Chapter Eight - The Barricade
Smiles1998: Dude, you review all the time. I love you so much. And yes, it's going to kind of go to shit.
idreamadreamtoo: Thank you! I think because he's so protective of his friends and his country, he'd be even more protective of someone he cared a lot about, like Éponine. And I made all the Thenardier children have a certain attitude... you know, the "I don't take no bullshit" kind of attitude.
DramaRose13: Thank you so much! Literally, Jehelma is so cute because they are like complete opposites and yet they work so well together GAH FEELS
Disclaimer: All character and novel rights belong to Victor Hugo. Song lyrics belong to the creators of Les Misérables, the musical. I own nothing except for my own imagination.
A boy he didn't recognise slipped into the ranks of the Amis next to Gavroche. His head was bent and Enjolras couldn't see his face, though the vest he was wearing did spark something in his memory.
He was about to turn to Combeferre and ask whether he knew him or not, but he didn't have time. The marching drummers were approaching, followed by a line of the national guard on horses. Behind was the funerary carriage, which was in front of another, much larger group of guards. It was time.
Enjolras, his eyes fixed firmly on the carriage, gave the signal to the Amis on the both sides of the procession. Bahorel, Bossuet, Joly, and Grantaire ran forward and formed a line in front of the horses, and they whinnied in fear, rearing on their hind legs. The guards on them were forced to swerve to the side and lead them away from carriage. The other Amis quickly latched onto the carriage itself. The procession halted completely, but the Amis were still moving, advancing inwards.
Meanwhile, Enjolras drew the banner out of his bag, swiftly tying it onto a wooden rod. He tossed the bag onto the ground and hoisted the flag high in the air, rushing forward with a cry of "Vive la France!" He climbed to the top of the carriage, and looked down at the crowds. "We have been repressed for long enough!" he roared. "This is a message to the king! Let all know: we will not be slaves again! Will you join in our crusade? Who will be strong and fight with us?"
The crowd bellowed in reply, mixtures of "Vive la republiqué!" and "Death to the king!" ringing in the air. Someone tapped his foot and and he looked down. Marius was gazing up at him. They stared each other, and then Enjolras forgave Marius. It is hard to be angry with a man who has made the decision to give their life to your cause. He extended a hand, and Enjolras grasped it, pulling him up onto the carriage. He nodded at him, and Marius turned to shout at the crowd.
"Beyond the cruelty and the suppression, is there a world you long to see? Join in the fight that will give you the right to be free!"
Enjolras treated Marius to a rare smile. He was proud of him, for though he would obviously run after his Cosette, he stuck to what he had already committed himself to. Turning back to the turbulent mob, he waved his flag in the air. "Will you give all you can give so that out banner may advance? Will you stand up and take your chance?"
The crowd, as the Amis had hoped, were caught up in the adrenaline rush of it all. The Amis had lit the flame; now the angry mob fueled it. They swarmed around the carriage, around the horses, around the marching band. Enjolras felt hope lift his spirits. It was working.
His speech ended and as the people below them cheered and hollered, he glanced down. The mysterious boy from before was there, holding onto the carraige. The shirt he was wearing had a brown stain on it.
It struck him. That was his shirt, the one Grantaire had spilled coffee on and Enjolras rarely wore again. The boy looked up, and Enjolras froze. The boy was not a boy at all. It was Éponine.
He had been distracted, and the guard took advantage. A shot rang out. It seemed as if the crowd dented. One person fell and the people surrounding the fallen stumbled back, some crouching to aid whoever it had been.
Enjolras looked, fear slicing him like a knife at the thought of an Amis being shot. Then he saw the Madame Hucheloup, the wife of the late owner of a wine shop Grantaire had discovered, one he was quite fond of. It was called the Pot aux Roses. She was a large, bearded woman with a penchant for pouring too much wine in their cups.
She had been pierced in the stomach with a bullet.
Combeferre and Feuilly, closest to her, turned and shouted at the guard who had done it.
"She's an innocent woman!" Combeferre howled. "Murderer!"
Feuilly was shouting obscenities, shaking his fist. The common-people around him were behaving similarly, rallying against the government.
A second shot was fired, and then a third. A bullet whizzed by Enjolras' head just as the shoulder who had hit Madame Hucheloup fell down, dead. Bahorel had fired the shot. Enjolras looked in the direction of the bullet that had been aimed at him: it was a member of the cavalry. In one fluid moment, Enjolras pulled out the pistol at his hip, aimed, and fired at the galloping man. It hit him in the chest and he fell off his horse.
"Good shot," Marius murmured to him out of the corner of his mouth as he, too, took out his pistol.
Enjolras spotted a guard just below the carriage, aiming a pistol point-blank at Éponine. With an unloaded pistol, he found himself weaponless to defend her. Thinking quickly, he used the pole of the flag as a staff, hitting the guard straight in the sternum. The guard fell back and Éponine drew out a knife and slashed at his stomach. He fell, bleeding from two gashes in the abdomen. Enjolras stared at Éponine, wide-eyed, and she shot him a smirk, twirling the dagger in one hand. He leapt off the carriage and began reloading his pistol.
"Knowing 'Parnasse had its uses," Éponine explained as the crown around them pushed outward and into the firing guards and horsemen. "I'm rather good with a knife."
It was hard to fight with the flag in one hand, but he soon discovered that the red of the banner could momentarily confuse the enemy while Enjolras used it as a quarterstaff to stun or even kill guards. A man beside him fell, dead, as a bayonet was driven into his heart. It was the sous-chef of the Musain. Enjolras clenched his jaw in bitter fury and shot the guard who had done it in the forehead, kicking him down as the blood splattered in his face.
He looked around him. The mob were filled with passion and desperation, which made them dangerous. But the guards were trained soldiers, and they responded to the frenzy with order and calm. The dead littering the ground were mostly that of the common folk. Enjolras realised they would not last long if they continued.
He made a split-second decision. "To the barricade!" he roared, and it sent a cheer among the Amis. Marius rode by on a horse he had taken from a national guard and Enjolras passed the flag to him. "The Poteau," he told him, using the abbreviation of the wine shop.
Marius nodded and rode ahead, raising the banner above his head. "To the barricade! Vive la France!"
It had been Grantaire's idea to have the barricade at the Poteau, and in the spur of the moment Enjolras decided to humour him. Enjolras lead the other Amis and about forty other people, partly from the crowd and partly from the school most of the Amis went to, shouting and cheering own the narrow streets of Paris.
For Patria, thought Enjolras. For liberté, égalité, et fraternité.
She hoped that perhaps Enjolras would be the only one to see through the disguise, but Gavroche had caught her eye and given her a broad wink, tapping his head to show her he had recognised his hat. This was before anybody else had even noticed she was there. Sometimes the gamin had a sharper eye than Enjolras or even a sober Grantaire.
When she reached the Poteaux, people were already throwing down chairs and tables out of windows. She jumped to one side as a piano nearly landed on her head. What a waste, she thought before helping Marius and Courfeyrac break down a door and add it to the growing pile.
"Any and all bits and pieces!" Enjolras shouted above the din, rolling over a cart into the barricade with the help of a couple other Amis.
"Look at how it grows!" crowed a gleeful Bahorel, once he and Jehan heaved a bench on top of it the cart.
"Windows," said Gavroche from next to her.
"What?" Éponine glanced down at her younger brother, bewildered.
"We've gotta add windows. If they try to climb the barricade, the glass will break an' cut 'em."
Courfeyrac beamed. "Magnificent idea, little Gavroche!" He, Bossuet, and three other students who had heard the gamin speak bounded off to take down windows. Gavroche glowed with praise and Éponine smiled brightly at her quick-witted brother with pride, and ran to help.
The air was filed with men's voices, loud and ringing in their ears. It mixed with the crashing of furniture and household objects. The horse Marius had been riding galloped away, tossing its head, spooked by the falling objects. Éponine had to dodge it to avoid getting trampled.
She heard Enjolras giving orders in a raised voice: "Marius! Gather some others and take the munitions into the shop! Feuilly! Take an inventory of the food and drink! Gavroche! Find out the results of the rebellion and the current movement of the Paris guards!" The Amis scattered to obey him as Éponine hurried to his side.
"Is there anything I could do?"
Enjolras seemed surprised she was there. He gazed down at her with an unfathomable expression in his ice blue eyes. "Just stay alive."
He watched the barricade form before his eyes. It was both terrifying and thrilling to see it take shape. As he sent out a person to spy on the enemy, Enjolras hoped with all his might it would withstand the forces of the opposition. He shut his eyes briefly, thinking of the lives he had already taken today, before hardening his resolve once more.
When he opened them again, Éponine was next to him. He glanced down, having forgotten she was there. Enjolras felt a surge of concern for her safety.
"Is there anything I could do?" Her dark eyes shone with the same light he saw in the other men, and he realised he was one of them now; she was their sister in arms, and a daughter of the revolution. This scared him more than anything else, but he willed himself to show nothing of it. As the commander of this revolution, he could not show fear.
"Just stay alive," he managed, holding tighter onto his pistol. He quickly turned away to look up at the barricade. It would have to do, now that it was nearing four o'clock in the afternoon and the troops would be approaching.
"Where's the entrance?" He asked Jehan, pulling him aside.
The poet pointed. "There's an opening by the right wall of the Poteau building. The back door's also still open. Where receiving ammunition from Marius, Jonathan Fabantou, and Don Genflot through that," he said, naming two other law students.
"Good. Everybody in!" Enjolras shouted, and the mixture of students and working men filed into the small gap. Feuilly alone ran out and skidded to a stop in front of Enjorlas and Éponine.
"There's enough bread, cheese, fruit, and meat to last a day or so, judging by the people we have. And there's plenty of wine and brandy in the stores. Don't worry, Grantaire hasn't gotten into it yet," the fan maker added at Enjolras' expression.
"Good. Make sure nobody does," Enjolras paused, and then said, "Actually, you and Éponine can go and hide the wine so that nobody finds it. Keep the brandy available, but don't leave all of it out."
Éponine nodded, feeling herself immediately compelled to obey his brisk, businesslike tone.
"Let's go," said Feuilly to the gamine as he lead the way into the barricade.
Enjolras watched them leave and then directed his eyes down the street, straining to see any guards. There were none. He bit his lip before turning around and making for the entrance of their barricade.
"There's really no need to keep your identity a secret," Feuilly said conversationally.
Éponine looked up, shocked. "When did you find out?"
"Courf told me during the building of the barricade. He recognised the vest." Feuilly lifted a crate of wine. "Let's put them in Huchloup's bedroom. There's a key in there, I think."
"Everybody knows who I am?" Éponine asked, following him up the stairs.
"Even the other students and the people we met at the funeral today." Feuilly found key beneath the carpet under the bed.
Éponine winced. "Even Joly?"
"He was actually the one that recognised Jehan's pants and told half the Amis in a rant about patients disobeying a doctor's orders." THey went back downstairs to pick up more wine.
She wasn't sure whether to laugh because Jehan didn't even recognise his own (very eccentric) pants or frown because of Joly's obvious annoyance. "I guess I wasn't thinking straight when I chose to wear their clothing. Gavroche and Enjolras noticed in the first ten minutes."
"There's a coffee stain on the shirt that Enjolras particularly remembers. Grantaire spilled it on him and a thousand-word paper."
Éponine smiled at the image of an enraged Enjolras and a raucously laughing Grantaire. "I don't suppose he was very happy about that."
They'd moved on to the brandy in a comfortable silence when they heard a shout from downstairs.
Éponine and Feuilly exchanged alarmed looks before sprinting down to the ground floor.
There, the Amis were gathered in a circle around a middle aged man dressed in street-people clothing. Courfeyrac and Bahorel held him in place, wearing identical furious expressions.
"So don't believe a word he says cos none of it's true," Gavroche was saying from his perch atop a cabinet. "Lady and gents, it just goes to show wot little people can do!" He pounded his chest with tiny fist, smirking proudly.
Éponine recognised the captive man as the informant they'd sent out earlier.
"Well done, little Gavroche," said Courfeyrac with a feral grin. "You're the top of the class. We should shoot this spy now!"
"Do it, then," the spy challenged.
Bahorel drew a pistol and dug it into his jaw. "So I will!"
"Stop! Don't waste your bullets," Enjolras said. "You. What's your name."
"Javert," the spy replied.
"He's a police inspector," Gavroche piped up. "High up an' all that."
"Tie him up in the shop basement," Enjolras decided. "We'll figure out what to do with him later."
Courfeyrac and Bahorel did his bidding and dragged Javert into the wine shop. Éponine saw them secure him to the wall with three coils of rope, just to be certain. The spy sat there, looking defiantly up at them with his hands bound uselessly behind him.
"And stay there," spat Bahorel, giving him a kick in the side before marching back outside.
Enjolras ordred Bossuet to guard their prisoner and turned to the assembled insurgents. "Who actually knows when they will attack?"
"I can slip in and out real quiet," said a child's voice. Gavroche had slid down to the ground.
Enjolras looked at him dubiously.
"I can!" insisted the energetic young boy. "I've told you stuff 'bout the battle, 'aven't I?"
He had. He'd told Enjolras the number of casualties from he funeral: 23 out of 33 dead, and 6 wounded.
"Alright. We need the information quick." Enjolras handed the boy a knife, just in case.
Gavroche frowned at the weapon and instead picked up a pistol laying instead. "And if I get back with the information I get a musket," he announced.
A ghost of a smile flitted across Enjolras' face. "Deal."
Satisfied, Gavroche dove through the entrance and disappeared down an alley. "What time is it?" Enjolras asked no-one in particular.
"Nearing six!" somebody in the crowd cried.
Éponine gave a start. Was it really that late already? She looked to the sky. It would be sunset in another hour.
"Everybody, at ease. We still wait for the information. Stay alert, and call for me, Combeferre, or Courfeyrac whenever you see or hear something." Enjolras holstered his pistol and gave them all one sweeping look. "Everybody keep the faith, for certain as our banner flies, we are not alone. The people, too, must rise."
The crowd of forty-three revolutionaries slunk off. Some sat on barrels and boxes, some rested their heads against them, and some lay on the ground, loading and reloading their guns.
Éponine watched on person in particular. Enjolras was sitting next to Combeferre, his eyes half closed, giving an impression of dozing off. However, she saw his eyes flicking about, perfectly alert and seeing everyting at once.
She rose and made her way over to him. She sat cross-legged beside him, and Enjolras losed his eyes. The three remained unspeaking together.
"How is your ankle?" Enjolras after a long silence.
"It doesn't hurt right now," she said, watching his peaceful face. Every exhale blew one straying golden curl into the air.
"When does it?"
"When I strain it. If I run, or if I jump."
"Don't run or jump, then," was Enjolras' instant response.
"I'll try, but we are at a barricade awaiting what could be the entire army of Paris." She saw Combeferre smile at her snarky answer.
"I'm just saying not to strain it. I'm not telling you to hide in a casket the entire time," retorted Enjolras in the exact same tone.
Éponine laughed. "Did you just try to be sardonic?"
One striking blue eye opened. "Did it work?" He gave her a half smile.
She felt her insides turn to mush, but kept a straight face. "I'm impressed. You sounded just like my brother."
Enjolras close his eye again, his half smile still in place. "I'm a man of many talents."
Combeferre grinned. "What's wrong with you? Are you making jokes? Have you learned what sarcasm is?"
"It's all Ponine's fault," Enjolras said, his eyes now open and staring right at her with amusement.
Éponine couldn't help but giggle with pure delight at this new version of Enjolras, and at his endearing nickname for her.
"You've broken him," Combeferre teased. "I don't think he'll ever be the same again."
At this, Enjolras sat up, giving his best friend a warning look, the smile slipping off his face. Combeferre just smiled and shrugged. Éponine watched them curiously, but didn't say a word.
They passed around a small cup of brandy and listened for marching.
AN: Apologies to those that don't like song lyrics in the prose. I also apologise for any OOCness of Enjolras, but I like to think Éponine's changed him :)
