Chapter Twenty-Four
During the long night, the boat sailed past the dim shapes of slumbering townships along the river. After a few hours of broken sleep, Christian took over from Anthony who was almost asleep on his feet. He scrubbed his hands over his face. The delay getting away had cost them. It was close to dawn.
The sky lightened to rose pink and gray as they reached the bend in the river where the fort sat like a spider in the middle of its web, its battlements rising above the trees. They were soon to lose their cover.
Christian reached over, and nudged Anthony awake.
Anthony rubbed his eyes and came to his feet alert. “Let’s hope the brigands kept the guard busy fighting in the woods and failed to send a rider ahead to alert the fort.” In broad daylight they were as easy to pick off as a deer in Richmond Park.
Verity and Henrietta hid with Philippe in the cabin as the boat rounded the bend in the river.
“At least there’s a stiff breeze in our favor,” Anthony said.
They sailed in view of the fort, and into a mayhem. A flash of glass from a telescope was followed by blue and white uniformed guards running along the battlements. A warning shot soared over their heads. Either news had reached them, or the guard considered them target practice.
“Here we go!” Christian yelled. “Everybody keep down.”
Anthony added a sail to the mizzen mast. The wind caught it, and the boat surged forward. A volley of musket fire exploded like fireworks at Vauxhall. Shot peppered the water.
Another round followed. Shot bit into the mast and struck the stern near where Christian crouched at the tiller.
Henrietta yelled. Christian’s heart leaped into his throat. Had she been hit? The stone fortification was lit up with fire as the Guard reloaded and fired. Cannon shot landed with a giant whoosh so close the wash rocked the boat, and water splashed over onto the deck.
Another followed some minutes later.
“That one’s behind us. We’re moving out of range!” Christian shouted. He saw Henrietta at the door and the tight panic in his chest eased. “Everyone all right? Too close for comfort, Anthony.”
“Indeed.” Anthony rubbed his head. “A musket ball almost parted my hair.”
Christian grinned suddenly light-hearted. Reaching a bend in the river, they sailed around it out of sight, sheltered from view by forest. Henrietta and Verity came out smiling with relief. It was short lived. The Guard were sure to follow on horseback.
“They’ll come after us?” Verity asked.
“Maybe.” This was new ground for Christian. He had never used the river as a means of escape. He didn’t feel as in control as he might. Spying was a game of percentages, carefully planned. He’d been trained to use proven techniques, a secure passage, not to hazard his luck, unless something went wrong. But he guessed that was where he was now, hazarding his luck. Although risk takers, spies preferred to remain in the shadows, and blend in with the crowd. He’d never felt less in control than he did now, and the outcome had never meant more to him. He lightened his voice. “Once we’ve passed Rouen, with the tides in our favor, we’ll be all right.”
They sailed through the night taking turns at watch. In the early morning, Christian noticed a little water had seeped up through the boards. The boat was leaking. How long before it became serious was anyone’s guess. “A cannonball had obviously damaged the hull. When the need arises, we’ll take turns bailing,” Christian said.
Anthony acknowledged Christian’s worry with a nod. No hope of sailing this small leaky vessel across the channel. But one couldn’t look that far ahead. They’d have to stop somewhere and attend to the leak soon, as well as forage for food. “I think we can make it to Vernon,” he said to Anthony. But even in a small town they could be approached for their papers.
They sailed on under bridges, past mills, orchards, small villages, and churches clustered along the river, and acres of farmland ringed by woodland. They tried to ease the tension. Verity entertained them with a song in her sweet voice. Philippe even ventured out to listen. It seemed peaceful. Birds flew overhead in the calm blue, villagers went about their work. But they couldn’t ignore the changes that were occurring in France. The horror that had begun in Paris had spread its evil fingers over the land. Sailors on a passing barge stared at them with fear in their eyes. Nowhere was safe.
They dropped anchor in a narrow inlet. Christian left the boat in search of food. He found a small farm nearby, the farmer’s wife only too pleased to sell him what she could spare. He returned with buttermilk, pears, cheese, and a fresh baked loaf.
They ate then sailed on. Another sunset painted the clouds and the river in shades of gold, violet, and pink, so beautiful that Henrietta commented on it. He smiled down at her, struck by her irrepressible nature.
During the second night, the wind dropped. Becalmed, they drifted, pulled along by the tide. Christian remained at the tiller while everyone slept. He was almost nodding off when a scraping noise came from the leeward side. In the moonlight a head appeared. A big man in ragged clothes leaped over the rail onto the deck. He held a knife in his teeth.
Christian, annoyed with himself for lowering his guard, abandoned the tiller, and rushed at him yelling for Anthony. He kicked out at the ruffian, striking his knee hard. Dropping the knife, the man collapsed. Christian leaped on top of him. They struggled, cursing, and punching wildly.
Anthony appeared as the man rolled away and snatched up the knife. Moving fast for his size, he snarled at them, swapping the knife from hand to hand, slashing it menacingly through the air, while driving them back.
The boat ran aground with a loud scrape and rocked violently. Anthony was knocked back over the coil of rope.
Christian fell to his knees but quickly regained his feet. The ruffian steadied himself and rushed at him.
A shot rang out. The ruffian looked surprised, dropped the knife, then fell face down on the deck.
Christian pivoted. Philippe rested his hand on Henrietta’s shoulder. His other hand held a smoking pistol.
