The wizened old man who had painstakingly rowed their small boat and kept them hidden throughout their long journey south remained silent despite Agathe's attempts at conversation. For the first few days she showed him nothing but her tears and told him nothing but the senseless depravity of the Revolutionaries. Day in and day out she prayed, as hard as she had prayed when her husband and all of her children caught the disease that ultimately took them away from her. The boatman called Manet must think her a madwoman. Agathe, when she had at last calmed down from her frantic prayers, wondered if she was finally losing her mind.

She was no stranger to death or suffering. She was born poor, married poor, and was widowed poorer than before. Yet she had always trusted in God's mercy, that He answered prayers even belatedly. God likes surprising His children, Abbess Mathilde told her once. That is why we must always be prepared. Prepared to trust. 

Agathe could not believe Helene's courage. She thought Helene intended to leave with her, leave the nuns and the abbey to their horrible fate. But the brave young woman went back. How she was going to help the abbey was beyond Agathe. And how Agathe was supposed to live wherever she was being taken to was also a mystery. 

She noticed the boat drawing closer to the riverbank and soon, it stopped. Monsieur Manet went out of the boat first and loosely tied the prow to a bowing oak tree. He walked away, disappearing among the trees flanking that side of the river. Agathe thought worriedly if he meant to leave here there but was relieved when he returned. 

"It's time," he said, the only two words she ever heard him say from the time they left Lac du Vert. She rose from the boat and stepped onto the mossy bank, clutching at her potato sack, which contained nothing but a change of clothes and small mementos from her dead husband and children. Monsieur Manet reached into the boat and took his own sack, along with the one Helene handed him. 

He walked and she followed behind, still silent. They were inside a forest, the tall trees of pine, cedar, and oak scattered this way and that, the wide foliage blocking out the sun. It seemed dusk beneath the trees but her body told her it was only mid-morning.

They walked possibly for a few hours until the old man must have felt his aged bones giving up. He stopped by a tree and said, "We rest here for a while, Soeur. I'm afraid my body is not that of a young man's."

"I understand, Monsieur," Agathe said, glad that she could finally speak. "Should we eat?"

Monsieur Manet nodded and opened his sack. He reached in and handed Agathe a thick slice of dried meat, and a whole red apple. Since their escape, they had only been eating dried berries and nuts. Agathe wondered why they were eating what could already pass as a feast and it showed on her face. Monsieur Manet smiled crookedly, "We are home. Almost."

Agathe vaguely recalled Helene describing to her what her life had been before coming to Avignon. While Agathe's life had been nothing but poverty, Helene's life was a fairytale. The daughter of a French nobleman and an English noblewoman, with her own lady's maid, gowns and jewels to wear, a manor with many servants, a family that loved her and spoiled her rotten, and supposedly a nobleman she could have been betrothed to. It confused Agathe why Helene had wanted to become a cloistered nun in the first place with all those blessings. 

But with recent events, Agathe began to see why God brought Helene to Avignon. 

There was some greater purpose for Helene. Agathe wondered if she, too, had one such purpose.

"You called Helene Duchesse," Agathe began, throwing Monsieur Manet a furtive look while the old man continued chewing on his own dried meat. 

"She is," Monsieur Manet replied.

"She was a Duke's daughter, then?" Helene never shared details about her family, only that she was born wealthy to wealthy parents. But always Helene cut the nighttime stories short and before she put out the candle in their shared cell, Agathe would catch a look of deep sadness on her friend's face. Agathe thought it wise not to ask for more. 

Yet she knew Helene had a score of brothers and sisters. She was never married and the betrothal to that nobleman never happened. If Monsieur Manet called her a Duchess, it only meant none of her male relatives survived. The knowledge threatened to make Agathe cry and she hastily bit on her apple and averted her face. 

"I've known Mademoiselle all her life and served le Duc before she was born," Monsieur Manet suddenly said, a sad smile transforming his face. "All she wanted was to be like Soeur Marguerite, the Duc's sister. No one and nothing could have stopped her, not even God Himself. A brave defender of the true Faith but gave her Maman and Papa more cause to spank her than her other brothers and sisters."

"You must love her very much," Agathe remarked, smiling for the first time in days.

"Who would not? For all that she has endured for love of God and for love of France," he said gravely, rising to his feet. "And for justice."

After finishing their meal, the two of them walked farther from the river until the sound of rushing water disappeared. As mid-morning became mid-afternoon, it seemed almost night under the foliage. Agathe walked closer to Monsieur Manet. From a distance, she could see what looked like a break in the trees and perhaps a road. Agathe sighed and stepped forward, meaning to go ahead of Monsieur Manet when he reached out and grabbed her arm. 

"Arretez!" Monsieur Manet whispered harshly. "Silencieux!" 

Agathe froze. Monsieur Manet slowly lowered his burdens, opened his sack and took out a long knife. He turned in several directions. Agatha felt a tingling sensation at the back of her neck, as if she was being watched. She looked up. 

And promptly screamed.

A man, or two, jumped down from the trees and assaulted Monsieur Manet. Agathe continued to scream until a hand clamped around her mouth. She felt the cold of a blade under her chin.

"Well, well! Looks like we got something of value here!" one of the men said, gesturing to the sacks Agathe and Monsieur Manet dropped. Monsieur Manet looked half-dead on the ground. Agathe cried in silence, ceasing her struggles in the arms of the brute who imprisoned her. 

"Well, I think I got mine right here," the man holding Agathe said. The rest of the men, brigands more like, cheered. 

"More for me, then," their leader said, taking out the silver rosary Helene treasured. 

As if something had snapped in Agathe's soul upon seeing the rosary, she bent her knees and jumped up, knocking her captor's face with the top of her head. The consequence was pain but she knew that whatever Helene had in the sack she handed to Monsieur Manet, it had to get to wherever it needed getting to. Agathe had no idea where but first things first--these horrible men weren't supposed to take them. 

She couldn't help Monsieur Manet but she could help Helene. While the brigands were still confused with their comrade's injury, Agathe grabbed Helene's sack, leaving her own, and ran as if the hounds of Hell themselves were after her. Agathe looked back momentarily. Indeed, the hounds of Hell. The men finally realized what happened and took after her, guns and knives at the ready. 

A shot rang out. Agathe screamed as a nearby tree trunk exploded. But she continued to run, relieved when the road finally came under her sore feet. Just in time, a few men on horseback were barreling down the road, coming towards her. Agathe's relief brought on a fresh set of tears as the men stopped and dismounted. She half-ran, half-stumbled towards them, holding out Helene's sack and her hands as if in supplication. "Please, Monsieur! Help..."

Her relief was short-lived, however, when  from behind her was a shout of jubilation. 

"Thank ye for coming, Monsieur! I believe you have a pretty thief there, ran away with my belongings," one of the brigands said, laughing and stroking Helene's Bible while a third companion twirled the silver rosary around his fingers. Agathe's mouth went dry, her eyes upon the visage of the golden-haired man nearest to her. He looked at her with barely concealed contempt and Agathe was unsure whether it would have been better had she stayed with the brigands than risked getting into trouble with worse men. 

"I didn't know you lot liked to read the Bible," another man spoke, the one with the dark hair. He looked as imposing as the one before Agathe. He had taken Helene's sack from the ground where Agathe dropped it in her disappointment and peeked inside. "Or that you even know how to read at all. Oh, look! There's soap, too! Now, that's a gift from heaven for you."

"It don't matter, Comrade," the brigand snarled. He turned to his companion, the one clutching at his bleeding nose. "My brother's wife, that one, is a whore and needs discipline. We don't want our new France to succor whores like the Queen, do we? Or, at least, rich whores!" The perverse brigands hooted and jeered.

None of the riders shared in their mirth but the dark-haired man chuckled, saying, "I don't believe a lady this pretty would consent to be any of you whoresons' wife, liar. As for helping rich whores, that's still up for debate. They taste sweeter."

Agatha saw the golden-haired man brush her aside with nary a word, raise a pistol in the air, and fire. The sound of a gun exploding so close to her head deafened her. Still, it made her turn. Her eyes stared impassionately at the barely recognizable face of one of the brigands. His companions started to run but met the same fate at the hands of the two other riders on the road. At that moment, Monsieur Manet came hobbling towards them. When he realized who had killed the brigands, Monsiuer Manet laughed and wheezed, his face bloody. yet, he was still alive. 

Agathe smiled, thanking the Lord in her heart. "Oh, Monsieur..."

Monsieur Manet shook his head at her, leveled a dark gaze at the suddenly silent dark-haired man for a moment, then turned his head towards the golden-haired one. "Burn in Hell, traitre!" Monsieur Manet yelled, quickly took from behind his back the long knife he owned and hurled it straight at him. 

Old that he was, Monsieur Manet was not too quick to escape and had seemed resigned to his fate. As his knife buried itself into his target's belly, he turned towards the dark-haired rider and, smiling, welcomed a bullet between his eyes. Monsieur Manet fell to the ground, eyes wide open and dead.

The exchange of words between the two men drifted over Agathe like cold water as she stared into the old man's lifeless eyes.

"Comrade..."

"Get to her," the wounded man said with authority to the other. "Bring her home."

"And the cause?"

"It will not die yet! I'm not going to lose another sister! Go!"

The two men stared at each other for a minute. Then, the dark-haired man barked, "Edouard! Come!"

The man and another, the one called Edouard, rode away. Another man picked up Helene's sack and took its contents from the robbers. Agathe felt a strange keening sound in her ears as she was handed the things. 

"Mademoiselle," she heard a pained voice from somewhere, and the weight of a hand on her shoulder. "Mademoiselle! I am..."

Whatever else was said to her was lost in darkness as the keening sound became silent and Agathe fell unconscious to the ground.

"Merde!" the man cursed, almost toppling over the woman himself. "Of all the things to happen! Martin! Ride with her!"

"And you, Monsieur? Should we not treat you first?"

He looked down at the knife still embedded in his belly and grimaced. "I will live! Get her home...and send a message to Madame d'Epuise immediately."

"Oui, Monsieur!"

Maximilian Mercier pulled out the knife and staunched his bleeding wound with his kerchief while he watched his man carry the woman with him back to where they came from. He looked down at the dead Monsieur Manet's body and shook his head. 

"Fuck you and your France," he muttered, throwing the knife down beside the old man,  painfully rising up on his horse, and began to ride after his new charge, back to the Chateau. 

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Madame? Excusez-moi, Madame?"

Madame d'Epuise sighed and opened her eyes. She looked up from her position between a man's naked thighs and for a moment felt sorry for his predicament. 

"I will be out shortly, Esther!" she called out, rising to her feet. The man groaned and tried to reach out to her but she had already closed her dressing gown, effectively ending their afternoon "business". For Esther to interrupt her and her client in the middle of a transaction, there must be something that needs her immediate attention.

"There's always Marie-Constance down at the Quarter," she told him haughtily, shrugging, as she stepped away.

"But I want you, Madame!" he begged, his member so stiff it was pointing to the ceiling. 

"Yes, so does my husband and he hasn't gotten any for the day," she said sarcastically, opening a door. "Good day, Monsieur! Say hello to Marie-Constance for me! Oh, by the way, today's free, just because you've been very understanding. Adieu!"

She exited through the door and locked it. He could get out another way. 

The door led into her dressing room, where her maid, Esther, was waiting for her...along with a complete set of her traveling clothes. She frowned but Esther remained undaunted. She handed out a rolled piece of paper. Esther could not read and so there was no danger of her knowing what it contained. But the hard look on her maid's face told her enough. 

The paper was unrolled. 

Madame, your presence is required immediately at the Chateau de la Victoire by Comrade Mercier. There is a wounded nun from Avignon...

Anne d'Epuise  did not finish reading the rest of the message and did not wear anything more but for the large overcoat Esther handed to her. Within minutes, she was inside a carriage she drove herself, hurtling  down the avenue towards the place of her dashed dreams and nightmares. Upon arriving, she left her horses and carriage  and pushed open the heavy oak doors into what used to be her home.

Now, it belonged to the demon walking towards her. Fuck him. 

"Where is she?!" she screeched, eyes blazing. "Where is Helene! God curse you for what you've done to her, you monster! I will take her away, away from you and this hellhole! Where is Helene?! Give her to me, goddamn you!"

The devil that was her brother Max grabbed her shoulders and shook her, his own eyes lit with fury. "Damn you, woman! Control yourself! She is not Helene! Keep silent!"

When Anne stopped her screaming, Max let go of her and stepped away, a hand on his midsection. Anne narrowed her eyes at the action but said nothing. "Let us talk somewhere else. Too many eyes...and ears."  He walked towards where their father's old office was and Anne followed him in. He waited until she was inside before locking the door. 

"Take a seat..."

"No."

Max and Anne glared silently at each other until he finally gave in and went around to his desk--their father's desk. She watched him take a grimy-looking sack and hand it to her. Anne took it. 

"What is this?"

"The nun was carrying it," he said, walking over to one of the windows. "Those were Helene's."

At the mention of their sister's name, Anne opened the sack and took out a Bible and a silver rosary. Tears came to Anne's eyes as she held them to her lips. "Helene..."

"Sit down, Anne. Please."

Weakened by her despair, Anne collapsed onto one of the settees in the room, her sister's belongings clutched tightly to her chest. "Helene treasured this rosary so much. She would not have allowed anyone or anything to part her with it. Unless..." Her tears flowed this time as the thought of her sister, forever now gone from her, entered her mind. 

"She's not dead, Anne," Max told her in a firm voice, thought it sounded as if he was reassuring himself instead. "At least that's what the nun kept rambling about when she awoke."

"Is she still awake?"

"Not this time," Max said warily. Anne frowned. "We had to give her something...to calm her down. The woman was hysterical..."

Anne snorted. "You've never really been good at charming the ladies, were you, Max?" She meant every word of the insult and accusation. She felt good knowing she'd hit a sore spot, if the darkening of the expression on her brother's face was anything to go by. "You couldn't even come to me and tell me in person. What, I must disgust you now? In hell, traitors suffer closer to Satan than the whores. But it's far too early to talk about eternal damnation, dear brother. You order me here like one of your lackeys to care for this nun from Avignon, correct? Surely, one of your female comrades..." she said with derision. "...could help you with a simple God-fearing nun?"

Max did not dignify her scathing words with a response but she felt victorious seeing a muscle twitch in his cheek. 

"If this nun has Helene's belongings, something terrible must have happened at the abbey," Anne said, her anger morphing into terror for her younger sister. "You've heard the attacks on other abbeys and convents?"

Max nodded slowly. "Yes. But rest your fears. Helene will be home. Safe."

"How?"

"William du Masson."

Anne opened her mouth to speak but closed it again. She closed her eyes and sighed. For a few moments, she felt Max was her older brother again, the tall boy who taught her how to race in a carriage, the same one who carried her home when she nearly drowned by the river. But those were only fleeting moments. The man with her in her father's office was not Max. Max was dead to her.

"There is no safe place in France, Max," she said, focusing her dark green gaze on him. "And here, with you and me, is the worst place she could ever be."

Max grunted. He went to a cabinet, took out a decanter of brandy, and poured a few fingers into two glasses. He handed one to Anne.

"Who said she was coming here?"

Max gave her a knowing look and there, she saw the old Maximilien, the responsible older brother who had a mischievous plan or two hidden in his coat pocket. Yet Anne refused to be swayed and scowled. 

"Where?"

"Closer to a home she deserves," he said enigmatically.

Anne gripped her glass firmly. "The only home she ever wanted was with God in it."

"If God is real, Helene doesn't need a convent or a habit to find Him." He raised his glass to Anne. "To a new France!" he said, but before he could down its contents his sister quickly stood and walked up to him.

Anne laughed mirthlessly. "Mon Dieu! She really must have done a number on you, did she? Love is shit, isn't it?" Anne raised her own glass to her brother's stunned face. "To a silent God, to slow justice, and to fucking beautiful nuns!" Anne motioned with her eyes to the ceiling and emptied her glass in one swallow. She laid her empty glass on the corner of her father's desk. She refused to dwell on memories of her Papa writing letters on its surface...and of her and dear Francois watching him. "Don't bother taking me to her. I know where you'd put the