me as it really was. I saw it all, Gaston: they were peasants with scythes.’
Louise gestured to the chair beside her; Gaston took it cautiously as if uncertain that she could be trusted. Then he took a deep breath, and began to talk. His eyes, turned inward now, were no more than dark smudges on his face, but his voice had its own authority.
‘Yes, Louise, we were a foraging party – horses need hay, and we could have got it elsewhere, but there was rebellion in the air. We were in that area to establish order. The men were thinking of fodder, of course, but to have turned our back on resistance of any sort would have just encouraged further resistance.’ He put up his hand as if Louise was going to interrupt. ‘I heard what you said, and yes, they were “peasants with scythes” but scythes, though they may be good for cutting hay, make very bad weapons. Those peasants were a danger to themselves. You saw how we advanced, with a lot of yelling, head on. If we had wanted to kill them we’d have stopped at a few paces off and used our pistols, and then come out through the smoke with sabres drawn. They wouldn’t have known what was happening. No, my idea was to scare them; you saw how they broke and ran.’
‘Except for one,’ said Louise bitterly.
‘Except for one.’ Gaston stared at the floor, his eyes retreating deeper and deeper into their sockets. He whispered, ‘I loved that man, Louise.’
‘You knew him?’ Louise was startled.
‘For thirty seconds I knew him and I loved him. Would God that I could have that thirty seconds again – wind the clock back – and start over. I will tell you now what I havetold no one else. I will tell it to you as it really was.
‘As you saw, he stood his ground. I couldn’t understand it. His men had fled but he sat there on his horse, as solid as a rock, staring at twenty raised sabres. My men held back; as their officer, it fell to me to tackle this man. I had no pistols that day. If he would not surrender I would have to kill him or he would kill me – the soldier’s choice. There comes a point of no return, you see. I slowed to a walk. I shouted to him: “Throw down your sword!” He didn’t blink. I spurred my horse and yelled again. I closed on him. I had no choice. At last his sword came up. Thank God, I thought, a fair fight! I was trained for a moment such as this; a wild joy filled me. We closed, but instead of crossing my sword to parry my stroke, he left himself unprotected and prodded at me, just as a student might when fighting epée in fencing school. It was this naivety that caused me to stay my hand; but I was still wide open and it took all my skill to turn his sword. I looked into his face then, amazed – we had been taught to read an enemy’s intentions from his face. What I saw in his was fear and valour … and total perplexity.
‘Louise, in that instant the whole complexion of our fight changed. This was no black-visaged warrior. True, he had nearly killed me, but that was in error. What I saw was a sensitive, intelligent face. His clothes were those of a landowner, but not some idle aristocrat; he was burned by the sun. This man surely had been at work in the fields with his peasants.’
Gaston sighed and dropped his head. ‘What notion of honour or obligation had brought him out to hold the bridge against a troop of hussars I will never know. I hauled at the reins of my mare – she could turn on a centime. His mount, a common carthorse, was at lastshowing signs of life, plunging and bucking. I was beside him, holding my sword above my head to keep it out of the way. I realise now he must have thought that this was the coup de grâce – the moment when I would cut him down.’
Gaston paused, Louise could hear his knuckles cracking under the pressure he was putting on them. ‘He smiled at me, Louise. He smiled apologetically, like someone asking forgiveness for not being able to conclude a game, because right then he needed
Louise gestured to the chair beside her; Gaston took it cautiously as if uncertain that she could be trusted. Then he took a deep breath, and began to talk. His eyes, turned inward now, were no more than dark smudges on his face, but his voice had its own authority.
‘Yes, Louise, we were a foraging party – horses need hay, and we could have got it elsewhere, but there was rebellion in the air. We were in that area to establish order. The men were thinking of fodder, of course, but to have turned our back on resistance of any sort would have just encouraged further resistance.’ He put up his hand as if Louise was going to interrupt. ‘I heard what you said, and yes, they were “peasants with scythes” but scythes, though they may be good for cutting hay, make very bad weapons. Those peasants were a danger to themselves. You saw how we advanced, with a lot of yelling, head on. If we had wanted to kill them we’d have stopped at a few paces off and used our pistols, and then come out through the smoke with sabres drawn. They wouldn’t have known what was happening. No, my idea was to scare them; you saw how they broke and ran.’
‘Except for one,’ said Louise bitterly.
‘Except for one.’ Gaston stared at the floor, his eyes retreating deeper and deeper into their sockets. He whispered, ‘I loved that man, Louise.’
‘You knew him?’ Louise was startled.
‘For thirty seconds I knew him and I loved him. Would God that I could have that thirty seconds again – wind the clock back – and start over. I will tell you now what I havetold no one else. I will tell it to you as it really was.
‘As you saw, he stood his ground. I couldn’t understand it. His men had fled but he sat there on his horse, as solid as a rock, staring at twenty raised sabres. My men held back; as their officer, it fell to me to tackle this man. I had no pistols that day. If he would not surrender I would have to kill him or he would kill me – the soldier’s choice. There comes a point of no return, you see. I slowed to a walk. I shouted to him: “Throw down your sword!” He didn’t blink. I spurred my horse and yelled again. I closed on him. I had no choice. At last his sword came up. Thank God, I thought, a fair fight! I was trained for a moment such as this; a wild joy filled me. We closed, but instead of crossing my sword to parry my stroke, he left himself unprotected and prodded at me, just as a student might when fighting epée in fencing school. It was this naivety that caused me to stay my hand; but I was still wide open and it took all my skill to turn his sword. I looked into his face then, amazed – we had been taught to read an enemy’s intentions from his face. What I saw in his was fear and valour … and total perplexity.
‘Louise, in that instant the whole complexion of our fight changed. This was no black-visaged warrior. True, he had nearly killed me, but that was in error. What I saw was a sensitive, intelligent face. His clothes were those of a landowner, but not some idle aristocrat; he was burned by the sun. This man surely had been at work in the fields with his peasants.’
Gaston sighed and dropped his head. ‘What notion of honour or obligation had brought him out to hold the bridge against a troop of hussars I will never know. I hauled at the reins of my mare – she could turn on a centime. His mount, a common carthorse, was at lastshowing signs of life, plunging and bucking. I was beside him, holding my sword above my head to keep it out of the way. I realise now he must have thought that this was the coup de grâce – the moment when I would cut him down.’
Gaston paused, Louise could hear his knuckles cracking under the pressure he was putting on them. ‘He smiled at me, Louise. He smiled apologetically, like someone asking forgiveness for not being able to conclude a game, because right then he needed
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