His third night as a turnkey at the Bastille followed the same dreary pattern as the others except that, on this occasion, Rivot unloaded more of the drudgery on to Daniel. Now that the new man was familiar with the routine, Rivot kept sneaking off for short, unscheduled rests. This allowed Daniel to be more generous with the distribution of water and to converse with some of the prisoners. Those who stirred from their straw to come to the door were extremely grateful for what they saw as a concession. When Rivot was on duty, they had virtually no human contact. Suddenly, they had a friend who showed interest in them. Daniel was astonished to learn that one of the ragged inmates had once been a member of the Parlement.
'How did you end up here?' asked Daniel.
'I spoke my mind,' replied the man.
'How long have you been imprisoned?'
'Over two years.'
'When will you be released?'
The prisoner gave a hollow laugh. 'There's no talk of release down here. I'm locked up for having the courage of my convictions. And I'd do the same again,' he went on with a battered dignity. 'If I see corruption in government, I have to speak out.'
'Do you have a wife and family?'
'I did have. They're dead to me now.'
'You must have been a person of consequence at one time.'
'That's why I was dragged from my bed one night and arrested. They were afraid I'd persuade others to join in my crusade. I had to be silenced.'
It was a salutary tale and there were others just like it. Talking to some of them, Daniel could see how paltry their so-called crimes were and that they were really victims of rank injustice. All that he could do was to offer them a sympathetic ear and as much water as they wanted. His main interest was in someone confined in less sordid conditions. It was not until the turnkeys reached their break in the middle of the night that he was able to go in search of Emanuel Janssen. Daniel came up from the cachots, gulped in fresh air then crossed the courtyard to a tower on the eastern side of the building. He went swiftly up the stairs, looking into rooms at every level for the Dutchman. Turnkeys who saw him assumed that he had business higher up the tower. Halfway up the circular stone staircase, he reached an open area with a large wooden bench against the wall. Lying full length on it, snoring contentedly, was one of the gaolers.
Daniel tiptoed past him then looked into the next cell. It was cold, bare and featureless. At the same time, it was more spacious than the cells below ground and was occupied by only one person. The candle burning in the corner shed enough light for him to see a body on the mattress, concealed by a sheet. When the man turned over in his sleep, Daniel's heart began to pound. Amalia had described her father's silver hair and beard. It had to be Emanuel Janssen. Daniel took a small stone from his pocket. Wrapped carefully around it was a message written in Dutch. Putting an arm through the bars, he tossed it at the man's head so that it grazed his temple.
Janssen came awake immediately, rubbing his head and trying to sit up. It took him time to open his eyes properly. When he did so, he saw Daniel outside the bars, holding a finger to his lips to enforce silence then using it to call him over. Janssen was bewildered. He was a sorry figure, stooping, round-shouldered and looking much older than Daniel had expected. He shuffled across to the door.
'Read the message I threw at you,' whispered Daniel.
Janssen rallied at the sound of his own language. 'Who are you?' he murmured.
'I'm a friend. Your daughter and the others are safe.'
'You've seen Amalia?'
'She sends her love.' Daniel glanced over his shoulder. 'I must go. I'll be back.'
Janssen reached through the bars to grab Daniel's shoulder and to ask the question that had troubled him throughout the whole of his incarceration.
'Where's the tapestry?'
Chapter Eleven
Alphonse Cornudet had worked on the river for many years, rowing passengers from one bank of the Seine to the other when they were too lazy to walk to the nearest bridge or when they preferred a more leisurely way of crossing the wide stretch of water that slid through the nation's capital like a capricious serpent. In spring and summer, he took families for a day out on the river or delivered small cargo to certain destinations or carried lovers to sheltered spots along the banks where romance could burgeon. Cornudet served all needs and tastes. He was a short, balding, barrel-chested man with a weather-beaten face that always wore the same sad, world-weary expression. Toughened by a lifetime of pulling on oars, his compact frame had deceptive power and stamina. Nothing short of a blizzard deterred him. For a tempting fare, he was ready to battle against the strongest wind or the heaviest rain.
After his third night as a turnkey, Daniel permitted himself a longer time in bed the following morning. He then had a late breakfast and went down to the river to make arrangements. Cornudet was sitting on the wharf with his legs dangling over the side. Moored below him was his skiff. Daniel could see the smoke coming from the old man's pipe. When he got closer, he could smell the tobacco.
'Good morning, Monsieur,' he said.
'Good morning,' returned Cornudet, looking up. 'Oh, it's you again, Monsieur Daron.'
'How are you today?'
'I'm still alive, as you see.'
'We may need your boat tomorrow.'
The old man grunted. 'Will you need it or won't you?'
'I can't be sure.'
'I have other customers, Monsieur.'
'Yes, I appreciate that.'
'I can't be at your beck and call.'
'I'll pay you to keep your boat free tomorrow morning,' said Daniel, taking out a purse. 'We may or may not make use of it then. I'm sorry that I can't be more definite, Monsieur Cornudet, but there are other people involved.'
'How many of them are there?'
'That, too, has yet to be decided.'
'Is there anything you do know?' asked Cornudet without removing the pipe from his mouth. 'Have you any idea in which direction you wish to go, for instance?'
'We'll go downstream and leave the city that way.'
'Am I to take you there and back?'
'No, you'll drop off your passengers at a given place.'
'And what place is that, Monsieur?'
'It's yet to be determined.'
'I like to know where I'm going,' said Cornudet, irritably. 'That's little enough to ask of a customer. Where exactly are you heading?'
'We're going to Mantes.'
The old man snatched the pipe from his mouth. 'You want me to row you all that way? he asked. 'I think you should hire a bigger boat and one with a sail. Mantes is too far for me.'
'You won't go anywhere near it,' Daniel assured him. 'You'll lose your passengers well before then.'
Mantes was over thirty miles away and he had no intention of visiting the pretty riverside town. It was a destination that he invented on purpose. If Daniel did manage to get Janssen out of prison and convey four fugitives out of Paris, pursuit would be inevitable. Guards at every gate would be questioned as would those who kept watch on the river. Boatmen were bound to be asked about passengers who'd recently hired them. Alphonse Cornudet would say that the people he'd rowed out of the city were on their way to Mantes. It would send the chasing pack
