Chasseur à Cheval (Napoleonic Horseman Book 1) Read online

  The streets of Paris were not clean and they were crowded. My father must have been angry at the proximity of so many peasants but he did restrain himself from using his crop. Eventually we halted before a large town house. There were guards on the doors which led into the courtyard beyond. Two liveried and armed guards stopped us from entering.

  “I am Count Louis de Breteuil. I am a friend of your master the Marquis.”

  One of them nodded. “You are expected and welcome, my lord, but not your servants. There are many revolutionaries in Paris these days and the Marquis is careful whom he admits.”

  The count seemed to find that reasonable. He dismounted and handed the reins to Jean. He turned to one of the guards, “My bags are on my horse.” As the man unstrapped them the count threw a purse of coins to Jean. “Find a stable close by. Return and tell the guards where you will be staying. I will only be in this,” he waved an airy arm around the streets, “rat hole of revolutionaries for the shortest time.”

  With that he left us. For the first time I was glad that I was not dressed in fine clothes as that would have marked us as different from the sans-culottes we encountered while we sought a stable.

  Jean drew me to one side. “Do not say that we are servants of the count. It may prove dangerous. I noticed he had many dark looks thrown his way. This revolution appears to be bigger than I thought in Breteuil.”

  “Who are we then?”

  “Say that we are blacksmiths passing through Paris and seeking work.”

  We found a stable, although the price they charged for our three horses was nothing short of highway robbery. When we asked if we could sleep in the stable we were refused. “No, I am sorry but I have lost too many horses that way. Yours will be safe here for I keep guards. There is an inn nearby.”

  The inn we found was little better than a stable and the prices were inflated. Jean seemed philosophical about that. “We have the master’s money. I will show him the receipts and he will have his view confirmed that this city is now a sewer filled with rats.” We left our bags in our room. We wandered back through the teeming streets to the Marquis’ home and told the guards where we were staying. The guards nodded but were reluctant to talk with us and we left.

  I was keen to explore the city and we headed north to the bridge which led to Notre Dame. I had heard that it was the finest church in France. I was not disappointed but the priests who were there looked as nervous as the marquis’ guards. There was an air of fear around the city. The Tuileries Palace was surrounded by the National Guard who looked at us suspiciously when we approached. Jean led me away and we headed back to the inn. The food was dreadful. Jean laughed, “Madame Lefondre looks after you too well. This is the normal fare and the normal portions. Get used to it for I think our world is about to change.”

  And change it did. When we awoke the next day we both felt a change in the atmosphere. As we left the inn we noticed that we were closely watched. Jean had not trusted the inn keeper and had told me to keep my valuables about my person. We both had a sword and pistol but they were with our horses. “I think, Robbie that we will see if the count is ready to leave. I hope he is for I most certainly am.”

  We were a street away when we heard the noise from the house of the marquis. There was the sound of angry voices and banging. Jean held up his hand for caution and we moved slowly to peer around the end house. There was a mob of sans culottes and they had manufactured a ram out of a bench. They were trying to break down the door.

  “Should we help the master, Jean?”

  He shook his head. “Two of us against that mob? I think not. Let us see what happens. These are dangerous times we live in. This is not Breteuil. I just hope that his guards do not make the mistake of using violence. There are too many in that mob.”

  We saw cracks appear in the door and a face of one of the guards appeared in the window of the first floor room which overlooked the street. He had a gun and he fired. Two of those holding the bench fell and I saw that one of them was a woman. This enraged the mob even more and they almost hurled the ram through the door causing it to splinter open. They tore inside like ravenous wolves in a sheep fold. We could hear shots and then screams. It seemed an age before anyone emerged. The first we saw was the bodies of the guards thrown, limb by limb from the first floor window and then we saw a bloodied and wounded marquis and the Count de Breteuil being led, bound and gagged from the residence. I started forwards but Jean restrained me. “Let us follow! We can do nothing to help him yet.”

  The two aristocrats were led by an ever growing mob across the Pont-Neuf and towards the palace. They were tethered by the neck and frequently fell to the ground. They were unable to stop themselves as their hands were tied. Their faces became cut and bleeding. They were beaten when they fell. For the count this must have been the final humiliation. As the crowds grew it became easier for us to follow. Jean saw one inoffensive looking fellow next to us and asked, “Where will they be taken citizen?” We had quickly learned to use this title as all those in Paris we had met had spoken of little else.

  “Normally they would be taken to be tried but because of the actions of the men’s servants they go directly to the Place de la Revolution. They will be executed.” He seemed quite excited at the prospect. “There were no executions planned for today. Isn’t it glorious?”

  We nodded our agreement but I felt a sick sensation in the pit of my stomach. He had been cruel to me but he was still my father and I was going to stand by and watch him die. Jean sensed my dilemma. “You can do nothing, Robbie. We will follow in case this fellow is wrong but…” I knew what he meant and I steeled myself for what was bound to be a harrowing experience.

  Word had spread and there was quite a crowd around the guillotine. I did not wish to be too close and that was as well for we could not get through the press of people eager to see two aristocrats executed. A pompous looking man festooned in tricolours stood. He raised his hands and the crowd fell silent. He had a high piping voice which seemed more fitting for a woman. “These two aristocrats have shown themselves to be beyond the law. This morning they encouraged their servants to murder innocent women and children.” The crowd began to bay. I knew that was not true but the truth was immaterial now.

  The marquis had his gag removed and he began to scream as his head was place in the wicked looking device. The executioner’s assistant smacked him on the side of the head with a small cudgel and he was silenced. The executioner pulled a handle and the blade crashed down to sever the head. It landed perfectly in the basket and was so quick that it silenced the scream of the dying aristocrat instantly. His body was removed and the machine was prepared for my father. The blade was slowly raised still dripping with blood.

  I wondered if he too would scream for mercy but when I saw the resolute expression on his face, I knew he would not. He had been hard on me and he could be just as hard on himself. My father would die as he lived, without compromise. When his gag was removed he shouted, “Long live the king. I urge all of you to fight against this terror!”

  The crowd booed and hissed. My father calmly put his head in the machine. He was almost smiling when his life was ended. Jean said, “Cheer and smile!” Even though I felt like crying I did as I was told for to do otherwise would have marked us out as different. We were now in a most dangerous position. We were trapped in Paris without a friend or employer. Even worse, we had been in the employ of an executed aristocrat. “We will get the horses and leave now before they search for us!”

  Chapter 2

  We reached the stables without anyone taking any interest in us. Wearing the clothes of the ordinary people was the safest way to travel. Once on our horses, however, it might be a different matter; the poor did not own horses. The owner of the stables was equally unconcerned, especially as his bill was paid in full. We headed towards the southern gate, just to avoid the crowds at the Place de la Revolution. Events were occurring so quickly that I had not time to think let alone spea
k. I was in Jean’s hands and I trusted my mother’s judgement. He would not let me down.

  We were stopped by four National Guards at the southern entrance to the city. “Where are you going citizens?”

  Jean smiled, “We have heard of work for us at Golfe Juan. They have need of a smith and his assistant there.”

  “Is that your trade?” Jean nodded. “Where are your tools?”

  “The lord of the manor, Count de Breteuil, claimed they were his when he threw us from his land. He said we were revolutionaries.”

  The sergeant suddenly looked up, “The Count de Breteuil you say?”

  My heart sank. He was reading from a piece of paper. Suppose our names were upon that and we were to be captured? I contemplated making a run for it. The men had no horses and, with a horse between my legs, no one could catch me.

  “Yes damn his evil eyes. He used to beat the boy something terrible.”

  One of the other guards laughed. “Boy? He has not done badly then. He looks like a man to me.”

  “Aye and that is the other reason we were thrown out of a job; the count was afraid of my assistant.” The guards nodded sympathetically.

  The sergeant had not heard a word, he was intently reading. I suspected it was a new skill to him as his lips moved as he followed the words. “It is as I thought. His lands are to be confiscated. If you were to go back you could have your job again. Just see the local committee. The old injustices will now be put right. Long Live the Revolution!”

  We all mouthed the words, “Long Live the Revolution!” It was like a chant or a response to a priest in a church.

  Jean shook his head. “No thank you sergeant, we will make a new start in the south.” He leaned forwards, “And it is a little warmer there too.”

  “That it is.” The sergeant came over to pat me on the leg. “Don’t worry son. The days of the aristos are over. It is a new world now and we do not have to bow and scrape any more. Have a safe journey.”

  Once we were out of earshot and sight Jean reined in the horses. “I thought he had us there Jean.”

  “If you have to make up a story, always base it on the truth in some way.”

  I looked around. The world suddenly seemed more dangerous and threatening. “What do we do now?”

  “I was going to head home but I do not see the point in that now. If it has been confiscated then we might be jumping out of the frying pan and into the fire.” I saw him chew his bottom lip as he debated our quandary. “However I am worried about Madame Lefondre. We will return but in secret and then…”

  “And then what?” I was terrified. My world had been turned upside down and all that I had known, destroyed.

  “I know only one job and that is in the army. What say we join my old regiment? You would be around horses and we would be as safe there as anywhere. We will hide in their new army. I fear that someone will get around to asking questions about the two men who entered the northern gate with the count and when they ask at the inn they will tell them all. We need to ride and ride quickly. We must get as far away from Paris as we can.”

  I nodded. “My mother said to trust you and I do. Let us join your regiment.”

  The three horses we had were the best in the count’s stables. We kept swapping mounts to avoid tiring them. By dawn the next day we were outside the gates of the estate. I could see the tricolour flying and knew that we were too late but we had to find out what had happened to the only woman we cared for; Madame Lefondre. We knew the land really well and we tied the horses to a tree in a lonely copse and made our way to the wall where we knew we could climb over and enter the chateau unobserved. We managed to get close to the house without being detected; it had been my playground for almost sixteen years. I knew it like the back of my hand. We could hear the house being torn up but we saw no-one. Then we saw old Guiscard the gardener with his sack and spade over his shoulder walking forlornly from the building. We shadowed him until he was out of sight of the house and then Jean said, “Hsst, Guiscard.”

  The old man turned to look at the hedgerow which spoke. “Is that you Jean?”

  “It is. What has happened?”

  “The count has been executed as a traitor and the committee has taken over the house. I have been thrown off the land. They said they do not need a gardener any longer.”

  “And Madame Lefondre?”

  “She is dead. That black witch, Mama Tusson, said that she had been putting upon the other servants for years. When the old woman argued Mama Tusson screamed that Madame Lefondre had a knife and the guards shot her.”

  Jean shook his head. He had known the old woman too well. “She didn’t have a knife did she?”

  “No Jean. She was a kind old lady and she did not deserve to be shot like a dog. That witch has much to answer for.” He shot me a strange look and then shook his head. “You had better run. The witch named you and Master Robbie as royalist sympathisers. There is a price on your head and you are ear marked for the courts. That means the guillotine. It was the first thing they did once the news came that the estate had been confiscated. She now lives in the master’s bedroom with the fat pig from the committee.”

  “Thank you Guiscard. Where will you go?”

  “My son, Julian, has a farm. I will go there to die. God bless you both.”

  Jean’s face was white with anger as we recovered our horses. “I swear that I will cut that witch’s heart out. She made your mother’s life a misery and now she has killed the kindest woman in the world. She deserves to die.” It was a sacred oath and I knew that Jean would keep it and I would help him.

  We headed north using the quietest roads that Jean knew of. He was familiar with the roads having grown up in that region. We reached Sedan at dusk. The town was the home to the Chevau-Légers of West-Flandre, my father’s and Jean’s old regiment. “It is too late to enlist tonight. We will stay at the inn nearby; it used to serve fine ale and I could do with a bed.”

  This far north we felt safer than we had for some time. The landlord was pleased to have paying guests for we still had plenty of money left over from the count’s purse. We sat in a quiet corner and had the best meal and ale I had had since leaving the estate. It seemed a lifetime ago now.

  Suddenly the peace and quiet was broken as ten soldiers came in. I felt a sudden chill of fear but Jean smiled. One of the soldiers, who seemed to have a lot of stripes on his arms, suddenly left his friends and charged over to us. “Jean Bartiaux! You are still alive! Good to see you old friend.”

  “And to see you.” He pointed to the sleeve of the uniform, “Maréchal-des-logis-chef I see.”

  “Bring some ale over here and your young friend can meet a real soldier. You would have had the same promotions if you had stayed in; maybe more you were always a good soldier. How many years ago was it now?”

  “Seventeen!”

  The grey haired soldier shook his head. “Who would have believed it? And who is this?”

  “I was a friend of his mother. After she died I looked after him. Robbie Macgregor. Robbie this is Albert Aristide. He and I joined on the same day.”

  “Good to meet you and I think there is a story here but that can wait until we have some ale.”

  We moved over to their table and Jean poured the beer. “What brings you to Sedan?”

  “We are thinking of joining up.”

  The other soldiers brought his ale and Albert swallowed half of it without even pausing. “Well you can join of course but the boy, he is a little young and I do not know if he has any skills.”

  Jean laughed. “I’ll tell you what. If any of these men with you can ride, fence or shoot better than he does we will leave tomorrow.”

  “You are that confident.”

  “I am that confident and we have our own horses too.”

  I could see that the old soldier was working out how he could profit from this. “Bring him and the horses along tomorrow. I will see if you are telling the truth.”

  The rest of
the evening was spent pleasantly enough. I listened more than I spoke but I learned much. It seemed that many of the officers had been aristocrats and had deserted to the royalist cause. They were badly under strength. Albert told us that he expected to be given a commission. Jean was delighted to hear that the old colonel was still in command and Jean felt positive about that.

  After they had returned to their barracks I asked Jean about his boast. “Are you sure I can do all that you said?”

  He laughed. “Just do what you did every day with the count and you will. Believe me; I was not building you up for a fall.”

  The barracks was not far from the inn. We did not take our horses and we left our weapons in the inn. “We are as safe here as anywhere.

  Albert was waiting for us and he had a wicked gleam in his eye. “I hope that you were not exaggerating last night Jean? Perhaps the beer was talking?”

  “No I am confident.”

  “Come then let us go to the stables first. We have a horse for him to ride there.”

  When we reached the stables there were four of the men I had met the previous night. They too were all grinning. I heard a banging coming from one of the stalls. Jean’s face creased into a frown. “That is not the horse that Robbie will have to ride is it?”

  Albert shrugged. “You said he was a better rider than any of my men. Well here is his chance to prove it. None of them can ride this beast. It took four of us to get his saddle on him.”

  Jean started to shake his head. I said, “No Jean, I will try. The count used me to break in horses remember?”

  I took off my jacket and went to the stall. It was a jet black horse. He was magnificent but I could see fear in his eyes. He stamped his hoof belligerently. He flared his nostrils and bared his teeth. I approached him with my head down and I stroked his mane with my left hand while holding his nose with my right. I just spoke gently to him. “Ssh. There’s a good horse.” I began to hum a nursery tune my mother had used with me and then I breathed into his nose. At first he tried to break away from me but I had a firm grip on him. All the work in the smiths had built up my strength. Gradually he began to calm down. “That’s a good boy. Now I am going to get on your back.” I was not even aware of the others watching me. I only had eyes for the horse. I took the reins in my left hand, put my foot in the stirrup and I hauled myself up. I felt a slight movement as he made a half hearted attempt to throw me but I leaned forward and hummed my tune close to his ear. I clicked my tongue and touched his flanks with my heels. “Walk on.” He walked out of the stalls and the stable on to the parade ground. I walked him until I was happy that he was under my control and then asked him to trot. He was a beautiful horse to ride. He had an easy action and was responsive to the reins. I saw the troopers and Jean standing close to the stables watching me. I turned the horse and then urged him on. He began to gallop. I saw the fear on the faces of the troopers. They ran. Jean was smiling and he restrained Albert. I jerked the beast to a snorting halt, less than four feet from the sergeant.