by Griff Hosker
Chasseur à cheval
Book 1 in the
Napoleonic Horseman Series
By
Griff Hosker
Published by Sword Books Ltd 2013
Copyright © Griff Hosker First Edition
The author has asserted their moral right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the author of this work.
All Rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, copied, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written consent of the copyright holder, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.
Table of contents
Chapter 1 Page 4
Chapter 2 Page 22
Chapter 3 Page 42
Chapter 4 Page 65
Chapter 5 Page 81
Chapter 6 Page 98
Chapter 7 Page 116
Chapter 8 Page 135
Chapter 9 Page 151
Chapter 10 Page 168
Chapter 11 Page 184
Chapter 12 Page 207
Chapter 13 Page 231
Chapter 14 Page 253
Chapter 15 Page 271
Chapter 16 Page 291
Chapter 17 Page 313
Chapter 18 Page 330
Chapter 19 Page 349
Chapter 20 Page 367
Map Page 381
Glossary Page 384
Historical note Page 385
Other books Page 393
Napoleon’s Guards-sample Page 393
Chapter 1
I was born Robbie Macgregor. To many people I am a traitor. To the French people I grew up with I certainly was. To the English I fought for, I probably was and to my Scottish relatives? I suppose it depends to whom you spoke. I take no blame for any of this; it was all an accident of birth and of death.
My great grandfather Robert Macgregor left Scotland with Bonnie Prince Charlie after the failed Jacobite rising of 1745. He was loyal to the former king and brought all his family to live in France with the king. His hope was that the Stuarts would be returned to the throne. The Macgregors felt kinship with the Stuarts and they were loyal. When he died his son Alistair, my grandfather, clung on to the belief that we would prevail and the King of Scotland would be returned to the throne. He married another of the children of the exiles and in 1758 they had my mother, Marie. I suspect had things remained the same I would have been brought up as an exiled Scottish laird. I would have lived a life of parties, hunting and learning to be a gentleman but fate can be cruel. My grandfather and grandmother were both victims of one of the periodic plagues which swept through France at that time. Bonnie Prince Charlie left France and my mother was taken in by one of my grandfather’s friends, the Count de Breteuil. I never knew where the money went. Perhaps it was put in trust with my grandfather’s friend. I do not know.
All of this, you understand, was told to me by my mother but she always spoke the truth to me. Those years were good ones for my mother and she was educated as a lady. She was brought up as the daughter the count had never had. Sadly the old man died and his son, a captain in the Chevau-Légers returned to take the title and the lands.
Count Louis de Breteuil was an arrogant, cold and cruel man and he was my father. My mother was attractive and he made her pregnant. There is no pleasant way to put it. They are the facts. I have no idea why he did not marry her save that he had the option of marrying into another aristocratic French family. My mother had nothing. Her money had gone and she had no title. She was handy and she was pretty. He had been in the army for some years while she had been growing up. If it sounds like I am making excuses then you are probably right. I have to see some good in my father. He was never cruel to her, nor was he kind. He made love to her regularly and then ignored her. She had a room; it was not the best in the house but neither was it the worst. It was large enough for the two of us, after I was born. The other women on the estate were also visited by my father but they knew how to prevent children. My mother had been brought up a lady and did not. I was the count’s little bastard. A term used by some of those on the estate who disliked my mother.
Once I was born then she became less attractive to the aristocrat and became an unpaid servant in the house. She worked as his secretary. Her penmanship was excellent and she could write a good letter. She also managed the books and finances of the château. He refused to give me his name but he did take an interest in me. Perhaps that was another reason why my mother was kept on. He enjoyed being cruel to me and hurting me but, perversely, he also taught me skills. He had a servant who had served with him in the Chevau-Légers, Jean Bartiaux, and he was charged with teaching me to ride, fence and shoot. As soon as I could walk I was thrust on the back of a pony. Whenever I fell off I was told to remount. Jean was no less harsh than his master but at least he didn’t beat me when I failed to match his high standards. It made me tough and that has helped me since. Jean was an interesting man. I came to know him much better when I grew up but as a child I just knew him as a quiet thoughtful man. Looking back I can now see that he was fond of my mother but at the time I didn’t see that. They just laughed a lot together and I liked that. They were the precious times when my mother was happy, they were rare and to be treasured.
The count and Jean would only speak French to me and my accent is that of Northern France, where we lived. Mother could speak French but she only spoke English to me and I grew up speaking that language with a Scottish twang to it. I was fluent in both languages and could shift between them easily. I think that gave me a skill in all languages for I was able to pick up a new language easily. Well more easily than others perhaps.
Once I had mastered the horse I was taken riding regularly by my father. He was a superb rider and I take it as a compliment that he never made allowances for my youth. The three of us rode everywhere together. I always had to call him sir and he called be boy. I knew where I stood with him. Once Jean taught me to shoot then I accompanied my father as we hunted on his estate. At first I was just his loader but once he had seen I was competent I was his loader and I also got to shoot. It may sound idyllic, hunting with your father, but he never gave me any sign that I was his blood kin. I was just an unpaid servant who helped Jean. The fact that the three of us shot many animals helped a little in his acceptance of me.
Mother started to become ill about the time I was being taught to fence. She never stopped being beautiful but she just lost more and more weight. I couldn’t understand it and nor could anyone else. The old housekeeper, Madame Lefondre loved my mother and she did her best to keep her alive but we all knew that it was hopeless. I was eleven at the time that she passed away. I was taken to her by Madame Lefondre when the priest had given her the last rites. She put her emaciated arm around me and hugged me to her body which was more bones than flesh.
“I’m so sorry bonny laddie but I won’t be here to see you grown up. I’ve done my best but things havna worked out as I would have hoped. You should have had a father who loved you and would care for you. I am sorry that you will be left alone. It makes my journey even harder.” She hugged me tighter and I felt her salt tears trickle down my neck. “I have hidden a few things from your father. They were given to me by my mother and father. They’re not much but they might come in handy. Madame will give them to you but keep them secret. I hope your father looks after you but I canna be sure about that. Jean is a good man. I know he can be a
bit serious at times but he is a good man and you can trust him.” She kissed me on the cheek and coughed. Madame Lefondre dabbed away the blood from my cheek.
“If you can, son, get back to Scotland. We should never have left to follow the auld soak, Bonnie Prince Charlie, but your great grandfather was a loyal man, God rest his soul. My father should have gone back when we had the chance but he wanted to go back a success. That’s all nonsense. You just get back there to Glen Orchy. There will still be Macgregors who remember your great grandfather.” I had had the names of all my ancestors drilled into me as a child and I could go back five generations without thinking and another three with pen and paper. She looked fearfully over my shoulder. “There are some in this house who hate me. I fear that they will hurt you when I am gone. Trust only the two I said.” She coughed again and sank back into the pillow.
“Don’t die! Please don’t die!” I know that I was almost a grown man but the tears came and I fell into my mother’s arms.
“Ssh, child. It is just a journey I am going on and I’ll be there for you many years from now when you come to me. You are a good lad and I am sorry for the beatings your father gave you. I could do nothing to stop him but I felt every lash of the stick.” Her eyes closed. “Come kiss me now and I will sleep for a while.”
I kissed her and Madame Lefondre wiped a tear from her eye. “Look after my wee bairn for me.”
Madame Lefondre nodded and said, “Oui, ma petite.” She led me from the room. Mother lingered on for another day but she never recovered consciousness. The three of us buried her just outside the family plot in the area reserved for the servants. Jean had carved a cross for her. He must have spent her last days working on it. It was beautiful and as we hammered it in it struck me that he must have been working on it for some time. He had known she was dying. I suppose that was the second sign I had that they cared for each other. The first had been when she had said to trust him.
The two of them held me between them. Jean put his hands on my shoulders, “You must be strong for you mother. She would want it. She was a good woman and she was badly used. I will always be there for you but you must tread very carefully around the count. He has a fearful temper. I can do nothing. You know that? But I will watch over you as I promised your mother.” I nodded and he smiled and left.
Madame Lefondre stroked some stray hair from my face. “He stayed only because of your mother. He loved her but he could do nothing about it. Your mother, I think, loved him.” She shook her head, “It was not meant to be. He is right, you must be careful around the count. Now come with me and I will give you the little your mother left for you.”
I had no idea what to expect. She led me to her room which was tucked away close to the kitchen. She closed the door and took out a small chest from a large clothing trunk. She opened it, handed me a ring with an emblem on it and said, “This is your family ring. Guard this with your life.” I nodded. I looked at the ring handed from grandfather to son and then to daughter. Now it came to a son again. She handed me a small leather pouch. “Open it.” Inside were rings and necklaces. “These are valuable. If you need money you can sell them.” Her eyes clouded over. “They were your mother’s and she loved to look at them.” That decided me; I would need to be desperate before I sold them. Finally she took out another leather bag. “These are gold Louis. They are worth much money. Each one could feed a poor man for a year. There are ten of them. They are all that your family managed to retain.” She closed the box. “I will try to watch over you but there are enemies here.”
“Enemies?”
She nodded. There are two women who hated your father for your mother was his favourite; Mama Tusson, the mulatto maid and Anne-Marie, the parlour maid. They made your mother’s life a misery and they frequently tried to beat her until the Count stopped them. They resented her beauty. Never be alone with them for they are evil, they are like witches and they will try to hurt you.”
I had seen both women and noticed their sour expressions whenever they saw me and now I knew why. “I will, Madame and thank you for caring for my mother.” I suddenly realised how alone I really was, “What will happen to me now?”
She put her arms around me and I noticed that she smelled of lavender. “That depends upon the Count. If he allows it you will work here but if he gets a notion he may send you on your way. That is why your maman left the gold for you.” She shook her head, “She thought you would be a man grown when you needed them.”
The day after mother died I was summoned to the great hall. My father looked up from the papers he was writing. With my mother gone he would have to do them himself. This was not a good start. “Your mother has died. What use are you to me now? Why should I continue to throw good money away and look after you?”
I felt as though someone had slapped me in my face. But I remembered my mother’s words. “My lord, I am your son and I will honour your name with my deeds. If you throw me off the estate I will still be your son and everyone will know I am your son. But it is your decision my lord. I am powerless.”
He gave me a shrewd look. “Jean will find work for you. Can you read and write?” I nodded. “Perhaps there will be some work for you then. When there is no longer any work then you will leave. Is that clear?”
“It is my lord.”
I had no choice. I could not get back to Scotland as I had no money save my reserve of coins and I only had two sets of clothes. My shoes would not even get me to the coast and so I would have to find a way to get some money and save.
The next two years saw me grow rapidly. Madame Lefondre could not give me money; she could not buy me clothes but she could feed me and feed me she did. I took over my mother’s duties although my penmanship was not of my mother’s standard and it took me longer to do the accounts. Jean taught me how to shoe horses and to work the anvil at the smiths. It was hard work but it gave me a skill. Jean said very little but I could see what he was he doing; he was preparing me for a life beyond the estate. That day would come; it was inevitable. If my father ever married then his embarrassing bastard would have to leave. One day, as we repaired some of the farms tools, I asked him about his life before the estate.
He shrugged. “I came from a poor family but we were horse people and I joined the cavalry to work with horses. It was a hard life but I was paid and I loved the work. When the count joined the regiment he took me as his servant and I served him. When he left he asked me to join him and look after the horses on the estate. It seemed like a perfect position.” I could tell from his voice that it had not worked out that way.
“You would still be in the cavalry otherwise?”
“Probably.”
“What were the Chevau-Légers?”
“Light cavalry. Not the ones who charge in the big battles but the ones who ride ahead to find the enemy. I enjoyed the life.” His wistful tones underlined his words.
“Would you go back?”
He shook his head. “If I had stayed then I would now be a brigadier or even a maréchal-des-logis. They give orders for the officers. I could not take orders from someone younger than me.” He sounded wistful. “Perhaps I should have stayed.”
He wondered about his decision when the troubles began in the year 1789. Out at the chateau, many miles from Paris it seemed far away but in Paris the king and queen had to make compromises. My father did not like those compromises. He never compromised about anything. He did things his way and he believed that the king and queen had the Divine Right to continue that way. The count became darker and angrier during this time and I kept out of his way. The irony was that I towered over him and could have beaten him to a pulp had I so chosen. If I had done that then my life would have been forfeit. Before the Revolution that would have resulted in my death and so I bit back my retorts and I took the blows. In my heart I knew that I could fence at least as well as he could and I was a much better shot. When we went hunting it was my bag which returned full.
The count was a man o
f action and he weeded out all those on the estate who had any revolutionary leanings and threw them from his land. In the final analysis that was a grave mistake but I am looking back with hindsight. It made him even more unpopular in the town. The weeding out of those that the count feared meant that my position was secure and he even began to pay me. I was able to save, at last. I was hopeful that I would soon have enough to fulfil my promise to my dying mother and return home. Events in Paris however thwarted my attempts to return to Scotland. The king and then, later, the queen were executed as the Terror took hold. That should have been the warning to the count that he ought to flee to the Vendee, where there were many royalists, or England, where others had fled. He did neither and, in the end that was his undoing.
One morning he took Jean and me to Paris. I think he was called to a meeting by others of a similar leaning but he confided nothing to us. We were his servants and not his peers. We rode along roads which were new to me. He rode ahead of us and was silent and brooding. This allowed me to look at this new land I had never seen before. The France I knew was the estate. Breteuil was a village. Now we passed through bigger towns. They had hotels and inns. There were even some shops. When we stopped, Jean and I would sleep in the stables whilst he would have the finest rooms in the inn. Neither of us minded and we knew no different. It was our place in the scheme of things. The closer we came to Paris the service we received became surlier. It was as though they resented the count because of his position. My father became increasingly angry and I began to fear for our safety. As we entered through the gates of Paris we saw a different France to the one we knew. It was festooned with the tricolour, much to the anger of the count. Although there was no violence towards him his clothes and demeanour marked him as an aristocrat and the looks he had to endure were those of hate and loathing. The guards at the northern gate took note of our names and asked the count his address whilst in Paris. When he gave the name of the marquis with whom we would be staying they exchanged a knowing look.