Tannhauser 02: The Twelve Children of Paris

  ‘Why can’t she carry ’em?’

  ‘Put this gear in the skiff. Keep the powder dry.’

  ‘This gear? There is no more. I’m carrying the lot.’

  ‘If the burden’s too great I’ll take that gold collar back.’

  Hugon reeled towards the boat. Tannhauser went in the kitchen. He saw a wicker basket filled with faggots. He took the kitchen table, turned it on its side and dragged it outside and flipped it on its top. The legs were braced with panels fore and aft.

  ‘Pascale, I need kindling. Faggots, candles, lamp oil. Stack it in here.’

  He put an arm around Carla and walked her to the skiff. Estelle and the Mice followed them.

  ‘There’s a boom across the river at the Louvre,’ said Tannhauser, ‘boats chained end to end. Much the greater danger will come from the Right Bank, from Garnier. On the Left Bank there shouldn’t be more than a token guard, and few or none to reinforce them. I’m going to hit the boom right of centre. I’ll bring the barge in sideways, stern to port. The fire in the bow will stop them crossing on foot from the Right Bank. I’ll board the boom and break it.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘A chain’s not going to stop me. What do you think?’

  Carla looked away to see the scheme in her mind. She looked back at him.

  ‘A chain’s not going to stop us.’

  Tannhauser grinned.

  ‘I want you to hold back until I signal to you to pick me up. They should be shooting at me, but if you can pull around the head of the island when we part, I’ll feel better.’

  ‘There are two small islands off the tip of the City. We can hold there.’

  ‘There’s a dock at the Hôtel-Dieu, I doubt Notre-Dame will be guarded. If I fail –’

  ‘I’ll hear no such talk.’

  ‘Carla, I’ve been meaning to tell you. You’ve never looked more beautiful.’

  She smiled. ‘I’ll hear no lies either.’

  The world was in flames all around her, yet she still had a smile to strengthen his spirit. Her courage overwhelmed him. He swallowed.

  ‘I never spoke truer in my life.’

  Carla squeezed his hand, heedless of the blood that stained it.

  Tannhauser squeezed hers.

  ‘Now,’ he said, ‘if I have my bearings right, we’ve three furlongs of water between the Millers’ Bridge and the boom. The militia don’t boast many archers or guns, but I can’t say what help they’ve recruited. If we come under fire, it will be from the wharves on that stretch. When we clear the bridges, fall in on my larboard side until we reach the islands.’

  ‘Beware the sandbanks,’ she said. ‘Especially the Right Bank.’

  ‘The run-off from the rain should give us some leeway. Now, if you see the boom open but you don’t see me –’

  ‘Then stay in sight.’

  They stopped at the skiff. He pulled her to him. He looked at Amparo. She seemed to gaze back at him. He sensed the wheel of eternity turn, its speed either too great to imagine or with so little haste he could not know if it had ever shifted at all. He felt Carla’s eyes on him and he looked at her. Her face was so pale. His chest tightened. He didn’t know what to say. Carla stood on tiptoe and kissed him.

  ‘We’ll meet you at the boom.’

  Carla stepped back. He had covered her frock with blood.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ he said. ‘It isn’t mine.’

  She gave him one of her smiles. ‘I love your oldest jokes.’

  ‘Which reminds me, Orlandu loves his new sister and is strong in heart.’

  ‘You mean he’s hurt.’

  ‘Orlandu’s a Maltese yard boy. He’s as tough as the Infant.’

  He saw her bite on many questions. She held his hand tighter and climbed down into the skiff. With a sure step she settled at the tiller and studied the boat.

  Tannhauser turned to the boys and saw Grégoire’s stump. He picked him up. The lad murmured and flinched. The opium was working.

  ‘Hugon, take the saddle and blanket, make a place for him, near Carla.’

  Grégoire opened his eyes. They were dreamy.

  ‘Is Clementine gone?’

  ‘Clementine’s soul is free, as her body never was.’

  ‘Clementine helped save the baby, too, didn’t she?’

  ‘You saved the baby, brother. You saved me.’

  ‘Master? Can I ask you a favour?’

  ‘You never asked before, so ask away.’

  ‘Don’t kill Hervé.’

  Grégoire’s eyes were as clear as a silver mirror.

  Tannhauser blinked at what he saw therein. He nodded.

  Grégoire closed his eyes.

  ‘Hugon, jump out and hold her steady.’

  Tannhauser stepped into the skiff and settled Grégoire on the strakes as best he could. He reached up and beckoned the Mice and lifted them down one by one. He called Juste. Hugon pulled Juste up by his good arm and the boy gasped with pain but didn’t protest. Tannhauser saw him into the boat and sat him with the others. No one complained about the blood. He had left the rowing benches unoccupied. He climbed out.

  ‘Are you an oarsman, Hugon?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Go and help Pascale fetch the kindling. Drag the whole table.’

  ‘It would be nice if Pascale helped me.’

  ‘You’ve got forty years’ wages round your neck.’

  Tannhauser picked up the oars and the swords and went to the charcoal barge. The fire pit had been built with such perfection that even Hervé, checking that the angles were true from the stern, appeared to find no flaw. He had left palm-width gaps between the upper sacks to improve the draught. Tannhauser detected a faint cross-breeze.

  ‘Hervé, when I buy the Louvre and turn it into a brothel, I’ll hire you to plaster it.’

  ‘You’ll find none more reasonable, sire, especially for a job that size, though there’s them as would say that no such alteration would be needed.’

  ‘Now, I want you to build a redoubt, there, to the right of the tiller.’

  ‘You mean a kind of wall, sire?’

  ‘Exactly.’

  Hervé pointed to a collection on the quay. ‘I found them on that other barge, sire. Not strictly honest, I’ll allow, but they’ll burn a treat. Caulking pitch in the bucket, the coil of rope is tarred, and so is that rain canvas. Spread that on top and whoosh.’

  Tannhauser turned as Pascale and Hugon reeled over and dropped their improvised handbarrow, which they’d carried by its legs. They were stunned with fatigue. Had any but Tannhauser received them, Pascale would have sunk to the stones. Had she not been a girl, so would Hugon. The table was heaped with combustible materials. The char was hardly needed.

  ‘Excellent,’ said Tannhauser. ‘I want you to build a fire in this pit. Pour the pitch over the bed, then the faggots, not too tight, leave me a trough at the back for the torch. Next –’

  ‘We know how to build a fire,’ said Hugon.

  ‘We?’ said Pascale. ‘I thought you didn’t like girls.’

  ‘I don’t.’

  Tannhauser saw Grymonde talking with Estelle on the quay. He went over. The Infant still hadn’t moved, his pain such that each word stole his breath.

  ‘La Rossa, on these very quays, you once asked me –’ Grymonde faltered. He set himself. He beamed at her with gapped teeth. ‘If one day we could sail away.’

  Estelle near danced on the spot. ‘You do remember every word!’

  ‘Now we will sail away. We’ll be on different boats, and mine will go farther than yours. If I’m lucky, and luck runs in the family, it will go more swiftly, too. But now you must remember my words. Wherever you go, the dragon will be with you. Always.’

  ‘Estelle,’ said Tannhauser. ‘Get in the skiff. Careful of the wounded.’

  ‘Tannzer, Pascale’s got my Peter Peck and won’t give it back.’

  ‘I’ll see you get it. For now, go and help Carla and your sister.’

  Estel
le looked at Grymonde. He nodded. She skipped away. Tannhauser picked up the two swords he had pulled from Grymonde’s gut.

  ‘I’m not easily moved to pity,’ he began.

  Grymonde clenched his teeth on a short laugh. ‘Prithee, peace.’

  ‘Say the word and I’ll kill you now.’

  Grymonde shoved on his thighs and stood tall. The sightless holes turned.

  ‘Spend that rarest of coins on him who needs it. Put me on your hell ship.’

  Grymonde swayed. Tannhauser already knew he wasn’t fit to pole the barge.

  ‘The hell ship is full. Can you handle a pair of oars?’

  ‘I was born by this river.’

  ‘What I ask is do you have the strength?’

  Grymonde groped for Tannhauser’s forearm and squeezed.

  ‘My Infant, my hand is turning black.’

  ‘It will match your filthy soul.’

  ‘Carla has the tiller. Mark her orders.’

  ‘I’ve been marking your wife’s orders since the moment I met her.’

  ‘That, too, we have in common.’

  ‘Too?’

  Tannhauser guided him to the skiff, Grymonde forcing the pace.

  ‘Pascale will man the second bench,’ said Tannhauser.

  ‘Must that girl best me at the rowlocks as well?’

  ‘We’re here. Stop. I want you on your arse, legs over the quay. I’ll take you under the arms from behind and let you down.’

  Tannhauser dropped the swords. He wrestled Grymonde’s immense weight to the flags and manoeuvred his legs into the boat, just astern of the for’ard row bench. He put Grymonde’s right hand to the gunwale and held the boat steady with both his own.

  ‘Your left leg is hard to the bench. Put your left hand on the bench and sit.’

  Grymonde bent and took his weight on his hands and groaned and hoisted and twisted and landed square. The skiff swayed. Estelle clapped. The Mice joined in. Tannhauser ran the oars through the locks and across Grymonde’s lap.

  Grymonde doubled over in a spasm. He couldn’t contain an awful groan.

  ‘My Infant, if you’re going to die, die backwards.’

  ‘One dark day, my friend, you will hear grim laughter behind you, and you will turn. And you will see nothing. But be assured, it will be me.’

  Tannhauser collected the five swords and chose the best of a poor lot, and stowed it by the tiller of the barge. Hervé had built a three-step redoubt which, at its top, was two sacks deep and nearly a yard taller than the gunwale. It would protect the pilot from all but a cannonball. He gestured with the rolled tarpaulin he carried under one arm.

  ‘With your permission, sire, I thought I’d drape this over the fire. Light up the whole town, sire, when this goes up.’

  Tannhauser decided to keep the tarred canvas in reserve until he reached the boom, where just such an effect would give the most advantage.

  ‘No, leave it there. Fetch that table. Stack that on top instead.’

  Tannhauser walked across the sacks to examine the fire.

  Hugon and Pascale had latticed the pit with inflammables, end to end.

  ‘Magnificent. Hugon, get in the skiff. Pascale –’

  ‘The violl! I left the violl!’ Hugon ran towards Irène’s.

  ‘Pascale, do you see that torch flame yonder?’

  Tannhauser pointed up the quay to where he had dropped it.

  ‘Yes, but I have another in Irène’s fireplace, and your rifle’s there.’

  He nodded. He laid the swords in a gridiron across the sacks, above the kindling. He laid the oars lengthwise across the swords. He pulled three fresh sacks of char and piled them side by side on top of the grid. The lantern had cooled. He pulled the stopper and sprinkled whale oil over the sacks. On top of the sacks he coiled the heavy, tarred rope. Hervé gave him a hand to slot the legs of the table over the whole ensemble.

  Tannhauser stepped back and nodded.

  ‘If that lot doesn’t get it burning, it isn’t charcoal.’

  ‘My word, sire, I believe that’s Captain Garnier. Over on the square.’

  Tannhauser vaulted to the quay and dashed to his bow and quiver as he looked across the river to the Place de Grève. The black beams of the gallows rose above a horseman who sat his saddle and watched him. A big man. Breastplate. Helm. Sixty yards. He had made plenty of better shots but the chances of killing an armoured man with a broadhead were slim. He was loath to waste an arrow. Get him on the turn? He recalled Garnier leaving Le Tellier’s. Fluted back plates. A full cuirass.

  He slung the quiver and walked to the edge of the quay behind Carla. Garnier reined his horse into a half-turn. Tannhauser waved Altan’s bow above his head and Garnier paused. Tannhauser pulled an arrow and waggled it from his crotch. Laughter drifted from the militia on the Place de Grève. Garnier shook his fist and rode away through his men.

  The Pilgrims would be waiting at the boom. Tannhauser wondered where Dominic was. He restored the arrow and slung Altan’s bow across his chest. He unhitched his sheathed sword from his belt. Pascale ran over from the house. In one hand she carried his rifle and in the other a torch. Over one shoulder she had a bow and quiver.

  ‘I took it from one of the sergents. Can I bring it home?’

  Bodkins. He took the weapons and hung them over his shoulder.

  ‘Where’s Hugon?’ he asked.

  ‘Hugon’s gone.’

  ‘Gone?’

  ‘The violl has gone, too.’

  ‘Hugon won’t be back.’ Grymonde swung his head back and forth, trying to find Carla. ‘I saw it right off, in the birthing room. Can’t blame a thief for thieving. I’m surprised he waited this long. But then, Hugon was always a queer lad.’

  ‘If he had asked for the violl,’ said Carla, ‘I would have given it to him.’

  ‘He knows you love it. He heard you play.’

  Tannhauser took the torch from Pascale and gave her his sword.

  ‘Won’t you need this?’ she said.

  ‘I need to be nimble.’ He took her hand. ‘Get in the skiff. You’re second oar, if needed. Do as Carla tells you.’

  She nodded. Her black eyes gleamed.

  He squeezed. ‘You’re the only able body in the boat.’

  ‘I’ll look after them.’

  ‘I know you will. I saw the bodies in the market.’

  She beamed. He helped her aboard. He heard Estelle, somewhat wounded.

  ‘I’m an able body, too. Aren’t I, Carla?’

  He untied and coiled the dock line and threw it behind Grymonde.

  ‘Are we done, then, good sire?’ Hervé hovered on the quay.

  ‘Hervé, you are done. Know that you owe your life to Grégoire.’

  ‘Then I’m very grateful to him, sire.’

  ‘Stay away from the militias. Go home to your wife.’

  ‘Wife, sire?’

  Grégoire cried out.

  Carla’s voice, sharp. ‘Agnès, Marie, sit back down at once.’

  Tannhauser turned to a sudden turmoil in the skiff. The Mice stood holding hands and were leaning back so far against the riverward gunwale they would have fallen in had they been much taller. They both stared at Hervé with closed expressions.

  Tannhauser was sickened.

  The Mice looked at him and he saw that they were afraid. Of him. The colour of their fear appalled him. They didn’t fear pain or death; they feared betrayal. He supposed they hadn’t known much else. He loved the Mice. They endured. If they didn’t survive, none of them would. He looked at Hervé. The man was oblivious to his own depravity.

  ‘Tannzer?’ Estelle had reclaimed Amparo and was cradling her inside her frock. ‘Do you know what I think?’

  Hervé smiled at the Mice and waved. He opened his mouth to speak.

  Tannhauser chopped him in the throat with the edge of his hand and kicked his legs from under him. The back of Hervé’s skull cracked on the quay. Tannhauser looked at the Mice. Their faces were closed aga
in, but the fear at least was gone. They sat down.

  ‘You’ll be safe with Carla,’ he said. ‘You will always be safe with Carla.’

  Tannhauser looked at Grégoire.

  ‘Grégoire, will you release me from my promise?’

  The lad’s agony was extreme; but he understood what had just passed.

  He glanced at Hervé. He nodded.

  Tannhauser pushed the skiff out into the river.

  ‘Obey Carla. All you have to do is sail through the breach in the boom.’

  He dragged Hervé by the scruff of his jerkin to the front of the barge, and laid down the torch and the spontone. He squatted and picked him up in both arms and stood and dropped him arse down into the space between the bow and the sacks, his feet in the air to either side of the stem. He unhitched the dock line and used it to bind Hervé’s ankles to the prow. Hervé coughed and blinked. His head and shoulders were a yard forward of the fire pit above him.

  Tannhauser pushed the bow out from the quay. He loaded his weapons and untied the stern and boarded. He checked the rudder, whose crest was decorated with a large-breasted and much-fondled mermaid carved in wood. The sternpost was sheathed in iron. He bent for the pole and his back stabbed him as he straightened. He propped the pole on the redoubt. He looked over the sacks of char at Carla, who held the rudder hard to port to stay the skiff. Grymonde called out from the oars.

  ‘La Rossa! Do we still have my satchel?’

  ‘Yes, it’s here.’

  ‘Open it, look inside.’

  Tannhauser climbed on the sacks and walked forward with the torch. Down in the bilges beyond the fire pit, Hervé craned his head backwards.

  ‘Begging your pardon, sire, but if I stay here I’ll be roasted like a chestnut.’

  ‘Try to stay alive until your comrades catch the spectacle.’

  Tannhauser shoved the torch into the kindling and blew on it. Smoke spiralled upward. He stepped back and away. Flames erupted from either end of the pit. The oil on the sacks beneath the table caught and bright yellow rags fluttered skyward. Hervé lunged with his arms, his fingers straining towards the knots cutting into his ankles. The movement wedged him more deeply in his fiery tomb. He screamed for mercy above the pop and crackle of the faggots. Tannhauser walked back to the stern.