have deteriorated. His tapestries had earned him substantial rewards. Janssen would be rich enough to buy concessions from his gaolers. That vague hope helped to sustain Daniel through the long, malodorous, depressing hours below ground with inmates who might never see the light of day again. He put up with Rivot's bleak companionship and learnt not to be startled when a rat darted across his path. When his stint finally came to an end, he climbed back up into the courtyard and had to shield his eyes from the sun for several minutes.