Son Sauveur du Règne de Terreur, For marie
Title: Son Sauveur du Règne de Terreur
Setting: Historical - France 1794
Genre: Action, Thriller, Romance (Well, sort of anyway)
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Sexy References and Some Violence
Summary: This is a story about a young man from a wealthy family who falls for a ‘common’ woman during one of the darkest chapters in the French Revolution. He wants to make things better in his country, but doesn’t want to resort to violence to make things change. Sometimes, avoiding a fight isn’t so easy …
Author's Notes: For Mar in the SSIII.
Son Sauveur du Règne de Terreur
At the height of the French Revolution, Paris is in a state of utter chaos. Civil unrest is tearing the nation apart from the inside, the economy is in a tailspin, and a number European nations - angered at France’s departure from the traditional Monarchy and treatment of its former King and Queen, have formed an alliance against France, threatening to spill over its borders at any moment. With the nation’s survival at stake and desperate to keep revolutionary reforms intact the National Convention sets up the Comité de Salut Public (Committee of Public Safety). Effectively created to rule the country in the face of the national crisis, the committee aims to eliminate all internal counterrevolutionary elements, to strengthen France’s armies, and to ensure adequate food supplies for both military and civilian purposes.
The Committee employs unforgiving and often brutal means to achieve its goals, ultimately leading to the loss of public support.
In June of 1794, The Committee of Public Safety institutes Law of 22 Prairial, giving the Revolutionary Tribunal frightening power to deal with conspirators. It can now prosecute prisoners without council or witnesses to speak in their defence. It also makes death the sole penalty for any crime. Some feel this is merely a means to silence those with views opposing the Committee of Pubic Safety more quickly. Between the spring of 1793 and summer of 1794, the government arrests and executes thousands, most by the guillotine. This is a period of the French Revolution known as the Reign of Terror.
"La terreur n'est autre chose que la justice prompte, sévère, inflexible." - Maximilien Robespierre. Translation: "Terror is nothing other than prompt, severe, inflexible justice."1
Jacques couldn’t remember a more perfect day. The sun was high in the deep blue sky and only a few puffy white clouds where brave enough to wander across the path its brilliant light. It was hot, but a reprieve of drier air made it much more pleasant. He hadn’t needed to pull out his handkerchief once to mop his brow since he sat down on the blanket with Aurélie.
She had laid out a wonderful picnic by the tiny stream that bent in the shape of s then wound on for several miles before dumping into the Seine. The two of them had kissed there for the first time and he still remembered it like it happened yesterday. He could recall exactly how warm her lips felt and how sweet the kiss tasted.
He knew that getting a kiss out of her today, however, was likely to be much more of a chore. Her expression was much harder and more troubled than it had ever been on any other occasion when they visited this spot. He wondered if she knew - but no, how could she? He wracked his brain of all time he had ever spoken to her in his life. He had always been so careful about side-stepping any discussion of politics. He knew what he could be in for, the danger he was in. He did not want to bring her into it.
Does she know or does she just think she knows?
She took out a wine glass and handed it to him, then drew out a bottle of wine from the basket. After uncorking it, she poured some of the deep maroon liquid into his glass and looked at him apologetically. “I’m sure this doesn’t hold a candle to what you’re used to drinking, but it’s all I could get my hands on. And, if my parents notice that it’s gone, they’ll probably send for the authorities - send me right to the guillotine.”
“Are you serious? In that case, I will make certain that I enjoy it.” Jacques replied, freezing just short of placing his lips on the glass.
“They have several bottles left over from their wedding. It just sits in our pantry collecting dust. Thankfully, my younger brother is a drunkard and they’re much more likely to suspect him if they ever notice a bottle has gone missing.”
Jacques suppressed a laugh. He had never found it so difficult to read Aurélie in the past. On any other occasion, he would have thought she was trying to be funny. As his mind lumbered clumsily for a retort, he took a sip of the wine and gazed at the river, hoping an idea would jump out of it just like a fish after a fly.
He had been bracing himself four a rather sour and unpleasant taste, but it never came. Instead, what he got was light and agreeable. It did not finish as harshly as typical, inexpensive wines. He looked at the label. It was worn, barely legible, and stained the same colour as the wine, but he did not recognize the name.
“Hmm,” he huffed, swishing the remaining wine around in circles in his glass gently. “I think you have seriously underrated your parents’ taste.”
Aurélie’s eyes narrowed. “A case of that,” she said gesturing to his glass, “wasn’t as expensive as the bottle you gave me for my birthday by itself. How could it possibly be better?”
“Did you try it?”
“No,” she shook her head and looked down and the red and white plaid pattern on the blanket. She ran her fingers across it, feeling the texture of the grass beneath it. “It was worth so much that I …” her voiced trailed off.
Jacques reached out and touched her hand. “It’s okay,” he assured her, a kind smile on his face. “I don’t care what you actually did with it. As long as whatever you did do with it made you smile, it served its purpose.”
The corners of Aurélie’s mouth curled upwards slightly, but he could tell she was ashamed - just as she always was when the subject of finances or wealth in general somehow figured into one of their discussions.
“At any rate, I was going to say, if you are looking for a fine wine to impress anyone in the near future, I recommended this one,” he said raising the glass. “The other bottle may have a fancier label and probably would fetch a higher price, but it’s got nothing on your parents wedding label for taste and,” he lifted the glass to his nose and took in its scent, “bouquet.”
A moment went by where the two sat in silence. Jacques had hoped the conversation would carry them past the uneasiness entirely. It had not. There was a hint of accusation in her eyes now and he could tell she recognized that he had succeeded in creating a diversion. Her next words fell on him like a hammer.
“Is there someone else? Another woman?”
He had just gone for another sip of wine when the words arrived at his ears. When they registered, he turned his head away from here and spit his wine all over the trunk of the tree they were sitting under and laughed raucously. She had no idea.
Aurélie sat bolt-upright on the thin cloth on the wooden floor, constituting her bed, her heart pounding hard against her chest. What was it, a scream? She hadn’t been asleep, but that made it no less disturbing. She held her breath in an effort to eliminate all other sound and listened intently. Two more screams rang out from across the darkened street, shattering the fragile silence that hung in the stagnant air of midnight.
She felt a mixture of fear, excitement, and relief that she now had something else to blame for her sleepless night. Hearing a disturbance late at night was not uncommon, particularly in this part of the city. It was always in the distance before, however, not so close. Quickly, she sprang to her feet, pulled on night robes, and ignited the candle standing on the floor next to her in a small tin stand. So many screams in one night that close together did not bode well.
She made her way through her family’s single-room apparent, careful not to step on any of its other occupants still sound asleep on the floor, to the window that looked out onto the boulevard below. She saw nothing except the darkened silhouette of buildings opposite her own. Everything seemed to be still, then a door burst open almost directly across and down from her, revealing the source of the commotion.
Two soldiers emerged dragging a man in his bedclothes, struggling against their grip with all of his might. A more distinguished looking officer wearing a black chapeau with a very fancy white and blue feather came out next, followed by an elderly woman pleading with the officer to set the man free. Light shining through the open doorway illuminated blotchy red stains on the front of her snowy white gown.
Somewhere inside, Aurélie knew what she was about to do was ill advised, but she couldn’t help it. Curiosity drove her out the door of her family’s apartment, down two flights of stairs, and the out of the building’s front door onto the street. Nothing could have prepared her for what she witnessed next.
“Madame, go back inside, tend to your husband’s body, and forget your son,” she heard the officer order the old woman.
“Please, Monsieur,” she begged, dropping to her knees. “I beg you. You have already taken my husband from me. Do not take my only son as well.” She reached up and seized the hem of his coat.
The officer immediately tried to shake loose her hand, but she held on with an extraordinarily firm grip - one of desperation. “I am warning you,” he growled, his voice and temper rising. “Release me at once.”
The grey-haired woman, however, did not let go. Tears streamed down her face and she continually sobbed the word, “Please.”
Losing his patience with her entirely, he drew his sabre and ran her through with it. The shriek echoed in the off the surrounding buildings before everything again fell silent once again under the presiding full moon.
Aurélie’s hand shot up to her face and covered her mouth in attempt to conceal the scream she knew as coming. Her knees felt weak and rubbery, causing her to stagger and nearly fell to the ground. Despite her best effort at keeping quiet her whimpers and gasps, the officer had heard. He looked over in her direction, his face like stone as he wiped off the blade of his sword, staining his ivory handkerchief crimson. He replaced his weapon and began to walk toward her.
“Bonsoir, Mademoiselle. I am Capitaine Phillippe Bouvier,” he said politely, removing his hat and bowing.
Her eyes were wide, horrified over what she had just witnessed. Something inside her head, however, overrode her emotions. Don’t panic. Breathe. her inner voice commanded.
“I am Mademoiselle Renard - Aurélie Renard.” Her voice broke. She knew her attempts to mask her horror had failed.
Capitaine Bouvier considered her for a moment, noticing her eyes gazing past him to the body of the elderly woman lying on the ground. “I must apologize for the disturbance.”
She suspected that the dead body drawing the majority of her attention annoyed him somewhat. But he did not comment on it. He simply carried on with his explanation. “Some criminals do not rest, Mademoiselle, not even at this hour. It is necessary, most unfortunately, to use drastic measures to bring them to justice. Do not be alarmed, I assure you Georges Babineaux will trouble you no more.”
Babineaux.
The name echoed through her mind as though she had spoken it on the edge of a vast canyon. She had known that family all of her life. Madame Babineaux, who now lay dead on the street, used to mind her as a child while her parents worked in the fields outside of the city. Georges, the young man the soldiers had taken away, was five years older than she was, and she recalled daydreaming about him for hours when she was thirteen.
“W-w-what,” she fumbled and choked on her words, feeling the sickness rising inside her, “have they done?”
“A week ago, we intercepted correspondence from Monsieur Babineaux regarding a secret meeting he was trying to arrange with a high-ranking military official from Spain. We requested that they come quietly, but as you can see, they refused.”
“H-high ranking … official,” She stammered, her mind working very hard. “Their son?” she spat. Suddenly disgust and anger flared in her eyes. “Their son lives in Spain. He married a Spanish girl and was a quartermaster in their infantry - hardly a high-ranking official. That is where his parents live,” she said pointing at the building across the street, the one that he and the soldiers in his charge had just invaded. “He came to visit them on leave. They had been planning it for two months.”
Capitaine Bouvier turned and looked upon the body of the elderly woman. She thought more soldiers must have still been inside the building in which the Babineauxes had lived. Even from fifty feet away and several floors up, Aurélie could hear the crashing and banging sounds of an apartment being turned upside-down. She knew they were unlikely to trouble themselves to avoid damaging any of the family’s belongings.
Capitaine Bouvier’s face bore signs of a mildly painful thought, perhaps even a hint of guilt. This uncertain expression faded as quickly as it formed, however, as frustration hardened in his eyes.
“This was a fact that could have been established easily enough had he come quietly,” he said, removing his hat and rubbing the bald spot on top of his head. Her impression was that he was faking disappointment. “The case would have been heard by a magistrate and his ancestry could have been confirmed before it came to this.”
Aurélie slapped Capitaine Bouvier firmly across his right cheek, snapping his head to the side. “You lie!” she hissed. “You know as well as I do the only thing waiting for him back at the fort was the guillotine.”
He did not respond to this, he simply looked outraged. He stared at her as though he had a very sour taste in his mouth and rubbed his cheek where she had struck.
“You know, you ought to be more cautious,” he spoke in a low, cold tone. “I know all about you, Mademoiselle. I’ve heard that you have been keeping the wrong sort of company yourself lately.”
“I beg your pardon!” she retorted.
“Jacques Blanchard? Mademoiselle?” he asked with a sinister grin on his face. “Do not play me for a fool! I know about your late night meetings down by the river.”
Aurélie felt like she was sinking into a pool of icy water. Was the man who held her heart truly a criminal? All along, she had attributed his strange disappearances to another woman. This was much more serious, however. She knew the most likely outcome awaiting anyone taken in for question by the Police. An image of a shiny blade racing down a wooden track towards the neck of a nameless victim at sunset popped into her head. She shuttered at the thought of that victim being Jacques and shook her head hard trying to expel it.
“A word of friendly advice,” Capitaine Bouvier said, leaning closer to her, his voice full of malice. “He is not someone with whom you want to be caught in close association. The consequences for both you and your family could be severe. Now that we have taken care of Monsieur Babineaux, Blanchard is my top priority. It would be most unfortunate to find you with him when we take him in to custody … most unfortunate.” He paused seeming to enjoy the terrified look now present in her eyes as his own swept up and down her, examining every curve. A tiny smile formed on his face, a lustful smile. “Should you … cooperate, however, any transgressions might be forgiven.”
With that, he turned his back. He marched across the street and whistled in the direction of the building they were searching. The soldiers filed out and followed him, leaving the door to the building wide open and the body of Madame Babineaux on the street.
As soon as they had disappeared into the blackness, Aurélie felt herself inhale for what seemed like the first time since Capitaine Bouvier had mentioned his name.
Jacques.
Two days later, after a lengthy wait at the rendezvous she suggested, she began to wonder if the seventeen-year-old boy with messy, blonde hair and tattered clothes from the village had failed. In exchange for an occasional apple, tomato, or head of lettuce - what ever her parents brought back from the fields fresh that day, he had their run messages for years, never once failing to deliver. When she dropped two silver coins into his mud-covered hands, constituting exactly one half of all the money she had, she had been certain he would not fail her. As she stood in the deserted barn, looking out hopefully at the horizon for any sign of movement, she wondered if she had made a wise choice.
He was an hour late. To her, it seemed like ten times that long. The stiff wind shook the trees lining the horizon on the other side of the rolling fields of long, green grass. Each time it roared up into a gust, the barn creaked eerily as the pressure of the moving air bared down on it. Occasionally, it caused some of the old metal farming gear hanging on the walls to clang together. The awful sound caused her to jump and her heart to race. She was so tense. He was never late - never.
“Aurélie,” a voiced called to her from behind.
She felt her heart stop. She turned and saw him standing there, having entered through the backside of the barn. “Jacques!” she exclaimed, bursting into tears.
She lunged at him, nearly knocking him over, and began kissing every inch of his face. Her lips found his and she sank so deeply into him that she could feel tingling warmth throughout her entire body. For a brief and precious moment, she completely forgot the circumstances that had prompted this meeting. He was the only other thing that existed in the world.
After what seemed like a long time - but not nearly long enough, their lips finally broke apart and she released him from her vice-like grip. His cheeks were bright red and he could not help but smile.
“If only I knew what I did to merit such a welcome,” he chuckled, “I would make certain I did it all the time.”
Had she not known that his family hailed from aristocracy because he had told her so, she might not have known it. The clothes he wore were the same as you might expect to find on any common man walking the streets of Paris. Only the spotlessness and lack of hand-sewn patches hinted at his upper-class status.
He had told her once how much it embarrassed him to be a member of such a wealthy family when so many people in France were so poor. He told her about many evenings where he had lost his appetite at the dinner table, looking over a an obscene, occasion-less feast that was more food than most people on the streets would see in a week - maybe even a month.
“Families like mine as much to blame for the poor state of affairs as anyone, if not more. It sickens me,” he confided in her. He also said that he had considered leaving his parents until one of associates convinced him to remain, telling him that it might be useful to have a contact on the inside. Aurélie had never even thought, until now, about what that statement could have meant.
As he stood there smiling, her immediate impression was that he had no idea of the danger he was in or why she had asked to see him. His long brown hair waved gently about his broad shoulders in the breeze that snuck through the numerous cracks and openings in the barn walls. He hadn’t shaved in days - he did get lazy with that occasionally, adding to his common man’s appearance, which she knew would please him. After a moment, he seemed to catch on to her uneasiness and his bright, blue eyes narrowed.
“What is it?”
“They know,” she said softly, her brown eyes overflowing with concern.
“Know?” He answered, looking confused. “Know … what?”
It dawned on Aurélie that she had no clue exactly what Capitaine Bouvier had on him, so she recounted the events of the night she witnessed the killings of the Babineauxes. She told him about Capitaine Bouvier’s warning not to see him anymore and about the threat made on her and her family. When she finished, he turned his back to her, rubbing his forehead as though he had suddenly gotten a severe headache.
“Are you planning some kind of … uprising?” she asked.
“What?” He laughed, turning back.
“Are you planning to take action against the Convention?”
He took both of her hands and looked her directly in the eyes. “Aurélie,” he began. “You know me. You know I have no stomach for that sort of madness. All of this killing? All of these arrests and executions? It’s no way to solve the problem. You don’t simply stomp out opposing voices until the only one left is your own.”
“But, why do they suspect you then? What have you done wrong? Why does that Capitaine want to arrest you? You know what happens to people they arrest - most of them.”
Horror flashed in Jacques’s eyes. In that moment, she knew that exactly the same image she saw in her mind, he saw in his - the guillotine.
“There are about twelve of us,” he began, turning away from her again, sighing deeply. “We were only four at first, but have gradually grown in numbers with time. We’re always careful about bringing in new people, you see. We make certain it is someone who can be trusted. We do all we can check the background of every new member.”
“T-t-twelve?” she spluttered. “What is it the twelve of you do?”
“It is a general forum, a discussion group if you will.”
“A discussion group? Discussing … what?”
“How to make France better for everyone,” he shrugged, raising one arm in her direction. “I suppose that makes us counter-revolutionary, from a certain standpoint, in that we don’t agree with the present Convention’s methods. I mean, it isn’t like we want to put a King back on the throne, but we don’t think we need to execute anyone who has different ideas either.”
“I don’t understand,” Aurélie stated softly.
“We want to make a real difference, Aurélie. Changes you can see, changes you can feel.” he replied, raising his voice enthusiastically. “We want a representative form of government - one where people from all walks of life come together to talk about problems and work things out together.”
“Very idealistic,” she murmured, her eyes sinking to the ground. Now she knew exactly why he was in so much trouble. The present Convention was not tolerant of any dissenting points of view. Even worse, organizing into a group a dozen people and discussing better ways to run the country was akin to picking up a sword and starting an uprising. At least, that’s how the Committee of Public Safety would see it.
“You don’t like that idea?” he asked, looking somewhat surprised.
“Of course I do,” she responded, raising her eyes up again to meet his. There were now tears in them. “But, I’m afraid of what is going to happen to you. They know, Jacques,” she sobbed. “They know.”
Jacques scratched the top of his head. “I wonder if Pierre …” His voiced trailed off.
“Pierre?”
“Pierre Fournier, the last new member we brought in,” he began, looking out the window. Aurélie had the impression that he thought he had seen something. He paused for a moment at stared out at the tree line before eventually carrying on. “Not everyone was entirely convinced of his credentials.”
“Do you think he might have betrayed you, or your group?”
“Who knows,” Jacques shrugged, placing his hands on the window sill, appearing to examine the distant forest again. “He is a bit mad, a bit radical, and certainly more willing to resort to violence that the rest of us. Still, I don’t think he did anything intentionally. He seemed to hate the Committee more than rest of us; I think they executed someone in his family.”
“A couple of our other members, however, are a bit too liberal about whom they tell about our meetings, and what we discussed. You never know what can happen if you tell one, just one, outsider. Who knows where the story could go from there or how many sets of ears that information might go through, finding its way to the wrong person at the end of a long, corruptive chain of misinformation.”
“You have to run,” she suggested, nodding emphatically. “Yes, flee the country. It’s the only way.”
“What?” Jacques laughed.
“I’m serious, dead serious,” Aurélie asserted, taking his hand. “It’s the only way to ensure your safety. Leave today, leave now!”
Jacques had taken a step towards her when the door behind them banged open. At first, Aurélie was certain it was only the wind again. When she heard other voices and the sounds of numerous sets of feet rushing in, however, a horrifying realization that she was mistaken struck her. Half a dozen soldiers burst in and surrounded them.
Then, she heard a voice that made the hair on the back of her neck stand. “Mademoiselle, did I not warn you?”
Capitaine Bouvier stepped between two of the soldiers who had drawn their swords and were pointing them at the couple in the middle of the semi-circle they had formed.
“What is the meaning of this?” Jacques demanded. “We have done nothing wrong!”
“The magistrate will be the judge of that, monsieur. Personally, I do not think being a member of a secret, anti-government society constitutes doing nothing wrong,” Capitaine Bouvier stated, his nose turned up, not looking either one of his victims in the face. “Come quietly, however, and your cooperation will, no doubt, be taken into consideration at your trial. Take him away.”
The soldiers moved in quickly and seized Jacques’s arms. Another soldier grabbed Aurélie around her waist, but did not follow the others as they dragged Jacques out the door.
“What is happening?” she demanded. “Why am I not being taken away with him?” She felt a lump in her throat but bravely went on. “Should I not go to the same jail for conspiring with him?”
“Conspiring with him?” Capitaine Bouvier said, looking her in the eyes for the first time, wearing a puzzled expression. “On the contrary! Without your help, we could not have caught him.”
Aurélie saw the look of shock on Jacques’s face just as he disappeared outside. Her heart sank. “What do you mean? I have not helped you in any way.” She spoke loudly and clearly, desperately hoping her voice would permeate the walls and find Jacques’s ears.
“Oh, but you have.” Capitaine Bouvier sneered. “We saw you give money to that filthy let runt in the town square. He managed to slip away from us, but rest assured, we will deal with him when he resurfaces.”
“No,” Aurélie whimpered.
“Having lost your little messenger boy, our only choice was to put one of our best spies on you. For two days, we tracked every move you made until you eventually led us here. Sure enough, our most wanted criminal appeared. Oh, I assure you, Mademoiselle, you have done us a great service today. Without your help, it could have taken months to apprehend him. He has a natural gift for evading capture. It probably has to do with the fact his family has money. Had he been just common riff-raff, he would have nowhere to go, would he?”
Capitaine Bouvier finished and gave a little nod to the remaining soldiers in the room. Immediately, they all left, including the one who had been restraining Aurélie. The last soldier closed the barn door behind him, leaving her alone with the Capitaine.
Aurélie felt certain she saw the devil behind his eyes. She knew she was in trouble. A wicked grin twisted the corners of his mouth upwards and he said, “You may remove that dress now, Mademoiselle.”
“B-beg your pardon,” she responded, taking a step back.
“Your clothes, you may remove them. You are a beautiful woman, Mademoiselle Renard. I want to see all of you.”
“You cannot be serious,” she wheezed, backing into the wall causing a large, sharp, metal farming hoe to fall down with a large clank.
The Capitaine placed his hand on his sword and drew it out a few inches, causing her to gulp in fear. “You don’t know how serious I am.”
Shivering, Aurélie began to loosen her dress and let it slip down off her shoulders below her breasts, exposing them. The look of delight in Bouvier’s face made her want to vomit. She considered pulling it back up to cover herself, but, before she could, he drew his sword out completely. Carefully, he poked at the dress which had gotten stuck around her waist until it fell to her feet, leaving her standing there, naked.
Her entire body shivered and she knew it had nothing to do with the cool breeze. She braced herself, certain she knew what would come next. She was right.
He moved at her quite rapidly, wrapping his arms around her and kissing her all over her face and neck. She struggled and fought with all of her might, eventually hitting him squarely in the cheek with one of her clinched fists. He responded by slapping her so hard she fell to the ground.
“You should be grateful that you are not on your way to the guillotine with your dear friend, mademoiselle. I expected a little more gratitude on your part.”
“You disgust me,” she sobbed, massaging the side of her face that he had stuck.
Capitaine Bouvier stood there still, for a moment. Aurélie watched him panting heavily. She thought he looked just like an angry bull about to charge. But he didn’t. An even more unnerving calm seemed to wash over him in the next few moments. Finally, his eyes brightened slightly and she was sure that an idea she would not like had formed in his mind. Once again, she was correct.
“There is an officers’ dinner at the fort this coming Saturday. I should very much like you to attend it with me,” Capitaine Bouvier stated in an angry tone.
“I’d rather go the guillotine,” Aurélie responded.
“That can be arranged!” he yelled at the top of his voice, grabbing her by the arms and wrenching her to her feet. “You have three days to improve your attitude. I shall pick you up in my carriage at your parents’ house at seven o’clock Saturday evening. I suggest, between now and then, you reconsider. I will expect you to provide me with pleasant company and anything else-” he said, his eyes scanning down over the whole of her naked flesh, “- I require. Otherwise, I will see to your wish personally. But not before you witness the effectiveness of the guillotine on your dear Monsieur Blanchard.”
With that, Capitaine Bouvier left, leaving Aurélie alone. She slumped down to the ground, crying.
“Meet me at midnight at this address, Mademoiselle. Perhaps it is not too late to save Monsieur Blanchard.”
“Who are you?” she demanded.
“Not now, Mademoiselle …”
The day immediately following the rendezvous with Jacques and the subsequent run in with Capitaine Bouvier, Aurélie sat on the front steps of her building with a blank expression. The sun had risen, wandered carelessly across the sky, and was making its slow, evening descent, splashing numerous shades of red and orange across the western horizon. All day, passers by went up and down the boulevard, going about their daily business, taking as little note of her as she did of them. The only thing she could think of was Jacques.
It’s all my fault, all my fault.
By the time blackness had replaced any trace of light in the clear evening sky, she finally arrived at the conclusion that sitting there was not going to help. She had to do something. She had to figure out someway to save Jacques from what she was sure was certain death. She knew she had at least until Saturday, three more days, to figure out a way to rescue him. There was only one problem: Where do I start?
The question echoed in her mind even after she retreated indoors, out of the cooler night air. She laid awake staring at the ceiling, listening - as she had to so often - to the sound of the young couple in the apartment next door making love. All she could think of when this occurred was Jacques, and the night she offered herself to him only to have him refuse, saying it would not be proper.
She began to imagine making love to Jacques, her mind wandering with the sound of the panting coming through the very thing walls. Suddenly, a sharp metal blade came crashing down on his neck, beheading him. She watched his head rolling around on the floor until it came to rest, his eyes looking right at her. Then, the bodiless head of her lover spoke. How could you let this happen to me?
Her scream woke mother, father, and brothers. She sat up in a flash, sweat running down her face, breathing heavily, as though she had just run several miles. She had to assure her family several times over that everything was okay and that she just a bad dream. Mercifully, the couple next door - who most certainly heard her outburst - did not reassume their activities. It did not make a difference; she still could not sleep.
She could not hide from her guilt. She couldn’t bear the thought of Jacques’s pending execution or of having to accompany Capitaine Bouvier anywhere. She considered concealing a knife in her clothes and killing him in the carriage. As gratifying as that may have been, however, it was unlikely to help Jacques and would likely secure her an appointment with the guillotine.
Out of desperation, she went to visit Jacques’s parents’ home the following day. She hid in the vestibule of a building kitty-corner from where the immaculate building stood. It was hard for her to believe that only he and his parents lived inside. Her building was not half as large and there were at least a dozen families living in it, close to one hundred people. With its beautiful yellow brickwork that gleamed brilliantly in the sun, it reminded her of a palace.
For a moment, she imagined living there, being married to Jacques, and living a life style fit for a queen. She thought of sitting a magnificently appointed dinner table, with golden candles and real, silver utensils. She thought of a maid filling her glass from a fine bottle of wine while she smiled across the table at him. It was more than she could ever hope for, realistically. According to her parents, she would be lucky if she ever become the maid serving the wine.
Then, she thought of Jacques again and how many times she told her he hated such excessiveness. She knew his ideal table would be much simpler. The candles would be plain white, ones that anyone could find in a common store. The dining utensils would be thick and sturdy, but not made of pure silver. And if anyone would be filling her glass, he would be doing it himself. He never liked the idea of anyone waiting on him.
The quiet scene in her mind that she had been delightfully observing for several moments turned sour instantly as soldiers kicked in the door and dragged him away. The look on his face was the same as she remembered it from the barn. How could you let this happen to me?
As the harrowing fantasy vanished from before her eyes, she stepped back out into the sunlight and made her way across the street. She climbed the front steps of the amazing home and placed her hand on the gleaming brass knocker, determination set on her face. She gave it three good bangs before releasing it and stepping back from the door, trying to collect herself and look as calm as possible.
No one answered. She knocked three more times. She thought she heard muffled voices from inside and more than one person fumbling around. Finally, a servant - or a man dressed like a servant - opened the door, seized her arm, and pulled her inside.
It a fluid motion, the man threw her to the floor, which was a very highly polished, dark wood. She began to climb back to her feet but froze when she found herself nose to nose with the end of a musket.
“Who are you?” Someone’s voice demanded.
Whoever these people were, they were not soldiers. The rag-tag nature of their clothing immediately gave them away. “I could ask you the same thing. I’d hazard to guess none of you are related to or in the employment of the Blanchards.”
A taller, darker skinned main with long black hair and a moustache motioned to the men wielding the guns that it was all right to lower their weapons. Then, he extended his hand to Aurélie and helped her to her feet.
“You must forgive us for the harsh greeting, Mademoiselle. When we heard the knock on the door, we were quite certain that the authorities had come back to search the house.”
“Search the house?” she asked, looking around and noting that everything appeared to be quite orderly. “What happened? Were the Blanchards arrested?”
“Oh yes,” the man nodded. “They took both Monsieur and Madame Blanchard, along with most of their servants, away for questioning. They said his son has been conspiring against the Convention.”
“He was not!” Aurélie protested vocally. “He was -“
“Mademoiselle,” he interrupted, “You needn’t explain to me. I know what Jacques Blanchard was doing and whom he was meeting with. I was a member of that same group. You must be Aurélie. Jacques has mentioned you before,” he said with a quick, kind smile.
“Who are you?” she again demanded.
“That is not important right now. What is important is that we clear this house of anything else the courts can use against the Blanchards as evidence. I’m sure you are aware, they don’t require much to convict.”
“So I have heard.”
Just at that moment, another man came into the room clutching several rolls of parchments in his hands. He held them up for the man standing next to Aurélie to see. “Is that all of it?”
“We’ve searched every room in the house. We found nothing else, monsieur.”
“Monsieur,” another man called suddenly. “They’re coming.”
The man with black hair and moustache moved rapidly to the window. Out it, he could see a column of soldiers marching up the street in the direction of the house.
“All of you,” his voice boomed, “Out the back door, now! Leave no trace!” He turned to Aurélie. “I suggest you exit through the back as well. If they see you leaving, you’ll be arrested for sure.”
Aurélie nodded and followed him.
“Meet me at midnight at this address, Mademoiselle,” he said, placing a small scrap of parchment into her hand and then pressing her fingers closed. “Perhaps it is not too late to save Monsieur Blanchard.”
“Who are you?” she demanded one final time.
One final time, he refused to answer. “Not now, Mademoiselle,” he said, giving her a hurried push towards the back rooms of the house. We must leave, now!”
Aurélie hurried out the back of the house and then around a corner of a building, then watched the man with the black hair disappear with his cohorts down another street. She looked at the piece of parchment. The address was not far from where she lived. She felt hope welling up inside her for the first time they took Jacques away. Would this man be able to help her save him? Was this some kind of trap? She clinched her fist over the parchment thinking that there was only one way to find out.
The streets were completely dark and chillingly still. The silence was broken only by the occasional sound of dogging barking somewhere nearby. This did not comfort Aurélie as she paced towards her destination. She guessed something must have been disturbing the dog and horrible notions bandied about in her head. Was there a brigade of soldiers marching to the exact same destination she was at this very instant?
Her feet froze. She thought about how foolish it was to place such a trust in someone she met only once - someone who broke into the house of Jacques parents. She had no idea who they really were. Still, her time was short and her options were few. Furthermore, and had to she assure herself of this point repeatedly, the worst thing that would happen is that her life would end quickly and she would be reunited with Jacques in the afterlife. Was that even possible? She hoped it was, because from where she stood at that exact moment, it seemed more likely that breaking him out of the fort and then escaping to someplace safe.
I’ll be with him in the end. With that thought, she resumed walking and soon arrived at her destination.
The building she stood in front of here was severely dilapidated. All of the windows were broken out, some still having sharp teeth of glass sticking out from the edges of their frames. On one of the upper floors, there was evidence that there had been a fire. Thick black suit had covered all the bricks above the windows and the frames looked more like coal.
Aurélie gulped and looked up and down the street, but saw no one. She heard the dog barking more viciously now, causing more disquiet than it had before. The urge to run was rapidly rising in her. Just as the temptation to flee was about to take hold heard a familiar voice call out to her.
“Mademoiselle, in here.”
She turned and saw the silhouette of someone in one of the ground floor windows. She made her way up the crumbling steps and pushed the door open. The inside of the house was just as run down as the outside and something smelled awful. She knew that awful odour but could not place it.
“I highly recommend you stay in the front room,” the voice said again. “All of the occupants of this house did not leave before … they left. That is what you smell.”
Memories lashed at her. She recalled twenty dead bodies piled up in a square not far from her home and left in the sun to rot - a warning about what happens to those who instigate an uprising.
She walked towards the source of the voice covering her nose with her hand. She turned a corner into a sitting room with dust covered furniture and found herself face to face with the man with black hair and moustache.
She jumped a little and a small shriek escaped her. She knew he was there but having come out of the darkness so quickly, he startled her.
“Mademoiselle, we should keep this meeting brief.”
“What if I was followed,” she blurted out suddenly, remembering her last secret meeting.
“You were not,” he answered simply. “We have been watching. Had they tailed you here, you would have found nothing but this empty building.”
She did not like the idea that if she had been followed, they would have left her to her trailers’ mercy. When she considered it for a moment, however, she could not blame him.
“I need to know who you are,” she stated.
Somehow, from the very little Jacques had said about the twelve members of the group, she had a suspicion she knew which one he was. Therefore, she was not surprised when he said, “Pierre Fournier.”
“Jacques told me that some of the members of his group did not place a high level of trust in you,” she said, taking a step backwards, trying her best to make it so slight it was not noticeable.
Fournier just smiled at her. “Yes,” he chuckled. “I made them uncomfortable. I want the same things that they all do, the same things Jacques does. However, I don’t think we are ever going to get there by huddling in a dark corner of an abandoned building discussing the situation either. I believe a violent confrontation is inevitable, unfortunately, and that our best choice is to get it over with as soon as possible. The longer we wait, the more entrenched the Convention will become and the more difficult it will be to remove them from power. I don’t think any of the others had reached that conclusion. Brilliant and wonderful men, all of them,” Fournier smiled, “But too willing to rely on passive resistance.”
“Eventually,” he continued, “as we continued to draw interest and grow in number, the Convention was certain to take notice. Someone was bound to get caught and the whole lot of us would be thrown in jail and executed.”
Aurélie gulped. “Is that what is going to happen to Jacques?”
“Indeed,” he nodded, “unless we take prompt action, Mademoiselle,” he said, taking a step closer to her.
A small sliver of light hit his face, revealing its detail. She recalled the rough appearance of his face, and remember being weary of him before. His features did not seem so unattractive now. His smile was genuine and she just had an inexplicable feeling inside that she could trust him.
“If I am not mistaken, Capitaine Bouvier has taken a liking to you,” He stated boldly. “You are, after all, an attractive young woman.”
Aurélie knew he could not see it, but her face suddenly felt hot. “How did you know?”
“He has quite a track record, Mademoiselle. He frequently appears in the less wealthy areas of the city with his soldiers, picks out a young girl that is to his liking, gets her to submit to his lustful desires by threatening her family, and then …” His voice trailed off.
“What?” Aurélie demanded.
“She goes missing and is never seen or heard from again.”
“He demanded that I go with him to an officers’ dinner this Saturday evening,” she revealed, feeling the information might some how be useful. “He said if I don’t he would send me to the guillotine, but not before I watched Jacques receive the same fate.”
After a brief pause, she made out a small smile on his face in the low levels of light. “That might give us just the opportunity we need.” Gently, he placed a hand on her shoulder just the same way her father would have - which did not bother her in the least. “I know you must be scared, Mademoiselle. If you are brave, however, we will not only be able save Monsieur Blanchard, but strike a blow to government as well.”
Aurélie closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Still, she could not keep her hands from shaking. “I am afraid,” she admitted.
“It is difficult to be brave,” Fournier nodded, gently messaging her shoulder. “Often the bravest people in the world are those who feel they have nothing left to lose.”
“If I lost him …” her voice trailed off and she nodded in concurrence, looking downward. “What do I have to do?” she asked, facing him again.
Boom
The sound roused Jacques from sleep. He had been lying on the stone floor of the cell in manacles. He felt very weak; it was an effort to lift his head. The orange light the came through the barred windows told him it must be around sundown. He listened hard and thought he heard some of the soldiers shouting.
BOOM!
It was louder this time. He had never served in the military, so he could be certain. However, he though it sounded something like … cannon fire.
His body filled with adrenalin and he managed to get to his feet, stand on the bench in the cell, and look out the window, gripping the bars with his hands. He saw soldiers running around chaotically in the fort’s courtyard. They were yelling at each other excitedly, but he could not make out what they were saying. He could see that they keep pointing to the north, towards the front entrance.
Bang!
The door to the jail exploded open, sending the one guard standing nearest to it flying through the air. He hit the ground hard and did not move. Jacques saw blood coming out of the side of his head. He cringed and turned away.
He turned back to the doorway and saw a familiar face come through the door. He gasped in shock.
“Fournier?”
“There is no time to talk now, Jacques. We have taken control of the fort, but reinforcements are sure to be on the way. I am quite certain we did not prevent their runners from leaving with a request for aid. We must go, right now!” Fournier stated firmly, gesturing to him to come.
“But, how …”
“Now, Blanchard!” he yelled, pulling a tiny pistol and firing in a direction just to the side of Jacques.
Jacques ducked out of the way and looked behind him. He saw a soldier clasping his neck drop to his knees, then to the floor. A stream of crimson was shooting out from between his fingers. Jacques felt sick to his stomach at the sight.
“My god,” he moaned.
He got back to his feet and Fournier took his arm and helped him out of the jail. The made their way down several long hallways and then out through a door into the courtyard. Jacques could not believe his eyes. There must have been thirty bodies lying on the ground in heaps, most of them government soldiers. Thick white smoke filled the air and he saw members of the insurgent forces running about, gathering up weapons and ammunition. Occasionally, he saw one of them stab or fire a musket at a government soldier already down on the ground.
Fournier saw the look of disgust on Jacques’s face. “They must do it,” he explained. “Any soldier we leave alive will be able to identify us. If we kill them all and escape before the reinforcements come …” He stopped his explanation, seeing that Jacques’s face had turned green. “It’s the only way,” he said with finality.
Just then, a blur of with long, brown hair bumped into the two men, almost knocking both of them over. After Jacques had the chance to examine who it was that had pulled him into a tight hug, he recognized that it was Aurélie. She began to kiss him repeatedly.
“You did this?” Jacques looked shocked.
“We would not have been able to pull it off without her help,” Fournier said with a bright smile. “Her beauty, I think, was just the diversion we needed.”
“I could not let you go to the guillotine,” Aurélie sobbed, still clutching him tightly in her arms.
“Well,” Fournier coughed, “I hate to be the one to break up this happy reunion, but that very fate may still await us all unless we go … and quickly.”
Jacques nodded and took Aurélie’s hand. They were just about to leave when Fournier made a funny noise somewhere between a cough and a gasp. His expression seemed very odd, like he was very surprised but in pain. Then, they saw the bloody point of a sword immerge from Fournier’s chest, then disappear.
Fournier fell to the ground with a thud. Behind him, hidden from view due to the fact he was much shorter, stood Capitaine Bouvier. He had a wound on his left shoulder that looked like someone had stabbed him there. He held his sword up and pointed it at Aurélie and Jacques.
“A word of friendly advice, Mademoiselle,” He growled. “If you are going to try to murder someone, make sure you finish the job.”
He held up a dagger that had a bloody point for both to see then threw it aside, away from the two of them. Both Aurélie and Jacques stepped backwards, towards the jail. As they did, Jacques stepped on a sword lying on the ground. He bent over to pick it up.
“Jacques, no!” Aurélie pleaded. She was too late. He has straightened back up with the sword held tightly in his hand. “You don’t even know how to use one of those - you told me!”
“Run, Aurélie,” he instructed her.
Capitaine Bouvier said nothing but looked sadistically excited when it seemed as thought Jacques intended on duelling. “Yes, run ma chère. But, don’t go too far. This won’t take long.”
With that, he lunged. Jacques some how managed to deflect his attack and send him flying awkwardly to the ground a few feet away. He noticed Aurélie hadn’t taken a step. Chance a quick glance back at her, he yelled at her to berate her.
“If you don’t leave right now, we both die.”
But Aurélie did move, her eyes suddenly got wide and she hollered, “Jacques!”
He turned back just in time to see Capitaine Bouvier charging again. This time, Jacques only managed to partial deflect the attack. He felt the point of Bouvier’s sword tear open the skin on his arm, just below the shoulder. A sharp, stinging pain shot up and down his arm and he ground his teeth.
Jacques and Bouvier began to move in circles, taking it in turn swiping and thrusting their swords at one another. Jacques was on the point of thinking how well he was doing when he felt a sharp pain in his other shoulder. Once again, his opponent’s sword had found its way through his less than perfect defences.
They moved at a dizzying pace in circles and ovals. He was aware that Aurélie was still there. Occasionally, she came into view again, standing a few feet away from the action, hand over her mouth.
Capitaine Bouvier paused for a brief moment and looked over Jacques’s shoulder curiously. By the time Jacques realized that this meant to momentarily distract him, Capitaine Bouvier struck a fierce blow. There was a loud clank and Jacques felt his sword knocked out of his hand and he stumbled backwards.
Capitaine Bouvier’s smile became wide with pleasure, “Good bye, Monsieur.”
He lunged.
Jacques dodged his attack without thinking. It was an instinctive reaction. The blade never touched him, but he would live to wish it had. He heard a high pitched shriek and the feeble gasp. The expression on Capitaine Bouvier’s face turned from delight to terror in an instant. Jacques turned just in time to see Aurélie fall, blood gushing from her chest.
“No!” Jacques roared.
Forgetting for a moment that they had just been trying to kill one another, both Jacques and Bouvier sank to their knees beside Aurélie.
Bouvier mutter something barely intelligible, sounding like, “Ma chère.”
Jacques watched the lights leave her eyes and then stare up into the darkening night sky blankly. Tears began to run down his cheeks. He leaned back, placing his hands behind him. As he put his right hand down, it fell on the blade of a sword, Fournier’s sword.
He found its handle and, as inconspicuously as he could, rose to his feet. Capitaine Bouvier did not move - he seemed at a loss to do anything but stare at Aurélie’s lifeless body. Jacques struck with all the force he could muster. Bouvier’s head fell off his shoulders and rolled on the ground until it bumped into Fournier’s corpse.
Jacques went onto be the one of the bravest fighters in the movement against the Convention. He was there the day the Maximilien Robespierre, one of the chief architects of the Reign of Terror, went to the guillotine himself. A general in the French Army loyal to the government now in power commended Jacques Blanchard and his comrades for their roll in the victory. He was surprised to learn Jacques had no military training. He commended Jacques for his bravery.
Jacques shook the General’s hand with a small smile. “Often the bravest people in the world are those who feel they have nothing left to lose,” he said. “An old friend told me that.”
“Indeed,” the General nodded, “A wise man.”
Author's Note: I used Wikipedia to gather the factual information appearing in the first section of this story. The URL is in the citation below.
Reign of Terror. (2007). Retrieved December, 2007, from http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Reign_of_Terror
Setting: Historical - France 1794
Genre: Action, Thriller, Romance (Well, sort of anyway)
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Sexy References and Some Violence
Summary: This is a story about a young man from a wealthy family who falls for a ‘common’ woman during one of the darkest chapters in the French Revolution. He wants to make things better in his country, but doesn’t want to resort to violence to make things change. Sometimes, avoiding a fight isn’t so easy …
Author's Notes: For Mar in the SSIII.
Son Sauveur du Règne de Terreur
At the height of the French Revolution, Paris is in a state of utter chaos. Civil unrest is tearing the nation apart from the inside, the economy is in a tailspin, and a number European nations - angered at France’s departure from the traditional Monarchy and treatment of its former King and Queen, have formed an alliance against France, threatening to spill over its borders at any moment. With the nation’s survival at stake and desperate to keep revolutionary reforms intact the National Convention sets up the Comité de Salut Public (Committee of Public Safety). Effectively created to rule the country in the face of the national crisis, the committee aims to eliminate all internal counterrevolutionary elements, to strengthen France’s armies, and to ensure adequate food supplies for both military and civilian purposes.
The Committee employs unforgiving and often brutal means to achieve its goals, ultimately leading to the loss of public support.
In June of 1794, The Committee of Public Safety institutes Law of 22 Prairial, giving the Revolutionary Tribunal frightening power to deal with conspirators. It can now prosecute prisoners without council or witnesses to speak in their defence. It also makes death the sole penalty for any crime. Some feel this is merely a means to silence those with views opposing the Committee of Pubic Safety more quickly. Between the spring of 1793 and summer of 1794, the government arrests and executes thousands, most by the guillotine. This is a period of the French Revolution known as the Reign of Terror.
"La terreur n'est autre chose que la justice prompte, sévère, inflexible." - Maximilien Robespierre. Translation: "Terror is nothing other than prompt, severe, inflexible justice."1
Jacques couldn’t remember a more perfect day. The sun was high in the deep blue sky and only a few puffy white clouds where brave enough to wander across the path its brilliant light. It was hot, but a reprieve of drier air made it much more pleasant. He hadn’t needed to pull out his handkerchief once to mop his brow since he sat down on the blanket with Aurélie.
She had laid out a wonderful picnic by the tiny stream that bent in the shape of s then wound on for several miles before dumping into the Seine. The two of them had kissed there for the first time and he still remembered it like it happened yesterday. He could recall exactly how warm her lips felt and how sweet the kiss tasted.
He knew that getting a kiss out of her today, however, was likely to be much more of a chore. Her expression was much harder and more troubled than it had ever been on any other occasion when they visited this spot. He wondered if she knew - but no, how could she? He wracked his brain of all time he had ever spoken to her in his life. He had always been so careful about side-stepping any discussion of politics. He knew what he could be in for, the danger he was in. He did not want to bring her into it.
Does she know or does she just think she knows?
She took out a wine glass and handed it to him, then drew out a bottle of wine from the basket. After uncorking it, she poured some of the deep maroon liquid into his glass and looked at him apologetically. “I’m sure this doesn’t hold a candle to what you’re used to drinking, but it’s all I could get my hands on. And, if my parents notice that it’s gone, they’ll probably send for the authorities - send me right to the guillotine.”
“Are you serious? In that case, I will make certain that I enjoy it.” Jacques replied, freezing just short of placing his lips on the glass.
“They have several bottles left over from their wedding. It just sits in our pantry collecting dust. Thankfully, my younger brother is a drunkard and they’re much more likely to suspect him if they ever notice a bottle has gone missing.”
Jacques suppressed a laugh. He had never found it so difficult to read Aurélie in the past. On any other occasion, he would have thought she was trying to be funny. As his mind lumbered clumsily for a retort, he took a sip of the wine and gazed at the river, hoping an idea would jump out of it just like a fish after a fly.
He had been bracing himself four a rather sour and unpleasant taste, but it never came. Instead, what he got was light and agreeable. It did not finish as harshly as typical, inexpensive wines. He looked at the label. It was worn, barely legible, and stained the same colour as the wine, but he did not recognize the name.
“Hmm,” he huffed, swishing the remaining wine around in circles in his glass gently. “I think you have seriously underrated your parents’ taste.”
Aurélie’s eyes narrowed. “A case of that,” she said gesturing to his glass, “wasn’t as expensive as the bottle you gave me for my birthday by itself. How could it possibly be better?”
“Did you try it?”
“No,” she shook her head and looked down and the red and white plaid pattern on the blanket. She ran her fingers across it, feeling the texture of the grass beneath it. “It was worth so much that I …” her voiced trailed off.
Jacques reached out and touched her hand. “It’s okay,” he assured her, a kind smile on his face. “I don’t care what you actually did with it. As long as whatever you did do with it made you smile, it served its purpose.”
The corners of Aurélie’s mouth curled upwards slightly, but he could tell she was ashamed - just as she always was when the subject of finances or wealth in general somehow figured into one of their discussions.
“At any rate, I was going to say, if you are looking for a fine wine to impress anyone in the near future, I recommended this one,” he said raising the glass. “The other bottle may have a fancier label and probably would fetch a higher price, but it’s got nothing on your parents wedding label for taste and,” he lifted the glass to his nose and took in its scent, “bouquet.”
A moment went by where the two sat in silence. Jacques had hoped the conversation would carry them past the uneasiness entirely. It had not. There was a hint of accusation in her eyes now and he could tell she recognized that he had succeeded in creating a diversion. Her next words fell on him like a hammer.
“Is there someone else? Another woman?”
He had just gone for another sip of wine when the words arrived at his ears. When they registered, he turned his head away from here and spit his wine all over the trunk of the tree they were sitting under and laughed raucously. She had no idea.
Aurélie sat bolt-upright on the thin cloth on the wooden floor, constituting her bed, her heart pounding hard against her chest. What was it, a scream? She hadn’t been asleep, but that made it no less disturbing. She held her breath in an effort to eliminate all other sound and listened intently. Two more screams rang out from across the darkened street, shattering the fragile silence that hung in the stagnant air of midnight.
She felt a mixture of fear, excitement, and relief that she now had something else to blame for her sleepless night. Hearing a disturbance late at night was not uncommon, particularly in this part of the city. It was always in the distance before, however, not so close. Quickly, she sprang to her feet, pulled on night robes, and ignited the candle standing on the floor next to her in a small tin stand. So many screams in one night that close together did not bode well.
She made her way through her family’s single-room apparent, careful not to step on any of its other occupants still sound asleep on the floor, to the window that looked out onto the boulevard below. She saw nothing except the darkened silhouette of buildings opposite her own. Everything seemed to be still, then a door burst open almost directly across and down from her, revealing the source of the commotion.
Two soldiers emerged dragging a man in his bedclothes, struggling against their grip with all of his might. A more distinguished looking officer wearing a black chapeau with a very fancy white and blue feather came out next, followed by an elderly woman pleading with the officer to set the man free. Light shining through the open doorway illuminated blotchy red stains on the front of her snowy white gown.
Somewhere inside, Aurélie knew what she was about to do was ill advised, but she couldn’t help it. Curiosity drove her out the door of her family’s apartment, down two flights of stairs, and the out of the building’s front door onto the street. Nothing could have prepared her for what she witnessed next.
“Madame, go back inside, tend to your husband’s body, and forget your son,” she heard the officer order the old woman.
“Please, Monsieur,” she begged, dropping to her knees. “I beg you. You have already taken my husband from me. Do not take my only son as well.” She reached up and seized the hem of his coat.
The officer immediately tried to shake loose her hand, but she held on with an extraordinarily firm grip - one of desperation. “I am warning you,” he growled, his voice and temper rising. “Release me at once.”
The grey-haired woman, however, did not let go. Tears streamed down her face and she continually sobbed the word, “Please.”
Losing his patience with her entirely, he drew his sabre and ran her through with it. The shriek echoed in the off the surrounding buildings before everything again fell silent once again under the presiding full moon.
Aurélie’s hand shot up to her face and covered her mouth in attempt to conceal the scream she knew as coming. Her knees felt weak and rubbery, causing her to stagger and nearly fell to the ground. Despite her best effort at keeping quiet her whimpers and gasps, the officer had heard. He looked over in her direction, his face like stone as he wiped off the blade of his sword, staining his ivory handkerchief crimson. He replaced his weapon and began to walk toward her.
“Bonsoir, Mademoiselle. I am Capitaine Phillippe Bouvier,” he said politely, removing his hat and bowing.
Her eyes were wide, horrified over what she had just witnessed. Something inside her head, however, overrode her emotions. Don’t panic. Breathe. her inner voice commanded.
“I am Mademoiselle Renard - Aurélie Renard.” Her voice broke. She knew her attempts to mask her horror had failed.
Capitaine Bouvier considered her for a moment, noticing her eyes gazing past him to the body of the elderly woman lying on the ground. “I must apologize for the disturbance.”
She suspected that the dead body drawing the majority of her attention annoyed him somewhat. But he did not comment on it. He simply carried on with his explanation. “Some criminals do not rest, Mademoiselle, not even at this hour. It is necessary, most unfortunately, to use drastic measures to bring them to justice. Do not be alarmed, I assure you Georges Babineaux will trouble you no more.”
Babineaux.
The name echoed through her mind as though she had spoken it on the edge of a vast canyon. She had known that family all of her life. Madame Babineaux, who now lay dead on the street, used to mind her as a child while her parents worked in the fields outside of the city. Georges, the young man the soldiers had taken away, was five years older than she was, and she recalled daydreaming about him for hours when she was thirteen.
“W-w-what,” she fumbled and choked on her words, feeling the sickness rising inside her, “have they done?”
“A week ago, we intercepted correspondence from Monsieur Babineaux regarding a secret meeting he was trying to arrange with a high-ranking military official from Spain. We requested that they come quietly, but as you can see, they refused.”
“H-high ranking … official,” She stammered, her mind working very hard. “Their son?” she spat. Suddenly disgust and anger flared in her eyes. “Their son lives in Spain. He married a Spanish girl and was a quartermaster in their infantry - hardly a high-ranking official. That is where his parents live,” she said pointing at the building across the street, the one that he and the soldiers in his charge had just invaded. “He came to visit them on leave. They had been planning it for two months.”
Capitaine Bouvier turned and looked upon the body of the elderly woman. She thought more soldiers must have still been inside the building in which the Babineauxes had lived. Even from fifty feet away and several floors up, Aurélie could hear the crashing and banging sounds of an apartment being turned upside-down. She knew they were unlikely to trouble themselves to avoid damaging any of the family’s belongings.
Capitaine Bouvier’s face bore signs of a mildly painful thought, perhaps even a hint of guilt. This uncertain expression faded as quickly as it formed, however, as frustration hardened in his eyes.
“This was a fact that could have been established easily enough had he come quietly,” he said, removing his hat and rubbing the bald spot on top of his head. Her impression was that he was faking disappointment. “The case would have been heard by a magistrate and his ancestry could have been confirmed before it came to this.”
Aurélie slapped Capitaine Bouvier firmly across his right cheek, snapping his head to the side. “You lie!” she hissed. “You know as well as I do the only thing waiting for him back at the fort was the guillotine.”
He did not respond to this, he simply looked outraged. He stared at her as though he had a very sour taste in his mouth and rubbed his cheek where she had struck.
“You know, you ought to be more cautious,” he spoke in a low, cold tone. “I know all about you, Mademoiselle. I’ve heard that you have been keeping the wrong sort of company yourself lately.”
“I beg your pardon!” she retorted.
“Jacques Blanchard? Mademoiselle?” he asked with a sinister grin on his face. “Do not play me for a fool! I know about your late night meetings down by the river.”
Aurélie felt like she was sinking into a pool of icy water. Was the man who held her heart truly a criminal? All along, she had attributed his strange disappearances to another woman. This was much more serious, however. She knew the most likely outcome awaiting anyone taken in for question by the Police. An image of a shiny blade racing down a wooden track towards the neck of a nameless victim at sunset popped into her head. She shuttered at the thought of that victim being Jacques and shook her head hard trying to expel it.
“A word of friendly advice,” Capitaine Bouvier said, leaning closer to her, his voice full of malice. “He is not someone with whom you want to be caught in close association. The consequences for both you and your family could be severe. Now that we have taken care of Monsieur Babineaux, Blanchard is my top priority. It would be most unfortunate to find you with him when we take him in to custody … most unfortunate.” He paused seeming to enjoy the terrified look now present in her eyes as his own swept up and down her, examining every curve. A tiny smile formed on his face, a lustful smile. “Should you … cooperate, however, any transgressions might be forgiven.”
With that, he turned his back. He marched across the street and whistled in the direction of the building they were searching. The soldiers filed out and followed him, leaving the door to the building wide open and the body of Madame Babineaux on the street.
As soon as they had disappeared into the blackness, Aurélie felt herself inhale for what seemed like the first time since Capitaine Bouvier had mentioned his name.
Jacques.
Two days later, after a lengthy wait at the rendezvous she suggested, she began to wonder if the seventeen-year-old boy with messy, blonde hair and tattered clothes from the village had failed. In exchange for an occasional apple, tomato, or head of lettuce - what ever her parents brought back from the fields fresh that day, he had their run messages for years, never once failing to deliver. When she dropped two silver coins into his mud-covered hands, constituting exactly one half of all the money she had, she had been certain he would not fail her. As she stood in the deserted barn, looking out hopefully at the horizon for any sign of movement, she wondered if she had made a wise choice.
He was an hour late. To her, it seemed like ten times that long. The stiff wind shook the trees lining the horizon on the other side of the rolling fields of long, green grass. Each time it roared up into a gust, the barn creaked eerily as the pressure of the moving air bared down on it. Occasionally, it caused some of the old metal farming gear hanging on the walls to clang together. The awful sound caused her to jump and her heart to race. She was so tense. He was never late - never.
“Aurélie,” a voiced called to her from behind.
She felt her heart stop. She turned and saw him standing there, having entered through the backside of the barn. “Jacques!” she exclaimed, bursting into tears.
She lunged at him, nearly knocking him over, and began kissing every inch of his face. Her lips found his and she sank so deeply into him that she could feel tingling warmth throughout her entire body. For a brief and precious moment, she completely forgot the circumstances that had prompted this meeting. He was the only other thing that existed in the world.
After what seemed like a long time - but not nearly long enough, their lips finally broke apart and she released him from her vice-like grip. His cheeks were bright red and he could not help but smile.
“If only I knew what I did to merit such a welcome,” he chuckled, “I would make certain I did it all the time.”
Had she not known that his family hailed from aristocracy because he had told her so, she might not have known it. The clothes he wore were the same as you might expect to find on any common man walking the streets of Paris. Only the spotlessness and lack of hand-sewn patches hinted at his upper-class status.
He had told her once how much it embarrassed him to be a member of such a wealthy family when so many people in France were so poor. He told her about many evenings where he had lost his appetite at the dinner table, looking over a an obscene, occasion-less feast that was more food than most people on the streets would see in a week - maybe even a month.
“Families like mine as much to blame for the poor state of affairs as anyone, if not more. It sickens me,” he confided in her. He also said that he had considered leaving his parents until one of associates convinced him to remain, telling him that it might be useful to have a contact on the inside. Aurélie had never even thought, until now, about what that statement could have meant.
As he stood there smiling, her immediate impression was that he had no idea of the danger he was in or why she had asked to see him. His long brown hair waved gently about his broad shoulders in the breeze that snuck through the numerous cracks and openings in the barn walls. He hadn’t shaved in days - he did get lazy with that occasionally, adding to his common man’s appearance, which she knew would please him. After a moment, he seemed to catch on to her uneasiness and his bright, blue eyes narrowed.
“What is it?”
“They know,” she said softly, her brown eyes overflowing with concern.
“Know?” He answered, looking confused. “Know … what?”
It dawned on Aurélie that she had no clue exactly what Capitaine Bouvier had on him, so she recounted the events of the night she witnessed the killings of the Babineauxes. She told him about Capitaine Bouvier’s warning not to see him anymore and about the threat made on her and her family. When she finished, he turned his back to her, rubbing his forehead as though he had suddenly gotten a severe headache.
“Are you planning some kind of … uprising?” she asked.
“What?” He laughed, turning back.
“Are you planning to take action against the Convention?”
He took both of her hands and looked her directly in the eyes. “Aurélie,” he began. “You know me. You know I have no stomach for that sort of madness. All of this killing? All of these arrests and executions? It’s no way to solve the problem. You don’t simply stomp out opposing voices until the only one left is your own.”
“But, why do they suspect you then? What have you done wrong? Why does that Capitaine want to arrest you? You know what happens to people they arrest - most of them.”
Horror flashed in Jacques’s eyes. In that moment, she knew that exactly the same image she saw in her mind, he saw in his - the guillotine.
“There are about twelve of us,” he began, turning away from her again, sighing deeply. “We were only four at first, but have gradually grown in numbers with time. We’re always careful about bringing in new people, you see. We make certain it is someone who can be trusted. We do all we can check the background of every new member.”
“T-t-twelve?” she spluttered. “What is it the twelve of you do?”
“It is a general forum, a discussion group if you will.”
“A discussion group? Discussing … what?”
“How to make France better for everyone,” he shrugged, raising one arm in her direction. “I suppose that makes us counter-revolutionary, from a certain standpoint, in that we don’t agree with the present Convention’s methods. I mean, it isn’t like we want to put a King back on the throne, but we don’t think we need to execute anyone who has different ideas either.”
“I don’t understand,” Aurélie stated softly.
“We want to make a real difference, Aurélie. Changes you can see, changes you can feel.” he replied, raising his voice enthusiastically. “We want a representative form of government - one where people from all walks of life come together to talk about problems and work things out together.”
“Very idealistic,” she murmured, her eyes sinking to the ground. Now she knew exactly why he was in so much trouble. The present Convention was not tolerant of any dissenting points of view. Even worse, organizing into a group a dozen people and discussing better ways to run the country was akin to picking up a sword and starting an uprising. At least, that’s how the Committee of Public Safety would see it.
“You don’t like that idea?” he asked, looking somewhat surprised.
“Of course I do,” she responded, raising her eyes up again to meet his. There were now tears in them. “But, I’m afraid of what is going to happen to you. They know, Jacques,” she sobbed. “They know.”
Jacques scratched the top of his head. “I wonder if Pierre …” His voiced trailed off.
“Pierre?”
“Pierre Fournier, the last new member we brought in,” he began, looking out the window. Aurélie had the impression that he thought he had seen something. He paused for a moment at stared out at the tree line before eventually carrying on. “Not everyone was entirely convinced of his credentials.”
“Do you think he might have betrayed you, or your group?”
“Who knows,” Jacques shrugged, placing his hands on the window sill, appearing to examine the distant forest again. “He is a bit mad, a bit radical, and certainly more willing to resort to violence that the rest of us. Still, I don’t think he did anything intentionally. He seemed to hate the Committee more than rest of us; I think they executed someone in his family.”
“A couple of our other members, however, are a bit too liberal about whom they tell about our meetings, and what we discussed. You never know what can happen if you tell one, just one, outsider. Who knows where the story could go from there or how many sets of ears that information might go through, finding its way to the wrong person at the end of a long, corruptive chain of misinformation.”
“You have to run,” she suggested, nodding emphatically. “Yes, flee the country. It’s the only way.”
“What?” Jacques laughed.
“I’m serious, dead serious,” Aurélie asserted, taking his hand. “It’s the only way to ensure your safety. Leave today, leave now!”
Jacques had taken a step towards her when the door behind them banged open. At first, Aurélie was certain it was only the wind again. When she heard other voices and the sounds of numerous sets of feet rushing in, however, a horrifying realization that she was mistaken struck her. Half a dozen soldiers burst in and surrounded them.
Then, she heard a voice that made the hair on the back of her neck stand. “Mademoiselle, did I not warn you?”
Capitaine Bouvier stepped between two of the soldiers who had drawn their swords and were pointing them at the couple in the middle of the semi-circle they had formed.
“What is the meaning of this?” Jacques demanded. “We have done nothing wrong!”
“The magistrate will be the judge of that, monsieur. Personally, I do not think being a member of a secret, anti-government society constitutes doing nothing wrong,” Capitaine Bouvier stated, his nose turned up, not looking either one of his victims in the face. “Come quietly, however, and your cooperation will, no doubt, be taken into consideration at your trial. Take him away.”
The soldiers moved in quickly and seized Jacques’s arms. Another soldier grabbed Aurélie around her waist, but did not follow the others as they dragged Jacques out the door.
“What is happening?” she demanded. “Why am I not being taken away with him?” She felt a lump in her throat but bravely went on. “Should I not go to the same jail for conspiring with him?”
“Conspiring with him?” Capitaine Bouvier said, looking her in the eyes for the first time, wearing a puzzled expression. “On the contrary! Without your help, we could not have caught him.”
Aurélie saw the look of shock on Jacques’s face just as he disappeared outside. Her heart sank. “What do you mean? I have not helped you in any way.” She spoke loudly and clearly, desperately hoping her voice would permeate the walls and find Jacques’s ears.
“Oh, but you have.” Capitaine Bouvier sneered. “We saw you give money to that filthy let runt in the town square. He managed to slip away from us, but rest assured, we will deal with him when he resurfaces.”
“No,” Aurélie whimpered.
“Having lost your little messenger boy, our only choice was to put one of our best spies on you. For two days, we tracked every move you made until you eventually led us here. Sure enough, our most wanted criminal appeared. Oh, I assure you, Mademoiselle, you have done us a great service today. Without your help, it could have taken months to apprehend him. He has a natural gift for evading capture. It probably has to do with the fact his family has money. Had he been just common riff-raff, he would have nowhere to go, would he?”
Capitaine Bouvier finished and gave a little nod to the remaining soldiers in the room. Immediately, they all left, including the one who had been restraining Aurélie. The last soldier closed the barn door behind him, leaving her alone with the Capitaine.
Aurélie felt certain she saw the devil behind his eyes. She knew she was in trouble. A wicked grin twisted the corners of his mouth upwards and he said, “You may remove that dress now, Mademoiselle.”
“B-beg your pardon,” she responded, taking a step back.
“Your clothes, you may remove them. You are a beautiful woman, Mademoiselle Renard. I want to see all of you.”
“You cannot be serious,” she wheezed, backing into the wall causing a large, sharp, metal farming hoe to fall down with a large clank.
The Capitaine placed his hand on his sword and drew it out a few inches, causing her to gulp in fear. “You don’t know how serious I am.”
Shivering, Aurélie began to loosen her dress and let it slip down off her shoulders below her breasts, exposing them. The look of delight in Bouvier’s face made her want to vomit. She considered pulling it back up to cover herself, but, before she could, he drew his sword out completely. Carefully, he poked at the dress which had gotten stuck around her waist until it fell to her feet, leaving her standing there, naked.
Her entire body shivered and she knew it had nothing to do with the cool breeze. She braced herself, certain she knew what would come next. She was right.
He moved at her quite rapidly, wrapping his arms around her and kissing her all over her face and neck. She struggled and fought with all of her might, eventually hitting him squarely in the cheek with one of her clinched fists. He responded by slapping her so hard she fell to the ground.
“You should be grateful that you are not on your way to the guillotine with your dear friend, mademoiselle. I expected a little more gratitude on your part.”
“You disgust me,” she sobbed, massaging the side of her face that he had stuck.
Capitaine Bouvier stood there still, for a moment. Aurélie watched him panting heavily. She thought he looked just like an angry bull about to charge. But he didn’t. An even more unnerving calm seemed to wash over him in the next few moments. Finally, his eyes brightened slightly and she was sure that an idea she would not like had formed in his mind. Once again, she was correct.
“There is an officers’ dinner at the fort this coming Saturday. I should very much like you to attend it with me,” Capitaine Bouvier stated in an angry tone.
“I’d rather go the guillotine,” Aurélie responded.
“That can be arranged!” he yelled at the top of his voice, grabbing her by the arms and wrenching her to her feet. “You have three days to improve your attitude. I shall pick you up in my carriage at your parents’ house at seven o’clock Saturday evening. I suggest, between now and then, you reconsider. I will expect you to provide me with pleasant company and anything else-” he said, his eyes scanning down over the whole of her naked flesh, “- I require. Otherwise, I will see to your wish personally. But not before you witness the effectiveness of the guillotine on your dear Monsieur Blanchard.”
With that, Capitaine Bouvier left, leaving Aurélie alone. She slumped down to the ground, crying.
“Meet me at midnight at this address, Mademoiselle. Perhaps it is not too late to save Monsieur Blanchard.”
“Who are you?” she demanded.
“Not now, Mademoiselle …”
The day immediately following the rendezvous with Jacques and the subsequent run in with Capitaine Bouvier, Aurélie sat on the front steps of her building with a blank expression. The sun had risen, wandered carelessly across the sky, and was making its slow, evening descent, splashing numerous shades of red and orange across the western horizon. All day, passers by went up and down the boulevard, going about their daily business, taking as little note of her as she did of them. The only thing she could think of was Jacques.
It’s all my fault, all my fault.
By the time blackness had replaced any trace of light in the clear evening sky, she finally arrived at the conclusion that sitting there was not going to help. She had to do something. She had to figure out someway to save Jacques from what she was sure was certain death. She knew she had at least until Saturday, three more days, to figure out a way to rescue him. There was only one problem: Where do I start?
The question echoed in her mind even after she retreated indoors, out of the cooler night air. She laid awake staring at the ceiling, listening - as she had to so often - to the sound of the young couple in the apartment next door making love. All she could think of when this occurred was Jacques, and the night she offered herself to him only to have him refuse, saying it would not be proper.
She began to imagine making love to Jacques, her mind wandering with the sound of the panting coming through the very thing walls. Suddenly, a sharp metal blade came crashing down on his neck, beheading him. She watched his head rolling around on the floor until it came to rest, his eyes looking right at her. Then, the bodiless head of her lover spoke. How could you let this happen to me?
Her scream woke mother, father, and brothers. She sat up in a flash, sweat running down her face, breathing heavily, as though she had just run several miles. She had to assure her family several times over that everything was okay and that she just a bad dream. Mercifully, the couple next door - who most certainly heard her outburst - did not reassume their activities. It did not make a difference; she still could not sleep.
She could not hide from her guilt. She couldn’t bear the thought of Jacques’s pending execution or of having to accompany Capitaine Bouvier anywhere. She considered concealing a knife in her clothes and killing him in the carriage. As gratifying as that may have been, however, it was unlikely to help Jacques and would likely secure her an appointment with the guillotine.
Out of desperation, she went to visit Jacques’s parents’ home the following day. She hid in the vestibule of a building kitty-corner from where the immaculate building stood. It was hard for her to believe that only he and his parents lived inside. Her building was not half as large and there were at least a dozen families living in it, close to one hundred people. With its beautiful yellow brickwork that gleamed brilliantly in the sun, it reminded her of a palace.
For a moment, she imagined living there, being married to Jacques, and living a life style fit for a queen. She thought of sitting a magnificently appointed dinner table, with golden candles and real, silver utensils. She thought of a maid filling her glass from a fine bottle of wine while she smiled across the table at him. It was more than she could ever hope for, realistically. According to her parents, she would be lucky if she ever become the maid serving the wine.
Then, she thought of Jacques again and how many times she told her he hated such excessiveness. She knew his ideal table would be much simpler. The candles would be plain white, ones that anyone could find in a common store. The dining utensils would be thick and sturdy, but not made of pure silver. And if anyone would be filling her glass, he would be doing it himself. He never liked the idea of anyone waiting on him.
The quiet scene in her mind that she had been delightfully observing for several moments turned sour instantly as soldiers kicked in the door and dragged him away. The look on his face was the same as she remembered it from the barn. How could you let this happen to me?
As the harrowing fantasy vanished from before her eyes, she stepped back out into the sunlight and made her way across the street. She climbed the front steps of the amazing home and placed her hand on the gleaming brass knocker, determination set on her face. She gave it three good bangs before releasing it and stepping back from the door, trying to collect herself and look as calm as possible.
No one answered. She knocked three more times. She thought she heard muffled voices from inside and more than one person fumbling around. Finally, a servant - or a man dressed like a servant - opened the door, seized her arm, and pulled her inside.
It a fluid motion, the man threw her to the floor, which was a very highly polished, dark wood. She began to climb back to her feet but froze when she found herself nose to nose with the end of a musket.
“Who are you?” Someone’s voice demanded.
Whoever these people were, they were not soldiers. The rag-tag nature of their clothing immediately gave them away. “I could ask you the same thing. I’d hazard to guess none of you are related to or in the employment of the Blanchards.”
A taller, darker skinned main with long black hair and a moustache motioned to the men wielding the guns that it was all right to lower their weapons. Then, he extended his hand to Aurélie and helped her to her feet.
“You must forgive us for the harsh greeting, Mademoiselle. When we heard the knock on the door, we were quite certain that the authorities had come back to search the house.”
“Search the house?” she asked, looking around and noting that everything appeared to be quite orderly. “What happened? Were the Blanchards arrested?”
“Oh yes,” the man nodded. “They took both Monsieur and Madame Blanchard, along with most of their servants, away for questioning. They said his son has been conspiring against the Convention.”
“He was not!” Aurélie protested vocally. “He was -“
“Mademoiselle,” he interrupted, “You needn’t explain to me. I know what Jacques Blanchard was doing and whom he was meeting with. I was a member of that same group. You must be Aurélie. Jacques has mentioned you before,” he said with a quick, kind smile.
“Who are you?” she again demanded.
“That is not important right now. What is important is that we clear this house of anything else the courts can use against the Blanchards as evidence. I’m sure you are aware, they don’t require much to convict.”
“So I have heard.”
Just at that moment, another man came into the room clutching several rolls of parchments in his hands. He held them up for the man standing next to Aurélie to see. “Is that all of it?”
“We’ve searched every room in the house. We found nothing else, monsieur.”
“Monsieur,” another man called suddenly. “They’re coming.”
The man with black hair and moustache moved rapidly to the window. Out it, he could see a column of soldiers marching up the street in the direction of the house.
“All of you,” his voice boomed, “Out the back door, now! Leave no trace!” He turned to Aurélie. “I suggest you exit through the back as well. If they see you leaving, you’ll be arrested for sure.”
Aurélie nodded and followed him.
“Meet me at midnight at this address, Mademoiselle,” he said, placing a small scrap of parchment into her hand and then pressing her fingers closed. “Perhaps it is not too late to save Monsieur Blanchard.”
“Who are you?” she demanded one final time.
One final time, he refused to answer. “Not now, Mademoiselle,” he said, giving her a hurried push towards the back rooms of the house. We must leave, now!”
Aurélie hurried out the back of the house and then around a corner of a building, then watched the man with the black hair disappear with his cohorts down another street. She looked at the piece of parchment. The address was not far from where she lived. She felt hope welling up inside her for the first time they took Jacques away. Would this man be able to help her save him? Was this some kind of trap? She clinched her fist over the parchment thinking that there was only one way to find out.
The streets were completely dark and chillingly still. The silence was broken only by the occasional sound of dogging barking somewhere nearby. This did not comfort Aurélie as she paced towards her destination. She guessed something must have been disturbing the dog and horrible notions bandied about in her head. Was there a brigade of soldiers marching to the exact same destination she was at this very instant?
Her feet froze. She thought about how foolish it was to place such a trust in someone she met only once - someone who broke into the house of Jacques parents. She had no idea who they really were. Still, her time was short and her options were few. Furthermore, and had to she assure herself of this point repeatedly, the worst thing that would happen is that her life would end quickly and she would be reunited with Jacques in the afterlife. Was that even possible? She hoped it was, because from where she stood at that exact moment, it seemed more likely that breaking him out of the fort and then escaping to someplace safe.
I’ll be with him in the end. With that thought, she resumed walking and soon arrived at her destination.
The building she stood in front of here was severely dilapidated. All of the windows were broken out, some still having sharp teeth of glass sticking out from the edges of their frames. On one of the upper floors, there was evidence that there had been a fire. Thick black suit had covered all the bricks above the windows and the frames looked more like coal.
Aurélie gulped and looked up and down the street, but saw no one. She heard the dog barking more viciously now, causing more disquiet than it had before. The urge to run was rapidly rising in her. Just as the temptation to flee was about to take hold heard a familiar voice call out to her.
“Mademoiselle, in here.”
She turned and saw the silhouette of someone in one of the ground floor windows. She made her way up the crumbling steps and pushed the door open. The inside of the house was just as run down as the outside and something smelled awful. She knew that awful odour but could not place it.
“I highly recommend you stay in the front room,” the voice said again. “All of the occupants of this house did not leave before … they left. That is what you smell.”
Memories lashed at her. She recalled twenty dead bodies piled up in a square not far from her home and left in the sun to rot - a warning about what happens to those who instigate an uprising.
She walked towards the source of the voice covering her nose with her hand. She turned a corner into a sitting room with dust covered furniture and found herself face to face with the man with black hair and moustache.
She jumped a little and a small shriek escaped her. She knew he was there but having come out of the darkness so quickly, he startled her.
“Mademoiselle, we should keep this meeting brief.”
“What if I was followed,” she blurted out suddenly, remembering her last secret meeting.
“You were not,” he answered simply. “We have been watching. Had they tailed you here, you would have found nothing but this empty building.”
She did not like the idea that if she had been followed, they would have left her to her trailers’ mercy. When she considered it for a moment, however, she could not blame him.
“I need to know who you are,” she stated.
Somehow, from the very little Jacques had said about the twelve members of the group, she had a suspicion she knew which one he was. Therefore, she was not surprised when he said, “Pierre Fournier.”
“Jacques told me that some of the members of his group did not place a high level of trust in you,” she said, taking a step backwards, trying her best to make it so slight it was not noticeable.
Fournier just smiled at her. “Yes,” he chuckled. “I made them uncomfortable. I want the same things that they all do, the same things Jacques does. However, I don’t think we are ever going to get there by huddling in a dark corner of an abandoned building discussing the situation either. I believe a violent confrontation is inevitable, unfortunately, and that our best choice is to get it over with as soon as possible. The longer we wait, the more entrenched the Convention will become and the more difficult it will be to remove them from power. I don’t think any of the others had reached that conclusion. Brilliant and wonderful men, all of them,” Fournier smiled, “But too willing to rely on passive resistance.”
“Eventually,” he continued, “as we continued to draw interest and grow in number, the Convention was certain to take notice. Someone was bound to get caught and the whole lot of us would be thrown in jail and executed.”
Aurélie gulped. “Is that what is going to happen to Jacques?”
“Indeed,” he nodded, “unless we take prompt action, Mademoiselle,” he said, taking a step closer to her.
A small sliver of light hit his face, revealing its detail. She recalled the rough appearance of his face, and remember being weary of him before. His features did not seem so unattractive now. His smile was genuine and she just had an inexplicable feeling inside that she could trust him.
“If I am not mistaken, Capitaine Bouvier has taken a liking to you,” He stated boldly. “You are, after all, an attractive young woman.”
Aurélie knew he could not see it, but her face suddenly felt hot. “How did you know?”
“He has quite a track record, Mademoiselle. He frequently appears in the less wealthy areas of the city with his soldiers, picks out a young girl that is to his liking, gets her to submit to his lustful desires by threatening her family, and then …” His voice trailed off.
“What?” Aurélie demanded.
“She goes missing and is never seen or heard from again.”
“He demanded that I go with him to an officers’ dinner this Saturday evening,” she revealed, feeling the information might some how be useful. “He said if I don’t he would send me to the guillotine, but not before I watched Jacques receive the same fate.”
After a brief pause, she made out a small smile on his face in the low levels of light. “That might give us just the opportunity we need.” Gently, he placed a hand on her shoulder just the same way her father would have - which did not bother her in the least. “I know you must be scared, Mademoiselle. If you are brave, however, we will not only be able save Monsieur Blanchard, but strike a blow to government as well.”
Aurélie closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Still, she could not keep her hands from shaking. “I am afraid,” she admitted.
“It is difficult to be brave,” Fournier nodded, gently messaging her shoulder. “Often the bravest people in the world are those who feel they have nothing left to lose.”
“If I lost him …” her voice trailed off and she nodded in concurrence, looking downward. “What do I have to do?” she asked, facing him again.
Boom
The sound roused Jacques from sleep. He had been lying on the stone floor of the cell in manacles. He felt very weak; it was an effort to lift his head. The orange light the came through the barred windows told him it must be around sundown. He listened hard and thought he heard some of the soldiers shouting.
BOOM!
It was louder this time. He had never served in the military, so he could be certain. However, he though it sounded something like … cannon fire.
His body filled with adrenalin and he managed to get to his feet, stand on the bench in the cell, and look out the window, gripping the bars with his hands. He saw soldiers running around chaotically in the fort’s courtyard. They were yelling at each other excitedly, but he could not make out what they were saying. He could see that they keep pointing to the north, towards the front entrance.
Bang!
The door to the jail exploded open, sending the one guard standing nearest to it flying through the air. He hit the ground hard and did not move. Jacques saw blood coming out of the side of his head. He cringed and turned away.
He turned back to the doorway and saw a familiar face come through the door. He gasped in shock.
“Fournier?”
“There is no time to talk now, Jacques. We have taken control of the fort, but reinforcements are sure to be on the way. I am quite certain we did not prevent their runners from leaving with a request for aid. We must go, right now!” Fournier stated firmly, gesturing to him to come.
“But, how …”
“Now, Blanchard!” he yelled, pulling a tiny pistol and firing in a direction just to the side of Jacques.
Jacques ducked out of the way and looked behind him. He saw a soldier clasping his neck drop to his knees, then to the floor. A stream of crimson was shooting out from between his fingers. Jacques felt sick to his stomach at the sight.
“My god,” he moaned.
He got back to his feet and Fournier took his arm and helped him out of the jail. The made their way down several long hallways and then out through a door into the courtyard. Jacques could not believe his eyes. There must have been thirty bodies lying on the ground in heaps, most of them government soldiers. Thick white smoke filled the air and he saw members of the insurgent forces running about, gathering up weapons and ammunition. Occasionally, he saw one of them stab or fire a musket at a government soldier already down on the ground.
Fournier saw the look of disgust on Jacques’s face. “They must do it,” he explained. “Any soldier we leave alive will be able to identify us. If we kill them all and escape before the reinforcements come …” He stopped his explanation, seeing that Jacques’s face had turned green. “It’s the only way,” he said with finality.
Just then, a blur of with long, brown hair bumped into the two men, almost knocking both of them over. After Jacques had the chance to examine who it was that had pulled him into a tight hug, he recognized that it was Aurélie. She began to kiss him repeatedly.
“You did this?” Jacques looked shocked.
“We would not have been able to pull it off without her help,” Fournier said with a bright smile. “Her beauty, I think, was just the diversion we needed.”
“I could not let you go to the guillotine,” Aurélie sobbed, still clutching him tightly in her arms.
“Well,” Fournier coughed, “I hate to be the one to break up this happy reunion, but that very fate may still await us all unless we go … and quickly.”
Jacques nodded and took Aurélie’s hand. They were just about to leave when Fournier made a funny noise somewhere between a cough and a gasp. His expression seemed very odd, like he was very surprised but in pain. Then, they saw the bloody point of a sword immerge from Fournier’s chest, then disappear.
Fournier fell to the ground with a thud. Behind him, hidden from view due to the fact he was much shorter, stood Capitaine Bouvier. He had a wound on his left shoulder that looked like someone had stabbed him there. He held his sword up and pointed it at Aurélie and Jacques.
“A word of friendly advice, Mademoiselle,” He growled. “If you are going to try to murder someone, make sure you finish the job.”
He held up a dagger that had a bloody point for both to see then threw it aside, away from the two of them. Both Aurélie and Jacques stepped backwards, towards the jail. As they did, Jacques stepped on a sword lying on the ground. He bent over to pick it up.
“Jacques, no!” Aurélie pleaded. She was too late. He has straightened back up with the sword held tightly in his hand. “You don’t even know how to use one of those - you told me!”
“Run, Aurélie,” he instructed her.
Capitaine Bouvier said nothing but looked sadistically excited when it seemed as thought Jacques intended on duelling. “Yes, run ma chère. But, don’t go too far. This won’t take long.”
With that, he lunged. Jacques some how managed to deflect his attack and send him flying awkwardly to the ground a few feet away. He noticed Aurélie hadn’t taken a step. Chance a quick glance back at her, he yelled at her to berate her.
“If you don’t leave right now, we both die.”
But Aurélie did move, her eyes suddenly got wide and she hollered, “Jacques!”
He turned back just in time to see Capitaine Bouvier charging again. This time, Jacques only managed to partial deflect the attack. He felt the point of Bouvier’s sword tear open the skin on his arm, just below the shoulder. A sharp, stinging pain shot up and down his arm and he ground his teeth.
Jacques and Bouvier began to move in circles, taking it in turn swiping and thrusting their swords at one another. Jacques was on the point of thinking how well he was doing when he felt a sharp pain in his other shoulder. Once again, his opponent’s sword had found its way through his less than perfect defences.
They moved at a dizzying pace in circles and ovals. He was aware that Aurélie was still there. Occasionally, she came into view again, standing a few feet away from the action, hand over her mouth.
Capitaine Bouvier paused for a brief moment and looked over Jacques’s shoulder curiously. By the time Jacques realized that this meant to momentarily distract him, Capitaine Bouvier struck a fierce blow. There was a loud clank and Jacques felt his sword knocked out of his hand and he stumbled backwards.
Capitaine Bouvier’s smile became wide with pleasure, “Good bye, Monsieur.”
He lunged.
Jacques dodged his attack without thinking. It was an instinctive reaction. The blade never touched him, but he would live to wish it had. He heard a high pitched shriek and the feeble gasp. The expression on Capitaine Bouvier’s face turned from delight to terror in an instant. Jacques turned just in time to see Aurélie fall, blood gushing from her chest.
“No!” Jacques roared.
Forgetting for a moment that they had just been trying to kill one another, both Jacques and Bouvier sank to their knees beside Aurélie.
Bouvier mutter something barely intelligible, sounding like, “Ma chère.”
Jacques watched the lights leave her eyes and then stare up into the darkening night sky blankly. Tears began to run down his cheeks. He leaned back, placing his hands behind him. As he put his right hand down, it fell on the blade of a sword, Fournier’s sword.
He found its handle and, as inconspicuously as he could, rose to his feet. Capitaine Bouvier did not move - he seemed at a loss to do anything but stare at Aurélie’s lifeless body. Jacques struck with all the force he could muster. Bouvier’s head fell off his shoulders and rolled on the ground until it bumped into Fournier’s corpse.
Jacques went onto be the one of the bravest fighters in the movement against the Convention. He was there the day the Maximilien Robespierre, one of the chief architects of the Reign of Terror, went to the guillotine himself. A general in the French Army loyal to the government now in power commended Jacques Blanchard and his comrades for their roll in the victory. He was surprised to learn Jacques had no military training. He commended Jacques for his bravery.
Jacques shook the General’s hand with a small smile. “Often the bravest people in the world are those who feel they have nothing left to lose,” he said. “An old friend told me that.”
“Indeed,” the General nodded, “A wise man.”
Author's Note: I used Wikipedia to gather the factual information appearing in the first section of this story. The URL is in the citation below.
Reign of Terror. (2007). Retrieved December, 2007, from http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Reign_of_Terror