Chapter 14: Mercy

'Who is this man?' Bossuet asked.

'He is a man who saves others,' Combeferre added.

'I know him,' Marius said gravely.

Enjolras turned to the man.

'Citizen, you are welcome.' Then, hesitating for a moment: 'You know that we are going to die.'

The man did not answer. He helped the saved fifth man put on his uniform.

Enjolras was standing on the paving stones that formed a staircase to the crest of the barricade. Grantaire was standing close by him, but was not noticed by the leader who was lost in thought. His face was angelic, and a small smile subconsciously played on his lips. His eyes – they had a depth to them and hid a fire.

Grantaire, although he was not part of this scene, would have happily stayed in it for eternity, but all too soon it ended. Enjolras looked up sharply; the dreaminess that had graced his features was gone. All that was left now was a terrified look of realisation. Slowly, the golden head turned around to face Grantaire, as if it had been aware of his presence there the entire time.

Grantaire knew what had happened.

'You were thinking of the future,' he said softly, making his way to stand on the barricade by Enjolras.

Enjolras did not answer. He merely looked at Grantaire.

'It's not that bad, you know. Not for everyone.'

'Exactly. There will always be inequality. You may have a normal, ordinary life. But what of the poor, the homeless, the ones in the war-torn countries where I promised peace?'

'Enjolras, you're just one man. I think we all forget that sometimes.' Grantaire had certainly been unaware of the fact for most of the time he was with Enjolras.

'Perhaps. And despite what you believe, I have feelings.'

'I know you do.'

'I just try not to show them. Being over emotional with others is usually not helpful. But I – I wish I knew what others felt like. I've always been privileged. I've never been hungry or cold. I've never had to work or borrow money. Sometimes I think I'm not the best person for the role of leader. The people need someone who understands them.'

'Enjolras, don't be an idiot. There is no one who understands the people better than you do. Despite what some may think, you have empathy. Just because you don't show it doesn't mean it's not there.'

'I don't know if the poor agree with you.'

'Trust me, Enjolras,' Grantaire didn't want to have to say it, 'I know.'

'Do you?'

He would have to say it.

'I've been homeless.'

'You have?' Enjolras could not conceal his concern.'

'Yes.'

'How did it happen?'

'I was fifteen. My parents- I had to leave home.'

'Why? What did your parents do? Did they hurt you?!' Enjolras was starting to sound aggressive. He tried to control his anger, not to scare Grantaire, but he could not hide it all.

'No – well, not exactly. I suppose they did.'

'How?' Grantaire had no idea how he was going to tell him.

'They- they weren't bad parents, exactly. Actually, they were great parents. I loved them, and I thought they loved me, and would love me, no matter what.'

'What happened?'

'They…' How am I meant to say this? 'They couldn't accept me for who I was. I thought that they would.'

'What do you mean?'

'Please, Enjolras. Don't make me tell you.'

For a moment Grantaire thought he would. He hadn't stopped questioning him up till then.

He could see Enjolras wanted to, but shook his head.

'It's alright. I think I understand. Like Jehan?'

'Like Jehan.'

'So, how did you manage?'

'I was lucky. I ran into some good people. They said I could stay with them. There was an abandoned building, where there were nine of us. We made enough money to survive somehow. I think some of them must have stolen, probably. If they did, they didn't tell me about it. They knew I wouldn't have approved.'

'What did you do?'

'Begging, mostly. Sometimes I drew and I managed to sell a few sketches. In my whole time of being homeless I was only able to get a small, one-off job once. I wanted to do more, but it's not the same as now. No one wants to employ a homeless person.'

'Were you still homeless when you arrived here?'

'No. I got lucky. When I was nineteen, one of my friends inherited some money from a relative. We moved in together. Once I had somewhere to live, I looked more presentable and I got a job at the printing place. I've been working there since then.'

'Is your friend missing you?'

'I don't know. He had gone away for a work placement for six months. I'm not sure I understand how time works anymore. I don't know if the events in my time are happening now or if they won't happen for 184 years.'

After a lengthy goodbye to the ones who remained, the five men in uniform left the barricade.

'I suppose they're the lucky ones,' Enjolras sighed.

'I think they don't feel very lucky at the moment,' said Grantaire.

'There go five men condemned to life, as downstairs there is one condemned to death.'

When Grantaire didn't answer this, Enjolras looked at him, bemused.

'You're still not happy with it, even though you have seen what they do.'

'Enjolras, tell me this: is our fight against individuals?'

'No. But it is individuals who we are killing.'

'You see that, then.'

'Look, I'm not alright with it either!' That was the first time Grantaire had ever heard Enjolras raise his voice, and it was directed at him.

'Sorry,' Enjolras looked down at the ground. 'It's just that there isn't any other way and I hate it. I'm painfully aware that every man I kill in combat is a human being.'

He turned to Grantaire, his face pitiful. Grantaire did not know what else to do other than hug him. He held Enjolras close as sobs racked his frame.

'Please forgive me, Enjolras. I didn't mean to- I didn't think I'd upset you.'

'No. No one does. That's the problem, isn't it?' He moved away from Grantaire and wiped his eyes with his sleeve. 'I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be so bitter. We should see how Inspector Javert is doing.'

He went down to the basement room, Grantaire at his heels. Javert had not moved, and was still lost in thought.

'Do you need anything?' Enjolras asked, pulling him out of his reverie.

'When shall you kill me?'

'Wait. We need all our cartridges at present.'

'Then, give me a drink.'

Enjolras brought him a glass of water and helped him to drink it, as Javert was tied up.

'Is that all?'

'I am uncomfortable at this post. It was not affectionate to leave me to pass the night here. Tie me as you please, but you can surely lay me on a table. Like the other.' He nodded towards M. Mabeuf.

Enjolras commanded five insurgents to transport Javert from the post to the table.

Grantaire did not like seeing a man whom he quite admired being bound like that, so he kept to the corner of the room. Therefore he saw the man who had donated the uniform earlier standing in the threshold of the door. Javert also saw him: he raised his eyes, then dropped them again.

'It is very natural,' he said.

It was dawn. Enjolras and some of those more dedicated to him, Grantaire included, had been tearing up paving stones from everywhere, both to build a barricade in Rue Mondétour and to reinforce the main one.

Enjolras took his place at the crest of the barricade and all fell silent. Soon, gunners approached with a piece of artillery. A match had already been lit.

'Fire!' Enjolras cried. There was a flash and smoke covered the battlefield. However, the gunners were unharmed, and proceeded with their task in a calm and precise way.

'Bravo for the gunners!' Bossuet cried. The barricade applauded.

The cannon was aimed directly at them. It went off, and the ball struck the barricade in unison with Gavroche.

'Present!' he cried cheerfully, making more of an impression than the ball did. Marius protested against him being there. Grantaire understood that he had sent the gamin to deliver a message with the intention of keeping him away from the barricade.

Enjolras was the only one who had not left his post.

'Heads down, keep close to the wall!' he cried. 'And all on your knees along the barricade!'

They were all scattered around Gavroche – his order was not fully completed when the army fired. The ricochet killed two men and injured three.

'The barricade will not withstand another shot like that,' Enjolras turned to Grantaire, who was, as always, by his side.

'What can we do to stop it?' Grantaire climbed up onto Enjolras' battlement and crouched down beside him as he peeked over the top of the barricade.

Enjolras pointed his carbine at a gunner who was adjusting the aim of the cannon. Grantaire understood.

'No! Enjolras, you can't!'

'Let me alone. We must do what we must.' A tear rolled slowly down his marble cheek.

'Combeferre, help me!' Grantaire called on the gentle soul. He had been silent up to that point, dazed. He was thinking of another young man who was killed in combat.

'He's right. Enjolras, he is young, charming, well-educated, intrepid, a thinker, he has a mother and father. He might be your brother.'

'He is.'

'Yes. And mine also. Well, don't let us kill him.'

Enjolras loosened his hold on the trigger and turned to look between Combeferre and Grantaire.

'Then what do you propose that I do?' His voice was shaky and broken.

'Maybe if you just injure him?' Grantaire suggested. 'Or break the cannon?'

Enjolras chose the latter. He shot the wheel of the cannon; he did not miss. It rolled off and the gun fell, at the same time pinning down the gunner.

'See? He is unharmed, the cannon cannot hit us unless they lift it themselves,' Combeferre said.

Enjolras led Grantaire away for a moment.

'Grantaire, I can't believe I- I was going to do it. I would have done it if not for-'

'Combeferre.'

'You.'

'You were going to ignore me.'

'It seems I do that too much.' Enjolras still had tears streaming down his cheeks. He was not even trying to hide them from Grantaire anymore.

'It doesn't matter now. The young man is alive and well, probably slightly in shock but they may have got him out from under the cannon now. We may have convinced you, but ultimately you were the one who chose not to pull that trigger.'

'It bought us time. We may need to go back and fire a finishing shot, but I have a feeling that gun will not be used against us again. It has bought us more time than taking the gunner's body away would. Come on, we should make sure everything is under control.'

He walked a few paces, then turned to Grantaire again.

'I know you think I ignored you, Grantaire. But the truth is, while Combeferre convinced my head, you convinced my heart. Everyone always assumes that I will follow the first. I usually do. But not always.'