Helene hurried through the woods as the smoke thickened around her. She maneuvered her mare blindly through the black smoke and finally reached a safer area. She got off the horse and slapped the runt. She did not doubt the mare would find herself back in the village. A trembling hand on her mouth and nose, Helene walked to the outer walls of the abbey and felt her way down the length of it, her hands finally catching onto the rusty handle of a secret door built during the Dark Ages. She pushed against it and entered, thankful that no one else was there, but the smoke became thicker and more difficult to breathe in. Helene dropped to her knees and crawled her way further, feeling the heat of the blaze and her ears ringing from a hundred voices shouting and crying for help. There were gunshots and more screaming.

The sisters are in danger! Oh, my God!

With the last of her strength, Helene rose to her feet and ran towards the inferno, which was being frantically put out by several men and some of the sisters. She went to the stables to get another pail and helped in putting out the fire. It was not the abbey burning, she realized. It was the chapel. Before the fire could be fully extinguished, Helene was roughly dragged away by a strange man and sent towards the courtyard where the rest of the sisters—or what was left of them—were being held, surrounded by civilians with their knives, pitchforks, clubs, and rifles. A small, squat balding man stepped forward, a sword in his left hand and a gun in the other.

"Are they all?" he asked to no one in particular but another man, a taller one who reminded Helene of the Cyclops, with one eye patched, replied, "More than enough, monsieur."

"What the hell do you mean 'more than enough'?" the bald man snapped. "Last I was told, there were supposed to be two hundred nuns here. I see only thirty or so. Where are the rest, Bouchard?"

The Cyclops called Bouchard narrowed his eyes at the group of cowering nuns. "We've been told that the Royalists have been shipping the religious out of France to Spain and Italy since last year. Avignon had been well-observed, Fouche guaranteed. We did not have any cause to distrust him, or to believe that the nuns of the abbey had been exempt from the movement, Lascombe."

The balding Lascombe shook his head ruefully. "Every day, something comes up to knock us two steps back from purging France of its idiocy." He turned to the nuns. Helene stepped closer to the younger ones, especially Henrietta, who had just arrived a month ago. The young girl's face was stricken with terror, her soot-lathered face broken with the tracks of her tears. All of the nuns were still in their nightclothes.

"And where is your Abbess?" he asked. Abbess Matilde rose proudly and faced him. "I am here," she said bravely.

Lascombe sighed. "I will not insult your intelligence, Abbess, by telling you what is to happen and what is to be expected. You and your sisters will renounce God and the shackles of religion and your loyalty to the Capetian crown. We, the Citizens of France, are building a new Republic founded on justice and equality..."

The Abbess scoffed. "Justice and equality? You call the murder and rape of the innocent justice? You call the unlawful arrest and execution of your countrymen an exercise of equality? Do not take me for a fool, monsieur. I have not lived this long only to be undermined by your poisonous speech!" Helene felt proud of the Abbess. Lascombe walked and stopped in front of the Abbess. Roughly, he snatched at the front of her nightdress and clutched at one breast. The Abbess winced and grunted. The Revolutionaries grinned.

One of the nuns, Soeur Ferdinande, reached out and held gently onto Lascombe's arm. "Please, monsieur! She is our mother, she is old. Please spare her."

Lascombe sighed and let go of the Abbess' breast. He smiled kindly at Soeur Ferdinande.

"Yes, you are right, woman. The young have long to live and she will die soon enough."

Then he pointed the barrel of his gun on Soeur Ferdinande's forehead and pulled the trigger. Blood, bone, and brains sprayed on the Abbess, Helene, and the sisters close by. The sisters began screaming madly while the Revolutionaries laughed with glee. Abbess Matilde wept silently while cradling the dead nun's body. Helene seethed with hatred.

"Any more dissension?"

Helene responded angrily. "Death is joy to those who believe in God! Kill us and be done with it! May God have mercy on you!"

Lascombe raised his eyebrows at Helene. Bouchard raised his gun to fire when a woman's voice echoed in the courtyard. "Wait! What are you doing?"

The men and Helene turned...what she saw made her blood run cold.

"Juliette, cheri," Bouchard greeted but Juliette ignored him. She went straight to Lascombe and said in an admonishing tone, "Monsieur, do not forget our purpose here. Napoleon has ordered Fouche to restrain from unnecessary killings. The Royalists are so few; do not take it out on the nuns. We need them."

Lascombe clucked his tongue and Bouchard lowered his gun. "Ah, sweet Juliette! The nuns should ever be so grateful you are here. Don't worry, I understand the reticence. But I will give them a month to recant their vows and leave the abbey. They can stay, of course, and help with the cause." To the nuns, he said, "Most of my men are unmarried...or widowed. I can assure you, women of France, that they are up on the market." The men cheered and jeered. Helene felt sick to her stomach. "Get the women inside! Bouchard, Marc, we shall meet after we break our fast. Juliette, take charge of the women."

While Lascombe led the men he called for, Juliette and another female Revolutionary pulled the sisters to their feet. Two men carried the corpse of Souer Ferdinande out of the abbey. As the distraught nuns were led back into the cloister, Juliette walked forward and touched Helene's elbow. Helene stopped, unable to believe her eyes.

"If you want to survive, mademoiselle, you will refrain from speaking out of turn, is that clear?" Juliette whispered sharply in her ear. "You do not know me, nor I, you. Use your head, lady." Helene stared straight ahead and nodded slightly.

"Good." Then, Juliette spun on her heel and left. 

The nuns and novices were led straight back to their own cells to dress. Already dressed since the pre-dawn hours, Helene took the time in solitude to kneel beside her bed and pray for Monsieur Manet and Agathe, and for the abbey.

My Lord God, I do not pray for myself but for those who have done only what You willed. Guard them and guide them. Let this be my cross to bear. I am glad to do it. And if it be my life that France needs for her liberation, then let it be so. I pray in my Lord Jesus' name. Amen. 

Helene was seated on her cot, staring into the dark, when the door to her cell opened and a man barked, "Get up, lady!"

She rose and followed after him, along with several other nuns and novices. A couple clutched at her arms and she gave them each a wan smile. She will be strong and they will not see her break. They were herded into the mess hall, a high-ceilinged buttressed room where the sisters took their meals. She looked around the hall and saw that there were so few of them left in the abbey. Most of those who were gone she knew where. As for the others, the screaming and rifle shots gave her an idea. It filled her with dread.

"Everyone is here, then?" the man called Lascombe asked. The one-eyed Bouchard nodded. "Good. We've all shared in the bounty God has provided in your cellar, Abbess. Much thanks to you." The men laughed. A few of them were still scarfing down food the nuns have kept for winter. "But now we must take care of important business. First, your God is an unjust God. For if He was a just God, we wouldn't be where we are now, would we?"

The nuns immediately voiced their disagreement. 

"Heresy!"

"Blasphemer!"

"God have mercy on your soul!"

Lascombe was unperturbed. Helene continued to watch him, wary that he might decide to shoot someone like he did Soeur Ferdinade. "Yes, yes! I've heard all that before and more. Second, because your God is a tyrant, He--and all those who use His name to subjugate--must be taken out of power. France is for the people of France, not for Him, and not for the Capets, the Royalists, and the nobility! Before you women knew God, you knew France. You owe your nation your allegiance!"

"Through whom?" the Abbess spat. "You? As Abbess, I speak for all the nuns and sisters of this abbey: we do not recognize your authority here, Pere Lascombe! Not today, not tomorrow, not ever, as God and the saints are our witnesses!"

A collective gasp rose from the nuns at their abbess' words. Helene looked in confusion first at Juliette, who kept her position near the fireplace, then at the abbess. 

Lascombe clucked his tongue. "This is not working as I hoped. Send them back to their cells...without food."

Bouchard stepped forward, a pistol in his hand, ready to be cocked and fired at will. "You're being too lenient with them, Comrade."

"Yes, Bouchard. I understand. The rusty needs oiling up or else we get into a lot of trouble," Lascombe told his henchman. The other men began herding the women out of the mess hall. "Except that one. The dark-eyed one."

Helene's way out was barred and she was brought closer to stand before Lascombe. Bouchard grinned at her lasciviously. Juliette seemed oblivious from where she stood in conversation with another female comrade.

"What is your name?" Lascombe asked, tilting her head with a finger under her chin. Helene kept her eyes on his. 

"Helene."

"And your father's name?" he prompted.

From the corner of her eye she saw Juliette turn her face to them. "Babin. Auguste Babin of Brittany."

"A fisherman?"

"Yes."

"Didn't know folk there bred pretty things like you, Mademoiselle," Lascombe remarked, squinting at her features.

Bouchard stepped closer. "She looks nobility to me."

"Yes, she does, doesn't she?" Lascombe murmured, removing his finger from Helene's skin. "Then again, I've known most of the nobility to have ugly daughters and the poor be blessed with beauteous children. Your face, though..." Helene shivered when Lascombe's eyes raked her body from head to toe. "...you'd breed properly. I've the thought of gifting you to France. A new mother, a shining example of all that is great in this nation: beauty and courage. And you've both, don't you, ma petit? So brave to help your friend go free and come back for your sisters, no?"

Helene kept her gaze fixed onto Lascombe's, daring him to call her out, daring him to even kill her. 

But Lascombe only laughed and gently brushed her aside. He motioned for Juliette to come closer and said, "This one is special. Look after her."

Juliette gave a terse nod. "As you wish, Monsieur."

"Now, now! None of that, mon ami. We are equals here, both citizens of France. I am not your master and you are not my slave. It is simply a request. God knows you need more women around you, Juliette."

At that all the men in the hall erupted into laughter. Juliette blushed but refused to rise to the bait. She took hold of Helene's arm and briskly led Helene away. 

Once the women were out of earshot, Bouchard asked, "Gift her to France?"

"In simple terms, marry her to one of our esteemed comrades. With a face like that, we could buy one of the nobility, buy more cooperation." Lascombe thought for a moment. "She'd known we were coming and who we were. It made the escape of her friend easier. What, I wonder, made her go back? And where would her friend go?"

Bouchard smirked. "I'm not nobility but I hope my name goes into that list, Comrade, should you change your mind."

Lascombe smirked back. "What do you need marriage for, Bouchard? You've always done as you pleased. But we'll see, though. We'll see. Tomorrow, send your men down to the river and the closest town. Discover where that river passes and ends. For now, we hardworking citizens need our rest."

Bouchard nodded and set off for the kitchens for more food.