Revolution - Jennifer Donnelly [61]
And there was one more—one who went easily among them in a plain gray coat, a tricorn pulled low on his brow. He wore a scarf over the lower half of his face like a highwayman and talked not of bread and liberty but of devilry and murder. He moved to and fro, handing out coins, urging the marchers to their feet, bidding them pick up their pikes and staves. He glanced my way once and his eyes, darker than midnight, made my blood run cold. Moments later, he handed a purse through the fence to a pair of guards standing on the other side of it. Too late, I realized what he was doing—bribing them to open the gates. I shouted for help, but my voice was drowned out by the roaring of the mob.
Kill her! a woman screamed as she ran through the gates. Kill the queen! Tear out her heart!
Kill them all! shouted another.
I was nearly witless with fear. I ran through the gates, across the courtyard, and into the palace. Many of the mob were ahead of me. Others were right on my heels. Luckily, they thought me one of them. They ran up the queen’s staircase, but I, having recovered my wits, skirted round it and dashed down a narrow hallway to the dauphin’s chambers. Rifles were raised and pointed at me as I entered but the captain knew me and halted his men.
They are inside the palace! I shouted at him.
He grabbed me cruelly. Where?
The queen’s staircase. Hurry!
He ran into the dauphin’s bedroom and threw back the bedcovers. Louis-Charles woke with a fright. He jumped out of his bed and crawled under it. The captain tried to pull him out, but he howled and kicked and would not come. From the floor above came the sound of screams and rifle shot.
Get him out! the captain shouted at me.
I knelt by the bed. Louis-Charles, come out, I said. You must come out now.
I won’t! Tell the guard to go away!
He’s not a guard, he’s a field marshal, I said, trying to make a game of it. England is at our borders. We must fall back.
Louis-Charles popped his head out at that. Knave! he shouted. A prince of France never retreats!
We do so only by the king’s command, my general, I said. We are outnumbered here, but reinforcements await us at Harfleur.
More shots. Then screaming.
Damn you! There is no time for this! the captain yelled.
I crouched down, playing the horse. Louis-Charles scrambled out from under his bed and leaped upon my back. I grabbed a candlestick from his night table and handed it to him.
Company, fall back! he shouted, waving the candle like a sword.
We bolted from the room, with guards ahead and behind. Up a servants’ staircase we ran, into the Hall of Mirrors. I heard more gunfire. The sound of glass smashing. I glanced out a window and saw a guard shot, another stabbed. A head stuck on a pike was being paraded about while screeching women danced a rigadoon around it.
The captain stopped at a mirrored panel and pounded upon it. I thought him mad until I saw the hinges. Your Majesty! he shouted. It’s Captain Barère! I bring the dauphin. Majesty, please open the door! He pounded again, but got no answer. We must try another way. Hurry! he barked, urging us on to the far end of the hall.
When we got there, he sent three of his men ahead through the exit. They returned immediately. It’s no good, one said. They’re in the staterooms.
We tried to go back the way we came, but cries and shouts carried up from the other end of the hall. We were trapped. Gilt nymphs gazed blindly at us as we wheeled and turned. Painted gods looked down upon us, unmoved. Our image was reflected a thousand times in the mirrors—a dozen