(See
the posts of 18th January and 14th March for parts one
and two of ‘Gilou’)
Sleep was hard to come by. Although he was fatigued from
the harsh conditions he’d been subjected to in Paris and the weeks of flight
that had followed, Gilou’s eyes refused to close. Or so he’d thought until he
woke with a start.
Coyle’s pocket watch was difficult to see in the
half-light. He stared repeatedly at it before realising that he had only ten
minutes to reach the lock-up. His two companions, from the previous night –
Coyle’s men - were nowhere to be seen, but there was no time to search for them.
Keeping close to the house walls, Gilou made his way as
quickly as his worn boots and tired limbs would allow. Rounding a corner, he
stopped suddenly. Through the early morning river mist, he could just pick out
Coyle being marched away from the lock-up by armed men.
Gilou was on his own. Had the drunks been released and
what had happened to Ork and Tawse?
A familiar, reassuring, figure suddenly joined him. If
the dog was still here, that meant his master was still in the lock-up. But how
could he gain entry? Just as he was beginning to doubt his ability to rescue
his friends, divine assistance appeared in the shape of a passing churchman.
Gilou was not normally a violent man, but he knew that silence would be essential
if his plan was to work. Having achieved his aim, he moved the man into a
cobbled yard and set about removing his outer garments, taking particular care in
placing the priest’s silver chain around his own neck and displaying the cross
prominently on his thin chest. The priest would remain silent for a while –
such was the blow he’d received.
Gilou knew his French would give him away. He would have
to avoid speaking. The door to the lock-up was standing open. As he approached
the building, Gilou nodded to the guard. The man bowed his head in response and
made no move to prevent the dog accompanying the priest through the door.
At first, it was difficult to pick out anything or anyone
in the interior gloom. The foul stench made Gilou want to retch. He was
grateful there’d been no opportunity to eat breakfast that morning. As his eyes
gradually grew accustomed to the darkness, he saw Ork chained to the far wall
of the lock-up, his friend Tawse similarly shackled. Gilou’s disguise was
almost too effective, as neither man recognised him. The dog went to sit beside
his master.
Gilou realised there was just the single guard on duty
and no other prisoners still being held captive. As a seeming holder of holy
office, he was able to approach the guard without arousing suspicion. He
blessed the man using the Latin he remembered from his school days and
indicated that the chains should be removed from the two captives. The guard
looked perplexed, but was perhaps wary of upsetting a man of the cloth. He
hunted for the correct key on the chain that hung from his waist and moved
ponderously across the uneven floor of the lock-up.
Only when the priest stood by them, did a glimmer of
recognition pass over the faces of the newly-unchained captives. Their rescuer
put his finger to his lips and the trio left the building, the dog following,
whilst the guard stood in the doorway, clearly confused, scratching his
stubbled chin.
Hardly had they turned the street corner when a shout was
heard, followed by a stream of curses. They ran back to the Bear Inn, alerted
Coyle’s companions and fled to the river.
+ +
+
The Corresponding Society meeting, two nights later, in
the Southwark tavern was well attended. Word had gone out only through trusted
channels, but they were well aware that even these routes could be infiltrated
by Government spies, intent on quelling the French contagion.
Artisans, trades people and shopkeepers filled the room. Gilou,
once more a layman, addressed the crowd, with Ork translating his words. Shouts
from the floor and rounds of applause indicated that the speech was well
received. Ork distributed copies of his own pamphlet and spoke of the new ideas
and their goal of universal suffrage. He warned of repression and the threats
of treason trials and the suspension of Habeus Corpus.
For an hour they were able to enjoy the warmth and
comradeship of fellow-thinkers, before dispersing into the dark riverside
streets, moving quietly, glancing warily over their shoulders.
This time, they’d managed to avoid the infiltrators, but
they doubted their luck would last. Tawse had already left for Essex, concerned
for his family. Gilou, Ork and Digger boarded the ship.
It was no longer safe for them in the capital.
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