The wanton princess rb-8

by Dennis Wheatley

  Throughout most of the day. with his staff sitting their horses behind him, Bonaparte had been stationed on a rise in the ground watching the battle; now and then, after a glance through his spy glass, sending one of his A.D.C.s off with an order to the commander of a unit.

  Now, with perfect timing, he turned, looked at Roger and snapped, 'Tell Kellermann to charge.'

  Instantly Roger repeated the order, set spurs to his horse, and galloped off across the plain.

  During the battle he had, like the other A.D.C.s, carried several orders, either verbally or scribbled by Bonaparte on a pad, to various senior officers, and two of his companions had failed to return. That did not necessarily mean that they had been killed or seriously wounded. When delivering their messages gallopers were, at times, caught up in the fighting and, although it was their duty to rejoin their General as soon as possible, two or three hours might elapse before they were able to do so. Nevertheless Roger greatly disliked such mis­sions.

  It was not that he was a coward. Far from it. He had fought several duels and would have met any man with sword or pistol. He had, too, never openly displayed fear in the numerous battles in which he had been forced to take part. But he had gained his sobriquet of "Lc Brave Breuc' largely under false pretences.

  Bonaparte had originally formed the impression that he was a courageous man because, within a week or so of their first meeting, Roger had. with the Corsican looking on, led on foot a charge against a battery of Spanish guns; but only because, in the particular circumstances, he had had no option. Admittedly he had personally and alone defended the General from an attack by a dozen conspirators while in Venice, and received a Sword of Honour as a reward for his gallantry; but that had been more in the nature of a duel against odds. The truth about his having brought a Turkish standard to Bonaparte at the siege of Acre was not that he had fought desperately to capture it, but that while unob­served he had simply picked it up from a dead soldier in a trench and walked off with it; while the exploit that had clinched his reputation throughout the Army for bravery was his having, presumably, been taken prisoner by the British at the Battle of the Nile and afterwards making his escape in full daylight with them shooting at him—but shooting to miss because he was escaping with their connivance.

  So as he now rode at full tilt across the bullet-scarred ground, littered with dead and wounded, smashed gun car­riages and abandoned weapons he felt none of the exhilara­tion that a Murat or a Lannes would have experienced. Instead he was praying that he would once again manage to carry out his orders without getting involved in the indiscri­minate killing which he so heartily disliked.

  As for twelve hours without cessation some sixty thousand men had been blazing off with cannon and muskets, a great pall of smoke hung over the battle-field creating a premature dusk on this summer evening. Smoke, too, obscured the greater part of the conflict that was still raging, so Roger could catch only glimpses here and there of groups of soldiers either firing volleys or going forward at an uneven run. The din was terrible, the boom of cannon and the continuous rattle of musketry being pierced every few moments by a shouted order or the scream of a badly wounded man.

  When he crossed the ground over which Desaix's troops had made their first charge the fallen became thicker, and several times he had to jump his horse over twisted corpses or groaning men who were endeavouring to staunch the blood seeping from their wounds. Here and there groups of stretcher bearers were at work seeking in the murk to carry off casualties whose wounds they judged unlikely to be fatal, but their numbers were hopelessly inadequate to cope for many hours yet with the carnage that had taken place.

  Behind the village the smoke grew denser. Many of the buildings were already burnt out, but others were still blazing and the flames from them showed as patches of lurid glare in the semi-darkness.

  The air stank of gunpowder, burning wood, sweat and excrement to a degree that made Roger want to vomit, and he was half choked by the smoke that he could not escape drawing down into his lungs with every breath he look. As he pressed on he caught the sound of cheering and the thunder of massed hoofbeats. A minute later there came surging towards him out of the murk a long line of cavalry approaching at a furious gallop. Instantly he realized what had happened. Young Kellermann had also judged it time for him to bring his heavy Brigade into action and, anticipating Bonaparte's order, had already launched his charge.

  The onrushing line of horsemen was over a hundred yards long and three men deep. Roger was almost in the centre of it. There was no time for him to turn his horse and gallop clear of either end of the line. Kellermann flashed past him waving his sword on high. All Roger could do was to cause his horse to rear and swing it round on its hind legs. Even as he did so he found himself almost wedged between two dragoons yelling like maniacs. After being carried with them a hundred yards, he tried desperately to rein in his mount, so that the two rear lines of horsemen should pass him and leave him free to make his way back to Bonaparte. But by then, maddened by the shouting and thunder of several hundred hooves, his horse was out of control. After frantically sawing at its jaw for a minute he realized that, even if he could bring the beast up and pull out of the crush, it would afterwards be said that he had acted as a coward. There was nothing for it but, as had happened to other A.D.C.s in similar circum­stances, to take part in the charge.

  Within a few minutes they were crossing the ground from which Desaix had launched his first attack, trampling down dead, dying and wounded alike, it being impossible to avoid them. Through the smoke Roger caught a glimpse of the white-uniformed enemy. The charge, delivered on their flank, had taken them by surprise, but they were swiftly forming square in order to resist it. Irregular flashes of flame stabbed .he semi-darkness as they fired a ragged volley. Roger felt a hammcr blow well up on the left side of his chest. It knocked him right back on to the crupper of his saddle. His hands lost their grip on the reins, and his feet were jerked free of the stirrups. His mount jumped some unseen obstacle. He bumped in his saddle and was then flung off. In an attempt o protect his head from the flying hooves of the other horses he flung his arms round it. As he crashed to the ground the breath was driven out of his body. Gulping for air he felt the salt taste of blood in his mouth. The sound of the battle grew dim in his cars and then he lost consciousness.

  Leading a charge only a little earlier the gallant Desaix had been shot through the body and killed instantly. But he, and Kellermann's charge, had saved the day for the French. At Bonaparte's Headquarters on the night of the battle the loss of Desaix was lamented as a great blow. Roger, too, was mourned as dead.

  6

  Idyll by the Sea

  It was several hours later when Roger came to. At first he could not think what had happened to him and knew only that his chest hurt excruciatingly. Then he became conscious that he was very cold. Slowly it dawned upon him that he had been shot during the charge, left for dead on the battlefield and was now naked.

  The last fact did not surprise him. because he knew that swarms of camp followers always hovered in the rear of every army, and that among them were many human vultures who made a living by robbing the dead after every battle and stripping them of their clothes.

  After some moments, making a great effort, he managed to half sit up; but the pain of his wound stabbed him violently, blood welling up into his mouth choked him and, his eyes starting out of his head, he fell back into a dead faint.

  When he came round he lay still for a long time then, very cautiously, raised himself on one elbow. In that position he could make out by the moonlight his immediate sur­roundings. Here and there, some way off, he could sec small groups of shadowy figures carrying lanterns. They might be stretcher bearers looking for wounded whose lives could be saved, or ghouls seeking fresh bodies to plunder; but he now had nothing to lose and he desperately craved water. Even body robbers might give him that, so he assayed to attract the attention of the nearest group by a shout. No sound issued
from his cracked lips; a flush of blood strangled it in his throat.

  Temporarily suffocated and half stupefied by pain he fell back once more, now convinced that he was doomed to die there. When he got back his breath he moaned at the thought. He had performed no gallant action, rendered no great service to his own country and had not even delivered the message from Bonaparte. That he should lose his life through having unwillingly got himself mixed up in a cavalry charge seemed to him monstrously unfair. Again he raised himself a little and endeavoured to attract the attention of the group by waving his arm.

  It was then that he heard Georgina's voice. It came to him clearly out of the night. He recognized it immediately and it did not even occur to him that he might be the victim of an hallucination. Owing to her sensitivity as a psychic and the strong affinity that bound them, she had often fell unac­countably uneasy when he was in danger; and more than once when he was faced with a major threat to his life, during sleep she had come to him and saved him by her counsel. Now, she said urgently:

  'Lie still, Roger! Lie still! Conserve your strength. 'Tis your only hope of remaining alive until someone finds you.'

  In spite of the awful pains in his chest and back and his terrible thirst, he forced himself to do as she bade him, shut his eyes and lay there endeavouring to check his spasmodic movements.

  Not long afterwards he was rewarded. Through his closed eyelids he became conscious of a rosy glow. Opening his eyes he saw a man with a lantern bending over him and a voice said. 'This is not he.'

  Then came another with a heavy German accent, 'No. But! . . . But, teufel nochmal, 'tis le brave Breuc!...'

  Roger knew that voice. It seemed to have some connection with the Great Pyramid of Cheops. Then he remembered. It was that of German-born Colonel Rapp, and the other voice must be that of Colonel Savary. One sweltering day in Egypt he had climbed the Pyramid with them. They were Desaix's two A.D.C.s. From their next few sentences Roger dimly gathered that the General was dead and they were searching for his body.

  While Rapp went to look for a stretcher party, Savary knelt down beside Roger and from his flask gave him enough water to rinse out his mouth. Ten minutes later, covered with a blanket, he was lying on a stretcher. After wishing him a good recovery, the two A.D.Cs resumed their search for their dead General, and he was carried away to a field hospital.

  For some days he knew very little about what was hap­pening to him as, to keep him quiet, whenever he roused from unconsciousness, he was given a draught of opium. Gradually, as the doses were reduced he learned from General Soult, who was in the bed next to his, where he was, and what had been taking place.

  Soult had been wounded and captured some while before the battle, and the Austrians had put him in a special ward in their Military Hospital in Alessandria, Roger had been transferred to it two days after he had been wounded.

  The General told him that on learning that Roger was still alive Bonaparte had sent his own doctor, Corvisart, to attend him and had given orders that he should be given the very best attention. A musket ball had passed through the upper part of his left lung and had gone out through his back. For some days his life had been feared for, but he was now expected to recover provided he made no violent movement that would bring about a haemorrhage. He must, however, resign himself to a long convalescence as it would be many months before he would be able again to exert himself without danger.

  Kellermann's charge had proved the turning point of the battle. It had taken the Austrians completely by surprise and cut deep into their flank. The troops there who, a few minutes before, had still been fighting in good heart had suddenly ceased to resist and begun to run. The panic spread right through their army and it gave way along the whole front. The French everywhere attacked with new vigour and the withdrawal swiftly developed into a rout. A scene of wild confusion followed and, as night fell, thousands of Austrians were either being sabred by the pursuing French or plunging into the Bormida River. Bonaparte's victory was complete.

  On the morning after the battle Melas, feeling his position to be hopeless, had asked for an armistice. Bonaparte had agreed to give it to him on condition that the Austrian Army, and all its garrisons in Tuscany and Ancona, should retire behind the Mincio. It was a month to the day since Bonaparte had crossed the Alps and in that short time he had again made himself master of all north-western Italy.

  Roger remained in the hospital at Alessandria for a month. Provided he refrained from putting any strain on his body, and from taking a deep breath, his wound was not especially painful and. owing to his good health, the flesh of his chest and back healed well.

  When, in mid-July, he was told that he could be moved, he decided to go to a small chateau near St. Maxime in the South of France, that he had purchased some years before. That he should have been shot through the lung seemed a curious coincidence, as he had long established the belief that he suffered from a weak chest, and had used that as an excuse to obtain sick leave to spend periods in the sunshine of the South while, in fact, he had secretly returned to England to report to Mr. Pitt. But he had occupied the little chateau from time to time, keeping there an elderly couple named Defour as caretakers and to look after him on his rare visits.

  Having always been subject to sea-sickness, and fearing that a bout of it might bring on a haemorrhage, he decided that instead of crossing by ship from Genoa to Toulon he would go by road: so he bought a comfortable carriage and took into his service a coachman and a valet. They made the journey round the Gulf in easy stages, so that the jolting of the carriage should not tire him unduly and, on August 1st, arrived at his property.

  For the best part of a fortnight he did little but lie in the sunshine, acquiring a rich tan; then he felt that he might venture on a gentle swim each morning and. taking his Italian valet, Angelo, with him, in case he overdid it, he spent many pleasant hours on the nearby beach. By the end of August he could walk two or three miles without fatigue and was beginning really to feel his old self again.

  By September the time of the vintage was approaching so one day he took a walk to see the condition of the grapes in his vineyard. It was on a slope and above it lay another that belonged to the owner of a pleasant little house on the top of the hill. On his previous stays at the chateau he had deliber­ately refrained from cultivating his neighbours on the grounds that the less they knew about him and his comings and goings, the better. But he was aware that the house belonged to a retired lawyer named Pasquier who had had a practice in Toulon.

  While he was examining his vines. Roger noticed that a woman in a sunbonnet was doing the same thing in the adjoining vineyard. As they came closer he saw that she was rather short, about thirty, attractive-looking and well dressed; so, assuming her to be a member of Pasquier's family, he made her a polite bow and wished her good morning.

  She returned his greeting with a pleasant smile, showing two rows of line even white teeth between full lips set in a bright-complexioned face. Then she said, 'Monsieur must be the famous Colonel Breuc'.

  He laughed. 'Colonel Breuc, at your service, Madame. But why you should think me famous. I cannot imagine.'

  'Oh, but it is so,' she replied quickly, 'anyway hereabouts. Everyone knows that you are one of the First Consul's Aides-de-Camp. People still talk of your having brought him and many distinguished officers here for refreshments shortly after you had all landed at Frejus on his return from Egypt.'

  'That I did so is true enough,' Roger agreed. 'But I can claim no more than to bask in his reflected glory. I trust, Madame, that Monsieur Pasquier is well?'

  She shook her head, 'Alas, Monsieur, my father died over a year ago. He left me this property and as shortly afterwards I lost my husband, who was an officer in our Navy, I decided to sell our little house in Toulon and live here instead.'

  Roger had been studying her large dark eyes with apprecia­tion and, with a bow, he said. 'Madame, your misfortune is my good fortune. I expect to be here for some time, and it
will be pleasant to have such a charming neighbour.'

  Having heard in the village that he was convalescing from a wound, she inquired about it, and he gave her an account of the battle of Marengo. Then, after a few remarks about the prospects of the vintage, they parted.

  For several weeks he had been too ill to wish for company; but recently he had begun to feel distinctly bored from lack of it, so it was hardly surprising that the following morning he again walked up to his vineyard, hoping that he might see Jeanne Meuralt, as he had learned his neighbour was named.

  She was there, some distance away at the far end of her vineyard, but she did not appear to notice him until, after waiting for a few minutes, he called out and asked, on the excuse that he would like to compare her grapes with his, if he might join her.

  For a short while they both made a pretence of sharing a great interest in grapes, then the conversation took another turn and. with frequent smiles at one another, they remained chatting for over an hour.

  At the end of that time she said to him, 'Monsieur le Colonel, you are a man with much knowledge of the world, whereas I am hopelessly ignorant where money matters are concerned. My affairs, alas, are in a shocking tangle. Would you think it trespassing too much on your time if I asked you to look into them?'

  'Why, no!' he laughed. 'These days I have nothing whatever to do, and if I can be of assistance to you it would be a pleasure.'

  Ten minutes later he was seated on the vine-covered terrace of her little house, sipping a glass of her previous year's vintage that she had just poured for him and about to look through a portfolio of papers she had brought out. In spite of what she had said she gave him so lucid an account of her financial affairs that, having glanced through a few of the documents. Roger had no doubt about the reason for her anxiety. She was being swindled by a lawyer named Lacourbe, her late father's junior partner, and he had deliberately complicated the accounts he rendered her in order to cover up what he was doing.