Duval at Waterloo

by Michele McGrath

  “Nowhere.” I gave him a friendly clout.

  Later on, I said, “Fournier told me you hadn’t been back at the Ministry for a while.”

  “He’s right. I couldn’t stand the place with Laurent giving himself airs and toadying up to our new masters. I also have a distaste for harassing people who are innocent of anything but refraining from rejoicing over the return of King Louis.”

  “Times change and things will go back as they were before, for the present at least.”

  “How long will that last though? All these changes make me reel.”

  “Who knows? Forever, if Napoleon defeats our enemies, months if he doesn’t. Can you spare me some time, old friend?”

  “For you, certainly. Not like you to be pessimistic though. Months, indeed.”

  “I’m no general to calculate the odds with any certainty. But whatever happens, I have a wife and a business in Grenoble. I’m going home as soon as I can and you with me if I have to kidnap you and take you there!”

  Lefebvre laughed. “Try it and see what happens. I’m still a match for you. I fight dirty and you don’t.”

  When we arrived at the Ministry of Police, a lot of the excitement had died down. People were just standing around waiting for orders, looking lost. It must have been very disconcerting for them. One day they were out looking for Jacobins or the Emperor’s supporters. Next day, they were likely to be ordered to start chasing Royalists instead. No wonder most of them were puzzled and uneasy. It looked like the line outside the confessional in church, with everyone trying to remember their sins.

  My return was greeted with the expected mixture of smiles and frowns. A few of my friends were still there, but so were my enemies. I sighed as the familiar depression blackened my spirits again. I had almost forgotten it in Grenoble, in spite of my father. The sooner I could go back home, the better I would feel.

  All of us were summoned to the Grande Salle where Fouché addressed us. He was the Minister again, with all his old aura of authority. Yet there was a look on his face like a man who might have backed the wrong horse. He gave us the usual exhortations, though his heart did not seem to be in them and he did not keep us long.

  I returned to the bureau with the rest. Fournier, who had worked there the longest, took it on himself to organise the work, now Laurent had departed. Lefebvre and I were given the job of checking on some of the numerous émigrés and supporters of the King, who had not yet left Paris. It was a fairly pointless task and designed more to get us out of the bureau and doing something rather than serious work.

  Most of the people we watched were not capable of causing trouble. Those that were hurriedly packed their bags and made for the nearest frontier, just as the King had done before them. We kept watching these so-called agents, finding little evidence of anything except their folly. Lefebvre and I spent the next two weeks chasing shadows, with almost nothing to report.

  Looking back, those days were full of boredom for me but they were also fast and furious as armies gathered and spies supposedly plotted everywhere. The cheers had gone now, drowned out by the feet of marching men, as recruits flocked through the city, heading north. They included men from the Customs Service and the Navy as well as some of the provincial police. All had come to fight for the Emperor and for France. I half thought of joining them myself, until Lefebvre talked me out of it.

  “With your leg?” Lefebvre laughed when I mentioned the subject.

  “It’s better than it was,” I protested, somewhat annoyed with him. “I can mange to do most things now. I almost won a few bouts of fencing before I left Grenoble.” Indeed the old wound had never been better since the day an artillery wagon ran over me and crushed my shin, a small lifetime ago.

  “It’s one thing to play around with swords when the other fellow isn’t trying to kill you; another thing on a battlefield, as you should remember. You still limp. What good would you be if you needed to move quickly over broken ground? You wouldn’t last two minutes in a real fight. I’m no soldier but even I know that. Don’t be a fool.”

  He was right, damn him! So I didn’t follow the eagles, even though my old regiment was one of those that marched through Paris. My former colonel still rode at the head of the column. I was glad he had survived, although his moustache was white now and he held his back stiffly as he sat on his horse. I only caught a glimpse of him by chance. He passed down the road in the direction of the huge camp which had been set up on the north side of the city. We had no time to talk and he did not even see me when I waved to him. I couldn’t leave it like that; our paths might never cross again. We had never met since the day he left me in a convent in Germany, clutching the letter to Fouché he had given me. Most senior officers would have dismissed me without a thought. No wonder I always liked and respected him. I also owed him my career.

  So I finished up my business quickly and, instead of going back to the bureau, I hired a horse and rode out to the camp. The regiment was camped on the furthest edge of the site and one of the men directed me to the colonel’s tent. He was writing at a small folding table when I entered. He looked up when he saw me and frowned. It seemed natural for me to salute him, so I did. He returned the salute with surprise, no doubt wondering who this civilian was. Then, suddenly, his brow cleared. He stood up and held out his hand.

  “Duval! I didn’t recognise you for a moment. You’ve changed.”

  “A long time since we’ve met, Sir.”

  “Don’t stand about, man, sit down, sit down.” The colonel turned to a small chest and took out a bottle of brandy and two fine glasses. My eyebrows rose. The old man had never bothered much about the luxuries or even the necessities of life when I served under him. He saw my face and smiled.

  “We’ve all changed, Duval, even me. Drink up. This may be the last bottle of brandy I ever down, so I’m going to enjoy it. Drinking with a friend, met unexpectedly, is even better.”

  I did as he ordered and the fineness of the spirit struck me immediately and almost took my breath away.

  “Good stuff,” the colonel said, pouring us both another one and then corking the bottle, as if to put away temptation. “Have to save the rest. Likely to need it.” He put the bottle back into his chest. “What have you been doing with yourself since I left you in Germany?”

  “I joined the Police. You remember you gave me a letter for your cousin, Fouché? He hired me and I have been employed there ever since, until this spring. I left and returned to Grenoble, where I was born. I was there when the Emperor arrived in the town.”

  “You were, were you? So you saw him arrive and all the fanfare that surrounded him? And now you’re here. Have you come to join us?”

  “My leg’s still not right, Sir, although I’m much better than I was. I couldn’t keep up with you on a march. I thought about it, but a friend told me I was mad and that I might hinder you.”

  “Pity. You were a good soldier and an intelligent aide at a time when we had the best troops in the world. This present lot are the sweepings up. Half of them have never seen a battle and the other half are untrained. We’re an army of schoolboys and grandfathers.” He sighed.

  “What do you think our chances of winning are, Sir?”

  “Difficult to say. Few of the foreign regiments who used to join us have appeared. They often bore the brunt of the fight, whatever the Moniteur said. We took the credit, but they did the dirty work, so we lived to fight again another day. Fine fellows, the Saxons and the Dutch. This army’s poor stuff, except for the veterans, but the Emperor’s won battles against greater odds before. He’s a genius and he might be lucky, but if I were a betting man I wouldn’t wager too much on his chances. Don’t tell anyone you heard me say so though. I’ll deny it if you do.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it, Sir, and my thoughts match your own. Why do you stay, if you think we could be beaten? Surely you’re old enough to retire and wait out this campaign?”

  He laughed. “You were never tactful, Duval. In t
hat you haven’t changed. I’m an old warhorse, snorting at the sound of the guns. My wife begged me not to go, but I couldn’t keep away and the men still wanted me to lead them. So here I am, back again and ready for what might be my last battle. The regiment is setting off in the morning. Do you want to come with us, gammy leg and all?”

  I stood up. Pictures of Eugénie and the children filled my mind. Other pictures too – pictures of battlefields heaped with the bodies of men and horses.

  “Let me think about it, Sir. I’ve returned to the Police since the Emperor came back. I would have to tell them and clear up my affairs before I could join you.”

  “Don’t take too long. Our enemies are marching and this battle won’t be long delayed, or I’m no judge of these things. The Emperor wants to win this campaign and get back to governing the country, once he’s secure on his throne. He won’t waste time and neither will the English or the Prussians. We could horse you, if you decide to join us. You can even have your old job back, running my errands.”

  I laughed. “You tempt me, Sir. If I come, I’ll join you somewhere on the march. In any event, I’m happy to have seen you again.”

  “Me too, boy.” He patted my shoulder. “Glad to have you if you come. No hard feelings if you don’t.”

  “It’s more likely to be ‘can’t’ rather than ‘don’t’, Sir. I’ll think about it and I’ll try, I promise you that. Good luck for the future.”

  “God bless you, Alain.”

  I rode away, back to the bureau, with my mind in a whirl. On the one hand, I had fond memories of the old man and of my comrades. On the other hand, I was sixteen years older than I had been, wounded, married and a father. If anything happened to me, I was confident that Eugénie and the children would be all right. Emile had promised me that. My work for the Police was trivial and useless at the moment. If I wanted to help the Emperor, perhaps it would be better to join the colonel and fight for him. Did I want to help him? I disagreed with him over many things, but the Bourbons were unfit to rule my country. If I did fight, I would be fighting to keep our enemies away from the soil of France. I found myself humming the tune I had once marched to as a youth,

  Allons enfants de la Patrie,

  Le jour de gloire est arrivé!

  Contre nous de la tyrannie,

  L’étandand sanglant est levé.

  Napoleon had played the Marseillaise so incessantly, most people ceased to think about the words, which had once carried us forward to victory. Now they came back to me. The armies of France would again be marching against tyranny. The bloody standard had to be raised, but whether the day would be glorious or not remained to be seen.

  I remember feeling very cold and shivering on that ride back from the camp. It was one of the few times in my life when I experienced a premonition, a strong feeling that, when the battle was being fought, I would be there. I had made no actual choice when I left my horse at the stable and returned to the bureau. There the decision was taken out of my hands in a most unexpected way.

  Chapter 5

  Fouché was standing outside the Ministry, about to climb into his carriage. Lefebvre waited beside him and looked relieved when he saw me.

  “Good,” Fouché said. “I sent for you, but Lefebvre thought you weren’t in the building.”

  “I have only just returned.”

  “Both of you are to come with me.”

  We climbed in beside Fouché and the carriage took us to the Tuileries. The palace looked dusty and sounds echoed in the empty corridors. I had an unhappy memory of better days, when we attended balls and receptions there. I was glad Eugénie was far away. Like me, she’d always had mixed feelings about the Emperor, but she enjoyed all the festivities. She would be affected by the sadness of the Tuileries now. I fancied the place was almost holding its breath, waiting, like the rest of us, for what would happen next.

  We were shown into the Emperor’s office without waiting, an unusual occurrence.

  “Ah, Fouché,” the Emperor said. “You have made your choice.”

  Fouché gave him an ironical half bow. In the old days, Napoleon would have spoken sharply to him for the discourtesy, but now his voice remained soft. He walked around the desk to greet us, which was also different from before. He never used to bother with such pleasantries in the old days.

  “Duval, Lefebvre, I have work for you to do.” We both bowed to him and he smiled. “Fouché has discovered yet another plot against my life.”

  I nodded. Plots were commonplace enough. They had always been so, from the very beginning of his reign, and were likely to become even more frequent in the current uneasy situation.

  “We don’t have many details this time,” Fouché said, coming forward. “Our informer was knifed and only lived a short time. Long enough to say a few words to his doctor. The informer told him that someone in the Maison Militaire intends to kill the Emperor before he can take over the command of the army. The informer described the assassin as an officer, dark haired and young.”

  “Not much to go on,” I murmured. “Before the Emperor takes command, he said?” I was thinking aloud. “Then the assassin expects to travel with you on this journey, Sire. He is someone you trust, but who has kept his real loyalties secret.”

  “The description eliminates some, but not by any means all, of the people who travel with me.” Napoleon said. “I am leaving Paris tomorrow. My enemies are gathering in the north and I expect to meet them outside Brussels. You will both accompany me, as members of my household, to find this man before he can act. If asked, I shall say that you are writers, working on a history of my return and the coming campaign. I will give orders that you are to be allowed access to me at all times and that my staff must answer any questions you ask them.”

  “Sire? Surely your guards can protect you. This threat may not be real, after all,” I protested, though I should have known better. “Do you really need us?”

  Napoleon smiled but his smile was sour. “Many of my guards are now suspect. By definition, they are soldiers; some of them are young and dark haired, like this assassin. They will be accompanying me on my journey. I cannot concern myself with issues other than the campaign itself. I need someone from outside, with fresh eyes, someone I can trust. Both of you have always been loyal to me. You have been successful against traitors who tried to kill me before. The Duc agrees.”

  I looked sharply at Fouché, who nodded. “I trust you to foil this plot against the Emperor’s life.” His words had an odd undertone, but I was given no time to analyse them further. However, I could feel the hairs standing up on the back of my neck.

  “Then Sire, we must question the doctor who heard this informer and also find out more about the man himself. Who he was and where he spent his time may narrow down the field of suspects. The Maison Militaire is large and time is short.”

  A swift glance passed between the Emperor and Fouché.

  “I thought you would ask.” Fouché pulled out a folded paper from his pocket. “This is the information on both these men.”

  “Thank you, Monseigneur.”

  Napoleon was also holding out a piece of paper. “Here is your authorisation to proceed on this business. Speak to anyone, act as you think fit and, if someone questions you, refer them to me.”

  “Thank you, Sire.” We bowed to him.

  “Be here at dawn,” the emperor said, “and do not discuss this affair with anyone else. The coming campaign is of vital importance to France. This plot may fail or may even be the figment of a disordered imagination.” He dismissed us both.

  “Why us?” Lefebvre asked when we were alone.

  “Fouché expects us to foil this plot,” I said blandly.

  “Or he wants us out of the way while he’s up to his old tricks,” Lefebvre muttered. Lefebvre’s never had a good opinion of our boss, who changes his allegiance as often as he changes his coat.

  “What could we do to stop him if he betrays Napoleon yet again?”

  �
�Nothing, I suppose, except carry the tale of his treachery to the Emperor.” Lefebvre shrugged.

  “Napoleon knows what he’s like and is sure to take precautions. Anyway he’s got more important things to worry about, as he said – several armies marching against him for a start. The next battle will decide who will rule the country, the Emperor or the King. Even Fouché has to wait for its outcome to be sure he’s on the winning side.”

  Lefebvre shrugged. “Not our responsibility, in any case, which is good. We can’t be blamed for anything that happens if we’re away from Paris. Where do we start?”

  “By finding the doctor and information about the informer. We’ve only got the rest of today to do so, if the Emperor expects us to travel with him tomorrow.”

  “Whether we can protect him from a bullet in the back while he’s travelling is debatable.”

  “We might not be able to, but with help, we’ll make sure he isn’t shot at as he gets into his carriage. He’s safe enough inside. None of the people with him fits the description.”

  “What do you have in mind?”

  “Visiting our old friend, Sergeant Joffre.”

  He hooted with laughter. Joffre was anything but our friend. We’d crossed swords on more than one occasion.

  “I’d stake my life he’s loyal to the Emperor,” Lefebvre said. “A squad of soldiers surrounding the little man when he gets into or leaves his carriage will hinder anyone from taking a shot at him.”

  I laughed. Joffre was one of the Old Guard and his troopers were the tallest in the army. They would tower over Napoleon.

  “Well thought of.”

  “Shall I arrange it then?”

  “Do so and then go and find out what you can about our informer. I’ll talk to the doctor.”

  “Where will I meet you?”

  “At Bourienne’s this evening. We can compare notes then.”

  I went to the address Fouché had given me. A decent apartment stretched over the first and second floors of what was once the townhouse of one of the nobles. A manservant answered my knock.