The Incorruptible, Corrupted {l'incorruptible, Corrompu}

~6~

Maximilien woke to find his face wet with tears. He took a deep breath and carefully rubbed them from his face. There was no use crying anymore. Any moment they could come and take him to the guillotine. Then I'll be able to see Camille again! And Danton! And all the other people you killed, a nagging voice in his mind said.

No, Maximilien thought, scolding himself. You're wrong! I didn't kill them! We all did. It was put to a vote. While I DID participate in it, I did NOT do it alone.

Once again footsteps echoed out in the hallway. Maximilien tensed at the sound. They drew closer and closer until they stopped outside of the cell door. Please no, he begged internally praying that they'd pass him by, just as they had the previous day. For a fleeting moment, he sat with bated breath until he heard the jingling of keys in the door's lock. It was over. His life, the revolution, his reminiscing. Everything.

"C'est l'heure Citizen Robespierre," the guard said softly, opening the door. "We have some men with us to help walk you to your transportation." Maximilien nodded shakily. I need to be brave, he told himself. I can do it. Two armed men entered the room and pulled him roughly to his feet. Dark spots danced before his eyes and a wave of nausea washed over him. "The carts are waiting outside," the guard said to the other two. "Bring him there. The others are waiting."

"Come on, tyrant," one of the guards said, laughing. "Let's go." He shoved Maximilien forward, almost pushing him to the ground. Days ago they would have been executed for this behavior, Maximilien thought wistfully. Although anyone could have been executed for almost any reason then.

The guards half marched, half dragged Maximilien through the building and outside to where multiple open carts waited. The others, he noticed while squinting into the sun, were already loaded into their respective carts. Saint-Just was one of the only men standing on his own. The others, including a bloody-faced Augustin, were being supported by more guards. Maximilien swallowed hard. Agustin was worse then he had imagined. A large bird circled overhead, looming and waiting for the death that would soon come. Maximilien shuddered. There was the reason he was fond of SMALL birds.

"Please Maxime," Charlotte had begged, standing in the doorway, blocking him. "Let me borrow one of your pigeons! I'll be good to it I swear!" Maximilien had frowned and crossed his arms, trying to gently push past his sister.

"Non! Absolutely not! I don't trust you with them! They need extensive care!"

"What does that mean," she'd asked puzzled. Maximilien had sighed exasperatedly. Of course. Charlotte often didn't know what 'big' words meant and he had to explain them to her.

"They need a lot of care and you won't be getting them. They aren't little dolls to be played with." Charlotte had nodded earnestly.

"I know Max! I'll feed it every day! Just like you do. And I'll only hold it the way that you've shown me. Please, Maxime?"

"Fine," he'd said shortly. "If anything happens to it, anything at all, I'll never let you borrow my birds again. Do you understand? Charlotte! Do you understand?" She had nodded once, then took off running down the stairs yelling for her sister.

Days later, when his aunts had brought his sisters to visit again, Charlotte and Henriette had shuffled over to where he had been reading, tears in their eyes. Imediently Maximilien was suspicious. They'd done something to the bird.

"Maximilien," Charlotte had whispered, always the spokesperson of the two. "We... we're sorry. We left the bird outside because we wanted it to feel free. Then it started storming and we were called inside. Neither of us thought about the pigeon." His hands had clenched around the cover of the book and his look had turned stony.

"I told you," he said reproachfully. "I told you that you'd be bored of it after a few days! I never should have lent it to you."

With a guard's help, Maximilien took his place in the cart with Augustin. The hot Thermidor sun beat down on his head, sweat trickling down his neck. He breathed deeply, enjoying what were soon to be the last breaths he'd ever take. His brother shifted slightly at his right.

"Maxime," he whispered, a note of fear evident in his voice. "I'm scared." Maximilien swallowed and slipped his bound hand into his brother's. No longer was Augustin his fellow revolutionary, and supporter. Now all Maximilien could see was the little boy who had been so frightened of thunderstorms and spiders back at their home in Arras.

"Me too," Maximilien whispered back, fighting through the pain it took to speak. That's the first time I've admitted it out loud, he realized as the cart started to roll. Never during any part of the revolution had he confessed his fears to someone else. Not to Camille, not to Danton, not even to Saint-Just. Then again, this is the most I've probably ever been scared.