His ruminations were cut short by the lurching stop of the coach. The horses whinnied, and he heard the coachman trying to calm them. Sliding back the window he peered out, saw lanterns mounted on an overturned wagon in the road, and a group of men clustered around it.
Alix sat up, rubbing her eyes and pushing waywardstrands of hair out of her face. “What is it?” she asked with a yawn.
“I believe it’s an accident in the road, seems to be an overturned wagon.” But his speculations were cut short by a pounding at the coach door, and a man’s raised voice.
“By order of the Senlis Revolutionary Tribunal, we demand you stop and show your papers.”
Rafe and Alix stepped out of the carriage into a pool of lantern light. Jervis and the coachman were standing among a group of young men, all wearing blue jackets with red epaulettes and red, white, and blue cockades in their hats. All, Rafe noted grimly, were armed with an array of sabers, pistols, and rifles. He pulled their passports and identity papers from his coat pocket and a sturdy young man with dark hair stepped forward to take them.
“I am Anton Doret, captain of the Senlis Guard Nationale,” he said, studying the papers carefully. “You are English, citizen?” he inquired, frowning at Rafe.
Rafe nodded.
Anton beckoned to several of his companions to join them. “An Englander,” he heard the young man mutter. “Bastards,” he heard one of them say, spitting harshly on the ground, and another man growled, “English spy.”
“Search the carriage,” Doret ordered.
One of the national guardsmen climbed into the carriage and began thumping the cushions, sliding his hands between them, and peering under the seats. As he stepped out of the chaise, Alix’s beribboned hat fluttered out after him, settling onto the rutted road, where it was promptly stepped on by one of the nervously stamping horses. The guardsman swung up into the coachman’s seat and began searching there. A moment later they heard him call down, “Anton, I’ve found a pistol here.”
The postilion protested. “I got papers showing I’m employed by Citizen Pascal, carriage builder on the RueGuengaud in Paris. I’m a loyal citizen, I am, and I need that pistol for protection.”
Doret answered roughly, “You’ll have it back when we’ve settled this matter. It’s not you we’re interested in, it’s these possible English spies.” He gestured for the guardsman searching the carriage to inspect the rear of the coach. The man climbed down and unstrapped the trunks fastened in the back. Dropping them into the road, he began rifling their contents.
Rafe saw Alix tense as the guard lifted out her stays and waved them appreciatively at his mates. They laughed and he tossed them, along with several of Rafe’s freshly laundered shirts onto the road.
Stepping forward to block Alix’s view of the searchers, Rafe addressed Captain Doret. “You can see, Captain, we carry no weapons. As our papers clearly state, we are cloth merchants on our way back to England. My understanding was that your new government was encouraging a continuation of trade between our two countries. However, should you require some contribution to demonstrate our support for your revolutionary cause...” He let the words trail off suggestively.
The young man wheeled on Rafe and snapped, “You are mistaken in thinking we are like the corrupt officials of the old regime. You cannot buy us off. You will stay with us overnight and in the morning, if the revolutionary tribunal decides that you are indeed what you say, then you shall be permitted to continue on your way.”
“But, citizen, my papers,” protested the postilion.
“You,” Anton responded, “are free to go.” Then turning to the men guarding Rafe, Alix, and Jervis, he directed, “Huget, put these three in the storeroom.”
Rafe balked. “Our property citizen, my wife and I would appreciate it if after you’ve searched our clothes, your men would return them to the trunks.”
Doret nodded, then motioned for Huget to take them away. Huget, a massive figure armed with a bayonet, motioned for them to follow him across the road. Rafe could make out a row of steep-roofed houses, candles flickering in the windows and smoke curling from their chimneys. As they passed between two of the houses, he caught the sound of laughter, and the clink of plates and glasses.
Rafe scanned their surroundings with a soldier’s eye, finding nothing that would aid their immediate escape. There were guards in front and behind them; he glanced at Jervis whose hand had crept to his boot where he kept a throwing knife hidden. Catching Jervis’s eye, Rafe shook his head warningly. He and Jervis might be able to take the guards, but he was unwilling to risk Alix’s safety should the soldiers start firing their muskets. Better to see what prospects for escape the storeroom might hold.
Huget led them across the courtyard toward the stables. The ground was uneven and muddy, and Alix had to lift her skirts to keep them from becoming sodden and filthy. The guardsman behind her whistled admiringly at her ankles. When they reached a small curved hut adjacent to the stables, Huget held his lantern high and gestured with his rifle for them to enter. Jervis swung open a crude wooden door and they filed into a dusty, windowless room.
“Can we at least have a light?” Alix asked.
The man who had whistled at her ankles snickered. “Can’t risk you burning down the place.” And the door banged shut behind them.
Rafe immediately began feeling about the corn cob and mud-daubed walls; they were surprisingly solid and the room was without windows. He could hear Jervis moving about in a similar inspection, heard him drop down and utter a disgusted sigh.
“Nothing but feed sacks and buckets, not a nice stick or sharp implement in the place.” Jervis sneezed. “And hay,damned hay, makes my eyes itch. Why couldn’t they have put us into a cell like normal jailers? No, it had to be a stable.” He sneezed again.
Alix slid to the floor and leaned against the crude stucco. “Forgive me for my lack of sympathy Jervis, but I think I prefer this to a prison.” Her voice rose questioningly. “Surely they wouldn’t have put us in here if they anticipated keeping us for a long time?”
Jervis blew his nose loudly into what Alix hoped was a handkerchief, but Rafe suspected was his sleeve. “Do you think the ship will sail without us, Captain?” he asked.
“Williams is paid good money to wait,” Rafe’s voice cut assertively through the darkness. He knew that if the weather changed, it wouldn’t matter what Williams had been paid to wait, he’d sail to protect his ship and cargo; but he didn’t want Alix more worried she already was.
“Yes, but how long? We could be here for days, that is, if we’re able to leave at all.” Alix’s stomach contracted. Until then she’d been worrying about whether they’d escape the local revolutionary committee; now she worried that they might miss the packet altogether.
“She’s right,” Jervis sniffled. “I say we break out of here.”
