Page 30 of A Fierce Wind

Chapter 7

Rennes, Brittany

After days of tramping through the rain-soaked woods and sleeping in decrepit sheds and deserted cottages, Freddie had cause to wonder if Zoé still had faith in his decision. But he could count among the reasons he had agreed to go with Cadoudal and his men that they were in the company of trained fighters and headed in the right direction.

“I will never again complain of rough seas,” said Zoé, looking down at her mud-caked boots.

“At least tonight you will be sleeping in a bed and not in the woods, Pigeon. Though the call of the tawny owl last night was a pleasant inducement to sleep, don’t you think?” The owls had been active the night before, some of them, he was certain, were Chouans returning from their night patrols. They were so good at mimicking the bird’s call it was difficult to tell which call was real and which the counterfeit.

She tossed him a sardonic smile. “A sound I will always remember.”

As they reached the outskirts of the city, Freddie took comfort in what Cadoudal had told him as they traveled north. The city of Rennes, the capital of Brittany, had a population numbering thirty thousand. It was hoped their small number could remain hidden among so many people.

Cadoudal paused and looked ahead to the walled town. “To oppose the Chouans and the Vendéens who fight with us, the republican army has used fortified towns like Rennes, defending them with their territorial guards. Their commander is General Rossignol, a man of military incompetence and violent passions, who has never considered himself constrained by society’s morals or his wedding vows. I happened to be in Paris when word came of his promotion to chief commander of the Army of the Coasts of Brest. Much laughter was heard in the city when the tale was told of his wife rushing to the National Convention to argue before the deputies her husband was unfit for the post. She was right, of course, but Robespierre approved the promotion and sent Rossignol back to the army in triumph where he now glories in barbarity and lascivious behavior.” He let out a deep sigh. “Alas, Rennes is his headquarters.”

One of the Chouans spat in the dust, muttering Rossignol’s name and a few words in the Breton tongue.

Erwan translated. “He speaks of ‘that bastard and his false Chouans’.”

“Another of Rossignol’s ideas,” put in Cadoudal. “To create fake Chouan outlaws who engage in thievery and worse in order to discredit us.” With a stern expression, he said to Freddie, “Be mindful of such when you leave us.”

Cadoudal gave orders to his men in Breton. Immediately, they divided into three groups. Turning to Freddie, he said, “We will be less noticed if we separate and take different routes to the place we will stay.”

Each of the men removed the royalist patch from his coat and added the tricolor cockade to his hat. Cadoudal, too, altered his attire to change his appearance from a Chouan officer to a supporter of the revolution.

Freddie and his companions unpinned the patches from their own coats and stuffed them into their pockets. On their hats, they now donned the cockade that was the emblem of the revolution.

“You and your companions best stay with me,” said Cadoudal. Gesturing two of his men to go with him, Cadoudal nodded to the other two groups that quickly departed. Then he set out, taking the path to the right toward the eastern side of the city.

Freddie, Zoé, Gabe and Erwan followed.

As they drew nearer to the city, republican soldiers became more evident, making Freddie’s skin crawl. Congregating in groups, their blue and white uniforms appeared everywhere.

“They are like swarming locusts,” he said.

“Do not be concerned,” said Cadoudal. “Our numbers are greater than theirs, just unseen until they are needed.”

Rennes was a city of contrasts from medieval buildings on narrow cobblestone streets to great stone edifices on wide avenues opening into grand squares rivaling any in Paris.

At the far end of one large square stood an imposing building of two stories, its slanted slate roof reminding Freddie of buildings in Paris. Seventeen tall windows stretched across the façade with a single wooden door leading to its entrance. “What is that?”

Cadoudal frowned. “The Palais de Justice where they keep the prisoners. Very convenient for them as the guillotine stands close.” He pointed to one side of the square.

Freddie’s gaze shifted to where the instrument of death rose fourteen feet in the air above its wooden platform, the mechanical monster’s jaws still soaked in the blood of its victims.

Freddie turned away from the hideous sight to see Zoé’s expression turn to loathing. Setting her jaw, her eyes burned with anger. She had lost friends to that demon device.

A group of republican soldiers suddenly turned to stare at them.

Freddie moved to block their view of Zoé. He wanted no undue interest in her by soldiers who thought the Breton peasants were available to them. He doubted she could pass for a lad to an observant man who would recognize her for what she was, a beautiful woman. He comforted himself with the thought people rarely stopped to look closely. Most saw only what they expected to see.

“Come, let us go!” Cadoudal whispered, moving from the square and quickly rounding a corner. A few streets away, they encountered buildings four stories high that looked to Freddie to be from the times of the Tudors.

“That one,” Cadoudal said, pointing to a smaller building, “once housed priests. Now it is a tavern frequented by the Blues where Rossignol brags to his men of the priests he has killed, a strike against his already black character none of us will forget. Some of the priests were members of Breton families.”

At his side, a look of despair crossed Zoé’s lovely face. “Erwan and I might have known them.”

Erwan shook his head, his eyes downcast. “I knew many.”