She felt the cardinal's cold, dry hand clasp hers suddenly in the darkness.
'How stubborn you are,' he said crossly. 'Why do you insist on staying? It is to see him, is it not? Admit that you are waiting for Bonaparte!'
'There is no reason for me not to admit it, if you must put it so. Yes, I am waiting for the Emperor. I wish to speak to him.'
'What about?'
Marianne recognized that she was on slippery ground. In another moment she would forget that Gauthier de Chazay was one of the Corsican's most deadly enemies and allow him to guess something of the information she carried. She caught herself just in time and answered, after only the slightest hesitation: 'About my friends who are lost. I came here with Jolival and Jason Beaufort and his lieutenant, an Irishman named O'Flaherty, but I have lost them all. Jolival and O'Flaherty yesterday, in the crowd in Red Square, while Jason was made prisoner by the Russians after wounding Count Chernychev in a duel.'
She thought the cardinal would burst with rage at that.
'Fool! Three times fool! A duel! In a city in a state of total uproar and with one of the Tsar's favourites into the bargain! And what was this duel all about?'
'About me,' Marianne snapped back at him, no longer troubling to keep her voice down. 'It's about time you stopped regarding all my friends as rogues and vagabonds and your own as saints. I'm not likely to find Jolival or Craig O'Flaherty at Count Sheremetiev's house. Nor even my poor Jason. Heaven knows what the cossacks will have done with him! He may not even be still alive!'
The cardinal heard the break in her voice and his own softened perceptibly.
'Of course he is – unless his opponent has died, in which case… well, Sheremetiev may still be able to help you find him. He has a great deal of influence and any number of friends with the army. Go to him, I beg you.'
But after a short struggle with herself, she shook her head. "Not until I have found Jolival. After that, yes, I may do so. There is not much else I can do. In return – you seem to have such powerful connections, to have so much influence yourself, please, won't you try to find out what has become of Jason? If you will do that, then I will go to Kuskovo.'
What she did not say was that she needed Jolival to help her carry out her self-imposed mission to Napoleon, without which she would not sail for America.
Now it was the cardinal's turn to hesitate. At last he shrugged.
'Tell me how and where this idiotic duel took place. Where do you think the cossacks were taking this American of yours?'
'I don't know. They only said the Ataman should decide what was to be done with him. As to the duel…' She described it briefly, mentioning the part played by Prince Aksakov, and waited for what her godfather should say.
He was silent for a moment, then he muttered: 'I think I know where Ataman Platov is to be found. I will see what I can do. But you must do as I tell you. Try to find your friends if you must, but be sure you are out of Moscow by tomorrow evening. Your life depends on it.'
'But won't you tell me why?'
'That I cannot do. It is out of my power. But I implore you to listen to me. By the evening of tomorrow, the fifteenth of September, you must be at Kuskovo. I will see you there.'
Without another word, Gauthier de Chazay turned and left her, his small, dark shape seeming to melt into the shadows of the passage.
Marianne went back to her cupboard where Vania was still sleeping soundly. She lay down beside her and, feeling somewhat comforted by the thought that she had entrusted the search for Jason to someone qualified to undertake it, did her best to forget the mysterious danger hanging over her. In any case, she had nearly thirty-six hours before her. And so, this time, when she fell asleep she did not dream.
She was woken by a sound of trumpet calls and, opening her eyes, saw in the light of the candle, for no daylight penetrated their retreat, Vania struggling into a black dress which, although a trifle tight for her, was nevertheless more suitable to the occasion, and certainly less conspicuous than Dido's flowing robes. She was, however, experiencing a good deal of difficulty, having omitted to undo the sash, and was swearing freely in several languages at once.
Marianne made haste to extricate her by unfastening the knot and pulling the dress down over her head.
'Thank you!' Vania gasped, emerging red-faced and dishevelled, from the suffocating folds of cloth. 'I have our host's generosity to thank for this elegant garment. He brought it a minute ago. I suppose he had it as a donation from some charitable lady – but I could wish her charity had gone so far as to make it a new one,' she added, with a grimace. 'I don't care for her scent at all – or for the smell it's meant to cover up!'
Sleep and Vania's ointment had worked wonders. Marianne's shoulder was stiff but much less painful and she was sure she had no fever at all.
'What time is it?' she asked.
'Goodness, I don't know. I left my watch at the theatre and there is no way of telling the time in this cubby hole. And I never thought to ask the abbé.'
He reappeared at that moment, bringing a tray with two steaming cups of milkless tea, some sour cream and slices of dark brown bread.
'It's close on noon,' he said, 'and this, I fear, is all I have to offer to you. You must excuse me.'
'With all our hearts, padre. Even the prettiest girl can't give more than she has,' Vania said boldly.
But the abbé gave no sign of being shocked by the comparison and the singer said no more but instead changed the subject by asking the reason for the trumpet calls that had been making themselves heard for some minutes.
'What do you think?' the abbé sighed, shrugging his shoulders. 'Bonaparte's army is entering Moscow.'
That one word Bonaparte told Marianne more than a long speech could have done. Here was yet another who had no love for Napoleon. Indeed, since that indefatigable conspirator, Gauthier de Chazay, was staying in the house—Even so, she smiled at him gratefully.
"We shan't trouble you for much longer, Monsieur le Curé,' she said. 'If the French are here, we will no longer be in danger.'
They made haste to swallow their breakfast and, after thanking the abbé for his hospitality, left the presbytery. Nor did he show much inclination to detain them. Without quite knowing why, Marianne was in a hurry to be gone now from what, in spite of everything, she could not help seeing as a nest of conspirators.
They saw no one else on their way out and she concluded that none of the refugees within had any desire to witness the arrival of their countrymen. Vania had much the same idea.
"The Abbé Surugue is a fine man,' she observed, 'but I suspect him of having a hand in politics. I should like to have got a sight of the people in his house. I didn't fancy his verger's looks at all.'
Marianne was obliged to laugh.
'Nor I,' she said sincerely. 'I'm sure I never saw a verger like him before.'
When they emerged into the street, bright sunshine had replaced the downpour of the night before, traces of which still showed in broken branches and shattered flower pots and the large puddles of water that lay everywhere. But in the region of the church there was not a soul to be seen.
'Let's go towards Red Square,' Vania proposed. 'That is the heart of Moscow and the place the troops will make for. I should think the Emperor will want to take up his quarters in the Kremlin.'
With the exception of an occasional figure glimpsed in a doorway or at a window, the streets were all equally deserted as the two women made their way to the river Moskva and then along its embankment towards the square. There they saw that only two bridges remained. Eight others must have been destroyed during the night and the bed of the river was littered with the debris.
It was strange to be walking through the abandoned city, so drained of all signs of activity as to be almost dead. The only sounds were the trumpet calls, growing nearer all the time, and the distant rumble of cannon and drums. The effect was both painful and oppressive and although the two friends were glad to be in the open air
again, and Marianne, especially, relieved to be able to walk again without too much discomfort, it was not long before they ceased to exchange any comments and lapsed into silence.
The expanse of Red Square opened before them, empty but for a couple of stragglers from the Russian army kneeling before the amazing red, blue and gold pile of St Basil's Cathedral, and some cattle from the slaughterhouse roaming about at random, still unaccustomed to their unexpected freedom.
But on the battlements of the Kremlin there were figures to be seen which reminded Marianne unpleasantly of those she had seen the night before.
'I can't see much evidence of the French as yet,' she murmured. "Where are they? We can hear them but not see them.'
'Why yes!' exclaimed the singer, who had moved closer to the river. 'Look! They are fording the river.'
At a point near the western corner of the Kremlin, a regiment of cavalry was indeed engaged in quietly crossing the Moskva, which at that place appeared to be no deeper than the horses' withers.
Marianne leaned over the parapet and stared.
'French? Are you sure? I can't tell.'
Vania laughed merrily. 'Not French, no! But part of the Grande Armée, most certainly! Lord, don't tell me you can't recognize the Emperor's soldiers! Why, I know all their uniforms and every division! The army is a passion with me. I've never seen a more handsome set of men!'
Marianne, greatly entertained by her eagerness, reflected privately that Vania and her dear Fortunée appeared to have a good deal more in common than a fondness for attar of roses. Evidently they shared a passion for soldiers.
'Look!' Vania cried. 'Here come the first of them! It's the Polish hussars, the Tenth, Colonel Uminski's! And after them I can see the Prussians, Major von Werther's Uhlans, and then – I think it's Wurtemberg's chasseurs and behind them several regiments of French hussars! Yes, it's them! I can tell by their plumes. Oh, it's so wonderful to see them again! I know that they have put us all in an impossible situation by coming but, truly, it was worth it and I, for one, can't be sorry…'
Caught up in her companion's infectious enthusiasm, Marianne watched with equal fascination as the mounted columns forded the river in good order. Vania, at her side, leaning over and clutching at the parapet, was almost shaking with excitement. Her eyes were wide and her nostrils quivering. Suddenly, she uttered a cry and threw out an arm.
'Oh, look! Look there! The man riding up the column and crossing the river at full gallop!'
'The one in green with the white plumes almost as tall as himself?'
'Yes! Oh, I'd know him in a thousand! It's the King of Naples! It's Murat – the finest horseman in the Empire!'
Vania's excitement had reached fever pitch and Marianne suppressed a smile. She had long known of Napoleon's brother-in-law's penchant for exotic, not to say fantastic costumes, but this time he seemed to have gone his length. Only he could have had the effrontery to appear in his present extravagant dress of dark green velvet polonaise with massive gold frogs, worn with a sash of gold threadwork and bonnet of the same colour surmounted by a white ostrich plume not less than three feet high. And, strangest of all, was the way he managed not to appear ridiculous in such an outfit.
Vania was suddenly so flushed with happiness that Marianne shot her a glance half-envious, half-amused.
'You seem to have a great admiration for the King of Naples?' she said with a smile.
The singer turned and looked her straight in the eyes, then, with a pride that was not without its greatness, she said simply: 'He is my lover. I would go through fire for him.'
'It would be a pity if you did. No man, however brilliant, deserves to have such a woman as you destroy herself for his sake. Live and if your love is returned, enjoy your happiness.'
'Oh, I do believe he loves me! But there are so many women running after him—'
'Beginning with his wife. Are you not afraid of the formidable Caroline?'
'Why should I be? She is all very well, but had her brother not been an emperor she would never have been a queen and no one would have paid very much attention to her at all. She cannot even sing. Besides, even as wives go, she's not the most faithful.'
Evidently this, to the prima donna, was a fatal flaw, and her argument was not without its logic. Marianne preferred to leave Caroline Murat to her own fate, which was a matter of some indifference to her, for she had never held Napoleon's youngest sister in affection. She had known her for too long for a devious and ill-natured woman.
Consequently, she was able to look on indulgently at Vania's meeting with her royal lover. As the King's white horse burst into the square, the Italian sprang forward almost under its hooves and might easily have been trampled but for Murat's presence of mind. He leaned down with a yell of delight and, grasping her round the waist, swept her up into the saddle. Whereupon, regardless of who might be looking on, the King and the singer embraced passionately, spoke briefly and then embraced once more. Then, as easily as he had caught her up, Murat lowered his mistress to the ground.
'Until tomorrow!' he cried. 'Go to the Kremlin and ask for General Durosnel. He will tell you where my headquarters are.'
He was about to ride on when Marianne ran forward.
'Sire!' she called. 'Can you tell me if the Emperor is coming?'
Murat reined in his mount and stared at her with some astonishment. Then he burst out laughing.
'What? Are you here too? Here's a pleasant surprise for the Emperor! I hope he appreciates it as he should!'
'But will I see him, Sire? Is he following you? I have to speak to him.'
'I hope, for his sake, that you'll do no more than speak. He is at a place called Bird Hill at this moment but I don't expect him to enter Moscow tonight. I must take a look at the city before he comes and gives chase to that old fox, Kutusov. Has he much of a start, do you know?'
'He went through yesterday morning, but his army was passing all night, going towards Riazan. There are some stragglers left even now.'
'Good. Forward, gentlemen! It's for us to catch them up. As for you, Madame, do not try to reach the Emperor today. Tomorrow, he will be in the Kremlin, for they will be making his quarters ready for him tonight. Be patient a little longer. He will be delighted to see you.'
Pulling off his magnificent, if ridiculous hat, Murat swept them a low bow and, handling his horse with consummate skill, set off at a gallop along the Moskva, followed by several troops of horse and Vania's eyes, which were shining like twin stars.
'Tomorrow,' she sighed. 'How long it seems! What shall we do until then? I don't suppose you want to go back to St Louis-des-Français?'
'By no means! I mean to try to find my friends. Would you mind if we went over to the governor's palace? It was there we became separated, two days since.'
As they strolled slowly, arm in arm, in the direction of Rostopchin's mansion, the two women were able to watch Napoleon's troops gradually taking possession of Red Square. Not a moment was wasted as the artillery and the foot batteries moved in and established a park. A few shots were fired from the Kremlin ramparts, whereupon guns were trained on the massive Saviour's Gate while a group of officers, accompanied by a platoon of Polish lancers shouting orders in Russian, set about effecting an entry.
'They'll not have much trouble,' Vania remarked. "There's only a rabble inside. They won't make it a regular siege. They couldn't.'
Temporarily losing interest in the matter, she drew her companion off in the direction of the governor's palace, where a few people had gathered to watch the entry of the invaders. A smartly-dressed female, accompanied by a number of much younger ladies attired in a much simpler style, detached herself from them and began hurrying towards a group of horsemen, seen by their plumes to be senior officers of some kind, who were dismounting before the doors of St Basil's cathedral.
'Come, Mesdemoiselles!' she called. 'Do not be afraid. These are our own people. They will surely be able to restore my poor husband whom these savages have ta
ken away!'
'It seems to me that the Russians took more hostages than we thought,' Vania remarked. 'That is Madame Aubert, the celebrated French dressmaker. She has been too careless recently and made no effort to conceal her joy at the news of the war. Rostopchin must have paid her by taking her husband.'
But Marianne was no longer listening. Among the people outside the palace, she had just caught sight of Craig O'Flaherty. He was strolling slowly up and down, with head bent, hands clasped behind his back and a dejected expression, like a man waiting for something but who had almost given up hope.
Uttering a joyful cry, Marianne literally threw herself into his arms, quite forgetting her wound. She was reminded of it brutally enough and her cry of joy ended in a squeak of anguish which O'Flaherty scarcely seemed to notice.
'Here you are at last!' he cried, lifting her at arms' length as if she had been a doll. 'By St Patrick, I was beginning to think that you were gone for good. Where's Beaufort?'
Marianne gave him a rapid account of her adventures since they had last seen one another and presented Vania, who seemed to make a considerable impression on the Irishman. Then, without pausing for breath, she went on: 'Now you know as much as I do. I hope to get news of Jason very soon. But do you know anything of Gracchus and Jolival?'
'Gracchus is scouring the town for you. As to Jolival, he's in there.' He jerked his thumb in the direction of the Rostopchin house behind him. 'After the mob had passed the other day, some of those young fellows practising their swordplay here recognized him for a Frenchman and gave chase. In running from them he had the ill-luck to fall and break his leg.'
'Is he – oh, my God! They did not kill him?'
'No. I managed to disarm one of them and get his weapon and so brought our friend off safe enough. Sure, he was a trifle under the weather but the luck was ours in that we fell in with a medical man, another Frenchman and the governor's personal physician, which gave him the more reason for making himself scarce, for fear of what might be coming to him from that quarter. He saw Jolival fall and by the mercy of God his Hippocratic oath proved stronger than his fears. He came to our assistance and we carried the poor fellow into the palace stables where he had been hiding. The horses had all gone by that time. Then, when Rostopchin and his people departed some hours later, we were able to move quietly into the house itself.' He laughed. 'At this very moment our dear Vicomte is probably lolling in the governor's own bed. Come in and see him. The sight of you will be the best medicine he can possibly have.'
[Marianne 6] - Marianne and the Crown of Fire Page 11
