CHAPTER XIV

Menagerie

The Gasthouse bed was as comfortable and still as Etienne could have hoped for. It didn't move and neither did he, not for two days at least. It left him hours to dwell upon the future and it was a picture that refused to consolidate clearly. Sometimes the image of a beautiful Marie Louise and her son would form in some fancy room but then the background would shift and blur until it was some dank dungeon. The costumes of the pair would often then become rags - sometimes bloody ones. No reason could be imagined for this. Their faces, even bodies, were vague and could survive no discernment. He could not imagine what they might look like and at least once her ran through an adventure where he encountered the wrong characters. Sometimes the dreamlike enactments would have our hero stepping through a door to encounter the prisoners but words so often failed. Neither heroic rhetoric nor impassioned honesty rang true. When he took the story past the prison and they were escaping across a fog shrouded field there would always come the tremulous hooves of hunters. Everything is always directionless. He could even get the pair to here, to the Inn on the outskirts of Vienna, but there it always ended. The picture and noise of Austrian soldiers kicking in the door to the very room where Etienne lay came too easily to mind.

By night, Etienne would be overtaken with dreams of the Battle of Mincio but in these encounters there was chaos. Officers were dead or dying and orders, if they came, came foolish or in foreign tongues. His comrades ran off and left him... or he left them. The battle would rage and he would be shot and stabbed and abandoned for dead again and again. He saw his mother and his father burned and shattered by cannonballs. A woman and a child lay broken with their faces shot off. The bloody black ruins of their miserable lives issued hateful accusations.

By day, the soldier marched. He covered a great many miles while reconnoitring the surrounding countryside. Information would make everything clearer. Intelligence would provide the answers. The Gasthouse was less than three kilometres from Schonbrunn. It was almost within sight. Indeed the Gloriette, that ridiculously grandiloquent edifice who's hilltop dominated the extreme end of the palace's gardens could be seen from the little window of Etienne's room. As an aside, it should be noted how pleasantly startled our impostor was to find that no staff or delegates of the Congress were taking advantage of the locality of this hostel. His hosts had no reason to suspect his true designs. Those intrigues had him wandering among the farmlands and villages (almost suburbs) south of the Austrian capital. They had him standing at the very gates of Schonbrunn palace studying that resplendent residence that was now so tantalizing close.

Which window was she behind? Was that brief shadow passing behind distant glass perhaps his Empress? He paced back and forth before the gates, mentally mapping the yellow manse, but the packs of Grenadiers there began to eye him with decided suspicion. He moved away with haste.

There were so many eyes. They stood watches in groups of four at every entrance, gateway, and stair. Too, whole patrols marched in constant, precise rotations, seeming to cover every metre of the courtyard with their vigilance. From what he believed was good concealment, Etienne watched the routines at the front of the palace. Nobility and servants entered in a regular, restless flow. Paperwork was checked on most and when it was not, there were gestures and other marks of recognition. Surely, believed Etienne, these guards were in such force to protect the Congress participants. He had confirmed though through some subtle questionings of locals that Marie Louise was in Schonbrunn.

Maybe his passport was good enough. Maybe Pauline's friends had given him all he needed to simply walk past those guards and into the private rooms of Marie Louise. He could put all four letters on the table that would be in the center of the room (with a vase of bright yellow flowers it seemed), wheel about neatly, and be gone. The whole adventure would be behind him. Patting his breast, he assured himself that he did yet bear the letters. He had only to walk to the wide iron gates and pass his legal passport to the guard captain there. They would swing silently open for him.

He could attend the Congress. He could walk right in and stand shoulder to shoulder with all the notables of Europe, all those who were judging the destinies of nations, perhaps share a pastry with them, and none would know. He had a passport.

The gulf between Etienne's shadowed hide and the grand gates of the palace seemed so open and empty. He began to imagine how many steps it would be. He counted them out in his mind and then stopped at ten. He had neither pistol nor sword on his person. He could go back to the Inn to gain them and perhaps change his clothes. He should have his best clothes. Guards would not question one dressed very well... unless he had sword and pistols.

Look to one's weaknesses first.

What was his retreat path? What was his rally point?

It was not the walk across that wide-open ground to the gates that was so daunting. It was the breadths of ground that he'd have to cover were he forced to flee. Impossible! Twelve muskets could be brought to bear on him in a heartbeat.

It wouldn't do.

Abandoning the frontal assault, Etienne continued to scout other opportunities. Around the back of the grounds was a spacious garden, which would be much like the one in Parma, imagined Etienne. Here though there was no low wall for the clambering over of. High, thick hedges protected this enclosure. Initial investigations revealed that the base of these hedgerows were as consistently impenetrable as the height was unassailable.  There were gates through this hedge but they seemed as well guarded as the main.

What the adventurer did discover, as he strolled without the gardens, was a possible point of entry. Along the western perimeter there was a stretch of hedgerow where a metal grid abutted behind the line. It was as tall as the greenery but here the hedge seemed thinner. Just as he began to move closer to study the possibility of breaching at this point, a patrol of guards approached. Caution drove him off. He would return with the night.

Hours later, when the drum of a rain first came to Etienne's attention, he was despaired. He almost moped to the window. He had resolved to make the attempt tonight but now his enthusiasm was dampened. A farmer does not fear the rain but he cannot ignore the mood shift that it brings. This would not be an excuse for failure. Napoleon, thought Etienne, would find a way to turn this to advantage and so should he. There were no answers to this question revealed in the deep darkness of the night but that is where Etienne found his silver lining on these black clouds. The bright Moon, so near to finishing its waxing, was not hinting at even the thinnest silver sliver on this shrouded night and the volume of this increasing torrent would drown out any snapping tweak. There would be no better chance. Destiny was once again delivering on her promise.

Riding boots were tugged on firmly and our hero reaffirmed to deliver on his own promise. Shirt, waistcoat, jacket and necktie were donned. As he shrugged himself into the heavy overcoat, Etienne once more mentally remarked on how much he liked these clothes. He had begun to grow into them, as though he was deserving of the respectability that the garments bestowed. He really ought to have a hat. He did not long for his shako though for it had never fit comfortably and was oddly balanced. It did manage to keep the rain out of the eyes and made him look taller so it did all that was asked of it.

Etienne drew the four letters out from beneath his mattress and paused to reflect upon them. They were beginning to look a little worn and wrinkled but their seals remained affixed. The first one from Napoleon was for his three-year-old son on the eve of the great man's boldest gambles ever. What tender truths might be scribed within by that powerful hand? Next in Etienne's hand was a letter that was from the Emperor of the French to the Emperor of Austria. Both were lords over vast lands and innumerable peoples, holding the reins of war. What words of peace were offered? Would they be enough? Were they the words of a son-in-law, seeking the shared welfare of his wife with her father? The third was between a man and his beloved wife, entreating her, Etienne imagined, with words of affection and fidelity, to keep faith. Perhaps he promised her in this note that rescuers would come to her to steal her away from the prison of Austria. He would have ended it with sweet kisses. The courier lingered longer on the last and thought about his Princess Pauline and sweet kisses. He didn't know what words the Princess had finally selected for her note to her brother's young wife. He could not imagine them. What he could summon so easily to his mind's eye was the fine face of Pauline by candlelight. The notes were secured into his jacket pocket. Pauline's favour was in the other and he worried it with nervous fingers as he cast about the room to determine his final preparations.

Kneeling at the bedside, Etienne dragged the wooden case from its hiding place. As the cover swung up to reveal the pistols, secure in their precise indentations, he felt honoured to possess them. Their time had come, it seemed. Even as he admired them though he thought again of the wet weather. The powder could not be kept dry. They could not be trusted in these conditions. He closed the lid of the case and returned it to hibernate in its cave. He took his friend's sabre in hand and tested the weight. He was no swordsman but he would have no fear and he would make it work if he had to. If he were found in the gardens they would capture him and if he were found with the weapon he would be killed. It was certain that tonight, he must be resolved.

In absolute darkness then, and with the covering roar of a downpour, Etienne scampered beyond the village and across country. Many minutes passed with trips and stumblings. Peering through the driving drops, he strove to make out silhouettes against the night sky but it was in vain. On he pressed, fumbling ahead with one blind hand. The time had long since passed when he had calculated he would reach the Schonbrunn hedge wall but he had not once wavered in his resolve and maintained his pace and direction. Still, he breathed a misted sigh of relief when he contacted the high hedge.

Eagerly, he plunged his hand into the thick growth only for it to receive a scratched rebuke. His hoped for ingress must be further one way or another. He could endeavour to make an educated guess as to which way would be likeliest to contain that walled section but in the end it had to come down to luck and as Fortune had yet to desert him, the adventurer struck off left with confidence. Trailing his drawn sabre from his right hand, he let it drag along the length of the tall living wall to keep it close.

Moving forward this way, he began to pick up pace. The ground along the outer boundary of the gardens was neatly gravelled flat so his balance was assured. Yes, he knew that any instant he could stumble onto a gate with several miserable assigned soldiers cowering from the soaking torrents in too small guardhouses but he was trusting wholly to his luck now. He knew that things would work out. Despite the din of the downfallen rain, Etienne both heard and felt the contact of his sword upon metal and he drew himself to a hastened halt. Brushing his free hand across his brow to clear a gaze, he tried to appraise the barrier as it stood before him but he could see nothing more than the top of the wall against the slightly lighter cloud cast sky. A thrust hand though pierced the dispersed growth and he gripped a wet, cold metal grill. He held it firmly for a time, giving an unconscious prayer of thanks to an unknown deity and then sheathed the sabre to attempt an ascent.

It was easy – unexpectedly easy. The cloaked figure of Etienne climbed gorilla-like up the metal grid, pushing past any attempts of the hedge or the rain to thwart him. When one hand clutched empty air, he clung to his perch and then raised himself up. He yearned to give some howl of triumph. He was here! He was alive!  Prudent, he remained silent. The man then made the clamber over to the far side without much grace and followed that up with a reckless drop to the ground beyond the wall.

He could not silence an oath when his knee slammed hard against a jagged rock. Gripping the knee and flexing it, he determined quickly that it was nothing more than pain. The notion that it had taken longer than he had expected nagged at him briefly. Perhaps the darkness was to blame. Still, he was surprised at the uneven rock surface here. Not at all what he had expected. His first steps slipped on the wet surface but he moved onward, deeper into the darkness in search of something to take bearings from.

Thankfully, rain commenced to thin and so too did the high clouds. Moonlight, as faint as could be, was now filtering from the heavens to give a subdued glow to the surroundings. Etienne could now pick out where the top of the wall contacted the sky and, slowly spinning about, was startled to see such a barrier on all four sides. Concentrating upon grounded surroundings then, it began to appear that the whole of the surrounding ground was descending toward the east and it appeared that there was some sort of overhanging structure there. Certainly there was only the darkest of blacks beneath that crafted covering. Something about the depth of that darkness gave worry to the intruder but what next occurred gave his heart a skip. A deeply evil, malevolent growl rolled angrily, hungrily from the near unknown. What beast had issued the hateful warning was beyond the adventurer’s imagination. This was deeper than any hound could sound, and heavier.

Etienne crouched low to face the phantom fiend and bared the length of his sabre. The form of a monster emerged from the dark, growing larger by the moment until it was revealed as a giant, fully grown white bear. The pale beast, bright in the dim moonlight, shimmering in the steady rain, towered over the frail human and released a roar of frightening timbre from its black tipped maw.

The man did not wait for the roar to end. The creature was posturing, making himself look larger than he was, and Etienne was not going to miss this one opportunity. He sprung forward, brushing off thoughts of pain in that banged knee, and with both hands holding tight to the sword, carved an arc of powerful violence from right to left across the great bruin. The blade bit deep indeed. Etienne pushed the sharp sabre through fur and flesh, into tough muscle, past shattering bones and deeper still! Blood gushed from the wound, black upon grey, but there the steel weapon lodged firm. In a moment of shock and fear, screaming with outrage, the massive beast slashed with thick claws for the small attacker... only to fail! The agile hero had dropped and clambered away across the rocks but the bear turned, desperate and angry. Those claws tried vainly to dislodge the protruding sabre even as the monster whirled about looking to destroy its antagonist. Spying him mutely watching in horror, the white bear dropped to all fours to make a final charge but then it only collapsed, stone dead, at the feet of Etienne.

His hands trembled. For a time, Etienne could not move his feet. He could only stare at the still form of the white beast, half expecting it to rise again to renew the battle. His heart raced. Of all the thoughts spinning through his mind, it was the question of how such an animal came to be here in the palace grounds that he was having the most trouble settling. He dug one still shaking hand into a jacket pocket and then brought that perfumed kerchief to his face to inhale deeply. Almost instantly his nerves began to relax. The polar bear twitched once but Etienne had seen enough death to know that this animal was done for. He stood there just looking and the rain came down.

The weather had slackened to a drizzle by the time Etienne, blade regained and resheathed, had found his bearings and was back on course. He was in some form of menagerie and when he deduced the correct wall to escape the bear cage from, was moving on secure pathways once more. Other pens surrounded him and they apparently contained all manner of wild and perhaps dangerous animals: elephants, hyenas, kangaroos, and wolves, all quiet and invisible in this wettest of nights. The explorer came across some large, well appointed octagonal pavilion, decided that it must be central to the design and, trusting to the ordered mind of Baroque garden engineers, set off down a wide path to the left. Faith rewarded, Etienne emerged from the zoo through an unguarded passage.

The amount of undergrowth here was unexpected. The trees too, so far as Etienne could discern through the darkness, were not anything like one ought to see in such a garden. Palm trees, climbing vines, ferns, and all manner of exotic plant life filled the area. He was not here to admire the gardens anymore than he was looking to admire the wildlife of the zoo. His mind did traipse around the idea of a polar bear skin busby but it was short-lived. He focussed on getting through this winding way as quickly as possible. Fortunately, he thought, the rain was keeping guard patrols diminished to the point of not appearing.

Something moved nearby off the path.

A wild animal? A guard?

Etienne couldn't tell. Whatever it was, it was no longer moving and so no longer visible. Maybe it had been imagined. The light was certainly poor and inconsistent enough. Every shadow seemed to hide a possibility. When the dark figure moved again though, Etienne became sure that it was a man and that he was trying to move with stealth.

With a determined grip upon the pommel, Etienne redrew the sabre. Sliding steel sung aloud and instantly the other figure stopped tense. Etienne's mind flashed back to the battle with the bear. He resolved to attack just as quickly. Plunging into the darkness of the shimmering wet undergrowth, Etienne closed the distance. As he neared, the foe unveiled a blade of his own but Etienne did not pause. He saw that the figure was cloaked and wore a tricorn that concealed his face in deep shadows but Etienne did not pause. The first blow would be decisive. He had to strike fast and true so he did; with power and determination, the Frenchman brought a single-handed stroke down ferociously upon his opponent.

This defender held his ground. He parried the slash with strength and the colliding metals cried out sharply. Surprised, Etienne's next move was to follow through with the blow and spin off to the right but the deflection had left him off balance and he stumbled into high ferns. Water droplets flew everywhere. Etienne was staggering to regain his footing when the blades resounded again and he felt his meek defence knocked aside. Desperate, the youth found strength to push his body backward and hopefully out of range of his enemy but doing so, his back collided with the trunk of a tall and unmoving tree. Etienne swore aloud for the unexpected dull pain.

"A Frenchman?" asked this mysterious, smooth voiced foe. He aborted an attack but raised his blade cautiously. Following the briefest of hesitations the man added, "I am one as well."

In a breath, Etienne chose trust. "I am here for Napoleon." he said.

"Vive l'Empereur." said the other and Etienne's heart soared with hope.

They stood silent a moment, staring at one another through the darkness and drizzle. The stranger wore a heavy, black and oiled greatcoat that matched his flamboyant tricorn hat. The thing even had a black panache; fair formless for the drenching it had endured. Beneath the open overcoat, one could discern a finely fitted uniform of darkest blue with extravagant gold trim and braid. About his trim waist, flamboyantly wide, was a silken sash of pale violet. The fellow's face was likewise wrapped to conceal an identity. When he raised a long finger to hook the mask and pull it down, it was noted by Etienne that his nail was manicured. His face was thin and fair with high cheekbones. No moustache masked his lip and his brows were handsomely arched.

Near dumbstruck, Etienne could only ask, "Who?"

The stranger half-turned his head away while keeping gaze fixed upon Etienne and with that same lone, straight finger placed aside his chin said, "I am la Fleur de Lune." with gentle import.

At this point it was noticed that the man wore a pale-blossomed moonflower upon his uniformed breast. Deftly finding the sheath within the dark greatcoat, the Fleur de Lune let slide his blade away. He asked politely, "Are we of common cause then?"

Warily, Etienne given a nod, saying, "I am come to bring messages to Marie-Louise."

An arched eyebrow was curiously raised. "I am for the childe Napoleon. He is to receive assurances of France's love."

Again the two fell to silence and only the spattering rains were heard. What strange coincidence, it seemed, that on this night two strangers would cross paths so. Surely, thought Etienne, Destiny would demand that they find a means to cooperate.

"Let us join forces," said Etienne, "We ought see to my errand first and then the Empress will surely accommodate yours."

The mysterious swordsman sized up Etienne with what appeared to be an expert eye. His appraising way marked him as a connoisseur of men. Gracefully, he extended a hand in an offer of confederacy. Etienne sheathed his steel and took the upturned palm into his own grip. The clasp was firm from each man. La Fleur de Lune gave a slightly condescending smile and said, "So we are a pair for this game." He pointed northeast to say, "We should move on to the Star Pool, keeping to the trees. I had thought to avoid the Great Parterre and trust by your position here that you agree. From the fount we will be well placed to make an advance upon the walls of the palace. I am told that there may be drainpipes that will suit our needs. From there, we should trust to finding an open window."

"..And then?" wondered Etienne aloud even while admiring that his companion seemed to have the advantage of a plan.

"…And then," shrugged The Moonflower, "We reconsider."

Forward then into darkness they strove together. Progress was not fast yet it was sure. Etienne thrilled to once more be possessed of confidence. He was assured by trust.
After a short time, the pair left the undergrowth behind and the park took on an appearance more reminiscent of an ordered orchard. Just as the distance between the trees was ever widening, so too was the breadth between raindrops. Very soon the interval between guard patrols would correspondingly lessen. Also, the light was better here even though they remained off the wide avenues. Hopefully the hedges of various heights might shield them from passing sweeps.

Reaching the Star pool, the adventurers stopped at the edge of the cultivated clearing to confirm that it was empty of enemies. It was. So much of the near to full moon was revealed now that Etienne was able to make out details of the sculpted Naiads in the center of the large fountain. The dryads would have been quite playful had the water been turned on. Perhaps emboldened by the arrival of the Moon, La Fleur de Lune advanced brazenly from concealment. He approached the fount in silence and long moments seemed to pass as he studied it. Then he began some odd movement. It was almost a dance as his hands came up and he seemed to bob and weave, twisting slowly before the monumental work. He waved back, encouraging the still safe Etienne to come out and join him at the illumed pool. Etienne did emerge but he was wary. His head switched from left to right, checking down all of the merging pathways, alert to any incoming gendarmes. He expected them surely at any instant. Ahead, he could see the large silhouette of the palace and there were dim lights showing from some of the high windows there. They were too close to be stopping, too close to getting the job done.

It was a loud whisper that Etienne used to say, "Why are we stopping?'

"Look! Look!" said the other, with a voice too loud for Etienne's liking, "See the way this soft light is making them seem so rounded - so animated? It is like they were made for this light."

"We must move!" Etienne urged. Understandably, the youth's confidence in this strange man was wavering.

"So forceful..." murmured La Fleur but he set off immediately, heading straight down the center of the path that led to the Schonbrunn palace.

Every instant that there was no alarm sounded was a surprise to Etienne. It had to happen. He found himself beginning to wish for the sound of shouting guardsmen and musket balls whistling. Bring on the inevitable. End the enduring.

They quickly crossed the last expanse and now, to the right, Etienne could see lanterns and lamps. These were too distant to cast their lights upon the heroes but soldiers were there, shifting silently about their watch post.

Etienne's companion veered at the last and firmly grasped the metal drainpipe that he had expected to find. Tugging upon it he quickly became satisfied with the apparent security and then, to Etienne's astonishment, sprung up and began to climb the narrow handhold. The man's black overcoat swung back and forth as he grappled the pipe and hauled himself heavenward. The metal creaked and groaned as it was clambered but it remained stalwart and supportive. Hand over hand the man moved until he was lost to the darkness. There was one final shudder on the pipe and then Etienne advanced to try his turn at ascendance.

It looked so easy when the climbing Moonflower had scampered up but as soon as Etienne gripped the cold, wet, and oh, so slippery metal, he commenced to count the ways that he might fail at this thing. He took a strong hold. One hand first and then the other. With a grip well above his head, the youth pulled his feet up and ...and the pipe creaked maliciously loud, groaning at the assault of his weight.

Etienne paused. No, he would not pause, he thought. Fear would not repel him. Doubt would not defeat him.

Hauling his mass upward despite the pipe's protests, Etienne asserted himself to greater heights and then raised up his hold afresh. On he went, finding his rhythm awkwardly but surely. Higher and higher he climbed and with every metre, his confidence grew... until he noticed the pains beginning in his arms. Would he have the strength to continue? How far had he to go? His shoulders begged for mercy but received no quarter.

The Moon then revealed La Fleur, standing beside Etienne, upon the narrowest of ledges with his back pressed firmly to the yellow wall. A finger to his lips bid silence and then curled to gesture that the young man ought to follow. When his companion had edged far enough along the ledge to allow it, Etienne gingerly manoeuvred his body away from its secure hold to take up tenuous position against the wall also. For Etienne's benefit, the night kindly obscured the ground below. He would have to imagine the distance that he might fall (which, it should be imagined, he did).

The foremost lurker whispered back to the follower saying, "I'm going in. Wait." and then he vanished through an open window. Etienne was alone upon the wall then, staring off into the empty night. The rain had sometime ago ceased and from where he was perched he could take in the scents of the gardens. Indeed, despite his precarious situation, a sense of tranquility was beginning to settle upon the former fusilier. How long must he wait for something to happen?
Not long. Beneath him, there was a sound. Alarmed, he sought to peer down through the dark, at the line of windows descending toward the distant ground but he quickly decided that his balance required him to stand up straight and look ahead. It was surely nothing.

It sounded again, persistent.

Determined, Etienne forced his splayed hands to cling to the wall before leaning out to look down. Astonishing!

There at his feet was the dark figure of a climber, his bare hands even now hauling himself almost silently up the ledge that Etienne stood upon. But the man was not wholly dark. Rather, the moon revealed a turquoise colour to his costume.

"Who is there?" was the only thing that Etienne could muster as a response.

The reply was not what he may have anticipated in his wildest imaginings. A merry chortle preceded the simple answer of, "A Frenchman. One of the good ones." said with such a richness of tone as to assure Etienne of the identity.

"Henri!"


 

Chapter XV

Index