Chasseur à Cheval (Napoleonic Horseman Book 1)

by Griff Hosker

  “The general is coming and I have been sent to meet him. After I have my horse you two are to join Jean with the Regent. You are sleeping in a palace.”

  I went back with the two of them to the palace and told the guards that they were to be sent to the Regent. One looked truculent and so I flashed my pass. He reluctantly allowed them in. I rode west towards Mantua. I had no idea how far I would have to travel but I was pleased to be given such an important task. I was no more than two miles from the city when there was the sharp crack of a musket and my horse staggered. I saw the blood and knew she had been hit. I kicked my feet from my stirrups, pleased that I had no spurs on, and I jumped clear of the dying horse. I rolled as I hit the ground but, as I hit the bole of a tree the wind was knocked from me. I closed my eyes with the pain. When I opened them there were two swords at my throat and one of them was mine but in the hands of a stranger.

  The two men were Austrian. I could tell that from their dress and their accents. “So Frenchman you escaped our little trap in Graz but we have you now.”

  “We are now allies. I have met Count von Cobenzl.”

  “He is a traitor. We do not serve him. We serve Austria and we have heard of your general’s plan. When you do not arrive he will assume that the Venetians wish to fight and he will destroy the city. My countrymen will not stand for such an action and the peace treaty will be destroyed. I will take great pleasure in killing you.”

  As he pulled his sword back I grabbed my sword by the blade, my gauntlets giving me some protection. At the same time I slipped my stiletto out of my boot. I pulled the man holding my sword across my body and he fell in front of his companion who could not complete his blow. I stabbed him in the neck and wrenched my sword from his hand. The first man stabbed at me and I barely had time to move my head. The razor sharp sword slid along my cheek cutting it open to the bone.

  I was on my feet in an instant. I beat away the second blow with my stiletto. We were quite close and I could not swing my blade. Instead I punched him in the face with my pommel. One of the hand guards slipped into his eye and there was a scream as it ruptured the ball. He became angry then and that is always a mistake. He swung at my head with such force that when I ducked he overbalanced and I thrust my sword under his left arm and pierced his heart. He fell dead at my feet.

  I grabbed his cravat and held it to my cheek to stop the bleeding. I quickly checked for any other assassins and there was no sign of any. I sheathed my sword and quickly searched them. They had papers which had an Imperial seal upon them. I could not read Austrian and I stuck them in my jacket. After I had found their horses I retrieved my pass, mounted and carried on my journey. After a mile or so the bleeding had stopped and I was able to remove my temporary bandage. Charles would be impressed with the scar.

  I had not travelled more than five miles from the ambush when I was suddenly surrounded by horsemen, chasseurs. I heard a familiar voice say, in very bad Italian, “Put your hands up now!”

  “Is that any way to talk to a superior officer, lieutenant?”

  As soon as I spoke they all recognised me and they thronged around me with dozens of questions. When they saw the wound they looked around for an assailant as the wound was still fresh. “The two of them are dead about five miles up the road. I have to speak with the general urgently!”

  Pierre nodded. “Trooper Vallois. Escort the lieutenant to the general.” He grinned at me. I can see you have some interesting stories which might make up for the fact that I have been in the dark for the past three weeks!”

  Bessières was at the head of the column surrounding Bonaparte and he expedited my journey. The general beamed all over his face. “Ah my resilient little Scotsman you have returned and with a scar to impress the girls eh.” Then he became serious. “What news?”

  “The Regent has the letters from the Austrians. They agree and the Venetians have surrendered. You need not attack.”

  He leaned in to me. “Confidentially I had no intention of attacking. Who would attack a city where the roads are made of water? I am not stupid. If I can win a war by diplomacy, then so much the better. These letters with the Imperial seal will be useful in any future bargains with Austria too. Now you go and see the surgeon. You have done well for me, again!”

  I was soon stitched together again and I rode back to the head of the column. I did not want to be alone. My comrades were the vanguard and I would join them. I passed through the infantry battalions who looked at this Italian dandy riding through their columns. I heard their disparaging comments and smiled. I noted their regiment. I would return when in uniform and embarrass them. I caught up with the colonel. He looked genuinely pleased to see me but a little concerned that I was alone.

  “Don’t worry sir, the other three are safe and guests in the Doge’s palace. They are all living well.”

  “I know the general thinks highly of you and Jean but I prefer my men with me. It is generally safer with the regiment than performing well… I don’t actually know what you have been up to.” He looked at me expectantly.

  “And we can’t really say sir. What I will say is that the results of our adventure are that not one of the soldiers in this column will die today in a battle to take Venice.”

  For the first time since I had ridden Killer I saw a look of surprise on Albert’s face. “Then I salute you, Scotsman. That is an achievement worthy of the highest medal.”

  The general halted us outside the city. He and his Guides rode in to accept the formal surrender of the city. It was the middle of May and the war looked to be over. There were no enemies left to fight.

  Chapter 15

  We spent the summer close to Golfe Juan. I think General Bonaparte rewarded the regiment for what we had done. No-one complained; Pierre least of all. The beautiful little port just across the bay from Les Ils de Marguerite was as perfect a spot as you could wish for. We used the sea to condition our horses and bring them back to full health after two years of constant campaigning. Killer had had a month off but he still benefited. It also enabled us to train our new recruits. We now had three squadrons and could muster five hundred men. It was a long way from the dark days of the Netherlands three years earlier. We had promotions too. Captain Roux had died and so the three captains were Jean, Claude, and, most surprising of all, me. I heard that Bonaparte had insisted but the colonel told me confidentially that he was more than happy to do so. With Francois and Charles promoted to sergeant and Sous lieutenant respectively, the general had rewarded, at no cost to himself, the four men who had made him such a hero of the Directory. He could do as he wished. We heard, as we enjoyed the warm Mediterranean climate, that he had become a Consul. We did not know then what it meant but we were told it meant he had more power. I wondered what effect that would have on the man who seemed to crave power and glory.

  Our sojourn ended in October when we made our way back into Italy and thence to the Venetian Republic and Campo Formio where the peace treaty was to be signed. We had been chosen because we were the closest cavalry regiment and Bonaparte liked the symmetry of it. We had been there at the start of the negotiations and we were to be there at the end. We received new uniforms before we left with the new style shako. My pigtails and queue had regrown and I felt quite dashing in new captain’s uniform riding at the head of my squadron. All the way through the new republics we were greeted as heroes. Girls would throw flowers at the troopers in an attempt to lure them down for a kiss. The colonel had no time for such nonsense and we rode with straight backs and serious demeanour. It seemed to enhance our attraction.

  Once we reached Venetian land it changed. There were no smiles and only scowls. Food and drink became in short supply and we were treated as lepers. I could understand it. They had given in without a fight. The red blooded Venetians would not suffer that disgrace.

  When we reached the town of Campo Formio we could see Austrian Dragoons as well as infantry. They too were dressed for a parade. After we had camped Jean and I were s
ummoned to Bonaparte’s headquarters where we met the count and the Regent again. It was a private meeting and was a measure of the respect Bonaparte had for the other two.

  “These two gentlemen insisted that you be present. They both tell me that without your intervention and resourcefulness we would have had a war to fight.” He pointed at my healed scar. “That was well earned.”

  The count came to shake our hands. “I am sorry I was not able to stop the attempts on your lives from my countrymen but I fear it was they who should have been afraid. Your skills belie your age.”

  We both nodded. It is hard to take compliments, especially when you do not feel that you have earned them.

  The general said, “This is a great day for our three countries. It guarantees peace in Europe and you two young men had a great deal to do with that. As a reward I am issuing the two of you a month long furlough. You have deserved it.”

  Jean shook his head. “No General Bonaparte, we just did our duty.”

  “Nonetheless I insist that you take the furlough as I have plans for next year and you two, as well as the rest of your regiment, are key components.” He was still smiling but there was steel beneath the words. He would not take no for an answer.

  “In that case we will take our leave.”

  As we left I asked, “Where will we go?”

  He shrugged, “I don’t know. Let us sleep on it.”

  The colonel and the others were envious of our furlough. “It is not fair,” I said, “Tiny and Charles took the same chances as we did but they have not been rewarded.”

  Albert shook his head, “As it was you two who had your lives threatened three times I believe it was you who were in the greatest danger. Besides the two young men would not begrudge you a leave. Where will you take it?”

  “We don’t know.”

  In the end our destination was decided for us, by Napoleon himself. He arrived the next day in his carriage. He sought us both out. “Why have you not obeyed my orders? This is no place for a furlough.”

  Jean then made one of the few mistakes I can ever recall him making; he spoke the truth. “I am sorry sir, we haven’t decided where we will go.”

  “Good then you will come to me in my carriage and we will go to Paris.” He waved his hands at our faces. “I think this is a wonderful idea. We can talk on the way and you will enjoy Paris at this time of year. Besides it will allow me to show you off to some of the old men of politics who never leave Paris. It will do them good to see real heroes for a change.”

  Our chests were loaded aboard his carriage and we sat with the general. He looked up from his writings. “I work when we travel. Amuse yourselves!”

  He did just that. As the carriage raced through France, with regular changes of horses, the tireless general read, wrote and contemplated the whole way. It did not bother Jean or me. We watched out of the window or we slept. There were no stops, we just kept on going. The occasional stops for food or our toilet were brief and functional. We did not mind. We had not expected the journey but now that we were on it we would enjoy it.

  When we reached Paris, just after dawn on a damp October morning the general said, “There are rooms for you arranged. The coach will take you there. Let the hotel know where you will be for if I need you then I expect you to be on hand.”

  This was not so much a furlough as a tour with the new Consul of France. The hotel was close to the Rue St Honore and the Place de La Revolution but time had softened the raw wound of my father’s death. We left the hotel to find some food. The whole city was filled with a Napoleonic fervour. The new treaty and his successes in Italy had made him something like a god. If the crown was an elective then he would have been crowned king, that much was obvious. We wandered over to the Sorbonne and the left bank. Whilst being fervently left wing it had some lively restaurants serving good food at a reasonable price.

  We were just crossing the Pont Neuf when we heard a voice, “Sir! Is it you?”

  We looked down. Julian, the son of the gardener from my father’s estate was staring at Jean. He had no legs and was a beggar. Jean knelt down. “Julian! What happened?”

  “It was Rivoli sir. We charged some guns and I was hit by a cannon ball. More of my fellows would have died if it were not for you and your brave chasseurs. Your charge saved many lives. Thank you.”

  “But not you.”

  “Is this the way the Revolution treats its heroes?” I was angry.

  Julian said, “Ssh. There are many more like me.” He smiled at me. “You have the same compassion your mother had. My father and I adored her.” Suddenly he slapped his forehead. “I would forget my own head. When I went through my father’s papers I found this, it is a letter to you from Madame Lefondre.” He handed me a crudely written letter. While I read it Jean counted out a large number of coins and handed them to Julian. I heard him try to refuse them but I did not take the words in. The content of the letter was too shocking.

  ‘Robbie,

  I have kept this secret until now and I fear for my life. Guiscard is the only one I can trust to get this letter to you. Your mother was murdered by Mama Tusson. She slowly fed her poison and made your mother’s end painful.

  It took me some time to work it out and when I confronted her with it she threatened me. God forgive me but she threatened to have you killed. I knew she was capable of such a thing for she is truly evil and I kept my mouth shut. I should not and I will rot in hell for that. I wanted to tell you after your mother died but I was afraid for she had a hold on the count and he would do whatever she wanted.

  After your mother died I made sure that she had no chance to hurt you. I cooked all your food and watched to see that the witch came nowhere near it.

  I am writing this letter as I fear for my life. Beware the black witch. She is evil.

  I am sorry Robbie, I let you down and your dear mother. May God forgive me.

  Jeanne Lefondre’

  Jean saw my face and I handed the letter to him. He read it and then put his arm around me. “She killed them all. The evil bitch.”

  I became cold. I knew she had killed my mother but it had been hearsay before now and here was the proof in my hand. After all this time it was somehow even more shocking. Jean was right and all of the innocents she had killed must be avenged but first I had to deal with the living. I reached into my money belt and took out two gold coins. I gave then to Julian. “Buy yourself an inn. We will be going to Breteuil. There will be one there.”

  “Sir, I cannot take more money. The captain has given me more than enough.”

  “Soldier of France, would you disobey an order from a superior officer? Take the money.”

  He hesitated and then wrapped his fingers around the coins. Jean nodded his approval and then said, “We will need a wagon.” He knelt down and picked up the crippled soldier. “Tonight you stay with us.”

  He stayed in our rooms but we were not with him. When we reached the hotel there was a messenger from Bonaparte. There was a soiree at the Palais de Luxembourg and our presence was requested. Whilst we did not wish to go we could not afford to offend the little general. We changed and attended.

  The soiree was boring. They were not soldiers they were politicians living vicariously on the exploits of soldiers. We smiled and told our stories. We left enough gaps in the story of Vienna and Venice for the more intelligent to make the connections and the ones who were mentally challenged asked the others. At the end of the evening Bonaparte congratulated us. “You did well, as I knew you would.”

  “And now, general, we must beg leave to finish our furlough in Breteuil. Events have come to light which necessitate our presence there.”

  His keen eyes bored into us and then he nodded, “Very well. Take care. I have plans for you.”

  We almost ran from the Palais, glad to be away from that nest of vipers. Once back in the hotel we packed and began to make plans. We had twenty seven days of our furlough left. We were under no illusions. If we did not return
then we would be shot as deserters. We had to avenge the dead.

  We had plenty of money. Bonaparte had been generous with his expenses and we had been frugal. We hired guards, drivers and a wagon as we headed north. Julian was not happy that we had given him so much money. I clambered in the back of the wagon and gave Killer a rest.

  “Julian, I have lost many comrades and seen others who have been severely wounded as you have. We are giving the money to you as a symbol of all of the wounded and the dead. Use the money wisely and emerge from this tragedy stronger. You are what the revolution is all about. And if not for that, then for the kindness shown to me, by your father, and Madame Lefondre. I can do little for them but I can for you.”

  He seemed satisfied and I could concentrate on deciding what we would do once we reached Breteuil. We stayed some miles from the chateau in the small hamlet of Frossy. We found rooms in the inn; in the old days it had been a popular stopping off point between Calais and Paris. We sent the drivers and guards back to Paris and set off for the town and estate we knew so well, Breteuil. We were chasseurs and we would scout. We had time a plenty to get the lie of the land. We also felt honour bound to do something for Julian.

  The nearest large town was Amiens and, leaving Julian in the inn chatting to the owner about the pitfalls of owning an inn, we left to see what we could discover in the city. Both of us had visited Amiens before and knew it well. There were old soldiers around, normally begging, and they were a good source of information. It also made us feel better when we were able to give them money for the information. I suspect they felt less like beggars. A morning in the town gave us a clearer picture of life in Revolutionary France and Breteuil in particular.

  Mama Tusson had become an important woman. Her lover from the Committee had mysteriously died but, as the soldier who gave us the information told us, he would have died in one of the many purges anyway. Mama Tusson had played on the Revolutionary idea of equality. She claimed she had been victimised and persecuted because of her colour. She blackened my father’s name by accusing him of rape. I knew for certain that was not true. She had murdered my mother as a rival for my father’s bed. She was now the representative of Breteuil and ran that small town. She had also spread her web further and had much influence ion Amiens. Some of the soldiers who spoke to us kept looking fearfully over their shoulders.