Chapter Eleven: Executioner

Night was falling on the barricade. Enjolras was watching the sentinels, the men making cartridges and the women making lint in silence. He saw all that passed but it was as if he was looking through someone else's eyes – it felt like he was not fully there.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw his friends making their way into the Café, ready to chat and laugh, as if it were just an ordinary evening. He wanted to join them, he really did, but he hated to admit that he was afraid. He was afraid of what was to come, for them, and for himself.

It grieved him to stay away from them, but he had to. He could not let them see that he was afraid. He himself had believed his title of the fearless leader, and he knew if he went there he would be proved wrong. Not by his friends, but by himself. And he never wanted to admit that he was wrong. In truth, he had done that only once.

Involuntarily, his head turned towards the café. Yellow light streamed out through the window, making the interior of the Corinthe stand out against the inky sky. Seated right by the window, in perfect view, was Grantaire. Even from that distance, his face was completely visible. He was smiling, even laughing with the others, although his eyes were constantly glancing to the side, as if he was looking for something.

He's looking for me, Enjolras thought. He was immediately ashamed of how arrogant that thought seemed, but he knew it was true. For some reason, Grantaire was always-

'What are you doing here?' Combeferre's voice startled him, interrupting his thought.

'I…' Enjolras could not speak. He felt a throbbing sensation in his throat and his eyes started to cloud over. He knew what was happening, and he could not let it happen, so he blinked ferociously.

'Come join us,' Bossuet had also come up to Enjolras.

Still afraid that if he started to speak he would break down, he kept silent and shook his head.

Joly had appeared as well, wondering where his best friend had gone. He took one look at the situation and understood.

'Combeferre, go back inside,' he spoke to the other man with surprising authority. Combeferre did not fully understand what was happening to Enjolras, but he saw that the others understood it better, so he obeyed and walked back to the café hurriedly.

'Is this about him?' Bossuet asked.

Enjolras looked up at them wide-eyed. He regained some of his composure and decided he was able to speak.

'Yes, I suppose, but not just that. I'm scared. For all of you.'

This admission did indeed shock Joly and Bossuet, but they nodded. It was perfectly understandable.

'Would it have been different if you didn't know the outcome?'

'I don't know. I'm the one who dragged you all into this. And I know you made your choice, just as I made mine, but I will still feel guilty whatever you say.'

'But Enjolras, at least you're not tricking us. We know we're all going to die.'

'Aren't you scared of your death?' Enjolras asked, already knowing the answer.

'No. Are you?'

'No. Not of my own, anyway.'

'Then come inside. You know we're safe for now. Even if they do attack, we have sentries. You have to understand that, for once, you don't have to do everything by yourself,' Joly said. 'Right, Bossuet?'

'Right. And since we know we don't have much time left, why don't we use it well, rather than dreading what is inevitable?'

Enjolras knew they were right. He just needed one last push.

'Go to him, Enjolras.'

That was all the encouragement he needed. He got up and followed them inside. Apart from Combeferre, who was studying the trio with his eyes as they came in and trying to figure out what had passed, no one noticed that anything was wrong.

There was, conveniently, an empty seat beside Grantaire. He sat on it immediately and locked eyes with him.

'Are you alright?' Grantaire asked in a low tone.

'I'm Oh-Kay.' Grantaire's face lit up and, for once, he believed it when someone said those words. He took a sip from his cup. When he set it down Enjolras saw that the liquid in it was clear. His brow furrowed in confusion. Had Grantaire found some spirits?

'Oh, I know what you're thinking, Enjolras,' Grantaire teased with perfect timing. 'It's water'.

'Water?' Enjolras refused to believe it and drank from the cup. Grantaire was telling the truth.

'Yup. And, surprisingly, I'm ok too.' They both beamed.

'You know, I was never an alcoholic before I met those two.' He glanced implicitly at Joly and Bossuet, who waved back with a grin, apparently understanding what he had said.

'I'm glad.' Enjolras sighed with relief. 'I'm so, so glad.'

'Why don't they just attack us?' Enjolras groaned.

'Are you bored or impatient?' chuckled Grantaire.

'Both?'

'Well, I can think of one person who can offer a distraction.'

They went down to the basement in search of Gavroche. They found his cartridges abandoned, and the gamin himself was standing on his heels, his hands in his pockets, his neck twisted and a strange grimace on his face.

Enjolras, apparently, had not noticed this.

'Ah, Gavroche!' He turned to Grantaire. 'He'll be happy: I have a use for him.'

'Wait.' Grantaire extended his arm to gently block Enjolras' way. 'Look at him.'

'Well?'

'He's obviously preoccupied with something.'

They followed his gaze and saw that he was staring at a big man, with a musket between his knees, who looked as if he was lost in thought.

'Gamin,' Enjolras spoke to the boy in a low tone, 'what is it about that man?'

'How did you- well, he is a spy.'

'You are sure?'

'It isn't a fortnight ago that he pulled me by the ear off the cornice of the Pont Royal where I was taking the air.'

Enjolras left hastily, and Grantaire followed.

'Get backup. We have a spy,' Enjolras murmured to a working-man, who left and came back with three other broad-shouldered men. They all positioned themselves around the "spy", ready to take action.

Enjolras went up to the man.

'Who are you?'

The man started and met Enjolras' eyes. He smiled disdainfully, energetically and resolutely.

'I see how it is. Well, yes!'

'You are a spy?'

'I am an officer of the government.' Grantaire failed to see why the man would reveal himself.

'Your name is?'

'Javert.'

At a sign from Enjolras, the four men threw themselves at Javert, binding him and searching his pockets.

From what Grantaire could see, they found something like a business card on him, along with a purse and a watch. In his pocket there was also an envelope.

Enjolras opened it and read out the writing on the paper inside.

'"As soon as his political mission is fulfilled, Inspector Javert will ascertain, by a special examination, whether it be true that malefactors have resorts on the slope of the right bank of the Seine, near the bridge of Jena."'

They tied Javert's arms behind his back and fastened him to the post in the middle of the basement room.

Gavroche went up the now powerless spy.

'The mouse has caught the cat.'

The other revolutionaries ran into the room to see what was happening. Javert did not make a sound, and held his head high. Grantaire admired him. It was a shame he meant them harm.

'It is a spy,' Enjolras said by means of explanation.

The others slowly went back to their posts. Enjolras turned to Javert.

'You will be shot ten minutes before the barricade is taken.'

'Why not immediately?' Javert asked, rather than protest or stay silent.

He is really something, thought Grantaire.

'We are economising powder.'

'Then do it with a knife.'

Does he want to die?

'Spy,' Enjolras declared with grandeur but humanity, 'we are judges, not assassins.'

'You!' he spoke to Gavroche, 'you are small. Take a look at what is happening around the houses and streets and report back to me.'

'Little folks are good for something then! I am going!' He started to leave but stopped immediately. 'By the way, you will give me his musket! I leave you the musician, but I want the clarinet.' He saluted and disappeared.

A moment later, Monsieur Dubois ran into the room, as fast as his age would permit him.

'Oh! Monsieur Grantaire!' He noticed the golden-haired man. 'And…' he cast a quick glance between Enjolras and Grantaire and nodded. 'Monsieur Enjolras, I presume?'

'What is it?' The two men said almost in unison.

'There is a man who calls himself one of us and he is attacking the inhabitants!'

Grantaire had never seen Enjolras so sprightly. He shot out of the Corinthe like a bullet and witnessed the spectacle.

The man in question's back was turned to him, so he continued his assault uninterrupted. He was now pointing his musket at a porter, who was not even aware of the danger he was in.

'Yes, or no, will you open?'

'No, messieurs!'

'You say no?' This seemed to be the final warning. Enjolras advanced forward.

'I say no, my good-'

The gunshot went off. Enjolras' hand had grasped the man's shoulder, but that hadn't stopped him. However, the porter was unharmed. When looking around to see where the bullet had gone, Grantaire's friend caught his eye. He was stooping over, his hand pressed against his arm. Blood streaked from between his fingers.

He looked as if was losing his balance, so Enjolras rushed forwards and wrapped his arms around the man's torso. Grantaire quickly aided him and together they lifted him onto a table sticking out from the barricade.

Having heard the gunshot, the remaining Les Amis ran to the barricade in distress. Combeferre examined Dubois' wound and consulted Joly.

'It is not serious,' he stated, to everybody's relief, 'however we need to stop the bleeding and make sure it is not infected. Bring some cloth.'

Even though he had heard Combeferre's announcement, Grantaire's heart was pounding and he refused to leave Dubois' side.

'Grantaire? Grantaire!' Enjolras shook him by the shoulders. Grantaire looked up in response.

'Everything is under control. Now move away and let them tend to his wound.'

Grantaire nodded and moved away, staggering.

Enjolras stared at him with his eagle eyes, deciding he must be in some kind of shock. He wasn't sure what to do, so he led Grantaire to corner of La Petite Truanderie, the same place as they had spoken earlier that night.

Not knowing what to say, he took out a flask and held it up to Grantaire.

'Joly said this might help?'

'Enjolras, I don't recognise you!' Grantaire seemed to have got over his initial state of shock. 'But no. You have taught me this is not the right way to deal with things.'

'I don't recognise you either.' After this, the next few moments passed in silence.

'I know what you're thinking: how will I be able to witness deaths at the barricade if I can't even take one mild injury? But the truth is, Monsieur Dubois is one of the first people I met here, and one of my best friends. This has made me see that… that we're mortal. All of us.' He looked meaningfully at Enjolras with this last sentence. 'And that it's real. This is the closest to death I've ever seen. It must be different for you, growing up in a society where it is normal for people to suffer and die on the streets.'

Grantaire had expressed all that Enjolras might have wished to say.

'What I'm thinking,' he chose his words carefully, 'is that Monsieur Dubois is an admirable man. And you can tell a lot about a person by their friends.'

'How is it that you always know just what to say?' Grantaire smiled, wiping away tears he was unaware that he had shed. He was upset about Dubois, but he knew that was not the cause. It must have been something subconscious during his and Enjolras' conversation.

'But,' he continued, 'what is it that you are going to do with the would-be murderer?'

Enjolras' expression turned dark. He was about to voice his rage and the punishment he felt was just, but then he saw a look of dread in Grantaire's eyes. It was the same look he had seen not long before, when he was speaking to Javert.

'You do not want me to become an executioner, do you?'

Grantaire kept still, but the look on his face was unmistakeable.

'I saw your face when I was telling the spy his fate. Are you scared for my soul, Grantaire?' he said almost mockingly. 'Funny. I would not have thought you believed in Heaven.'

'Maybe not for me. But for you.'

Enjolras was unsure what this cryptic answer meant.

'Fine,' he replied after a moment's consideration. 'I will not kill him. Honestly, I am grateful you stopped me. I don't think he deserves mercy, but perhaps he will get what is coming to him from the National Guard. I will have him thrown out from the barricade.'

Enjolras was aware, although he did not like it, of how much control he had over Grantaire. As much as he despised the idea, he knew that at his command Grantaire would do almost anything. However, Enjolras was also aware of something the other man was not: how much hold Grantaire had over him.