Le Christ des Barricades
“Hear them?” Henri the carriagesmith asks. “How many, do you think?” Anselme cocks his head, adjusts the filthy bandage, and exposes an ear, crusty with blood. He listens.
“Two dozen riders, maybe three. Wearing cuirasses. With torches, perhaps?”
“Yes. I see the glow now.” He hefts the musket to check its priming in the failing light. “We must withdraw to the square and warn our citizens.”
Anselme lifts his hand from the exquisite frame and places it on his partner’s shoulder. “Go alone, my friend. I have strength only to delay them. You must safeguard the sacred icon—for the barricades!”
( 101 words )