CHAPTER THREE
Wherein our heroes commence their long and remarkable journey to the Austrian Capital. Italy stands in their way.
Etienne was quite content with his mare. She was strong, handsome, and friendly. Henri's was more spirited but the two rode along together quite well. Equipping themselves and obtaining the post horses in Cannes, the pair had then moved at a good pace for the border at Menton. In fact, they had already crossed one border into the Principality of Monaco but whether it was because it was still early morning or because the Principality was still under the protection of France, the border was open to them without question. They'd crossed that but four miles from Antibes and it was only another ten to Menton and the border into Austrian controlled Piedmont. The road here was moving away from the Mediterranean shore and into the Coastal Alps. It was a short ride but a pleasant one.
Indeed, Etienne was happy. It had been too long since he had ridden. The sense of natural power beneath him was a reminder of the earth and his father's farm.
He didn't miss the farm or his parents. Certainly he didn't miss them as much as he would be expected to. There had been times, in the tedium of garrison life, that his heart had filled with old memories but leaving home had been necessary and good. Likewise, this ride could be leading to good things.
He reflected back on how the Hussar captain had turned to him immediately after the Emperor had given his leave. Henri had invited him to join on the urgent mission. Even though the Hussar had just met Etienne, he trusted him on this important Imperial errand. It felt like an honour and such sensations were new to the former farm boy. He was surprised at how even the memory of it seemed to put fire in his blood and set his heart to racing. One thing had given him that feeling before; his first kiss. He had accepted Henri's mission in the same way that he had accepted that youthful kiss years before and that was with neither hesitation nor doubt. There was fear but no doubt. He couldn't put his finger on what he trusted exactly, but he had faith that this was something he had to do.
The forest-flanked roadway had been ascending through the coastal mountains for some time. Just beyond the quiet village of Menton the two horsemen spied the lowered gate of the border to Piedmont. The bowl of a small valley allowed a pair of small buildings on either side of the border.
The hussar laughed, "Shall we jump it?"
"Are you serious?" asked Etienne as they continued to close the distance on horseback,
"We are stopping, right?"
"Alright." Henri mock grumbled "We'll stop and talk. We'll change horses. We'll do all the correct things."
They reigned in at the Monaco post house and Etienne was surprised to find how glad his body was to be out of the saddle. Without the small house on the Monaco side of the border, an old man sat on a bench looking absolutely disinterested in the new arrivals. His dark blue uniform and perhaps his apathy marked him as an official of the Principality. The younger Frenchman waited by the roadside while his elder saw to turning in the horses. He passed the reins and receipt to the even-elder yet no word passed between them. A dextrous roll of Henri's fingers told the postillon that he'd not need to pay out for the return but the man seemed disinclined to make the effort in any case. Even as the pair moved away, the fellow remained seated, staring almost bewildered up at the two sweaty steeds.
Not pausing, our heroes moved toward the barring white gate where four men were turning out of a modest barrack to encounter them. They wore a mixed assortment of huntsmen's attire. Two of them were wearing some parts of forest green infantry uniforms. All of them were dishevelled.
"Buonjiorno!" was the greeting as the four musket-armed wardens came forward cheerfully enough.
Henri leaned casually against the obstacle and tossed up his winning smile to the guards. "We require to pass. We have official business in Piedmont."
There followed numerous remonstrations, accusations, and arguments from either side. The exchange was conducted in a fluid mix of Italian and French and it was semi-comprehensible. The border guards were gesturing quite emphatically while the couriers were restraining themselves in efforts to maintain Gallic dignity. Henri was adopting various dignified poses that usually involved puffing his chest out. The border was indeed closed and the four officials were not being accommodating. This was exasperating Henri for he knew that there was no way that orders had come from the capital in Turin. No, some Austrian sympathizer in Cannes must have caught word of Napoleon's return and ridden out just ahead of Etienne and Henri. These guards had made their own decision to close the border. Such a display of prudent initiative infuriated the adventurer Hussar as much as it frustrated him.
Etienne shifted his weight restlessly and tried not to overtly handle his musket while Henri failed to make argumentative headway against the men of Piedmont. It seemed an impasse in this green mountain pass. The passports had made no difference. Words were futile. Etienne drew off his shako and rubbed his blonde hair to summon some kind of solution but it was Captain Darlon that seemingly was first possessed of an improved tactic.
The Hussar's sabre hummed from the scabbard as he sprang forward and over the barrier. His first blow sent the musket of one enemy rattling to the ground. Curses flew in two languages and after one musket was loudly fired for no effect, the border guards took flight. Henri pursued with bravado while they fled with purpose. The Hussar was in his element and he pursued close. He brandished his sabre but pointedly did not strike blows that would have proven fatal. Fearing for their lives just the same, the Italians would turn at times to try parrying the sabre cuts with their muskets. Separating from the antagonist, one Piedmont soldier found time and courage to put his musket to shoulder and take aim at the Hussar Captain. Henri's attention was firmly on the two guards he was trying to keep out of the door of the wood cabin. The dangerous Italian squinted and took his target.
Etienne's shout made the musketeer turn abruptly. It was a bellow that rose above the bedlam of Henri's scrambling skirmish at the shack and its anger surprised Etienne. It must have had the desired effect though because the border guard had swung his weapon around and was now trying to get aim against the younger Frenchman. Etienne didn't know it but the shout had also allowed Captain Darlon to disarm his two opponents (one of them bloodily). Now the young fusilier and the Italian were squaring off with weapons clumsily pointed at one another. Neither would have been at all confident of scoring a hit, even at this short range of thirty paces. Doubt and fear transfixed the pair. They knew they'd only get one shot but more, they each were face to face with mortality. It was Henri Darlon that finally ended the standoff.
"Put up your weapon, monsieur. We should be friends."
The man did slowly lower the musket and Etienne mirrored the gesture. In broken French, the Italian replied, "Politics has made us enemies but yes, for today, we will have peace. Peace is better than death."
Henri embraced the border guard affectionately and assured the man, "Sometimes, the most courageous act is to allow life to continue." The Italian's facial expression told Etienne that he hadn't understood Henri's philosophies but as they ended the embrace, it was evident that the affair was ended. Still, the boy felt inclined to give his own assurances to the four defeated men.
"We are neither spies nor saboteurs. We are couriers with missives of peace. There is no harm in our passing."
The four border guards did not seem transformed by these assurances and continued nursing their wounds in silence. Their glances and murmurings instead were now encouraging the Frenchmen to get on their way with haste. Captain Darlon was working to accommodate their wishes and when he paid in good coins for fresh post horses, they were quite content to issue a proper receipt. Etienne could not help but again admire how smoothly and naturally the light cavalryman had swung himself into the saddle of this unfamiliar steed. With a final too-friendly wave, the Frenchmen rode off east to resume their journey. Behind them, the Italians broke into a chorus of animated accusations.
There was no long, reflective silence between the two adventurers. Henri spoke over the sound of rhythmic hooves, saying "That got the heart pumping. Some stop for lunch. We stop for swordplay."
"You almost got us both killed.", was Etienne's chastisement.
"No. I almost got you killed. I was never in much danger at all!" said the Captain and followed it up with that merry laugh of his. As his spirit lifted he clicked his tongue to get his steed into a matching mood.
The infantryman was less cheerful but he shook his head. "I confess, I was surprised to see you sparing their lives. We could have killed them all."
"I might also have killed you atop the Antibes wall. I don't like killing. No good soldier does." Henri reined in the mare a touch. "No. I know the types of men that are guarding the borders throughout the round world. I know what it might take to rattle them. They weren't there because they thirsted for glory. As well, nobody ordered them to close the borders. It was their own bright idea and very few men will ever choose to die for their own ideas."
"All the same," ventured Etienne, "Might we seek a method to avoid a similar scene at the Austrian border?"
Henri grinned mischievously enough to frighten the boy. "Certainment! I know a secret path."
*********
The tavern at the village of V______ was rich in rustic décor and sparse in paying customers. It was only when the weather drove locals under cover that they did not take their lunches outside by the fount. The view from there, down the narrow street of the alpine settlement was fair enough inducement but the stench of cheese inside the establishment was a greater determinant. Despite the fine weather, the heroes of our tale were enduring the heady discomfort and were well through a bottle of defensive wine as they talked through an evening repast. Captain Darlon was caught up in the opportunity to become a narrator to his companion.
"It is the story of a great man who dearly loves a brilliant woman. It is a deep and resonant love. Following their divorce, this man must seek to find a new wife that might bear him an heir. The Tsar's sister is considered but her mother was spitting mad. I would have chosen Louise of Prussia but her husband, the King, would have been an impediment. Austria having just been soundly thrashed in a bloody war (as Napoleon was wont to do), the Emperor of Austria was very interested in securing for himself less of a whipped street urchin status and more of an Imperial father-in-law demeanour. His offer that Napoleon take his eighteen-year-old beautiful virgin daughter to bed was begrudgingly accepted. Marie-Louise, who had grown up knowing nothing but horror stories about the Corsican Ogre, was understandably terrified."
"Marie Louise was as splendid and protected a creature as her great aunt Marie Antoinette (whom we'd murdered not a dozen years earlier) but a father has to let his children grow up sometime, does he not? It is said (mostly by Napoleon's narrators, I concede) that the Emperor of France fell in love with Marie-Louise the moment that he first laid eyes on her. Men who love passionately and honestly do tend to love a lot of different women passionately, and honestly."
"She gave him all the affectations of love. She gave him a son. She was growing up and settling into this life that her father had forced upon her. I sound cynical but perhaps I am a classicist. Remember that this is (thus far) a tragedy and for that to work it is important that we believe that they had risen above unfortunate circumstances to find love in one another's arms."
"When Marie-Louise's father marched an army to Paris last year, Marie-Louise was determined to defend the city and rouse the population to fight. Away on the battlefields, Napoleon ordered her to flee so, dutifully, she and her dear son fled from her father. As the chaos abated with surrenders and treaties, Marie-Louise found herself and her son in her father's custody."
"A prisoner?" Etienne spoke up.
With a tilt of his head, Henri found the distinction, "A daughter."
The pair fell to silence for a good while until it became apparent that the youngster had something else on his mind.
"If all of those powerful people know you, respect you, and even like you, why do you remain just a Captain?"
Henri strongly emphasized the first word of his reply, "Just a Captain, Fusilier Neville?" The fourth word required no emphasis. Etienne smirked and shrugged but the question still hung in the air between them so the older soldier continued, "You know how the Emperor says that every one of his soldiers carries a Marshal's baton at the bottom of his backpack?"
"Yes…" answered the youth warily and took another drink of his wine for support.
"Where is your backpack?"
Etienne saw the trap. "But…but those are just words."
The emphasis returned. "Just words." Henri leaned back and played with his wine glass, perhaps pointedly not imbibing at this time. "Some of your mess mates are even now playing cards for your marshal's baton in the barracks at Antibes. At best you can now become a General of Division. Tis unfortunate."
The fusilier laughed. "Mayhap I may steal another."
With a saucy smile, his companion wagged a finger; "There are no batons in the bottom of Italian backpacks. You will find cheese and saint's medallions there."
"Maybe I will become a Saint then!"
"Patron saint of cheese." Grinned the Hussar and the pair merrily looked to the last of their meals. Still, sensing that his decisive victory was uncontested, the older soldier was gracious enough to be generous in his peace terms. "I am not a leader of men. Some might call me selfish but after they had rubbed their freshly reddened cheek they would say instead that I was perhaps so focussed on being as great a soldier as I can be that I have no time to pull others along with me.
Etienne challenged quickly, "So you are a better soldier than Napoleon?"
Henri's deflection was effortless and decisive. "He is an artilleryman." He pushed his spent plate aside slowly so as to take the time to muster his thoughts. "There's some truth to it. I do not wish to lead men in battle. I do not wish to fill out reports and count biscuits. Maybe France would be better served by my spending my nights balancing pay accounts." His eyes glinted as he flavoured his sobriety with mirth "I could be the best administrator in the Empire if I turned myself to it. I am that completely capable of mastering anything that I set my mind and body to." With a whimsical shrug of his shoulders he asserted, "I just haven't had a good enough reason yet to become a genius." He revealed his worn pipe and flourished it as some mark of triumph.
The younger soldier took advantage of the cleared table space and set his blue-clad forearms onto the wood there, leaning in to ask. "Why, if you are no leader of men, am I now here?" Slightly exasperated, he cut off some easy-witted reply from this companion and clarified the query, "You took me from Antibes to steal information. Why are you taking me with you on this mission and not one of your adventurer friends?" Then, spreading his arms wide and sitting back, Etienne offered the idea that "You have taken a clumsy conscript with you where a seasoned warrior may be required."
A look from Henri, with a twinkle in his eye, let Etienne know that he had asked a good question and so would get a real reply. First though the older soldier took the time to withdraw his tobacco pouch and find himself an appropriate pinch. "I did not go to Antibes looking to find a squire. I was there to find information and… stumbled across you." With practised familiarity, he tucked his vice into the bowl of the dark-wood pipe with a yellow stained thumb. "When I took you away from that wall, I had no idea where I would find myself on the morrow. When my Emperor gave me this task, I knew that I should not try it alone. I knew that I would need, at the least, a traveling companion." He paused to pat himself down for a flint.
Shrugging, Etienne summed it up, "I was convenient."
The hussar's rich chortle instantly chastised the fusilier. "No. You were destiny. When circumstances begin to fall in and form up, I am not going to summarily dismiss them. No, I am going to march alongside Destiny and see to what heights of Glory we might climb." He finished up as he got his pipe going, saying "We are tasked with bringing two lovers back into one another's arms despite the wills of warring nations so I need a talisman for both Venus and Athena. A handsome young farmer's boy should do nicely."