The Cardinal's Blades

6

Along night had gone by since Captain Saint-Georges had solemnly requested his sword and in so doing indicated to Laincourt that he was under arrest for treason. The prisoner had then been led to Le Chatelet under a firm escort, where his last personal effects were removed before he was anonymously locked up. In the eyes of the world, he might just as well have vanished into the bowels of the earth.

He no longer existed.

In 1130, Louis VI had ordered a small fortified castle-or chatelet-built to defend the Pont au Change, which connected the Right Bank of the Seine to Ile de la Cite. Rendered useless by the construction of King Philippe Auguste’s ramparts, the Grand Chatelet-as it was sometimes called to distinguish it from the Petit Chatelet built on the Left Bank at the mouth of the Petit Pont-lost its military function. But King Louis IX enlarged it, Charles IV remodelled it, and Louis XII restored it. In the seventeenth century, Le Chatelet was the seat of the legal courts under the jurisdiction of the provost of Paris, while its dungeon housed the prison cells. These cells, located on various levels, were given nicknames. On the upper level were the common halls where prisoners were packed together: Beauvoir, La Salle, Barbarie, and Gloriette; below that, there were three areas with individual cells: La Boucherie, Beaumont, and La Griesche; lower still: Beauvais, another communal hall; and finally, in the very foundations of the place, were the worst of all, without air or light: La Fosse, Le Puits, La Gourdaine, and L’Oubliette.

Laincourt had been accorded the honour of La Gourdaine, where he was forced to endure its rotting straw overrun with vermin. At least he had been spared the horror of La Fosse, a pit into which the prisoner would be lowered through a trap door, on the end of a rope. The bottom of that most infamous gaol cell was swimming in stagnant water and took the shape of an inverted cone, so that a prisoner could neither lie nor sit down, and was even denied the relief of something to lean against.

Since the door had been closed on Laincourt, the hours had passed, stretched out and silent, in absolute darkness. In the far distance he heard the echo of a scream, that of a prisoner gone mad in solitude or of some poor wretch being subjected to torture. There was also the sound of water falling slowly, drop by drop, into deep brackish puddles. And the scratching of rats against the damp stone.

And then suddenly, in the morning hours, a key scraped in the lock. A gentleman with a greying moustache entered, with whom the gaoler left a lit lantern before closing the door again.

Laincourt stood and, blinking his eyes, recognised Brussand.

“You shouldn’t be here, Brussand. I’m in solitary confinement.”

“For you,” replied the other, handing him a flask of wine and a piece of white bread. The former ensign of the Cardinal’s Guards gladly accepted the victuals. He tore into the bread but forced himself to chew slowly. Then, having swallowed a mouthful of wine, he asked: “How were you able to get in here?”

“The officer in charge of admissions owed me a favour.”

“Was the favour you did him as big as this one?”

“No.”

“So now you are in his debt… That is regrettable and entirely unnecessary on your part. Nevertheless, you have my thanks… Now go, Brussand. Go before you compromise yourself completely.”

“Our time is short, in any case. But I want you to tell me something.”

Beneath his unshaved cheeks and drawn features, Laincourt gave a faint, pale smile.

“I owe you that much, my friend.”

“Just tell me that all this is untrue,” the old guard demanded. “Tell me they’ve made a mistake on your account. Tell me that you are not the spy they accuse you of being. Tell me that and, in the name of our friendship, I will believe you and defend you!”

The prisoner stared at the old guard for a long time.

“I don’t want to lie to you, Brussand.”

“So it’s true?”

Silence.

“My God!” Brussand exclaimed. “You…? A traitor…?”

Demoralised, disappointed, misled, and still incredulous, he retreated a step. Finally, like a man resigned to facing the inevitable, he took a deep breath and cried out: “Then talk! Talk, Laincourt! Whatever happens, you will be judged and condemned. But spare yourself being subjected to questioning…”

Laincourt searched for the right words and then said: “A traitor betrays his masters, Brussand.”

“So?”

“I can only swear to you that I have not betrayed mine.”