Yes, but where's Bernadotte and the I Corps? I hear the Emperor is furious!
They say the Prussians have over a hundred thousand men!
Who cares? We have ninety thousand right here in Jena! And one of ours is worth two of them!
Wish this damned fog would lift. Can't see a thing!
We try to outguess the generals and marshals to impress each other with our military expertise and personal bravado, but I know it is all for nothing—it is all rumor, all the fog of war. Me, I just sit astride Mathilde and wait. I have the feeling it is going to be a very long day, and an even longer night.
One who is not impressed with any of us is a certain Colonel Dupré, Napoléon's communications officer. He has a short temper and a very sharp bark, and he is in charge of us messengers. He is coming up to us now.
"Genet, take this to Marshal Ney at VI Corps. Wait for his reply," orders Dupré, handing the letter to the lad next to me and then turning to another. "Beaulac, deliver this to Marshal Murat. Both of you get back as fast as you can. Move it!"
The two shoot off like scared rabbits.
Too bad ... I would like to have been chosen to go on the Murat errand—I might have been able to see Jean-Paul for a bit. And maybe Randall, too ... Ah, well, it's probably for the best.
Napoléon's carriage is right over there. Messages are passed into the windows and written orders are handed out and taken up by the designated messengers to be delivered.
The dust has barely settled after their departure when another rider, this one from the north, pounds up to the carriage and submits a letter. Then he comes to join us.
"Marshal Lannes has encountered the Prussians and bloodied their noses, by God! He has occupied the town of Jena and awaits further orders from l'Empereur!" the messenger shouts, panting from the excitement and the exertions of his travel. His horse is clearly exhausted.
A minute later Colonel Dupré is handed a message from the carriage and cries out, "Bouvier!"
I give Mathilde a nudge and hurry over.
"To Marshal Lannes! In Jena, about ten miles ahead. It is of the utmost importance! While you are there, take your instructions from the Marshal's staff! Go!" he shouts, giving me the letter. I put it in my pouch, salute, and charge off.
It takes me over an hour to reach the headquarters of V Corps. There was dense fog all of the way, and I was glad of the cover—I would hate to be picked off by a Prussian skirmisher. I was well ahead of the Army and in open country, having passed through Murat's screening cavalry on my way. I looked for Jean-Paul but did not see him. I did, however, catch a glimpse of Randall in Murat's camp and waved to him as I thundered through. He recognized me and waved back, shaking his head over the unlikelihood of seeing Jacky Faber, Soldier, Sailor, Beggar, Spy, galloping through a French army camp in Germany. Yes, Randall, it is, indeed, a bewildering world.
I deliver the communication to an officer on Lannes's staff, and I am told to stand by for further orders. After looking over the message, he calls for his horse and is gone. Apparently the Marshal is off somewhere else.
Well, good. I didn't want to be sent right back, for Mathilde's sake. I take advantage of the wait to rest the poor girl and to find her some food. Looking about, I see a stable nearby so I take her there, where I manage to hustle up a good drink of water and some oats for her. Then I look around for something to eat myself.
It is strange being in a town again, I'm thinking, as I cast my eyes about.
Lannes has taken over an inn as his headquarters and I'm thinking, what the hell, and wander in. Amazingly, I am not stopped and thrown out but instead find a table loaded with food and drink. There are not many people around, most of the staff probably being at Lannes's side, wherever that is, so I help myself.
I'm halfway through my third sausage, first loaf of bread, and second glass of some really excellent Rhine wine when there's a great clatter outside.
Uh, oh ... My Street-Urchin Alarm goes off, so I proceed to cram the remainder of the provisions into my mouth, chewing and swallowing as quickly as I can without choking.
A man, who, by the grandness of his uniform and the dignity of his bearing, must be Marshal Lannes himself, strides in, followed by his staff. "The fog has lifted! We can see them!" he announces to those of us in the room, and there is a cheer. "We must inform l'Empereur! Quick, Lucerne, get out your ink and pen and write!"
"Where's that damned messenger?" grumbles the officer I had seen before.
"Right here, Sir," I mumble, my cheeks full of cheese. I make a sort of bow.
"Well, good. Put down that glass and go get your horse and be ready."
"Oui, M'sieur," I answer, managing to get one more slug of the wine down my neck. "Right away."
As I exit the place, I hear Marshal Lannes dictating:
"Excellency, the fog has lifted, and from a hill above the town, we are able to make out at least forty thousand Prussian troops spread out on the plateau east of this town. I believe we are in excellent position to—"
And then I don't hear any more because I am outside, getting my Mathilde ready for yet another arduous ride. I pick up the reins and give her lovely muzzle a bit of a rub, because I know she likes it. I'd managed to stuff my pocket with a couple of apples from a plate on that table so I hold one up to her mouth and she takes it ever so gently.
"Come on, girl, one more ride. Yes, I know, it's hard, but we must do it. Good girl. Let's go..."
An hour later we pull up next to the Emperor's coach. I don't see Colonel Dupré so I just pass the letter through an open window. A hand takes it and a face looks up at me. Oh, God ... no, I ain't all that blasé yet.
I retreat to the messenger pool to give them the news, and there is great excitement.
Forty thousand Prussians!
Don't worry, we shall take them!
It must be tomorrow!
It will be tomorrow!
Glory for all!
I don't say anything. I just dismount to give Mathilde a bit of a rest and lean my face into her heaving sides. Good girl...
After a short while the conversation stops as we see Bonaparte's spirited gray Arabian stallion, Marengo, brought up. The door of the carriage opens and l'Empereur steps out. He mounts his horse and announces to us gathered about him, "The veil has lifted. We march to Jena."
It's plain that nobody's gonna get any sleep this night. And I know with a terrible certainty that for many ... this will be their last night on this earth.
I shudder and turn to my duties.
Chapter 40
We have been on forced march since the Emperor received that message from Marshal Lannes. He gave the order to move forward and move forward we did—all that night the Army was crammed into narrow ravines, marched through woods and over endless hills and fields. The worst of it was when we had to grope our way in the dark along the edge of a precipice, keeping complete silence, for we knew the enemy was near. Incredibly, on one of my return trips, I saw the Emperor, himself, holding up a lantern and personally supervising repair work on a road so that his artillery could pass. The light shone on his face as he directed his engineers, most of whom were mere common soldiers. It is an image I shall never forget, should I live through this. In one of my few idle moments, I've tried to imagine our King George doing that, but, of course, could not.
Our pool of riders has been provided with fresh horses so my Mathilde will be given a much-needed rest. Loyal and steadfast as she has been, there are times, I'm sure, when she wishes she were back in her snug stall in Paris. I'm thinking that 127, rue de Londres, room number seven wouldn't look too bad to me, either. And a nice cup of coffee and a plump croissant at Café des Deux Chats along with maybe a steaming plate of ... stop that, you. Here's another message slapped in your hand, so mount up and get back to work.
I wonder and worry about where my Clodhoppers are in all this seeming confusion. And Randall ... and Bardot ... and...
...and Jean-Paul de Valdon. Ah, yes, I
do manage to see him once more this night. As I am galloping out of Murat's camp with yet another report to the Emperor on his Cavalry's state of readiness, I spy another rider, who is spurring his horse to follow me, and I know that it is he.
He pulls up beside me and says one word, "Jacqui," and I answer with the same brevity—"Jean-Paul," but it is enough. It's a dark, moonless night, so we dare a kiss on horseback, each leaning over into the other on our mounts.
"You be careful now, do you hear me?" I warn, as our lips part. I put the palms of my hands to either side of his face. "No stupid heroics. No seeking of empty glory. Please, Jean-Paul, promise me..."
"Yes, I promise," he says, his breath coming as ragged as mine. "But what about you?"
"Don't worry about me. I know how to keep my head down and my tail covered. I've been doing it all my life. Now, one more kiss and I must fly."
I leave my palms on his smooth cheeks while I bring my mouth once again to his and flick my tongue between his lips and then oh, God! and then I push him away. We can't be doing this.
"Adieu, Jean-Paul," I say, turning my horse's head. "Go with God. My prayers are with you."
"And mine with you, Jacqui. I have never loved anyone as I have loved you. If I go to my grave, I go there happy, having known such as you."
I put my fingers to his lips. Hush, now ... and we part there in the blackness of the night.
When I return to the Emperor, I see that his tent has been set up and he is in it. Well, I guess this long night is at last over. I turn in the horse I have been riding and reclaim Mathilde. I find a patch of grass, tie her reins to my ankle, and lie down on the ground beside her.
I am instantly asleep.
Chapter 41
James Fletcher
On Board the Nancy B. Alsop and
Under Way with All Sails Set
Dear Jacky,
Something is afoot. Higgins returned from a meeting at the Admiralty in a state of, for him, high agitation.
"We must be away," he says. "We are to take station off a certain desolate coast of France. Our American registry and colors will protect us from any interference, America still being neutral in this conflict. More than that, Captain Fletcher, I am not at liberty to say. Except that an arrangement has been made and we just might be getting our girl back, at least for a while."
I, myself, throw the first line off, and the ship's bell is rung and the Nancy B is off.
I can only hope.
Jaimy
Chapter 42
With a groan I turn over and open my eyes. It is dawn and Mathilde is munching the grass next to my cheek, and for a moment I think I am back on Boston Common, dozing in the tall grass as my dear Gretchen grazes nearby. I reach up and stroke her muzzle, and then it comes to me that I am not there in some peaceful meadow but rather here on the edge of what is sure to be a battlefield that will soon be soaked in blood. I sit up and rub my eyes. I figure I've been asleep for maybe an hour, two at most.
Looking about, I see that the Emperor is already awake, standing next to a table his aide-de-camp has set up. His tent has been struck, and Marengo, saddled, stands by. I get to my feet and try to make myself presentable.
Messages are flying in and flying out, but a heavy fog once again covers everything. Napoléon clasps his hands behind him and looks out into the mist.
"It has been a good thing, this fog," I hear him say to the officers who stand by his side. "It has covered our movements. Now, if it'll oblige us and just go away..."
I can't see much of anything beyond fifty feet. But then again, the Prussians can't see me, either, so I figure that's all to the good.
Since nothing is happening, except some far-off thuds of cannon fire—they must be shooting at shadows in this thick mist, for surely they can see nothing—I head off and get something to eat. The sound of the artillery sets my cowardly belly butterflies to fluttering again, and I need to calm them.
A table has been set up with steaming pots of coffee and plates of hot food, and I reflect that it is a good thing to be even a very junior member of the Emperor's staff. Ummm ... what is this? Goose liver pâté spread on a warm slice of bread ... ummm ... The mind worries, and the heart yearns, ah, but the belly rules. The coffee is hot and good and it restores me.
As I am stuffing it all in, I feel a presence beside me. Oh, Lord.
I edge nervously away, trying to make myself invisible, but he notices me and says, "No, lad. Stay and eat." He reaches down and takes something for himself. A servant hands him a cup and he drinks. "Bouvier, is it not?" he says, looking down at me. "Are you not the one who captured the first Prussian flag? Ah, I thought so. I am glad you are still with us. Eat. You will need your strength later." He lifts his cup to me and says, "Soldiers of France, all of us, eh?"
I gulp and nod and raise my own cup, my hand shaking such that some of the coffee sloshes over the rim.
"It is to be devoutly hoped," says Napoléon to the officers that surround him, "that when the mist clears, we will all be in proper position."
Murmurs of assent are heard and then, as if on cue at a Fennel and Bean Production of Macbeth, the curtain is pulled aside, the rising sun burns into the fog, thinning it, while a good breeze sweeps the rest of it suddenly away.
"Now that is much better," I hear Napoléon remark, plainly pleased with what he sees.
I can only gasp as I look on the Plain of Jena. There are ranks upon ranks, divisions upon divisions—battalions stretching out in every direction—shining helmets and breastplates, lances, muskets, cannons. Oh God, it's gonna be murder!
The Emperor reaches out his hand and a long glass is put in it. He raises it to his eye. I reassure myself once again—You are only a messenger ... You will deliver the messages and then you will get out of the way when the real fighting starts. That's what will happen ... calm down, you.
"So. The Prussians have massed themselves there. Very well. We must force them into the open." He turns to his aide-de-camp. "Message to Marshal Lannes: Attack Closewitz now, and take it. Message to Marshal Augereau: Wheel the VII Corps left and make for Cospeda. Message to Marshal Soult: Support Lannes's right flank."
He snaps his long glass shut as the orders are written out, sealed with the Imperial stamp in hot blue wax, and handed to the messengers to be delivered. I have come to know my fellow gallopers during the long night past—there goes Charles, and then Émile, and now Hercule. I am not one of those chosen to deliver these messages, but I get on Mathilde and wait, for I know it will be my turn soon.
The deep boom of artillery begins, and it comes from both sides. Napoléon clasps his hands behind him and says, "We have ninety thousand men. They have a hundred thousand. We shall see."
Oh, my God ... Almost two hundred thousand men ... Yes, and boys, too ... Denis Dufour is out there somewhere with the rest of the Clodhoppers—two hundred thousand standing on this plain, ready to do their best to kill one another!
All seems to be going the way Napoléon wants it to go, and that gives me some comfort, but then, in the midst of all the trumpet calls, the shouted orders in the field, the hammering of the artillery, there comes one single trumpet call and the Emperor's head jerks up at the sound and the long glass is again to his eye. The unmistakable trumpet call was for a frontal assault—a charge.
"Damn! The impetuous fool!" He snaps his glass closed and turns to his staff. "Without orders, Marshal Ney has charged the Prussian lines from the center! It is too soon. The Prussians will close upon him and the VI Corps will be overwhelmed! Damn!" The Emperor of all France bites his knuckle, thinking. Then he straightens and looks directly at me.
"You there! Messenger! You know Murat, and he knows you?"
"Oui, Excellency," I say, nudging Mathilde over to him.
"You know what has just happened?"
"Oui, Excellency."
"Good. No time for long written orders. Take this seal..."His aide-de-camp takes a stamp and presses the Imperial N into a ball of hot
blue wax on a piece of paper. I see the wax squishing out to the side of the stamp as Napoléon takes a pen and scrawls his signature and the word Charge. "...and inform Murat of Ney's rash move and tell him that I order him to immediately charge the Prussian lines with his Reserve Cavalry. Lannes and Augereau will move forward on his flanks. Do you have that?"
"Oui, Excellency."
"Good," he says, taking the seal from his man and pressing it into my hand. "Fly, Lieutenant, as fast as you can."
I shove the Imperial Seal in my jacket front, turn Mathilde's head, and pound off.
There is a curious quiet on the field as I gallop across the plateau toward Murat and his cavalry. Yes, there is the far-off thump of artillery, but I see no effect here, and as I ride worrisome thoughts begin to worm into my mind, thoughts I know I should have dealt with long ago but did not.
Just whose side am I on? I was sent here as a spy to benefit my own country, and here I am with a message that could change the outcome of this battle. Napoléon has caused the death of thousands, and he will probably be responsible for the deaths of thousands more. If I do not deliver this message, Murat will not charge and Ney's Corps will be destroyed and that might cause the whole battle to be lost. I have a woman's dress and wig in my knapsack and I could change direction and head for the rear of the Army and change back into a girl and then no one would take me for a deserter. I could easily make it back to Paris ... or maybe somewhere else. I have money—I could head to some northern port and book passage back to London ... back to Jaimy ... Damn! I just don't know!
I go across the front of Lannes's V Corps and see that they are not yet ready to move, and there, on the near edge of the massive formation of twenty-two thousand men, I spy the Clodhoppers. Oh, Lord, there's Dufour with his drum. And Laurent off to the side. And, yes, there, in charge of several companies is Bardot, mounted, with a cigar clamped in his teeth.