Chapter 7
Rennes, Brittany
After days of tramping through the rain-soaked woods and sleeping in decrepit sheds and deserted cottages, Freddie had cause to wonder if Zoé still had faith in his decision. But he could count among the reasons he had agreed to go with Cadoudal and his men that they were in the company of trained fighters and headed in the right direction.
“I will never again complain of rough seas,” said Zoé, looking down at her mud-caked boots.
“At least tonight you will be sleeping in a bed and not in the woods, Pigeon. Though the call of the tawny owl last night was a pleasant inducement to sleep, don’t you think?” The owls had been active the night before, some of them, he was certain, were Chouans returning from their night patrols. They were so good at mimicking the bird’s call it was difficult to tell which call was real and which the counterfeit.
She tossed him a sardonic smile. “A sound I will always remember.”
As they reached the outskirts of the city, Freddie took comfort in what Cadoudal had told him as they traveled north. The city of Rennes, the capital of Brittany, had a population numbering thirty thousand. It was hoped their small number could remain hidden among so many people.
Cadoudal paused and looked ahead to the walled town. “To oppose the Chouans and the Vendéens who fight with us, the republican army has used fortified towns like Rennes, defending them with their territorial guards. Their commander is General Rossignol, a man of military incompetence and violent passions, who has never considered himself constrained by society’s morals or his wedding vows. I happened to be in Paris when word came of his promotion to chief commander of the Army of the Coasts of Brest. Much laughter was heard in the city when the tale was told of his wife rushing to the National Convention to argue before the deputies her husband was unfit for the post. She was right, of course, but Robespierre approved the promotion and sent Rossignol back to the army in triumph where he now glories in barbarity and lascivious behavior.” He let out a deep sigh. “Alas, Rennes is his headquarters.”
One of the Chouans spat in the dust, muttering Rossignol’s name and a few words in the Breton tongue.
Erwan translated. “He speaks of ‘that bastard and his false Chouans’.”
“Another of Rossignol’s ideas,” put in Cadoudal. “To create fake Chouan outlaws who engage in thievery and worse in order to discredit us.” With a stern expression, he said to Freddie, “Be mindful of such when you leave us.”
Cadoudal gave orders to his men in Breton. Immediately, they divided into three groups. Turning to Freddie, he said, “We will be less noticed if we separate and take different routes to the place we will stay.”
Each of the men removed the royalist patch from his coat and added the tricolor cockade to his hat. Cadoudal, too, altered his attire to change his appearance from a Chouan officer to a supporter of the revolution.
Freddie and his companions unpinned the patches from their own coats and stuffed them into their pockets. On their hats, they now donned the cockade that was the emblem of the revolution.
“You and your companions best stay with me,” said Cadoudal. Gesturing two of his men to go with him, Cadoudal nodded to the other two groups that quickly departed. Then he set out, taking the path to the right toward the eastern side of the city.
Freddie, Zoé, Gabe and Erwan followed.
As they drew nearer to the city, republican soldiers became more evident, making Freddie’s skin crawl. Congregating in groups, their blue and white uniforms appeared everywhere.
“They are like swarming locusts,” he said.
“Do not be concerned,” said Cadoudal. “Our numbers are greater than theirs, just unseen until they are needed.”
Rennes was a city of contrasts from medieval buildings on narrow cobblestone streets to great stone edifices on wide avenues opening into grand squares rivaling any in Paris.
At the far end of one large square stood an imposing building of two stories, its slanted slate roof reminding Freddie of buildings in Paris. Seventeen tall windows stretched across the façade with a single wooden door leading to its entrance. “What is that?”
Cadoudal frowned. “The Palais de Justice where they keep the prisoners. Very convenient for them as the guillotine stands close.” He pointed to one side of the square.
Freddie’s gaze shifted to where the instrument of death rose fourteen feet in the air above its wooden platform, the mechanical monster’s jaws still soaked in the blood of its victims.
Freddie turned away from the hideous sight to see Zoé’s expression turn to loathing. Setting her jaw, her eyes burned with anger. She had lost friends to that demon device.
A group of republican soldiers suddenly turned to stare at them.
Freddie moved to block their view of Zoé. He wanted no undue interest in her by soldiers who thought the Breton peasants were available to them. He doubted she could pass for a lad to an observant man who would recognize her for what she was, a beautiful woman. He comforted himself with the thought people rarely stopped to look closely. Most saw only what they expected to see.
“Come, let us go!” Cadoudal whispered, moving from the square and quickly rounding a corner. A few streets away, they encountered buildings four stories high that looked to Freddie to be from the times of the Tudors.
“That one,” Cadoudal said, pointing to a smaller building, “once housed priests. Now it is a tavern frequented by the Blues where Rossignol brags to his men of the priests he has killed, a strike against his already black character none of us will forget. Some of the priests were members of Breton families.”
At his side, a look of despair crossed Zoé’s lovely face. “Erwan and I might have known them.”
Erwan shook his head, his eyes downcast. “I knew many.”
Freddie fought the urge to pull Zoé into his arms and soothe her grief. Instead, he placed his hand on her shoulder as an older brother might. “Those priests are now in Heaven, Pigeon, a place Rossignol will never see.”
Cadoudal led them down a cobblestone street away from the city’s center to where there were fewer republican soldiers. As the street widened, they came to a building made of warm golden stone with a tavern opening onto the street. A row of black shutters marched across the front like soldiers at attention. “Ours,” said the Chouan leader. “A safe place to pass the night.”
From what Freddie could ascertain, the customers of the tavern, if not the inn, were farmers and tradesmen who, at the moment, were sitting around drinking wine. Were they all Chouans, royalist fighters? He wondered. Several men, slouched over their tankards, looked up as Cadoudal entered and nodded in recognition.
The Chouan leader acknowledged them with a dip of his head and strode to the bar. In French, he addressed the proprietor, a rotund man of middle years, a bald head and a large mustache. “Good sir, I hope this day finds you well. My friends and I have traveled far and require rooms for a night, perhaps two.”
The man busied himself wiping down the top of the wooden counter, glancing up at Cadoudal for a brief moment. “Bien sûr, I have several chambers on the top floor you can have.”
A look passed between the Chouan leader and the proprietor that told Freddie this scene had been enacted many times before, but to one who had just strolled into the tavern, it would appear a first encounter.
The proprietor handed Cadoudal a handful of keys and waved him to the stairs at the back of the tavern.
“But where am I to sleep?” Zoé asked when Freddie followed her into the chamber and closed the door behind them.
Freddie’s mouth hitched up in a grin. “Here with me, of course.”
“With you!” She surveyed the room, noting the small bed that could accommodate two only if they slept close together, a side table with basin and pitcher, and a table and two chairs. She knew travelers’ inns often required guests to share beds but she had never done so, not even with her aunt. Her uncle had sufficient homes so that they rarely frequented inns and, when they did, they were fine establishments.
Freddie shook his head. “Not in the same bed, Zoé, but neither will I leave you alone. ’Tis the floor where I’ll make my bed. Erwan and Gabe will guard the door.” When she opened her mouth to protest, he said, “Count yourself fortunate not to be sleeping in the woods.”
She let out a breath. “Oui, I suppose you are right. If it were anyone else but you, Freddie, I would refuse the arrangement.” Resigning herself to the awkward accommodations, she asked, “So, when are the Chouans to rescue the child?”
“Tonight when few lanterns light the square and the guards are tired and about to change shifts. Some of the Chouans will appear as their replacements.”
“They can do that?” she asked, bewildered. “Transforming a Chouan into a republican guard would take a miracle.”
“Apparently they are confident they can. They know the routine of the guards and they have the proper uniforms. I don’t wonder they have posed as the guards before.”
Zoé removed her brush from her satchel and shedding her hat, took down her hair and began to brush the dust from the long strands, all the while thinking of the danger they would face. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Freddie watching her. She paused in her brushing. “What?”
“Oh, nothing,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Are you hungry?” Then, without waiting for her answer, he took one of the blankets from the bed and set it next to the fireplace, reminding Zoé he intended to sleep on the floor. They would still be sleeping in the same room, of course. Images of his suntanned chest sprinkled with auburn hair rose in her mind. Did he sleep naked?
“You can stay here and rest if you like,” he said, walking toward the door. “It might be awhile before the proprietor thinks to send up our dinner. I’ll bring food for us.”
She thought of the men she had seen in the common room, a hardened lot who would easily see through her disguise. “If you don’t mind, it might be best.”
“There will be plenty of time before I leave for the rescue for us to eat.”
She set down her brush and faced him. “You’re going with them?”
He nodded. “How could I not? Besides, Erwan wanted to go as well. You needn’t worry. Gabe will stay with you.”
“’Tis not myself I am concerned about, Freddie, ’tis you! Such a reckless venture. Why, ’tis fraught with danger. What is your role to be anyway?”
“One of Cadoudal’s men will lead the group disguised as guards. The Chouan chief would go himself but he fears recognition. I will go with Cadoudal and the rest of his men to wait on the edges of the square should we be needed.”
She chewed her bottom lip, thinking of the planned rescue that would have him facing republican soldiers. “It seems an unnecessary risk with all that lies before us. We have yet to reach even Fougères.” The thought of losing him to a skirmish or worse was too horrible to contemplate. She had tended his wounded body once; she could not bear to see him bleeding again.
He left the door, crossing the distance between them. In a soft voice, he said, “Cadoudal has helped us, Pigeon, and he has promised to set us on the path to Fougères. It didn’t seem right not to participate now when he may need every man.”
She could not let him go alone. “Then I will go as well.” She could at least cover his back.
His face turned rigid. “No, you won’t. And that’s an order.”
Zoé could feel her temper rising. She wanted to argue, to plead with him not to go, but she knew Freddie well enough to know when he got that look, he would not budge. Too, this was his mission and she had promised to follow his lead. Resigned but not liking it one bit, she pressed her lips together and crossed her arms. “You will be careful, oui?”
“Of course,” he said with a nonchalant smile, which only made her fret more.
Freddie shared dinner with Zoé in the room he now thought of as their chamber. The small table set before the fireplace made for an intimate setting as the fire subsided to embers and a single candle illuminated their faces.
Their meal was a humble one but, shared with her, it seemed a feast. He would have called the thick soup “beef stew” if he’d been in one of England’s taverns. The rich broth contained pieces of beef, carrots, onions and potatoes, the latter being a vegetable Cadoudal had told him was previously considered unacceptable by the French. But famine, brought on by poor crops and fields abandoned when farmers were conscripted into the republican army, had forced the potato on the country.
The only thing the meal lacked was a slice of thick crusty bread and butter. Still, the wine was good and there were apples for dessert. And the company was all he could hope for, though Zoé spoke little and ate less, occasionally moving her spoon around in her soup.
She did drink her wine, running her tongue over her bottom lip and driving him half-mad with want of her. Even dressed as a Chouan, she raised a longing within him so strong, he had to fight the urge to take her in his arms and make his dreams a reality.
Patience, he reminded himself, was a virtue. “Aren’t you hungry?” he inquired. “You’ve been walking all day.”
For a moment, she stared at him over her glass. “I am tired and my feet are protesting my boots, but my appetite has escaped me.” A small smile played about her lips. “I promise to save an apple to celebrate your return.”
She would never admit it, but he glimpsed fear in the tightness around her eyes and the way she worried her bottom lip between her teeth.
He set down his spoon, leaned his elbows on the table and drew a steadying breath. “Pigeon, rest easy. I am not new to this game of assuming another man’s identity.” Hoping to bring a smile to her face, he said, “I can curse with the best of the sailors in Guernsey’s taverns; I can fish with the oystermen and pass myself off as one of them; and I can speak enough of the local French in the port towns to move easily among the dockside workers.” He smirked. “Trust me to blend with the peasants tonight and to be quick in a fight if it comes to that.”
She frowned despite his attempt at frivolity. “It may very well come to that, Freddie, and you know it.”
“Are you worried for me?” He had thought he glimpsed such worry in her eyes but would she admit it?
“Why… non,” she said defensively. “I just don’t want to lose the man leading our mission.” She let out an exasperated sigh and her eyes turned the color of storm clouds. “You may play games in Guernsey’s taverns, Freddie, but what do you know of war? Or of fighting with that sword you carry for that matter?”
More than you know, he wanted to say. Instead, he met her disquieting gaze and said nothing. Would it help for her to know he was not just d’Auvergne’s man but also Evan Nepean’s, the British Undersecretary of War? She was intelligent enough to have questioned where he went when he disappeared for weeks at a time. He had always managed to avoid giving her a full answer. Finally, deciding he must say something, he assured her, “I have had the usual lessons and I can use the sword if I must.” He would not tell her of his training with the finest sword master in London nor the times he had survived because he was that good with a blade. Another reason Nepean had recruited him.
Nepean’s exact words were, “You have skills that the others I could send into France do not, West. Those skills would be wasted on a ship. Why, even I cannot speak French in as many dialects as you. You are also conversant with the codes we use. And then there is the family connection to the Frenchman, Jean Donet. Not a man to be taken lightly, I understand. Now that he is ferrying émigrés to England, you will have transportation when you need it. Of all the choices, you were first on my list. You can serve England better this way than in the Admiralty, as you have proposed.”
Freddie had accepted the charge Nepean had given him and Donet had consented to being involved, but neither he nor Freddie had told Zoé he was England’s spy.
Lifting the wine to her lovely lips, Zoé took another sip and stared into the pale liquid glistening in the candlelight. “I suppose,” she began slowly, “there is much I do not know of your work or why d’Auvergne chose you, an Englishman, for this task.” Raising her gaze to meet his, she said, “We have been friends for years and yet, in some ways, you are still a mystery to me, Frederick West.”
A knock sounded on the door, relieving Freddie from having to comment. Rising, he said, “There will be time for you to ask me about that in the days ahead, but for now I must go.”
Freddie slipped out with Cadoudal, taking the route agreed upon by the Chouans that would bring them to the square in front of the Palais de Justice. The moon was a mere crescent against a black sky dotted with stars as they wove their way through the deserted streets. A chill had Freddie turning up his collar and buttoning his coat.
Light from the lanterns hanging from posts set about the square cast faint light on the imposing structure where the Parlement of Brittany had met before being closed by the National Assembly. Freddie thought it ironic that a building dedicated to justice now imprisoned those who sought it.
In the ghostly atmosphere, the guillotine took on a sinister appearance as if the monster were lurking in wait, its jaws eager for the blood of its next victim.
Freddie moved with Cadoudal into a darkened corner just as another group of his men took their places on the other side of the square. The six men who had donned the uniforms of the National Guard arrived two by two, coming from different directions to converge on the entrance.
The guards that would have relieved the ones on duty were nowhere in sight. Freddie didn’t have to ask what had been their fates. He imagined they were sleeping off a blow to the head in some deserted alley.
With a nudge to his ribs from Cadoudal, Freddie turned to see Chouans disguised as guards climbing the stairs leading to the entrance of the palais. They moved like the real ones Freddie had observed earlier that day. Some had added mustaches to their upper lips in the fashion of many of the Blues; others had suddenly grown short-cropped beards making their transformation more dramatic. With straight backs and practiced adjustments of their muskets, they strode to the posts they were to assume, nodding under their bicorne hats to the guards on duty. Cadoudal had told him that in the dim light with their disguises mirroring the actual guards, they hoped their true identity would not be detected.
Few words were exchanged. What Freddie heard sounded more like grunts than speech. Having been relieved, the real guards departed, showing no concern for those taking their places.
Two of Cadoudal’s men took up their posts on either side of the entrance, while the others disappeared inside. A short time later, they reappeared with a young girl in tow, scantily clad in a thin blue dress. To anyone in the square, they might have thought her a prisoner being escorted away; however, the Chouans treated her as the precious jewel she was, one on either side of her and two following.
Freddie, Cadoudal and the other Chouans moved from the shadows to follow surreptitiously. As soon as they were off the main street, the ones wearing the republican uniforms disappeared into the night.
The girl’s brother, one of the Chouans who had come to the square, wrapped his sister in his coat and embraced her, tears of joy filling his eyes. He stood her away from him, examining her appearance. “You are all right?”
The dark-haired girl nodded as tears ran down her cheeks. A smile formed on her face. “I knew you would come.”
“I would never leave you with our enemies, Isabeau. Forgive me for not coming sooner.”
Freddie asked one of the Chouans, “How did you convince the guards inside the prison to release her?”
The young man leaned close to whisper. “I told them General Rossignol wanted her for the night. His men know well his twisted inclinations, but even at that, her guard expressed surprise and said, ‘The general usually prefers them a bit older’, which, Dieu merci, told me he had not yet touched her.”
Zoé had no intention of remaining behind when Freddie left with the Chouans. Gabe had objected when she told him they would be following but, in the end, he had gone with her mumbling all the while that her uncle would not be pleased she had disobeyed M’sieur West.
Zoé would rather face Gabe’s stern disapproval than miss being present to witness the rescue. How could she not be there if things went badly and Freddie needed her help? She didn’t accept for one moment his bravado as reflecting the true picture of things. He was brave, yes. That much he had demonstrated in Granville the night he had been shot. And he may have had a few fencing lessons, but that did not prove he could acquit himself in a fight. She had never seen him fire a musket or use his sword.
Checking her pistol, she secured her knife at her hip and set out after them, clinging to the shadows so as not to be seen.
As the rescue unfolded, she watched, fascinated by the precision of the Chouans replacing the guards and the quick extraction of the girl. It had all gone smoothly but still she was glad she had come. When the Chouans led the girl away, Zoé had hurried back to the inn to arrive before Freddie.
“Did I not tell you, mademoiselle,” said Gabe, his brooding countenance reminding her he was her uncle’s man, “M’sieur West may be Anglais, but he knows what he is about.”
“Oh, pish,” she said, using her aunt’s favorite word when presented with something she did not quite believe. “And say nothing of this to Freddie.”
Gabe huffed in response and escorted her to the inn’s back door where they had departed an hour earlier.
By the time Freddie opened the door to their chamber, she was slicing her apple. “Well, you look to be in one piece,” she said, her eyes roving over his body to be sure he had not encountered any soldiers on his return.
“Hale and hearty, as promised,” he said with a grin. “Is that apple for me?”
“It is if you want it.” She slid the plate toward him. “There is more wine, too. Come let us toast your success. You did recover the girl, oui? Your face tells me you did.”
He nodded. “Her name is Isabeau and she is downstairs at this very moment eating a bowl of stew and charming the Chouans. A stouthearted little soul.”
“How old is she?”
Freddie inclined his head, seeming to ponder. “About twelve, I should think. Not a child exactly but not yet a woman.”
Zoé tried to imagine a girl that age being seized by the republicans and confined in their filthy dungeon. “She must have been terribly frightened. Is she well?”
“Apparently her guard developed a fondness for her and made sure she was left alone. When Cadoudal’s men allowed him to think Rossignol wanted her, he was most annoyed but there was little he could do.”
“I see.” And she did see. The general was reputed to prefer young ones. “Perhaps her guard will be relieved when he learns she was plucked from the prison and returned to her family.”
“Well, that’s just it, Pigeon. Her mother and father were among those killed. She has only her brother, one of Cadoudal’s men.”
“She can hardly travel with the Chouans. Where will she go?”
“Cadoudal suggested we take her with us to Guernsey. Her brother wants her out of Brittany. She is not safe here.”
Zoé considered the idea. “I have smuggled children out of France before but we are not yet on our way home. She would be in danger as long as we remain in Brittany.”
Freddie gave her a hopeful look.
Zoé relented. “If it means her life to leave with us, how can we say no?”
A self-satisfied smirk appeared on his handsome face. “I had a feeling you would agree, so I said we would take her. I’ve asked Gabe to see if he can find her a lad’s clothing.”
Zoé frowned, annoyed she had proved so predictable, but at least Freddie had thought she would be kindly disposed toward the girl. “Here,” she said pouring him a glass of wine, “you can celebrate your victory.”
He pulled out a chair and sat, taking a sip of wine before biting into a slice of apple. “We will leave before dawn. Isabeau’s brother has volunteered to set us on the path to Fougères. I cannot leave Rennes soon enough. Once Rossignol realizes he’s been outwitted by the Chouans, he will be furiously combing the city for us.”
“Is Cadoudal worried?”
“Nay, he’s taking his men south as we go north.”
Zoé finished her wine, feeling fatigued to her bones. “I’m going to get some sleep.” She went to the bed and pulled down the cover, tossing one of the pillows to Freddie.
He caught it. “Thanks.”
She started to yank off her boots but Freddie intervened. “Allow me to act the valet.”
“Thanks.” It felt good to let her feet breathe. In her stocking feet, she took off her coat and climbed into the bed.
Freddie moved the small table away from the fireplace to make room for his thin pallet and added a few logs to the low-burning fire, prodding the flames to life with a poker. Snuffing the candle, he settled down on his blanket and drew his coat over his chest.
“Thank you,” she said, pulling the cover to her chin.
“For what?”
Fighting a yawn, she looked over the edge of the bed to see his form silhouetted against the firelight. She lay back down and stared at the firelight flickering on the ceiling. “For returning hale and hearty.”
In his exhausted state, Freddie should have been able to sleep, but he could not. His mind whirled with thoughts of the woman who slept a short distance away. He wanted desperately to climb into that bed with her and kiss her. That he might not be able to stop at just one kiss briefly occurred but it mattered not. He could never allow his desire for her to overcome his respect for her innocence. And if they were to become lovers, there might be a babe. One day, he hoped she would give herself to him as his wife. But that day was not today.
On the way back to the inn, Cadoudal had told him what to expect in Fougères. “If he still holds the town, Boisguy will prove a worthy host. He has more than two thousand men under his command. I do not know their needs but they must be substantial as more men join him each day.”
Warmed by the fire, Freddie had finally begun to doze when Zoé let out a groan, followed by a shout of “Non!”
Concerned Gabe and Erwan might come rushing into their room, believing her shout was directed at Freddie, he leaped up and ran to her bedside.
Tossing and turning her head on the pillow, she fought some invisible foe. “Non, non, non!”
He placed his hands on her shoulders and gently shook her awake. “Zoé! Wake up!”
She opened her eyes, dazed from her dream. “Oh, Freddie you are here!” She rose on her knees and swept her hands over him as if to make sure he was really there. Though he knew she was just verifying his existence, the touch of her hands on his shirt might have been on his skin for the effect it had.
Thinking her dream might have been caused by worry for the next day’s travel, he asked, “What is wrong? Did you dream of being harmed?”
Staring into his eyes, she whispered. “Non, not me. Someone was after you. Oh, Freddie, it was so real.” Her whole body shook as her hands flew to her face.
“Pigeon, it was merely a dream. We are safe in Rennes.” Overwhelmed by the desire to comfort her, he pulled her against his chest and leaned his cheek against her head. Her hair smelled of wood smoke but he didn’t mind. It was enough to be with her every day. Was he right in remaining patient, never giving her an indication of what lay in his heart? He thought so, at least for the time being. After all, war was inopportune for love. “As we are leaving in but a few hours, I suggest you try to get some sleep.”
He made to lay her back on the pillow but she clung to him. “Don’t go, Freddie.” She slid over to the far edge of the bed, her hair strewn across the pillow. “There is room here beside me. Not much, but enough. You can sleep on top of the cover with your blanket if you like.”
He let out a sigh. It would be torture. But how could he deny her innocent request?
“If it will help you sleep, I’ll stay.”
Zoé curled into the warmth of Freddie’s chest, tucking her head under his chin. Her heart still raced as she tried to recall the dream, certain it was some kind of omen. The vague images quickly faded yet the horror of them persisted. Someone had dragged Freddie away and she had been helpless to save him. Could it have been brought on by her fear when he’d gone to rescue the girl? That might be so but, still, it had been uncommonly real. And frightening.
Freddie’s familiar scent and his arm wrapped around her were a balm to her soul, the steady beat of his heart a reminder of his strength. It was like coming home after a long voyage, like smelling the sea breeze on Guernsey after the stale air of Paris, like being tethered to an anchor in rough seas. Freddie, she realized, was her home port.
More than a friend and dearer to her after the night he’d been shot coming to her rescue in Granville, she couldn’t imagine her life without her friend.
Bravely, she laid her hand on his chest and had the sudden urge to raise her head and ask him to kiss her.
He would think her a fool. They were cousins, after all, and he’d known her for a decade.
Lulled by the slow beating of his heart, Zoé let go of her wild imaginings and began to drift back to sleep, comforted by the presence of the one man who had never hinted of any interest in her beyond friendship. She knew him to be a man of honor, a man she could trust even if he weren’t good with a sword.
She was nearly asleep when he pressed a kiss to the top of her head, telling her he was awake. “Get some sleep, Pigeon.”
Nestling into his chest, she pondered the cause of his wakefulness. Did it speak of his worry for the morrow when he must lead them to Fougères without the Chouans to guide them?