InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Beside You in Time ❯ 1794: Paris ( Chapter 11 )

A/N: Several groups have voted on their awards lately. I've already mentioned "Ghosts" placing at third in AU/AR over at the IYFG. This story did pretty well too! Yay!

At the Inuyasha Fan Guild, this story got 2nd place for Best Action/Adventure.

At Dokuga, this story received:
1st Place for Best Action/Adventure
1st Place for Best Characterization - Kagome
2nd Place for Best Characterization - Sesshoumaru

Yay! Thank you to everyone that contributed. I don't know who nominated me over at Dokuga, so I have to thank them without names, but thank you to forthright and ktshabatie for nominating and seconding me over at IYFG. Big hugs to everyone that voted!

Also - I love the fact that I have many talented artists drawing scenes from my stories. I'm old though, and I forgot to mention a couple of them last time I updated. I *think* this list brings everything up to date. Please (a) tell me if I missed something, so I can give it some love and (b) go and give these artists some of your own love!

Another piece for this story by yukimiya called "SessKag: Salem Witch Trial" - http://yukimiya.deviantart.com/art/SessKag-Salem-Witch-Trial-124639340
A WIP for "The Once and Future Taiyoukai" by TheSorrowfulVampress called "The Most Powerful Living Miko" - http://thesorrowfulvampress.deviantart.com/art/The-Most-Powerful-Living-Mik o-122804140
"SK: It was THIS big" by ZLynn, which was inspired by TOAFT - http://zlynn.deviantart.com/art/SK-It-was-THIS-big-124546161
"Fur Gin" by see03 for my one-shot of the same name - http://see03.deviantart.com/art/Fur-Gin-124018154

Thank you, guys! You're really too good to me. :D *hugs*

Stepping out of the shop where he had taken his breakfast, Sesshoumaru ensured that his tricolored rosette was pinned securely to his hat and joined the crowds moving along the Rue Honoré. Blue, white and red rosettes and ribbons blossomed from every man, woman and child's bonnet or hat without exception, all fresh and cleanly pressed. No one dared to allow theirs to fade - the ribbon sellers were making a killing, although they were the only ones doing so. The rest of the crowd's clothing was worn and tattered, and Sesshoumaru's coat was in little better condition. It seemed that the revolution for which they wore the tricolored cockades was growing to be quite successful - everyone was equal in their poverty.

The pale columns of the Palais-Egalite soon passed on his right, and the crowd swelled as the revolutionaries that frequented the newly public palace joined them. Many of them, their breath still bitter with the smell of coffee and their clothes still smelling of the prostitutes that now lived in the palace's top floors, greeted him by name. Sesshoumaru tipped his hat to as many as he could - a drunk revolutionary sometimes had the loudest voice of all, and he did not want to attract any more attention than he already did.

They all turned and walked through the Tuileries Garden with another palace that shared its name looming up behind them. Sesshoumaru could already hear the shouts and cries of those that had already gathered in the Place de la Révolution up ahead. The shining light that hovered above the crowd grew until he was close enough to identify the National Razor, its blade gleaming despite the clouds in the sky. Only the ground beneath it was stained with blood - the sharp edge itself was cleaned every night with a loving care that revolted even Sesshoumaru.

"Armand!" called a thin voice. "Armand!"

Sesshoumaru steeled himself before turning to face the mousy, little man. "Citizen Fouché," he greeted, bowing.

"Damned hot," answered the other man. He mopped at his face with a handkerchief and stared up at the taller male. "How do you not sweat, Armand?"

The taiyoukai shifted his gaze, looking for an excuse to leave. "My blood runs colder than most," he replied.

"How fortunate! Well, come over here then. I have a perfect spot," Joseph Fouché beckoned, leading the way to the front.

"I am content to remain in the background," said Sesshoumaru, trying to ignore the stony-faced, armed guards that ringed the scaffold.

"Nonsense. How can you see justice work from so far away?"

The taiyoukai tried not to scowl as he was brought to the edge of the platform that held Madame Guillotine, the Lady that made all citizens equal. Next to him, a row of women sat whispering to one another with yarn and knitting needles in their laps - they were les tricoteuses, the knitters, that came every day to knit as heads were lopped off. They were ghouls, thirsty for blood, and Sesshoumaru had seen them whip the crowds into passionate frenzies for the sake of a beheading. For today, however, they seemed to be content to do their more sedate work of simple observation.

A pamphlet was shoved under his nose. "Program, Citizen Grosvenor?" said the vendor. "We haven't seen you here in a bit. Might want to know who is up on the block, don't you?"

"No, thank you," murmured Sesshoumaru, turning away as Joseph Fouché deposited a coin into the man's hand.

"Have a look," his companion said, giving him the program anyway.

The taiyoukai opened the folded paper and frowned. "Seventeen?" he counted. "Seventeen will die today?" He scanned the names, but did not recognize a single one. "It does not state their crimes."

"The crimes not being printed anymore," said Fouché, taking back the program. "Unless it's something other than treason against the revolution, of course."

The procession approached - the guards and then the carts that were normally used to haul wood, filled with victims instead. The executioner and his assistant sat at the front of the cart with the driver, whose shoulders were hunched forward over his plodding team of horses. A coach brought up the rear, and the shadows of the two required witnesses - a court reporter and his clerk - could be seen sitting ramrod straight inside. They would not leave their coach during the execution but watch from their shaded perches. Soon, their greedy little fingers would be clutching at the window of their coach as the victims of their bosses on the Revolutionary Tribunal died.

"Of course," intoned the dog demon, watching the cart stop at the other end of the platform. Seventeen pale faces stared out at the crowd. "And yet, it amazes me."

"What, my friend?"

Sesshoumaru tried not to scowl - he was not Fouché's friend. He was civil to a man that had the power to get him onto the platform with those seventeen men and women. It was the same reason he never tore Maximilien Robespierre's deceitful tongue out of his mouth - it was simply not wise. "That people still refuse to recognize the Committee of Public Safety's power."

"The power is with the people, Armand," corrected Fouché. "Robespierre simply speaks for all of us."

His words were loyal to the Republic, but Sesshoumaru heard the specter of distrust in his associate's voice. "Does he?"

Fouché smiled faintly. "Well, for now." They shared a look. "All men are mortal," he added with a shrug.

Sesshoumaru turned to the scaffold again as the mob exploded with yells - the condemned were lined up, and the first man was walking towards the guillotine. Tall and fair, the man could hardly look less threatening in his filthy rags. The crowd writhed in anticipation as the man cowered under the hands of the guards that loosened the neck of his shirt so that the blade cut cleanly through his flesh. The citizen on the other side of Sesshoumaru had a child on his shoulders that yelled along, waving his tricolored badge.

The executioner worked with troubling ease and efficiency, strapping the man to the bascule that his body would rest upon and then securing his head in the lunette so that he could not move away from the blade. In moments, he was finished with his preparations and stepped back, slowing his pace as the mob's cries intensified. Sesshoumaru could not hear the victim's sobs over the din, but he could smell the tears. He saw one of the women that was waiting her turn lift her tied hands and weep into them. She had black hair and dark eyes, and her shape was so familiar that he had to look back at the National Razor for a less painful sight.

The blade came down with a whisper, and Sesshoumaru watched a head topple into the basket. Blood spilled from behind the blade, splashing onto the wooden scaffold and dribbling towards the edge - the rapid depressurization of the arteries was emptying the body of its fluids, and the crowd screamed in delight. The more blood the better.

One of the guards on the platform stepped forward and lifted the head out of the basket - the man's terrified expression had slackened, and his cheeks were pale. Sesshoumaru had seen many severed heads in his days, but the spectacle of the guard strutting about with the head of this 'traitor' sickened him. As one piece of the corpse was put on display, the other guards rolled the man's body away, tipping it into a cart without ceremony.

The woman that had been crying was led forward to the guillotine as the crowd's excitement faded. It was a dance - choreographed for maximum pleasure of the audience and so that their fervor would never fade completely. Sesshoumaru turned away. "I should leave. I have matters to attend to."

"I'm sure that the Tribunal will understand," Fouché said. "This is for the Republic."

"So is my work for Citizen Fouquier-Tinville," replied Sesshoumaru.

Fouché grinned. "Yes. Things must march on, no matter who meets Madame Guillotine. I will see you later, my friend."

The taiyoukai made his exit, pushing through the crowd. Behind him, the blade fell again - his ears picked up the sharp thump over all the yelling. He could see the black-haired woman's head in his mind's eye and how the guard must be showing it off to the mob.

He hated them all. He wished that he could release his concealment spell and flatten every cheering fool in the square.

Instead, he moved towards the Palace with its long, white facade covered with a grid of windows. He didn't bother to ask the sentries if the Revolutionary Tribunal was meeting today - it had been meeting every day for the past few weeks, including Sundays. Five years after the beginning of the revolution, there were more enemies to it than ever, and the court had to work entirely to purge Paris of the dangerous element - the counter-revolutionaries.

It had started with King Louis XVI. Sesshoumaru had been in the same square that day as well - the corners of Paris had emptied to see the king's execution. Those were the days that some people still wept openly about the monarch's fate, and he had stood beside a woman that had sobbed into his shirt sleeve as Louis had taken his place under Madame Guillotine.

But it was Louis's wife, the reviled Marie Antoinette, that had set off the spectacles of the Reign of Terror that sent so many to the guillotine every day after her. Sesshoumaru had attended the trial - as much as outrageous accusations such as incest with her son could be called a trial - and had seen her killed up on the scaffold nine months after her husband. Even in her most unpopular of days, the queen had been touted as beautiful, but Sesshoumaru had watched the pressure of the revolution and her husband's death wash out any redeeming qualities. When she died, she was pathetic and small, like a mouse that had lived too long with a teasing cat.

After that, the public had cried for more blood. And so it had received. The Jacobins had seized power, and one by one, their enemies fell. Anyone too soft on the royal family was declared a traitor. Then it was anyone that supported the nobility, the clergy and finally, Christianity itself. Now, anyone who refuted the absolute power of Robespierre and his Committee of Public Safety lived under the shadow of the guillotine. The Jacobins, Robespierre's own revolutionaries, had splintered, and he had turned against his former compatriots. No one was safe.

He opened the door to the side chamber of the courtroom, picking up the papers on his previous night's work and crossing the door that led into the main chamber. Twenty-three men and women were to be tried for treason today. It was ten o'clock, so they had probably already made it through four or five of them - the lack of defense lawyers and, usually, witnesses made things far simpler than the days that the court had observed the laws and rules of procedure. Antoine Fouquier-Tinville would just be hitting his stride about now, and it was the best moment to try to speak with him.

Putting his hand on the doorknob, Sesshoumaru paused. He felt the telltale pull at the pit of his stomach twist with renewed energy - an immortal was on the other side of the door, in the courtroom.

"Finally," he muttered before entering the main chamber. There were too many people here at the moment - it was filled to capacity, and he struggled to breathe the stagnant air, despite the open windows. A quick sweep of the room with his eyes told him nothing, of course. The shape-shifters could look like anyone they chose. They could be masquerading as one of the men running this circus.

He looked up at those same men. Beneath the statute of Justice - complete with sword and scales and the now ignored tomes of the law - sat the judges on their bench. They wore tricolor plumes of feathers in their hats, eschewing the tradition of sober dress for jurists. To their left, the rows of the accused sat under the watchful eyes of the guards. The jury congregated at the judges' left, sitting up with sharp attention to the parade of gray-faced, future victims of the guillotine. The gallery was full of observers, all on their feet like a silent choir. They would begin singing for blood in a moment.

It could be any one of them, and their lust for their form of justice wouldn't help identify the intruder. The monsters were not just the ones pretending to be human within these walls. The thought that the shape-shifter or the mob might attack at any time didn't help either.

Sesshoumaru walked across the floor, ignoring the tearful pleas of the beefy man on trial, and placed a stack of papers in front of Fouquier-Tinville. "Where have you been?" asked the public prosecutor, not looking at his clerk. Around his chubby throat, he wore a tricolored scarf knitted by one of les tricoteuses at the scaffold.

"I was in the square, watching justice carried out," replied the taiyoukai without pause. He tapped the pile of parchment under the nose of the squat, dark-haired man. He kept an eye upon the rest of the room, looking for anything unusual. "These need your immediate attention. Citizen..."

The lawyer held up his hand, forcing the dog demon to pause. "You were seen in the company of known Feuillants!" he shouted at the blubbering man in the center of the room. Sesshoumaru resisted the urge to glare at the lie - the Feuillants were monarchists that had long been killed or fled Paris.

"No! No," cried the accused. "I am only a butcher!"

"Then you will meet a fitting end," said one of the judges from the bench above Sesshoumaru. The entire room cracked grim smiles.

"Where are these men?" asked the butcher, gulping air. "I would never have a monarchist in my shop!"

"They have already met their fates," replied Fouquier-Tinville. "They named you as their co-conspirator. What proof do you have that you are not plotting against the revolution? Where is your evidence that you don't know these Feuillants?"

"How can I prove anything when I have no idea who is accusing me?" cried the defendant. "How can I say prove anything other than what I do? All I do every day is wait for decent meat and serve my customers the cuts I receive!"

"And you receive information from monarchists, passing them on to people who seek to destroy this court, the Committee of Public Safety and the Incorruptible, Maximillien Robespierre!" thundered Fouquier-Tinville. "We know what a butcher does, but what does a man do when his hands are idle? I ask you again. Where is your proof of innocence?"

The wind went out of his sails as quickly as they filled. The man looked down at the floor, pearl-like tears still dripping off his nose. "I can say nothing more than I already have. I am a loyal to the revolution, citizen," he murmured.

"That is for the jury to decide now," snarled Fouquier-Tinville. "I submit to those fine men that you are a liar and a traitor besides. You clearly do not concern yourself with the greater good of the revolution, but with your own mortal life. I have never seen such a disgrace! I leave it to the jury to agree or disagree with me." He turned to the box of men, all of whom were nodding like mechanical dolls at the prosecutor's words.

The chief judge, Dumas, nodded. "The jury will now deliberate on the charge of treason."

The trial was over - there was no advocacy for the accused. Fouquier-Tinville turned to his clerk as the jurors began to whisper to one another. The butcher was left to stand in the middle of the room. "What is it, Armand?" he asked, his breath quick with the thrill of victory.

"Tomorrow's list of defendants," Sesshoumaru replied. "There is a priest."

Fouquier-Tinville brightened. "We haven't had a clergyman in awhile."

"No, citizen. That is why I felt it necessary to bring it to your attention," the dog demon said. "I have made a few notations."

"Citizen Robespierre believes such trials can be beneficial to our new religion," the lawyer said, pawing through the documents. "Reason and Virtue must be established in the place of the Church. Taking down another priest might impress that upon the traitors. There are still some who believe in that ridiculous tripe of an all-powerful God."

"A very few, surely," replied Sesshoumaru flatly. Behind him, the jury called out its guilty verdict, and the judge declared the judgment valid with a wave of his hand. A cheer rose from the gallery as the crying butcher was taken away. He would be guillotined soon enough. The backlog was so great these days.

"We all know that men are the ones with the power," said the prosecutor. He smiled, displaying his small teeth. "Good, Armand. Tomorrow will be another good day for the Republic. Just like today."

Another clerk standing at the end of the table scanned his list. "Bastien Girard de Chevalier!" he called.

A thin man with thick brown hair pulled back at the nape of his long neck and a prominent nose was hauled out of his seat and brought forward. Sesshoumaru would not have paid attention, save for the straightening of Fouquier-Tinville's spine. "Someone special, citizen?" he asked.

"A Girondin," said his master. "Another one that we don't see too much of these days. And I hear this one has a witness on his behalf." He said the last part loudly, so that the entire court could hear.

"I do," said the man on trial. He was not shying away from Fouquier-Tinville as the previous man had done. Sesshoumaru guessed that this defendant had been in the military - his bearing under the gaze of so many unfriendly eyes led him to no other possible conclusion. He had learned to recognize it over the years. "I have my own statement to make first."

"No. Bring this witness forward, if he dares to display his disloyalty in public," the prosecutor said, leaning back in his chair. The scribes at his sides readied their quills to write down the name of the brave fool.

A figure parted from the masses in the gallery. "I'm here and ready to speak."

There was a flash of recognition and final pull in the depths of his chest, and he had to suppress a smirk. Of course. Kagome would come to the defense of a doomed man. He should have known it was her. Her scent had been buried with all the bodies in the room, but the lack of urgency in his instincts to find and kill the immortal should have told him that it was only Kagome.

Her eyes found him quickly, but she had obviously seen him several minutes ago and could let her gaze drift over him with no apparent surprise. She was dressed as every other woman in the room, with a tricolor cockade on her cap and poorly fitting stays under her drab clothes, but there was a color in her cheek that had not been there in a very long time. "He is not what you say," she commented. Her Parisian French was flawless, and she seemed to speak with the very voice of the Republic - smooth, serene and dangerously confident. "He supports this revolution with all of his heart."

"That's very nice to hear," Fouquier-Tinville said with no small amount of disdain. "Who are you, woman?"

"I am Aurelie Rousseau," she replied. "I am the sister of Lieutenant-colonel Pierre Rousseau."

There was a murmur at the bench. "Your brother," began Dumas. He leaned over the table. "Your brother is deployed at the border at the moment, I'm assuming?"

"Fighting the Prussians," affirmed Kagome with a small smile. Her eyes flickered towards the taiyoukai. "My brother counts Bastien Girard de Chevalier as one of his dearest friends. They are only apart because he is home for a short time on leave before he returns to fight. He is a Commander in our army."

The judge looked down at Fouquier-Tinville, whose self-satisfied smile was quickly fading. "Why is this man before us, Antoine?"

The royalist officers of yesterday had been the most recent victims of the guillotine. Young, competent officers drawn from non-aristocracy were difficult to come by and could not be wasted. "He is a Girondin," said the prosecutor. "He has been heard advocating the presence of the Christian God."

"I am a Jacobin," said Bastien.

"There are Jacobins and then there are Jacobins," growled the lawyer, not meeting the officer's eyes.

Kagome took a breath. "With all due respect, citizen, my brother would never associate with anyone less than a true revolutionary. I have proof of the defendant's loyalty to our republican cause."

Fouquier-Tinville's jaw set. "The accused does not have right to counsel!" he shouted, getting to his feet. "The Committee of Public Safety and The Incorruptible, Maximillien Robespierre, has decreed it so."

Kagome blinked prettily. "I am a woman. I am no lawyer."

The room filled with light chuckles, but the judges did not seem to find any amusement in it as they glared down at Fouquier-Tinville. "Who brought this accusation?" Dumas demanded. "And what is your proof, Citizeness Rousseau?"

She drew a letter from her sleeve. "I do not know who brought this accusation. Perhaps the true Girondin who has been spreading lies about the revolution in our quarter of the city," she suggested with a light shrug. "But I have a letter from Brigadier General Napoleon Bonaparte, written after the Fall of Toulon. My brother and the accused fought in that battle and won the notice of the General. He praises them as patriots to our cause."

A wave of whispers cascaded through the room - Bonaparte was the new hero of the French forces and a particular favorite of Maximillien Robespierre and his brother, Augustin. Sesshoumaru crossed the room to retrieve the letter, and he met Kagome's eyes as he took the slip of paper from her fingers. She did not smile, but he could hear her long, deep breaths. Her eyes were shining with cautious triumph.

There was only one more hurdle - to convince the judges that dismissing an innocent man would not impair the progress of the revolution in any way. Kagome waited for a moment as Dumas read Bonaparte's letter and then launched into her speech. "As the Incorruptible has said, terror is the only way to discover true virtue. If we forgive easily and let the law bend as it did before the revolution, we will corrupt our freedom and our virtue that we fought so hard for. In short, terror separates the patriots from the traitors. " She took a step towards the bench. "But this man has already seen terror and passed through unharmed. There is no greater terror - no greater test of patriotism - than standing on the field of battle with one's fellow citizens of the Republic and pushing back those enemies that would only return the power to a few instead of the people. Commander Girard de Chevalier is one of those men. To use him as an example brings no more virtue to this revolution. Without virtue, terror is only terror. We must not divide the two."

She paused to take a breath, but the prosecutor broke in. "We will not listen to this woman!" he shouted. "You are no orator, citizeness, and we will not listen to Citizen Robespierre's words perverted by the feminine mind. You could not possibly comprehend them." He looked towards the commander. "The accused will speak on his own behalf!"

Sesshoumaru saw Kagome falter and realized the problem - Bastien could speak the same words as she just did, but they would become disingenuous and self-serving in his voice. In front of misogynists, a woman's words were given less weight, but they were also softened because they came from the 'fairer sex'. Sesshoumaru had seen the trials of the nobility that had served in the army - their discipline and fearlessness in front of the jury had done them no favors. This court wanted tears as well as blood. The judges already had fallen quiet as they looked at him.

"Citizen," said the taiyoukai, stepping between Fouquier-Tinville and Girard de Chevalier before he could stop himself. "I will speak on the accused's behalf, as someone more learned than this simple woman."

Fouquier-Tinville frowned up at his clerk. "And what do you know of this matter, Armand?"

"She and her brother, Pierre, are my kinsmen. I will vouch for her words and, by association, for this defendant." He saw the dubious looks of the judges. "And we cannot forget the words of Brigadier General Bonaparte," he added.

"I thought you had no family, Citizen Grosvenor," Dumas murmured.

He wore his best mask of indifference. "I did not think they were still alive, but I have recognized her and the name of her brother. I trust her words."

"This is ridiculous. You are my clerk, not a witness!" said the prosecutor.

"You are right about Bonaparte," said Dumas, leaning over the bench and rereading the letter. "And I must say that in your time here, Citizen Grosvenor, I have known you to be a vigorous advocate for the revolution, the Republic and Citizen Robespierre."

"You cannot be considering, Your Honor," began Fouquier-Tinville.

"Do you not trust your own clerk?" asked the judge, frowning down at the other man. Fouquier-Tinville sank back into his seat, and Dumas gestured at the guards. "Based on this evidence, I order the charges dismissed and the prisoner freed. Commander Girard de Chevalier, I expect you to fight for our Republic again soon."

The gallery exploded with shouts - some congratulatory and some scathing. Sesshoumaru kept his eyes upon the prosecutor, but he could hear the ropes falling away from the commander's wrists. Fouquier-Tinville beckoned to him as the former defendant and Kagome escaped the suffocation of the room. The din covered the lawyer's words. "I have no idea what that was about, Armand," he growled, "but I will find out. Until I do, you are excused from my service in this court."

Sesshoumaru leveled a long look at the lawyer as he contemplated his choices. At last, he decided that there were enough public decapitations in Paris. "Of course, citizen. I will return these to the other room for my replacement's perusal," the taiyoukai said, picking up the sheaf of papers and leaving the same way he came. Just as the door closed behind him, the clerk called for the next defendant to take his place.

He tossed the documents on the desk that was once his and left the room without pause. Kagome hadn't lingered in the hallway - she waited for him outside, at the edge of the Place de la Révolution. The crowds that had watched the morning's executions were dispersing now, and she stood near the path they took out of the square, not watching for him but studying each person that passed by her.

"Kagome."

She turned and looked up at him - the barest hint of a smile graced her lips. "Sesshoumaru. How are you?"

"As well as I could be in this place," he replied. "And you?"

"The same, I suppose," she said. "I didn't expect you to actually stop and speak with me."

"Circumstances seemed to call for it." He studied her for a moment. "Where is your friend, the commander?"

Kagome glanced away and gestured vaguely. "Oh, over there. He saw someone he recognized from the army. Someone who owes him money, luckily enough. We're going to try to get a coach out of Paris."

"I have money. I could pay for it."

She did smile then. "No. Bastien would never borrow money that he wasn't absolutely sure he could repay, and who knows? Someone might catch up with us. He'd feel worse about not paying the debt than going in front of those vultures again." She nodded towards the Palace.

The way she said his name - his first name - told him more than he wanted to know. "You anticipate returning to see the Tribunal?"

"I'm going on the odds here. How many people have they let go?" she asked. "Of that number, how many don't end up back where they started? Especially since that idiotic law passed a few weeks ago, they don't really need any evidence to send you to the guillotine."

Sesshoumaru nodded - the Law of 22 Prairial had made it almost impossible to escape the attention of the National Razor once it had someone in its shadow. As it was, Kagome had pushed the bounds of the law by defending the commander. He suspected that only invoking the name of Napoleon Bonaparte had saved her. "I am sure there was at least one member of the Committee of Public Safety in there that did not appreciate you speaking for your friend. Both of your names will be on top of the next list the Committee looks at."

"So will yours," Kagome said. "You helped us, but you don't even know Bastien."

Something rolled in his stomach that had become familiar in the years since Tortuga - guilt. He pushed it away. Kagome didn't seem anxious to dredge up the past. Her calm civility disturbed him - he had not planned on meeting her again so soon. He had thought peace was still far in her future - the last time he had seen her, she had been swathed in somber dresses and had been playing the part of a severe governess for English children. Now, he had already seen her smile. "No, but I felt it necessary."

"Oh," she said, her eyes widening slightly. "Why?"

"Do you actually believe that I approve of what is going on in this city?"

She shrugged. "If anything, I would have said that you would be a monarchist. You have a title that you inherited, after all. Then again, the Jacobins aren't exactly shy about showing displeasure, which reminds me of you too," she murmured. "But if you don't enjoy it, why are you here? And why on earth are you the clerk for Fouquier-Tinville? He's vile. I'd heard about him, of course, but I'd never seen him in action. He's slime. Now, that I'm surprised about."

"I sensed another immortal in Paris, and so I stayed." He folded his hands behind his back. "I took the position of clerk so that I could survey the inner workings of this revolution without attracting too much attention. It seemed unlikely that the shape-shifters would not be drawn by the chaos of this city. But now, I see it was you."

Kagome nodded. "They would love this," she agreed. "How long have you sensed another immortal?"

"For several months."

"Ah. Then, it wasn't me after all," she replied. "I've only been here a month. I came as soon as I heard Bastien was arrested. I wasn't lying. He really is a commander, and I've been near the northern border with him and Shippo. I'm one of the nurses there. I don't think you would have thought I was in Paris when I was all the way up there."

"Shippo? The fox?" His brow creased.

"Yes," she said. A cloud passed over her expression. "There are a few things I want to talk to you about him, by the way."

"Now is not the time."

"No," she agreed. She paused and softened again. "Now is the time to look for the shape-shifter, if there is one around."

"I have felt one quite close to me for some time now. I thought it was the sister," he said. "She is craftier than her brother, since I have been here for some time. She has managed to elude me."

"Maybe it's more than one," she murmured. "This could get difficult."

"Especially if she has sensed you and decides to follow you out of the city instead of staying here in Paris." Sesshoumaru took a breath. "Perhaps it would be better if we both left together. Until the matter is settled."

Kagome blinked. "'We'?" she echoed. She glanced around. "Sesshoumaru, that could be..."

"You are betrothed to Girard de Chevalier?" he interrupted.

"I didn't say that," she snapped quickly. She paused and looked away. "That's not the problem. It's just complicated now. Shippo has been acting as my brother, and Bastien is our closest friend. But he doesn't know what I am or what Shippo is, for that matter. I don't really want to get him into... well, he doesn't deserve getting dragged into what we went through for so long. I don't want him near those shape-shifters."

"I see," he said.

"That doesn't mean I don't want you to come along, Sesshoumaru," she said, biting at her lower lip. "It would be complicated, but it would be worth it. But only if you really wanted to."

Sesshoumaru couldn't decide if she was hoping he would accompany her or not. Perhaps she wasn't sure either. Before he could ask, Bastien approached. "Aurelie," he said, "I have the money. I think it's enough."

Her attention immediately shifted away from him, and Sesshoumaru knew the answer to his question. Kagome smiled at the commander with such warmth that it lit up the grim square. "Wonderful. I'm sure it is." She looked back at Sesshoumaru. "Bastien, this is..."

"The man that saved my life, yes," the commander said, thrusting his hand towards the dog demon. Up close, Sesshoumaru could see that the man was not meant to be as thin as he was. Paris's deplorable prisons probably killed just as many as the guillotine - his collar bone jutted out beneath the tattered clothing that was slightly too loose on his body. His nose would always be as sharp and large as it looked now, but he had clearly learned not to smile too often, lest he draw attention to it.

Sesshoumaru shook his proffered hand. "Armand Grosvenor."

"Bastien Girard de Chevalier. Citizen Grosvenor, I owe you a debt. I could hardly believe it. I have never heard of someone standing up to Fouquier-Tinville like that. Do you really know Pierre and my Aurelie?" he asked, putting a hand on Kagome's shoulder. "I don't remember them mentioning you. But I am pleased you are their friend and, by association, my friend as well."

Sesshoumaru watched Kagome lean into his touch. "I am a distant relation," he said. "A cousin."

"About the coach, Bastien. Armand was saying that he would want..."

"To secure one for you," interrupted Sesshoumaru swiftly. "You should not feel as if your release means that you can wander the streets of Paris freely."

"Of course," said the commander with a sharp nod.

"You have your papers?" he asked, ignoring Kagome's scowl.

"Always," answered Bastien. "Where will you go?"

Sesshoumaru pointed up to Rue Honoré. "My house is not far. The two of you should remain there as I make the arrangements."

"You save us once again, Citizen Grosvenor," said Bastien, bowing.

The dog demon led the way, scanning the people moving along the streets for familiar faces. The Tribunal itself would still be in session, but there were several key members of the National Convention that drifted in and out of the meetings, as most of their important powers was held by the Committee of Public Safety alone. Looking back at the pair, he saw Kagome leaning up to whisper in the commander's ear. "Do you know who wants you dead?" Sesshoumaru asked, forcing them to break apart.

"It could be anyone," Bastien replied.

"You are a Girondin, aren't you?" he asked.

"Lower your voice!" Kagome chided.

The taiyoukai ignored her. "You are," he insisted.

"I am only for the return of sense," the officer muttered. "The insanity that has reigned in this city since Louis's death is far more brutal than anything I have seen on the battlefield. I did not support the royalists. They were choking France with their frivolity. But I do not support needless death either." He gave his savior a sidelong glance. "But I suppose I should not say these things to a Jacobin."

Kagome wrapped her hand around Bastien's arm. "Armand doesn't like what's happening either."

Sesshoumaru was silent for a moment. "No, I don't," he said. "I believe in competent leaders, whether they are of royal blood or from the streets."

The commander nodded. "Then we are in accord."

"I suppose you could say that." He frowned slightly. "I asked for your enemies, commander, because the men of the Committee and the Convention have turned their sights on their personal foes, not just political ones."

Bastien considered it for a moment. "I have neighbors who wish to take my land," he said. "But they have no power in this government."

"Everyone with the will and the immorality for it has power these days," Sesshoumaru said. "Still, if you are not sure, we cannot take a chance. It is possible that someone higher up in the government has his eye on you and wishes for your death. Someone like that would have the power to rearrest you almost immediately. Especially once they discover the letter from Bonaparte is a forgery. That will condemn you both in an instant."

Kagome blinked. "How did you know?"

Sesshoumaru raised an eyebrow. "A guess, but it seemed too convenient."

"I thought it was clever," Kagome said, lifting her chin.

"It worked. That is what matters," said the commander.

Sesshoumaru kept his eyes on the crowd moving around them, trying to concentrate on the faces of others, but he could not stop his mouth from opening each time he saw Kagome move close to Bastien. "Where do you wish to go when you leave?" he asked.

"Calais would be ideal," Girard de Chevalier replied, looking away from Kagome once more. "It is close to the front."

"You are returning to the army?" Sesshoumaru asked, his lip curling.

Bastien frowned. "To do otherwise would be desertion."

"Pierre is waiting for us," Kagome added. "We can't leave him there."

"They have just as much power to arrest you on the front lines of battle as here in Paris," Sesshoumaru replied, lowering his voice. "If you want to keep your head for any measurable amount of time, you would do well to cross to England at the first chance."

The officer shook his head. "I cannot do that, citizen."

Sesshoumaru's eyes moved from him to Kagome. "We'll be fine," she affirmed.

"So be it," he muttered, looking forward again. "Calais, then."

They all fell silent, save for the occasional murmurings between Kagome and the commander. Sesshoumaru kept his eyes in front of him, although they did not seem to see, and it was pure habit that made him turn off of Rue Honoré and find his small home wedged into the space between two identical buildings. Its brick facade was unmarked in any way, but his neighbor to the left had gone well beyond the call of duty and had draped every window in blue, white and red. In the dark, shady street, the shades were diluted and appeared to be colored black, gray and blood.

Sesshoumaru unlocked the door and led his guests indoors before beckoning to a street urchin that lingered at his doorstep. "Émile, you will earn three, copper sol for going to Citizen Gravois and ordering a carriage to take two to Calais. If it is here within the hour, an extra sol."

"Yes, citizen!" answered the boy, scampering off.

"Was that wise?"Kagome said from inside the doorway. "He could tell anyone."

Sesshoumaru closed the door behind him, shrouding the front hallway in semi-darkness. Everything - the walls, ceiling and floor - was made of the same, pock-marked, dark wood. There was no adornment. A peek into the front parlor showed only the mandated number of stiff-backed chairs and small tables for coffee. "It would be far more dangerous to tell him that he could not breathe a word to anyone," he replied. "And Émile, like most these days, cares less for what others are doing and more about the coin he can get his hands on. He regularly runs errands for me, as I have no proper servant."

"No joke," Kagome murmured, wandering down the corridor towards the kitchen at the back of the small house. She opened the coarse, linen drapes and peered around her. The small kitchen was immaculate - almost entirely unused. The larder in the corner, with its mesh cover to keep out the bugs, was empty. "I don't suppose you have something to eat? I'm starving. Bastien, how are you?"

"Only tired," said the commander, following her footsteps at a slower pace.

"The garden has a high fence around it," Sesshoumaru said, gesturing to the small patch of grass beneath the kitchen windows. "It is far more relaxing than the spare bedroom, which is always too warm, especially in the summer. There is a chaise."

The officer nodded, thankful. "Then I will rest out there."

"I'll bring you something to eat soon," Kagome said as he slipped out the back door. She pulled some bread down from the pantry and watched Sesshoumaru out of the corner of her eye. "You're being awfully nice."

"It would be senseless to have saved you both from the guillotine in the court, only to allow you to be arrested moments later," he murmured, leaning against the wooden bench in the darkest corner of the room where he often kept his boots.

"I suppose," she murmured. "You don't like him, do you?"

"Why would you believe that?" he asked.

"Because if you weren't carefully avoiding the topic, you would have made at least a few remarks already. That's just you."

"You haven't been around me for any length of time in a century," Sesshoumaru replied. "I may have changed. This city requires a considerable amount of diplomacy."

"You were always good at diplomacy. Civility though? That's a different animal." She shook her head. "You don't change, Sesshoumaru."

Sesshoumaru arched an eyebrow. "You once told me to stay out of your personal decisions. I am forbidden from interfering."

"This isn't interfering. This is an opinion. You don't have any say in what I do."

He frowned. "Very well. That nose and his thinness makes him look like a bird. An awkward bird."

She didn't take offense, as he had expected, but only smiled as she sliced thick pieces of the rye loaf. "A little," she admitted, ducking her head and coloring slightly. "I think he looks like Ichabod Crane."

"Who?"

"No one. I don't think he's around yet," she said. She glanced out the window and saw that he had dozed off in the chaise lounge. "But he is very like him. In appearances only, of course."

"And in character?"

She shrugged. "I'm not quite sure yet."

"He is boring then," he said, straightening and crossing his arms.

Kagome laughed. "No, I don't think so. He's serious. He's clever too, otherwise Shippo wouldn't like him. He's..." She trailed off and shrugged again. "Well, I'm willing to learn what he's like."

"Then, you are marrying him."

"I didn't say that." She reached to the window sill, where the taiyoukai had been keeping his last, few tomatoes. They had grown in his garden since he had moved into the place and often gave them to Émile in lieu of coins. Without a word, she sliced it into two, perfect, heart-shaped halves. "Shippo wants me to," she said at last. "He hasn't told me so, but I know. He would never tell anyone who they should marry."

Her eyes darted to his face, and his frown deepened as he caught her meaning. "Rin grew to adulthood as humans do. When Rin was grown, Shippo was still considered a child. They could not have been mates."

"I know that," Kagome said, "but you exiled him."

"For his own safety." He took a deep breath. "It is out of my power to remedy the situation. I do not wish to discuss it further. It is pointless to discuss it further."

"You said you would."

"I have said all that I can say on the subject. I did not say the discussion would be lengthy."

"Fine," she huffed. "Why aren't you going with us to Calais?"

Sesshoumaru set his jaw. "I have decided to stay and to find the shape-shifter."

"I should do that with you." She put her hand on her hip and waved the tip of the knife at him. "This isn't Salem all over again!"

"It is Salem. You are in danger - once again - and you must leave. I believe you have said it before, but remember, we are not certain to survive decapitation, Kagome. Either way, it is not something I wish to test." He frowned and took a breath before continuing. "The important thing is that is that this is not Tortuga. You are not running, and you are no longer defenseless."

She looked at him for a moment. "You know about that?"

"I have seen you," he admitted. "You are an... an exceptional shot."

She flushed deep red and turned back to the counter top. "Thank you," she murmured. After a moment's silence, she cleared her throat. "A bullet can move as fast as a youkai, can't it?"

"Roughly the same speed, depending on the species of demon," he said.

"Is this the first time you sensed another immortal in all this time? Besides me?" she asked, looking back at him over her shoulder.

"No, but it is the closest I have gotten."

"Then why can't I stay and help you?"

"You could," he said, walking over to stand next to her. "But what will you do with him?" He pointed to the sleeping man in the garden.

Kagome opened her mouth, shut it and frowned up at him. "You're being deliberately difficult. If you don't want to travel with me anymore, you can just say so. It's alright. I've gotten over it, you know. You don't have to feel guilty about leaving me alone. I'm fine these days."

His golden eyes were suddenly shining with the afternoon sunlight as his concealment spell slipped. "Are you truly 'over it'?" he asked.

"As much as you can get over something like that," she murmured. "Isn't it enough that I want you to come with us? I don't care if it's difficult."

"I never said..." He stopped, and the concealment spell sprang to life again, shading his eyes in gray. "Someone is here."

"The carriage?" she asked, following him to the front of the house.

Sesshoumaru drew the curtains back an inch. "No," he muttered. "Guards. It's Fouquier-Tinville."

"Already?" gasped Kagome.

"He hates to lose," growled Sesshoumaru. "Wake the commander and wait at the back of the garden."

She flew back down the corridor and out the back door as Sesshoumaru sped up the stairs to the second floor. He had been prepared for a quick escape for some time - he had never managed to pretend at the fervor that the Jacobins preferred - and the bag was waiting for him on top his nightstand. Grabbing it, he retraced his steps, closing the back door behind him just as there was a thunderous knock on the front door. Kagome and a very alert Bastien stood at the wall at the end of the lawn.

He pressed the bag into Kagome's hands and brushed aside the hanging ivy to reveal a small, wrought-iron gate. It was rusted shut, but a shove of his shoulder was more than enough to dislodge it with a groan of metal. "To the left," he ordered, as the pair slipped out in front of him. Sesshoumaru took hold of the frame and the gate and, with a twist of his wrist, turned the iron bars into a pretzel before he hurried after the others.

Fouquier-Tinville's voice could be heard swearing behind them as they ran down the alley, but they had bought precious time - the guards would have to go around the entire block of houses, and Citizen Gravois and his carriage would be waiting closer to them than to the lawyer and his goons.

They did not dare to run once they had reached the street, but with two men that stood so tall and Kagome's strange face, they attracted unwelcome attention from passers-by. "How far?" Kagome murmured, trying to breathe normally and failing.

"Not far," replied Sesshoumaru.

"There," Bastien muttered, pointing ahead to the carriage that trundled down the street in the direction of Sesshoumaru's house. The pair of horses were looking bright-eyed and stepping high, and the driver seemed sober - small miracles to be thankful for. "Citizen Grosvenor!" greeted the driver, once they had flagged him down. "I was just going to your place, I was."

"My sister and her husband were quite eager to begin their trip," Sesshoumaru said, taking the bag from Kagome and handing over the promised fee, which the driver pocketed. "He is in poor health and desperately needs the sea air."

The driver glanced at the pale, sweaty face of Bastien. "I can see that, citizen. Are you not coming?" he asked, as Sesshoumaru opened the door and Bastien got in.

"I have a few things to take care of first," he replied. The taiyoukai glanced down the road and, seeing no guards yet, looked back at Kagome. She stood at the open door of the carriage, taking the bag back when Sesshoumaru put it into her arms.

"What is it?" she asked in soft Japanese.

"A gun," he replied in kind, not caring if Bastien heard their language shift. "Some more money. You must leave immediately. Get in."

"We didn't leave things very well last time," she said. "I don't want that to happen again."

He frowned and looked over his shoulder again. Still, no guards. "It isn't. Go."

"Please, tell me what you were going to say in the kitchen," she pled, her eyes growing wide. One hand wrapped around his wrist.

Sesshoumaru took a breath. "I was simply going to say that I never wished to let you leave alone again." He carefully extricated himself from her grasp. "I will follow."

"Promise?" she asked, as he ushered her into the carriage.

"Yes," he vowed. His demon ears picked up the distant sounds of shouting - he could hear his name, as well as hers. He pounded the side of the carriage with the flat of his hand. "Go! Quickly!" he shouted at the driver in French.

"No! Wait a moment!" Kagome stretched her arm out of the window and grasped his upper arm. "I must tell you."

"They are coming!"

She nodded. "I know. But I have to tell you," she said in Japanese. "Robespierre dies, Sesshoumaru. He dies on the guillotine along with a lot of other Jacobins. Soon, too. The others turn against him, and the Terror ends. You can help that happen!"

He stared at her for just a moment - he had almost forgotten that this massacre could end with the death of its architect. "Yes. I will remember."

"And, Sesshoumaru, I forgive you. For everything. Please, find us again," she said, blinking rapidly. She turned back to the driver before he could reply. "Now, go!" she shouted.

The carriage wheeled away from him, turning off the main street in order to reorient itself to go north. It disappeared just as the first guards came into view, shouting for him to stop in his tracks.

Sesshoumaru took a breath and stood his ground as long as he could. They raced towards him with their rifles in hand, and just as they came within striking distance with their bayonets, he began to run. Choosing the opposite direction than the carriage, he led them on a merry chase around Paris. His feet were light, and, despite the threat on his heels, so was his heart.

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It was three weeks before anyone saw Armand Grosvenor in Paris again. There were rumors of his escape, and soon, they could say his name out loud. But it was not until the twenty-eighth of July that anyone welcomed him back properly.

Joseph Fouché was lingering at the side entrance of the Tuileries Palace when a shadow fell across his path. "My dear Armand!" he cried, smiling. "I was wondering if you were going to arrive in time."

Sesshoumaru did not smile in return. "There was no trial?"

"I keep my promises," Fouché replied, nodding. "Are you coming to watch then? The square is already filling up."

"As much as I would enjoy it, there is still a warrant out for my arrest," Sesshoumaru replied.

"It was the warrant for your arrest that made me decide that something must be done at last," the other man said. "You have nothing to worry about anymore."
 
"What about Fouquier-Tinville?"

"We haven't decided yet," Fouché said. "But the assurance remains. You will not die by the guillotine."

"That is not so assuring in these times. Robespierre was the Incorruptible a short time ago."

Fouché grinned. "Only to his supporters, Armand. To the rest of us, he was the Tyrant," he said. "You will probably be considered a hero after this."

"I have no wish to be mentioned at all," said Sesshoumaru.

"Have you thought of what will happen after today? What is already happening?" asked his companion. "Think about it, Armand! He is the rock of the revolution and of the Terror! Anyone could take power now."

"It takes little effort to guess that you wish for the honor, Fouché," the taiyoukai said, not caring about staying in the man's good graces. For three weeks, he had lived on the fringes of the city, sneaking in to gather information on Robespierre's personal vendettas and victims. It didn't matter that everyone had seen their leader using the Revolutionary Tribunal and the guillotine for his own purposes before, but Sesshoumaru had had an easy time convincing the ambitious Fouché to instill fear in the hearts of the other major players of the government that they were next on Robespierre's list. Robespierre had sealed his fate when he gave a speech only two days earlier that had implied he was looking to 'clean house' of any dissenters once again. The taiyoukai had rarely seen a government crumble so easily.

Fouché shrugged, still smiling. "I would be humbled to take on such a task," he said. He pulled at Sesshoumaru's sleeve. "Come along, my friend. No one will touch you."

He resigned himself, and they made their way to the center of the Place de la Révolution. He and Fouché did not need to push through the crowd this time - Sesshoumaru's companion was recognized as one of the men that had engineered Robespierre's downfall. The only reason they took so long in reaching the scaffold was that Fouché continually stopped to thank citizens for their support. The ripple effect of the Incorruptible's arrest had changed the faces of Paris - the most faithful of adherents had faded away, and a new, grateful class of people took their place. The fog of fear had lifted by a very significant fraction.

The guillotine itself looked the same as it did every time before - the knitters still sat in a row at the bottom of the platform, but their work was largely forgotten in their laps today. Extra guards had been posted, in case anyone decided to be heroic. Robespierre, with only his white shirt and cravat, stood at one edge of the scaffold. Dumas, the former judge of the Tribunal, stood at the other. Twenty men waited in between them - several of them were bandaged and crippled from their attempts to escape their own turn at the National Razor. Robespierre himself had tied cloth around his swollen jaw, which had shattered in a failed suicide attempt two nights before.

Despite the victims' sorry state, few of the men garnered the notice that was owed to the death of their tyranny. After so many weeks of the Terror - of fifteen, twenty or more victims every day for two, straight months - the crowd had grown bored with the executions. They cheered for each head lopped off, but barely paid attention in between. Beside him, Fouché seemed to be the only one keeping his eyes fixed on the platform. "Could have saved himself," he muttered with a smirk each time a head tumbled into the basket. "Fools, all of them. Should have listened to me."

The sun started to rise in the sky, and it was time for Robespierre to take his place beneath the blade. Fouché nudged Sesshoumaru in the ribs. "Look at that," he said, finally breaking his refrain. He wasn't looking at the fallen leader of the revolution, but at a young, thin-faced woman clothed in black on the other end of the platform. "Incorruptible, indeed! He has base instincts like the rest of us."

Sesshoumaru frowned and stared at the woman. "Robespierre's mistress?"

"So they say. Jacqueline Boucher," Fouché answered, looking back at the scaffold. Robespierre was being lowered onto his back with his hands tied behind him - he would see his death approaching with the falling blade.

The woman, Jacqueline, felt eyes on her - she turned and gazed back at the taiyoukai with an impassive face. Up on the scaffold, Robespierre let out a high-pitched scream - the executioner had taken away the bandage that held his shattered jaw together - but she did not look. Even the guards had swiveled around in their places to watch the Incorruptible die, but the woman and Sesshoumaru stared at one another alone. And then, just as her rumored lover was about to die, Jacqueline Boucher gave Sesshoumaru a slow, catlike smile.

"Armand!" shouted Fouché over the rising cheers of the mob. "Do you realize? This is our defining moment! It's our... Armand? Armand! Where are you going?"

"I have a prior engagement," he answered before plunging into the thick of the crowd. Across the way, Robespierre's supposed mistress disappeared into the masses.

"But you'll miss everything!"

Sesshoumaru didn't care. The tug in his chest and the acceleration of his heart had told him what he had waited for this entire revolution to know - Jacqueline Boucher was the long hunted shape-shifter.

The blade fell behind him and a deafening roar filled his ears as he began to give chase.

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A/N: I love the French Revolution! It's like a fantastic soap opera of death and mystery and intrigue. :)

Anyway, there is a great mix of real and fictional characters in here. Sesshoumaru, Kagome, Bastien and (off-screen) Shippo didn't take the place of historical figures. Similarly, Jacqueline Boucher is a name I created for the shape-shifter - I looked very hard for the name of Robespierre's mistress, but he either didn't have one or was extremely discreet about it.

Since some of you like to know, here are the meanings of the names I chose for our cast of characters:

Armand means "army man" and Grosvenor means "grand huntsman".
Aurelie means "golden" and Rousseau means "red-haired" (since she's supposedly Shippo's sister).
Bastien means "revered", Girard means "strong spear" and Chevalier means "gallant" or "knight" (so his last name translates to "strong spear of the knight").
Jacqueline means "supplanter" and Boucher means "butcher".
Pierre means "rock".

As for the real people:

Joseph Fouché was a Jacobin that Robespierre didn't trust. And for good reason - Fouché really was part of the force behind his downfall. Fouché wasn't a very nice man in his own rights either. He slaughtered people in Lyon by shooting grapeshot into a mass of men who didn't agree with the revolutionary ideals. It was so bad - many didn't die, but were groaning, wounded in the streets - that some of the soldiers were physically ill. The Parisian government ordered him to use firing squads instead, along with the guillotine, and Fouché killed almost two thousand people before returning to Paris in 1794. Eventually, he went on to support Napoleon and took a series of offices in the new French empire. Napoleon grew to distrust him, just as Robespierre did - Fouché hadn't given up his intrigues or stopped spying and eventually conspired against Napoleon. At last, after temporarily gaining favor with the new King of France (whose brother he had helped send to the guillotine), Fouché was exiled.

René-François Dumas was the president of the Revolutionary Tribunal and helped send thousands of people to death during the revolution and Reign of Terror. He died on the guillotine along with Robespierre and 20 others.

Antoine Quentin Fouquier-Tinville lived for almost a year after Robespierre died. He even helped send Robespierre and the other 21 men to their deaths, but eventually he was brought in front of National Convention for his own trial. He claimed that he was only following the Committee of Public Safety's orders (much the same argument as the Nazis gave at the Nuremberg Trials), but the Convention didn't buy it. After 41 days of trial, he and several others were put to death on the guillotine.