Waterloo (Napoleonic Horseman Book 6) Read online

  I nodded, “Then we will make a deal. For myself I need nothing but poor Sharp has been a sergeant all these years. I want him made up to a Captain with back pay for the last year.”

  “No. I cannot agree to that.” He smiled. It was like haggling in the market. “But he can be promoted to lieutenant with back pay for six months as part of the agreement.” I nodded my assent. He threw me a bag of gold coins. “You will need this for expenses and such. You will need to buy horses and I daresay they will be expensive in the current climate." He wagged an admonishing finger at me. "I would like some of it back!”

  I found Alan waiting outside. I shook my head. “It looks like we will only have one night in the inn and then we have been recalled to the colours.”

  He nodded, “I signed on for twenty five years, sir. I reckon I can give King George another two before my time is up.”

  It was soldiers like Sharp which would keep Great Britain both safe and great. “Well at least you do it as a lieutenant and with a lieutenant’s pay. Colonel Selkirk just promoted you.”

  “Thank you sir. I appreciate it. The money means nothing but it is nice to be an officer.”

  “Are the horses stabled?”

  “Yes sir. I paid extra for some grain. They deserve it.” Like me Sharp was a horseman through and through.

  “Right. We will have a little wander through some of the less popular parts of Paris and see what we can discover.”

  I still had a few contacts and friends from my days in the Chasseurs. Pierre was my closest friend and he lived close to the border with Belgium. There were others, nearby however, and I headed, with Alan walking just behind me as my protector, for the St Michel quarter. Pierre-Francois Gavroche had been invalided out of the 17th Chasseurs when he lost his left hand to an Austrian sword. He had been an engineer with a future. Now he worked as a scribe in the Sorbonne. He was literate and he transcribed some of the theses of the less diligent students. There were many of them and it paid a good wage. I had last met him in eighteen thirteen when I had been in Paris on Colonel Selkirk’s business. He lived amongst the more radical of the students and those with political ambition. he was a good listener and had many nuggets of information which would otherwise be lost.

  “Your old comrade again then, sir?” was Sharp’s only comment. I nodded and he trailed behind me as though he was visiting the city for the first time. He stared around in wonder when in fact he was watching the crowds for danger. In his hand he held a razor sharp knife and a primed pistol was at his belt. He kept a good twenty yards behind me. He could become almost invisible. I did notice, however, that he checked his pistol was loosely ready in his waistband and made sure that his knife was to hand too.

  I crossed the river by Notre Dame and headed up towards the Sorbonne and the University district. Pierre-Francois had a room in a large building just half a mile from the Sorbonne. There were many bars frequented by the students and it was a gay, cosmopolitan area. By its very nature it was dangerous. The bars were all filled with people debating Napoleon's return. These were not the dangerous animals who would murder you for looking at them askance; these were the butterflies who took the nectar of gossip and redistributed it.

  As soon as I took the side street I became aware of the presence of danger. Two huge hulking brutes stepped out from the darkened shadows ahead of me. They looked to have a little of the Arab about them and that was confirmed when they spoke. Their accents reeked of North Africa.

  “I think, sir, that your purse is too heavy for you. Allow us to relieve you of it. You will find walking much easier.”

  As soon as I had left the main street I had slipped the stiletto into my right hand. It had an edge with which you could shave and it was a good weapon to use in a confined space. I saw that he was watching my right hand. It was nowhere near my sword; I was brushing a piece of imaginary fluff from my coat. He relaxed a little. There were hints of grey in my hair and my dress suggested a successful business man rather than a cold blooded killer. I had taken the stiletto from an Italian bandits’ dead hand many years ago. He had been a tough man. These two were overweight and over confident. I smiled and moved my right hand to the side. The eyes of the man who had spoken followed it. The stiletto in my left hand was at his throat before he had time to turn his head back.

  “I do not think so, my friend. I am not here to be rooked by scum such as you.”

  He gulped and then smiled. “If there were only the two of us then I might agree but my other brother now has his sword at your back.”

  I felt pressure on my spine. I nodded. “Of course you would be dead long before your brother would have had his head blown off by my friend. Now drop your weapons.”

  The ominous click from Sharp’s two pistols almost echoed down the narrow street. I saw the two before me stare towards the end of the alley. I knew what they would see; Sharp with two pistols which would look as big as blunderbusses. The weapons were dropped.

  “Now stand against that wall. Spread your hands against it.” As they did so I said, “Sharp, watch them.” While he watched them I removed their belts. “I will drop these at the end of the alley when I have concluded our business. But if I see any of you when we come from that building then I will kill you. Do you understand?”

  “Yes.”

  We left them ruing their misguided decision to rob me. The door to the apartments was open. I smelled the onion soup as we climbed the last stairs to Pierre-Francois’ room. I knocked and waited. Eventually it opened and my old comrade greeted me. “Ah, Robbie, the English spy. Come in.” I knew that he had a spy hole next to the door and had checked who we were before opening the door.

  He was totally grey now but his eyes still had the same sharpness they always had. He gestured towards the table where there was a jug of wine. It was not full.

  He sought three glasses and he blew the dust from two of them; he was unaccustomed to company. After pouring the wine he raised his glass. We toasted him back. “And to what do I owe this honour? There is peace now!”

  “The beast is back!”

  He did not seem surprised. He shrugged, “I heard the news. He was defeated once before. Why should anyone worry about this time?”

  “You and I know differently, my friend. He is dangerous. What do you know?”

  “About what?”

  “Who will serve with him?”

  He sipped his wine as though it was a fine wine rather than the blackstrap it was. He looked at the ceiling as he ran through the various generals and marshals which were available to Bonaparte. “Bessières is dead. That is a shame. He was a good man. Berthier who is even better will hide away from this war and that is a shame for France. If he served Bonaparte then I would fear for their enemies. Ney will be there hanging on to his master’s coat tails. Davout, Soult, Suchet, all of them will follow. They are the ones to worry about. The rest…” he waved his hands dismissively, most are second rate and have been promoted far beyond their ability. “Your old friend from the Guards will be there, Lefebvre-Desnouettes. But you have no need to worry for your hooked nose General will command.”

  “True but he has never fought Bonaparte.”

  “It matters not, for he trounced every other French general. They all fear him. That is certain.” He toasted me again and drank heavily.

  “And what would you do if you were Bonaparte?”

  “You mean if I was whole? If I had been promoted like so many men whom I served with?” The cynicism in his voice was unlike the young trooper with whom I had served. I nodded. He continued, “Then I would strike north towards Britain. Go through Belgium.”

  I was slightly taken aback. “But why?”

  “As you know I hear much in the bars and we have students from all over Europe. That part of Europe is as far away from the Russians, Austrians and Prussians as it is possible to get. From what I have heard there are three huge armies heading west to defeat the Emperor. If Bonaparte can defeat your army it gives him the opportu
nity to build up his army and prepare to fight three tired armies one by one. It might also encourage the Irish to rise in revolt. You are already fighting one enemy who is tired of your colonialism. Two might just make you leave the coalition.”

  “But he has to go through the Netherlands and they are our allies.”

  He laughed, “The Belgians are unhappy that they had their freedom and after the war they were given to the fat Dutchman like a bonbon. Trust me Robbie. There is much unrest in Belgium. They have exchanged Spanish masters for Dutch ones. When Bonaparte ruled he gave them some limited independence. Many of the Belgian students have headed home already. It was not to serve in the Young Frog's army believe me. Prince William is not popular. Your Duke of Wellington will have to watch his back there.”

  “Thank you. That is useful. What of the royalists?”

  "Most have fled with the fat one and those in the Vendee will pose dramatically and then take ship as soon as they see a tricolour."

  I laughed, "Nothing has changed there then."

  “And you Robbie? What of you? I thought you had retired.”

  “I had but the thought of Bonaparte killing more Frenchmen appalled me.”

  “True. I believe that Corsican has killed more Frenchmen than the Russian winter.” I stood and threw a coin on the table. He scowled. “What is that for?” He did not like to be thought of as an informer.

  “The wine and for the company of an old friend. Business is good. If you ever tire of the intrigue of Paris come to Sicily. I can use a man with a mind as sharp as yours.”

  “If Bonaparte loses I may take you up on that for the fat one is worse than his father as a king.”

  As we headed back to the hotel Sharp asked, “How does he know so much? He lives in a backwater.”

  “That is all you know. The Left Bank is a hive of intrigue and information. Old soldiers drink there and students plot revolution. My old friend is a good listener and with only one hand, he is seen as harmless.”

  We returned to the hotel and prepared for an early start. We arranged to leave three of the horses there along with our baggage. People were leaving the city in their droves and the inn keeper was happy to take a handful of coins and hold our rooms for us. There would not be many new guests and if Bonaparte came then the rooms would be given for free to his officers. I was not certain we would return. We took the best two horses; both had been cavalry mounts. With our four pistols and our swords we were as well armed as any we might meet on the road. The main difference between us and the soldiers on whom we would be spying was that they would be in uniform.

  Fontainebleau is a day’s ride from Paris and we reached the old royal palace before dark. It had a skeleton staff showing that Napoleon had yet to arrive. I wondered if Colonel Selkirk was right. This might be a waste of time. We used the hours of darkness to spy out a refuge. I did not want to stay in a hotel or an inn. Fouché would have his men out looking for spies. We sought a house without smoke and a house without light.

  After two hours we took what looked like a relatively well worn trail into the forest. I thought it might just lead to an area they were felling lumber but eventually we found a darkened cottage. Sharp held the horses whilst I approached the apparently deserted cottage. It appeared to be deserted but one never knew. “Hello, is anyone in? My friend has slipped from his horse and we need some assistance.”

  There was no noise at all and I tried the door. It was not locked. As soon as I pushed open the creaking door I smelled death. I whistled for Sharp. There was no moon and it was too dark to see well inside the small farm but I guessed where the fire place would be. Sharp gathered some kindling and, using a little powder and his flint, he soon had a fire going. There was a small pile of firewood next to the fireplace. He built up the fire. It illuminated the interior. One thing a good soldier learned how to do was to get a fire going quickly.

  When the fire was going I saw a tallow candle on an old stained table. I lit it. The smell of the dead body was strong. I could not see it in the kitchen which also acted as a living room. I knew what I would find before I saw it. There were just two rooms in the small farm, a room for sitting and cooking and a bedroom. I pushed open the bedroom door and saw the corpse which lay there on the bed. It was an old man by the looks of his thinning, grey hair but the body was so decomposed that it was difficult to tell. It looked like he had gone to sleep one night and not woken up. It was not a soldier's death.

  “Alan, in here.”

  A look of infinite sadness came over Sharp’s face when he saw the body. Death was bad enough but to die without anyone there seemed even worse.

  “We had better take him outside and bury him.” We picked up the sheets and used them to carry him out through the back door. He did not weigh very much. There was an outhouse and when we searched we found tools. We dug a grave and buried him. The two of us stood next to the freshly turned soil and looked at each other. I had no words for this. I did not know his name. I knew nothing, save that he had died alone.

  “Go with God and may you be happy now.”

  It was inadequate and it left me feeling a little sick.

  We unsaddled and fed the horses and put them in the small dilapidated barn we found. Sharp hobbled them. We could not afford to have them wander off. Neither of us wanted to sleep in the dead man’s bed and so we wrapped ourselves in our cloaks and slept before the fire.

  "I wonder where his family is."

  "There have been so many soldiers who died it might be that he was the only one left from his family."

  "It would be awful to die alone wouldn't it sir?"

  "I do not think we will have to worry about that Alan. A ball or a blade will be our end and we will be on a battlefield surrounded by others suffering the same fate." On that sombre note we both fell asleep. The dead could not hurt us; it was the living we had to fear.

  When we awoke we were able to see that the old man must have died some time ago. Weeds rampaged everywhere around the small farmstead. The only marks we could find on the ground were those made by our boots the night before. No-one had visited for some time and we would be unlikely to be disturbed. We had a bolt hole.

  We ate a cold breakfast; I did not wish to risk smoke until we had explored, and then we headed towards the palace. We reached the road. As we rode we noted where we might hide if the necessity arose. It was just habit with us. As with all such centres of royalty houses had grown along the road providing a variety of services which might be needed by those visiting the chateau or, indeed, working there. There was a bar. I dare say it would normally be frequented by off duty soldiers. I hoped we would find some. Soldiers enjoyed talking. If the Emperor had returned then some hints of his plans might emerge. Sharp and I approached the Chateau from the south. I wanted it to appear as though we were heading for Paris rather than fleeing from it. Those fleeing might be seen as the Emperor's enemies.

  The inn had a groom who took our horses. I knew that the chateau was not large and the inn would have had a lucrative income providing rooms for lesser dignitaries and servants. As we entered I said loudly, smiling as I did so, “I wish I had known this excellent establishment was so close, we could have pushed on last night and avoided a night in the woods.”

  The owner wiped the bar and, smiling, said, “Then you are not a local, sir. Everyone knows that Francois’ Place serves the finest food and the best wine on the Paris road. And we have well apportioned rooms too! You should have ridden further sir and saved yourself a bad night.”

  I nodded and took in the room. There were half a dozen men drinking in the bar. From their clothes they were all ex-soldiers. That made sense. They would want to hang around where their former leader lived.

  The clothes we had slept in looked dishevelled. “And you are right. We have travelled from Italy and this is the best inn we have seen on the road. We will have some of this fine food and wine.”

  As we sat at a table he came over, “Italy?” He leaned in, “Are you wi
th the Emperor?”

  I feigned ignorance. “Emperor? Isn’t he in Elba? We passed the island when we came north but…”

  The landlord spoke conspiratorially, “There are Marshals of France in the Chateau and I have heard the Old Moustaches are marching in their thousands to join the eagles again. We have heard that the Emperor has returned. I wondered if you had travelled with him.” He rubbed his hands. “The good times are returning. I will fetch your food.”

  Sharp and I did not need to comment. We had the information we sought. Now we just needed an idea of where and when the Emperor would strike.

  Our food came. Its quality had been seriously exaggerated. We smiled and ate. We sipped the wine and we watched all who came and went. Half way through the meal a lieutenant of the Imperial Guard entered with a sergeant. He was a Chasseur of the Middle Guard. “A pichet of wine! We bring great news. The Emperor will be here by nightfall. France’s greatness will return!”

  Everyone in the bar cheered. Sharp and I raised our beakers. It would not do to show as much enthusiasm as the French; I had said we were Italian. We ate in silence but listened to the buzz of conversation around us. We learned a great deal. Marshal Ney had defected to the Emperor along with the army he commanded. Napoleon now had more than his personal guard. He had an army. We heard that many more troops had joined the Emperor as he marched north. By the time he reached the Chateau he would have a sizeable army already. The lieutenant spoke of hundreds of thousands. I knew that was an exaggeration. Even so it would be a bigger army than Colonel Selkirk was expecting.

  The lieutenant and sergeant left as we finished the meal. I paid for it and, as we left the building, saw that they headed for Paris and not the Chateau of Fontainebleau. They were the messengers, Bonaparte's harbingers! Then I saw a squadron of Chasseurs. It was the 5th. They were trotting towards the gates of Fontainebleau. The colonel was right. This would be Napoleon’s Headquarters. I decided that we would not move and return to our deserted farmhouse until they had passed.