THEME: KNOCK YOURSELF OUT
TITLE: Hope Not Lost
Written by Emily Thorpe
France, Toulon, 1776
Silently I slipped beneath the fence that ran around the edge of the wharf. My dress fell loosely around my legs and the hem tickled my ankles as I stooped to duck beneath the thick rope that held a big whaling ship in the port. I jumped as several barrels clattered to the ground behind me. Phillipe swore. We stood frozen in the shadow of the ship. I made a dash for the next shadow, but Phillipe grabbed my arm and pulled me back just as the torch illuminated the shadow of the ship next to us. I could hear Phillipe’s fast breathing next to my ear and under his shirt I could feel his heart racing. Oh God don’t let them find us!
“Anything there?” The torch light moved away. We shrank deeper into the shadow; Phillip pressed me against the helm of the ship and covered us both in his dark cloak. Oh, God! Oh, God! Please! “Nothing”.
The light moved away, and I could breathe again. Phillipe held me still a while longer before he was sure they were gone. “Elyna,” He breathed quietly in my ear “Are you certain of this?”
“Yes,” I whispered back, peering carefully around the corner of the ship. We have to escape. Get away. I ducked to the next boat and Phillipe followed, his feet silent and his cloak rustling slightly as it brushed lightly over the crates piled on the wharfs edge. I held the bottom half of my cloak in the crook of my arm to stop it catching on the metal chain that marked the edge of the wharf.
“Are you truly sure of the path?” I paused. The darkness confused me.
“The note said to stick to the wharf until we reached the dry port and then to take the road to the left until we come to the monger’s, from there we head through the cemetery to the bay near the Bange de Toulon.” Phillipe took my hand and pulled me left into an alley, I glanced back and saw the dry port vanishing into the gloom of night.
“And why,” murmured Phillipe, “do we trust the anonymous letter writer?” I look up at a sign dangling above a door, squinting through the dark I could make out the fish painted next to red letters announcing the monger’s store.
“Because,” I said pointing the way to the cemetery, “the last time I received a letter in the same hand, it warned of the Bonapartist search party and we could hide the dragoon staying with us before they got to our home.”
Putting one hand on the wooden fence Phillipe vaulted over it easily and turned back to help me over. He lifted me over the fence and placed me firmly back on the ground.
“Because I’m sick of having to lie to each band of soldiers that comes into our home and give them food and drink when they demand it. I do not recognise Napoleon as my ruler. And I do not want to lie about it. It goes against my God and the real king of France.”
“Pardieu! Don’t let the emperor’s men hear you talking like that!” Phillipe dodged a small shrub that had sprung up between the graves. We slipped over the fence at the opposite end of the cemetery and began toward the Bange de Toulon. Houses grew fewer and fewer as they came nearer the dungeon. It was not a popular place, and the bay was too shallow for most of the ships, so no trade came that way.
“So where do we hope to escape to?”
I thought back to the letter. It had promised that I could go wherever I pleased. “We’ll go to La Rochelle.”
“Zounds! Do not joke with me milady!”
“I do not.”
“But Rochelle is on the other side of the country!”
“Precisely M. Phillipe. Far from Bonaparte and near the Calvinists.”
Phillipe paused, processing all the information. “Elyna, do you still believe that there could be Calvinists there?” A wry smile crossed his face. “King Louis XIII laid siege and forced them to be catholic.”
“Very true Phillipe, but surely some of them survived and that is now under a more lenient king. To Rochelle!”
I felt my feet sinking into the sand of the beach and to the east I could see a patch of darkness that was more solid than the rest of the night. The Bange de Toulon. I shivered. There were many in there for being accused of being royalists. I could be in there. If not for the Lord’s grace!
“And how, milady, will we get to Rochelle? If you ask me, we are going the wrong way. Rochelle is northwest of here.” I scanned the shoreline, searching for light. “Once again you are correct, Rochelle is the other way, but the shore is this way.”
“Aha, now I follow Elyna, you mean to say we will sail there?”
I nodded, then remembered that he couldn’t see me in the dark and said, “Indeed, my love. That is exactly what I mean.”
My eyes roved the land, and I was sure that they might burst with the effort of trying to decern a light in the darkness, trying to find the ship that was to convey us to safety. It would have to be a small one to get close enough to shore. Then suddenly, a little to our right there was a flash on the ocean. My head snapped round, and my eyes struggled to focus on the point, but before I could determine the direction, it was gone. I blinked. Had my eyes deceived me? No, there it was again, a brief flash and then nothing. “Come,” I said grabbing Phillipe’s hand and dragged him towards the light.
“Where are we going?” Phillipe trotted alongside me, easily keeping up with my fast pace.
“Every few seconds they flash a light, keep looking and you’ll see it bobbing up and down.” In the dim light of the halfmoon I could see Phillipe frowning as he stared at the water, looking for the light.
“I don’t…”
“There!” I pointed as the light flashed and then vanished again. No mistake. It was there. Phillipe had seen it too. We jogged as quietly as we could along the sand. Finally, we got as close as we could and when the light flashed, I could make out the figures in the skiff. Two men, one standing and flashing the light of a lantern before covering it again with a dark cloth, the other sitting and gazing out onto the shore.
I took out a hand mirror from the pocket of my dress and when the man pulled off the cloth of the lantern, I held up the mirror. The light of the lantern was reflected back to the skiff, I saw the man standing bend to speak with the seated one. The lantern was covered, but I heard the splash of oars, and the skiff drew up to the shore. One of the men jumped out and whispered, “Mademoiselle Elyna? Monsieur Phillipe?”
“Tis us sir. And what may we call you?” Phillipe addressed the man before us. In the moonlight I could decern only the vague outline of him. He was smaller than Phillipe with a thin frame from what I could see as he was enveloped in a large cloak. “I am Monsieur de la Flair and this,” he said gesturing to the man in the boat, “this is Monsieur du Moiré.”
Du Moiré jumped out of the boat. I stared at him. He was a giant! He stood a full head above Phillipe, and he was broad with flashing eyes that I could see even in the gloom. When he spoke his voice was a deep bass that rumbled rather than growling like other men’s. ’’Benvenuto” He extended his massive hand. Phillipe gave his own. “Italian then?” Du Moiré nodded. “But my French is acceptable,” he smiled, revealing white teeth, “at least that is what la Flair says. You must judge for yourself.” He had only a slight accent but otherwise his French was indeed very good.
“Can I take anything aboard for you?” Phillipe shook his head. “We’ve only this,” he held up a small bundle, “I’ll manage, but many thanks Monsieur.” Du Moiré nodded.
“Come, make haste! The hours of dark are few and those who would pursue us would soon see us in the morning light.”
De la Flair began the wade back to the skiff. Phillipe followed; the bundle flung over his shoulder. I glanced at the surface of the water and then looked at Phillipe. The water was up to his waist before he could reach the side of the small vessel. I shivered, and steeling myself for the cold, I was about to wade in when du Moiré’s voice halted me. “Mademoiselle? Can you withstand the current? There is a strong riptide.” I hesitated, “What would you propose M. du Moiré?”
“I could carry madam, with your husband’s consent.” Phillipe considered this.
“I can come back for her,”
Du Moiré hesitated, trying to formulate a reply, “I do not doubt either your capability or strength,” he said carefully and respectfully, “I doubt only your height. Where the water reaches your waist, it reaches only to my thighs.”
Phillipe paused, reluctant, I knew, to entrust me to someone else’s care but then he nodded seeing the sense of the proposal. Du Moiré turned to me. “Does mademoiselle give her consent?”
“With much gratitude Monsieur!” I let my cloak fall from the crook of my arm, Du Moiré stooped from his great height, and I wrapped my arms around his neck. Then, in one deft sweep of his arms, he caught me up and held me like I was a small babe. He began to wade to the skiff. As we went deeper, I could feel him swaying to adjust to the strength of the current as it tried to tug him off his feet. But no matter how hard he was struggling against the current he held me as gently and carefully as how possibly could. For such a big man he moved with the grace of a deer.
We were almost to the skiff when I heard Da le Flair cry out, “Down! Get down!” and he pulled Phillipe to the base of the ship. I heard the roar of gunfire and Du Moiré grunted and stumbled forward. There was silence, then I could hear shouts from the shore. I could hear Du Moiré’s quick, sharp breathes as he waded forward quickly. He got to the side of the skiff, gasping, but managed to still get me up to the deck. Now that I could look back at him, I saw the dark stain that was spreading over the front of his white shirt. He tried to pull himself into the skiff but groaned and fell back into the water. I rushed to the edge and grabbed his hand and tried to help him in. I pulled and pulled, terrified. Lord! Help me! Give me strength Father!
Du Moiré made another effort to get into the skiff but fell back again. “No!” He looked up at me and smiled, “Too big for you madam.”
“Elyna!” Phillipe grabbed me by the waist and pulled me back and down onto the deck as I heard the rattle of gunfire then there was a big thud and I suddenly felt very faint. Darkness clouded my vision, but before everything went black, I saw the fingers that had been clinging to the boats side go slack and the slide out of view. Farewell du Moiré.
Phillipe
I watched Elyna’s limp form bobbing up and down ahead of me. She still hadn’t woken from the bump she had received when she hit the deck and was being carried by a big burly soldier. Perhaps it was better that way. The march to the Bange de Toulon had not been far, we were nearly through the courtyard. I twisted my hands; the ropes didn’t slacken.
If I can just reach my dagger. I tried to reach the scabbard where it hung at my side, concealed by my cloak. The soldiers hadn’t searched us. Not yet.
I strained and finally, I got a grip on the hilt and pulled it out. I saw Elyna stir ahead of me she groaned and then her eyes fluttered open. She closed them again but then registering what she had seen opened them wide with shock.
“Phillipe!” She struggled free of her captor and grunted as he let her fall from his shoulder. She scrambled up, even with her hands bound. The soldiers were about to pounce on her but then they saw she was coming to me and let her pass.
Before she could reach me, I sliced the rope from my wrists and fell upon the nearest soldier. To my right I saw De la Flair do likewise. The first man died quickly, as did the second but when I got to my third opponent, he was ready and so were his comrades. One soldier at the back was holding Elyna firmly, she was helpless and could only watch as we fought desperately, her cries muffled by the soldier’s hand. I tried to cut my way to her but felt something blocking my way. Something was pressing me back by the chest. I looked down at the hilt of the sword.
It wasn’t anything to marvel at, a plain wooden hilt with a bronze hand guard nothing more. My knees felt weak and gave way beneath me and I slumped onto the floor. I could see a spreading pool of blood.
But not mine, surely. Everything seemed so surreal. I could see Elyna, tears streaming freely down her face. I reached toward her. But before I could touch her everything went dark.
France, Bange de Toulon, 1818
Bardot
“Your shift M. Bardot.” I sighed. “Where am I tonight?” The captain smiled grimly. By this I could tell that it would be a new part of the dungeon to guard. Not a pleasant part either. I followed him and he gave me my orders. The dark was almost like a solid wall in this part of Benge de Toulon. Mostly older prisoners were held here. Royalists, I recalled the captain saying.
As I went deeper, I heard a faint humming. It grew louder as I approached, and I saw it was a woman, pale to the point of looking sickly but her face bright with joy and hope. She was singing a hymn. It was an old one and I didn’t know it. I wondered at her and though I wasn’t meant to, I spoke.
“Who, are you?”
“Once, in happier days, I was called Elyna. And what are you called?”
“Bardot.”
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PUBLISH’D AFRIKA Magazine Facebook Short Story Competition is funded by the National Arts Council, Department of Sport, Arts and Culture and Presidential Employment Stimulus Programme 3
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