Drums of War

'We don't want him to call for help, do we?' he said.

'What's your name?' asked Janssen.

'Marcel Daron.'

'Why are you doing this?'

'Let's save explanations for later.'

He pulled the sheet over the turnkey so that it looked as if the prisoner was still asleep. Then he led Janssen out of the cell and locked it behind them, hanging the keys on a hook on the wall. Giving Janssen his cap, he told him to keep his head down. They descended the stairs at speed and stepped out into the courtyard that was still being swept by rain. The turnkeys who'd arrived to replace them did not even look up to see their face. They were too intent on reaching the shelter of the tower. Doing as he was told, Janssen stayed close to his rescuer and joined the men gathered at the gate. There was safety in the crowd. Nobody spoke to them. When the massive door swung open, they went out as part of a sodden exodus.

Janssen was overcome with gratitude but he dare not speak until the crowd began to disperse. Having been penned up in a cell for so long, he didn't mind the wind or the rain. The relief of getting out of the Bastille at last made him impervious to the elements. Only when the two of them were alone did he break the silence.

'What did you say your name was?' he said.

'Rawson,' replied the other. 'Captain Daniel Rawson.'

The rain was easing when they arrived at the wharf but that did nothing to lessen the intensity of Cornudet's grumbling. He had simply not expected them in such weather. Since the storm had been so fierce, he'd hauled his skiff out of the river and turned it over so that it would not get waterlogged. As he and Daniel lowered it back on to the Seine, the boatman was aggrieved.

'Why couldn't you pick a day when the sun was shining?'

'We have no choice, Monsieur,' said Daniel.

'I ought to be in bed, resting my old bones. My wife thinks I'm a fool to go on the river today?'

'Did you tell her how much you'll earn?'

'That's beside the point, Monsieur,' said Cornudet.

'Is it? I've only paid you half the fare. When you drop the passengers off, you'll get the remainder.'

'Where am I supposed to be taking them?'

'It's the best part of two miles downstream,' said Daniel. 'You'll know the place because I'll wave to you from the bank. We'll get there some time ahead of you.'

'I thought you'd be coming in the boat.'

'I've lightened your load for you.'

'Why did you do that?'

'I think they deserve to be alone,' said Daniel, indicating Amalia and Dopff, who stood side by side and gazed at each other as they'd been instructed to do. 'You may as well know the truth, Monsieur Cornudet. They're young lovers, running away to get married in Mantes. Take pity on them.'

The boatman's tone changed. 'Oh,' he said, amused, 'I am to help a romance to flower, am I? Why didn't you say so? That makes all the difference, Monsieur Daron. I'm not so old that I can't remember what it's like to be young and in love. You leave them to me,' he went on. 'I'll look after them.'

'Thank you,' said Daniel. 'I knew that you would.'

Now that the boat was bobbing on the water, the passengers could climb aboard. Dopff went first, carrying a bag but without the tapestry this time. Amalia paused at the top of the stone stairs for a whispered farewell to Daniel.

'When can I see him?' she begged.

'When we are well clear of the city,' he told her.

'I can't wait!'

'Forget about him for the moment. Remember that you're eloping with the man you love. Fasten all your attention on him.'

'Kees is more embarrassed than I am.'

'It's only for a short while.'

Amalia was concerned. 'What if you don't get out of the city?'

'Then you have no alternative,' said Daniel, kissing his fingers before touching her lips with them. 'You'll have to marry Kees then.'

The coach was a fairly ramshackle affair. It was no more than a wooden box on a cart but it served their purpose. Rolling over the cobblestones, it gave its occupants an uncomfortable ride. They were happy to endure it. Emanuel Janssen was overjoyed that he was travelling with his latest tapestry, neatly folded up at his feet. Seated beside him was Beatrix, ordinarily his servant but elevated to a new station on this occasion. Janssen did not object. After repeated humiliation in the Bastille, he was not one to stand on his dignity. He willingly acquiesced in everything that was asked of him. Beatrix had been less ready to comply but the promise of escape was enough to persuade her. They were finally leaving a place she'd come to hate and fear in equal proportions.

The rain was still persistent enough to make the guards huddle against the walls at the city gate. Only one of them stepped forward to challenge the coach driver. Daniel's hat was pulled down over his forehead so that nobody would identify him as the man who'd ridden out of Paris the previous day. To complete the disguise, he'd even changed his name. Instead of masquerading as Marcel Daron, he handed over the papers he'd taken from Jacques Serval after their fight. Satisfied that the driver was a French citizen, the guard thrust the document back at him.

'What about your passengers?' he said.

'Don't disturb them, Monsieur,' warned Daniel. 'They're fast asleep. I'm taking them to Mantes for a wedding.' He pulled some more papers from inside his coat and gave them to the guard. 'Neither of them is getting married, as you'll see.'

Shielding the papers from the rain with one hand, the guard read the names. One was the genuine passport that had allowed Beatrix Udderzook, a Dutch servant, into the city. The other was a clever forgery and would have got her out again as Emma Lantin, a Frenchwoman. In fact, it was being used to get Janssen out of Paris instead. The guard took a long time inspecting the papers and Daniel began to fear that Beatrix's name would arouse suspicion. After their flight from the house, the name of Amalia Janssen would certainly have been given to the guards at every exit. Daniel had hoped that the servant's name would not be known.

The man looked in the back of the coach and saw two stout women, leaning against each other and apparently asleep. Janssen was wearing a dress borrowed from his servant. The hood of his cape obscured his head and face. At Daniel's suggestion, he'd readily shaved off his beard.

The guard sniggered and handed the papers back to Daniel.

'You're right, my friend,' he said. 'They're an ugly pair.'

The turnkey who'd been knocked out by the butt of a pistol took a long time to recover consciousness. When he did so, he found himself bound hand and foot. A gag prevented him from doing anything but make a muffled noise. Realising that he was under a sheet, he began to thresh around until he rolled off the mattress and on to the floor. As the sheet was peeled away, he lay there half-naked, twitching violently like a large fish hauled on to the deck of a ship. The guard who'd been resting on the bench leapt up in alarm at the sight.

'Where's Janssen?' he demanded.

News of the escape spread around the prison like wildfire, causing anger and amazement. Emanuel Janssen was being held at the Bastille at the express command of King Louis. Nobody looked forward to conveying news of the escape at Versailles. There would be dire repercussions. The fugitive had to be recaptured as soon as possible. When the police were informed, riders were dispatched to every exit of the city with orders that nobody was to leave unless they were wholly above suspicion. Guards on duty were questioned about those whom they'd already allowed out that morning. Information was gathered from all sources and taken back at a gallop to the Lieutenant-General of Police. He scrutinised it for a long time before he pronounced his verdict.

'Janssen is still in the city,' he declared. 'Find him!'