The Trojan Icon (Ethan Gage Adventures Book 8)

by William Dietrich

  The one subject Louis avoided was Napoleon himself, the Colossus astride Europe. Bonaparte’s success, and Bourbon impotence, must gnaw at him like a cancer. The exile had no army, no revenue, and a hollowed court. His sole remaining asset was his ancestry. Louis was the most pitiful of men, a king without a throne, a ruler with no idea how he might rule, claiming leadership of a country that had no use for him. And so I answered as patiently as I could while waiting for his real inquiry, the vulnerabilities of the “usurper” he must in turn usurp. It was when the clock chimed eleven that Louis got to the point of our meeting.

  “I invited you into my presence, Monsieur Gage, because I’d already received correspondence about you.”

  I smiled as much as I dared. “From Minister Czartoryski?”

  “Not the first time I’ve heard mention of your adventures.”

  I was puzzled. How else would Louis have heard of me? “I hope it was flattering. I try my best.”

  “A treasure hunter, I was told.” He picked up a raisin. “With a treasure, perhaps?”

  Here was danger. “I’m afraid not, your majesty. All I’ve possessed has been lost.” I was glad we’d hid the swords. “I’m simply a diplomat on a mission of peace, robbed of horse and sleigh. Thank goodness you’re Adam’s friend. Minister Czartoryski sends his goodwill.”

  “Yes. Well. But I was told you might be bringing some artifacts. Patriotic relics. Old things.” It was almost a whine of disappointment.

  Odd. Czartoryski had said to keep the swords a secret. “I carry only ministerial messages, I’m afraid.”

  He was dissatisfied. “Messages to who, about what?”

  “The foreign minister bound me to secrecy. He said you, the target of poisoners, would understand. It concerns the ambitions of the tyrant Napoleon.”

  Now the heir held my eye for a long time, judging both my truth and my resolve. I put on a gamblers face, which is to say no face at all. Finally he looked away. “You said you were both for and against Bonaparte?”

  “I served with him in Egypt, but barely escaped a massacre he organized in Jaffa. Accordingly, I wound up on the Turkish side in the Holy Land. Since then the two of us have circled like boxers.” Best to be honest about my allegiances, since Louis seemed to know more than I’d expected.

  “You’ve no moral compass?”

  “My lode star is my family.”

  “And yet the usurper still trusts you?” He ate the raisins one at a time, using his fat fingers as a forceps.

  “Hardly. Napoleon uses me. Bonaparte prides himself on finding the utility in every man, even me, and thinks he can seduce anyone on earth, man or woman. He trusts no one, but we’re both gamblers. Napoleon believes in boldness because aggression has served him well. Someday he’ll gamble too much, and reach too far.”

  “And meanwhile he dictates to Europe while I stew in Jelgava.” It was said with grave dissatisfaction at the unfairness of life. “No monarch will give me men, and each fights him their own stupid, stubborn way. Prussia shrank from last year’s campaign so they’ll stand alone this year. Then Russia the next. Fools! But no one listens to fat forgotten Louis.” In popped another raisin.

  “Waiting may not be unwise, your majesty. Napoleon is too proud, too impatient, and too reckless. He unsettles everyone. You, sire, could be the stalwart around whom Europe rallies. I want to carry word of your readiness to Poland.” My mission was to reestablish Poland as a buffer state, not to make Louis a standard, but vagueness, delay, strategic silences, and answering questions with more questions are all tools of the statesman. “Our goal is a peace that gives time for Bonaparte to fall.”

  “Or to consolidate his empire. I want war and his overthrow.”

  “You have royal legitimacy he can never obtain,” I insisted. “No self-crowned emperor can match you. Meanwhile, I ask only for a horse team, sleigh, and supplies in order to complete my mission.”

  “For a Russian government that starves me of support.”

  “Perhaps Minister Czartoryski can persuade the tsar to grant more, now that the two of you are cooperating. Don’t give up hope. Fortune turns swiftly.”

  “Does it? How the hours crawl.” He paused, lost in thought. A clock chimed midnight. Other timepieces in distant rooms repeated the announcement, bong answering bong through the half-empty palace. “Does Napoleon stay up late?”

  “He sleeps very little.”

  “I, neither. Well.” He stood up. “I’m keeping you from your family. Let my servants show you to your chamber and we’ll talk more tomorrow. When fortune, perhaps, has turned.” He gave a wan smile. “Goodnight sir.”

  I bowed. “I’m honored by your patronage.” Doesn’t hurt to inject a note of expectation.

  “Patronage is a reward for loyalty and service.” He picked up some papers for nighttime reading and I backed from the library.

  Our bedroom was ornate in the 17th Century baroque style, but again under-furnished. Its soaring ceiling only emphasized the chill, and the Gage family shared the single bed for warmth, since the chamber’s ceramic stove seemed under-fueled. Louis couldn’t afford the firewood either.

  Harry nonetheless slept with the rhythmic, reassuring breath of childhood. How we envy their oblivion! Astiza woke and asked in a whisper about my interview. I quietly told her what I remembered. “It went rather well.”

  She frowned. “Ethan, I don’t trust Czartoryski’s strategy to send us here. Once more we’re dependent on ambitious ministers and scheming monarchs. We need to get away and rely on ourselves.”

  “How? We’re penniless. And go where?”

  “Egypt. America.”

  “And do what? What do I know beyond being a spy and envoy? Now we’ve this chance to deliver a Polish relic and be rewarded. Some flattery of Louis, his loan of a sleigh, and we get to Czartoryski’s mother and refuge. Finally we have powerful patrons.”

  “Who always keep us in their debt.”

  “At Pulawy all this will be finished. I might even have a title.”

  “Oh, my hopeful, naïve husband.”

  We eventually slept, sleet rattling the great window, the grand home creaking in the night. I awoke with the ambition of securing breakfast.

  Instead there was pounding as morning dawned gray. When I opened our door a half-dozen guards pushed into the chamber with fixed bayonets. Harry and Astiza watched from the bed covers, his eyes wide with surprise, hers with resignation.

  “What’s this?” I blustered. “I’m under the protection of Louis.”

  “You mean the prosecution of Louis. Ethan Gage, the king has received information that suggests you may be guilty of murder, theft, conspiracy, and high treason.”

  “Not treason. I’m an American.”

  “What you are, American, is under arrest.”

  CHAPTER 12

  I demanded explanation and got none. I pleaded that they not imprison my family and was ignored. I suggested there was a monstrous misunderstanding and that a second audience with Louis would clear up all confusion. No one would even reply. We were given our laundered traveling clothes and marched down a servant’s stairway and deep, deep, into the bowels of Jelgava Palace. At a windowless cellar where the only illumination was from candles, we were pushed into a barren room.

  A heavy wooden door with small grilled window slammed behind us.

  “So much for royal patrons,” my wife said.

  “Well, he’s not a king yet.”

  “Be patient,” our jailer said through the grill, and I thought he meant Louis’s ascension. But then he said, “The Prussians will be here soon.”

  So we were boxed for delivery to Von Bonin. What foul luck. Lothar must have told Louis about the swords.

  The three of us stood dispiritedly. From the smell of it the cell had once stored food and wine, but now was empty and damp. I was proud o
f Harry for not crying. Still, he looked understandably depressed. He’d been underground before. Eventually Astiza and I sat on dirty straw, the stone of the floor like ice. Our captors hadn’t let us bring our coats. Harry prowled the small perimeter like a caged cub. He rapped on the door as if gauging its thickness, and fingered the rough wood.

  “We need Mama’s magic, Papa.”

  “Indeed we do.”

  “Will the king bring us breakfast?”

  “Probably not.”

  “I thought he was a good king.”

  “I thought so too. People are peculiar, Harry.”

  “I’ll be glad when we get to the better palace.”

  I remained bewildered by this reversal. Hadn’t my audience with Louis gone well? Hadn’t my son amused him? But I hadn’t offered the swords, had I?

  “Hug us, Ethan,” Astiza said. “It’s cold.” It was the most useful thing I could do.

  Bread and water didn’t come until midday, and we got no more than that as the hours on my pocket-watch stretched to night again. Neglect and hunger are crushing, and I felt increasingly morose as we waited for fate. Nothing is crueler than helplessness.

  Finally a lantern lifted on the other side of the little grill, providing a flare of illumination so its holder could inspect us. Prussians? I shuffled to the door.

  “Are you ready to tell the truth?” The voice was gruff. “It will go better for your family if you do.”

  I tried to look out but the lantern was held to the window, blocking my view of our interrogator. The voice didn’t sound like Von Bonin or any other Prussian, but the man’s French did have an accent.

  “I always tell the truth, unless matching wits with liars. I’m the most honest of men, which gets me in constant trouble. Come in or let me out, and ask anything you want. The price is a blanket for my wife and child.”

  There was a long pause. Then, “Don’t bargain for a mere blanket, Ethan Gage. No man who settles for such low stakes will ever rise.”

  What game was this? “What would you suggest, then?”

  “Your lives and your freedom.”

  I could hear the intake of Astiza’s breath.

  “You’re in graver danger than you know,” the voice went on.

  “Who are you? What do you know of our enemies?”

  He ignored my question. “Prove yourself. What talents do you have?’

  This took me aback. “What kind of interview is this? Move the lantern. Show your face.”

  “Answer, if you wish to survive.”

  “Are you a friend?”

  “Answer!”

  “By the ashes of Vulcan…”

  “Quickly now!”

  What did we have to lose? “I’m an electrician. I told your sergeant.”

  “I’m that sergeant, fool. And how did you learn God’s fearful lightning?”

  “From the savant Franklin. One of many learned men I’ve partnered with. Cuvier. Monge. Jomard. Fulton.”

  “Yes, yes, we’ve heard your boasting. What else?”

  “What else what?”

  “Talents, I said.”

  This was very odd. “I’m a good shot.”

  “From a man with no rifle.”

  “Give me one and I’ll prove it.”

  “What else?”

  “A good card player.”

  “With no cards.”

  “A treasure hunter.”

  “With no treasure.”

  “A diplomat. A spy. A go-between. An ambassador.”

  “With no patron and no portfolio.”

  “A husband and a father.”

  Another long pause. “Yes. Surprising. Who was your father?”

  “My father? Why does that matter?”

  “Perhaps you’ve forgotten him? Perhaps you never knew him? Are you a bastard or an orphan?”

  “Certainly not. Josiah Gage of Philadelphia. A gentleman and a patriot, sir, wounded fighting with Washington at the Battle of Princeton. A respected businessman whom I suppose I disappointed.” How distant my American childhood seemed.

  “Your siblings?”

  I was becoming exasperated. “It’s you who are wasting time! What’s the point of this?”

  “The point is your life, I said, and perhaps the future of Europe, should you be believed.” His tone was impatient, but not hostile. What was going on?

  “Erasmus. He was the responsible one, I suppose. Susan. She married well. Caleb, who disappeared on a privateer in the American Revolution. He was the oldest. The unhappiest. The bravest.”

  “Is it brave to disappear?”

  “I can’t judge him. No word ever came.”

  There was a long silence. A click as the lantern was set down on the floor outside. I heard nothing, and then a sigh.

  “That’s all my family,” I finally said. “Are you still there?”

  “Don’t you recognize me, Ethan?” The question was sad.

  I started. A flood of memories, and yes, there was something familiar in his voice, faintly remembered from a quarter century ago. I had a jolt of embarrassment and astonishment. Could it possibly be?

  My older brother Caleb! My closest sibling, and my first real enemy. Suddenly I felt soaring hope. And forbidding fear.

  Yet surely I’d have recognized Caleb had I seen him. And how had he seen me? But a muffler had masked the sergeant-at-arms, and how could a long-lost teenaged brother be a royalist guard at Jelgava? Impossible! “Caleb? I assumed you dead.” And now felt guilt, relief, and confusion, all at once. “How in the world?”

  “Listen, Ethan. Louis hopes to sell you to the Prussians. He’s desperate for money and they’re negotiating right now. It was I who warned that the notorious Gage family might slip away if left unconfined, in order to get you locked in a place where I could speak to you alone. But you must trust me and flee tonight, before you’re handed over to a one-armed scoundrel.”

  “Von Bonin.”

  “I don’t know what trouble you’re up to this time, little brother, but I’ve spent the day preparing. Do you know that you’re famous in the taverns and whorehouses of Europe as the worst spy and antiquarian on the Continent?”

  “I’m famous?”

  “These royalists know me as Caleb Ruston. Like you, I hire on where I can. It‘s a wicked world we navigate.”

  “It is, brother! With rare angels! We’re of the same heart!”

  “We shared a heart.”

  I winced. “Yes.”

  “You made me grow up, Ethan, and bitterness tempered me. Since then I’ve been a privateer, mercenary, smuggler, swordsman, and soldier. I was hired on at Jelgava to help keep French spies at bay. Louis had been informed of your coming but didn’t believe in you for a minute. He fears anyone close to Bonaparte, and resents that you wouldn’t trust him with your secrets. If the Prussians don’t buy you, he intends torture to ferret out your treasure.”

  “Not treasure. Antique junk.”

  “I’d heard rumor of a Gage in St. Petersburg, but it’s a common name. The last I heard, you were lost in a hurricane. Or was it a sea battle?”

  “I’ve made a specialty of being dead. You’re willing to help after all these years?”

  “I’m willing to use you after all these years.”

  “For what?”

  “Half of what you gain. As fair payment.”

  I hesitated only a moment. If offered a miracle, don’t quibble until it’s occurred. “Agreed. Let us out.”

  “We’d be instantly discovered if I did so.”

  “Then how are we to escape?”

  “Like all palaces, Jelgava is riddled with secret staircases and passageways. The wall at the end of your storeroom separates you from a tunnel leading to the kitchens. Built to aid a secret rendezvous for lovers, pe
rhaps, or to transfer food, or as an escape route during war. From the kitchens at midnight you can slip outside unseen.”

  “But the cell wall is solid.”

  “Near the bottom you’ll find a stone with loose mortar. Pry it out and make your way to the trees at the far end of the garden. I’ll meet you there. If you’re caught, swear that you discovered the escape hatch by yourself.”

  “Of course. Such a claim enhances the reputation.”

  The grill opened. “Use this spike to pry the stone, and if discovered before escaping, say you smuggled it down. Don’t implicate me! Feel your way through the passageway and don’t hesitate. Now, before the Prussians come for you.”

  “Wait! Are there sentries outside?”

  But Caleb was already trotting up the stairs.

  There was no choice but to trust. I hastily went to work, using the small spike to attack the broken mortar and lever the massive stone.

  “That was your brother?” Astiza asked. “How is that possible? Can good fortune be that coincidental?”

  “I doubt it.” I was sweating despite the cold. The leverage was awkward, and we needed to hurry. “If it’s even good fortune.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Only that more is afoot than we know. But let’s get away from Jelgava first. We don’t want to be sold to One-Arm.”

  The stone shifted a millimeter at a time. Slowly I wiggled it just free enough to seize the edges and pull, dragging the rock into our cell. A puff of air chilled us.

  “You made a hole, Papa,” Harry said.

  “Me and your uncle.” How odd to say that.

  I peered through the opening. Pitch black. I tucked the spike in my waist just as we heard the tread of footsteps. Men were descending. Astiza went to the grill and listened.

  “Von Bonin,” she whispered.

  CHAPTER 13

  “Quickly!” I pushed Harry. “We’re right behind.” Astiza tore her skirt while squeezing through, and getting my shoulders into the secret passageway was like stuffing and pulling a cork. I wriggled just as the Prussians were unlocking our prison door. The tunnel was bigger once I got through the wall. I wormed around and pulled the stone to stopper our escape hole.