Page 28 of A Fierce Wind

From some distance away, a “hoo-hoo-hoo” answered back on the light breeze stirring the leaves of the trees.

Having apparently received the acknowledgement he sought, Cadoudal resumed his forward march. Soon they came upon a clearing where a makeshift camp had been set up around a fire over which hung a black cauldron, steam rising above its rim. Zoé sniffed the aroma that smelled of stew and experienced a gnawing hunger.

Around the fire, she counted a dozen men dressed in haphazard fashion she assumed reflected their profession as farmers and tradesmen. Some wore waistcoats of rough goatskin and breeches of faded, dirt-splattered cloth. Their shirts, stained with the soil of their travels, were of various shades of white and chalk. Each of their jackets, most of a fawn color, displayed the sacred heart patch. Around the necks of a few were long rosaries in further defiance of their suppressed faith.

None wore boots like their leader but, instead, wooden sabots and gaiters.

They regarded Zoé and the others with suspicious eyes.

At Cadoudal’s approach, one man rose to speak to the leader and Cadoudal answered in the Breton tongue.

“He tells them we are the ones expected,” said Erwan, lifting his hat to run his fingers through his long dark hair. “They have done business with others sent by d’Auvergne before, but his men are distrusting of English offers of help.”

“With good reason,” muttered Zoé.

Freddie shot her a quelling look.

She raised her chin defiantly. The English failed the Vendéens in Granville and that failure had led to Henri’s death. She would not say otherwise.

“You can rest here,” said Cadoudal, coming up to them. He gestured to a log placed alongside the fire. “Sit. I’ve asked my men to bring you food.”

A few of his men rose from the log, making room for them.

Tired from their morning march through the woods and feeling famished, Zoé was happy to take a place on the log in front of the fire. The air had remained cool and she welcomed the heat from the blaze.

Freddie dropped down beside her. Gabe and Erwan found places on either side of them.

“How are you, Pigeon?” Freddie asked.

“Tired, but then I expected to be.” She glanced at Freddie, who didn’t appear at all fatigued. Rather, he seemed energized. “And you?”

“Only a little. I’m encouraged we made contact with the ones who can help us.” Zoé could see the relief on his face. He had the responsibility of not only his mission, but of finding their way through the woods and ensuring the safety of their lives. He hid well his anxiety.

One of the Chouans gave them bowls of something that proved to be a thick vegetable soup. There was no bread but then she had not looked for any. In France, few could afford bread. Since Brittany had been a hotbed of revolt for well over a year and the farmers had been fighting rather than tending their crops, bread would be scarce.

Another man poured a dark liquid into cups he’d handed to them. A taste told her it was coffee sweetened with some kind of syrup.

“’Tis my preferred drink,” said Cadoudal. “Picked it up in Paris in better times and now I can’t live without it.”

“The coffee is quite good,” Zoé said, “and sweeter than what mon oncle serves aboard his ship.”

Cadoudal tipped his hat to her. “If you like, you can take a skin of wine with you. Mind, ’tis not that red wine the revolutionaries drink when they speak of the blood they have spilled and the liberty they would deny us.” His chest puffing out with pride, he pronounced, “We drink the fine Muscadet of Brittany, the white wine of the Bourbons.”

Freddie said, “We are grateful for your help, the food and your offer of wine. I am curious about one thing. Your men all have muskets, yet I was led to believe many royalists fought with only farm implements.”

“We have won enough battles that we have reaped a harvest of muskets from dead Blues. Many Chouans are hunters who can shoot and shoot well. Some had muskets before the war.”

Freddie nodded. “I have heard that Chouans are good shots. And do you need more muskets?”

“Bien sûr. We do. Our army grows; it is now well into the tens of thousands. As you travel north, you will find men joining us who have no muskets.”

“Our intention is to travel first to Fougères to meet with your general there, the young chevalier du Boisguy, to ask what he may know of the Chouans’ needs.”

“Le petit général is well known to us. It is good you will visit with him. We cannot take you all the way to Fougères, but we can see you to Rennes and set you on the right path. The young sister of one of our chiefs has been imprisoned in Rennes due to her relationship with us. We go to free her before it is too late.”

Freddie frowned. “Isn’t Rennes the headquarters of the republican army?”

“Oui, it is,” said Cadoudal, “Mais peu importe, ’tis of no matter. We must see to our own and Rennes is where the Blues hold their prisoners.”