good time to be travelling around the country, Monsieur Garneau. I would suggest you keep your wife and children at home from now on.”
“I understand, sir. I’ll keep it in mind although I, myself, have business out here often. By the way, I sent a wagonload of wine barrels ahead of me by a few hours. My son was driving the load. Have you seen anything of it?”
“Oui, Monsieur. We stopped him, and he showed us the papers he carried. He did tell us, you would be coming along later. However, I had to be sure of you. We haven’t harmed him. I’m sorry to have bothered you, but those Huguenots are everywhere trying to flee our glorious country. My men and I can’t be too careful. You’re free to go now with the King’s blessings.”
Inwardly, Jacques breathed a sigh of relief. His clothing was damp with sweat. His fear was not for himself, as he had never flinched from danger; however, he cared a great deal for Pierre’s family and their lives had been in his hands.
“We’ll be on our way then, Captain. Bon soir et merci.”
Again, he pulled on the reins and the horses began the final lap of the trip to La Rochelle.
That evening, in the safety of his mansion, Jacques’ discussed the events of the day with Pierre. Over their glasses of cognac, he nodded as his cousin praised the Colberts for their assistance.
“I’m amazed Catholics would do such a thing for us. Risk their lives like that,” Pierre stated.
“Yes,” he replied. “The Colberts are special people. I’ve represented their cognacs in every large city, in Europe. Even though, they believed me to be a Huguenot, they trusted me with all their financial affairs in these transactions. I’m glad you have discovered there are decent people in the Catholic Church, Pierre.”
“To be honest, it surprised me.”
“I’ve discovered there are upright and honest people in every faith— Protestant, Catholic, or Jew. Even amongst the heathen, I’ve met, for that matter. Sadly, the problems are most often with the leaders. Sometimes, they aren’t seeking truth at all, just looking for power. That’s what corrupts—power and greed—even in religion. Well, it’s nothing you and I will see resolved in our time.”
He poured them each another glass of cognac. The fact his cousin, who believed wholeheartedly in moderation, took a second glass of distilled spirits gave Jacques some idea of his state of mind. Pierre, too, had viewed the old oak tree with its grotesque burden.
“My main concern now is to move your silks to London and get your gold account established with Paul Thibault,” he continued. “Once we load everything on our merchant vessel, that’s where Marc and I will go. I estimate another week. While we’re over there, we’ll arrange with various people we know along your route. No ship’s captain would dare to take you all the way to London right now, Pierre, and that’s God’s truth.”
“No? How will we get there then?”
“You’ll slip in via a closer port—likely Plymouth. It will take a little planning, so Marc and I’ll be gone about two weeks. Keep a low profile here in the city but, please, treat this as your own home. And, Pierre, keep praying that, with God’s help, we can get you safely to England.”
Chapter 9
La Rochelle
August 1685 (Gregorian Calendar)
T he medieval port of La Rochelle was lovely with its cobbled streets, high stone-wall, and ancient buildings. In the more than half century since the siege, it had recovered much of its grandeur, although both the wall and the large, round towers, built in the last century, showed signs of the battles they had seen. However, no matter how hard Louise tried, she wasn’t happy there. Compared to her peaceful village, it was noisy and hectic, with people bustling along the streets; peddlers shouting out their wares; and coaches dashing here and there.
Her mother cried every day; and her father, usually so placid and content, had little to
“I understand, sir. I’ll keep it in mind although I, myself, have business out here often. By the way, I sent a wagonload of wine barrels ahead of me by a few hours. My son was driving the load. Have you seen anything of it?”
“Oui, Monsieur. We stopped him, and he showed us the papers he carried. He did tell us, you would be coming along later. However, I had to be sure of you. We haven’t harmed him. I’m sorry to have bothered you, but those Huguenots are everywhere trying to flee our glorious country. My men and I can’t be too careful. You’re free to go now with the King’s blessings.”
Inwardly, Jacques breathed a sigh of relief. His clothing was damp with sweat. His fear was not for himself, as he had never flinched from danger; however, he cared a great deal for Pierre’s family and their lives had been in his hands.
“We’ll be on our way then, Captain. Bon soir et merci.”
Again, he pulled on the reins and the horses began the final lap of the trip to La Rochelle.
That evening, in the safety of his mansion, Jacques’ discussed the events of the day with Pierre. Over their glasses of cognac, he nodded as his cousin praised the Colberts for their assistance.
“I’m amazed Catholics would do such a thing for us. Risk their lives like that,” Pierre stated.
“Yes,” he replied. “The Colberts are special people. I’ve represented their cognacs in every large city, in Europe. Even though, they believed me to be a Huguenot, they trusted me with all their financial affairs in these transactions. I’m glad you have discovered there are decent people in the Catholic Church, Pierre.”
“To be honest, it surprised me.”
“I’ve discovered there are upright and honest people in every faith— Protestant, Catholic, or Jew. Even amongst the heathen, I’ve met, for that matter. Sadly, the problems are most often with the leaders. Sometimes, they aren’t seeking truth at all, just looking for power. That’s what corrupts—power and greed—even in religion. Well, it’s nothing you and I will see resolved in our time.”
He poured them each another glass of cognac. The fact his cousin, who believed wholeheartedly in moderation, took a second glass of distilled spirits gave Jacques some idea of his state of mind. Pierre, too, had viewed the old oak tree with its grotesque burden.
“My main concern now is to move your silks to London and get your gold account established with Paul Thibault,” he continued. “Once we load everything on our merchant vessel, that’s where Marc and I will go. I estimate another week. While we’re over there, we’ll arrange with various people we know along your route. No ship’s captain would dare to take you all the way to London right now, Pierre, and that’s God’s truth.”
“No? How will we get there then?”
“You’ll slip in via a closer port—likely Plymouth. It will take a little planning, so Marc and I’ll be gone about two weeks. Keep a low profile here in the city but, please, treat this as your own home. And, Pierre, keep praying that, with God’s help, we can get you safely to England.”
Chapter 9
La Rochelle
August 1685 (Gregorian Calendar)
T he medieval port of La Rochelle was lovely with its cobbled streets, high stone-wall, and ancient buildings. In the more than half century since the siege, it had recovered much of its grandeur, although both the wall and the large, round towers, built in the last century, showed signs of the battles they had seen. However, no matter how hard Louise tried, she wasn’t happy there. Compared to her peaceful village, it was noisy and hectic, with people bustling along the streets; peddlers shouting out their wares; and coaches dashing here and there.
Her mother cried every day; and her father, usually so placid and content, had little to
Similar Books
