Chapter 5

The day was nearly gone, and dusk was turning the pine shade black. The fugitives were nearly invisible under the trees, huddled together and listening in dismay to the roar of the rain-swollen stream that lay between them and the village of Chalex. Pernelle tucked the edges of her cloak more tightly around Lucie, who had fallen asleep after their small supper of what was left in the bag Mme de Vouvray had given them. Then, reaching up, she fumbled with the coils of her hair and pulled out the tiny bible de chignon she kept hidden there, as so many fleeing Huguenot women did. Julie moved closer. The palm-sized Bible fell open at the Psalms and Pernelle read softly,

“Let me be rescued from those who hate me, and out of the deep waters.

Let not the torrent of waters wash over me, neither let the deep swallow me up . . .”

When she reached the end, they prayed. Then she hid the Bible again in her hair and shoved the bone hairpins in more tightly. The stream, a small outflow of the Rhône River, seemed to get louder by the moment.

“Can we really can do it?” Julie’s voice shook. “Maybe we should risk the bridge.”

The bridge was several miles upstream. It would have been an easier crossing, but it was better guarded than the gates of heaven.

“I’ve told you and told you,” Pernelle said wearily, “there are too many soldiers there. We can cross here if we do it now, before the light goes.”

“But if the soldiers—”

“God let me get rid of the servant. He won’t fail us now.”

“What if we are predestined not to cross?”

“If God has already decided that we will fail to cross, then there is nothing to be done about it.” Pernelle stood up, leaving Lucie asleep on the cloak. “But you won’t know if God has decided that until a soldier has you in his grip and you cannot escape. No matter how hard you kick. And bite. And gouge his eyes.” She shook out her skirts. “And you’d best remember exactly where I taught you to kick! Now listen. I will lead Blazon and you will ride. We will tie Lucie to the saddle in front of you.” She bent and tilted Julie’s chin with her hand, holding the girl’s eyes with her own in spite of the dusk. “Because if anything goes wrong, Julie, you are going to kick Blazon forward and hold on to Lucie for dear life. You will get across this stream and you will keep going. If God wants to stop you, He will. But you are not to stop yourself and Lucie, not for anything, on peril of your soul! No matter what happens to me. Give me your word.”

Tears shone on Julie’s cheeks and her voice shook. “I will do as you say.”

“If we are separated,” Pernelle went on relentlessly, “get across the stream—and remember to go wide around Chalex. You mustn’t be seen. The border itself is beyond the village, a little this side of that ridge we can see above the trees. After that you’ll come to the Rhône and you can follow it to Geneva. You remember the map. It isn’t far. If I—if we are separated, I will follow you as best I can.” She patted the purse under her skirt. “Even after what I’ve given you, I have some money. There must be soldiers more interested in money than in theology. Now come. It’s time.”

Julie kilted her skirts, untied Blazon, and mounted. Pernelle unwound Lucie from the cloak and handed her up to Julie. Together, they wound a rope around the child’s waist and secured the rope to the saddle. Pernelle kissed her daughter’s fat stubby leg and made herself step back from the horse. She put on her cloak, pinned an escaping loop of hair back in place, and pulled up her hood.

“Wait here. I’m going to look up and down the stream. And make sure the road is clear.” She melted into the trees. But she was quickly back, bringing reassurance with her.

“I saw no one. All’s clear. Ready?”

Julie nodded. Lucie smiled beatifically, and Pernelle reached up to touch her daughter’s cheek. She took Blazon’s reins from Julie and led him onto the narrow track. The footing was treacherous and the going was slow, because the track sloped steeply down to the water and was slick with mud. But she saw now that the water, foaming white over rocks and coldly green where it ran smooth, wasn’t as wide as she’d thought. The far bank wasn’t forbiddingly steep. Heartened, she pushed her hood back and peered through the twilight for the best place to cross. A smothered cry came from Julie. Pernelle looked up and her heart nearly stopped. A soldier was riding out of the trees on the far side of the stream. Julie grabbed for the reins and kicked Blazon.

“Not yet,” Pernelle hissed. “He’s seen us. Watch where he crosses and let me talk.”

Pernelle’s terror seemed to give her extra eyes. She saw the tiny pebbles on the bank where the man’s black horse stepped into the stream, saw that nothing moved under the trees the man had come from, and hoped that meant there were no more soldiers. She saw that the water came not much above the horse’s knees, saw the separate water drops as the animal heaved itself up the bank, saw the hairy wart on the man’s left cheek, saw his sword and the heavy pistol dragging at his belt. She pulled Blazon off the track, on the chance that he would take them for women going home to Chalex, and ride past them.

“I wish you a good evening.” The man smiled as he drew rein, but he kept himself between them and the stream. His eyes darted appraisingly between the two women. “And where might you be going in the near dark?” he asked Pernelle.

She drew herself up. “To Chalex,” she said haughtily. “If it is any of your concern.”

“Oh, yes? Why might that be?”

“To meet my sister who waits for me there.”

He laughed and urged his horse closer. “Pretty little heretics, you don’t fool me. We caught the rest of your party this morning.” He reached for Blazon’s reins.

Pernelle jerked them away and backed up with the horse. “By the Blessed Virgin,” she cried indignantly, crossing herself, “we are no more heretics than you! God and all his saints forbid!” She crossed herself again and Julie followed suit. Lucie sucked her thumb and stared at the soldier. “What’s more, I am a cousin of Bishop du Luc of Marseille. So school your tongue, fellow.” Pernelle laughed inwardly, imagining her cousin the bishop’s horror at a fleeing Protestant hiding behind his name.

The soldier frowned. Marseille was a long way off, but a bishop was a bishop, and you never knew. “Why are you on foot and alone, like peasants?” he growled, trying to scratch his belly under the edge of his belly-shaped peascod breastplate.

“Not from choice, I assure you.” Pernelle huffed with exasperation. “Our carriage threw two wheels and when we set out on horseback, our servant’s horse lamed itself in a puddle deep as hell. In the middle of this cursed wilderness. We only kept on because my maid here is not well and needs to reach shelter and care. And if we do not arrive soon, my sister will be beside herself with worry.” She shook her head and looked anxiously up at Julie. What she saw seemed to alarm her anew, because she stood on tiptoe to peer closely at the girl’s face. “Be ill,” she mouthed and turned quickly to the soldier.

“Oh, dear. I think it probably isn’t spotted fever. Though those children at the convent guest house had it. You can see the rash doesn’t show much. Not yet, anyway. I hoped we had left in time . . .”

Julie, already pale with fear, coughed obligingly and swayed a little in the saddle. The soldier backed his horse a few steps and crossed himself.

“Spotted fever? Blessed Saint Firmin keep us! Three of my brother’s children died of it last year. Terrible, he said it was. What’s this bishop’s name again?”

Haughtily, Pernelle told him, struggling with the urge to laugh hysterically as she imagined her episcopal cousin’s face if this ever reached him.

“I won’t keep you then, madame. God bring you safely to Chalex.” He urged his horse past them, staying well away on the far side of the track. “Have a care where you cross the water. It’s fast, but not deep.”

“We will. God keep you, also.”

Pernelle led Blazon forward, feeling as though her pounding heart might jump out of her mouth. Julie and Lucie were still as statues. Pernelle could feel the soldier watching them as she pulled her skirts higher with one hand and stepped into the freezing water. Blazon hesitated, shaking his white-starred head and pricking his ears at the foaming stream. Suddenly desperate to reach the safety that was so close, Pernelle tugged on the reins. The horse surged forward and pulled the reins from her hands. She stumbled, slipped on the wet rock and landed heavily on her side, half in and half out of the water. Her hair spilled loose from its pins and her little Bible tumbled to the ground. She twisted and reached for it, but the soldier was already on her, cursing and dragging her to her feet.

“Ride!” she screamed at Julie, who had gathered the reins but was looking back in horror. “Go on, ride!”