by Simon Rumney
Robert turned to the men who had saved him and apologized for nearly getting them killed. All three of them looked at him as though he were a mad man but saying nothing they turned to face the French once more.
Victory
When the last of the French horses passed through the British squares for the fourth and final time the formations broke up to rematerialize into a long line on the lip of the hill.
Where the squares had been, lay patches of trampled grass surrounded by perfectly straight lines of British dead. The area in-between the bare patches of green was littered with the blood and carcasses of the French heavy cavalry.
A horse wounded by musket balls lay kicking in the mud on top of its still conscious rider who cried out in agony. The British soldiers paid no attention to his cries behind them because they were looking intently at Napoleon’s Old Guard marching across the field to deliver what Bonaparte referred to as his hammer blow. As the regiment who had never lost a battle approached with drums beating the French artillery bombarded the British line with devastating effect. This time, Robert and the rest of the army could not retire and lay down because they had to be all together, ready for the Guard when it arrived.
For three years the only thing that had occupied Robert’s mind was the thought of dying honorably in battle to end his hollow pain. Now as he stood on the thin red line watching men being blasted to pieces by cannon shot he wanted to live with all of his heart.
Surveying the battlefield before him in order to distract his mind from this perfect irony Robert noticed quite how grand the battle had been. His field of vision extended from the heavily defended farmhouse on his left past the La Haye Sainte farmhouse almost directly in front of him and onto the large stone building called Hougoumont on his right.
As far as the eye could see lay the dead and wounded from both sides of the conflict. Corpses lay everywhere in lines in piles in the most tangled of positions and for the first time in his life Robert did not envy them their fate. How bizarre that he would have gladly given his soul to be adorning this field only moments before but now he not only wanted to live he was going to fight with all his power to survive.
When the cannons slowed then ceased their crashing something familiar snagged at Robert’s thoughts. It was the regular beat of the French drummers; and while looking for the source of the familiar noise, Robert caught sight of the Old Guard marching towards his position from the right of the line and he became completely transformed.
With great clarity he was watching a 2000-year-old Roman legion marching through the eyes of another. Brass tassels striking red tunics replaced the rhythm of the drums as Robert became completely oblivious to the battle raging all around him for a second time.
“Charge!’ ‘Charge!” Were the words that brought him crashing back to his field of battle and after a bloody fight which could have gone either way the Old Guard turned and ran for the first time in their proud history. Their retreat signaled a turn in favor of the British so Wellington drove home his advantage with great speed. All regiments were ordered to follow the fleeing French down the hill across the road which passed directly through the middle of the valley and on to Bonaparte's own camp.
All of the French but two regiments of Napoleon’s personal guard ran away and these men of honor formed squares and braced themselves against the light cavalry, which rode ahead of the advancing British infantry. The thought of surrender for a second time was too appalling for these proud fighting men to consider so they decided to stand and cover the retreat of their beloved Emperor. With their tall bearskin hats, their bushy walrus mustaches and the earrings, which denoted their exulted status they died with great honor.
Robert no longer had the taste for killing or dying and he ordered his men to take care as they walked. All of them were grateful and surprised that Mad Bob had seen the light and was no longer hell bent on getting himself, and them, killed. At eight on the clock the day was completely won by the tactics of Wellington; and the British soldiers, who could still muster the strength, gave three cheers as the Duke and his staff passed through their ranks.
Just like Marius, thought Robert as the Duke rode by, your men love you. Shocked yet again by his apparent intimacy with a historical figure Robert decided then and there that Rome was the place for answers and determined to get to the ancient city just as soon as the army and circumstances would allow.
Battle’s End
Going about the field helping wounded comrades and looting the twenty-five thousand French bodies took the victorious British troops all of the remaining twilight hours.
At the end of this most important day, great fires were lit and much needed food prepared. Robert thanked Wellesley’s messenger who rode up to convey an invitation to dine with the general staff but chose to stay near the men who had saved his life. Upper class officers seldom showed such loyalty to lowly peasant soldiers and his men were puffed with pride as the ornate dragoon rode away to tell the Duke that Robert would rather be with them than him.
After a meal of scavenged French food some of his men fell into exhausted sleep exactly where the lay. One man near a distant fire played lament-filled tunes on a harmonica and a few of the lads hummed the chorus to familiar songs as they stared into the fire and relived the horrors of the day.
Unwilling to rest until a measure of amends had been made, Robert wandered around until he found a dead courier and one of the many dead drummer boys. Kneeling down he respectfully closed the child’s still terror-filled eyes before unbuckling his white shoulder strap. A few looked up with curiosity in their tired eyes as Robert sat near the fire with his legs on either side of the musket ball riddled drum but they turned back to the fire having answered their own unasked question.
Opening the French messenger’s highly polished black leather pouch, Robert removed a piece of paper and rested it on the still tightly stretched calfskin drum. Then, by the light from burning debris he removed a pencil from the pouch and found the courage to write a letter for the first time in his life:
18 June 1815.
Waterloo.
Dearest Julia.
The pain I have caused you is burning within me as though I inflicted it upon myself. I can offer no explanation for the most callous and heartless treatment of one who deserves nothing but respect and the safety of complete love.
Since first we met at Cambridge so many years ago it seems that I have been constantly at war with the Americans, the French and myself. Until this day I had not understood any of the emotions that compelled me to you then drove me away, but during this most fierce of battles I caught a glimpse of my soul and have realized the folly of my ways.
It has become clear to me that the puzzle which has so irrationally clouded my life since birth can only be solved in Rome and it is there that I must take myself at the conclusion of this business with Bonaparte.
The purpose of this letter is not to ask for your forgiveness because I clearly do not deserve the respect of one as worthy as yourself. It is merely an attempt to place your mind at ease and make sure that you understand my behavior was driven from within me and not induced by you.
The shame I have brought upon your family and my own ensures my expulsion from polite society. Therefore at the conclusion of my time in Rome I will be returning directly to Canada where I hope to make a new start. Please pass my most humble apologies to your mother and father.
We are destined never to meet again my dearest Julia but I will think of you every day until my very last.
With all my love.
Robert.
One further letter of apology was written to the parents to who he had caused so much pain. Robert then lay his head on yet another dead Frenchman’s discarded pack and fell immediately into a peaceful sleep.
As he lay under the brilliant stars in a field full of dead and sleeping bodies, Robert dreamed of himself and Julia standing on the deck of a sailing ship crossing a deep blue ocean.
France
On the morning of the day following the battle of Waterloo, Wellington rallied his able-bodied troops and began the long march for Paris. The regiments remained always at the ready in case Bonaparte turned his retreating army for another battle but it was all over, the French people had no more heart for war or their Emperor. They like France were in a mess after twenty five years of revolution then war and now defeat and everyone was just too busy looking for food to fight.
As they marched the British found that the retreating Grand Army had devoured every single scrap of food. Anything edible was completely gone as though a vast swarm of ants was passing ahead of them. Riders were sent in all directions but everything for miles around had been taken and this caused a new set of logistical problems for Wellington. Provisions had to be brought in wagons from the Low Countries, lines of supply became stretched to breaking point and the advance slowed to a frustrating crawl.
When the bedraggled British army eventually entered Paris its humbled citizens were made the scapegoats for the soldiers exhaustion, hunger and frustration. A defeated city in the hands of a vengeful army is a very dangerous place and the British quickly imposed martial law in an attempt to minimize the inevitable raping and looting. As hard as they tried, it could not be stopped completely. Robert made it very clear to his lads that they were duty bound to help any innocent civilians and in the event of them being caught doing anything untoward they would be court-martialed and hanged on the spot.
Wellington liked Robert’s professional approach to soldiering and used his trusted unit to round up many of the senior city officials. Robert was also one of the many officers involved in the hunt for Bonaparte but their search was in vain because he was found a long way from Paris by the British naval blockade on a ship bound for America.
Even the locals cheered when they heard the news that Napoleon had been sent away for a second term in exile and this time there would be no escape from the barren rock of an island called St Helena off the coast of Africa.
As with all cities in France, Paris was short of every commodity, the people were starving and the British began to fear insurrection. Something had to be done and all resources were directed to the task of feeding the starving populace. Robert volunteered his services, such as they were, to the quartermasters and while serving as a provisioning clerk it was discovered quite by chance that he had the most incredible ability for logistics on a grand scale.
Robert instinctively knew how to purchase and move great quantities of food from wherever it could be found into the city. He understood the complexities of importing goods from foreign countries, even the ships necessary to move cargo he managed in the most efficient manner. As impossible as it seemed it was as though he had provisioned a war-ravaged population before.
Robert also had an instinctive nose for sniffing out corruption and counseled Wellington to bring in draconian laws to deal with the black-marketeers who exploited their own people by stockpiling much-needed food. As much as the villains tried to work around the laws young Pishiobury was always one step ahead of them. His foresightedness never ceased to amaze the Duke. Robert seemed to understand the criminal mind intimately. His detailed directions allowed Wellington’s flying squads to drive them out of business. By way of an example many were even dragged from their slums and guillotined in the Place de la Concorde just as Robert’s Aunty Prudence had been years before.
As so often happens when someone performs well, Robert found himself trapped by his own ability. The harder he worked the less expendable he became which meant he was one of the last frontline troops to leave Paris.
Always extremely anxious to be on his way, no one would let him go because he was just too competent. Worried that he would be held up in Paris for many years Robert found that he had another instinctive ability. It was the skill to delegate responsibility and within weeks he had created a structure that rendered him superfluous.
Having freed himself by the spring of 1816, Robert requested a special discharge while partaking in one of his regular evening meals with Wellington. The grateful Duke readily agreed and when he heard that Robert intended to visit Rome he offered to provide an escort.
“Paris still has many un-needed British soldiers who are constantly involving themselves in drunken brawls,” he said; then added, “Sending a few across country will keep them occupied and out of trouble, what?”
A few days after their last dinner together Robert departed. It was a simple farewell and Wellesley asked, “What shall I tell Lord and Lady Pishiobury when I see them dear boy, what?”
“Please inform them that I most sincerely meant my written apology for my ridiculous and shameful behavior at Cambridge and that I will write to them from Canada.’
“As you wish Pishiobury but I think you will be welcome home you know? Your Mater and Pater love you very much.”
“I’m afraid you don’t know the half of it Sir,” said Robert, “I am compelled as a gentleman not to compromise my family honor.” Shaking hands as he spoke Robert noticed, what looked like, a little moisture in the Duke’s eyes as he turned to board his carriage.
Sitting back in the plush leather seats Robert admired his luxurious coach and fine horses as he rolled away from the waving Wellesley. The entire rig had been purchased for surprisingly little money because in the complete wreck that France had become the value of everything except food had collapsed.
Trusting the lads to do a good job Robert sent them out to purchase a coach for his journey and he was very pleased with their work. Haggling for a good price was expected in Paris and the men brokered a very good deal from the once wealthy but now poverty-stricken owner.
As Braithwaite had once been the coachman for a wealthy highland family he jumped at the chance of driving to Rome. The other men were equally keen to form Robert’s guard because they both loved his leadership and wanted to get out of Paris. The only one who could not ride a horse was Howatson and rather than be left behind he volunteered to sit in the dickey seat at the rear of the carriage where he held a short musket at the ready.
Each man was heavily armed because there were so many hungry and desperate French soldiers wandering the countryside. It was no longer safe to travel the roads without a military escort so the Waterloo-hardened veterans riding before and after the carriage were always alert and ready for an attack.
The journey was unhurried as Robert wanted to enjoy the sights passing his window. Sometimes when they stopped or made camp Robert surveyed fields where copies of very old maps told him Roman battles had taken place. His history lessons grew to become a much anticipated highlight for his veterans and they loved the fact that Robert knew everything about the Roman leaders who tamed the wild country they now knew had been called Gaul. Wherever they went Robert told them, ‘Marius fought the Gauls here or Sulla there, even Julius Caesar against Vercingetorix there.’
It seemed that over a period of several hundred years the Romans had fought on every inch of this country and they found themselves excited about the prospect of each new stop on their most fascinating journey.
From France they made their way through the Alps and just as Hannibal with his elephants, crossed over the border into Italy. When they camped in the countryside by the road they all slept under the stars by the carriage but whenever they stayed in a town Robert always paid the price of a room for his comrades. They stayed at places like Pisa with its strange leaning bell tower and a variety of other coastal towns and villages. Beautiful late summer weather accompanied them on their way southwards. All enjoyed their peaceful surroundings as they rode gently by the side of the Ligurian Sea and the closer they came to Rome the more Robert found the smells and sounds of the ancient countryside hauntingly familiar.
Carriages always develop faults on long journeys such as this and the men traveling with Robert had become extremely adept at fixing them. The failure that stopped them on this occasion involved the axel and the lads swiftly set about repairing it. Robert offer
ed to help, as he often did, but the men took pride in looking after him. It was a compliment of course but always left him bored for the duration of the repairs. After watching for a few minutes, he decided to go for a walk among the old olive trees in the grove by the side of the road.
“Shall I bring the musket?” asked Howatson reaching for his weapon.
“No. I will be safe enough thank you,” said Robert in reply, while tapping the grip of his holstered flintlock pistol. The first simple steps soon turned into a purposeful gate, each stride drew him onward in a seemingly preordained direction. Within ten minutes Robert was no longer in control of his objective. He became a passenger as something inside his body took him deeper into the ancient grove.
When he found a very old well he was somehow resigned to the fact that it would be there. Resting his back against its crumbling stonewall he sat looking into the distance and impulsively reached for his wallet. After a few moments wondering about the meaning of the familiar eyes on the wellworn paper Robert noticed a movement away to his right. Moving rapidly for his pistol in defense he noticed that his potential assailant was nothing more than a harmless young girl carrying a wooden pail. Placing the flintlock on the ground he stood and just as had happened outside the square at Waterloo, Robert felt the strong presence of the strange being moving deep within him once again.
While he had never seen her before, the girl stirred feelings of familiarity for his inner companion. It was like watching a sibling as her strong but feminine body glided over the ground. In all of his life he had never seen such primitive beauty and her innocence moved Robert’s hidden persona to the verge of tears.
Making eye contact as she approached, the startled girl triggered floods of protective emotions within him. Nothing was said but a connection was made and the girl placed the pail calmly on the ground and walked over to the well where the being within Robert beckoned her to sit.