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            Shivering in his thin cotton shirt and torn pants, Jean Pierre huddled on the narrow plank bed and stared into the darkness of his cell in the Bastille, regretting ever having set foot back in France. Around his wrists and bare ankles, the iron manacles that held him chained to the wall had rubbed his skin raw.

It had all gone wrong from the moment he and Robert parted from Duncan and headed for Paris. Francois had been waiting to meet them; his round face whey coloured with alarm and the news he had brought them had sent them all heading for the nearest tavern and a stiff drink.

Marie had been captured. So far she had managed to conceal her identity and was being held in relative comfort, but it was only a matter of time before two and two was put together and her secret identity as the Chartreuse Fox was suspected. She would be tortured to within an inch of her life to reveal her fellow conspirators and then, if she was lucky, she would meet Madame La Guillotine. 

Robert had wanted to rescue her immediately, eager to throw himself on the swords of the soldiers for his love. Jean Pierre, suffering from mal de mer and still moping over his loss of Chantal to De Mars, couldn’t have cared less and had been no mood to argue with him. When Francois had come up with the plan of pretending to be the notorious Chartreuse Fox to draw suspicion away from Marie, he hadn't argued. Robert had been swept up in the excitement of the dramatically romantic plan and so they had staged the first part of Francois' cunning plot of an audacious robbery and left behind Marie's yellow rose calling card.

With doubts being cast upon Marie's identity as the Chartreuse Fox, the authorities had decided to move their captive to the safety of the Bastille. Robert, Francois, Herman and Jean Pierre had received information from an unidentified source that warned them she was to be moved out of their reach and they had arranged to snatch her en route to the Bastille. Everything had been going exactly to plan with Marie safely in their hands and Jean Pierre's covering their escape when his horse had thrown him and he had been captured in Marie's place. This time the authorities had taken no chance and he had been taken straight to the Bastille.

That had been a week ago. And for all of that time Jean Pierre had been sitting in this cell awaiting his execution. Right now, Jean Pierre was wishing he had shot Francois on the spot and disappeared back into the obscurity of the rural countryside to drown his sorrows at the bottom of a barrel of wine. Instead, he was the one rotting in the Bastille while he waited for the Chief Torturer to come and rip his toenails out or whatever it was he did - Jean Pierre wasn't very well up on torture but his imagination was doing fine all by its evil little self - while Marie was no doubt lying safe in Robert's arms…

                                                            * * *

 "Well?" Francois questioned warily as Marie stalked through the door and hurled her reticule angrily across the room to bounce off the wall.

"Nozing!" she spat. "Ze cowards will do nozing to 'elp Jean Pierre! I 'ave wheedled and bribed my way from 'ere to ze Champs Elysee and our so called friends will not lift a finger to 'elp! Zey are all afraid zat zey will be next to the guillotine." Exhausted, she sank down on the nearest chair in a rustle of pale green taffeta skirts. Although she had not been particularly badly treated or physically abused during her imprisonment, she had lost weight and looked constantly pale, her energy was low and her emotional equilibrium shot to pieces. The stress of imprisonment had taken its toll of her reserves and she needed to rest somewhere safe. But she would no more abandon Jean Pierre to do so than he had her. Taking a deep breath, she lifted her head to look at Francois. "Robert?"

"Out a-prowling ze streets again," Francois answered. "You know what 'e zinks we should do."

"Oui," Marie sighed wearily. "But it is impossible! We cannot rescue Jean Pierre by force from ze Bastille. We could all be killed."

"I zink Robert zinks it is a small price to pay," Francois said sadly. Marie gave him a sharp look and Francois shrugged. "'E zinks it is 'is fault zat Jean Pierre was captured. 'E was covering our escape. Robert zinks it should 'ave been 'im."

Marie swallowed and rose to her feet, reaching for the wine left from Francois luncheon. She sipped from the glass, her fingers coming close to cracking the slender crystal stem. "I will not let Robert get 'imself killed," she said grimly.

"'E will not let you decide for 'im," Francois pointed out.

"'E would let Jean Pierre!"

"Zat is different and you know it."

Marie glared at him in fury and stalked over to the window, staring down into the busy street below. "If it is anyone's fault it is mine for being captured in ze first place."

"Non, do not blame yourself. It was a mistake per'aps, but you could not know Blanchard would betray us. As to what Robert zinks or will do, we can only guard 'im well. Jean Pierre means more to 'im zan anything, Marie," Francois said gently.

"Or anyone?" Marie murmured, staring into the blood red wine in her glass for a moment before she took a deep breath. "I will not let Jean Pierre be executed in my place, Francois. If zat is what it takes, I will give myself up to zem in exchange for his freedom."

"We would not ask zat of you," Francois exclaimed, shocked.

"Non," she agreed sadly. "But I would ask it of myself. I am not a fool. Zere is no future for ze three of us together if Jean Pierre's blood lies between us." She shrugged slender shoulders. "And what use is ze Chartreuse Fox if she lets another give 'is life in 'er place?" 

Francois frowned, eyeing her warily. He knew Marie was a proud, brave woman, but she was an idealist when it came down to it and sometimes idealists were fools when it came to reality. "She is a rallying point. A cry for freedom," he pointed out gently. "A cry for liberty and fraternity. To give yourself up would do more 'arm zan it would good. Do you really zink zat zey would release Jean Pierre in return for you? I do not."

Marie shivered, hugging herself and rubbing her upper arms as if suddenly cold. "Even so, I cannot bear to zink of 'im in zeir 'ands. If only we knew who 'ad told you I was to be moved to the Bastille...”

"But we do not." Francois stirred himself from his chair and came over to take her cold hands in his own warm ones. He had the horrible feeling that she was on the verge of tears. "Do not fret over what you cannot change. Do you zink Jean Pierre would wish you in 'is place? We all agreed to 'elp you escape. All for one and one for all, non?"

"Oui," she gave him a tremulous smile of agreement.

"We will get Jean Pierre back safely. I cannot imagine it otherwise. We are ze Muskrats, non?" Francis told her firmly. "We nibble at ze underpinnings of society. Zey fear us. Why else would zey be so determined to capture ze Chartreuse Fox?"

"Sometimes I wonder zat myself," Marie laughed shakily. "I 'ave not done so well recently, 'ave I?"

"It is not your fault," Francois said kindly. "Zey grow more cunning and we must take more care."

"Zat does not 'elp, Jean Pierre," Marie pointed out. 

"But…" Francois broke off as there was a light coded tap at their door, then reached for the loaded pistol he kept on the desk. Warning him to silence with a finger pressed to her lips, Marie went to open the door.

"Who is it?" she called.

"C'est moi, Robert," called back a deep familiar voice.

"And I!" added a lighter voice.

"Oui," Robert muttered. "And 'Erman."

Marie smiled faintly and opened the door, letting their two companions in. Tall and good looking, dressed in butternut breeches and blue greatcoat over a grubby off white shirt, Robert strode in in relief, a harried expression on his face as he glanced as his slender and impeccably dressed companion. Herman had been De Mars' former valet, but had defected to the cause of liberty and joined Marie.  Marie suspected that a great deal of his attachment to them was based on the open lust he had for Robert in particular and to an only slighter lesser extent for Jean Pierre. Nor was he averse to making Francois nervous. Herman could make grown men flinch.

"'E found moi at ze tavern and made moi come back with 'im," Robert announced irritably as he headed for a glass of wine. "I do not know why."

"You drink too much," Herman scolded him.

"I 'ave good cause." Robert glared at him and deliberately drained the glass. "You said you 'ad something important to tell us. Are you per'aps to be betrothed to zat slimy guard you 'ave been seeing?"

Herman flinched slightly and lifted his chin. "Jealous, mon cher?"

"No," Robert said flatly, his glare being mitigated slightly by something he saw in Herman's eyes. "'As 'e 'urt you?" he asked sharply. "I am in ze mood for a fight if you wish me to pulverise 'im for you."

Herman blinked, clearly surprised and pleased by the offer. "Non, mon petit Chou," he said however. "I 'ave been cultivating ze slimeball for a reason." He looked round at them all, his expression hovering somewhere between pride, embarrassment and worried pain.

"Is 'e ze person who 'elped us free Marie?" Francois asked hopefully.

"Non," Herman said slowly. "'E is only a guard at ze Bastille zat I 'ave been using 'im to get information. 'E likes to boast…"

Robert was instantly at his side. "You 'ave learned something of Jean Pierre?" he asked eagerly. "Is 'e well? 'Ave zey 'urt im? I will kill zem all if zey 'ave!"

Marie took Robert's arm, giving him a soothing pat as she spoke, "Robert, 'ush, let 'Erman tell us what 'e 'as discovered."

"It is not good," Herman admitted reluctantly, taking the wine Francois offered him. He took a large mouthful, half-choked and gasped for breath as Francois patted him on the back.

Robert hovered impatiently, fuming at the delay. Despite their best efforts, they had been able to discover nothing of Jean Pierre's circumstances once he had vanished inside the dreaded Bastille. Anything could have happened to him. Even…

"'Erman," he choked out, gazing pleadingly at the valet. "'E is alive is 'e not? Zey 'ave not killed him? Zere 'as not been one of zeir accidents?"

Herman shook his head, subsiding into a chair under Francois' guiding hand. "E' is alive," he gasped as he caught his breath. "But 'e is to be executed."

"Zat is as we expected," Francois pointed out quietly. "What else is zere?"

Herman swallowed. "Apparently, zey believe zat zere is a conspiracy afoot zat ze Chartreuse Fox is behind and zey believe Jean Pierre is involved."

"Zey know is one of us," Marie said gloomily. "If 'e 'ad not been covering our escape 'e would be safe now."

"Per'aps not," Herman said slowly. "It would seem zat zey 'eard ze rumours of De Mars' plan to replace ze King with an impostor and zey zink zat zis is what ze Chartreuse Fox aims to do."

Marie gasped, placing her fingers lightly to her lips for a moment. "Zey zink 'e is a traitor? But zat would mean…"

Herman nodded grimly. "Oui, execution by ze guillotine after interrogation."

Robert blenched and closed his eyes. It was one thing to expect it, but to hear it said aloud made it seem cruelly real. "Non," he whispered, struggling to deny it. "We must do somezing! We must!"

Herman glanced at him, his brown eyes wide with sympathy and his own anguish for his friends. "Zey 'ave sent ze King's own torturer, Roquefort, from Versailles. E' arrives zis evening and tomorrow 'e will begin ze interrogation…"

"We must stop 'im," Robert interrupted. "We must capture 'im and 'old 'im 'ostage so zat we can force zem to release Jean Pierre!"

"Roquefort is not a popular man, mon cher," Marie said sadly. "'Olding 'im ostage will not elp. Zey will not release Jean Pierre for 'im. Likely zey will find anozer to take 'is place or kill Jean Pierre immediately instead."

"Zen we must rescue 'im tonight!"

"We 'ave discussed zis," Marie protested wearily. "Zere is no way we can do it. We would all be killed and zat would do no one any good. Least of all Jean Pierre."

Robert took a furious step towards her, then swung away, his broad shoulders hunched in angry misery. "I cannot let zem 'urt 'im!" he argued. "I cannot bear it!"

Marie gazed at his back for a moment, unable to offer comfort. She knew Robert saw her as an obstacle between him and rescuing his friend and he resented her for her refusing to let him do as he wished. Francois moved to his side, putting a consoling hand on his shoulder and murmuring soothingly to him.

"'Erman, can your friend get us inside the Bastille?" Marie asked, knowing it was a forlorn hope even before she opened her mouth.

"Non, and 'e is not my friend. If it were not for Jean Pierre I would even speak to 'is sort," Herman retorted, shuddering in distaste. "As Robert says, 'e is slimy. I do not trust 'im."

"Even a pretty face can lie," Marie said kindly.

"Like Blanchard?" Robert turned and glared at her. He had heard all about Blanchard from Herman. Young, handsome, rich Blanchard whose eager offer to help Marie's movement had been accepted by her with flattered alacrity and had led to her capture. The thought of him being around while he was away made him sizzle with jealousy.

Marie stared back at him, feeling her face starting to burn. She knew that despite what she had said about understanding his reasons for going, deep down she had resented Robert leaving her to go to England with Jean Pierre. Blanchard had been a handsome diversion, a reminder of her aristocratic past where manners and good breeding were everything. Robert might have the bloodlines from the wrong side of the blankets and now the inheritance De Mars had denied him would soon be his, but when it came down to it he was still a peasant and he had left her.

"Blanchard was a mistake," Francois said in placation. "'E fooled all of us."

"'E would not 'ave fooled Jean Pierre," Robert said firmly.

With an explosive gesture of exasperation, Marie flung her hands in the air. "Always it is Jean Pierre zis, Jean Pierre zat with you, Robert!" she snapped angrily. "I am ze Chartreuse Fox! Not Jean Pierre. You follow me, not 'im! What more do you want from moi?!" A shocked icy silence descended over the room at the hasty words that she was already regretting. Chagrined, she took a deep breath and lowered her head. "I am sorry. I am tired. I did not mean zat ze way it sounded."

"You were in ze Bastille because you made a mistake, Fox," Robert said icily, giving her a hurt look. "You placed your trust in a pretty face. Our mistake per'aps was in trusting you. If you 'ad not been captured, zen we would not 'ave 'ad to rescue you and Jean Pierre would not be in zeir 'ands! I 'ad thought you were different. Not an aristocrat like ze ozers with your own agenda. Now, I am not sure of your wishes. I wish Jean Pierre was 'ere to tell me what to do."

"Well, 'e is not," Marie spat.

"Enough!" Herman exclaimed as Francois drew breath. "Robert, I too wish Jean Pierre was 'ere. But 'e is not and zat, mon amis, is ze problem. We must not bicker among ourselves. If we are to 'ave a falling out, zen ze time to do it is after we 'ave Jean Pierre back safely. Not before. Is zat clear?"

 Marie turned and stared at him, her voice whisper soft. "Do you wish to take command, 'Erman?" she asked sarcastically.

"No more zan Jean Pierre does."

"It is not a matter of command!" Francois exploded in exasperation. "No one challenges you, mademoiselle!"

"Non? Jean Pierre 'as always 'ad his doubts," Marie said bitterly. "It would seem zat Robert 'as ze same doubts. Do you never zink for yourself, Robert?"

Robert gave her an insulted look. "Oui," he said grimly. "For it would seem zat I too can make a mistake."

Marie flushed as she realised that he was criticising her with his comment. Unable to speak, she turned away and stalked back to the window, staring out into the gathering darkness.

"Zis is ridiculous," Herman complained. "We quarrel among ourselves. What of Jean Pierre? Francois? Do we not 'ave a plan?"

Francois looked helplessly at Marie then at the dark rage on Robert's face and sighed heavily. "Not one zat can free Jean Pierre before Roquefort arrives," he admitted sadly. "Ze only zing we can do is find a way to snatch him from Madam La Guillotine's embrace."

"At ze last moment? 'Ow…daring…" Herman gasped in awe.

"'Ow cruel," Robert muttered. 

"Cruel?" Marie turned to look at him, her eyes suspiciously bright.

"'E will zink we 'ave abandoned 'im," Robert said woodenly.

"I did not," Marie said firmly. "And whatever else Jean Pierre may zink, I do not zink 'e will zink zat. We will rescue 'im Robert, whether you trust moi or not, I swear zat I will free 'im not matter what ze cost." She took a deep breath, composing herself. "'Erman, zis man zat you know, can you learn anyzing from 'im zat will 'elp us?"

"I am to meet 'im at a tavern later," Herman said quietly. "I 'ad 'oped to persuade 'im to give me a plan of ze Bastille so zat we could rescue Jean Pierre."

"Non, zat is not a good idea. If we enter ze Bastille we will be captured and killed.  What we must 'ave is ze uniforms of ze soldiers so zat we can disguise ourselves. Would zis guard be missed if 'e did not return?"

"I do not zink so. 'E gets drunk often," Herman said slowly. "Why? What would you 'ave me do? Zere are many zings I would do for Jean Pierre, but even I 'ave my limits."

"Nozing like zat, 'Erman," Marie smiled at him. "Only zat we need 'im to be distracted and lured away. If 'e is a guard, 'e will know how zey take ze captives for execution, oui?"

"Oui," Herman agreed, gazing at her thoughtfully.

"Zen per'aps replace Jean Pierre's guards and whisk 'im away, n'cest pas?"

"Per'aps…" Herman agreed warily.

Aware that Robert was looking at her with somewhat less hostility, Marie nodded.  "Bon. Now, zere are ozer zings zat we will need. Francois, you know what we require. Take Herman with you. Robert and I will meet you at ze square later. Bring ze guard zere."

"As you wish, Marie," Francois bowed a bewildered Herman to the door, shooing the valet outside when he would have protested. 

"What is ze hurry?" Herman complained as Francois firmly closed the door on the couple.

"We 'ave much to do in very little time."

"Oui, I understand, but why zen do zey not come with us?" 

"I zink Marie wishes to talk to Robert alone. Zey 'ave zings to settle."

 * * * 

With the door firmly closed, Marie turned the ornate key in its lock and turned to face Robert. Robert glared back at her.

"I should go with zem and 'elp," he pointed out.                                                   

"We must talk first. We cannot do zis if we do not trust each other, Robert. One mistake and one of us could be killed zis time."

Robert grunted and turned away, kicking aimlessly at the floor. "Like Jean Pierre? Do you really wish to rescue 'im?"

"Zut alors! Of course I do!"

"Sometimes I do not zink you do. Sometimes I zink you resent 'im."

Marie came after him, close enough to smell the warm masculine scent of him and feel it tingle on her nerve-endings. "Resent? Per'aps. I envy 'im for the part of you 'e 'as zat can never be mine. You follow 'im with a trust you do not show for moi."

"Per'aps zat is because 'e 'as earned my trust a 'undred times over."

"And I 'ave not?!" Marie said bitterly.

Robert turned and grabbed her by the shoulders. "And what part of you did Blanchard 'ave?" he demanded angrily. "We were not gone zat long, Marie!"

Marie blinked, struggled slightly in his grip and then subsided. "Does it matter?"

"'Ow did you bind 'im to your cause?"

"Are you jealous?" Marie mocked sardonically.

"You were not as successful as you were with me. He betrayed you, I 'ave not!"

"You went to England! Is zat not a betrayal?"

"You agreed!"

"I 'ad no choice! I cannot compete with Jean Pierre!"

"I 'ave never asked you to! I asked you about Blanchard!"

"Why should you care? You 'ave 'ad ozer women since we met, non? Is zis not ze pot calling ze kettle black?"

"'Ow can ze kettle be black when it 'as never been on ze fire? You wish to burn, mademoiselle? Zen ze water is boiling…" Robert retorted in fury and swooped, his mouth covering hers in angry frustration. Marie struggled for a merest moment, then melted into his lips, her tongue sucked deep into his mouth as his hands released her shoulders and swept up her slender back. Almost before she knew what was happening, his clever fingers were unlacing her bodice and easing the lace fichu away from her skin.  His soft brown hair tickled her jaw as he kissed her throat, his lips leaving a pattern of fire down her skin as he nibbled his way down to snuggle into her cleavage.

"Robert…" she gasped in protest even as a firestorm of hunger and need melted her protests and made her knees weak. "Robert, non…" For a moment, she thought her feeble protest would go unheeded, then abruptly he released her, flinging her away from him.  

“Always it is non!” he complained.

“Not like zis. Zis is not ze time....”

Robert glared at her and shook his head. “Marie, I cannot do zis,” he said bitterly. “Always it is not ze right time....I thought Jean Pierre made a fool of himself over Chantal. Now I see zat I too make ze same mistake...”

“Non, Robert....” Marie’s protest was ignored as Robert stalked angrily to the door.

With a final outraged look at her, Robert tuned his back and stalked out, slamming the door behind him and leaving Marie hovering between fury and the urge to indulge in a fit of frustrated tears.

                                                            * * *

Jean Pierre shivered, suppressing a violent tickle in his throat that finally turned into a cough. The cough had been getting worse over the last day or so, aggravated by the damp and chill of the mildewed stone walls. Even the rats looked weedy and they were probably getting fed better than he was. Stale bread when the guards remembered and water that he would rather not think about kept body and soul together - barely. And he strongly suspected that was only because they wanted him able to talk.

Biting his lip, he hugged his knees, watching the flickering light of the lamps out in the corridor to distract himself from a surge of fear. Something was going on out there; he had been hearing voices for a while. 

A door thumped open with a noisy creak and he heard the all too familiar rattle of chains as some other poor soul was dragged back from the torture chamber. He could hear the faint whimper of the man as he was dragged along the corridor, then to Jean Pierre's shock, he heard a key turn on the lock and his door was hurled open.

"Do not move," a guard ordered curtly, aiming a musket at the shocked captive. Jean Pierre shrank back against the wall with a clink of chains, wondering what the guard thought he could do in manacles as he was.

Two more guards dropped a man into the cell between them and dumped him on the floor. One retreated while the other chained the captive to the wall, kicked him in the ribs to make him grunt and curl up in pain in the filthy straw and then stomped out.

The door was once more slammed and locked and the guards marched away.

After a long moment, Jean Pierre uncurled and slid to the floor, reaching out a tentative hand to touch the new arrivals shoulder. "Monsieur?" he queried.

The man moaned, rolling over onto his back to reveal a face beaten to bloody pulp; one eye invisible beneath the massive swelling. In the dim light from the hatch in the door Jean Pierre could see that his once fine clothes were filthy and blood stained and beneath that his body was twisted and misshapen and marred by horrendous blistered burns. One leg was obviously broken and at least one shoulder seemed to be dislocated.

"Mon dieu," Jean Pierre swallowed, feeling a surge of nausea. Groping around in the dim light, he found the jug of water the guard had left him and held it the man's swollen lips, coaxing him to drink. The man sipped a little, then choked, bringing a bloody froth to his lips. All Jean Pierre could do was touch his arm and smooth the blood dried hair from his face, using a corner of cloth torn from his ragged shirt damped in the jug to clear his eyes. He was frightened to touch his broken body anywhere else for fear of causing him more pain.

Finally, the man caught his breath and focused his one eye on Jean Pierre. "My zanks, monsieur…" he whispered in a scream roughened voice.

"I am Jean Pierre…" Jean Pierre shifted a little so the man could see his face in the dim light.

"Mon dieu," the man gasped. "You do indeed look like ze King…

"So it is said," Jean Pierre admitted. "But little good it 'as done moi. Zey obviously do not believe I am ze King or zey would release moi, non? Ze likeness is obviously not so good." He shrugged. "And since we seem to be sharing a room, your name, monsieur?"

"Zey are cruel…"

"Cruel?" Jean Pierre said blankly.

"Do you not know moi?"

"Non. Should I?"

"I am Blanchard…"

Jean Pierre recoiled automatically and then froze. This battered man in a torture shattered body was the vain young aristocrat that had betrayed Marie into the soldiers' hands? "It would seem you chose the wrong side," he said slowly.

"Oui…" Blanchard choked, gasping for breath until Jean Pierre offered him help to sit up and prop himself against the wall.

Jean Pierre watched him as his breathing eased a little, taking in the man's ashen pallor. He had seen men look like that before. He didn't think Blanchard would live long. "Take a little water," he suggested however, pity overriding all else. Whatever Blanchard had done, he didn't deserve this.

Blanchard eyed him wearily, then nodded, taking a few sips before he waved the jug away. "You are kind," he gasped. "Kinder than I deserve. Do not let my appearance fool you. I did betray Marie. But zey betrayed moi."

"What 'appened?"

Blanchard licked bloodied lips, revealing that most of his front teeth had been broken. "I needed money," he said slowly. "Gambling, huh? I was persuaded to make myself known as a malcontent. Marie found moi as zey planned and I betrayed 'er into zeir 'ands." He paused, panting for air.

"And zen?"

Blanchard focused on Jean Pierre with an effort. "After she was captured, I came for my money and zey demanded zat I tell zem where to find ze rest of 'er men and of 'er plans. I knew nozing. I knew only of 'er one plan. She did not trust moi further zan zat. So, zey brought me 'ere and 'as you can see…ze rack did zis…" He sketched a weak gesture at his broken body. "The torturer did ze rest. And ze hot irons…." He paused, panting before pushing on grimly, "Tomorrow zey execute moi. Tonight I am a lesson to you…"

Jean Pierre licked his own lips. He had been doing his level best not to picture himself in Blanchard's place. He wasn't succeeding.

"Zut alors!" it was half cry, half sob of pain. Wordlessly, Jean Pierre took Blanchard's hand in his own, holding it as the spasms of agony ran through the man's body. Sobbing Blanchard subsided, tears leaving white streaks in the dirt and blood on his face. "Zey told me zat Marie plots to overthrow ze King and 'ave you impersonate 'im."

"Zat was ze Comte De Mars plan, not mine or Marie's," Jean Pierre answered.

"Ah…" Blanchard groaned, leaning back against the wall as his fingers spasmed in Jean Pierre's.

"Do zey expect me to reveal all to you out of pity?" Jean Pierre asked. "I know nozing."

Blanchard half smiled, his lips writhing across his broken teeth. "Zat will not stop zem," he said huskily. "Come closer…"

Jean Pierre frowned but obeyed.

Blanchard swallowed hard. "Whatever deals zey offer you, do not believe," he whispered. "Zey will not keep zem."

"I did not zink zey would," Jean Pierre observed dryly.

Blanchard squinted at him painfully. "You know zat you are to be interrogated by Roquefort?"

"Oui…"

"Be strong," Blanchard advised. "Zey 'ave arranged your execution all ready. Ze King is coming ze day after tomorrow and zey fear to 'ave you alive when he arrives. Defeat zem, Jean Pierre, give zem nozing but your pride. Vive la revolution!" He slumped back, breathing hard while Jean Pierre knelt and watched him.

"Rest," Jean Pierre advised when Blanchard finally looked at him again.

"Zere is no point is zere?" Blanchard sighed. He looked down at Jean Pierre's hand clasped around his and smiled weakly.

"I will not leave you," Jean Pierre told him softly.

Blanchard nodded and rested his head back again. "I was so wrong," he whispered.

"You are forgiven. Marie is safe…."

"But you are 'ere in her place…"

Jean Pierre shrugged. "C'est la vie," he murmured.

"You are braver zan moi," Blanchard croaked and closed his eyes, slumping wearily. A cough tore at him, bringing flecks of bloody froth to his lips. Jean Pierre waited uncertainly until he stirred again with a rough whisper, "Jean Pierre?"

"Oui. I am 'ere."

"Zey would not let me see ze priest tonight. Zey said zere will be a priest tomorrow, but I do not zink….I am afraid…will you listen?"

Jean Pierre stared at him, swallowed and then nodded. "Oui, I will listen," he agreed.

"Zank you…" Blanchard whispered and began to speak in a low, pain torn voice of all the things he had done and now bitterly regretted…

                                                            * * *

When Robert finally returned it was to find Marie alone, sipping wine and brooding. She gazed at him in silence as he closed the door and leaned back against it.

“I zink we should talk...” she said quietly. “We must not fight when so much depends on us.”

Robert hung his head. “I am sorry. But you make me so....so....” He gestured helplessly as she rose gracefully to her feet and came to take his hand, leading him to a chair.

"It is all right, mon cher," she said softly. "Zere is nozing to forgive."

"I should not 'ave done zat…I should not 'ave…Should not ‘ave said such things...333"

"You were angry, Robert. As was I," Marie said quietly. She slid to the floor and knelt gracefully beside him, slipping one arm around his broad shoulders and leaning against him.

"But Jean Pierre…."

"Would not expect you to 'urt yourself zis way," Marie told him briskly. The mention of Jean Pierre brought pain, but not the burning resentment she had felt before. She had had time to think and realise that Robert would never truly be hers. Much as he cared for her, a part of him would always be beyond her reach. "Robert? Do you love moi?"

Robert blinked and lifted his head, gazing at her first in surprise then in wariness. "I do not know," he admitted.

Marie inclined her head solemnly. "And I do not know if I love you," she admitted. "But we care, oui?"

"Oui…" Robert agreed with that, still cautious and wondering what she expected of him now.

"I zink per'aps," she said carefully. "Zat you do love Jean Pierre. Per'aps much more zan you do moi."

"Ah, non, Marie…"

"Robert, 'ush.  It is all right. I am glad to 'ave you and Jean Pierre and Francois as mon amis. But you are right."

"I am?" Now Robert was really wary. It was rare indeed for him to ever be the one in the right. He knew perfectly well that he was not the smartest member of their little group. Jean Pierre had been forever curbing his fanciful plans long before they ever met Francois or Marie. His diminutive blond friend had kept him alive when, left to his own devices, he would have been left swinging from a tree long before. And perhaps then Jean Pierre might not be facing the guillotine…

"My wishes are different from yours and Jean Pierre's," Marie said slowly. "I wish to see all France free from ze yoke of tyranny."

"Yolk? Eggs?" Robert puzzled, baffled and still somewhat dazed from their bout of lust. "Ze chickens do not rule France…do zey?"

"Do not be silly," Marie rose to her feet with a swish of her skirts, stalking across the room as revolutionary fever burned up within her. The sleepiness of recently sated passion in her eyes turned to the blaze of anger. "Ze peasants will rise up and overthrow ze tyrant king."

"Pheasants?" Robert mumbled, pushing to his feet to sit on the trunk and remembered to finish lacing his breeches and tuck in his shirt. What on earth birds had to do with France he had no idea.

"Do not mock me," Marie snapped impatiently. "The peasants 'ave been oppressed to long. Zey 'ave been walked on too often. Soon zey will rise up and pull down ze King."

"Rise up from lying down?" Robert struggled to keep up.

"Zey will rebel! And when zey do zey will need someone to lead zem! We will cast down ze aristocrats who have ruined France and replace zem with a new and kinder leadership! Vive la revolution! A new and glorious future awaits…"

A flicker of irritation crossed Robert's thoughts. "And what 'appens to ze aristocrats?" he interrupted without thinking, memories of long conversations with Jean Pierre explaining things to him surfacing. Jean Pierre might tease him unmercifully at times, but he always took pains to make sure Robert understood important things. Jean Pierre was afraid of the revolution he could see coming and he had done his best to make Robert see past the glorious pattern to the ugly underside.

"What?" Marie paused in mid speech and stared at him.

"What will we do with zem?" Robert asked as he retrieved his greatcoat from the floor.

"Do with zem?" Marie was bewildered.

"You will take zeir money and zeir lands, non?"

"For ze glory of France, oui, so zat we may rebuild…"

"And what are zey supposed to do zen? Where will zey go? What will zey do? Will zere be a place for zem in zis new France?  Zey cannot be aristocrats, non? For zere will be no rich ruling class. But zere will be no peasants either. Who zen will do ze farming?" Robert remembered Jean Pierre's doubts only too well and now sought answers from Marie. 

Marie took a deep breath, her nostrils flaring with anger. "Who put such ideas in your 'ead?" she exclaimed furiously.

"Jean Pierre teaches me to use my 'ead," Robert said quietly. "'E also asks zese questions. What are ze answers?"

"Does 'e not want to see France free from tyranny?!" she snapped.

"Oui, as much as you and I," Robert answered soberly, wondering why she didn't have a ready answer. "I 'ave 'ad time to zink on zese zings while we were away, Marie. And I zink 'e is right."

"You mean 'e decided for you?!"

"Non, I decided for myself. Zere are so many questions zat ze only answers I can see for zem are bad. Jean Pierre believes zat come ze revolution ze streets will run with blood."

"It will be peaceful…"

"'Ow can it be? I know my own nature, Marie. I know my own temper. Zere are aristocrats I would kill with my bare 'ands if I could. I will not be alone in zat. Ze innocent will be murdered along with ze ozers. 'Ow can you know zat ze people who seize power will be better zan zose who rule now?"

"Because zey will come from among the peasants. They will know what oppression was like…"

"And if ze taste of power corrupts zem and zey oppress ozers because zey can do so? Because they can taste revenge? Can you be so sure that greed will not drive zem to kill a Baron per'aps because 'e 'as lands zat a former peasant coverts? If zat 'appens, will zere be anozer revolution? And anozer?" Robert shook his head, amazed at himself. He hadn't realised how much of Jean Pierre's concerns he had shared and understood. "Marie, we are afraid of zis glorious revolution. Jean Pierre wishes us to leave France for good."

"'As England turned you both into cowards zen?"

Robert felt his face turn stiff with anger and exasperation. "I was born on ze wrong side of ze blankets," he said slowly, still awed by that revelation and Jean Pierre's worries concerning it. "But you and I both 'ave ze blood of ze aristocracy.  Can you be so sure zat when ze revolutionary flame burns at its hottest, we also will not be burnt?"

"I am ze Chartreuse Fox! I fight for freedom!"

"Can you prove zat?" Robert asked wearily. He stood up, brushing off his scruffy clothes.

"Do not be ridiculous!" Marie snapped impatiently. "Jean Pierre is full of fancies."

"I doubt zat 'e 'as time to indulge 'is imagination in ze Bastille," Robert murmured sorrowfully.

When he looked up again, there was a stricken expression on Marie's lovely face and he sighed ruefully. Their arguments never seemed to end recently. "I did not mean zat ze way it sounded," he said tiredly.

"Touché," she snapped.

Robert flinched, recalling her earlier remarks. "I am sorry," he admitted apologetically. "I am worried about 'im."

"As am I. We will get 'im back," Marie said flatly. "Now, we must go if we are to be ready to meet ze ozers. My cloak, if you please?"

                                                            * * *

Walking in uncomfortable silence, Marie and Robert found their way to the tavern at the square where they were to meet the others.  Herman and Francois were already there, drinking in gloomy silence in an inglenook at the back. When Robert and Marie joined them, Francois signalled for another flagon of ale and wine for the woman. Herman eyed them in frosty silence, his expression disapproving. 

Doing his best not to blush, Robert glared back at him. "So where is your latest flame, 'Erman?"

"Do not be ridiculous, Robert, you know zere is no one but you," Herman retorted, fluttering his eyelashes at him. "Are you jealous, mon petit pois?"

"You know better zan to ask," Robert retorted, taking a hefty swig of the tankard Francois put in front of him.

Herman slid a deliberate look from Robert to Marie and then back again, before turning his attention carefully to his wine.

"The guard did not come," Francois said flatly.

Marie paused in mid sip of her wine. "Zut alors! Does 'e suspect?" she asked anxiously.

"It is more likely zat he 'as been distracted," Herman said slowly and carefully.

"You mean anozer vies for 'is attentions?" Robert mocked.

"It is more likely zat 'e is needed at ze Bastille," Herman replied bitterly. "With Roquefort coming, zey would wish to make a show of zings to impress 'im. I saw one of ze ozer guards on 'is way back and zat is what 'e told moi. I did not dare delay 'im. 'E 'ad been sent on to buy wine and 'e was expected to return. Zey might 'ave been suspicious if 'e did not."

"So much for ze cunning plan," Francois whispered.

Herman reached out and laid one hand over Robert's, patting gently in comfort. "I am sorry, mon ami. But do not despair! We will rescue 'im! I swear zis!"

Robert gave him a tentative wounded smile, his hurt showing through. He was so used to Jean Pierre being there to look out for him that the thought of losing him was almost more than he could bear.

Marie's fingers were clenched around her glass as she stared into the ruddy depths of her wine, her thoughts flying. She could almost feel all three of them slipping away from her.

Robert's loyalty could not be questioned, but ultimately both it and his love was for Jean Pierre. She did not want to think about who would win if it came to a choice between them for she suspected that she would lose. Robert might have been obsessed with her at first, but familiarity bred contempt. In the last few days she had fallen from the pedestal he had put her on and she could see it in his eyes that he was starting to compare her unfavourably with Chantal Du Lac.

Herman was easy to understand. He was basically a romantic, but it was Jean Pierre who had won him over in the beginning and nothing she had done had been able to rouse any interest in him in revolution. He had no antagonism towards the rich upper classes, nor any particular feelings about the peasants. All he wanted was love, life and liberty and if he couldn't bed at least one of his new companions, then their friendship seemed to be good enough. Herman lived in hope, content within himself.

Francois was the most practical of them all; a schemer who would like nothing better than to make a large fortune and live off it.  The revolution was a cause that suited him as long as it might lead him to power, but he wasn't truly committed to it. As soon as something better came up, he would be off like a hare. But he shared a common bond with Robert and Herman and that was Jean Pierre.

Marie sank her teeth into her lower lip and refused to speak her frustration out loud. She might have won the others over, but never Jean Pierre. He might trust her, but not her cause. Ideals didn't seem to matter to him and he had made it quite clear more than once that he wasn't prepared to lay down his life for any revolution even if he would do it for his friends.

"Marie?"

Marie blinked and looked up, realising that Francois had been speaking to her. "I am sorry, I was zinking," she said quickly, not wanting them to know how her mind had been wandering.

"Do you 'ave a plan?" Robert pressed hopefully.

"Non, not yet…" she admitted reluctantly.

"Zen per'aps we should go with Francois'?" Robert suggested eagerly.

Francois nodded. "Robert tells moi zat 'e knows of a brothel near ze Bastille where ze guards go to relax…"

"I do not zink I wish to know 'ow you 'ave discovered zis," Herman commented, giving Robert a hurt look.

"Nor I zink do I," Marie added, shooting a glare at her recent lover.

"A man gets thirsty when ze kettle does not boil," Robert replied dryly. "And I did not say zat I 'ad ever patronised it only zat I knew of it."

"What about it anyway?" Marie asked irritably.

"It is called Madam Venus' cathouse and ze guards and ze officers go zere all ze time. For ze right bribe, per'aps we could obtain ze uniforms we need while ze men are ozerwise occupied."

"I 'ave 'eard from my contact zat Captain Rochet of ze guard goes zere," Herman added cautiously. "'E is in charge of scheduling ze executions but 'e always makes sure 'e is not zere at ze time. My contact zinks 'e is a weakling because he cannot stand ze sight of blood and rolling 'eads, but it a gentlemen and a very good looking man...so I am told."

"Ze rolling 'eads make moi also nervous," Robert said uneasily.

"Zis Captain Rochet could be useful," Marie admitted thoughtfully. "But how could we get in?"

Robert and Francois exchanged an embarrassed look.

"No doubt as customers," Herman sniffed disdainfully. 

"Madam Venus owes Jean Pierre and moi a favour," Robert said carefully, rushing on under Marie's icy stare.  "It was before we met you. A matter of mistaken identity. I am sure she would 'elp moi for Jean Pierre's sake."

"'Ow?" Marie demanded.

"She would 'elp us get ze uniforms," Robert said carefully.

"And Rochet?"

"Per'aps it would be better if you were to do zat?" Francois suggested.

"Moi?" Marie gave him a surprised look.

"You are a beautiful woman," Francois reminded her delicately. "Per'aps you could do as 'Erman 'as been doing and lure 'im into your clutches."

Marie felt the blush rise up from her cleavage to scorch her face.  "You wish me to act like some, some quayside trollop?"

"Oui," Robert said brightly. "I am sure zat with your talents you could do zis…" He broke off, feeling her eyes boring into his face like twin knives. "What is wrong?" he quavered uncertainly. "Did I say somezing wrong?"

It was a close run thing as to whether or not Marie slapped his face for him. Somehow she restrained herself, although the stem of her wine glass cracked in her fingers.

"Zut alors, Marie, it is not as if you would 'ave to do anyzing!" Francois exclaimed, hastily smoothing over the brewing outburst.  "You merely lure 'im to a room where Robert and I will be lying in wait zen we will force 'im to tell us all 'e knows."

Marie took a deep breath. The plan might not be the best, but it was all they could come up with and they were running out of time. What rankled was that Robert expected her to go along with it without a thought as to whether or not she might be offended by the idea.

She owed Jean Pierre, she reminded herself. He had risked his life to save hers. It wasn't as if she had to give up her virtue and actually seduce Rochet. Who knew? It might even make Robert jealous enough to repair the damage the last few days had done to their fledgling relationship - or destroy it all together. It seemed that nothing between them would be settled until Jean Pierre was free.

"Very well," she said steadily. "We shall do zis. I will seduce Rochet and you will question 'im. Between us we will free Jean Pierre..." She lifted her cracked glass to the others, encouraging them to join her in a toast. "Vive la liberte!"

"Oui!" Herman agreed, glad to see the tension between them teasing. 

Robert nodded, touching his own tankard to first her glass then the others. "Bon," he said with quiet determination. "One for all and all for one…."

                                                            * * *

Jean Pierre shivered with the chill that nibbled on his bones, watching the annoyed, swearing guards dragging Blanchard's body from the cell. He could still hear Blanchard's pain racked voice whispering before he died, "Tell Marie I am sorry…" before he slipped away with the first light of dawn, still clutching at Jean Pierre's hand.  Jean Pierre had never been a man who prayed, but he had prayed for Blanchard, appalled at the damage inflicted on him and hoping that someone would forgive him enough to take mercy and ease him free of his pain before the guards came to drag him to his execution.  

The door slammed, leaving Jean Pierre alone in the ghost filled darkness to wonder how many others had died abandoned and in agony in this hellhole. "Blanchard wasn't a bad man," he murmured into the lonely darkness, glad to hear the sound of his own voice. "Foolish and greedy per'aps, but not a bad man."

No more than Jean Pierre himself was. The thought flitted through his mind, making him shudder and wince as the movement stirred a cough that tore at his ribs. It seemed tremendously unfair somehow. True, he had not always lived an exactly honest life, but he had always had rules. He had never taken anything from anyone except the rich, had helped people when he could and had never harmed a woman or a child. Yes, he had killed in revenge, but he had been driven to it when no one else would raise a hand and he had given his enemy a chance in a fair fight. Even now he didn't regret what he had done.

Lowering his head, Jean Pierre rested his head in his hands and closed his eyes, willing away the sight of the dank walls of his cell. Dwelling on the darker aspects of his life didn't help him feel better and he knew he was being morbid because of Blanchard, so he struggled to focus on happier times. Chantal was there, sweet and young and beautiful, the girl he remembered from his youth, from before she betrayed him not once but twice…

Jean Pierre shoved her angrily aside, shutting away the memories as he been struggling to do ever since he left England.   That was over. There was no going back even if he wished to…

Startled, Jean Pierre lifted his head again, staring at the door without seeing it as it dawned on him that he didn't want her back any more. Thinking of her still hurt, but it was the thought of what might have been, not her actual existence that pained him. She was a part of the rich aristocracy that in the end had caused him nothing but pain and he had allowed his feeling for her to hide her flaws.

Shaking his head, Jean Pierre squashed the urge to dwell on it. There was no point when thinking about her didn't help. Better to think of his friends; Robert, Francois, Marie…

Robert was more like his brother than a friend. Jean Pierre would have done anything to protect him and he knew Robert would do the same for him. They had been together through some hard times, keeping each other alive and sane when others had turned to cruelty simply to survive. Robert would be the one he would miss than anyone; assuming he could ever miss anyone at all…

He hoped Francois would look after Robert for him. Robert trusted Francois and hopefully Francois would feel obliged enough to him to stay out of the revolution for his sake. The big lug needed someone to keep an eye on him and curb his impetuous nature at times. He didn't think Marie would be able to. She was already too caught up in revolutionary zeal and while Robert might be oblivious to it now, he would sooner or later catch on and realise that whatever their feelings for each other, the revolution would always come first with Marie.

Jean Pierre sighed sadly, knowing that he wouldn't be there to protect his friend from the pain of lost love. "I owe you one for Chantal, mon ami," he murmured. "You were right and I was wrong - for once." 

The crash of the door being slammed open made him jump and instinctively shrink back against the wall in panic, then he caught himself and lifted his chin, giving the lank haired guard a haughty look. "You could 'ave knocked," he said sardonically.

"Less of your lip," the guard snapped, stomping towards him with a rattle of rusty keys. The wall eyed second guard followed him in, squinting suspiciously at Jean Pierre, as his chains were unlocked from the wall.

"Where are you taking moi?" Jean Pierre demanded suspiciously at he was yanked to his feet and held tight while Wall Eye chained his wrists together.

"To see Monsieur Roquefort," Lank Hair leered at him nastily. "'E wants to talk to you."

Jean Pierre shivered, feeling his blood seem to turn to ice water in panic and chill his entire body.

Wall Eye cackled. "'Ere, I zink our little impostor's scared."

"Not scared, cold," Jean Pierre snapped at him angrily, fighting down the shudders that wanted to rack his body. "Zis place is full of damp."

"Well, I'm right sorry about that, your lordship," Lank Hair sneered. "But may'ap if you co-operate with Monsieur Roquefort 'e'll find you accommodations better suited to your highness' tastes. Now, move it, ya little traitor. You 'ave a date wiz a rack to keep…"

                                                            * * *

"And so, you are ze fair Warrior Princess, non?" 

"Oui," Marie forced a smile for Rochet as he tucked her hand under his arm in a gentlemanly display of manners. She felt quite ridiculous in her long glossy black wig, tight fitting leather bodice with a brassy overlay, boots to match and an entirely too short skirt that as far as she could tell was made up from leather bookmarks and for her money showed entirely too much leg. Captain Rochet seemed to like it however and had needed little encouragement to purchase her favours for the day from Madam Venus. In his own way Rochet was something of a charmer, with his sardonic good looks and dark wicked eyes. And there was something familiar about him…

Venus herself hadn't been quite Marie had expected either. Expecting a blowsy older tramp, Marie had found herself being introduced to a slender, surpassingly lovely woman of indeterminate age and a mass of golden hair. Her brothel was surprising too, not the grubby back street den of iniquity of Marie's imagination but a discreetly classy, expensive and elegantly decorated house. And Venus had been more than willing to help, her bold looks at Robert and her fond comments and concern over Jean Pierre suggesting that they were both more intimately acquainted with her than Robert had admitted. Her instructions about Rochet's tastes had been detailed and occasionally a little more explicit than Marie liked; especially since one or two of Venus' instructions had started to make her feel quite hot under her leathers.

"You remind moi of someone," Rochet continued as they strolled along the corridor with its erotic paintings.

"Really…" Marie wasn't in the mood for polite conversation. She was far too busy not looking at the paintings since she was sure her ferocious blush would make him suspicious.

"Oh…" Rochet fell silent, then decided she was too professional for small talk and pressed on, "Ooh, I see you 'ave ze whip too," He shuddered delicately, eyeing her with every sign of delicious fear.

"Oui," Marie didn't know quite what else to say to that. She fervently hoped no one she knew would ever hear about this. And if Robert or any of the others ever spoke of it to anyone…

"And what is ze round zing for?" He touched the hoop attacked to her belt.

"For later…" Marie replied, since she had no idea what the metal ring was for.

"Oh…" Rochet said and once again fell into a silence that lasted the rest of the way to their destination. "Ah, I believe zis is our room, my lovely Amazon," Rochet purred, releasing her arm to push open the gilded door and lead the way inside. He gave her an expectant look over one shoulder and, taking a deep breath, Marie smiled cruelly and swatted him across the rear end with her whip. Rochet jumped, blushed and scuttled inside, scurrying eagerly towards the bed. Marie stalked after him, swinging the whip against one bare thigh. "You’re not going to 'urt moi, are you?" Rochet pouted at her, clearly hoping that was exactly what she would do.

"Per'aps. Lie down on ze bed," Marie ordered, hooking the whip back on a clip on her costume and extracting the handful of leather ties she had shoved down her cleavage earlier. The gesture brought a gleam of speculation to Rochet's eyes that reminded her of Robert when he had watched her tucking them into her bodice in the first place. "I am waiting," she reminded him curtly and Rochet jumped to do her bidding. He also started shedding his clothes rapidly. Marie opened her mouth to protest, well aware of her rising blush, then caught herself and made herself watch instead. Actually, it wasn't that much of a hardship. Rochet was nicely built and in another time and place he might well have attracted her…

Marie pulled her thoughts back together with an effort as he got down to his line drawers. "What is taking you so long?" she demanded impatiently, unclipping her whip and flicking it him. Rochet yelped and flung himself face down on the bed. Giving him no time to think twice, Marie strode across and started to tie him to the bed posts, ordering him briskly to spread eagle himself. Finally, she extracted the black velvet blindfold from down her cleavage and tied it across his eyes. Rochet gasped and squirmed, clearly getting more excited by the minute. "Are you comfortable?" she asked finally.

"Non," Rochet panted.

"Bon," Marie said dryly, giving a final tweak to the blindfold. She didn't want Rochet seeing the others. Satisfied that he could not escape, she headed back to the door and briskly unlocked it, letting Robert, Herman and Francois into the room.

Robert gave her a drooling stare while Francois headed for the bed. Leaning closer, Robert attempted to nibble on her ear and Marie hit him with the whip. "Ow!" he yipped. "Zat was not necessary! When you 'it me with your 'at it is bad enough, but…"

"Zen be'ave!" Marie scolded.

"I cannot 'elp it, ze look and scent and feel of leather does strange things to moi," Robert moaned, sidling after her as she stalked back to the bed. "Can you not per'aps keep ze costume for later?"

Marie slapped him across the stomach with her whip and turned back to the others, noting in exasperation that Herman had a similar look of lust on his face to the one on Robert's; except he had a different object in mind as he eyed up Rochet. Rochet was squirming, clearly unnerved by the presence of strangers.

Glancing at Marie for permission, Francois prodded Rochet in the ribs and began, "Captain Rochet, I believe?" he said politely.

"Who are you?" Rochet demanded belligerently.

"We will ask you ze questions," Francois told him. "You will answer and per'aps you will live."

"I am not afraid of you! I am not afraid of pain…"

"So we 'ave been told," Marie said dryly. "A beating from a woman in ze course of love is one zing, but from a man? Per'aps you will change your opinion of what is pleasurable…"

Rochet swallowed, straining against the leather ties and then subsiding again.

"From what I 'ave 'eard, ze Captain is not zat choosy about 'is companions," Francois commented, shooting a quick glance at Herman. "N'cest pas, mon ami?"

Herman blushed. "So I 'ave 'eard," he mumbled

Francois spoke up clearly, "And I do not zink zat ze Captain's fellow gentlemen officers would be impressed as to 'is choice of entertainment…"

Rochet flinched. "Who are you? What do you want?" he demanded again,

"I 'ave told you, answers," Francois reminded him.

"I will tell you nozing! I know nozing…"

"You 'ave arranged ze execution of a captive," Marie said quietly. "One Jean Pierre, captured during ze escape of ze woman mistakenly believed to be ze Chartreuse Fox…"

"'Im? 'E is to be questioned by Roquefort today."

"Zis we know," Marie snapped.

Rochet turned his head towards the sound of her voice. "If 'e survives 'e will be executed at nightfall…by ze guillotine," he told her.

Robert growled, his large hands flexing.  "Butchers," he snarled.

"It is a sad country to live in when a man seeking to do ze right zing is murdered for it," Francois said grimly.

Rochet shivered and huddled deeper into the bed. "You are revolutionaries?" he asked warily.

"Non," said Robert automatically.

"Oui," Marie agreed. She and Robert exchanged looks and Robert finally looked away, a sad expression crossing his ever expressive face.

"Zis Jean Pierre , 'e is said to be involved in a plot to assassinate ze King…" Rochet said slowly. "'E is to be placed on ze throne as a ringer…"

"What is it with zis ringer?" Robert demanded impatiently. "Always zey call Jean Pierre a ringer! I keep saying 'e knows nozing about ringing ze bells!"

"'E does not mean ringing ze bells," Marie exclaimed in exasperation. "I 'ave told you zis before!"

"What zen does 'e mean? Is 'e to wash clothes zen?"

"Zat would be a wringer," Francois observed.

"Zat is what 'e said!"

"Non, 'e said ringer."

"Exactly!"

Francois took a deep breath. "'E means a doppelganger," he told a frustrated Robert. "Do you not remember De Mars' plot? Zey are behind ze times zat is all."

"Behind a clock?" Robert asked, baffled and growing more indignant by the second. "It is a bell on a clock! But why are zey behind zis clock? And what is a doppelganger? Is zis some sort of bell ringer? What does zis 'ave to do with Jean Pierre?"

"Be quiet!" Marie exclaimed in exasperation. "'E as told you 'e means an impostor!"

"If 'e meant impostor why did 'e not say so," Robert grumbled, folding his arms and looking sulky. "And why does 'e keep going about ze bells…" Francois and Marie both decided to ignore him, including his plaintively added little, "Jean Pierre would explain it to moi…"

Herman tugged at his sleeve, pulling him down so he could explain while the others continued to interrogate Rochet.

"Jean Pierre has nozing to do with De Mars," Francois told their captive firmly.

"De Mars?" Rochet said carefully. "'E 'as been exiled…"

"Oui, because he plotted against ze King to replace 'im with…a look alike," Marie thought better of naming Jean Pierre. He was in enough trouble already without their confessing that he had been unwillingly involved with De Mar's plot. "Zere is no ozer plot."

"We are supposed to be asking ze questions," Francois reminded them all impatiently, prodding Rochet in the ribs again. "Why do zey question Jean Pierre?"

"To find out who else is involved in ze conspiracy to over throw ze King," Rochet answered compliantly.  "Zey believe zat ze Chartreuse Fox is behind it."

"Ze Fox is not involved," Marie said firmly. "'E as no desire to 'arm ze King."

"'E? Ze Chartreuse Fox is a woman," Rochet argued. "Zis much zey know for certain." He paused, frowning. "But if ze Fox is a man….zis Jean Pierre…"

"Non!" Marie snapped. "Jean Pierre is not ze Fox. 'E is a man caught between a rock and an 'ard place…"

"I thought 'e was in ze Bastille," Robert protested.

"Shush," Francois said impatiently. "Zis is getting us nowhere." He poked Rochet again. "Jean Pierre is to be executed at nightfall, oui?"

"Oui," Rochet agreed.

"'Ow many guards is 'e to 'ave?"

"Zey do not zink 'e is important enough to zis Fox to be rescued. She left 'im behind. So, no more zan five."

Marie flinched, unable to look at her companions.

"Ze Fox was in no condition to 'elp 'im zen," Francois put in quietly. "Why do you zink we are 'ere now?"

"We leave no one behind," Robert snarled, flexing his fingers as he leaned closer.  "Are zey to be led by you?"

Rochet recoiled slightly.  "Non, I refused to be zere on principle," he retorted.

"Zat you cannot stand ze sight of blood?" Marie mocked.

"Non, mademoiselle, zat I cannot stand to see an innocent man executed. Zey kill too easily. I 'ave spoken with Roquefort and I do not believe zat 'e believes zis Jean Pierre knows anyzing of value. Roquefort say 'e goes through the motions only because ze man looks like ze King. I zink 'e does it because 'e enjoys 'urting 'is victims."

Marie drew away from the bed, schooling her face to a mask of indifference. It hurt enough to see the pain on Robert's face, let alone to make his worse by displaying her own anguish. Francois looked shocked and Herman was at Robert's side, patting his arm anxiously as his own fear showed. It was a sign of Robert's distress that Herman wasn't making him nervous.

"If 'e knows nozing of zis conspiracy, zen this Jean Pierre 'as done no more zan 'elp ze Fox escape," Rochet went on. "It may be wrong of moi, but I cheer ze Fox every time she strikes a blow for ze freedom of France!"

Intrigued and surprised, Marie gazed at him with new interest until Francois laid a gentle hand on her arm. "Beware, Cherie, remember Blanchard."

"Blanchard?" Rochet echoed, his voice taut with sudden bitterness. "You knew zat poor bastard?"

"Per'aps," Francois agreed. "What of it?"

"'E may 'ave betrayed ze Fox, but 'e paid for it," Rochet told them grimly. "Zey thought 'e knew more zan 'e would tell and so zey tortured 'im. I 'ave 'eard 'e told zem nozing and 'e was to be executed zis morning."

"Was?" Marie said sharply, unsure whether it was revenge or concern that made her ask.

"'E did not survive long enough," Rochet answered. "Mademoiselle, if you truly wish to 'elp your friend Jean Pierre and you are revolutionaries, zen untie moi. I can 'elp you."

Francois tightened his grip on Marie's arm. "Can you indeed? Like Blanchard per'aps?"

"You came to moi," Rochet pointed out. "I am your captive. I do not zink you intend to murder moi. Ze Fox is not a murderer but a freedom fighter."

Frowning, Marie withdrew to the far side of the room, drawing the others with her.

"We 'ave no reason to trust 'im," Francois warned her immediately, knowing what she was thinking.

"And no reason not to," Marie answered.

"A pretty face does not make a trusting one," Herman observed quietly.

"Nor does it make 'im an enemy," Marie pointed out.

"We know zat someone in ze Bastille is sympathetic to our cause and per'aps might 'elp us. But I 'ave not been able to get a name. It could be 'im." Francois said slowly. "'Erman, you spoke to 'im once. Could it 'ave been Rochet?"

Herman licked his lips. "It was very dark and 'e 'ardly spoke. Per'aps, it could be. It is 'ard to tell from zis angle…"

"Did 'e not give you a name?" Robert whispered. "You said 'e spoke in jest…"

Herman gave him a surprised look. "You truly 'ang on my every word, do you not, mon petit chou?"

"Not," Robert said firmly. "Do you not remember what you said?"

Herman frowned, searching his memory for the fleeting moment when he had met their unknown helper. It had been pitch dark and pouring with rain as he made his way back to the tavern. The man had jumped him, cornering him against the wall and before he could cry out had covered his mouth with one hand and identified the valet. Their conversation had been short and whispered and Herman had been so frightened it had only been the message's sheer importance than had enabled him to memorise it. He remembered that he had asked who the stranger was and the man had whispered back, "You 'ave 'eard of ze Scarlet Pimpernel? Zey call me ze Blue Periwinkle!" then he had brushed a kiss across his mouth and vanished into the night. Herman blurted the name aloud and slapped his hand over his mouth in chagrin.

"Bon," Marie said crisply. "You will speak to 'im now."

"Moi?" Herman gave her a wide eyed look. 

"If it is ze same man, zen 'e knows you. Speak to 'im 'Erman," Marie ordered. "Let us see what 'e says…"

Herman hesitated, then took a deep breath and marched briskly back to the bed. "Captain Rochet," he announced briskly. "Do you know moi?"

Rochet froze, every line of his body tensing. "'Erman?" he said slowly, clearly startled to hear his voice.

Herman looked round at the others. "You know my name?"

"Oui. You are ze former valet of De Mars. We met once before…"

"Did we now? When was zat?"

"Ze first time was at a ball ze Comte threw. We dallied behind ze fountains…"

"Is zat what zey call it now?" Robert muttered, giving the blushing valet a dirty look.

"…but I was not at ze Bastille zen. Per'aps you do not remember it, but I 'ave fond memories of you. When ze Comte fled to England I looked for you…" Rochet was starting to blush and wriggle in his bonds.

Robert and Francois both looked the other way; really not wanting to know why the Captain was wriggling like that.

Herman went scarlet. "Zat is not what I meant," he yelped. "'Ave we met more recently zan zat?"

"Oui…" Rochet admitted.

"When?"

"Per'aps I should not say…"

"If you do not I will 'urt you," Robert grumbled. "I am in ze mood to 'urt someone…"

Rochet swallowed. "I gave you ze information about zem moving ze Fox to ze Bastille," he whispered.

"Prove it," Marie said sharply.

"I cannot…I do not know…"

"What did you tell moi to call you?" Herman put in, glimpsing Marie's rising frustration.

"I do not…." Rochet hesitated. "I zink I called myself ze Blue Periwinkle. It was ze costume I wore at ze ball. I 'ad thought you might remember…."

Herman sat down on the bed with a thump. "I do…" he whispered. "But you were rich and I…" he stopped helplessly.

"Untie 'im," Robert decided.

"You trust moi?" Rochet asked, surprised.

"Non, I did not say zat. But I trust 'Erman," Robert retorted.

"You do?" Herman gave him a doe eyed look of bliss.

"But not zat far…" Robert said firmly.

"We do not 'ave ze time for ze pussyfooting," Francois agreed, starting to untie the nearest ankle.

"Pussyfooting?" Robert echoed, startled. "Is zat allowed in mixed company?!"

Marie slapped his arm and gestured for him to help untie Rochet. "Do not zink you can pull ze wool over our eyes…." She began.

"And now zey talk of sheep?" Robert muttered. "Is zis a menagerie and no one 'as told moi?"

Marie ignored him with an effort. "You will 'elp us to free Jean Pierre. If you do not, I will kill you. Ze bargain is simple, non?"

"Oui," Rochet said warily as Herman tugged the cloth from his eyes. Blinking and squinting, he focused on Herman and smiled shyly. "I 'ad 'oped we would meet under more romantic circumstances…"

"Zese will do," Herman replied smugly, his brown eyes zipping happily up and down Rochet's muscular body. "I 'ad not thought to see so much of you so soon…"

"Zat is enough, 'Erman," Marie scolded. "Jean Pierre first. Pleasure later. Rochet, tell us what you know and do it quickly. My patience wears thin…"

                                                            * * *

Breathing hard, Jean Pierre clung to the last vestiges of consciousness, vaguely wondering why he was bothering when the world hurt so much. Every muscle, every sinew, every bone hurt where the ropes stretched him taut across the wooden frame of the rack.  Unconsciousness would be a blessed relief, but it never lasted long enough. Pain would bring him back awake to find that they had loosened the ropes enough to bring him round and then they would pour wine down him to revive him and they would start all over again. He was starting to go numb again as his body got used to the pain and started to tune it out…

A sudden wrench of the ropes and a muted scream forced its way up and found itself trapped behind his teeth, then the ropes suddenly loosened, letting him flop into the rope bed of the rack. His vision swirled and danced as Roquefort appeared, hanging over him like something from a nightmare, his face outlined by a fog of red mist against the light of the torches in Jean Pierre's pain blurred vision. He was nibbling daintily on a sweet pastry as he studied Jean Pierre with rapt interest.

Jean Pierre refused to focus on him. For some reason the man reminded him of De Mars. He had the same eyes, although his hair was shaggier and his face was clean shaven and a little rounder. Lips that were cruelly sensuous on the Comte, somehow pouted on Roquefort's features. In good light the two men might even have passed as twins.

"Excellent," Roquefort observed, noting that Jean Pierre was conscious even if his eyes glazed with pain. "You are learning where the edge lies, Picard. You will 'ave your reward." He prodded Jean Pierre with a stiff finger. "I promised 'im he could lay your 'ead down on ze guillotine in person if 'e was good, you know. So, what do 'ave to say now, peasant? What do you sink of Mademoiselle Rack's loving embrace?"

"I always…wanted…to be… taller…." Jean Pierre closed his eyes and licked his lips. He didn't want to think about the dungeon master. Picard was a shambling, tongueless, no necked brute whose one pleasure in life seemed to be inflicting as much pain as possible with as little reason as possible. He had joined in with the guards in beating up their captive while Roquefort watched. "I suppose you expect me to talk now?" he croaked.

"Non, I expect you to scream," Roquefort mocked and hit him across the face, bringing blood to his already bruised mouth.

Jean Pierre snarled and glared at him, feeling his cheekbone throbbing from the blow. The beating he had received from the guards before he had been strapped to the rack had been bad enough, without needing another one. "It takes a coward to hit a bound man," he hissed.

Roquefort sniffed. "Your insults do not impress moi, peasant," he retorted.

"I will tell you nozing."

"So I 'ave noticed. And zat makes you a fool. Is zis woman worth so much to you? What is she to you? A lover?"

"I do not know who you are talking about…"

Roquefort dabbed at his lips with a scrap of lace handkerchief. "Zis Chartreuse Fox is a whore," he decided. "She binds men to her whims with her body in bed. 'Ow many 'ave 'ad 'er? Ten? Twenty…"

"I do not know…" Jean Pierre broke off with a gasp of pain at a vicious blow to the stomach by Picard.

Roquefort tsked reprovingly, casually tightening the ropes by a quarter turn to stretch Jean Pierre out taut. "She 'eft you 'ere, abandoned you. If she does not care for you, why should you protect 'er?"

"I cannot tell you what I do not know…" Jean Pierre forced out.

"She is unimportant. She means nozing."

"Zen why are you so…determined to…catch 'er….?" Jean Pierre was finding it increasing difficult to breathe as the rack tightened slowly. Black mist started to flow in around him. The rack loosened so suddenly that he cried out instinctively as the rush of sensation burned through his limbs. As his vision swam, a fist closed in his hair, dragging his head back as another hand grabbed his chin and forced his mouth open.  Despite his efforts to struggle, he was held still as yet another cupful of raw wine was poured down his throat. Choking and gasping for air, Jean Pierre was forced to swallow or drown. The wine hit his empty stomach with a burning rush, making him wretch as his senses blurred.

"Are you drunk yet?" Roquefort asked through the roaring in his ears.

Jean Pierre didn't answer. Pain kept him sober despite their best efforts. Groggily he knew that all he had to do was keep his mouth shut until they turned the rack again, then it would block out anything the alcohol might do to his tongue.

Roquefort sighed heavily. "You could make zings so much easier for yourself," he said in a friendly tone. "Tell me of ze Fox's plot to put you as the royal impostor on the throne."

"Zat…is…a lie," Jean Pierre got out. "Zere is…no plot…."

"What zen is she doing?"

"Freeing France…of … tyranny…"

"By murdering ze King?"

Jean Pierre managed to turn his head enough to look at Roquefort. "Ze king…is a…pampered…fool," he gasped. "'E does…not…know…what…ze likes of you…are doing to…zis country."

Roquefort frowned. "Do you really believe zat?" he sneered.

Jean Pierre inclined his head a little, barely a nod of the chin. "'E is…the scapegoat…" he whispered. "Ze whipping boy…In ze King's name…you cry….And when ze revolution comes….you 'ope to get away…while zey rip…'im apart…."

Roquefort's eyes grew dark with rage. "Be careful what you say, peasant," he warned.

"You wanted ze truth…zis is ze truth…" Jean Pierre answered. "You are afraid of ze Fox because of what she represents to the people. You 'ope to ruin her reputation by revealing ze plot to kill ze King. Only I will not 'elp you…"

"But your body will," Roquefort said icily. "We will display your severed 'ead before ze Bastille gates. 'Ere is the 'ead of ze traitor, we will say. Zis is what your beloved Fox 'as done to one of 'er own. Zis man would 'ave killed ze King and taken 'is place. Ze Fox is greedy for power not freedom!"

Jean Pierre closed his eyes and swallowed hard, very much afraid of the vision the torturer showed before him. "The people will know it is a lie."

"Will zey? Zey are a rabble, sheep that follow each other. Soon zey will be afraid to 'elp zis Fox for fear of zeir own lives. Where zen will she be?"

"I will neither know nor care…"

"But you could," Roquefort leaned closer, smoothing the damp blond curls from Jean Pierre's brow. "'Elp us, 'elp ze king. You owe 'er nozing. We can give you everyzing you want. Wealth, women, whatever you want. Only give moi ze Fox!"

"I cannot tell you…what I…do not know," Jean Pierre repeated his lie wearily.

Roquefort gritted his teeth, eyeing his captive in angry, silent frustration. "It would seem Mademoiselle Rack's embrace does not suit you. Let me see now…Ze brands per'aps?" Roquefort frowned, considering. "Per'aps not. I do not 'ave ze time to wring ze answers from you slowly and exquisitely with ze red hot irons. I am an expert with zem, you know. But I do not enjoy being rushed at my petit hobby. Brands require a delicate touch to be effective. Do you not zink so?"

"I 'ave no idea," Jean Pierre whimpered.

"Non? Zen per'aps ze kiss of Madam La Whip will loosen your tongue. Untie him, Picard."

Picard grunted and obeyed, fumbling at the knots where Jean Pierre's blood had made the ropes slippery.

"You are going to kill moi anyway," Jean Pierre remarked tiredly. "Why should I talk?"

"To save yourself pain," Roquefort told him complacently.

"Too late," Jean Pierre whispered.

"But you do not 'ave to be die…" Roquefort said gently, caressing his bare bruised ribs with long, delicate fingers. "I can change zat. I can take you away from 'ere. No one will know who lies on ze guillotine. No one will know if you give moi ze Fox…"

Jean Pierre shook his head and then cried out as Picard roughly grabbed him and yanked him to his feet, hurling him across the dungeon to slam into the wall. Lumbering after him, the dungeon master smacked him across the back of the head to subdue him a bit more than hauled down the manacles. Jean Pierre kicked backwards, slamming his bare heel into the man's massive thigh. Picard grunted, slapped him hard again and continued to bind him, ignoring his struggles. In moments Jean Pierre was once more restrained, hanging in the manacles chained to the wall.

"I would rather die zan betray ze Fox," Jean Pierre told the torturer as Roquefort ambled over to lean against the wall, his stocky frame elegant in lace and silk and red velvet breeches.

 "Zat 'as already been arranged," Roquefort said smugly. "Picard? You may begin. Enjoy yourself, but do not mark him too much. We 'ave to display ze body…"

Jean Pierre gritted his teeth and turned his face to the wall. He had been flogged before, but that time had been for love, not honour. Then he had had the sweet memories of Chantal's gorgeous body entwined with his own…

The first lash fell, ripping a cry from him as it seared across his bare back….

"Tell moi who ze Fox is…"

The second lash fell, curling like a red hot brand across his hip and lower back…

Jean Pierre almost bit through his swollen lip, refusing to cry out again. He remembered how it had felt before, how his back had burned as the lash beat him raw…He still had the silvery tracks across his skin where the leather had marked him.

The lash fell…

He remembered Robert's appalled expression when he carried him from the woods. How he had wanted to slip away from the agony into merciful oblivion…how Robert's pleading had made him linger and stay rather than disappoint him, hurt him…

The lash hissed and bit in….

Robert's hands had been cool on his fevered body, his touch delicate and kind. Oh, Robert, did I ever say thank you? Thank you for being my best friend?

The lash bit deep and he felt blood flow hot over his skin…

If I die now, then I die knowing I didn't betray you… Your friendship gave moi something to hang on too.

The lash seared his shoulders….

His lower back burned…

His ribs were on fire….

He couldn't think….

Past and present tangled into an inextricable knot. Faces raced past him, male and female, love and loathing. I will not betray my friends as Chantal betrayed moi…

The lash sliced like a knife across his back and he couldn't breathe….

Chantal. He had thought he would die for her, now he would die for an idea.

"Who is ze Fox? Who is she?"

The lash fell again

A pause to let him think it was over…

Then again…

And again….

One blow blending into another as Picard forgot himself and started to enjoy merely hurting his victim…

Chantal, sweet, innocent Chantal before the whole world changed. He had loved her…

Her face filled his thoughts, her sweet body his memory, her scent…

He dwelt in the past away from the pain. Could smell the leaves of the wood, the bitter smell of his blood as they punished him for loving her…

His confused thoughts blended together, running into one like watercolours in the rain…

The mercy of eternal night sliding over him….

An explosion of pain seared his back as the torturer flung a cup of wine over his back, making Jean Pierre scream in agony. His senses exploded into sharp glittering fragments and all he could see or think and feel was the woman who had done this to him, who had betrayed him with De Mars….

"Who is she?" Roquefort demanded in his ear. "Whose fault is zis?"

"Chantal…" gasped Jean Pierre as unconsciousness claimed him. "Chantal Du Lac…De Mars…"

                                                            * * *

"Seesle?" Herman said slowly, endeavouring to repeat what Robert was saying.

"Non, non, you say it theestle," Robert told him. "You are ze theestle in my side."

"I would like to be in your…"

"'Erman!" Robert glared at him.

"'Eart! I was going to say 'eart. What is zis theestle anyway?"

"It is a type of plant zat zey 'ave in Angleterre zat is sharp and spiky…"

"I am 'urt, Robert."

"Bon, 'Erman." For a moment they stared at each other then Herman smiled shyly and Robert grinned ruefully at him. They were sheltering from the rain in a doorway, watching the square and the ugly brooding shape of the guillotine in the deepening gloom. This execution hadn't been announced and to keep it private Rochet's guards had deliberately emptied the square and kept any would be watchers at bay.

For Robert's liking they were far too close to the Bastille for his comfort and yet still too far from Jean Pierre for his happiness. He was glad of Herman's gentle teasing distracting him from his fears. What if Jean Pierre went the same way as Blanchard? What if he never made it to the guillotine but was murdered in the Bastille with no one ever knowing his true fate?

"You do not mean zat, mon petit chou," Herman said smugly.

"'Ow do you know zat I do not?" Robert protested.

"Ze way ze corner of your mouth curls up like ze petit curl of butter when you tease moi…" Herman replied. 

"What are you two bickering about?" Francois hissed at them as he came over. Instead of his normal elegant clothes and coiffure, he wore a guard's uniform that was slightly too small and strained over his midriff until Robert was sure the buttons would pop off.

Rochet was sheltering alongside the scaffold with Marie likewise dressed in a guard's uniform that strained in quite different places to Francois'. It always worried Robert that she looked so appetising in men's clothes. He thought it had something to do with the way her long legs reached all the way to her…

"Ze cart!" Herman gasped, spotting the torches on the front of the tumbrel as it approached, clattering noisily over the cobbles as the weary horse dragged it towards the scaffold.

A scowl crossed Robert's face as he saw the single occupant of the tumbrel. Jean Pierre stood in the back, stripped to the waist and shivering in the cold and rain. His wrists were bound to the back of the driver's seat while two guards sat behind him. Robert took a step forward and Herman and Francois grabbed him.

"Non, Robert, remember ze plan…."

"I cannot let 'im zink…"

"Robert, it is ze only way to get 'im away from zem!" Francois insisted. "Now, come, 'urry! We must take our places…"

                                                            * * *

Jean Pierre didn't think he had ever been more frightened or so despairing. He was doomed. He had been almost sure of it the moment he realised he was locked in the impenetrable depths of the Bastille, now he knew it for a certainty. Peasants didn't escape from the chopping block. Only aristocrats did that. Aristocrats who did not have the face of a king.

The last shreds of hope had been stripped away one by one, leaving him pared to the core of his soul where he still believed that somehow; some impossible way Robert would still rescue him despite all the odds. And the contrary hope that Robert would not be a complete fool and stay safely away. He didn't want them both to be executed here. He wanted something good to have come out of everything he had been through.

His captivity had taught him many things, but most of all what was truly important to him. Not Chantal, not France, not even his own life, but love and freedom and the certainty that he would not betray those he cared about the way he had been betrayed. And the quiet still certainty that he trusted Robert and knew he would never betray him. He didn't care about Marie's revolution, he did care that France would be bathed in blood and murder by the fanatics who sought to tear down one world and build a new one. No matter the ends, the blood and pain would always leave a dark taint upon their efforts.  It would not be forgotten either by those who survived or the world that watched…

The tumbrel lurched to a sudden stop, throwing him forward against the rail with a stifled groan. Before he could catch his balance, Lank Hair and Wall Eye grabbed him. Wall Eye untied his wrists and rebound them behind him, while Lank Hair stood guard with a musket aimed at him chest. Satisfied that he was well tied, they prodded him out of the cart and over to the steps of the guillotine.

Jean Pierre balked at the bottom, his nerve failing him for a second as he saw the guillotine looming over him, light from the single torch glinting like blood on the angled blade. The executioner, anonymous in a hooded robe, stood beside it, leaning against the wooden frame while a plump guard stood on the other, his face hidden by the shadows.

"One last chance," Roquefort's voice came from behind him and he looked over his shoulder, staring at the King' torturer as he stepped down from his elegant carriage. Picard slithered down from the driver's box, leaving behind the relieved looking coachman who clearly hadn't enjoyed his presence beside him.

"What chance?" Jean Pierre asked, forcing himself to stop shivering by clamping his elbows tight to his sides. Someone had dumped a bucket of cold water to rouse him when they had dragged him from the dungeon to the tumbrel, wanting him to be awake to enjoy the trip.

"To tell moi ze truth. Chantal Du Lac is ze Chartreuse Fox, non?"

"Non!" Jean Pierre denied it flatly. "I know nozing of ze Fox. Execute moi if you must, but cease zis prattle!"

 "She 'as fled to England to be with 'er lover ze Comte De Mars; anozer traitor to France. Do zey intend to return 'ere?"

"Ze King would kill De Mars," Jean Pierre spat. "'E knows ze truth; 'e knows zat De Mars sought to impersonate 'im with an impostor!"

"Zis is true. Ze King 'as given orders zat De Mars is to be shot on sight if 'e sets foot in France. Clearly zen, zis conspiracy 'as been clipped in ze bud. Ironic, non? Since ze Fox's symbol is a yellow rose. Yellow is so appropriate a colour; it stands for cowardice, non? She 'as fled to ze protection of De Mars. Per'aps she was no more zan a front for 'im all along." Roquefort smiled, dabbing a scented handkerchief against his throat. "Excellent. Ze Fox 'as gone to ground and all we are left with is a band of leaderless peasants pretending to be 'er. It is as I thought."

"You are mad," Jean Pierre whispered.

Roquefort beamed at him. "Non, I am a winner. Your petty rebellion will lead nowhere except to Madam La Guillotine! And now monsieur citoyen, prepare to kiss 'er on ze lips…"

Wall Eye and Lank Hair promptly grabbed for him, but Jean Pierre shook them off and marched grimly up the steps under his own steam. Picard followed, smirking happily at his promised treat. He shoved Jean Pierre roughly forward, tripping him so that he landed on his knees with a painful bone bruising thud. Jean Pierre gritted his teeth, his breath quivering within him as Picard thrust him down across the wooden frame into the semi circle that would hold his throat.

"Am I not supposed to 'ave ze chance to say a few last words?" Jean Pierre asked, forcing bravery to his tongue.

"If you wish," Roquefort said mildly. He had come round to stand in front of the guillotine and get a good view of Jean Pierre's last moments. "It will do you no good. Zere is no one 'ere to listen. Per'aps you should save your words for your fellow traitors. Zey will be joining you in Hell later."

Jean Pierre opened his mouth to make a sharp retort than froze as the wooden collar closed across his neck.

"Zere are only two ways out of zis," Roquefort said smugly. "Either your 'ead rolls or you tell moi ze name of your ozer contacts among ze rebels!"

"I would not tell you even if I knew. Go to Hell!"

"Only after you, monsieur," Roquefort sneered with a finally turned curl of the lip. "Picard, lock down zat collar and get on wiz it."

Jean Pierre suppressed the urge to whimper and closed his eyes, feeling a hand gently touch the nape of his neck, tugging his trapped hair aside.

"What are you waiting for?! Never mind all that nonsense! The wig makers will 'ave to get zere 'air elsewhere! I want 'im dead, do you 'ear moi? I want him dead now!" Roquefort snarled. "Now, get on with it."

Picard made a funny whining noise and Jean Pierre opened his eyes, peeking up at the man as he half crouched over him. There was a gormless expression of shock on Picard's face, his eyes darting around like flies trapped in a bottle as he struggled to look behind him.

"Picard, you imbecile! Executioner, proceed! What is wrong with you? Must I do everyzing myself?!" Roquefort took a step towards the steps and then froze, staring at the boyish figure standing in his way. "Step aside, boy!" he raged, lifting a hand to strike him.

A pistol appeared in the young man's hand, pointed at the torturer's stomach. "I zink not, monsieur. Release 'im immediately!"

"I zink not!" Roquefort spat. "Picard!"

Jean Pierre blinked, recognising the unmistakably female voice. "Marie!" There was a sudden scrabble of movement beside him and Picard lunged for the lever that triggered the blade. A pistol shot exploded, blasting through the man's back but not before he released the handle and the blade dropped, plummeting on target.

Wood thumped as the collar was wrenched aside and before Jean Pierre knew what was happening he was plucked bodily backwards from the block, the blade slicing off a tuft of blond hair that glinted in the torchlight as it passed and embedded itself in the wood.

Jean Pierre nearly fainted as he sagged unto the executioner's arms. The second guard who had shot Picard was rushing for the edge of the steps, kicking Wall Eye in the face as he belatedly lunged to help. "Francois?!" Jean Pierre squeaked recognising him as his friend signalled wildly at someone, then craned his neck in sudden thought to look up at his rescuer.

Tipping back his hood, Robert flashed a grin down at him. "C'est moi, mon ami! C'est Robert! 'Allo, Jean Pierre," he said happily, then yelped and ducked flat, half squashing Jean Pierre beneath him as volley of musket fire raked the scaffolding. Jean Pierre squeaked a pained protest as his abused body protested. Holding him close, Robert quickly sliced through his ropes with a knife drawn from beneath his robe.

"I told you to stay down!" Francois roared, grabbing for a second pistol in his belt. "Now 'urry up! Get 'im out of 'ere!" he lunged down the steps, blasting Lank Hair in the face as he attempted to stop them escaping.

The world seemed to tumble around Jean Pierre as Robert bundled him towards the rear of the scaffolding where another figure in a captain's uniform was waiting on horseback below. His vision blurred as the young man turned and waved at them. It seemed he was on their side.

"You'll ride with 'Erman. Allez oop!" Robert told Jean Pierre over the sound of musket fire. Stripping off his robes for freedom of movement, he caught Jean Pierre under the arms and lifted him, lowering him over the side. Herman moved swiftly into position. Catching the idea, Jean Pierre rested his bare feet on the horse's rump and slid down astride, wrapping his arms around Herman's trim waist as he slid into the saddle behind him. 

"Not quite 'ow I 'oped to get your arms around moi, mon cher," Herman chuckled, patting his hands. "But it will do. Now, 'old on tight, sweetie."

"Yehah!" Robert carolled, leaping from the platform to land astride his own horse. The horse sagged and bucked and Robert groaned aloud, grabbing for the reins. "Remind me never to do zat again!"

"Go!" Francois screeched at them, scrabbling astride his own mount. "I go for Marie!" Kicking his horse in the ribs, he rode around the platform, towing the last two horses with him.

Herman followed him, riding around the scaffolding to avoid the guards coming up behind them. Robert took a random shot at them, leaving him with one pistol thrust though his belt for emergencies.

"Ah hah!" Wall Eye leaped out in front of them, waving a sword in one hand and a pistol in the other. Herman kicked him as they went past, hooking one arm back around Jean Pierre to keep him from falling off.

Wall Eye snarled and levelled the gun on Jean Pierre's bare back. "Not so fast, your 'ighness!" he bellowed after him, then gurgled and went down as Robert's blade took him across the throat.

"Zat way!" a stranger in a Captain's uniform screamed at them, gesturing with a sword as they rounded the front of the scaffolding. Francois flung the reins of a horse at him, then rode after Marie who was backing towards them, using Roquefort as a hostage and shield.

Seeing his captive escaping, Roquefort lashed out, knocking a startled Marie away from him by sheer strength and turning to wrench at the pistol in her hand. It went off and a scarlet stain blossomed in the centre of his chest. A look of extreme surprise crossed his face before he pitched face down on the cobbles.

Jean Pierre had a clear image of the amazement and dismay on Marie's face before she turned and ran for the horse Francois was bringing her at the gallop. Then everything descended into a blur of noise and colours as Jean Pierre lost track, his senses swimming. It was all he could do to hold on tight to Herman and hope he didn't fall off.

Herman urged his own horse into a gallop, sending the animal clattering across the square. Robert followed close, drawing the sword he had concealed beneath his robes to clear a path for them.

"'Old on, Jean Pierre," Herman urged again and Jean Pierre instinctively hugged closer to him, hiding his face against his shoulder as they hurtled through the soldiers rushing in from around the square. With the guard no longer keeping them back the citizenry were coming to see the excitement, getting underfoot and causing chaos.

"Make way for ze King!" Robert roared, flailing left and right as he carved a path through the crowd. Whether he surprised or confused them, his cry helped and suddenly the soldiers were falling back, baffled but obedient and making an opening for them by holding back the crowd. Herman clattered past into the darkened streets beyond, one hand curled into Jean Pierre's as they raced into the night, leaving the chaos of execution square behind them.

                                                            * * *

"You should get some sleep, Robert," Francois urged as he wiped his hands on a clean cloth. He had finished checking Jean Pierre over with gentle care, making sure his whip striped back was clean and he was as comfortable as possible, lying half curled on his side.

"When Jean Pierre wakes up," Robert said from his perch on the window seat. They were staying at an inn halfway to the coast, a safe house for the resistance. They had smuggled Jean Pierre and Marie out of Paris hidden in a secret compartment under Marie's coach with Francois back in his role of gentlemen travelling with his valet and coachman. Jean Pierre had lapsed into unconsciousness during their escape and it had been Marie who insisted they divert to the inn rather than the coast itself.

"Zat may not be for some time," Francois said quietly. "It is passing, but 'e is a little feverish still. 'E needs much rest." Preferably without bad dreams, but at least Robert's voice and touch seemed to soothe Jean Pierre when they came, no matter how deeply asleep and feverish he was.

"All ze more reason for moi to stay with 'im. I do not want 'im to…." Robert paused, clearly stopping to rephrase his reply. "…to wake up alone. I want 'im to see a friendly face and know I am 'ere… and zat 'e is safe."

Francois nodded, sitting down on the edge of the bed and studying Jean Pierre's fair pale face.  "'Ave you thought what you will do next?" he asked quietly.

"Do?" Robert gave him a blank look. He had thought no further than Jean Pierre waking up.

"Where will you go?"

"Go?"

"Robert, it is too dangerous for us to stay with Marie or for 'er to say with us," Francois said gently. "Zey know we are companions now. Jean Pierre cannot return to Paris or 'e will be caught and executed quicker zan you can say Madam La Guillotine."

Robert chewed anxiously on a thumbnail. It would be a wrench to leave Marie. He did care for her, but he cared for his life and liberty more and perhaps more for Jean Pierre than either of those things. He would do nothing to risk Jean Pierre; not even for Marie. But… "I would not know what to do alone," he said miserably.

"Robert, I did not suggest you and Jean Pierre should separate," Francois scolded gently. "Jean Pierre regards you as 'is petit frere, I zink…"

"'E is smaller zan I," Robert protested then hurried on as Francois sighed heavily, "But oui, always Jean Pierre 'as been zere to, to…"

"Keep you out of trouble?" Jean Pierre's voice was weak, a threadbare whisper of sound but his eyes were open and he smiled weakly when Robert bounded to the bed like an overgrown puppy and leaned over him. "Do not sniffle so, Robert…"

"Jean Pierre! You are awake!" Robert was all but crying with joy.

"Mais oui. My dreams are not….nice. Did I 'ear you say you wish to stay with Marie?"

"You were listening?" Francois sighed. "Zen you know I am right…"

"'Ush," Robert complained. "'E is not strong enough for zis…"

"Ah, Robert, answer ze question," Jean Pierre said tiredly.

"Zen non, you 'eard wrong. I wish to stay with you," Robert said plaintively. "Do you not know zat? What would I do without you to look after moi?"

"Touché," Jean Pierre smiled as Robert wound his hand into his. "I knew you would come…" Robert scrubbed his eyes with his free hand and grinned at him. "You 'ave rescued moi again, non?"

"Oui," Robert snuffled. "And you cannot get rid of moi zis time either."

"C'est bon," Jean Pierre mumbled, content and sliding back towards sleep. After a moment during which they hovered anxiously, he roused, coughing harshly and Francois scurried to get him something to drink. "Robert?"

"Oui, Jean Pierre."

"I am not smaller zan you. You are too tall."

"Oui, Jean Pierre, whatever you say, mon frere,” Robert agreed happily, accepting Jean Pierre's feeble swat at his arm.

"'Ere drink zis." Francois was back with a glass of an herbal concoction.

Jean Pierre protested but with a little manoeuvring he was propped up to drink and grimace at the ghastly taste. "You seek to poison moi, non?" he complained as he was settled gingerly back into the pillows on his side to protect his back.

"Non," Francois said kindly. "It will 'elp wiz ze pain and soothe you back to sleep."

Jean Pierre eyed him for a moment, then nodded gratefully. "It does 'urt…" he whispered then blinked at Robert in surprise as the bigger man leaned over him and gave him a gentle kiss on the forehead.  "What was zat for?"

"Waiting for moi," Robert answered. "You must not go anywhere without moi again."

Jean Pierre gave him a small weary smile, closing his eyes as he started coughing again. Somehow it wasn't so bad as when he had been alone, it didn't hurt so much when there was Robert to put a consoling arm around his shoulders and plump the pillows behind him. When he finally managed to catch his breath, he smiled at them miserably and made an effort to take an interest. The room was bright with sunshine and clean if not expensive. The red blankets on the bed were faded and the sheets worn to a softness that was kind to his sore body. He was almost content. "Where is Marie? Is she all right?"

"She is fine," Francois answered when Robert merely grunted and smoothed the tangled sheets over his friend. "She 'as gone in disguise with Captain Rochet to meet one of 'er contacts in Paris. Zey should be back soon."

"Captain who?" Jean Pierre wheezed.

"Rochet is ze man who 'elped us free you and Marie," Francois explained.

"'Erman seems to know 'im," Robert added with a rueful wink.

"Ah? Zen you are jealous…" Jean Pierre teased him.

"Do not taunt moi when I cannot 'urt you," Robert sniffed. "Zey are to discuss where we are to go."

"Go?" Jean Pierre gave him a bewildered look.

"You cannot return to Paris, mon ami. But zere is no need to discuss zis now," Francois replied. "It can wait for a few days until you are stronger."

"Hmmh…" Jean Pierre slid a look at Robert, wondering how he was taking having a new rival male around even if Rochet was interested in Herman. Marie might not be able to resist the challenge if she was to lose Robert. A yawn escaped him as the drugged potion started to take effect and ease the pain of stretched limbs and abused skin. He really couldn't find the energy to worry about it.

"Go to sleep," Robert ordered.

"You are telling moi what to do?" Jean Pierre exclaimed in surprise.

"Oui," Robert said firmly. "You can 'ardly keep awake. And while you are 'urt you are my responsibility. Sleep…"

"Robert…"

"Do not argue with moi."

"Non, Robert, I was not going too," Jean Pierre flicked a glance as he moved towards the door, then beckoned Robert closer. "Did I ever say thank you to you?" he whispered shyly.

"You do not need to, I know," Robert replied with a broad happy grin. "Sleep now. I will guard you. I missed you, mon ami."

Jean Pierre sighed with relief that he wasn't to be left alone, wheezed a bit while he found a position to lie that wasn't too uncomfortable, then slid peacefully back into exhausted sleep. Robert perched on the edge of the bed, absently holding his hand as he watched him sleep.

Francois watched them both for a few moments, then sighed and slipped out. He had asked Marie to make a few arrangements on Robert's behalf concerning obtaining access to his inheritance. If he was right, then it would come in useful for him and Jean Pierre. Francois did not intend to go through anything like this again if he could help it. He a responsibility to his friends and it was time they went their own ways for a while at least. Marie he had no control over, but he knew Jean Pierre would not be staying with her and where he went, Robert would follow. He was also sure he could persuade Herman to leave for a while at least.  The valet loathed violence and France was fast becoming a land of bloodshed. It was time to make new plans…

                                                            * * *

"Angleterre?" Jean Pierre squeaked. It was a week later and he had finally been allowed out of bed. He was sitting on the edge of it, clad in one of Francois' elegant red silk dressing gowns. Rochet had joined them, having abandoned Paris in fear of his life. He had also brought news; Roquefort had survived but Marie was now wanted for his attempted murder. The captain was now sitting next to Herman on the window seat, holding his hand with a smug grin on his face. Jean Pierre really didn’t want to know what they had been doing last night. They had the room next to his and he had heard the bedsprings squeaking every time he woke up. "Why would we want to go back to Angleterre?"

"Because it is ze last place anyone would look for you," Francois explained patiently. He had booked passage for himself, Jean Pierre and Robert on a trading ship and made arrangements for Herman and Rochet to go to Italy. 

"Apart from De Mars," Robert commented, looking up from slowly deciphering the tickets Francois had given him.

"And it is cold and damp and always wet," Jean Pierre protested. "Non, I will not go!"

Francois blinked. He had expected Jean Pierre to be the reasonable one.

"I am going to Spain until zings cool down. I can 'elp ze resistance from ze ozer end for a while. Rochet and 'Erman are going to Rome. So, you cannot stay 'ere," Marie pointed out.

Herman nodded. "Non, if you stay, zen we also will stay to protect you."

"I do not need to be protected!" Jean Pierre retorted indignantly.

"You cannot stay 'ere," Marie repeated firmly.

"Zen I will not. But I will not go back to zat awful country wiz ze strange people and zeir weird 'abits. Fish for breakfast is not normal! What is wrong with a decent croissant, uh?" Jean Pierre exclaimed. "Besides, I refuse to go back on any boat."

"Ship," Robert commented.

"Whatever. It floats on water and I suffer ze mal de mer! I will not go!"

There was an awkward silence.  Jean Pierre tended to be a little over emotional at the moment and none of them wanted to upset him.

"Could I make a suggestion?" Herman said slowly.

"Mais oui," Marie said eagerly.

"Luc and I could go to Angleterre with Francois. And Robert and Jean Pierre could go to Italy," the valet offered. "Jean Pierre should go somewhere warm to recover."

"Zat is an excellent idea," Marie agreed in relief, clutching at a straw of hope. "Robert? Jean Pierre? What do you zink?"

Robert shrugged. "I 'ave 'eard zat ze women zere are beautiful. If Jean Pierre will go, I will also."

Jean Pierre eyed him warily then turned back to Herman. "Do zey 'ave fish for breakfast?"

"Not zat I know of. Zey eat much of somezing called pasta which is very tasty. And zey 'ave good wine also."

"Hmmh. It does not involve boats?"

"Ships," Robert murmured.

"Shut up, Robert," Jean Pierre growled.

"You can travel overland," Herman assured him.

"Very well zen, Robert and I shall go to Rome. And zen per'aps Greece. I 'ave always felt ze yearning to see Greece and ze falling down buildings zere. It is like a spiritual zing."

"Oui, I also 'ave felt zis," Robert agreed then shot a glare at Jean Pierre at his surprised look. "I 'ave too! It was Duncan talking moi about zat Greek friend of 'is on ze ship zat did it."

"Bon, Rome it is zen." Marie let out a breath of relief and nodded to Robert. Grinning, Robert handed the tickets to Luc Rochet. If Francois was unnerved at the idea of travelling with Herman and Rochet he managed to hide it well.

"What about my money from De Mars?" Robert asked however, turning back to Francois.

"Zat will be no problem. You and Jean Pierre will be able to draw on it anywhere you choose to go," Francois assured him.

"Moi?" Jean Pierre said in surprise.

"We thought it would be better if you controlled it for Robert," Marie said quietly.

"Mais oui," Robert agreed happily, bounding over to the bed to carefully wrap an arm around Jean Pierre's shoulders. "You know you are better zan I am with such zings."

Jean Pierre gave him an exasperated look and gave up as usual. He kept hoping he could stop being the responsible one but it never quite seemed to happen. Still, it would be nice to be able to relax and enjoy themselves without having to keep looking over their shoulders all the time. He would miss Francois and the others; he'd even miss his leadership spats with Marie. He would probably even miss France. But new surroundings would help him finish fretting over Chantal and he rather liked the idea of Italy.

There was a whole new life waiting out there for him and Robert and he was going to enjoy it to the hilt. Italy, then Greece, then who knew - if he could figure out how to get there without a sea voyage - maybe the new world itself!

oooOooo