Meet one of the 3 Antagonists in Key for Spies

Want to meet a Machiavellian antagonist?  Pierre LeCuyer is leader of the French garrison, against which Miri and Jesus lead the guerrillas.  LeCuyer's searching for the British spy (Simon).

Thieves night, his older brother had called it, back when they’d run together.  They’d taken to the dark streets, smashed locks to steal pastries or sausages, pried open windows to climb into dark rooms and stolen locked boxes with their stashes of coins.  Pierre never knew who Mattias worked for.  Belly stuffed with iced rolls or spiced sausage, he had trailed behind his brother.  Until the gendarmes caught Mat with a hand stuck in the alms box.

Hidden behind a dark column, he’d frozen when the gendarmes appeared.  Then black wings flapped before his face.  Pierre ran until his sides hurt and his too-tight shoes split along the worn sides.  He’d abandoned his brother, a betrayal that had never left him.

The next day he ran on to Marseilles and re-invented himself as Pierre LeCuyer.

The next time he entered a church, he and other soldiers arrested a priest and the aristocrats sheltering from la Terreur.

Tonight, Thieves’ Night, he stood inside another church.  Cold stone surrounded him.  His   The faint candlelight gleamed on the two coins waiting at the statue’s feet, two coins for the men he’d come to meet.  They were little more than shadows darker than the stone columns.  He’d heard them enter.  He watched them cross the nave to the lady’s shrine.  He let them have the first words.

half-shuttered lantern gave light enough to see individual columns, the benches near the lectern, and the painted gold that touched the Madonna’s statue.

“We should not be meeting.”

Rigo’s protest earned nothing more than Pierre’s chuckle.  “What do you fear in the church of San Miguel?  Do you think the saint will rise up and name your sins?”  Even in his only passable Spanish, the gibe sounded clearly.

The slender young man jerked in response.  “I am not afraid, señor.”  His denial rang off the stone walls.  Past adolescence, Rigo had the fiery Spaniard’s sense of honor.  His compadre had simpler motivations.  “But, Commandante LeCuyer, we have received a message that we will meet at dawn.  This meeting, it is not planned.  I have heard nothing of the reason we must gather.  Have you?” he asked his fellow traitor.  The sturdy man staying in the deepest shadows said nothing.  Rigo turned back to the French officer.  “This meeting is too soon.”

“Merde! Qu’est-ce que c’est?”  His question did not echo of the church walls, but the sibilant hiss echoed through the men.  Even the heavy-set man flinched.  “What must I expect this time?  Another ambush of my men?  A raid on a don loyal to King Joseph?  Another prank that will send my sentries running to the jacks?”

From the darkest shadows came a snort.  “Good joke, that, commandante.  And no one was hurt, not like when we ambushed that patrol.”

Pierre cursed again, uncaring that the Madonna gravely watched him and the two Spanish traitors.  He’d lost his fear of the more than mundane when he ran to Marseilles.  “Remind me again:  why did neither of you send to me word of that ambush?  Two died, three are still in the infirmary.  I have not received their replacements.  And your Doñabella suffered no injuries.  I wonder.  Do you betray me?  Are you loyal to her?”

“We are loyal to Napoleon!  We support his empire, not the old regime.”

“Hsst, imbécile.  Do not wake the priest.”

“You will have your revenge, commandante.”  The words came slowly, firmly from the shadows.  “We will all have our revenge.  And perhaps a little play with Doñabella before she learns the sharpness of my ten knives.”

Fernando’s relish shuddered through Pierre.  He, a major in the French corps, serving under Napoleon himself while in Egypt, feared the man’s violence.  He didn’t trust the stocky Spaniard.  His slow speech and movements were deceptive.  Pierre knew how fast he was with those ten knives.

Rigo, young and nervy, was eager to build his name, but he lacked resolve.  A clerk used to commerce, blood repelled him.  Declared unfit for the Spanish regulars, he had reported to Britessca for any work that the garrisoned French needed.  Pierre had ordered him to infiltrate the local guerrillas.  Fernando had vouched for him.

But with two men watching the guerrillas, Pierre still did not receive the information he needed to capture Doñabella and kill her supporters.

He’d never seen the famed leader of the local rebellion, the one who had replaced Don Esperanza, but he would not want to see any woman after ten knives had carved into her flesh.

“She’s to be taken to Madrid for execution,” he snapped, lest Fernando forget his orders.  “The demand of King Joseph himself, direct to me.  And that will happen.”

Fernando’s darker shadow detached from the stone column.  “You will have a promotion.  I will have my fun.  The boy here—.”

“I am no boy!”

“Will have his initiation,” he finished, ignoring the interruption.  “And el reyJosé will have his execution.”  His heavy voice rumbled through the thick rock surrounding them.  “But the boy is right.  We did not need to meet.”

“A contrario, mi amigos. Madrid sends word that Wellesley will once again try to take Spain.  Many of my superiors believe that the English general will push for Madrid, to seize the capitol and hold Napoleon’s brother as hostage.”

“You don’t think this.”  Rigo proved his worth with his wits.  “What do you think?”

“We are not here to speculate on military strategy.  A troop is tracking a British officer who detached from the main unit.  Your countrymen lost him when he crossed the Duero, but a French troop remains on his trail.  He comes here.”

“You do not know this.”

“I anticipate.  Britessca opens a valley of easy travel to Vittoria, and Vittoria is a gateway to a passage through the mountains and the road into France.”  He bent and picked up his lantern.  “You two will watch for this British officer.  You will alert me when he arrives.”

“You expect him to contact Doñabella?”

Once again the clerk proved his worth.  “She leads the guerrillas.  We have an opportunity to arrest both Doñabella and this Englishman.  And I wish to know the reason you are called to meet at dawn.”

“Then we will get word to you in two, three days,” the big man said.  He had shifted closer to the Madonna’s statue.  He turned a little, and one of the glinting coins vanished.

“If another of my soldiers is killed, I will take retribution for his spilled blood out of your hide, do you understand?”

Rigo agreed quickly.  Fernando merely grunted.

Their answers didn’t satisfy Pierre, but he knew better than to push the two traitors any further.  “I leave now.  Wait until an hour has passed before you leave this church.”

“The bell is only rung during the day.”

“I have a watch,” the young man said hurriedly.  Fernando stretched out his big hand, and the glinting watch was soon swallowed by it.

Pierre did not linger.  His boots tapped across the marble floor.  At the side door, he lifted the latch before he shuttered the lantern.  Then he stepped into the moonless night.  Enveloped by the cool darkness, he walked along empty streets toward the garrison.  A British officer in one hand, Doñabella in the other:  what a coup that would be!

The boy Pierre had learned not to relish a sweet until the iced pastry entered his mouth.  Major Pierre LeCuyer also did not anticipate.  His troops and his two traitors would do the work for him.  Then he would enjoy his reward.