CHAPTER XVII
The duel at the crossroads
When Baron von Hager stood outside the linen shop the next morning, he was in the company of a dozen soldiers. The uniformed men were vigilant almost to the point of being jittery. When the Chief of Police dismounted before the door, his hip failed him (as expected) and it was in an ignominiously ungainly manner. Very few of the soldiers smirked behind his back.
The Baron regained a sense of decorum and then spoke curtly with the commander of the detail who then gave orders to the men and went into the home. Hager, remaining on the street, gave a friendly enough nod to Madam the Countess de Montesquiou who sat in the window with a finger marking her place in Gaul. Her cold, disapproving glower at the policeman did not prevent her from nodding in return. Anatole was watching over her shoulder (and finishing his toilet) but his attention was divided by the goings on in the other room.
Etienne Neville emerged alone from the doorway of the apartment staircase, without weapon and in the escort of the commander of the guard.
“You are not under arrest.” Was the first thing that Baron Hager said but he did not extend a hand in greeting nor offer any sort of smile that might deliver a sense of familiarity to the youth. The Baron was adorned in a comfortable gentleman's costume that was but a single step above Etienne's own investment. Testament to his short-lived military career, he still wore his hair closed cropped. He was young enough that the hair was still dark but old enough that his whiskers had gone grey.
“I am acting in the capacity as second to Count Adalbert von Neipperg. These soldiers are merely here to afford me some security. You are all three suspected assassins and spies, after all. When this duel is over, you might find yourself arrested. There are no promises.”
Etienne cast a reflexive glance over his shoulders to the rooms above the street scene. His three companions were watching him with absolute confidence. Staring down von Hager, the young man insisted, “Countess de Montesquiou has done nothing.”
Finally, a smile appeared on the Austrian’s lips. “So you do not say that you have done nothing.”
The Frenchman only repeated, “Countess de Montesquiou has done nothing.”
As the white infantrymen behind shifted restlessly, von Hager passed an open palm before his breast and said, “I apologise. Do not allow me to forget my role. We are here to discuss the terms of the impending affair. I can confirm that Count von Neipperg has accepted the challenge. He looks forward to … the contest.”
Etienne wrinkled his nose. “He understands the issue? He recognizes the reason for the duel?”
“He does.” answered the Baron. “…As do I.”
Had he won an advantage? Our hero was quite pleased with that response. He had expected that he’d be required to go on some rant about the immorality and dishonour of the scoundrel Neipperg but he would be excused having to compose any such tirade. It was apparently clear to all parties that Henri had a right to fight the Austrian Count on behalf of Napoleon Bonaparte. Perhaps the Count was simply intrigued by the opportunity to duel someone who claimed to be the greatest swordsman in all of France.
The two men then began to discuss the terms of the battle. Etienne had fully expected, based on the bravado of his friend, that the Austrian would be selecting pistols for the meeting. He was surprised therefore when Baron von Hager insisted upon cavalry sabres. Did he not know, pondered Etienne, that Henri was a Hussar? On the other hand, it made perfect sense that Hager would bring a doctor. He would know one that could be trusted. The battle would be fought on the following morning. Etienne was certain that Henri’s schedule would be open. By this point, Etienne was quite comfortable in trusting his counterpart in selecting the terrain and location for the engagement as the Frenchman would not be familiar with many locales. A countryside crossroads south of Vienna seemed suitable if that was what the chief of police suggested. It was apparently outside of the legal jurisdiction of the city for whatever reason that might matter. This Frenchman did not understand civic politics and procedures and he certainly had little interest in learning them at this instant.
What he came to understand over the course of the meeting was that Baron von Hager was not completely comfortable about acting as the Count’s intermediary in this matter. Etienne thought that perhaps the policemen thought Neipperg was in the wrong but there was also a sense that the man had maybe been manoeuvred or compromised into accepting the duty. Briefly, Etienne wondered about how he might take the Baron’s reluctance and turn it into a tool, perhaps even a weapon to use against him in the negotiations. Was there leverage to be found there? Could he gain some advantage that could ensure Henri the win? These thoughts were summarily dismissed though when he recalled that his role was not to find advantage. His assignment was to be fair and to negotiate a satisfactory compromise such that the combatants would be able to contest without doubt of justice. Whatever paths had brought the Baron and the farm boy to this Vienna street to coordinate a killing, they were each proceeding with integrity.
When the gentlemen were each satisfied that all had been said that needed to be said, Baron von Hager shook the hand of Etienne.
“I pray that fortune smiles on you and your friends.” said the Baron with no trace of deceit.
Etienne could not repeat the sentiment but assured his opposite, “I am honoured to have met you.” He began to add, “I wish …” but faltered, not knowing what he wished for this man. Etienne stood watching the Austrian limp back to the guard commander and then, without reservation said, “I wish you happiness, Baron, and a life without pain.”
Without turning back, the Baron gave word for the infantry escort to prepare to move out and he was then assisted into the saddle of his chestnut. Etienne stood and watched the procession round the corner. Just as he was turning to make for the apartment, he caught sight of what appeared to be some ranking naval officer skulking nefariously behind the troops. This odd idea was dismissed and he returned to Anatole's apartments.
Henri was quite satisfied with his younger friend's arrangements. He did tell Etienne that he was not at all surprised that sabres had been chosen. The Hussar was, indeed, quite proud of his own orchestration in this regard. It showed that Neipperg was exactly the sort of man that Henri thought he was.
Etienne and Henri spent the remainder of that day sparring in a quiet courtyard.
****************
The march to the crossroads took much longer than expected thus the morning fogs had but recently tapered off when our heroes arrived at Quertstrasse. Spreading to the distance, on all sides of the countryside roads, were brown fields laid earthen bare. They had yet to plant the spring crop, those local land workers, and the fall harvest had been taken in some weeks before. Remarkable on the plains was a single stout whitewashed windmill. The Belgian Windrad squatted at the crossroads watching over the passing of days. Its grey blades rotated slow in the slightest of breezes, creaking out low groans that did not complain.
On the approach to the intersection of dirt roadways, a farmhouse sat in silence with its low wall sheltering a cobbled courtyard from the view of passers-by such our two Frenchmen. Three local youths, like carrion birds, were perched upon that wall. Anticipation had begun when the one-eyed black-clad hussar had begun to limber up outside their sanctuary. Chores could wait, to their minds. A swordsman, a nobleman, and a doctor waiting at such a place suggested that a show could be forthcoming and such a thing was not to be missed. The boys cheered when they registered the arrival of Henri and Etienne for their hopes were realized.
The youngest lad, with a shock of hair that would forever refuse to lie flat, called out some question to the new arrivals but Etienne had no idea what was said. It was maybe something about death. Still, he smiled in a most friendly way to the children on the wall and regardless of their allegiance, Etienne felt some support by their presence. Henri, of course, responded to the question in German with some witty answer that got the farm boys laughing and they were thereafter undoubtedly in his camp.
Etienne inhaled deeply and savoured an air that reminded him of his own youth. The land here was rich but the people had, he assumed, suffered as much if not more than other farmlands across Europe. Young men would have been pulled away to serve in armies, just as he was. Many would never return to their families. The thought crossed his mind that perhaps someone from this house was there at the battle of Mincio firing muskets at him. Maybe such an Austrian soldier was slain by Etienne and his comrades. Did Etienne step over their father's warm corpse that day? It may be that the eldest brother of those boys was in Otto's gang of thieves or even a soldier at the Schonbrunn. He shook his head as though it would help to dismiss these mortal musings.
As the pair approached the crossroads, they and the three already there commenced to take critical stock of one another. Count Von Neipperg ensured that he stood between the oncoming Frenchman and his own allies. He was in front and he was demonstrating confidence and swagger about his posture. As usual, his attire was dark and resplendent with golden trim. Many medals and orders festooned his breast and the black fur that trimmed his uniform had a sheen to it. You would likely not consider Adalbert von Neipperg to be a handsome man but you would undoubtedly mark him as a figure of splendid bearing. He was more handsome than his scarred and patched face should otherwise allow.
Baron Hager was apparently observing a different aesthetic agenda for he wore no marks of rank. His costume was of average taste and expensive cost. The man's grey whiskers might have been trimmed or at least combed slightly since Etienne had seen them the day before.
By his black bag, the doctor betrayed himself. There was nothing nervous about his disposition. He was calm, relaxed and clearly paid enough for the services to not be at all impatient. The thought occurred to both Etienne and Henri that the medical man had come dressed for a funeral. It was a very practical decision.
Etienne's choice (and indeed his wardrobe now allowed choices) was for a comfortable outfit of Indigo. The fit and fashion was fine enough for the farmer's boy but it was flawed in the eyes of any true gentleman. The young man's blonde hair had not grown much in the month since the adventure had begun but it was well coiffured now. He had petitioned Madam de Montesquiou to tidy him up for his performance today but Anatole had done the work. Colonel de Montesquiou did not join his newfound friends on this fatal enterprise for after Baron Hager's militant demonstration the day before, Anatole was determined to stay close to his mother's side to keep her safe.
Under one arm, Etienne bore the case for his dueling pistols. Perhaps someone would change his mind and want them. It seemed a shame to have the fine weapons and have no opportunity to use them. He'd spent a good portion of the night cleaning them again. It was the only way that he knew to get through the tense period of darkness before the dawn.
Martial and bold, Henri's hussar uniform was the brightest colour on the day. He was confident, cheerful, and moved with the grace of a man who was fully fit and eager to enjoy that health. Sometimes, as he walked down that road, he would rise up onto his toes and so travel for some time. It might have been to limber up but Etienne thought that perhaps the man was just on the verge of dancing. His eyebrows did dance with every smile he wore and these were plentiful.
"Are you worried at all?" asked Etienne.
"Would worrying help?" was the counter from Henri.
The two men shared a cheerful laugh and it felt very good to Etienne. He could not make himself feel as nervous as he knew he ought to feel.
Some short ways away Henri held up. Etienne set down the pistol case and his overcoat. He took a small cloth from the pocket of the coat, balled it into his fist, and then set off to close the distance to the Austrians. Baron Hager, pained, went forward to meet him. First, the seconds shook hands, and then got down to the business of confirming that the duel would go ahead.
"Captain Darlon is committed to this conflict." said Etienne.
"Count Von Neipperg," responded the other, "...is likewise committed. They will fight until one yields the field or is incapable of continuing."
Etienne agreed. The doctor was introduced then the three commenced to awkwardly discuss the environment and the weather. They joked about the doctor's colours though that fellow seemed less amused by the topic. They spoke for a time about other duels they had witnessed. Etienne began to recount his Parma encounter. Over the Baron's shoulder, Neipperg could be seen rolling his wrist with the weight of his weapon.
"Let us begin." said Etienne to the other men.
Baron Hager led the other two off of the empty intersection. With a wince he hopped the small ditch and put his back to the walled farmhouse. The farm boys above paid little attention to the three accessories but watch the duelists with rapt attention. Imagine they each had chosen their individual champion by this time.
Hager called out loud and clear, "Engage on my Command, Gentleman." Neither responded in any way.
Etienne smiled up to the boy spectators. Their own grins were broad but their eyes were focused wide upon the two uniformed swordsmen that were taking the cue to advance onto the crossroad. Etienne felt an odd fondness for these unknown children. It would not have been any appreciation of their innocents for they were likely, morbidly, seeking much bloodshed from his friend. As he was taking his gaze from the local youths back to Henri, Etienne did a double take. There, at the far end of the white stonewall, was that same man that he thought he had seen yesterday. He wore that same seeming naval uniform. Like an English admiral.
"Commence!" called Hager.
Etienne's attention snapped from the sailor to the swordsmen. They did not salute one another. Somehow, Etienne had expected them to. Nor did they rush headlong into the melee but instead advanced with right-handed sabres raised on high point. They graduated toward a face-off and neither spoke a word. Etienne could detect no smile under Henri's moustache.
The sky-blue hussar opened with a quick turn of his wrist and drove his blade hard and fast, low toward the inside thigh of his foe. Neipperg's parry was expert but before he could successfully riposte, Henri had shown his to have been a false attack. He was already bounding backward. The Austrian advanced, inviting another response from the Frenchman but he would not be baited, yet. Squaring off on guard, Neipperg's last eye was firmly fixed upon those of his mortal enemy.
The warriors re-engaged. The steel of the swords sang a pained cacophony as move was met with counter-move, attack with parry and riposte. Their movements were fluid and energetic, decisive and quick-witted. It was not the elegant speed of rapiers but heavy blows with weighted blades. The primary attack was a strong slash. The best defense: a vigorous counter-strike.
As the tension of the opening gave way to the knotted desire within Etienne to be able to affect the outcome, he thought once again of the mysterious figure that he had seen lurking. Looking again to where he had spied the man, now Etienne could see nothing of him. First exchanging a reassuring look with Baron Hager, the French Second began to creep off down the length of the farmhouse wall. The song of the blades made his tread seem silent.
Neipperg beat strong against Henri's defenses and pressed aggressively but the French hussar bound him. The two locked corps-a-corps, testing one another's strength, testing the other's will. Henri was forced back onto his heels. His strong opponent leaned in close, sneering.
"You are not in France now, Henri Darlon." breathed the Austrian Count into Henri's face.
Henri fell back! The Austrian tumbled atop him and they rolled tangled in a cloud of dust until with a shove, they scrambled apart. Each muttered an oath in their own language and got to their feet.
Meanwhile, Etienne turned the corner and there confronted Sir Sydney Smith. The Admiral carried a pistol and, startled by the intrusion, leveled it at the chest of our Frenchman.
"Say nothing." said Sydney in fluent French.
"What are you doing?" insisted Etienne.
The hussars had crossed swords again, trading ferocious two-handed blows that lit sparks. At any instant, a guard could fail and a limb would be severed. None failed.
"I cannot allow you to get involved." said Etienne.
Neipperg stumbled.
"I shall do as I please. Step away and do not reveal me." insisted Sydney Smith.
Henri pressed for advantage but the Austrian desperately skittered away and made opportunity to regain his defense. He'd saved himself this time.
It mattered not to Etienne that this Englishman had a ready pistol: he reached across his body and unsheathed his sabre in a clean motion. He would insist. He would keep this man from aiding Count von Neipperg.
Sydney stepped back, hopped his pistol into the other hand, and swept his own cutlass bare.
The duel at the crossroads continued apace with Hager and the doctor watching on. Neipperg was surrendering ground for Captain Darlon was beginning to win the weight of the battle. The clashing sabres were carrying the action off of the roads and toward the windmill. There, those long grey blades ground round slow.
Etienne knew that hesitation could be fatal. He attacked!
In the first instant of his fight, Etienne knew he was bested. The parry was clean and professional. Smith's counter attack was practiced and precise, almost easy, and Etienne only spared his head from being severed by a most frantic move that left him stumbling away...and into the shallow ditch. Hager called out something in his own language. The Englishman swore in his and advanced upon Etienne with his cutlass carefully balanced. The pistol was aimed skyward. Sir Sydney Smith shook his head as he followed the retreating Etienne out onto the dirt roadway.
The three boys each cheered loudly as this second sword fight took the field. Baron Hager and the doctor shrugged helplessly at one another.
The Black Hussar's back was forced against the white wall of the mill and his eye flashed in desperation. Henri was now throwing repeated beats that forced the Austrian to expend energy that he could no longer spare. Every attack that the Austrian endeavoured was taken cleanly and each ended in an abrupt stop hit. The sky-blue Hussar smiled playfully.
Etienne lunged at Sydney. He had to occupy the Englishman. He had to by his friend time to win the fight while it was fair. The lunge was ably avoided but then Sydney swung in a heavy, rounded backslash that sent the sabre tumbling away from Etienne's numbed hand. Doomed now, the youth cried out in despair!
Henri sprung back spinning and cast about for his young friend. He gasped when he saw Admiral Smith step upon Etienne's lost blade and lower the pistol to aim it at the boy. It was only a heartbeat that Henri was distracted but in that moment, Neipperg moved! Henri twisted his attention back but too late, the black-clad Austrian was fleeing at full pace.
This was a chance and Henri was going to take it. Abandoning the cowardly Neipperg, the blue hussar charged at Sir Sydney Smith and the ground was covered in seconds. The English pistol swung in Henri's direction but then it was lifted again without the shot fired. Swords clashed.
"No!" called out Sydney.
"But yes!" answered Henri as he feinted and drove. Smith took the blow on his guard, flicked the wrist and insisted on a high outside cut of his own. Failing, he passed the initiative and began to retire with footwork learned on storm-swept decks.
Meanwhile Baron Hager was hobbling in pursuit of the German, grumbling grouchily as he did so. Etienne regained his blade, inspected it, and then joined in on the attack against the English. Captain Darlon pressed on the right flank while Etienne cautiously occupied part of his attention on the left.
Sydney's defense was stalwart. Henri's sabre could find no way past the reactive darting of Sydney's cutlass and try as he might to gain good ground, Etienne was being foiled by the retrograde movements of the Englishman.
Before anyone else, the young local children saw the Admiral's next move. The eldest scrambled off of his perch atop the wall to get inside the farmhouse courtyard. Indeed, Sydney's back was now to the wooden gate and he was running out of options. Still though, he never moved to shoot the pistol in his off hand. When he saw the gate open out of the corner of his eye, he did not pause to see who had given him this relief, but instantly leapt back through the opening and tried to swing the door shut behind him. It was just in time for Henri's clever attack might have proven fatal otherwise.
"Pish!"
Henri put shoulder to wood, as did Sydney on the opposite side. Etienne daren't try making a rush through the half closed gateway. It was too vulnerable. The wall! No, Etienne would stay close and aid in the press. He turned to look for another option...
...in time to see the Black Hussar hack down at Henri's exposed, defenseless spine.
No warning could now save him. No parry could spare him.
Crimson blood leapt from the gashed blue of Henri's splendid uniform. The man's scream was not but a gurgle as nerves were severed. His blue eyes paled and his legs buckled. The Hussar fell like a stone, dead, at the feet of Count von Neipperg. The Count crowed and rebalanced back to deal a similarly brutal finishing blow to our last hero, Etienne Neville.
"Drop the sword, Count." said Sir Sydney Smith with firm resolve and a leveled pistol. The hammer was cocked back and the firearm was clearly aimed at the face of the one-eyed Hussar. "Drop it, or die this day."
Too much was happening for Etienne. His sabre was barely held in his hand and his knees could but hardly hold him erect. The Count though was assessing the situation perfectly and, as he took one pace in retreat, he lowered his blade tip to the ground.
Neipperg's sabre fell and then so too did Etienne's. The Frenchman dropped himself then to turn over the blood-soaked body of his friend. The dead man's once happy eyes were indeed spent and empty. His mouth was twisted in testament to his last moment of pain.
By this time the doctor was hovering but he could do nothing. Von Hager followed on and he looked between Smith and Neipperg in anger and disbelief.
"This is an outrage, gentlemen." said the Baron gravely. "Put up that pistol, Sir."
Sydney's response was not obliging. He drifted his secure aim toward Hager and said, "Doctor, you and the Baron will remove this unfortunate victim into the house behind me. Count von Neipperg, you will remain where you stand and watch as this young Frenchman walks away."
Oblivious to the continuing confrontation between Neipperg and Smith, Etienne closed the eyes of the lost Hussar and then, gently and surely, fixed the corpse's mouth into that smile that he would forever remember.
"You cannot command me." outraged Neipperg.
"Yes, he can." replied Baron von Hager even as the man stooped to encourage Etienne away from the corpse. "Monsieur..." he said quietly to Etienne, "...he will be properly buried. Go. Now."
Count Neipperg fumed and did nothing.
Etienne rose. He took up his sword and then Otto's fine blade where it lay next to the lifeless hand. With slow, unconscious paces, he removed himself from the center of the scene. He had to go. There was nothing more to do. He watched the two men clumsily carry Henri's body through the gateway and when the three young boys lent eager hands to the task, Etienne surprised himself with a smile.
Neipperg's single eye was not watching Etienne as he retrieved his dueling pistol case and coat. It was set upon Sir Sydney Smith and focused by hatred. The fiendish Count did not move though. He remained imprisoned by the pointed pistol.
"Monsieur," called out the English Admiral in fine French, "...I wish you a speedy and safe return to France."
Etienne stopped and considered for a moment. He adjusted his awkward load to free up a hand and then fumbled in his breast pocket. Two sealed letters were set down upon the roadside, weighted with a stone, and then the youthful fusilier of the 102me regiment nodded with respect toward the farmhouse gate.
"I trust, Sir..." Etienne said, "... that you will see to the safe delivery of these two messages."
"Certainly." answered Sir Sydney Smith without reservation.
As the windmill continued its creaking course, the pages that Napoleon had written upon fluttered quietly. Etienne left them behind and began a lonely walk back to Vienna.