Where the Light Falls(23)
Finally, just when it seemed that the shade and the shroud of smoke around them might prevent any vision at all, André began to detect spears of light ahead, piercing the tree cover. They were approaching a clearing. Behind them now, the artillery barrage had lessened to a dull thud, muffled by the distance and half a mile of thick forest.
André guided his men directly toward the clearing. The soldiers blinked, some of them holding hands up to block the direct sunlight that felt oppressive after the soft, damp shade of the forest. As the company passed out of the trees, André felt as if he had entered another world; he and his men suddenly seemed uncomfortably exposed. His senses were heightened, his focus sharper than it had ever been.
His training forced him to remember the ninety men whose lives were in his hands. He stood tall, clearing his throat as he reached for the sword at his hip. Unsheathing it and raising it aloft, André was aware that every man in the company turned his focus on him now, awaiting the words that would take them forward into battle.
September 1792
“That looked like a sad heap sitting at your desk.” Gavreau approached Jean-Luc as soon as he had seen the Widow Poitier out.
“Indeed.” Jean-Luc nodded, sitting back down to his pile of papers. “Say, do you happen to know anything about the Montnoir family or estate?”
Gavreau considered the question. “Doesn’t sound familiar. Where is it?”
“Just over twenty miles to the south, near Massy.”
“What do you care about an estate near Massy?”
“The lands belonged to the esteemed Marquis de Montnoir, who happened to be the tormenter of that poor woman who just sat at my desk.”
“The marquis wanted the likes of that woman?”
“No, no, no.” Jean-Luc shook his head, his boss’s impertinence causing him to smile in spite of himself. “Nothing like that. Well, in fact, something like that. The marquis wanted the likes of her daughter. But he also happened to cause the death of her husband and evict the widow and her surviving children from their family’s home.”
“Holy hellfire,” Gavreau said, groaning. “I give you the esteemed nobility of our ancient realm. No wonder she was bawling into your handkerchief.”
Jean-Luc propped his elbows on his desk, frowning. “He’s now in prison.”
“What’s to become of His Lordship?”
“I must check. I do hope the only time he ever leaves his cell is to visit La Place de la Révolution.”
“My my, St. Clair, calling for a man to be sent to the guillotine? I never thought I’d hear you speak that way.”
“Only because he is, in fact, an egregious criminal—a rapist and a murderer, and God knows what else. His crimes strike me as far more serious than simply being born into a noble family.”
“So I take it she’s another one of your charity cases?” Gavreau cocked an eyebrow. “Let me guess, she can’t afford to pay?”
Jean-Luc sighed, looking up at his boss. “This is the work of our Revolution, is it not? Equality? Fraternity? Who are we fighting for if not people such as this poor innocent widow and her wretched children? Aren’t they entitled to a just society, same as the rest of us?”
“You’re too clever to simply serve as a nursemaid, St. Clair.” The older lawyer smiled wryly at Jean-Luc before continuing. “But I must say your patriotism makes me hungry. Let me buy you dinner.”
“No, thank you. I have too much work to do.” Jean-Luc looked over his pile of papers, sighing.
“Come now, I insist. I am your supervisor, even if you never listen to a word I say.”
“I do listen to you.”
“Yet you keep taking these charity cases. And such jobs won’t pay for your rent, or your dinner. Come now, we’ll make it quick. And besides, I’ve got some exciting news I want to share with you.”
“Oh, all right,” Jean-Luc agreed, noticing for the first time how empty his stomach felt. He hadn’t eaten anything since the morning’s meager serving of bread and cheese. “As long as we make it quick.”
“Now that’s something I’ve heard once or twice,” Gavreau said, chuckling.
Jean-Luc ignored the comment, rising from his desk. “Just don’t expect me to share a bottle of wine with you.”
“Virtuous Citizen St. Clair, doing God’s work, even if God himself has been kicked out of our Republic,” Gavreau said, smirking. “Meet me downstairs. I need to stop for a piss.”
Outside the evening was clear and warm. Jean-Luc and Gavreau detected the distant sounds of the crowd from the nearby Place, but they walked in the opposite direction.