There waiting for him is a carriage fronted by four of the finest white stallions from the cavalry’s stables. He is met by Colonel Henri Baptiste, a young graduate from the military academy, the son and grandson of two of the nation’s finest and bravest military men. He is dressed in full brigade uniform of blue and gold with a shiny breastplate and a sword hanging from his belt. ‘I am Colonel Baptiste,’ he says with a salute and a click of the heels. ‘I will be your escort, Your Honour, and I will command the cavalry that guard us on our journey.’ Behind the coach is a troop of six horsemen in the uniform of the hussars, their steeds as still and disciplined as the riders themselves. ‘And our cargo?’ asks the judge, pulling up the collar of his heavy gabardine coat to keep out the cold night air. ‘Safely packed in metal boxes in the luggage compartment,’ replies the colonel. ‘Then we should be on our way,’ replies the judge, climbing into the coach, followed by the young soldier, who signals the driver to proceed.
