A Place of Greater Safety: A Novel

“We will proceed,” Fouquier says, “to the examination of Emmanuel Frei.”

“Where are my witnesses?”

Fouquier affects surprise. “The matter of witnesses is with the Committee, Danton.”

“With the Committee? What business has the Committee with it? This is my legal right. If you have not got my witnesses ready, I demand to resume my defense.”

“But your co-accused must be heard.”

“Must they?” Danton looks at them. Fabre, he thinks, is dying. It is a moot point whether the guillotine will slice his neck through before something ruptures inside his chest and drowns him in his own blood. Philippeaux did not sleep last night. He talked for hours about his three-year-old son: the thought of the child paralyzes him. Herault’s expression makes it clear that they should regard him as hors de combat; he will have no dealings with this court. Camille is in a state of emotional collapse. He insists that Robespierre came to see him in his cell and offered him his life to testify for the prosecution: his life, his freedom and his political rehabilitation. No one else saw him: but Danton is willing to believe that it could be so.

“Right, Lacroix,” he says. “Go on, man.”

Lacroix is on his feet instantly. He has the tense and exhilarated air of a participant in a dangerous sport. “Three days ago I handed in a list of my witnesses. Not one of them has been called. I ask the Public Prosecutor to explain, in the presence of the people, who see my efforts to clear my name, why my lawful request has been refused.”

Calm and cool, Fouquier says to himself. “It is nothing to do with me,” he says innocently. “I have no objection to your witnesses being called.”

“Then order that they be called. It is not enough for me to know that you have no objection.”

Suddenly violence is in the air. Cousin Camille is standing beside Lacroix, one hand on his shoulder for support, bracing himself as though standing against the wind. “I have put Robespierre on my list of witnesses.” His voice shakes. “Will you call him? Will you call him, Fouquier?”

Without speaking or moving from his place, Fouquier conveys the impression that he is about to cross the courtroom and knock his cousin to the ground: and this would surprise no one. With a gasp, Camille subsides back into his place. But Hermann is panicking again. Hermann, Fouquier thinks, is a rubbish lawyer. If this is all the Artois Bar has to offer, then he, Fouquier, could have got to the very very top. But then, he supposes, he is at the top.

With a click of impatience, he crosses to the judges.

“The crowds are worse than yesterday,” Hermann says. “The prisoners are worse than yesterday. We shall get no further.”

Fouquier addresses the accused. “It is time this wrangling ceased. It is a scandal, both to the Tribunal and the public. I am going to send to the Convention for directions as to how this trial shall proceed, and we shall follow its advice to the letter.”

Danton leans over to Lacroix. “This may be the turning point. When they hear about this travesty, they may recover their wits and give us a hearing. I have friends in the Convention, many friends.”

“You think so?” Philippeaux says. “You mean there are people who owe you favors. Another few hours of this, and they won’t be obliged to repay you. And how do we know he will tell them the truth? Or what else Saint-Just will find to scare them with?

Antoine Fouquier-Tinville to the National Convention:

We have had an extremely stormy session from the moment we started. The accused are insisting, in the most violent manner, on having witnesses examined for the defense. They are calling on the public to witness what they term the refusal of their just claims. Despite the firm stand taken by the president and the entire Tribunal, their reiterated demands are holding up the case. Furthermore, they openly declare that until their witnesses are called they will persist in such interruptions. We therefore appeal to you for an authoritative ruling on what our response to their request for witnesses should be, since the law does not allow us any legitimate excuse for refusing it.

The Tuileries: Robespierre’s nervous fingers tap the table. He is not pleased with the situation. “Get out,” he tells the informer Laflotte.

As soon as the door closes, Saint-Just says, “I think it will do.” Robespierre stares down at Fouquier’s letter, but his eyes are not taking it in. When Saint-Just speaks again, the eagerness in his tone makes Robespierre look up sharply. “I shall go to the Convention and tell them that a dangerous conspiracy has been thwarted.”

“Do you believe that?” Robespierre says.

“What?”

“A dangerous conspiracy. You see, I don’t understand about Lucile. Is it something that is being said in the prison? Is it true? Is it something Laflotte thought of as he came upstairs? Or … did you put into his mouth what you wanted to hear?”

“Informers always tell you what you want to hear. Look,” Saint-Just says impatiently, “it will do. We need it, it’s just what we need.”

“But is it true?” Robespierre persists.

“We’ll know when we put her on trial. Meanwhile, circumstances force us to act on it. I must say, the whole thing sounds plausible to me. She’s been seen about the city since the morning of the arrests, as if she had something in hand. She’s no fool, is she? And after all, Dillon is her lover.”

“No.”

“No?”

“She has no lovers.”

Saint-Just laughs. “The woman is notorious.”

“It is ill-founded gossip.”

“But everyone speaks of it.” The same exuberant tone. “When they were at the Place des Piques, she lived