Book III Chapter 4 The Marquis of Carabas by Rafael Sabatini
MUTINY
That staff conference in the library was stormy from the outset.
Tinténiac, seated at the writing-table, grave and stern, began, as it seemed, at the end by announcing a decision to the six who made a semicircle before him.
"Out there I spoke of discussion, merely so as to avoid one. This is not a matter in which I can be dragged into arguments, or listen to the opinions of the general. Actually there is nothing to discuss."
"You mean, of course," said Constant, "that we must go to the relief of Charette."
"I mean that we must not." They would have interrupted him with protests, but he bore them down, displaying all that firmness of which under his foppish exterior the little man was capable. "I mean that neither this nor anything else can alter the decision taken this morning. At nightfall we set out for Plouharnel, so that we may not fail to be punctual and fresh at the post of duty when Friday dawns."
Quentin's sigh of relief was heard by all. "Thank God for that," he said, and so caused Bellanger to turn upon him sharply.
"Are you giving thanks that we leave these poor brave fellows to be murdered?"
La Marche was leaning across the table. "You can't mean it, Chevalier. It is unthinkable."
"What is unthinkable is that we should permit anything to interfere with our duty. If we fail in that, the Royalist cause is lost."
"You mean," Constant corrected him, "that it may not be won."
"And the difference?"
"It is considerable. Puisaye's attack may fail. But that need not mean his total defeat. After all, even without us he will still be in sufficient strength to hold his own against Hoche. And you forget that he is about to be reinforced; that the expedition under Sombreuil, with the British regulars, should reach Quiberon at any moment now."
Tight-lipped, stern-eyed, Tinténiac answered him. "I began by saying that I would not consent even to discuss this matter. But I will remind you of this. We did not leave Quiberon so that the Royalist army should hold its own, but so that the Republican army should be crushed. I deplore as deeply as any of you the misfortune to this corps from the Vendée. Yet as things stand, and if I am to be frank, in the interests of the monarchy I am thankful that these Vendeans hold Grouchy in play, since otherwise it might be in his power to prevent us from being punctually at Plouharnel."
"That is inhuman!" Bellanger protested.
"It is war," said Quentin.
"Not as Frenchmen understand it, sir."
"You mean, not as you understand it."
Tinténiac rose. "Gentlemen, there is no more to be said. You have my orders. We march at nightfall."
Constant thrust forward. "Oh, but by your leave, Chevalier! A moment! There's a great deal more to be said."
"Not to me." Tinténiac held himself stiffly. "I command this expedition. You will respect my orders, whatever your opinions."
"I should not respect myself if I did."
"Nor should I," added Bellanger.
"You summoned us to hold a council, not to be arbitrarily ordered."
Darker grew Tinténiac's brow. He looked from one to the other of them. Then his glance passed, sternly, challengingly, on. "Is anyone else of that mind?"
The Chevalier de La Marche made a gesture of despair. "It seems terrible to me not to succour these men who are within reach."
"And, faith, that's my view," said La Houssaye.
"It is also mine," Tinténiac coldly agreed. "But it cannot influence my decision. And you, Georges?"
Georges bowed his big head. "You are in command, Chevalier, and the responsibility is yours. I thank God it is not mine."
"Even you!" Tinténiac's confidence seemed shaken. He permitted himself a bitter little smile. "Is there not one of you, then, who sees eye to eye with me?"
"Oh, yes," said Quentin. "Cadoudal is mistaken. When he speaks of responsibility he is thinking of choice. Your orders leave you none. If you depart from them, there are no grounds that would save you from being court-martialled and shot."
"You hear, sirs? It is a timely reminder for you all."
"But it overlooks," objected the lofty Bellanger, "that there are duties imposed by honour."
"Those," Quentin answered him, "I permit no man to teach me."
"You never have permitted it, I suppose."
Quentin smiled. "If you suggest that I have, Vicomte, I shall be happy to argue the point with you at some other time."
"Oh, at your pleasure, sir."
"Meanwhile we leave the Vendeans to their fate," said La Marche bitterly, whilst La Houssaye took his big head in his hands in a gesture almost hysterical. "By God, it's too much," he lamented.
"Certainly too much for me," cried Constant boldly, feeling himself supported. He thrust forward. "Let me have five thousand men, and I'll lead them forward, myself, to the relief."
Tinténiac pondered him in indignant astonishment. "You propose a folly, sir," he said curtly.
"Why a folly?" demanded Bellanger. "It's a solution, and it's the very least that we can do."
"To weaken my force by half?"
"Momentarily only," Constant insisted. "Listen to me, please. Five hours to Josselin; five to return, eight for the remainder of the journey to Plouharnel. That's eighteen hours. We should make short work of the Blues once they are between us and the Vendeans. But allow six hours for the operation. That makes twenty-four in all. And from now to the dawn of Friday we dispose of thirty-six. That leaves us twelve hours for rest, without counting our reinforcement by the delivered Vendeans."
"Your reckoning is fantastic," Tinténiac condemned him. "The programme crazy. Even if you could keep to it, which you never could, twelve hours would still offer no proper rest to men who had been so mercilessly used. Let us hear no more of it."
"You underestimate the endurance of these Chouans."
Tinténiac smiled on that. "I've marched with them and fought with them. Of their endurance neither you nor another can teach me anything. They may seem made of iron; but even iron can bear only a certain strain. If you could bring these men to Plouharnel on time, weariness would make them useless there."
"That is no more than an opinion."
"So it is. But it is my opinion, and I permit none other to count in this. Why, my dear Constant, the least hitch, and your crazy time-table would be wrecked."
"I will take the risk of that."
"Oh, no. The risk would be mine. For the responsibility is mine."
"Is that what you fear?" Bellanger taunted him.
The Chevalier's face flamed. But before he could answer, the four of them were smothering him with protests, clamouring that he yield the point and accept the compromise that Constant offered.
Cadoudal held aloof, glum and surly, watching them from under his brows, and it was Quentin, at last, who went to the aid of his chief.
"Messieurs, hear me a moment."
Scenting his opposition, they turned on him in fierce impatience.
"What can you have to say?" snapped Constant.
"Something that your obstinacy forces from me. That to let you have your way would be, perhaps, to let you walk into a trap. A trap that has been baited for us. What evidence do we possess of even the existence of these Vendeans? A letter is said to have come from Monsieur de Charette from . . ."
There Bellanger haughtily interrupted him. "What do you mean, a letter is said to have come? A letter came."
"Have you seen it?"
"My wife saw it."
"So. Well. That was four days ago, she told us. Last Saturday. And the Vendeans were then at Rédon, a two days' march from here. Charette announced, I think, that they would be here on Monday. We arrive on Tuesday, and still they are not here."
Again Bellanger interrupted him. "Because they were held up by Grouchy at Josselin."
"When? On Sunday, or Monday? But even if only yesterday, how comes it that we have no news of it until noon to-day? That is remarkable and interesting. It is also interesting that word of it comes only after we have announced that we march at nightfall with or without the Vendeans."
"What the devil are you insinuating now?" roared the Vicomte. "What do you mean by 'interesting'?"
"Consider." Quentin spoke quietly, very deliberately. "If these Vendeans had been imagined only for the purpose of detaining us until too late to keep our assignation at Plouharnel, would not the tale of their being beset at Josselin be a last resource to counter our resolve to depart to-night?"
"But what is this? What is this?" cried Bellanger, his wrath curbed by amazement. "How much farther will you let your imagination run, sir? It is already sufficiently offensive."
Tinténiac's brooding eyes were upon him. "Have you nothing more than this, Quentin?" he asked.
"I fancied that I had already given you something. But, of course, there's more. There's this messenger from Josselin. Why does he come to Coëtlegon for succour? How does he know of the presence of an army here? Who sent word of it to Josselin? And when? And if anyone did, how came the news to get through the Republican lines to the Vendeans beleagured in the town?"
"By God!" swore Cadoudal, whilst Tinténiac's glance was suddenly quickened.
"Faith! You are right. These are questions that need answering."
"You begin to see."
Constant broke in. "To see what? What matters is that the news did get there. Thank God for it, since it must put heart of resistance into those poor devils. All the more reason why we should succour them."
"Have you quite done, sir?" Bellanger asked Quentin. "Or is there more in your sack?"
"There is still the messenger. He lied to you when he said that he is a man of Josselin. I happen to recognize him for a groom of Coëtlegon, whose name is Michel."
They were stricken dumb whilst slowly the implication sank into their minds. Then Bellanger lost all his hauteur in sheer fury.
"Name of God! What are you saying?"
"It's plain enough," said Constant. "We are to believe, it seems, not only that there is a traitor here, but that the traitor is Madame la Vicomtesse, herself. You dare to accuse her!"
"I accuse nobody. I merely state the fact. Whom the fact accuses is a matter for you."
"Fact?" Constant retorted. "Are you a fool or a rogue? Do you merely deceive yourself, or is it your aim to deceive us?"
"If you will decide I shall know how to answer you. Meanwhile, so as to quicken sluggish wits, there is something I should prefer not to drag in. But you leave me little choice.
"By what miracle does it happen, Monsieur de Chesnières, that Madame la Vicomtesse was able to offer you shelter here at Coëtlegon, and that having broken prison and with a price upon your head, you have been able to remain here for weeks immune from arrest? What privileges does Madame de Bellanger enjoy from the Republic that her house should be such a sanctuary? Find the answers to those questions, add them to the rest, and decide whether the sum does not justify my fears that the invitation to Coëtlegon was an invitation into a trap baited with these phantom Vendeans."
"God's Blood! This is too much!" raged Bellanger. "You must be mad. This is something that through my wife reflects upon my honour."
"I merely state facts, undeniable facts, which it would be well to look into."
With the single exception of Cadoudal, who swore again, by way of agreement, they stared at him in horror. Tinténiac appealed to him in tones of distress.
"My dear Quentin, this is entirely incredible."
"Not so incredible as are to me, these Vendeans, or these Republican troops under Grouchy. I tell you, sirs, I do not believe there is a single Republican soldier this side of Auray."
Bellanger was raging at him. "You have said things that must be unsaid. At point of sword if need be."
Tinténiac waved him aside. "Point of sword never proved anything. That is mere brawling." Then quietly and firmly he added: "We wander into digressions. We open up matters beyond my present concerns, and these are more than enough for me. The rest must wait."
"It cannot wait," Bellanger fumed.
Constant abetted him. "Of course not. A gross imputation has been made--an unpardonable affront to the Vicomte's honour."
Quentin shocked them by laughing at Constant. "Have not fingers enough been burnt of those you've employed to pull your chestnuts from the fire?"
Maddened by the taunt of that galling truth, Constant raised his hand to strike, when Tinténiac thrust himself between them.
"Not another word, on your lives! To what are we descending? Name of God! We seek the truth in the interests of ten thousand men, and you obscure it by your brawling. This conference is at an end. It has been too far prolonged. You have my decision and you will keep to it. You may go. Quentin, you will remain, if you please."
But Bellanger would not be dismissed. "The matter cannot end so," he protested. "I cannot submit to it."
Constant would have supported him; but Tinténiac, at the end of his patience, waved them out peremptorily, and Houssaye, La Marche and Cadoudal, obeying him, compelled obedience from the other two. They went almost physically propelled, but protesting to the end, and Constant's last words were a threat.
"Since you refuse to listen, Tinténiac, you may take the consequences; there are others who will not refuse, who will realize that our duty is at Josselin."
"The fool," said Tinténiac, as the door closed at last upon them. "It seems that all that you have said has been wasted on that mulish mind. You heard him. He still rants of Josselin and these supposed Vendeans. Your facts may be few, when all is said, and they may be slender. But when bound together, they make a nasty bundle." He dropped wearily into a chair. "Is there more, or have you told us all?"
"You'll have gathered, I suppose, that Hoche is the Vicomtesse's lover."
"Good God! Do you surmise that from the rest?"
"On the contrary. I surmise much of the rest from that."
He related what he knew, and it went to deepen the Chevalier's gloom. "I see," he said. "And Bellanger? What is his part in this?"
"The part of a poor, deluded cuckold, so sure of himself in his lordly fatuity that you cannot move him even by jealousy as you could another."
They talked long on this, and might have talked longer but for the return of Cadoudal.
He came in tempestuously, breathless, his big face flushed.
"There's the devil at work," was his blunt announcement. "That animal Chesnières whom you've taken on to your staff is stirring up a Hell's broth out there. He's haranguing the men in the park, inflaming them on the score of the Vendeans, calling for volunteers to go with him to Josselin."
Tinténiac bounded to his feet. "By God! Was that what he threatened? The madman!" He made for the door. "Come on! I'll put him under arrest."
Cadoudal caught him by the arm. "You're too late, Chevalier. You'ld risk a mutiny. I've been telling you that since last night those lads have been ripe for any mischief, asking where is the Prince that was promised them, swearing that they are being cheated and betrayed. Only their faith in their own leaders, in St. Regent, Guillemot and myself and their love for you have held them in subjection. But they've been explosive as gunpowder, itching to be at the throats of somebody, and now this fool Chesnières has put a match to them."
"What then?" Tinténiac shook his arm free of the Chouan's heavy grip. "Am I to wait until they're all consumed? We must talk to them; do what we can to counter this sentimental poison."
"But no violence, Chevalier, or they'll make a hell about us. No arrests or threats of arrest to exasperate them."
They went off at speed, through the empty hall and across the terrace, without a glance for the ladies and the émigré officers crowding the balustrade, spectators of what was taking place in the vast park below. A man's haranguing voice, high-pitched and penetrating, beat upon the air, and there, on horseback, sat Constant de Chesnières, bare-headed, gesticulating, above a swarm of red coats in that sparsely planted meadow. As they approached they made out the words of an oration that neared its close.
"Can we suffer the gallant Monsieur de Charette and those brothers in arms from the Vendée who were hastening to our assistance to be slaughtered by the Blues when it lies in our power to save them?"
Whilst a roar was answering him, Tinténiac drew close. A way through those dense red ranks had opened promptly to the orders of Cadoudal. But when the Chevalier would have mounted an ammunition-cart in Constant's neighbourhood, Quentin wisely restrained him.
"Let Cadoudal," he said. "They'll understand him better."
Cadoudal bounded up with the swift athletic ease that was surprising in so corpulent a man, and began at once to address them in their native Breton tongue.
The sneering smile with which Constant had greeted him, faded as he perceived the advantage over himself which this gave the speaker.
But whilst Cadoudal's influence and authority over the majority was soon manifest, yet many there were who from their clamorous interruptions made it plain that the passions which Constant had fanned into flame were not so easily to be quenched. Perceiving this, Constant returned to the attack when Cadoudal had finished. Unable to supply answers to arguments which he had not understood, he confined himself to the core of his appeal.
"It remains," he cried, "that five thousand of our brothers in arms are beleaguered in Josselin, and will be massacred by the patauds unless we go to their assistance. Let those who perceive in this a sacred duty take up their arms and follow me."
Thus he flung into that seething crowd the elements of a violent contention between those who decided to go, and those whom Cadoudal had persuaded that their duty lay elsewhere.
Constant, in the act of wheeling his horse, found Tinténiac at his stirrup, white and stern. His incisive voice cut sharply above the uproar.
"I should provoke a pitched battle if I attempted forcibly to restrain those you may have seduced into this mutiny. But, whatever the issue, I warn you that I shall bring you to answer before a court martial at the earliest moment."
Constant in the momentary exaltation of his achievement and the sense of power it brought him, laughed insolently. "You brought it on yourself by giving heed to that mountebank fencing-master of yours. For the rest, sir, if I deliver Charette, as I intend, you should know that there is no court martial that will not hold me justified."
"You think so? You'll think differently when you face a platoon."
Without answering, Constant moved his horse slowly forward. A stream of men came winding after him through the main mass, swollen as it advanced by lesser confluent streams.
Tinténiac looked at Cadoudal with eyes of dull anger that plainly asked a question. Cadoudal, grey-faced, heaved his great shoulders in a gesture of helplessness.
"By our Lady of Auray," he groaned, "you might as well try to dam a river with your two hands."