The Guinea Thief - Chapter 5 - Georges

As Georges crouched in the darkness, the pain in his leg was almost unbearable. Above him in the gloom he could see the statue of St Goustan standing watch over the houses below. As a child he had seen the statue every day, safeguarding the street, but tonight it’s presence was more sinister. Georges felt his every move was being watched and reported back to the Tribunal. Apart from these two figures the street was deserted. Behind him a black and white cat prowled the side alley, searching the empty fish barrels for forgotten scraps. The stink of fish hung in the air. Georges had not eaten for two days now and the smell both attracted and repelled him at once. It was after all food, but how desperate does a man need to be to eat rotting fish?

Georges was very cautious. He had been watching the street for two hours, searching every window, every doorway for signs of a watcher. He thought back to the last time he was in Auray, five years before. Feet bound in chains, paraded by General Hoche at the head of the 6000 Chouans and Royalists who had risen up against the Republic and then been defeated at Quiberon. Auray had been taken by Georges and his men of Mouribhan, their knowledge of the area unsurpassed. But Hoche had outsmarted the Royalists and the English had faded away, leaving Sombreuil to surrender. Hoche had been clever and then he was merciless. He asked the townspeople of Auray to prove their loyalty to the Republic and select 750 prisoners for execution. Georges had been forced to watch as his men were marched out to a field and shot.

Georges had been lucky, Hoche had taken a liking to the wily Breton. He took him back to Paris and Napoloeon used a mixture of charm and veiled threats to try to persuade Georges to become a General in the Napoleonic army. But Georges was a man of passionate beliefs and refused, assuming he had signed his own death warrant. Instead Napoloeon pardoned him, on condition that Georges swore he would not take arms against the Republic again. Bitter and defeated Georges had given up the fight for a while. But his hatred of the Tribunal and everything it stood for, could not be eradicated, and he quickly joined the Royalists in exile in England. For a while this had been enough. But Georges was a soldier and not a man of court. The French in exile seemed to him a decadent bunch, who were more interested in bewailing the loss of their chateaux, than in the atrocities which were being committed everyday in their homeland. And so he was back, driven by a passion which would not let him rest.

He knew that being here put his father and sister in immense danger, but he was no longer certain who he could trust. Wounded and alone, Georges had finally come home. He came back to the one place he could be sure he was safe. He knew his family would not betray him. The throbbing pain which had been his only companion on the road from Paris was becoming unbearable. He had to lie down and rest. He stood up as straight as he could manage, walked up to the black oak door and knocked three times.

“Delphine, it’s me, Georges. Open the door. Hurry. ”

After what seemed an eternity, the door opened. Georges pushed his way in and shut the door behind him.

“Georges, what are you doing here?”

George fell against the table, his legs could not take his weight anymore.

“You’re hurt. Sit down, let me take a look.”

Delphine barely touched Georges leg, but the pain was excrutiating.

“Leave it, don’t touch it.”

Delphine pulled her hand away.

“ Later, you can look later. Where’s father? ”

“Asleep, of course.”

“Good, leave him sleeping. He will worry enough for all of us in the morning. Has anyone come looking for me, the tribunal, the army, anyone at all?”

“No, not for a long time, not since Le Mans. We told them we hadn’t heard from you since you became a Chouan. Father said that he had banned you from this house because of your ridiculous Royalist beliefs. They believed him of course. To them it is ridiculous that you should want to put a king back on the throne.”

Georges still did not relax. After the years of fighting, and hiding, a few snatched moments of glory and the long years of defeat, he could not relax. He told his men, when he slept, he slept with one eye open. And they believed him.

“Your bed is still upstairs, you can go and lie down and rest. Or do you need something to eat?”

“Some food would be good. I managed to get a little something at a farm back in Normandy, but there doesn’t seem to be any food anywhere. This war is killing our people.”

Delphine smiled to herself. She should remember that to others her brother was a great general, leader of the rebellion, the man who was going to put the Bourbon king back where he belonged. But that was a Georges she did not and could not know. Georges in the battlefield, she found so hard to imagine. Georges scrapping with the other boys outside church on Sunday, trying to force each of them in turn to repeat:

“The sans-culottes, off with their heads.”

Now that was an image she could conjure up in a moment, she remembered it well, it was the only time the priest had praised Georges.

The next morning Delphine was at last able to take a look at Georges leg. Dried blood had stuck the cloth to his skin. Dabbing his the leg with warm water, Delphine was quickly able to peel ripped the trousers back to reveal an oozing mixture of blood, pus and bone.

“I’m going to have to clean this up, I can’t leave it like this, it’s going to get infected.”

To her surprise, Georges nodded.

“I’d prefer not to watch. I’ve seen this a few too many times. I know what’s coming next, and I also know what will happen if I don’t let you do it. I’m going to need some brandy. Bring me a bottle, and don’t bother bringing a glass.”

When Delphine returned with the bottle, Georges downed two big glugs.

“Ok, you can start. If I cry out, just ignore me and keep going, it’s a reflex that’s all.”

Delphine set to work, slowly cutting away the fabric, dabbing the skin with tepid water as she went along. Once the fabric was gone she could see the gash was about four inches long down the middle of his thigh. In the centre it went right to the bone.

“What happened?”

“I almost got caught! That’s what happened.”

“But where were you?”

”Paris. It was a brilliant idea.”

Georges lifted his head a little.

“You have to understand, there’s no other way we can stop him.”

“Who?”

“Napoloeon, of course.”

Delphine stopped.

“Georges what have you done?”

“Nothing. It didn’t work. The plan failed. Someone must have sold us out. We were going to blow him up, but the night before the soldiers came and dragged us out of our beds. They were taking us to the Bastille. I knew I’d had my last chance, it would be Mme Guillotine this time. So I escaped.”

“You escaped. Just like that?”

“Well if you want the gory details, you can have them. I always keep a knife hidden in my sock. I walked slowly until there was only one guard between me and my freedom. I pretended to stumble with the hobbles on my feet, grabbed the knife and as he leant down to help me up, I stabbed him in the stomach. Simple, really.”

Delphine gasped.

“Little sister, don’t be shocked. I’m a soldier. He’s not the first man I’ve killed, and he’s probably not going to be my last. The hobbles meant I couldn’t run fast, so the nearest guard soon caught up with me. He took a swipe at me with his sword, it missed my head but caught me on the leg. Luckily for me the blow caught him off balance and my little knife did for him too. And that was it, I was off. The rest of the guards needed to stay with the other prisoners, and I don’t think they liked the idea of getting a taste of my blade. I went to a friend’s house and got the hobbles off, he saddled up his horse and sent me on my way. Yesterday I had to swap the horse for food, the bitch at the farm wouldn’t take my money. And here I am.”

While Georges had been busy telling his story, Delphine had been working away at the wound, clearing the dirt and the oozing pus.

“It’s going to need to be bound up properly with a compress to sweeten the flesh. I don’t know how to do it, I’ll have to get Mme Agnes to come. ”

“No. It has to be you. No-one else can know I am here. This time, they will kill you and father too. This time I have given them no choice”

“Let me talk to father, and I’ll see if I can get the herbs I need to make the poultice. Try to rest now, I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

Delphine started to walk towards the stairs.

“Delphine...”

“Yes?”

“Thank-you.”

Delphine nodded. “Rest now. I’ll be back soon.”

Delphine found her father sitting by the fire deep in thought. At the familiar sound of her footsteps he looked up.

“So, how is he?”

“It’s a bad wound. To the thigh. It’s deep, it’s going to need taking care of. He doesn’t want us to fetch anyone.”

Her father nodded.

“He’s right. It’s not safe.”

Pere, don’t worry. Georges was very careful. No-one will suspect he is here.”

“Listen. When you go to Agnes for the herbs, say it is for my sister’s son, Nicholas. Say you had an urgent message to go visit them, as Nicholas is hurt and his mother is sick. I know you are an honest girl. But honesty doesn’t pay in this world right now. Be careful with Agnes, she’s a very clever woman. They used to say her mother was a witch. Just stick to what I have told you to say, and don’t be tempted to add anything more. I know you and your wild stories. Keep it simple.”

“Yes father, I will.”

“Simple, why do the men keep on talking about things being simple, there’s nothing simple about any of this.” She thought to herself as she made her way down the street to Agnes. The interview with Agnes was not as hard as she had thought. Her father’s story seemed to work and while Agnes made up the poultice, Delphine bought some bread and a little meat. She decided it was best if she told a few others the same story. Later that day both the baker and the butcher told Agnes that Delphine was going to Brech to look after her sick cousin Nicholas and by the end of the day, the lie was known by so many it had become an undeniable truth which would keep them all safe. At least for a while longer.

Agnes had warned Delphine that once the poultice was bound to the wound it would be a few days before the wound would begin to heal and if it was deep, a fever might develop. Just as Agnes had predicted that evening Georges began to complain of feeling hot and itchy. He slept fitfully and cried out in his sleep. Agnes had given her a bundle of herbs which should help with the fever. Delphine brewed the herbs into a tea and tried to persuade her brother to sip the bright green liquid. It smelt and looked evil, and Georges refused to take it. The next day as the fever took hold, he no longer had the strength to fight her and she was able to pour a few drops into his blistered and parched mouth. As she sat beside him he grabbed her arm and pulled her close. His eyes were wild and staring.

“I had to do it. I had to, don’t you see?”

“Shhh, Georges, don’t worry, everything’s fine. You’re home, you’re safe.”

Delphine mopped his brow with a cold damp cloth. His skin was on fire. Gently she put his hand back on the bed.

“Shh, go back to sleep.”

Georges head sunk back into the pillow. His eyes closed and he fell into an exhausted sleep.