EXCERPT FROM FIND ME IN THE STARSChapter 4
Flee Like the Mist from the Tempest’s Might – Jehan
26 September 1697 ~ Early Evening
Chomérac, France
Immediately after sunset, Jehan and his companions moved out again in their usual order, this time on foot, following Massip along the tracks of a rutted farm road toward a river crossing near Le Pouzin. The soft melodies of a nightingale gave Jehan a moment to ponder all that had been revealed while at the farm. It was most impressive, what he had learned.
An entire network of people and places existed throughout the realm that were available to aid refugees from the King’s persecutions. Massip explained that funding for it came from the far reaches of the globe—from those who held compassion for the oppressed of any creed, or from those who wanted to strengthen the position of the Protestant faith. Mostly English and Dutch nobility competing for philanthropic pursuits.
All was quiet along the road until they arrived at the signpost for Le Pouzin. But as they turned onto the main road, hoofbeats and rattling clamored in the distance. They looked at each other in a quandary since they could not yet see who might be approaching from around the next bend in the road. Likely a quartet of horses pulling a carriage or coach, by the sound of it.
Daniel Isnard ran up to Massip and grasped his arm. “What do we do?”
“Nothing. Just keep walking but form groups. As though you are friends heading to the tavern. ‘Tis best you show no reaction.”
Jehan could feel his throat tighten and ran a hand through his hair. Moyse hesitated and swayed, appearing as though he were about to lose his balance, so Jehan gave him his arm. Stéphane lent a hand with Moyse, and Syeira and Manfri fell back to walk alongside them.
The noise grew louder until lantern lights emerged from around the bend, creating an aura of light around the three hatmakers and Massip as they led the way ahead.
Jehan inhaled deeply, trying to maintain an impassive expression, but Moyse’s trembling was unsettling. Within moments, a grand carriage rushed by them, horses at a full canter.
“Don’t turn around,” said Stéphane.
The blood pulsed through Jehan’s temples as they waited for the hoofbeats to fade into the night.
Once it was quiet again, Stéphane spoke out. “Whoever it is, they must find themselves too important, and this band of peasants too undignified, to bother with us. By the looks of that fanciful carriage, they surely don’t need any blood money.”
Jehan chuckled to himself at the good fortune in that. Allowing himself to find some humor eased the tension, and the pulsing that hammered through his head gradually ceased.
Massip veered off the main road down a moonlit path, and they all scurried to keep up. Soon they were deep in silvery reeds where a chorus of croaking frogs surrounded them, and the musky breath of marshland filled Jehan’s nostrils with the smell of fish and algae and wet earth.
In an abrupt movement, Massip stopped in a small clearing, then pulled a coil of rope from a satchel. “You may not desire your boots to get wet,” he said as tied the rope around his waist, “but keep them on. The marshes are home to the Vipère snake.”
Anne gasped and leaned her head around the others as if searching for Stéphane.
Syeira put a hand on Anne’s shoulder and said, “They are likely to slither away when they hear us.”
“Scared of us, they are,” added Manfri, animated hands and face aiding his limited grasp of the French language.
Tiny moonshadows formed across Syeira’s nose as she wrinkled it. “And the silly things don’t even know how to strike with their mouth open. The greatest danger they pose is their dreadful scent.”
As Massip began tying each of them to the rope, forming a long chain, he continued his instructions. “Ladies. ‘Twill be best if you bring your skirts up between your legs and tie them.”
Anne’s face pinched together, a gruesome look in the dim light, the shadows magnifying her dissatisfaction.
“Do not give me that look, Mademoiselle Broussard,” Massip grumbled as he cinched the rope about her waist with an abrupt tug. “If your skirts are caught in the current or snagged on a rock, it will pull us all under. Now . . . for those of you who do not have satchels with back straps, place them on your heads to keep them dry as we cross. And keep silent as we move out.”
Moyse clutched at Jehan’s arm and muttered. “You should go on without me.”
“Moyse,” Jehan said softly, looking deep into the old man’s eyes. The rising moon reflected there would give them light to see, but it also increased the risk of being spotted. He knew he had to give Moyse some courage, some hope. “As long as we take our time, it will be fine. As we cross, let us keep our minds on the warm hearth and splendid companionship we shall find in the company of my Uncle Barjon’s community.”
Moyse nodded again and again and again as though the motion would help him convince himself.
