The teacher turned to look towards the aft compartment where, through the open hatchway, the orderlies could be seen sewing the bodies of the hanged men into sailcloth burial sacks and where Millet and the others, under the bored eyes of the two militia guards, were awaiting instructions.
As Lasseur and Hawkwood followed the teacher's gaze, two more men appeared at the bottom of the stairs. One wore a militia uniform; the other caused Lasseur's face to cloud over. It was the interpreter, Murat.
The guard nodded towards the orderlies. 'Tell the buggers the burial boat's 'ere and that Lieutenant Hellard wants the bodies off the ship in double-quick time. This bleedin' tar bucket stinks bad enough as it is.' With a grimace at the smell in the sick berth, and after throwing a look of sympathy at his two colleagues, the guard retreated back up the stairs.
Murat relayed the information in French to the orderlies and the waiting men. 'You can start taking them out.'
Hawkwood, Lasseur and Fouchet watched as the first body- bag was picked up by the head and feet and carried out towards the stairs. It was a laborious business. The men carrying it were nearly bent double, both by a combination of the corpse's dead weight and the space in which they had to manoeuvre, which included the restricting height of the deckhead. There was no sense of reverence. The team's curses were as vociferous as they had been when the bodies of the hanged men had been brought down for wrapping.
As the first of the dead began their journey up the stairs under the supervision of Murat and the surgeon, inside the compartment the orderlies continued sealing up the rest of the sailcloth burial sacks.
Watching the procedure, Hawkwood wondered how many times the surgeon had carried out this particular duty.
It was as the seventh or eighth bundle was being hefted up the stairway that the calamity occurred. There was a clattering sound and a cry of woe, followed by a loud thump and barrage of invective as the man supporting the corpse's head and shoulders lost his footing and his grip. As man and cadaver slid down the stairs, careering into the pair coming up behind, a second sack slid from its handlers' clutches. Within seconds the stairs were a tangle of tumbling bodies, both alive and dead.
Alerted by the commotion, the two sick-berth guards turned quickly. With insults and accusations flying around their ears as to which imbecile had lost his footing, the militia men waded in to restore order.
The moment the guards' attention was distracted, Fouchet grabbed Lasseur's sleeve. 'Come with me now,' he hissed urgently. Leave your knapsacks.' Reaching out, the teacher extinguished the lantern strung from the nearby deckhead.
Instinctively, Hawkwood looked towards the rumpus. Another lantern blinked out, but there was just enough light remaining for him to see two men - prisoners - hurrying towards them through the cots; Millet and Charbonneau. Each of them had a body slung over his shoulder.
Hawkwood rose to his feet. 'Do it,' he snapped, quickly seizing his jacket.
Lasseur looked beyond Hawkwood, to where a third man was standing by the aft compartment hatchway. Murat, beckoning furiously.
The guards' backs were still turned.
Lasseur sprang to his feet. Keeping his head low, he dodged under the beams and, half stumbling in his haste, followed Hawkwood and Fouchet towards the aft compartment.
Hawkwood knew, as sure as night followed day, the guards were going to turn round. He was still thinking that as he ducked through the hatchway and realized to his astonishment that he'd made it. Twisting, he saw that Millet and Charbonneau were placing the bodies in the vacated cots and covering them with the sheets. Then Murat was pushing him towards two half- sewn, blood-splattered sailcloth cocoons laid out side by side on the deck.
Murat pointed to the sheets. 'Get inside. Cross your wrists over your stomachs. Try to remain still. Quickly!'
Hurriedly, Hawkwood and Lasseur did as they were told. As soon as their feet were at the foot of the sacks, the orderlies pulled the two lapels of the cloth around them, tight enough to prevent displacement of their bodies, yet just loose enough to still allow movement in their limbs.
At a nod from Murat, the orderlies took up their needles.
'Wait! Out of the way!' Thrusting Murat and the orderlies aside, the surgeon bent down next to Hawkwood, a wooden bowl in his hands. 'Close your mouth.'
'Hurry!' Fouchet hissed from the hatchway. 'We haven't much time.'
Hawkwood clamped his jaws shut. His eyes widened as the surgeon lifted a blood-soaked rag from the bowl and hastily squeezed it out over his lips, chin and jowls. The surgeon repeated the process with Lasseur.
'It won't fool a close examination, but it's the best I can do under the circumstances.' The surgeon started as two shadows appeared in the hatchway behind Fouchet. Relief flooded across his face when he saw it was Millet and Charbonneau.
'It's done,' Millet said.
Murat glanced through the hatch. 'All right, the excitement's over. Get ready to start passing out the rest of the bodies.' He nodded towards the two orderlies. 'Sew them up.' He paused. 'And don't forget to piss on them.'
He looked down at Hawkwood and Lasseur, at the horror on their faces. 'Would you want to look inside something that was bloodstained and reeking of piss? No, me neither. And remember, you're supposed to be dead men. Not a sound. It will seem like a lifetime and the smell will be terrible. Try to keep your breathing steady. I'm sorry we had no time to warn you earlier. We received word that your passage has been agreed. We thought we had another day, but I overheard the commander and Lieutenant Thynne talking. You're due to be transferred to the
'Hellard will know you helped us,' Hawkwood said.
Fouchet shrugged. 'What can he do to us that's any worse than what we have to endure now?'
'I hope you get a good price for our sleeping spaces,' Lasseur said.
'Sold them already.' Murat grinned. He snapped his fingers at the orderlies. 'Come on! We need to get them out of here.'
'They could put you in the hole,' Hawkwood said.
Fouchet smiled. 'They'll have to move Juvert out first. Though I could do with some peace and quiet.'
'Be careful what you wish for,' Hawkwood said. He looked up at Murat. 'Is this how the others got out?'
Murat's face darkened. 'No.'
Despite the heat, Hawkwood felt a chill. 'Matisse?'
Murat nodded unhappily.
'How many?'
'Two, according to Sarazin. One through the heads, the other -'
'We managed to get two off,' Fouchet said.
'How?'
Fouchet glanced at Murat, who somehow managed a weak smile as he said, 'You expect us to reveal all our little secrets, do you, Captain?'
'Give them our regards, if you see them,' Fouchet said. 'Lieutenant Masson and Captain Bonnefoux.'
'I'll do that,' Hawkwood said.
Lasseur looked up at Murat. 'I might have misjudged you, Lieutenant. I'm sorry.'
'You're not free yet, Captain.'
Lasseur glared at the orderly who was sealing him in. 'Put that stitch through my nose and I'll have your guts. And your piss had better smell of roses.'
The orderly said nothing, but as he secured the final suture in the cloth, his hands shook. Lasseur's blood- smeared features disappeared from view.
Hawkwood's last sight was of Fouchet staring down at him. The teacher's mouth formed the whisper, '
