CHAPTER V
A Princess and Tea.
Situated on the central plain of Northern Italy, Parma suffers from being a modest town and seat of a modest Duchy. It has its share of Cathedrals and Palazzos but nothing is either ostentatious or remarkably resplendent. Similarly, its walls are modest and its chief strategic value is that it is the primary route to bypass the triangle of near impenetrable fortresses north of the Po. Its role is to be the place that armies march through to get somewhere important. No city therefore could compete with its cooking and hospitality. If you are going to be occupied, at least keep the invaders fat and careless.
Couriers, postillon, and coachmen were using the post house of Parma as a social center and comparing notes on the roads ahead and behind. There was talk of bandits in the east and new tariffs in Tuscany. There were even rumours that Napoleon had escaped from Elba already. A British ship had put in at Genoa asking if anyone had seen the island captive. It was making for lively and heated discussions but instead of it causing a panic or furor it was an opportunity to mock the English for misplacing the Ogre. The languages were a mixture of Italian, French, and German with many odd accents and bastardizations flowing freely among them. Throughout the sparse crowd of men were also busy young boys tending to the horses and harness and sometimes simply noisily at play. Near the entrance, through the entire din, an older workman was dutifully trying to concentrate on repainting the details on a carriage coat of arms. A pair of horsemen entered the courtyard of the post house. One beamed merrily while the other could but wince.
Etienne eased himself down from his mount both as quickly and gingerly as possible. Trusting the mare to stay and not caring if she did, he bowl-stretched his miserable legs and slowly bent to examine the inner thighs. It was with some relief that he saw the faintest of bloodstains through the white trousers. His pain was justified. Here was proof that his wounds were real. Despite such justification, the firm and playful slap of Henri's hand upon his aching back was a taunt. The hussar pointedly swaggered as he grabbed the reins and jauntily led his pair of charges away. Etienne swore under his breath. He quietly debated the merits of hurling some vengeful insult at the back of the cavalryman. Too much effort. His mind diverted when he made the stupid mistake of rubbing his wounds.
Aching muscles and the sounds and smells of the stables, even amidst the bustle of a lively city, reminded Etienne very much of his life before he was enlisted into the army. There were long days on the farm, dragging the plow and tilling until his hands were raw. There was much work to do and, too, there was his father. He could not put a finger on it but his father's voice seemed to be chasing after him on this ride.
It also made him long for his regiment. Sure, he complained about life in the infantry. It was a duty to do so and, at times, it was positively miserable yet now, after but three days on the road, he would never again envy the cavalry. His Musket and shako had, early in the travels, found themselves a permanent home in some streambed. Garrison life in Antibes had been marvelously easy. Not only were there regular meals, shelter overhead and plenty of sleep but a splendid climate and a vast array of people to talk to. There were people he could talk to that gave straight answers, sometimes told the truth, and didn't always expect him to try doing great things. There were people that would allow him to be just Etienne.
"Etienne! My friend! Come! We have much to do!"
The infantryman gave another groan, rolled his shoulders back into place, and trudged toward the summons. Spying the Hussar at his jovial best, Etienne's temper strayed out of bounds.
"What!? What needs doing so badly? What can't wait until I've had some sleep?"
Henri gestured broad, "We must bear witness to grand Parma! There is drinking and music to be found! Women!"
Etienne was gob smacked. "Women? Damn it man, I want a pillow, not a woman."
Henri laughed and began a none-too-terribly witty retort but Etienne cut him off with venom. "I just want to close my damned eyes." and he did. Even with his damned eyes closed, he could see clearly the damned smile that that damned Hussar would have had on his damned face. He dropped his own face into his palms but there was Henri's firm touch to give the youth's shoulder a manly petting.
"Alright." conceded Captain Darlon, "We'll get ourselves some rooms and I'll let you be in peace and quiet. No more adventures for tonight. I reserved us some eastbound mounts for the morrow but if you are defeated, we can remain here a day and rally the troops. Even Davout let us rest." He clapped his arm about the shoulders of his friend and guided him toward the quiet evening bustle of Via Piacenza.
Just as Henri was about to spew off some rambling anecdote about the last time he was in Parma, one uncouth figure was thrust by another into the path of the pair. The fellow stumbled and glanced fleetingly at the Frenchmen and then pronounced the following with almost exaggerated outrage, " I'm not going to Vienna! I'd don't care how beautiful Princess Borghese is, I won't to take that secret letter for her!" The pair of heated scoundrels again looked hastily to those their tiff had obstructed and then the second savaged almost random and incoherent oaths upon the first. Etienne angrily lunged forward to brush the squabblers aside but Henri restrained him and demanded an account of this interruption. He spoke French, as had they.
"What is the meaning of this? Do you not see two gentlemen couriers being trespassed upon here?"
Everything came to a halt and the four exchanged expectant expressions. None could say what thoughts ran through each of the startled individuals heads at that moment but their faces spoke volumes about their confusion. One of the rude rogues cried "Fly!" and then they were off and running out and onto the streets.
Henri paused but an instant before calling out "Ah ha!" and bounding after them. His travel bags and valise fell to the ground in his wake. About his legs, his sabretache floundered in an ungainly manner so he took it up in one hand much as a maiden would gather her skirts. In no time at all the sky-blue of Henri's pelisse had vanished into the population of the town and around a corner. Our poor infantryman was left standing there trying to make sense of it all until he too joined the pursuit. An instant later he was reminded of the pains in his limbs and back but he mustered up his courage. He was, afterall, still a soldier and his companion may need his aid. His path wove through Parma's pedestrian traffic so he took pains to not discomfort the innocent. Within a hundred paces he sighted the Hussar again. Henri had halted in his chase and Etienne pulled up beside him where the two took the time to catch their breath. There was no sign of the fleet-of-foot scoundrels. Passersby appeared nonplussed by the shenanigans.
It was Etienne who first collected his wind enough to speak. "Why were we chasing them?"
All Henri could do was shrug and pull his jacket snug. "They ran. When someone runs it means there is something to be gained by catching them." Etienne peered at his sage friend and laughed. Henri joined in on the joke and they returned to their dropped bags merrily appreciating the exercise. Slinging his possessions, Henri paused Etienne with a raised finger and then moved to make quiet enquiries of some locals within the post house.
When Captain Darlon returned his eyes were dangerously alight and his moustache and eyebrows were fairly dancing. "She is here."
"She?" asked the youth.
"Pauline." explained Henri as though it was all that needed to be said. It was not and Etienne's expression gave full proof of this. "Princess Pauline Borghese. Napoleon's sister. ... here....and.... and this is most important...and this is what makes this so very good for us: we are in a position, I believe, to do her a great favour."
Etienne was feeling remarkably dim but endeavoured to try to put the pieces together. This was who the fliers had spoken of in their argument. They had said something about taking a letter for her to Vienna. Ah ha! Etienne's broad grin told Henri that he understood.
"My sabretache," remarked Henri, "...may be smelling much sweeter tomorrow." Here he patted the uniform satchel where Napoleon's letters were being kept." His brows arched pointedly as he added, "…and so might you."
The former farm boy shook his head, smiling. He was not going to allow himself to fantasize about seducing the Emperor's sister, a Princess. Perhaps it is better to say that he did not allow himself to fantasize overlong on the subject. In truth, Etienne's mind raced with visions of a nubile and naked virgin Princess coaxing strawberries between his lips on a mountain of golden silk pillows. Still, it was the pillows that he first sought to realize. He encouraged his companion to lead on to an Inn and soon they were accommodated.
****************
Morning found Etienne cautiously limping his way down to the common room of Hotel San Marco but it was a limp that was more a product of self-pity than necessity. As well, his boots upon the unvarnished wood had a lovely deep resonance that could give voice to his discomfort so he was exploiting this with a particularly slow and heavy tread. It was also important though that his hand not lay upon the railing to convey clearly to all observers that though he was apained, he was bearing it heroically. Splayed out at a table set so decadently as to contrariwise affect absolute comfort, Henri was in the common area enjoying a long, aromatic smoke. He was positively bemused to spy his partner in descent. The Captain's brilliant Hussar’s uniform was lightly dampened from a fresh cleaning which gave it a more cerulean hue. This both made his dark braids appear blacker and the rosy cheeks that they fell against appear the brighter red. Etienne’s worries over his sore muscles were displaced to make way for a new awareness of his own less perfumed presence. His uniform was ill fitting, indecorous, and common. His blonde hair was absurdly disheveled. The presence here of Henri appearing so hale, hearty, and handsome infuriated the youth anew. This morning though he couldn't blame the man. Henri was making an effort. Etienne wasn't. He knew that his friend was also sore and worn but he refused to show it. He was making the effort and Etienne wasn't. The boy knew the truth of it and his anger was turned inward.
Etienne's attention was drawn to the pile of brown material atop the table when Henri pushed it pointedly toward him. "Also," greeted the horseman, "there are a pair of riding boots but t'would have been rude to put them atop the table." and he lifted them with his other hand. They were of quality craftsmanship and the clothing too, when Etienne began to sort through it, was finer than anything he had ever owned. Riding pants, a fine waistcoat, gentleman's jacket and even a silk cravat and shirt. The earth tones were dignified and sober. Etienne's mind rambled to bring the meaning of this to account but he rebelled at the idea that these were for him. If it was a gift then it was embarrassing. He knew that this is exactly what it was but he rebelled.
"You've been out shopping. You must have been up early."
"Early enough." was Henri's simple answer but Etienne noted to himself what his friend had not said. It didn't need to be said. Etienne had been lazy in his awakening. Still, he could have said it anyway and didn't. Henri watched Etienne's hesitation and then broke through the awkward pause. "Get yourself some food, clean up and put the clothes on."
Strangely, it struck Etienne for the first time since meeting the Captain that this was an order. They were soldiers and Henri was in charge. It wasn't just charity. Henri had a scheme. Suddenly, he took on new confidence and, looking down at these fine garments, he felt pride. One side of the farm boy's wry mouth rose. "Yes, Sir."
Henri watched Private Neville march off with his spoils. He then tilted his chair back and smugly blew a failed smoke ring.
Within the hour the two were on the street and looking sharp. Etienne had cleaned up remarkably well, looking for the entire world like a gentleman traveler. His hair was brushed, his clothes well fitting, and perhaps most important of all he wore a new sense of confidence. Henri's garb was particularly martial beside Etienne's. Perhaps this was part of Henri's plan. They waited without the Villa di Soragna and the elder was using the time to succinctly summarize critical points of protocol.
"Remember, that she is a Lady. Offer no familiarity and offer no contact. If she wishes your hand she will make it known."
A liveried footman opened a narrow, low door and bid the visitors enter which, of course, they did. This was a simple manse that was fine enough that the exaggeration of Palazzo could be forgiven. Whites and golds dominated the decor with obligatory classical figures declaring the home tastefully ostentatious. If Parma had suffered in the wars, the Marchese di Soragna had managed to avoid such a fate. Still, there was that noticeable lack of furnishings, which had the effect of making the narrow house appear to have an expansive interior.
"You must bow when greeting her and when she dismisses you." Whispered the master to student. After the briefest of pauses he added, "Do you know how to bow? Never mind. Do what I do."
It had required very little research to find where Princess Borghese was staying. She had arrived in town but a day before and, being a Bonaparte, had stirred up plenty of interest from the locals. Her husband, the Prince, had been Governor of the departments beyond the Alps for most of the Empire's course so was well known to Northern Italians. He was controversial, of course, for while the Italians thought highly of him for his fine tastes as an art connoisseur they were disgruntled when he applied his skills to pilfering the greatest treasures from the peninsula for the benefit of France's palaces. Remarkably, Prince Camillo Filippo Luigi Borghese was only five years older than his beautiful wife and said to be quite handsome. There were rumours that the pair had indeed married for love.
"Don't be afraid to stare."
The footman stopped before another small door and knocked lightly. There was no response so he opened a door and announced his charges as "Captain Henri Darlon and Etienne Neville." Etienne noticed that his rank had been increased by its exclusion.
This new chamber was a comfortable sitting room in the palest of robin's egg blue. Some subtle murals of Herons, lilies, and water nymphs augmented the sparse architectural adornments. Opposite the entrance, narrow bay windows were opened to a garden courtyard. There were several white contemporary chairs, a pair of card tables, a small grand piano, and a potpourri of knickknacks. None of these were attended. Likewise unattended, the Princess Pauline awaited her guests centrally.
My readers will have remarked on how I cheated them of a verbose description of the Emperor of the French. Allow his sister to make recompense on my behalf.
The princess' gown was utterly simple and classical, a near-translucent white that fell soft to floor length. Sleeveless and Empire waisted, it was a thin pink ribbon that gathered the flimsy folds beneath her breasts and from this point depended flowing forms that accentuated every curve and hid every hollow of the woman's femininity. She stood poised, naturally posed, with her weight on a single strong leg allowing the other knee to bend artistically and the smooth, pure line of her bare shoulders exactly contra posed the angle so created of her so womanly hips. Above that shimmering pink ribbon of silk, her breasts nestled with brazen comfort within the slightest embrace of the flimsy gown. Her flesh, and we must indeed speak now of her flesh, was a buttered pale pink and it fit snug to her, pinching delicately where her slender arm abutted her chest and smoothly stretching over the spheres of those soft breasts. A necklace of silver and diamonds, a priceless treasure, failed to overwrite the beauty of this flesh-wrought frame. Her long throat rose like some magnificent lily from this fertile field and then blossomed into a visage of radiant energy and vitality. Here were the first hints that she was in her thirties but they were mere phantoms for the intricate and balanced forms that were presented were beauty for the ages. The lower lip of this Lady was a petite rounded bud of pink while the upper partner was of gentle fineness designed solely for soft whispers. Dark brows flowed naturally from her too perfect nose and arced divergent highlights to wide, lilting eyes were at once sad and profoundly moved by all that they bore witness to. Her hair, that Corsican hair, was thick and gentle black. Cropped close enough to keep her lobes lost beneath entwining locks, it was coiffed in the classic style to speak of order, control, and cure. This was no wild, abandoned woman but one who knew the art of presentation.
She spoke sweetly to welcome her visitors but young Etienne was transfixed by that divine décolletage. He was no stranger to fine breasts but these...these had him enraptured. The curves of pale flesh over these pinked orbs exactly mirrored the lines of her hips and soft rounded cheeks it seems. Sensual symmetry was the essence but he saw past this and was wholly captivated by the faintest blue veins that rode, rising and falling with each breath, beneath the fair skin on those orbs. Another breath and another subtle, fine shift of stressed flesh and fabric, hinting at promises. Too, his view allowed, even across the several meters of empty space, the thinnest sliver of pale aureole to creep tentatively into open air with each intake.
Henri for his part was appreciated the whole of the Princess and how it moved with practiced precision and patience while seeming all the while natural and at complete ease with grace. She tilted her head to laugh and at the same moment, outturned her dainty bare foot so that it peeked from beneath the hem of her skirts and perfectly finished this new composition. The imaginations of both men voraciously wrestled for any scraps that were left to them. Even as the woman demurely clasped her hands before her waist, the gesture brought fresh depth and richness to her breathtaking cleavage. Shifting her form a quarter turn to shyly hide her laugh allowed bright sunlight to newly illume through her flimsy gown and so sharply, starkly silhouette her very naked legs.
"Welcome Gentlemen. What might I do for you?" She asked with a musical lilt.
Henri gave a slight yet graceful bow. Etienne, in his turn gave one that was deeper and less practiced. Pauline showed her appreciation with a gentle smile and did not curtsy. She trilled her fingertips to encourage the men.
Etienne naturally demurred to his elder companion yet was surprised at the length of pause here. Perhaps the man was uncharacteristically at a loss for words. He was not.
"It is we, Your Highness, that may be of service to you." replied the Hussar. Pauline pursed her lips and raised her eyebrows expectantly so Henri continued, " M. Neville and myself are currently undertaking a mission of importance for his majesty, your brother. This secret assignment is taking us to Vienna. If this situation would be of any use to yourself, have faith that we would do our utmost to ensure that your confidentiality and urgency would be guaranteed with our lives."
Her fair eyes widened anew at this noble declaration. Henri explained how they had overheard about the letter. He included a remark on how he and Etienne would never be so callous as to drop her name in public like that. It was noted how this labor would not distract them at all from the Emperor's needs.
"How wonderful!" she beamed." If Henri Darlon, the greatest swordsman in all of France is on my side then I am saved." She sized up the Hussar and then looked Etienne up and down appraisingly. "We have all heard of Henri Darlon." she half-whispered to Etienne and then she ran her finger's up the youth's sleeve to size up the worth of the material. "You, my hero, are still a mystery."
Etienne, watching the dainty fingers play upon his jacket, began to say, "I should keep no secrets from you, Milady..." but the Captain interjected on his behalf.
"We are, Your Highness, but couriers. Our task would be best performed if there is no attention brought to us, therefore I beg you not to discern too deeply. There is little to tell in any case.
Pauline laughed musically, "Modesty does not become you, Captain. I know that you were on Elba with Napoleon and were perhaps a confidante of the Emperor's. You have renown and..." she paused to place that wandering hand now delicately upon the bareness of her bosom and inhaled quickly, "...and I have often thought how exciting it might be to one day make your acquaintance."
The Hussar shifted his weight and wrinkled his brow while he assessed his opponent's battle strategy. His young companion was fairly on the balls of his feet in anticipation of the direction that this encounter might go. He was poised to reinforce. Princess Pauline altered her deployment saying "I would be so very glad if you could tell me if my brother landed safely. As you might have known, I was on Elba also on the eve that you made your escape. I took boat to Genoa two days later and have not heard a thing since."
If this was a trap, Henri fell into it with eyes wide open. "Have no doubt that every man on the isle knew that you were there, Your Highness. Many, it may be said, could report in detail your hourly movements, daily costumes, and meals. As for the journey, we had poor winds but managed to slip through a porous blockade and made landfall without incident."
In a joyous reflex, Princess Pauline clasped Etienne's hand firmly within her tiny, trembling fingers. Wide eyed, she turned to the apparent gentleman and beamed as she asked, "Were you there too? Was it terrifying?". Etienne paused for but a breath take but she took the moment to clutch the boy's hand to her breast. Suddenly, through the warmth of her grasp and her flesh, Etienne felt her heart atremble and his own pulse much quickened in compliment.
He fair ejaculated his words, "Oh yes! No! I mean...I was at Antibes."
Henri grinned slyly and mentioned "He was the first soldier on French soil to rally to The Emperor's colours."
Pauline rolled her eyes heavenward in rapture and let the lids close over them to enjoy the sensations that were coursing. "Bliss. Bless you both for this news. May you have everything you desire and deserve." The Princess tenderly squeezed our farm boy's large hand once more, milking it of its masculinity, and then released it to retreat a pace. She wheeled to face Henri and thrust a digit in the air. "Great things are underway! Momentous moments in time!" she exclaimed enthusiastically and then began to make a point of calming herself. Her shoulders rolled magnificently and she became composed in an instant. Spinning deftly, she began a slow walk to the balcony exit. Unshod, she sauntered silent while the gaze of both men fell to admiring the firm roundness of her derriere. The flimsy virgin-white gown seemed designed to accentuate such shrouded plays of muscle and flesh. She spoke as she walked, calculated for its effects.
"I must send a missive to my dearest, cherished Marie-Louise. She must be warned, the poor thing. She will not see how she is such a pawn when she is treated as a Queen."
Etienne lowered his once-detained hand from his lips and spoke up. "We bear a letter to her from The Emperor."
Oh how pretty then was the turn of Pauline's head as she looked back over her shoulder. The folds in her neck and the new curve of the silvered necklace, the whites of her eyes against the dark of her locks and the rising of those brows all in a single gesture while her stately walk was not slowed a step. "My brother is blinded by love. He could not say to her what needs be said. He cannot see the dangers clearly" She moved herself onto the courtyard balcony and used the wrought railing there to stretch her lithe form long in the morning sunlight.
The adventurous couriers exchanged smiles and perhaps too-knowing glances and then followed their hostess toward the fresh air. Cautious of the intimate lack of space on the balcony, Henri made a gesture that bid the pair to wait just within the room.
Turning on a toe, the quarry pivoted to face her pursuers.
"Count von Neipperg is your foe. He watches over her like a ... like a warden. No letters, no word gets to her. He has agents everywhere." Her eyes narrowed to emphasize the intrigue and she leaned well forward conspiratorially. Etienne gasped at the revelations. Her eyes bounced from one to the other of the men as she continued. "He is an absolute scoundrel too! He will balk at nothing to keep the unfortunate girl from her husband's side." Those same dark eyes then went wide as she huskily whispered and leaned further forward from the support of the railing, "The fiend has killed two husbands in duels!"
Etienne gasped anew and Henri laughed brightly to quip, "Husbands never count in the tally." but then clapped his hands once before himself and then pointed each index finger skyward. "My companion and I shall best him on all fronts."
She leaned back then, terribly pleased with all things, and arched her back. The grin that formed on her lips was unflattering.
"Destiny has brought you two chevaliers to me. I had thought the Fates jealous and petty but no, they do yet love me." There was a pause while she tilted her head and seduced her grin into a thoughtful and demure smile. "I shall have to make it a very good letter. This may be my one chance to get the truth to her and I swear that I shall not waste it."
Henri appeared surprised. "It is not ready to send?"
Pauline almost giggled ashamedly. "No! But it will be soon!" and she spun again to face the courtyard." I have so much to say. I will turn all of my energies to the pen." With her back turned, both men took the opportunity to exchange silent looks with one another, communicating their indecision about what this information changed.
"We can," ventured Etienne while watching for his companion's reaction, "wait for a time. We are staying at the Hotel San Marco and may be reached there when you have composed..."
Pauline spun quickly as though insulted but her expression spoke more of delight. "No! You will stay here tonight! Stay with me! The Marchese is away and there is plenty of space for us all. There is Tea."
The Hussar was agile and quickly retorted, "We could not. That would be ... awkward, we cannot tarry." She pounced on him though, wringing her hands upon his azure tunic and turning doleful, frightened eyes upward.
"You must!" she pleaded with desperate femininity. Her perfumed aroma and warmth was as strong as her grip. The whole of her weight pressed against the soldier as she threw herself into this desperate entreat. "Save me! Protect me! I have seen the Count's agents in Parma! Assassins!"
Etienne marched to the sound of the guns. "We will stay."