The Irish Witch

by Dennis Wheatley

  20

  In the Toils Once More

  For hours Roger and Charles discussed their problems. Even if they could cross the bridge over the Main, which would not be heavily guarded, without being recognised, Roger could not ride far enough to reach the Rhine in a single night. If they hired a coach they would have to risk the driver, or an ostler at one of the post houses realising that they were the wanted men; and in these German lands everyone was only too eager to get his own back on the hated French. If they walked, that would treble the time needed to reach the great river, and along the roads they would be exposed to the scrutiny of many more people. Even if they succeeded in reaching the Rhine, there would remain the hazard of crossing it. The river was much too broad and fast to swim it, and it was certain there would be pickets all along the banks, so it would be very difficult to steal a boat and get any distance without being fired on.

  They were still at their wits’ end about the best course to take when, on the morning of December 15th, Anselm Maier came up to see them and said:

  ‘During these past few days I have been trying to think of a way to get you safely out of Frankfurt so that you need not expose yourselves to possible recognition, and I think I have hit upon one, provided you are willing to put up with a certain amount of discomfort.’

  ‘That’s very good of you,’ Roger replied, ‘and we’d be glad to hear what you propose.’

  ‘As I have informed you, the Allied armies do not by any means form a continuous line from Holland to Alsace. There are still large areas which they have not yet occupied, and fortresses strongly held by the French. One such is Ehrenbreitstein, which dominates the junction of the Rhine and Moselle at Coblenz. During the course of the war, my House has naturally had many dealings with the French as well as with their enemies. And for both we have frequently handled valuable consignments of works of art as well as currency. If the high-wellborn ones are prepared to lie hidden in crates for perhaps two days I could have them sent down the river by barge, consigned as precious porcelain, to my agents at Coblenz.’

  ‘Two days!’ exclaimed Charles. ‘During so long a time we would die of thirst.’

  ‘Nay. The crates would be roomy enough for you to feed yourselves, and both provisions and flasks of wine would be put inside with you.’

  Roger did not at all like the idea of being boxed up in what amounted to a coffin, but the banker assured him that the crate lids would be so loosely nailed down that they could be kicked off if the necessity arose.

  ‘What of the Prussians, though?’ Roger asked. ‘They control the area. Are they not likely to hold up any goods being sent down river to a city still held by the French?’

  Anselm Maier smiled and shook his head. ‘I should send with the crates one of my people who would be in our secret. He would have the crates with him in a cabin on the barge and carry all the necessary documents relating to their supposed contents. The high-wellborn ones may rest assured that the House of Rothschild is now held in such respect that goods consigned by us to anywhere in Europe would never be interfered with.’

  Charles and Roger exchanged a quick glance of agreement, then thanked the banker for having thought of this way of getting them safely out of Frankfurt.

  That afternoon two large crates, made of light wood and measuring six feet by three feet by three feet, were brought up to the room. Both were so constructed that half-inch-wide spaces between each three side planks would let in ample air. They contained well-padded palliasses to lie on, pillows and supplies of food and drink. Laughing a little sheepishly to conceal their reluctance to be imprisoned in them, Roger and Charles stretched themselves out on the palliasses and listened to the lids being nailed down. By forcing their elbows against the sides of the crates, they prevented themselves from being thrown about while they were carried downstairs and loaded on to a wagon. It rumbled off over the cobbles and half an hour later they suffered further jolting as the crates were loaded on to a barge. After that they were left in silence and darkness.

  The hours that followed seemed to both of them interminable, each hour a day, each day a week. From time to time they managed to doze a little, but had no idea whether it was night or day. The only way in which they could break the awful monotony was to fumble blindly among the packages that had been put in with them; then, lying awkwardly on one hip, swallow food or drink; but after a while they both realised that they must resist the temptation to resort to this distraction too frequently or they would soon find that they had consumed all their supplies. Very occasionally they caught the murmur of voices, but for hour after hour the only sound they heard was their own breathing and they lay, their arms stretched out along their sides, in the darkness and silence of the grave. There were times when, only half asleep, their minds became a prey to awful nightmares, during which they were seized with panic and for a few moments believed they had been buried alive. Then the realisation of their true situation returned to them only just in time to stop themselves from screaming and striving to batter a way out of what they had imagined to be a coffin.

  Their ordeal seemed as though it would never end, and they could hardly believe the evidence of their senses when a mutter of voices was followed by the crates being lifted. They were again subjected to considerable jolting, but welcomed it as evidence that they were at last near their journey’s end. Twenty minutes later, to their unutterable relief, the crates were prised open.

  They were so stiff that at first they had difficulty in sitting up and, after being so long in darkness, were semi-blinded by the daylight. But when they had been helped out of the crates, they saw that they were in a small warehouse half-filled with other crates, trunks and boxes. With them were two Jews. One introduced himself as having brought them from Frankfurt, the other as the Rothschild’s agent in Coblenz. The latter asked if he could be of any service to them, to which Roger replied:

  ‘I should be grateful if you could get a coach to take us to Ehrenbreitstein,’

  He and Charles were then taken across a courtyard to a house and given glasses of wine, while a servant went to fetch a coach. It arrived shortly after midday, and having thanked the two Jews for their help, they drove off to the great fortress.

  Neither of them was yet fully recovered from the mental suffering they had endured during the past two days, but as the high castellated walls came into sight, Roger pulled himself together sufficiently to say in a low voice to Charles:

  ‘I shall of course, announce myself as de Breuc, but the story you gave before, on the spur of the moment, that you are my prisoner and remained with me all this time because you had given me your parole, is too much to ask them to believe. As I cannot say you are an Englishman and your French is so indifferent that I cannot possibly pass you off as a Frenchman, it would be best, I think, if I told them that you are my orderly officer and a Bavarian who remained loyal to us after Bavaria went over to the Allies. Have you any suggestions about a name for yourself?’

  After a minute’s thought, Charles said, ‘What think you of Lieutenant Count von Schweibacker-Erman? That would fit in with the coronet and initials on my underclothes should a servant chance to notice them.’

  Roger laughed for the first time in many hours. ‘’Tis one hell of a name, but most suitable. You’re a fine fellow, Charles, with a good brain as well as courage.’

  At the great gate of the fortress he paid off the coach and after a wait of three-quarters of an hour they were taken up to the office of the General commanding the garrison. Roger had never met him, but when the name of de Breuc was brought up to him he had made enquiries of his staff and now had with him a Colonel Orton of the Engineers, who had known Roger during Napoleon’s second occupation of Vienna; so, in spite of his rumpled civilian clothes and unshaven face, the Major was readily able to identify him.

  Roger’s story was that he and his companion had become separated from the Emperor at the battle of Leipzig, and that he had been severely wounded during the retreat.
Fortunately they were then in the neighbourhood of a house owned by a widow lady who was a relative of Count von Schweibacker-Erman. She had agreed to hide them from their enemies. His wound had then become gangrenous, and he had been so ill that they had had to lie up there for many weeks. When at last he had become fit to travel, they had made their way, mostly by night and hiding by day, toward the Rhine. Then, hearing that Coblenz was still in the hands of the French, they succeeded in reaching the city.

  In view of the disturbed state of the whole of southern Germany, the story was entirely plausible. The General accepted it and congratulated them on evading capture. He then told Colonel Orton to find suitable quarters for them, and invited them to dine with him in the Senior Officers’ Mess.

  The meal proved a by no means cheerful one. Those officers present were very conscious that, as in other pockets of territory on the right bank of the Rhine still held by the French, their enemies were rapidly closing in on them, and the prospect of being reinforced seemed extremely dubious. Moreover, the state of things in the city of Coblenz had become very different from what it had been when they had lorded it there. The German population had become openly hostile. The troops no longer dared go to the beerhalles in parties of fewer than a dozen, they were hissed at in the streets and had to walk warily to avoid the contents of a chamber pot thrown from an upper window on to their heads.

  That evening Roger told the General that he naturally wished to rejoin the Emperor as soon as possible, and asked his assistance to get to Paris. The General willingly agreed, said that he still had the power to commandeer a coach and promised to provide a driver. By mid-morning next day a coach had been procured. As the driver was a soldier, an escort was provided to accompany the coach into the town, so that Roger and Charles could buy razors, soap, flannels, a change of underclothes, some bottles of wine and other things for their journey. They then crossed the river by the bridge of boats. On the far side the escort left them, and for the five days that followed they were able to enjoy relaxing in freedom until they reached Paris on December 23rd.

  Roger directed the driver to Talleyrand’s mansion. On alighting there they were informed that the statesman was dining out, but the maître d’ hôtel, who knew Roger well, said he felt sure it would be His Highness’s wish that they should partake of a meal while awaiting his return. Soon after eight o’clock Talleyrand came in, to find them still lingering over peaches and Château Yquem. As he limped into the room they both stood up. With a smile and a wave of his hand toward Charles, Roger said:

  ‘Your Highness, permit me to present my friend, Count von Schweibacker-Erman.’

  Returning the smile, Talleyrand replied, ‘So you succeeded in your quest.’ Then he extended his beruffled hand to Charles and said, ‘I am delighted to welcome Lord St. Ermins to my house, and I hope that you will both remain here as my guests during your stay in Paris.’

  They laughed and gratefully accepted. Some fine old brandy was produced and they sat round the table. Roger gave an account of all that had befallen him since he had left Paris toward the end of August, then Talleyrand gave them a résumé of the war situation.

  Prince Metternich, anxious to keep France strong as a counterweight to Russia, had in mid-November offered peace on the terms that France must give up all that remained of her conquests in Spain, Italy and Germany and return to her natural frontiers: the Rhine, the Alps and the Pyrenees. But Napoleon, then at Frankfurt, had shillied and shallied until the offer had been withdrawn. This had caused him, quite unjustly, to dismiss Maret, Duc de Bassano, who had long been his Foreign Minister, and replace him with Caulaincourt.

  His efforts to re-open negotiations had been thwarted by the Prussians. Determined to exact full vengeance from the French, they now proclaimed both banks of the Rhine to be German territory, and claimed Cologne, Treir, Strasbourg and Metz. The Czar, moreover, was set on dictating a peace in Paris. Ignoring a declaration of neutrality by Switzerland, an Allied army was marching through that country, and now menaced France from the east. Von Bülow’s Prussians, with the aid of a British expeditionary force, had driven the French out of Holland, to the great rejoicing of the Dutch, and in the south Wellington had crossed the Pyrenees.

  At the end of this recital Roger said, ‘Then it can now be only a matter of weeks before the Emperor is forced to give in.’

  Talleyrand shook his head. ‘I’d not gamble on that. The man is as stubborn as a mule. Nothing will induce him to give up the left bank of the Rhine, Belgium or his Italian conquests. I fear there is yet much bloody fighting to come.’

  ‘But, my Prince, what has he left to fight with? After the débâcle in Russia, he managed by a miracle to muster another half-million men and he has since lost those in Germany. One cannot make bricks without straw, and there is no straw left.’

  ‘You are wrong there, but it is a different kind of straw. When he returned to Paris, he was openly cursed as the destroyer of France’s young manhood. For years the people have become more and more sickened by his foreign wars. But now they have changed their tune. The Allies are about to invade France—to tread the sacred soil won by the people’s army, led by Moreau, Jourdan and Kellermann in the days of the Revolution. Men long since released from the Army, many even who were middle-aged in those days but can still march and fire a musket, are volunteering in their thousands to fight again.’

  Roger sighed. ‘How terrible that there must be yet another bloodbath.’

  They talked on for another hour or so, then Talleyrand excused himself on account of having papers to go through, and had his guests shown up to bedrooms.

  When Roger had left La Belle Étoile he had had his big trunk brought round to Talleyrand’s mansion, and he recalled that he had an old uniform in it. It was one he had worn at the battle of the Nile, and had a big tear through the upper part of the left arm, made by a bullet that had narrowly missed him. Although the tear had been mended, he had been in half a mind to throw the garment away, but the providence he had inherited from his Scottish mother had led to his keeping it in case one day it came in useful. Now was just such a time, as going to the Ministry of War in uniform rather than in civilian clothes would save him from having to answer a lot of tiresome questions. Next morning, after the footman who was valeting him had given the coat a good brushing, he put it on and took a coach to the Ministry.

  After the retreat from Moscow he had been listed as ‘missing, believed killed’, but while in Paris the previous August he had had his name restored to the pay roll and now had considerable arrears owing to him. Not expecting to be in Paris again until after a peace had been agreed, he drew the whole sum, partly in gold for current purposes, but the bulk in bills of exchange.

  Having learned that the Emperor was not in the capital but making a tour of the principal provincial cities to encourage, by showing himself, more ex-soldiers to rejoin the colours, Roger was in no danger of again being caught up in his web, so he decided that as Charles had never before been in Paris, he would remain there for a few days, to show the young man something of the city.

  During the past twenty-five years Roger had lived there for so many months that Charles could not have had a better guide; and, now that he and Roger had become boon companions, he immensely enjoyed going with him to the Louvre, to Notre Dame, the Sainte Chapel, the site where the guillotine had stood, and driving out to St. Cloud and Versailles.

  It was on the evening of December 30th that Roger told Talleyrand that, greatly as they had enjoyed their stay, he and Charles must now make their way home, and that he proposed to set out on the following day.

  The Prince expressed great surprise at this and exclaimed, ‘Mais non! Cher ami, how can you even think of leaving Paris now? For many years happenings in France have been the great interest in your life. You witnessed the rise of Bonaparte; surely you do not mean to forgo being present at the tyrant’s fall?’

  Roger smiled. ‘It will be a great day, Highness, and I’ll regret to miss i
t. Indeed, I’d happily stay on here could it be anticipated in the course of the next few weeks. But that is more than we can hope for. It is your own opinion, and endorsed by many of the prominent men I have talked with while a guest here at your lavish table, that the new army, containing so many tough old soldiers, will put up a most desperate resistance when the Allies invade France. Unless the Emperor agrees to accept humiliating terms—which we both consider unlikely—it will be many months before he can be crushed by sheer weight of numbers.’

  ‘That I admit. But even so you should remain. You are unique in being known and trusted by many men of importance in both camps; so, as a go-between for myself, you could be of immense help in bringing about a cessation of hostilities.’

  ‘No, Highness. In such a way I could be of little use to you. When the Emperor returns to Paris, it is certain he will learn that I am here, so I could not avoid reporting to him. In this past year he has lost so many of his old intimates who knew his ways, that he will instantly seize upon me and require me to accompany him to the front. I’ve had more than my share of luck in having lived through so many dangers, and I’m determined not to risk death now in further battles.’

  ‘You would have no need to do so. I am happy to know that you are now nearly recovered from your wound, and that it has left you with nothing worse than a limp. But Napoleon is not aware of that. An A.D.C. who cannot ride a horse is of little use in the field. You could easily excuse yourself from further service by pretending to be severely crippled, and your health seriously affected; then remain on here in Paris with me.’