Heretic Dawn Read Online Free PDF Page A

dozen but not more than two score.”
    “Do they have firearms?”
    “Oh, yes, but didn’t shoot. And, respecting your orders, Coulondre didn’t fire either. But the poor man,” she continued, her voice trembling, “won’t be able to hold out for long. The rascals have piled some sticks in front of the door and lit them, and oak though it may be, the door’s going to burn.”
    “It’ll burn all right, but those villains won’t piss any straighter because of it. Miroul! Go fetch Alazaïs! On the double, my lad, on the double!”
    Miroul was off like he’d been shot from a crossbow and, for the few minutes that he was gone, my father, frowning, pinched his nose as he meditated on what he’d do next—and I wasn’t about to interrupt him!
    Alazaïs, who, as my father put it, “had the strength of two grown men, not counting her considerable moral strength” (being a severeand implacable Huguenot), appeared, wearing a cuirass with a brace of pistols and a cutlass tucked in her belt.
    “Alazaïs,” my father said, “hie thee quick as a bird and warn Cabusse at the le Breuil farm and Jonas in the quarry to arm themselves and be on guard. They may be attacked too!”
    “I’m off!” she panted.
    “And tell Escorgol to send me Samson and the Siorac brothers. We’re going to lend a hand to Coulondre Iron-arm!”
    “Ah, Monsieur!” breathed Jacotte in relief, but couldn’t get another word out through the tears that choked her.
    “Jacotte,” replied my father, tapping her shoulder, “go tell Sauveterre where I’m headed, and tell him not to budge until I return. And as for you, take your babe to Barberine and then hurry back and close the grille after we’ve gone.”
    Which she did. And so we headed into the passageway, running like madmen, with Samson, Miroul and the Siorac brothers following me and my father, who, despite his fifty-three years, was bounding along like a hare, his lantern extended in front of him. It’s true that the passage ran steeply downhill since Mespech, as its name indicates, is set on a hill and the les Beunes mill is down in the valley.
    Coulondre was immensely relieved to see us appear at his mill, though his long, sad, Lenten face gave no sign of it and he breathed not a word nor a sigh. The room which the tunnel opened into was quite large and on our left was the door the assailants were trying to set fire to, and we could hear the flames crackling through the thick oak. On our right was a latticed enclosure that opened onto the pigsty where the sows, piglets and hogs were squealing in panic at the smell of the fire.
    “Monsieur,” hissed Coulondre, “shall we save the animals and push them into the tunnel?”
    “No,” said my father as he studied the burning door, “there’s not enough time and we have more urgent things to do. My friends, let’spile the bags of grain to create a rampart that will protect us when they come in, and with the door to the tunnel behind us, we’ll be able to escape if need be. Make a thick pile, shoulder high, so we can hide behind it as they come in.”
    We did as he ordered and he pitched in, working as hard and as fast as any of us, his face radiant with the excitement of the work and the impending battle.
    All our labours no doubt made some noise, but I guessed that the ruffians outside couldn’t hear us, partly because our entire porcine population was squealing loud enough to break one’s eardrums. Our wall of grain now a yard thick and chest high, with gaps here and there to allow us to see our assailants, we all crouched down behind it. Having lit the wicks of our arquebuses and primed our pistols, we waited feverishly, our hearts pounding, yet secure in the knowledge that we had the underground passageway behind us.
    “My brave lads,” my father said, “when I shout ‘God with us!’ stand, make a terrible din and fire!”
    “’Tis certain,” growled Coulondre Iron-arm, “I’ll shoot straight at ’em and aim to kill!