Philippe Corbere left Rombere’s Tavern on Rue Bourbon le Chateau and began the long walk home. It was a warm May evening, and Philippe enjoyed the fresh air after the stuffiness of the bar.
Passing by the Church of Saint Pierre he turned down an alley as a shortcut to the busy Rue Babille.
Four storey buildings on either side darkened the passageway.
Philippe’s sharp hearing warned him of the approach of four citizen guards before they turned down the alley. he sank into a doorway.
“Are you looking for me?” he said, as they passed.
They stopped and lowered their muskets toward the voice.
“Citizen Robespierre has issued orders for your arrest Monsieur Corbere,” said one guard.
There was a crack as the heads of two of the guards twisted round before they slumped to the ground. The other two pulled their triggers, but nothing happened. Their muskets then flew out of their hands and clattered as they hit the ground then slithered away as if they were alive.
The two men rose into the air as Philippe stepped out of the shadow of the doorway- eyes crimson. One guard screamed as he flew away at great speed and then was silent after smashing into the wall of a courtyard. The other, now horizontal at head height facing down, urinated with fear.
“Tell that God touting fucker Robespierre that I’m no counter-revolutionary and that he should watch his back,” said Philippe; his face next to the guard's.
Philippe then walked on down the alley, and he then turned into Rue Babille before the trembling guard finally fell on to the cobbled ground.
He strolled along the emptying street and thought of how Robespierre despised him, and had condemned the Order of the Gate as Satan worshippers. Jacques Hebert leaving the order and starting the popular Cult of Reason atheist movement had compounded the situation.
Since the King was tried and executed in 1792, Robespierre had aspired to be his replacement albeit in a republican sense. His terror squads hunted down not only counter-revolutionaries, but also atheists. Thousands of people were going to the guillotine because of their religious views and not their revolutionary opinions.
All this riled Philippe; after helping the revolutionary cause his people, atheists, were being persecuted by this madman. Something had to be done, he thought, and soon.
The next day as he entered his office Paul Duvalier told him there was a gentleman waiting for him in his room. Fearing a backlash from the previous evening Philippe opened the door with apprehension.
Cesar Michaud was staring out of the window at an overcast sky, his grey wig at a slight tilt.
“Monsieur Michaud,” said Philippe, as he entered the room.
“Monsieur Corbere,” said Cesar, as he shook Philippe’s hand. “All is well I take it?”
“With business, yes,” answered Philippe, “but I suspect you are not here on business.”
“No. Monsieur Corbere, we have a mutual enemy do we not? This man is a paranoid individual who kills people for, in his words, even thinking counter-revolutionary thoughts.”
“Yes, I agree we have a problem.”
“I know you have your reasons for, shall we say, eliminating the problem, and we have ours: good people being executed. So once again I come to you, a powerful man, to ask for help. If the problem were to disappear, there would be many grateful people.”
“I will do what I can Monsieur Michaud, but there may be a price or maybe a favour needed.”
“But of course, you have my address.”
“Well, if that is all, I must get on – business… you know!”
The two men shook hands, and Philippe saw Cesar to the door. Then stood at the window, looking at the same overcast sky.
Perfect, he thought, it would seem Robespierre’s days are numbered – I will see to that.
It had been a long meeting, and Maximilien Robespierre was relieved to leave the building which housed the Committee of Public Safety. The majority of the members were for a more lenient approach to counter-revolution. There had been grumblings that many innocent people were being executed and this was counterproductive to the fledgling republic.
Along with two of his citizen guards Robespierre climbed into his carriage while instructing the driver to take him home. The driver, a figure in a long, black coat with the collars pulled up, nodded and took up the reins. Then with a crack of a whip the carriage, pulled by two grey mares, clattered its way along the empty street.
After speeding along several streets Robespierre realised they were heading in the wrong direction and ordered one guard to bring this to the driver’s attention.
The guard did this by opening the door and tapping his musket on the side of the driver’s seat.
There was no reaction as the carriage sped on, drawing up in Place de la Revolution. The guards jumped out and pointed their muskets up at the driver. But there was no one there.
“I’m here,” said Philippe, standing behind them.
They turned around with muskets held at chest height, but found they could move no further than ninety degrees. Suddenly they realised – they were pointing their muskets at each other. But it was too late they blew large holes in one another; blood spraying out of their backs as they fell to the ground.
After a moment Philippe approached the carriage; there was a strong smell of excrement. “Come on out Maximilian, you have a date with Madam Guillotine,” he said, in a mocking voice.
After a few minutes with nothing happening Philippe shouted, “Come out!” The carriage shook for a moment. This roused Robespierre who stepped down from the settling carriage. He was then pulled across the square by an invisible force – the toes of his boots scraping over the cobbles.
With the guillotine looming he pleaded, “Stop this… oh stop this! I’ll give you anything.”
There was no reply as the blade rose and his neck placed in the groove. He tried to struggle free, but it was no good he was being held by a cast iron force. The last thing he saw as the blade sliced through his neck was a grinning face with crimson eyes which said: “You will follow me.”
The next day Philippe sat at his desk staring into space, uninterested in the paperwork in front of him. There will be a backlash, he thought, I must ready myself. Blame will land on the Atheists. But the problem is that I can’t be everywhere. Perhaps I can take a little of the heat off my brothers.
Two days after the death of Robespierre the Committee of Public Safety met; on the agenda was the execution and who was responsible. The committee comprised Robespierre supporters who, although they would never say so, were glad to see the last of him.
Midway through the meeting the ornate ceiling creaked and moaned. Small pieces of white plaster fell onto the members before, the whole ceiling came crashing down. The committee members could only look up in horror as oblivion sped toward them. The ceiling came to a shuddering halt just above head height. Hovering for a moment allowing the grateful men time to scramble out of the room before it crashed into the floor Outside, Philippe screamed in mental torment as the ground behind him opened. The figure of a man with black hair and a pallid face slowly rose out of the hole.
Philippe turned in horror, sensing power way beyond his.
“I could not let you kill these men Anatole. Robespierre was a madman; most of these men went along with him out of fear.” Philippe heard in his head.
“Who…who are you?” Philippe shouted.
“I have watched you kill in the name of French patriotism and now revolution. These people are playthings to you; you are no patriot. I know what you desire, and it’s the same thing my mother desires.
Mother, thought Philippe, of course this was Hel’s son.
“You have me at a disadvantage, you know my name, but I don’t know you.”
“You know full well who I am. I am David - son of Jonas – the man who killed himself to save the world from your kind.”
“My kind? But you are of demon stock. I have only limited power, but you… you are a powerful
“I am a demon abandoned by a merciless mother and found sanctuary with humankind.”
“You say I’m not a French patriot. You are wrong this is my country.” Philippe said, turning round and extending his arm.
When he looked back both David, and the hole had gone.