Page 38 of A Fierce Wind

Chapter 9

Fougères, Brittany

Zoé stood on a hill with Freddie and the others, gazing down at the Château de Fougères. They were exhausted from the day’s events and glad to have arrived at their destination. Behind them, the setting sun cast its rays on the sand-colored stone, making the castle appear golden, like some celestial city lowered to earth.

Giles had not been exaggerating when he described the castle as a medieval fortress. The massive edifice, built on a rocky outcrop, stood high above the river that circled its oval base like a moat. Zoé counted thirteen towers built into the stone walls, some very large.

Gabe removed his hat to brush his dark curls off his forehead. “My family is from Le Havre and I have seen many sights sailing with the capitaine, but there have been none like this.”

“The château is one of the largest in Europe,” said Erwan. “It was built to protect Brittany against sieges from her enemies, a warning for them to turn back from our borders. In times of war, the people took shelter behind the castle’s ten foot-thick walls.”

Zoé’s gaze drifted to the stone houses pressed closely together on three sides of the fortress and the small village that lay on both sides of the path leading to the castle’s main gate. “Is that why the town grew up around it?”

“Oui,” said Erwan. “The people wanted to be close if the enemy came in spite of the warning.”

“As long as the fortress is held by Boisguy,” put in Freddie, “it serves the same purpose today.”

Erwan helped Isabeau from the horse and the girl hurried to stand next to Zoé, taking her hand as she looked down at the castle. “I was here once before… with my parents.” The sadness in the girl’s eyes and her quavering voice spoke of her lingering grief.

Zoé squeezed her small hand unsure of what to say, remembering the day she, too, had been orphaned. The deep wound to her young heart had only been healed by the love of her uncle and aunt, who was then Lady Joanna West. And the friendship of Joanna’s younger brother. She had thought Freddie most annoying at first but the passage of years had shown her that he was a true friend.

On her other side, Freddie took off his felt hat and wiped his forehead with a handkerchief. “Let’s hope Boisguy will welcome us. A bed and dinner would not go amiss.”

“What river is that circling the castle?” asked Zoé.

“’Tis the Nançon,” replied Erwan, “and this is the Nançon Valley.”

Zoé’s eyes took in the narrow valley, a swath of verdant vegetation and forests surrounding the castle. The trees and foliage had flourished in the spring rains. Red, blue and pink wildflowers blossomed from every crevice, reminding her of Guernsey.

“We’d best seek our host,” said Freddie, “before we lose the light.”

As they began their descent, Zoé looked down at the men milling around the outside wall. “Why has no one approached us?”

“I suspect we are under observation,” said Freddie. “As we get closer to the main gate, Boisguy’s men will make themselves known.”

To reach the gate that would take them past the castle’s outside wall, they had to first walk through the village and then cross a small bridge that spanned the moat. Freddie led the way, Zoé and Isabeau fell into step behind him. Gabe and Erwan followed with the black mare.

The villagers peeked their heads out of doors and windows to regard them with suspicious eyes. The women frowned at Zoé. She assumed it was due to the way she was dressed. Isabeau might pass for a lad but only from a distance did Zoé think her disguise would be convincing. The women of Fougères wore dresses or loose smocks tucked into long skirts, over which they donned short vests or jackets. Most of their hair was hidden beneath white caps, some with lace edges.

One woman pointed to Zoé. “Un autre Capitaine Victor?”

If they thought she was another Captain Victor, the woman who led a company of Chouan fighters, it meant she had been here. Zoé grew excited at the prospect of meeting such a woman.

No sooner had they reached the path leading across the bridge to the castle’s main entrance than two men bearing grim expressions on their hardened faces blocked their advance. Each carried a musket and wore the sacred heart patch on his coat and a long rosary around his neck.

Freddie gestured to Erwan to join him and the two walked toward the Chouans. Reaching into his coat pocket, he pulled out the message Cadoudal had given him. “For General Boisguy,” he said in Breton, bowing slightly.

Erwan spoke a few words to the Chouans, the only one Zoé recognized was “Cadoudal”.

Isabeau, who knew French as well as Breton, leaned close to whisper, “Erwan has told them we come from M’sieur Cadoudal and the message is from him.”

The man who had accepted the missive motioned for them to wait. Leaving his fellow Chouan to guard them, he crossed the bridge and walked with determined steps through the arched entrance.

When Freddie looked back at Zoé, she asked, “You are not worried?”

“Not yet. When we stopped to rest I asked Erwan to read me the message since it was in Breton. In veiled terms, it describes our mission as seeking information on their weapons and stores, to understand their needs. I assume he wrote it so that we could pretend to be on the side of the revolution should we be searched by republican soldiers. Clever that he should think to do that. As a result, it will take a bit of explaining to assure Boisguy we are here to help.”

Only minutes had passed when the Chouan reemerged from the gate and beckoned them to follow. They followed him through the tunnel that cut through the thick outer wall.