“What is it?” I cried when I came near enough. “What’s happened?”
He skidded to a stop. “Three of the men I set to watch the suspects have been found dead.”
“Who were they following?” I asked quickly. “Three you said? Then they must have been after both suspects.”
“They were.”
“Is the other one alive?” For a few moments I wondered if there was a conspiracy, with both of them involved but Rousseau shook his head.
“Yes. It was the first thing I checked. You realise what this means?”
“The man or men are about to make their move!” The soldiers had to be removed so the assassin could act freely. The assassin must have been aware of being followed and acted before the soldiers could escape.
I spun on my heel and began to race back the way I had come. Rousseau panted after me but polished boots are not intended for running and I actually made better speed, game leg and all. I arrived as Lefebvre and some of the guards came out of the mill, peering round, with the Emperor close behind them. Napoleon walked forward to the edge of the brow and studied the terrain with his telescope. He saw me as he turned and beckoned me to him. We stood before him and I struggled to catch my breath. I had to tell him what had happened but my chest heaved and my tongue was like lead. For those few vital instants, I could not speak. Concentrating on him, I was unaware of my surroundings. His words seemed as if they were spoken in another place and time. My vision darkened and mist seemed to cling to the edges of my sight.
“The assassin has failed, Duval, and the battle is about to begin,” he said. “You and Lefebvre may leave me now, with my thanks.”
The words were barely out of his mouth, when something fluttered on the edge of my blurred vision and perhaps that impairment made me see it. Instinctively, I did a thing I would never have normally done – I shoved the Emperor hard. He staggered aside, just as a bullet whistled between us, passing the place where his head would have been. A soldier on the other side of the group put his hand to his arm and slowly sank to his knees. I saw this even as I yelled,
“After him!” I plunged into the trees, Lefebvre and several guards on my heels. I glimpsed Rousseau coming onto the top of the hill, taking in what was happening and turning to cut off the running man.
Someone crashed through the bushes ahead of us. One of the soldiers stopped behind us and shot at him.
“Don’t fire! I want him alive,” I screamed. At that moment my blood was up and a death by bullet seemed too clean.
The assassin ran fast but Lefebvre has always been an excellent runner, far better than me, even before I was injured. He sprinted forward and I heard the thud of falling bodies. More crashes and then a sudden scream, whose I did not know. I came up to find them struggling, Lefebvre on top, pinning his man to the ground. The assassin heaved upwards and twisted round as he tried to break free. He punched Lefebvre who gasped. A blow from a rifle butt made him drop onto his back and ended his resistance. The white, strained face of Rolland-Couteau, the man I had so carelessly dismissed, stared back at me, hatred in his eyes. He was nursing his wrist and I suddenly realised it was his scream I had heard before. Lefebvre never had any time for the niceties of combat. He knew a way of breaking a man’s hand that stopped a fight, almost before it started.
“Rolland, you! Why?” I asked.
“For my King,” he hissed at me.
“You’ve served the Emperor for years. Why try to kill him now?”
“I served the usurper, only when I had no hope of the true king’s return.”
“You’ve eaten the Emperor’s bread,” I said in disgust.
“It choked me!”
“Take him to the Emperor,” I told the soldiers. “Tell him the assassin has been found. He must decide his fate.”
Lefebvre had rolled off Rolland and still lay curled on the ground. As the party left, I bent down to give him a hand up, when his groan startled me.
“Jean? Are you hurt?” I'd been so engrossed; I had not realised he might be injured.
“He had a knife and I broke the wrong wrist!” His grin was more of a grimace. “I must be getting old.”
Horrified, I pulled back his jacket and the bright blood spurted through his clenched fingers. The knife still stood in his chest and, if I withdrew it, the bleeding would get much worse. Even so, I saw bubbles in the flow, so his lung was certainly punctured. The wound was a deathblow and Lefebvre knew it. I began to rise, to fetch help, but he caught my sleeve and held me.
“You need a surgeon,” I said, “this wound is beyond me.”
“Not enough time.” His words were starting to slur. “I’m dying. We both know it.”
“Don’t leave me, Jean, not like this.” I could feel the hot tears start to my eyes.
“Not my choice.” His lips crooked into a smile. “Never thought I’d be a hero, dying to save the Emperor.”
“Not your style, I agree.” The words almost choked me but I forced them out. I would not waste the few moments we had left.
“I was right again, wasn’t I?” he murmured. “About Rolland?”
“You were. I’ll miss you, old friend.”
“Give Eugénie my love... and look after Lucienne. Tell her I love her and I’m proud of her. She’s the best thing that ever happened to me, except for her mother…”
“I will; my word on it.” I squeezed his hand in token of the promise and felt a slight pressure in return. Then his fingers relaxed. He slipped away, just as the artillery boomed out and the battle started.
Chapter 9
The noise washed over me but I didn’t hear it. I sat beside Lefebvre, holding his hand and remembering all our adventures. I’d saved his life and he’d returned the favour several times over. For those reasons, amongst others I named my son for him. I remembered his stories and his jokes and realised my life would never be the same again without him. Whatever I did from now on would be duller, because he would not be there to share it with me. We had been so lucky to have all those years together. The chances of one of us dying in the course of our investigations had been high but we always escaped — until now.
I must have become a little mad, sitting there. I heard nothing; I saw nothing except a grey mist which floated before my eyes, blinding me. I was in another place, another time, and Jean was there with me. A light rain started to fall, wetting my shoulders and making Lefebvre’s still face glisten, as if he, too, was crying. The sound of the rising wind became lost in the artillery barrage, until the guns suddenly ceased. I came back to the present, when a particularly strong gust whipped leaves and broken twigs into my face. I felt as if I had awakened from a nightmare and I looked around me. The wood was relatively quiet and the fighting somewhere to my left, not nearby but not far either. I knew enough about battles to realise it would not stay that way. This place might soon be over-run.
I glanced down at Lefebvre. I could not leave him there, like a cast-off toy. I had no intention of leaving him for the ravens to peck out his eyes unhindered or to be trampled by horses. I would have to bury him quickly. Suddenly I remembered Nathan’s burial in the quiet country churchyard. No time for that here. I would be lucky to get him underground before soldiers fought over the ground where he lay. I would have to hurry. I was taking a chance, but I did not see it that way at the time, only the clear duty I owed to my closest friend.
I closed Lefebvre’s eyes, straightened his body and went to find a shovel. The windmill and the surrounding area were full of men, with messengers arriving and departing. They did so unwatched. The assassin had been caught and we did not need to fear treason within the ranks any longer, but at a dreadful cost, to me at least. The Emperor stood some distance away at the edge of the bluff, surrounded by his staff, watching the battle and issuing his orders. No one noticed me as I went into the mill and climbed to the upper floor, where the millwheels were situated. I reasoned that there must be shovels there, to move the grain. I found a couple lying against o
ne of the walls, with some empty sacks. I took one and a couple of sacks for good measure. Then I returned to the wood.
I picked a spot underneath a big ash tree and started to dig. Fortunately, the soil proved easy to break, in spite of the roots, and Lefebvre was not a tall man. I dug deep enough to keep the animals and birds at bay. I did not try to stop the tears running down my face as I laboured. They almost blinded me. I had performed such tasks before when I lost other friends to violence. I’d buried Pierre, many years ago, when the battle ended and I managed to find his body amid all the carnage. There were others, but none of them had ever been as close to me as Lefebvre.
When the grave was dug, I laid one of the sacks in it, placed Lefebvre on top and covered him with the other sack. Then I filled the hole and stamped the surface down. I took out my knife and carved his name and the date onto the bark of the tree sheltering him, as he had done for Nathan. Then I tried to say the prayer for the dead, which I remembered from my childhood and my mother’s funeral.
“De profundis clamavi ad te, Domine;
Domine, exaudi vocem meam. Fiant aures tuæ intendentes
in vocem deprecationis meæ.
Si iniquitates observaveris, Domine, Domine, quis sustinebit?
Quia apud te propitiatio est; et propter legem tuam sustinui te, Domine…”
The words choked me and I could not complete the psalm. I muttered, “Lord, in your mercy, look after Jean Lefebvre, a good man and my friend.”
Then I turned away, picked up my shovel and returned it to the windmill, hoping that its next task would not be so grim.
As I came down the stairs, I saw Lebrun, of all people, leaving the mill.
“What are you doing here?” he asked. “I thought you’d be on your way back in Paris by now.”
I stared at him.
“What is it? What are you staring at?” The aggression came back into his voice.
“I’ve just been burying my best friend. He was killed by a traitor trying to assassinate the Emperor.”
The man nodded. “I’d heard. I didn’t know Rolland-Couteau well, but I would never have expected this of him. Were you the one who caught him?” I nodded. “I wondered about you and your friend. You asked too many questions. Police?”
“Yes.”
His face tightened. “And you had the nerve to suspect me?” He advanced towards me, menacingly. In my normal mind I would unhesitatingly have retreated, but at that moment I did not care.
“We knew the man was in the Maison and for several reasons we thought he would use a rifle. You are an exceedingly fine shot and fit the description…”
Unexpectedly the man stopped and laughed. “My father used to say my liking for guns would be my downfall. He was almost right. At another time I’d make you pay for your suspicion of me but I’ve got better things to do now than puncture you.” He turned on his heel and would have left but I stopped him.
“Stay, please. The Emperor dismissed us but I can’t leave now.” As I said the words, I realised what I must do. Paris and even Grenoble would have to wait. France was under attack. I was a former soldier and I hadn’t lost all my skill, even if I was slower than I used to be. I had the sudden feeling that, in this campaign, every man would count.
“So?”
“Do you know where the Second Brigade of First Corps is?”
“Why do you want to know?”
“My former colonel offered me my old job back and I’m going to take him up on his offer.”
He stared at me and then he grinned.
“You’re quite mad, mon ami, fancy joining up in the middle of a battle! Well, it’ll save me the trouble of teaching you a lesson myself. I’ll show you where they were but they’ll have moved by now, of course.”
We went outside to a spot where we could see through the drifting smoke. Lebrun pointed.
“Over there, on that slope, or they were this morning. Good luck finding them. Wait a minute.” He took off his aide’s sash and wrapped it round my waist.
“Don’t you need it?” I asked.
“I’ve others in my saddlebags. If you ride through the army in civilian clothes, they’ll likely take you for a god-be-damned German or even worse, an Englishman.”
“Thank you,” I said. “I owe you when we meet again.”
“If we both survive, I’ll find you, never fear.”
We shook hands and I turned away. I never paid my debt to him; I never even saw him again. He is probably lying somewhere in that bloody valley near Brussels.
I went to the horse-lines and found a horse. The beast was tacked and had a cavalry sabre attached to his saddle. No one challenged me as I took him. Perhaps the adjutant’s sash prevented it or his groom did not notice the horse’s absence until we were long gone. I rode off to the rear of the windmill, intending to circle round the fighting. I wanted to reach the spot Lebrun pointed out or some of the Second Brigade troops, preferably the latter.
Luck did not favour me until the very end of that day. I seemed to ride for hours, sometimes alone, sometimes in the midst of the fighting. My sabre was blooded by then and I killed more than one man, but I never found my regiment. I asked everyone who would speak to me,
“The 55e regiment du ligne. Do you know where they are?”
No one did and I rode on. Even though it was June, evening was falling and the land was shadowed. A few campfires started to twinkle. The fighting ceased and the battle they would later call Ligny had been won. Tired and bloody troops camped for the night. I stopped at one of the fires and asked my question again, intending to stay with them if I got a negative reply. I desperately needed warmth and companionship. One of the men pointed.
“Over there, on the left of us. Near the top of that small hill.”
“When did you see them?” I asked.
“A couple of hours ago. They were making camp, so they should still be there.”
I thanked the man and, taking my tired horse by the reins, I led him in that direction. I found the 55e. A man came out of the Colonel’s tent as I arrived. He peered at me.
“Duval, is it you? No it can’t be, you must be a ghost.”
“No ghost, Mourier. Good to see you again and in one piece.”
“What are you doing here, mon brave?”
“The Colonel offered me my old job back when I met him in Paris. I’m going to take him up on his offer.”
“Are you? Well you were always crazy, you haven’t changed, that’s for sure. Au revoir.”
The Colonel looked happy to see me but a bit startled at my sudden appearance and the adjutant’s sash around my waist. I told him a little of my story and that I had been released from my other duties. I asked him if I could rejoin the regiment.
“Certainly, we lost several good men today and your offer is timely, if you are sure?” he asked.
“I’m sure.”
“We have no time to train you in the middle of a campaign. You will have to take your chance.”
“I’m prepared for that.”
He nodded. “You can take poor Romer’s place. He was a lieutenant so it’s a promotion for you and a better pension, if you live to profit from it.” He smiled tiredly. “And if my journal survives to confirm your appointment, of course. Mourier can kit you out so you look like one of us and not a ruffian.”
I glanced down at my attire, still dishevelled and bloody from the fighting. “Thank you, Sir.”
“Not sure you have anything to thank me for. This campaign is going to be hard.”
“We won today, though didn’t we?”
“We did.” The Colonel shook his head. “This is only the first battle and the English did not arrive. They’ll join with the Prussians as soon as the can, if they’ve any sense. The result may be different next time if they combine.”
“The Emperor must know this.”
“He does and he’s said to be confident enough but…”
“But?” I prompted him.
“The Emperor ha
s never faced Wellington before. Wellington’s defeated the other Marshals who fought him. He’s good. The fight might go either way.”
“You think he will beat the Emperor?” The thought had crossed my mind, but to have my doubts echoed by a man I respected sent a cold shiver up my spine.
“It hangs on a knife edge. Whoever has luck on the day will win. That’s why I say you shouldn’t thank me for letting you rejoin. I’m probably sending you to your death.”
“You’ve done that before, Sir, and I’ve survived. Why shouldn’t we have more luck than the other side?”
“Indeed.” The Colonel rose and held out his hand to me. “Welcome back, my boy. If we both survive we’ll toast your decision in my special brandy when everything is over.”
Chapter 10
Capitaine Mourier, the Adudant-Major, duly saw me kitted out.
“You can use Romer’s stuff. He won’t need it any more,” he said, throwing me a pair of saddlebags.
Fortunately Romer was a bit bigger than me so I didn’t have to squeeze myself into his spare uniform. The material felt harsh on me, though, and I instinctively stiffened my back. If I stayed in the army long enough, I’d soon be strutting round like the rest of them. Lefebvre would have laughed at that, I thought sadly. He used to call me ‘Soldier’, a term of affection. At least I now looked the part and no one would mistake me for a German or an Englishman any more. Whether I could live up to my new clothes was another story. I dared not let myself think of Eugénie and the children or I would weaken. I had the strange feeling that I must be true to Lefebvre, who gave his life for the Emperor. Nonsense, of course. Lefebvre had always been critical of Napoleon, and, as he said, he’d never had any intention of dying a hero’s death.
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