The Adventurers

by Jane Aiken Hodge

  ‘I hope I do. There’s a system of side roads that might, if we are lucky, take us around the edge of the French army.’

  ‘And if we are unlucky?’

  ‘I’ve thought about that. If we are questioned too closely—if, in fact, they are going to search the carriage I shall change my story and admit to being a French courier. I still have his papers, remember.’

  ‘You think you could get away with it?’

  ‘God knows. One can but try.’

  ‘That might be your motto, I think, Charles. “One can but try.’”

  ‘I can think of worse ones

  ‘Well, really, so can I. We’ve come quite a way on it, come to think.’ She laughed. ‘And here I am, just the same, back where I started from, acting a boy. I can’t tell you how pleasant I find it.’

  ‘Poor urchin. Is it so tedious being a young lady?’

  ‘Unspeakably. Have you ever thought how you have let me down, Charles? You promised me a life of gambling and adventure, and what have I done but sit in drawing rooms and do embroidery.’

  ‘You don’t call this adventure, for instance?’

  ‘Ah, this is something else again.’ She drew in a great breath of evening air, fresh from the forest. ‘This is delicious. Just smell the pine trees, Charles, and listen to the quietness.’ And then, carelessly: ‘I wrote my grandfather, by the way. Philip took the letter to his cousin, to be sent in the bag?’

  ‘You’re going to abandon me?’

  ‘Taking a leaf out of your book, Charles. You’ve abandoned us often enough.’

  ‘But never willingly,’

  ‘All for the Bourbons, and the world well lost? For an adventurer, you have a wonderfully strong sense of duty. Is he really such a spellbinder, this Comte d’Artois?’

  ‘I wish you could meet him; then you’d understand. He’s a man—a leader…’

  ‘You don’t think that France might be a little tired of leaders? And besides, what about his brother?’

  ‘The King? He’s old and tired, and must be content to sit back, enjoy his position, and let his brother govern.’

  ‘You think he will? It hardly sounds like any Bourbon I ever heard of. Charles! I know I’m just a woman and not supposed to know a Czar from a sans-culotte, but I do beg you won’t you let yourself get in too deep.’

  ‘How could I? Think of the Loyets: they are ready to die for the Bourbon cause. Why should not I?’

  ‘I’d much rather, at a pinch, that you lived for it. But, really, why should you? What have they ever done for you?’

  ‘Don’t you understand, Sonia, that’s not the point. All my life I’ve been an adventurer, a wanderer: homeless, rootless, with nothing but Charles Vincent to care about. Now, at last, I’ve found a cause worth fighting for, worth risking everything for.’

  ‘Don’t forget, Charles, you’ve found us too. Are we not worth a little risk? Or—do you include us in your “everything”?’

  ‘Try to be fair to me, Sonia.’ She could hardly see his face in the gathering darkness, but there was no mistaking the appeal in his voice. ‘This is more important than any of us,’ he went on. ‘This is the peace of the world we are talking of.’

  ‘Peace?’ Thoughtfully. ‘I hardly remember what it was like. But you really think these papers so important?’

  ‘Absolutely. I saw the Czar, you know, just the other day, at Troyes. He was almost decided, even then, to risk all in a march on Paris. This information should settle it.’

  ‘And in the Bourbons’ favour?’

  ‘I hope so.’

  ‘And I hope they prove worth your devotion, Charles. From what I have heard, I can’t help wondering…’ She felt him stiffen on the seat beside her. ‘Don’t be angry. I won’t tease you anymore. Your mind’s made up, isn’t it, so what’s the use of arguing. Besides—I’m enjoying this.’ She leaned a little closer to him as the carriage swung round a corner. ‘I should like to drive on like this forever.’

  ‘So should I. If we only could…’

  ‘Well—’ He felt rather than saw the eager little movement with which she turned towards him in the darkness. ‘Why not, Charles?’

  ‘Because—oh God, Sonia, I’m not my own master.’

  ‘Not—what in the world do you mean?’

  ‘Just that—No, it’s no use, Sonia, don’t ask me. We’ve been good comrades, you and I, adventurers together. Soon, I hope, the adventure will be over. It’s been—I’ll never be so happy again. You and Elizabeth, you’re all the family I’ll ever have. My mother hated me, you know. She used to scream at me, tell me it was all my fault—’ He gave a savage jerk to the reins and the horses plunged forward. ‘I don’t know why I’m telling you all this. It’s not what I meant to say—’

  ‘Dear Charles, what did you mean to say?’

  ‘Nothing. It would be monstrous… I have no right… You deserve a golden future, Sonia, and I am almost beginning to hope that I see it taking shape for you.’

  ‘A golden future? Goodness gracious, Charles, what dream is this?’

  The road here was deeply rutted and for a few moments he was fully occupied with the horses. Then, ‘One I had not intended to mention—and yet, I hardly know why not. You remember the terms of our partnership? God knows, I have failed you often enough, but I do begin to hope, now, that you are in sight of the good marriage we planned for you.’

  ‘Oh?’ She drew a little away from him, while her eyes tried vainly to make out his expression in the dark. ‘What marriage, pray? You cannot still be harping on poor silly Philip?’

  ‘No, no. But you cannot fail to have noticed Denbigh’s concern for you.’

  ‘Denbigh? Good God, Charles, how can you be so stupid!’ Anger fought tears in her voice, and won. ‘Are you quite blind? Denbigh indeed! He’s concerned merely with my damaged reputation, and let me tell you, Charles, damaged it is. Just look at me now, and tell me, after such a midnight frolic as this, what hope there is for me in respectable England?’

  He turned sideways on the seat, intensely aware, as he had been all along, of how near she was: ‘Sonia! Let me—’

  ‘Hush!’ Her hand on his silenced him. ‘Look!’

  For a fatal moment he had taken his eyes off the road. Now he could see the stir of movement ahead: they were rapidly approaching a French sentry post. Nothing for it but to go on and hope to brazen it out. His hand held hers for a moment of communication and reassurance. ‘Quietly,’ he said. ‘And in French.’

  ‘Naturellement.’

  He was already drawing in his horses, and stopped at once at the sentry’s command, his story and his papers ready.

  ‘Typhus?’ The man drew back a step. ‘You’ll kill her driving through the night like this.’

  ‘No more certainly than she’ll die if I don’t get her to the doctor.’

  ‘Well, keep away from the army, for God’s sake. We’ve troubles enough of our own. Give it to the Allies if you must, curse them.’

  ‘Are they so near?’

  ‘You’ll have your work cut out to avoid them. We lie back there.’ He gestured vaguely in the direction of Bar-sur-Aube. ‘They’re ahead somewhere. Some say the Czar himself is at Arris. You’d best watch out for Cossacks; they’d eat that boy of yours for their supper. He’s very quiet, by the way. Is he sickening too?’ At the thought he took another step backwards.

  ‘Just tired. Say good evening, Jacques.’

  ‘My throat hurts,’ croaked Sonia in the deepest voice she could manage.

  ‘Here.’ The soldier tossed the little packet of papers back to Charles. ‘Get going, for God’s sake, and take the left fork at the bridge there. That should keep you clear of our outposts. As for the Allies—that’s your funeral. I just hope you infect the lot of them.’ And—his voice suddenly became human, ‘Good luck to you.’

  ‘Thanks. We need it.’ Vincent whipped up his horses. And then, when they were safely out of earshot, but still in a cautious whisper, ‘No more talking. It’s not
safe.’

  It was almost night now, and with the darkening of the air, they could see, off to their right, the glimmer of many fires, where the French army was bivouacking, and hear the sound of voices, shouts, the neighing of horses, an occasional trumpet, all the manifold noises of an army settling down for the anxious night. Then, gradually, the sounds died away behind them; instead an owl called suddenly, very close, making Sonia, who was nodding, half asleep, start into wakefulness and huddle a little closer to Charles.

  ‘Are you cold?’ He was driving as fast as he dared in the near darkness.

  ‘A little. Nothing to signify.’ Like him, she whispered the words in French. ‘Can we talk now?’

  ‘Best not, I think. Just in case—’

  She nodded, her head sleepily against his shoulder, but risked one more question. ‘How far now?’

  ‘A long way, I’m afraid. All night, at this pace. But soon there will be a moon.’

  ‘You’re always lucky, aren’t you, Charles? But you were going to say something, back there where we stopped.’

  ‘Was I? I quite forget. Anyway, we’d really best not talk. And—take care not to go to sleep, or you may fall.’

  ‘So I may. That would be too bad, wouldn’t it? Oh, very well, your obedient stone.’

  He drove on silently for a while, aware of her valiant efforts to keep awake. Once or twice, when she nodded off and her head drooped down on to his shoulder, he had to put out a hand at once to wake and to steady her. The moon came up at last, making strange shadows on the road ahead of him, dimming the glow of the campfires they had left behind. They had come several miles now since being stopped. He reined in his horses, an arm supportingly round Sonia, who had fallen against him, fast asleep. For an instant he let himself hold her like that, her hair, under the absurd tricorn hat sweet-scented against his cheek. Then, more firmly than gently, he shook her awake.

  ‘What is it?’ Half awake, she spoke in English.

  ‘Bedtime.’ He jumped down from the high seat, turned and lifted her down. ‘Safe enough now, I think. Our next problem should be the Allied outposts. No need to talk of typhus to them.’ He had opened the carriage door as he spoke and bundled her in. In the far corner, faintly revealed by a shaft of moonlight, Elizabeth stirred among her coverings, muttered something and fell asleep again. ‘Sleep well, urchin. You are already.’

  ‘It’s not fair.’ But as she protested she settled obediently in her corner and let him cover her with one of the rugs that had fallen off Elizabeth.

  ‘Things seldom are. Sweet dreams, Rapunzel.’ He closed the door, climbed back on to the box and set forward at the best speed the tired horses could manage.

  He had been lucky in his choice of road. Nothing seemed to be stirring as the countryside held its breath between the two armies. Occasionally, a fox barked or an owl called; once or twice he passed through villages where not a light showed. For all the signs of life, they might have been entirely deserted. Perhaps they were. If not, their inhabitants were doubtless hiding themselves from the threat of war, as a child pulls the bedclothes over its head in the dark.

  And no wonder. The moon had set and the first cocks were calling to each other from farm to farm when he entered a village whose desolation showed bleak in the first glimmerings of dawn. Here and there a building was still smouldering; the dark shadows along the side of the street were probably piles of corpses; dogs howled. At the crossroads, in the centre of the hamlet, for it had been no more, when it had been anything, three dark unmistakable figures swung from an improvised gibbet. Of life there was no sign. Shivering, Vincent told himself that he must be getting near to the Allied army. Beyond question, the Cossacks had been here.

  He whipped up his horses. No time now to be thinking of the horrors of war, nor yet of the rights and wrongs of it. If the papers in his pocket could shorten it by so much as a day, they must be delivered at whatever cost. He had taken the precaution, when he moved Sonia into the carriage, of stowing away his set of French papers in the deep, hidden pocket of his greatcoat. Now, he made sure that Schwartzenberg’s invaluable pass was ready to hand. It was dog-eared now, and battered-looking with much carrying, its date, perhaps fortunately, entirely illegible. He had come to a fork in the road and took the branch that led to Arcis itself. Surely the Czar would be there, and there, too, would be the best prospect of rest and shelter for the girls.

  But the Czar must come first. He made this clear at once when he was stopped by an Austrian picket. He had not dared think, through the endless night, of what might happen if he encountered a marauding Cossack band. And yet, only yesterday, two of them had died in the girls’ defence….

  But with the Austrians all went smoothly. The information that he had come round the French army in the night roused their interest immediately. He must come, without delay, to their commanding officer.

  He agreed at once, but when he had been taken to the officer—a mere junior—he made his position brutally clear. ‘I have news of the utmost importance. For the Czar, if possible. Or failing that, for Schwartzenberg.’

  ‘The old man? He’s still laid up. But—the Czar? I can’t disturb him at this ungodly hour.’

  ‘You’ll be sorry if you don’t.’ So far Vincent had said nothing about Napoleon’s letter. If possible, he wished to deliver it in person and make the best use of it he could for the Bourbon cause. ‘He knows me. Tell him my name, and that I’ve got urgent information. I don’t think you’ll regret it.’

  ‘I certainly hope not. It’s true we’re all at sixes and sevens here. If you’ve really got information…’

  ‘I have. Let me write a line.’

  ‘Very well.’ He looked relieved at this shifting of responsibility. And then, as Vincent wrote rapidly, ‘And the ladies in the carriage?’

  ‘Let them sleep there, for the time being. Here, if you send that to the Czar, I think you’ll find he sees me.’

  And then there was nothing to do but wait and eat, while waiting, a strange but welcome meal of black bread and strong local wine that helped him to fight back, for a while, the fatigue that was gravelling his eyes and slowing his judgment.

  When Sonia woke, it was high morning. She ached all over, and was in doubt, for a moment, where she was. Then, the sound of a trumpet reminded her. When she had fallen helplessly asleep last night, they had been looking for the Allied army. The noises all round her suggested that they had found it: horses neighed, men shouted—listening carefully, she was relieved to hear that they shouted in German. Yes, they had found the right army. Indeed, from the sounds, they were in the thick of it. She peered cautiously out the window and was confronted by the large back of an Austrian trooper, obviously on guard over them. Well, that was something…

  A movement in the other corner of the carriage made her forget her stiffness. In a bound she was at Elizabeth’s side, and in time to prevent her from falling off the seat. She had waked in one convulsive movement. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes very bright. She looked at Sonia without a trace of recognition and began to talk in a rapid monotone: ‘I must find her. Where is she? Sonia! Sonia! Don’t go with him, they’ll only stop you. Don’t go with him, Sonia!’ It was almost a shriek.

  ‘It’s all right, Liz. I’m here.’ Her hand on Elizabeth’s forehead felt it fiery hot and sticky.

  For a moment, Elizabeth’s eyes seemed to focus on her. ‘You’re a man. What have you done with Sonia? I told her not to go with you. It’s no use, I tell you…no use…’ She rambled off into incoherent mutterings, her eyes vague again.

  Sonia propped her up, the way Charles had done, as securely as possible in her corner, then moved across to the other door and opened it. No time now to be thinking of her odd appearance.

  The soldier’s back stiffened as he heard the door creak open behind him, but he remained rigidly at attention, facing the other way. ‘Hey, you, trooper! I need help.’ Beyond him, she could see the camp humming with activity. It looked as if the army was
preparing to march.

  ‘Yes, madame.’ Now he turned round, saluted and choked back a gasp at the figure she presented. ‘I beg your pardon, sir?’ It ended on a question.

  ‘Ma’am will do. It doesn’t matter. My friend is very ill. Is there a doctor in the camp? Can you fetch him for me?’

  ‘A sawbones? Well, naturally we’ve got ’em. But I don’t know whether they’d be much good to your friend. Don’t want a leg off or anything in that line, does she? Hey, Franz,’ he shouted past her over the carriage top, ‘d’you know whether the doctor’s still about?’

  She had not noticed that there was a trooper on guard at the other door of the carriage too. Now his round red face peered over the driver’s seat, turned wooden and went a little redder still at sight of her. ‘He was about last night all right. I helped carry him to bed. Drunk as a lord, begging your pardon, ma’am. Well, not surprising when you think he’d been cutting ’em up steadily for two days, ever since the battle. Not much use this morning, I wouldn’t think.’

  ‘Oh.’ Sonia assimilated this unpromising news. ‘In the town, then? She’s very ill. I don’t know what to do.’

  The two men exchanged dubious glances. ‘We were told to guard you here,’ said the first. ‘And anyway, they’ve most of them run—from Arcis, I mean.’

  ‘Surely one of you could go. There might be someone. At least, ask your officer.’

  After a brief debate, they agreed to this and the one called Franz went off at the double, while his comrade began an uneasy pacing round the carriage rather like a mother cat round her boxful of kittens, Sonia thought, and then shivered at unwelcome memory. For a moment, she was back in the dusty stable loft helplessly watching the destruction of everything that had been her life. Well, not everything… Elizabeth stirred and muttered beside her. It had not, after all, been quite so bad as she had thought. And for the first time, thinking this, she felt the justice of what Elizabeth had so often said to her. She could have achieved nothing by trying to intervene that day, except her own death. Could she perhaps begin to forgive herself for only watching and, worse still, listening to that scene?