John Schettler - Touchstone

“Oh, don’t be silly,” Maeve flashed him a look that made it evident she was on to his little game. “Very well,” she took a deep breath and looked past Nordhausen’s grin to the east. At that moment she seemed to pale with fright, and pointed down the winding road with an unsteady hand.

The professor looked to see the source of her anxiety. A group of horsemen were riding hard, the dull thump of the horse’s hooves on the earth now apparent. “Oh my,” he said. “Unexpected company.”

“What do we do?” Maeve gave him a wide eyed look.

Nordhausen scratched the side of his ear, still feeling the twinge where Maeve had pinched him a moment ago, a year ago…

“Well we certainly can’t outrun them—not with you in those skirts and all. Besides. They look French. I say we stand where we are. Running would only arouse undue suspicion.”

“Damn,” Maeve cursed. “I’m… I’m not ready yet, Robert. What if—”

“Nonsense,” Robert cut in. “You say you can manage a bit of French, eh? Just stick to your story. We’re Americans… Off that damned ship—what was it?”

“The Perla,” said Maeve.

“Right. Well stick to your story and everything should be fine.”

“Oh, they don’t look friendly…” The riders were coming too fast, with an urgency that seemed out of place. One man, a heavy set figure in the lead, was pointing at them now. The morning breeze lifted his long gray cape behind him as he rode. Then Maeve heard him shout, and point directly at them.

“Voila!” The riders wheeled and reined in hard. There were two French cavalrymen in dark blue uniforms, and the man in gray, who gave them both an odd, expectant look. “Bonjour, Monsieur… Madame.” He nodded his head in a polite bow.

One of the soldiers spoke to the man in gray, his voice stern and demanding. Maeve listened, mentally translating as best she could. ‘These are the people you seek?’

“Certainement! Mercí, Capitain.” The man in gray smiled broadly, the early morning light highlighting the rouge of his full cheeks, his dark eyes glinting with excitement. “Mercí.” He was nodding his thanks to the two French soldiers, and speaking to them now, in a lowered tone of voice.

“Très bien.” The soldiers steadied their mounts, and one gave Robert and Maeve a long stare, somewhat suspicious from the look in his eye. “Américain, e?”

Maeve realized he was speaking to them, but the nature of the question took her by surprise. How could this man know they were Americans? A gentle nudge by Nordhausen prompted her to speak.

“Pardonnez-moi, mon Capitan.” She was quick to gather her wits, and effected a polite curtsy, as she knew she should. “Excusez mon français. Je ne parle qu’un petit peu de français. Est-ce qu’il y a quelqu’un qui parle anglais? Does anyone speak English?”

“I believe I can assist in that regard.” The man in gray gave her a gracious bow, introducing himself. “May I present myself as someone you should both know quite well—if I make my point clear enough.” He gave the two soldiers a sideward glance as he spoke, and his manner made it obvious that he was trying to convey some urgency. “Call me LeGrand. And do act like you’ve known me for some time. These gentlemen are quite busy, I’m afraid, and I should dearly love to send them on their way without further incident.”

Robert and Maeve just stared at him for a moment, not knowing what to say. Nordhausen’s eyes narrowed beneath the curls of his white wig and he was about to ask how this man could have possibly known they were Americans. Something in LeGrand’s manner spoke of caution, however, and so instead he opted for discretion.

“Why of course, monsieur LeGrand,” he began, eying his concern at Maeve.

“Docteur, LeGrand,” Maeve corrected him. She had quickly surmised that something was very odd about all this, but her instinct for caution needed no encouragement. It occurred to her that this man must be one of the Savants who accompanied the French on their mission to Egypt. In that case, it was more than likely that he would be a professional, or at least highly degreed.

“You are too kind, Madame,” said the heavy man in gray. “How auspicious that I have found the two of you. You see, these men have been quite on edge of late. The Turkish fleet is anchored not ten leagues away in Aboukir Bay. Word is that they’ve swarmed ashore by the thousands. Most inconvenient for our work here, wouldn’t you say? In fact, this very road is growing ever more dangerous for travelers. Won’t you be so kind and accompany me to town? I have sent for a carriage, which should arrive at any moment.” He winked at the French Captain as he spoke. “Why, there it is now!”

LeGrand pointed at a distant silhouette on the road to the east, backlit by the blazoning sun. He spoke quickly to the soldiers in French, and they regarded the carriage with a look approaching disdain.

“Monsieur Fauche, the good Captain here, is somewhat bothered by civilian doings these days. It has been an arduous campaign this past year, you understand. He has had his hands quite full, and needs no bother from the likes of scholars and hangers on, or so he describes the men of letters these days.”

“Of course,” said Maeve, her wits about her now. “Please thank the Captain for his gracious escort. You say the Turks have landed nearby?” She feigned surprise, casting a fearful glance over her shoulder toward the sea. “A lady cannot be too careful under such circumstances, yes? Please tell the Captain how comforting it is to have the protection of his guard.” She offered a smile, and the Captain met her glance with a pleased expression as Le Grand conveyed her thanks. The Frenchman tipped his cap with a gentlemanly nod of the head, sitting a bit taller in the saddle now.

“Bonjour, Madame,” he said with a smile, then nodded to Nordhausen in farewell as he pulled his mount about and gestured at his compatriot. The two men rode off, heading west on the road to Alexandria.

“A patrol,” LeGrand explained. “Wanted to know what I was doing out here, in fact. How lucky for me to happen upon the two of you as I did.”

“Oh?” Nordhausen’s suspicions needed an answer now. “And just what were you doing out here at the break of dawn, Doctor, if you do not mind my asking?”

“Why, I was waiting for you, of course.” LeGrand smiled at them, gesturing warmly at the approaching coach. “I believe the lady dropped something a moment ago, and I thought to return it.”

Nordhausen looked at Maeve, and they were both bewildered again, but LeGrand let out a hearty laugh and reached into a pouch that was sewn into the lining of his riding cape. “Madame,” he said warmly as he held out an object.

It was all Maeve could do to stop her jaw from gaping open, for LeGrand was holding her beaded purse.

The carriage arrivedin a flourish of dust, a small covered gig drawn by a single horse. LeGrand gestured magnanimously, though his eyes were wells of apology. “Forgive me, but it is simply impossible to find a decent carriage in Egypt these days. I managed to hitch this together in the bazaar. The French have confiscated most of the good riding stock, but I found a plough horse and got him for a good price.”

Robert and Maeve were still taken aback, Maeve staring from the beaded purse, to Robert, to LeGrand in bewilderment.

“Oh, do hop on,” said their host. “The driver knows the way, and when we reach town I’m sure you’ll have a lot of questions. I’ll meet you there soon. Good Day!” He rode ahead, and Robert shrugged his shoulders.