Master of the Crossroads - Madison Smartt Bell [338]
Doctor Hébert, who took a peculiarly interested view of the situation, could confirm that Toussaint’s reprisals on the western peninsula, while heavy, were not indiscriminate. No women or children were harmed at his order. When Monsieur Monot reclaimed his house and possessions, his delicious housekeeper Agathe was also returned to him, intact. Toussaint’s proclamation was papered all over the town, and nailed to trees as the army progressed from Le Môle back eastward across the peninsula. It was true that a fair number of colored men and officers remained incorporated in Toussaint’s force. It was equally true (as the doctor silently observed) that the colored prisoners of the northwest campaign had been handed over to the field hands who followed in Toussaint’s train; barefoot, half naked, half starved and stumbling, they were subjected to all sorts of mistreatment from their captors, as the army moved down to Le Cap.
Michel Arnaud, who had come into Le Cap with a load of his sugar, rose early on a Sunday morning, meaning to escort his wife to morning mass. They had the use of the Cigny house in the absence of the owners, and it was not a very long walk from there to the white church on the hill. In the first yellowing light of the morning, it was still reasonably cool, with a salt breeze blowing in from the harbor, and gulls hanging on the wind overhead. Arnaud adjusted his step to that of Claudine, whose fingers rested lightly on the crook of his arm. There was a balance between them, something like contentment. Together they climbed the spiral path, but the white church at the top was empty, and no bell rang.
Claudine pressed his forearm and released it; he could sense her uneasiness, though she did not speak. Detached from each other, they walked down over the broken ground toward the cluster of houses behind the church. Arnaud’s spine prickled as he passed the palm panels enclosing the hûnfor. The lakou was just beginning to stir as they reached it; all seemed as usual except that there was no sign of Fontelle or her children or any other paler face.
Maman Maig’ sat on a low stool beside an open doorway of a case, her vast darkness absorbing all the sun that fell upon her. Arnaud approached, somewhat hesitantly, the woman was so imposing.
“Salwé.” That was Claudine’s voice, speaking from behind him. Maman Maig’ raised her head and returned the greeting. Excluded, Arnaud felt a flicker of irritation.
“Koté Fontelle ak ti moun li?” he asked brusquely. Where are Fontelle and her children?
“Solda yo mené yo nan prison.” Maman Maig’s reply was ready enough, though not especially friendly. The soldiers have taken them to prison.
“Ki bo prison sa yé?” Claudine came up beside him as she spoke. What prison, where?
“Nan La Fossette.”
Maman Maig’ tilted her head back against the whitewashed wall of the case. They’d hear no more from her, for the moment. Arnaud released his breath, and Claudine coaxed him back down the path they’d come by.
He might have thought it, thought of it sooner—why had he not thought of it? He knew that Christophe, in exercising the vigilance Toussaint had recommended to him, had incarcerated most of the colored people of Le Cap and the surrounding area, and that daily he executed a few who were thought to be tainted with conspiracy. Claudine had known too, or at any rate she had been exposed to the information, though often it was hard for Arnaud to tell just how far her attention penetrated.
She seemed to understand