In Guards We Trust Page 3

Chapter 3 – The Devil’s Orifice

  They were woken by the farmer early the next morning. It had been an uneventful night. The dog, which had accompanied the Marquis to the shed in the early hours, was nowhere to be seen. The farmer insisted that they join him in the farmhouse for a rudimentary breakfast. Afterwards the Marquis rose to resume their journey. He thought he glimpsed the farmer slip his hand into his knapsack. The Marquis had not let it out of his sight since their arrival. It contained what was left of the family fortune.

  ‘I have put some bread in your bag for you – for the road. You won’t need water. There are enough mountain streams along the footpath.’

  The Marquis thanked the farmer for his kindness. Despite suspecting that the farmer may have taken something from his knapsack, he chose not to make an issue of it. None of the items it contained was as valuable as their lives. All that mattered was that they succeeded in fleeing from France before their pursuers caught up with them. A confrontation with the farmer could easily result in a report about them to the local authorities. The ascent up the path would be challenging enough without their needing to look over their shoulders.

  The path from the cottage to the road appeared shorter in the light of day. Once at the road, Philippe glanced down the valley, scanning the miles they had travelled the previous evening.

  ‘Do you see anyone?’ asked the Marquis.

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Check regularly. If you see anyone on horseback heading up the valley we will have to take to the forest or to the cliffs for cover, unless we can make it to the pass in time.’

  After a few miles they arrived at the foot of the mountain, where the road tapered into a foot path. They traversed the constricted mountain path as it ascended past ravines and slopes, with no end in sight. It was as narrow and as arduous as the farmer had predicted. They stopped briefly at midday to rest. Philippe listened carefully to hear if he could detect any pursuers further down the path. His eyes glazed over as he concentrated.

  ‘We are being followed,’ the boy concluded in a matter of fact tone.

  ‘Are you sure? How close? Can you tell how many?’ The Marquis reached for his pistol and checked it. He also felt for his dagger. ‘We should get going.’

  ‘One,’ Philippe replied with a grin. ‘Very close. It won’t be long now.’

  The Marquis stared down the path expectantly. His panic subsided in response to the bemused look on his son’s face. As predicted, their pursuer revealed himself. He began to run as he spotted the two of them. He barked as he drew near, his tail wagging furiously. It was a sheepdog. The Marquis realised it was the one from the previous evening.

  ‘Is he alone?’ the Marquis asked suddenly.

  ‘Yes, Papa, I’m certain of it.’ He tried to calm the excited dog in order to listen once more. The dog immediately sat quietly, without moving muscle. ‘I don’t hear anyone else,’ Philippe said eventually before his attention returned to the dog. ‘Can we keep him?’

  The Marquis was moved as he noticed a childlike quality in his son’s face that he had not seen for several weeks. It was an expression which he had feared had been permanently extinguished by their recent ordeals.

  ‘I suppose that will be up to him. He looks like he was properly cared for until recently. He probably belonged to a nobleman I should not wonder.’

  The dog followed them as they continued their sojourn. The narrowness of most of the route shielded it from much direct sunlight and, despite their exertions, it remained pleasantly cool throughout their ascent. Several species of fern dominated the vegetation which grew between embedded rocks situated on either side of the path. The farmer’s prediction that water would be plentiful proved accurate. A few streams emanated from the high peaks, one of which still bore a small snow cap. The water was icy, but delicious. It was late afternoon as they reached a flatter section of the path, some three quarters of the way up the mountain. This was as high as they were likely to go, the Marquis concluded. The path wound its way around one side of a deep gorge before it straightened. The signboard the farmer had mentioned came into view. It was preceded by a painted red line across the path. The sign not only warned of certain death in French, English, and Italian, but it also displayed a skull and crossbones so that the literate and the illiterate alike could understand it. A stone hut rested alongside the path some distance away. Its doors and windows were closed.

  A flagpole stood on the Montugan side of the red line. It bore a flag depicting the insignia of the Montugan royal family. The entire area seemed strangely deserted. Only the sound of water trickling nearby challenged the prevailing silence. The Marquis considered crossing the red line but thought better of it. A movement from above caught Philippe’s eye. The Marquis looked up, without noticing anything significant. However, Philippe’s shrewd eyes, capable of spotting foxes in thickets during the most difficult of hunts – immediately detected the source of the movement.

  ‘See, Papa.’ Philippe pointed to several well-concealed emplacements cut out of the rock face above them. The mouths of three cannons protruded from each position. The Marquis could only see the heads of some of the occupants.

  The Marquis was uncertain about whether he was more amazed by his son’s powers of observation or by the sheer ingenuity of the cannon emplacements. Carving them out of the rock would have been difficult, but worth it since any soldiers attempting to enter Montuga through the narrow path along the Devil's Orifice could easily be picked off in single file. Any invader would be hard pressed to fire a musket up to that height, or to climb the treacherous mountain slope to remove the guards. Holding this border would be a simple matter.

  ‘Hey, can you hear me?’ the Marquis shouted in French. ‘I am a fugitive from the revolution in France and I require to speak to someone in charge about access to Montuga for my son and myself!’ After his words echoed through the ravine, he awaited a response. There was none. He repeated his request more slowly. Then he waited again.

  ‘They are taking a long time, Papa,’ Philippe observed. ‘Do you think they heard us?’

  ‘They must have. I suspect that they are awaiting instructions from their commanding officer.’

  Nothing moved as more time elapsed. The persistent silence became eerier as twilight weaved its expanding tapestry of shadows. The absence of any birds or bird calls compounded the unnerving atmosphere. The Marquis’s patience eventually failed him. He approached the painted red line. He hesitated in front of it. No warning was issued. After glancing at Philippe, he crossed the line. A few seconds later a shot rang out from above. The projectile whizzed a little over an inch above his head.

  ‘Stay on the French side,’ shouted a voice from above. It reverberated off the cliffs like a declaration from God himself.

  As it happened, the instruction proved to be completely unnecessary. The shot alone had provided sufficient incentive to encourage the Marquis to make his way back to the French side of the line in no uncertain fashion.

  ‘Will someone come to talk to me? I am the Marquis d’Artois. I am a personal friend of your king. I am a refugee from my country seeking sanctuary in yours. I have my son with me. He is only twelve. We cannot return to France. We have no option but to enter Montuga. If you murder us for entering you will have to answer to your own conscience, to your god and to your king.’ As he spoke, the Marquis remained indecisive about whether he would actually cross the line again. He hoped that his threats might have desired effect. Mention of his friendship with Montugan king would hopefully also do their cause no harm. A few seconds passed.

  ‘I can almost hear them thinking,’ Philippe remarked with a mischievous grin.

  The Marquis considered his son for a moment as he waited for a response. He was amazed that, despite their recent ordeals, a good measure of the boy’s high spiritedness had survived. He doubted whether he would have been able to find the motivation to continue had it not been for his son’s vigour.

  ‘
Stay where you are. Do not move.’ The voice sounded as if it were amplified by a loudhailer.

  Ahead of them, one of the doors to the hut opened and two royal guards emerged. One wore the uniform of an officer. They approached without any urgency at all. The young soldier displayed two pistols in his belt and the officer carried a sword.

  ‘I am Captain Anders,’ the officer stated curtly as he arrived at the red line. ‘This is a security post, not a border crossing. Are you aware of that?’ He features suggested that he was in his late twenties whilst the soldier was probably in his late teens.

  ‘Yes I am. Unfortunately we were being pursued by revolutionaries in France. They killed my wife and my youngest son. The boy and I managed to escape. It has taken us a fortnight to evade our pursuers and to make it here.’

  ‘I am sorry to hear of your troubles,’ Captain Anders remarked. He glanced thoughtfully at Philippe. ‘However, my orders are to deny access to anyone via this post.’

  ‘I am the Marquis d’Artois. I am a friend of your king. I own a chateau in Montuga.’ As he spoke it dawned on the Marquis that the clothing they had been obliged to appropriate en route to facilitate their escape was probably casting doubt upon their claims to nobility. The Captain’s response eliminated any such concerns.

  ‘My lord, I have no reason to question your identity or your story. It’s simply that my orders stem from the King of Montuga himself.’

  ‘Captain, surely your orders cannot apply to nobility seeking refuge from persecution in France?’

  ‘It is with regret, my lord, that I must inform you that my orders to keep this post closed do not exclude anyone.’

  ‘I do not understand. How can this be?’

  ‘I am merely an officer of the royal guard,’ the Captain responded. ‘I do not presume to question or to understand the orders of the king. My duty is simply to obey. The king ordered that this border be closed sometime last autumn.’ He paused and glanced uncomfortably at Philippe. ‘I suppose our king fears that granting refuge to French nobles fleeing France might offend…..’

  A cry emanating from behind the Marquis interrupted the Captain.

  ‘There they are! That’s them!’

  The Marquis turned around to see the farmer rushing up the path followed by six republican militiamen wearing red scarves and bearing muskets. With a gasp, the Marquis grabbed Philippe's shoulder and shielded his son behind him. The dog crossed the border and darted down the Montugan side of the path.

  What was it that had aroused the farmer’s suspicion? Had it been their destination? Maybe it was something the farmer had found in the knapsack.

  ‘Let us cross!’ the Marquis shouted to the Montugan Captain. ‘They mean to kill us!’

  Captain Anders seemed startled by the approaching republicans. He hesitated, unsure of how to react. The militiamen were almost in firing range.

  ‘At least take my son.’ The Marquis pushed Philippe towards the line.

  Anders, however, remained standing impassively.

  ‘For God’s sake, don’t you have children?’ The Marquis had played his last card. The response was instant.

  ‘Come on! Both of you,’ the Captain said, waving them over.

  The Marquis pushed his son over the line and he followed in turn. They brushed past the two royal guards and did not stop until they were approximately forty feet past the line. Captain Anders and the royal guard remained standing impassively immediately in front of the red line on the Montugan side. The Marquis wondered whether the red scarves would dare to cross the border. To do so, they would first have to engage the two royal guards who were blocking the narrow path. As it happened, the pursuers came to a halt near the French side of the line. The farmer’s reluctance to become involved with any confrontation with the two Montugan guards was revealed by his slow, but steady retreat. The rest of the militiamen stood their ground and aimed their muskets at the two Montugans.

  One of them, a man in his early thirties stepped forward, and stood close enough to permit his boot to touch the line. He had thick, long, black hair, untied. His dark eyes appeared merciless and his larger than average nose was underlined by an elaborate moustache which curled slightly at each end. Although looking dishevelled, he spoke with the assurance of one who had served as an officer.

  ‘That Frenchman is a fugitive from France!’ he declared. ‘In the name of the National Assembly of France, I demand that you hand him over. If you fail to do so, we shall shoot all four of you.’

  ‘If you cross the border or attempt to shoot at anyone on this side you will all die!’ Anders raised his voice, presumably in order that the royal guards in the elevated positions above the path could hear him.

  The Frenchman looked around. He was no doubt trying to establish to whom it was that the Captain had purportedly addressed his remarks. After scanning the area without detecting anyone, he laughed loudly.

  ‘I have to give you credit for trying Captain. But you two are clearly alone.’

  ‘I suggest you look up there. Also over there.’ Anders paused as he again pointed to another battery. ‘Oh, and also over there. As you can no doubt see for yourself, we have several cannons. Even if you run, you will not be able to escape the cannons’ crossfire.’

  ‘He is right, Commander. I can see some of them from here,’ said one of the red scarves. He was still on his knees in a firing position. The disappointment in his voice was evident.

  The Marquis estimated that he could not be older than sixteen.

  Their leader studied the emplacements wordlessly as he evidently considered his options. A burgeoning frown on the Frenchman’s face revealed that a stalemate had been identified. The frown disappeared almost instantly, however, as he proceeded to remove a familiar watch from his pocket — the Marquis' watch, which the farmer must have previously stolen.

  The Frenchman flipped the lid open to reveal the inscription on the inside.

  ‘Monsieur d'Artois. Or should I say Marquis? My name is Commander Alain Du Pont.’ The Frenchman grinned. ‘Yes, if you were wondering, this is your watch. It was lucky for us. It helped us to find you. Now that we know where you are - I will come for you. Be sure of that. Remember my name, and my face, for it will not be too long before you shall see it again. I shall return your watch to your son at your execution.’ He then stared directly at the Captain and moved his face to within a couple of inches of that of the Captain’s. Du Pont lowered his voice.

  ‘Never forget that the Montugan king holds power only at the pleasure of the state of France. And you - dear Captain - when the French republic, which is sure to be declared soon, revokes your king’s right to exist and Montuga is finally returned to France, where will you hide? Your little kingdom has a few hundred royal guards. It has no navy. When the revolution comes to Montuga, your king will not be able to prevent Montuga’s return to French rule. I trust that you will think on these things whilst you ponder the wisdom of crossing Alain Du Pont. Be sure of one thing, when French rule returns to Montuga, as indeed it will, I will come to find you.’ He smirked and directed a menacing stare at his interlocutor.

  ‘Monsieur Du Pont, you’re leaning into my face, which is in Montuga. Unless you withdraw immediately and return to your own country, I shall have you shot right where you stand.’

  ‘I doubt you have the guts. And I doubt that your king would welcome the consequences.’ he retorted. ‘But you will see me soon enough.’ And with that, the red scarves and the farmer turned around and commenced the long walk down the French side of the pass.

  ‘Captain, I do not know how to thank you,’ the Marquis declared as he watched the last of the French militiamen disappear. ‘My son and I shall forever be in your debt. I shall ensure that your name finds the ear of the king. I have no doubt that you will receive a medal for this.’

  ‘I seek no medal. I am one of only two officers in the royal guard who is not of aristocratic birth. If that French commander’s predictions are r
ight, then the medal you speak of could one day cost me my life. In any event, I have not decided to permit you and your son entry into Montuga. I still have my orders.’ As he spoke, the Captain watched the last of the red scarves disappear from view as he rounded the bend in the path.

  The Captain’s statement immediately obliterated the Marquis’s short-lived sense of relief. Philippe’s jaw dropped. The expression of disbelief in the boy’s wide-eyed stare swiftly gave way to one of terror.

  ‘Surely you do not intend that my son and I must return to France now that you have seen with your own eyes what awaits us there?’

  ‘The danger has passed,’ the Captain pointed out. ‘Du Pont and his men clearly believe that we have permitted your entry to Montuga. They have no reason to linger in the pass. You can stay with us for tonight. You can return to France tomorrow and you can continue your escape from there.’

  ‘No, Captain. We are sure to be spotted as soon as we emerge from the pass into France. We will be captured long before we can escape to Spain or to Genoa. The revolutionaries have eyes and ears everywhere. It is only by the grace of God that we avoided capture to make it this far. And if they believe that you permitted our entry, who knows whether they will set up a cordon in the Nanoux Valley near the pass to prevent other French nobles from attempting to escape to Montuga?’

  ‘From here, it is a long way down the pass in either direction. It will be dark soon.’ The Captain appeared deep in thought and a little troubled as he pointed towards the military hut. ‘You had better spend the night with us.’

  The four of them walked towards the military hut in the fading light. The dog sat on the stairs, waiting for them. Nothing further was said until they reached the hut.

  ‘If I do permit you to go on to Montuga, you would be misguided to think that your troubles would then be over. You may not be aware that the peasants are protesting in our country too.’

  ‘Whatever the situation in Montuga, my son and I will surely be better off than in France,’ the Marquis concluded before turning to another topic. ‘I am sorry that you now have Du Pont as an enemy thanks to me.’

  ‘Do not concern yourself about that. You cannot be a soldier and not expect to run into men like that.’ The Captain’s expression became more serious. ‘An arse he may be, but a fool he is not. If the rebels remove the king of France and France becomes a republic, he is probably correct to say that France will desire that Montuga should be included in such a republic. Montuga might not be a wise place for you to end up.’

  ‘Do I detect that you are considering permitting our entry to Montuga?’ The Marquis ensured that his question could only be heard by the Captain.

  ‘Yes,’ the Captain replied softly and with a tone of resignation. ‘If my commanding officer should come to hear of my disobedience, I shall be left to hope that your friendship with the king will serve to temper his anger.’

  The Marquis and Philippe were awoken by Captain Anders shortly before dawn the next morning. They had spent the night under guard in a small hut connected to the rear of the main hut.

  ‘I want you to leave for Montuga at once, before the guard changes,’ he whispered. ‘Only I and two of my most trusted men know of this. The rest will be told that you were ordered to return to France. Since it is still dark, no-one will be sure which way you went. If the truth should one day emerge, you will be safe and my transgression in all this will be unimportant and forgotten. I must also ask, my Lord, that you continue on to Montuga under your assumed names.’

  ‘Of course we will. Is there anything else we can do to thank you for your invaluable assistance Captain?’

  ‘Yes there is. I would prefer that as soon as you arrive in Monte Vista, that you will immediately leave it on the first available ship. If you decide to stay in Montuga, you must only do so using only your false names and you should then not return to your Chateau or approach the king. You can always return to Monte Vista later by ship using your true names if you desire to assume your real identities. I ask you to do this not only to hide my role in your escape, but also in deference to the king. It will permit the king to deny that you entered Montuga with the assistance of his royal guards or with his blessing.’

  ‘You have saved our lives Captain Anders. You do not ask too much. You have our word that we will not compromise you or the King.’

  The Marquis and his son then embarked upon the long walk along the narrow path leading down the Montugan side of the mountain pass to the Bella Vista valley, Montuga’s agricultural area. The dog followed closely behind. They emerged into the valley where the path widened into a paved country road. They passed several farms as they descended down the road which led to the small village of Bella Vista, situated lower down in the valley. They arrived in Bella Vista during the late afternoon. An agricultural market dominated the small village square and it was teeming with farmers and traders. Most of the traders were from Monte Vista. The Marquis had no difficulty in finding a trader who was agreeable to permitting the three of them to ride in his cart as he returned to Monte Vista along the Rue de la Valley, the main road.

  They passed additional farms and several chateaus along the gradually widening valley. The road’s gentle downward incline persisted for about twelve miles. The last three miles of the road winded down the final section of the valley which fell away dramatically, leading to a steep drop towards the sea. This section of the road provided splendid views of the harbour and the city of Monte Vista itself, which was nestled between a section of the Montugan Alps on the right, and Circle Peak on the left. Beyond the harbour the Monte Vista Bay merged with the Mediterranean Sea. Several cobble stoned streets zigzagged throughout the city. Each street originated in downtown Monte Vista, near the harbour. From there each street spiralled upwards through one of the city’s residential areas. The houses became noticeably grander in tandem with the increased altitude of the section of street in which it was located.

  Once they had disembarked from the cart in the downtown area, the Marquis spotted several pro-democracy signs and graffiti emblazoned on the walls some of the buildings. They booked into a modest lodge under their assumed names. Following an assurance from the Marquis that the dog was house trained, the proprietor permitted it to stay in their room. After freshening up, they presented themselves at the lodge’s busy tavern for dinner. They were shown to the last remaining table. The Marquis ordered a jug of red wine, something he had last consumed at home. The taste of it produced a vivid recollection of the last occasion on which he and his wife had enjoyed a glass of wine and dinner together. He ordered a second and then a third jug to wash down a lamb stew.

  They listened in to many of the conversations emanating from the patrons at nearby tables. The events in France and their repercussions for Montuga was the dominant topic of discussion. Speculation about whether the Montugan monarchy would be replaced by a republic or a constitutional monarchy was rife. The Marquis concluded that it was probably only a matter of time before the revolution in France would bring irreversible change to Montuga. This realisation made it easier for him to decide to keep his word to Captain Anders. Instead of returning to their chateau, he decided that they would persist with their assumed identities and that they would seek temporary accommodation and employment in Montuga. This would permit them to assess the position in Montuga for a few months prior to making any decision to stay permanently or to book a passage to another country on one of the many trading vessels calling at the harbour. It was after midnight before the Marquis stumbled into his room to join Philippe who had retired hours earlier. He collapsed onto the bed with a thud and instantly nodded off.