The Rainbow Bridge by Aubrey Flegg

or May as it used to be called,’ his voice intoned. ‘Our mission was of the utmost importance. That day I was in command of my first patrol, a mere sub-lieutenant, but the whole regiment was depending on our success. I rode forward from the darkness of the forest.Below was the bridge and I realised that I was looking at the only access to the chateau. Perhaps the sun had flashed on my accoutrements, as there wasn’t an unpolished piece of metal about me; at any rate a horn started to blow a frantic warning from the chateau walls. I realised at once that we had happened on a nest of vipers, a force of Royalists resistant to the Republic. Here at last was an opportunity to prove myself in battle. I called my men forward and lined them up in full view along the edge of the forest. A substantial force was fast gathering at the bridge. I could see the sun flashing on their weapons. If we didn’t act quickly they would succeed in barricading the bridge against us. We were outnumbered, of course, but that was a challenge, not a deterrent. I encouraged my men; now was a chance to strike a blow for the Republic. Oh, Mademoiselle Louise, the excitement …’ She could indeed hear the thrill in Gaston’s voice. ‘If you have never been in a cavalry charge, you have never lived, if you have never ridden with the Hussars of Auxerre you can have no idea of heaven. We drew sabres and swept down on them like the wolf on the fold. As we approached we let out a yell that echoed off the chateau walls beyond the bridge.
    ‘Their leader was the one I was after. I singled him out: a big black-visaged Royalist on a mighty horse. We closed; I parried his blow. His horse reared. I saw that he was losing his seat so I threw myself out of my saddle and bore him to the ground. Above me the battle raged. I staggered to my feet. It was over. Their leader lay dead at my feet, and the enemy, seeing their leader slain, fled. We crossed the bridge and the chateau was ours.’
    The story was over. Louise sensed that this was the moment in the re-telling when glasses would have been charged in a toast to the Republic … But it was taking hersome time to return from the field of battle. She had never seen a man slain before, and the sight had shaken her. She looked up. Gaston was standing, still glowing from his account. The firelight flickered on his wind-burnt face, framed by his four braids. This for him was how it had really happened. But it was not the battle that Louise had just seen.
    Dare she challenge him? Or would it be kinder to let him continue in his dream? But if she wasn’t mistaken, there was a well of unhappiness behind his bravado. She thought of Annie, her old nurse back in Delft, and felt a sudden pang of regret for her – brave little Annie, with her unrelenting Calvinistic truthfulness. And sometimes there was a need for truth.
    ‘So you got your hay,’ she said softly.
    ‘Hay? What are you talking about?’ Gaston demanded.
    ‘I mean that you were … what do you call it? … a foraging party looking for hay for your horses.’ She had heard the men talking while they waited for the advance. It was not the glorious spectacle that Gaston had described, but a humble enough troop in their foraging clothes. ‘There was really no need to attack the chateau.’
    ‘What absolute nonsense!’ Gaston declared, but the bluster was leaking from his voice. Louise was encouraged and at the same time saddened. She watched him as he gradually deflated, and remembered an occasion when she had seen children playing with a ball, a blown up bladder from the butcher’s. It had landed on a thorn, and she recalled the children’s disappointment as the ball had slowly collapsed.
    ‘You shouldn’t talk to Raoul,’ he muttered defensively, but all the swagger had gone and his shoulders were slumped.
    ‘Raoul doesn’t know that I exist, Gaston. I asked you to take me there, to the Pont de Chasse, and that’s what you did. You showed it to