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Finally, Hugh and Angelette stumbled into the courtyard, where they were jostled toward a makeshift barricade of carts and barrels. Hugh pulled Angelette down, keeping his head low while a barrage of pistol balls flew overhead.
“Watch them!” the boy heading the citizens’ militia told two of his men, and he moved into the smoke and chaos to seek out his leader.
The two boys stood guard over Angelette and Hugh, occasionally ducking down when another volley of fire opened. It seemed an eternity that Hugh sat in the shadow of a cart while the battle raged around him. The hot sun beat down, the heat made worse by the stifling smoke from the fires and the cannons. The mobs threw rocks and fired their weapons, making attempts to storm the gates to the inner courtyard. The attackers had several cannons, but as Hugh watched, two more cannons were rolled into the courtyard, manned by men who were clearly French army troops who had changed sides.
The cannons were heavy, and the men struggled to move them forward, but it was obvious that they would eventually succeed. “That’s the fall of the Bastille right there,” Hugh told Angelette. She looked up from where her forehead rested on his chest, then burrowed into him again.
“These are the aristos, sir.”
Hugh looked up to see the youth had returned with a man in uniform. Despite obviously having been among thevainqueurs,his coat was still clean and stiff, his trousers unsoiled, and his hat neatly on his head. He wore the same red, blue, and white fabric pinned to his coat, but he appeared further up the ranks as he wore boots and had not only a sword but a pistol tucked in his belt.
The citizens’ militia leader had clear blue eyes, a straight nose, and thin lips. Hugh thought his hair might be light brown or blond, but it was difficult to tell. He was of medium height and build, nothing out of the ordinary, but when he looked at Hugh, Hugh straightened.
“You’ve done well, citizen,” the leader told the boy. “These aristos might have foiled our plans today.”
Angelette looked up. “Foiled your plans? We wanted nothing more than to hire a coach to take us away from this place. We wanted nothing to do with the Bastille or—”
“Silence, woman!” the leader bellowed. “I know a lie when I hear one. Stand up.” He motioned to Hugh, and Hugh stood, pulling Angelette up with him. “I’ll take these two with me to the Hôtel de Ville to stand trial.” He withdrew his pistol and gestured to Hugh to move forward. “You stay and fight. Today your names will be recorded along with the others as the heroes of Paris,vainqueurs de la Bastilleand of tyranny!”
“Death to tyranny!” the boys from the militia called, and their cries were answered by others around them.
The leader pushed Hugh forward, and the three fought their way back through the crowds still swarming into the courtyard. Hugh leaned down to speak close to Angelette’s ear. “As soon as we are away from these crowds, we run.”
“He has a pistol,” she muttered back.
“By the time he primes it, we can be out of range. Trust me. We run.” Besides, he preferred a shot in the back to a sham trial at the Hôtel de Ville. They pushed their way through the people swarming to the Bastille, finally pausing at the far wall of the fortress. The crowds were thinner there, and the wall blocked the view of anyone passing by.
“Halt,” the captor ordered.
“Bloody hell. Now what?” Hugh muttered. They were so close to being in the open where they could run. He stopped, keeping Angelette tucked into his side.
“Turn around,” the solider said.
Quite suddenly Hugh was not at all certain this man had ever intended for them to reach the Hôtel de Ville. What was to stop him from shooting them here on the street? Hugh turned, pushing Angelette behind him. The man standing behind him held no pistol. He’d tucked it away and removed his hat.
With a lopsided smile, he gave them an exaggerated bow. “Well, sink me. I thought we’d never escape all that smoke and noise.”
