She took the scalding cup and drank the contents almost at a gulp, conscious only that she felt better almost at once. Then, realizing that the room was empty but for the faithful valet, she asked: 'Where is the Emperor?'
'In the next room which he has made his office. It appears that fresh fires have broken out along a smaller river which is called the Yaouza, in the vicinity of a mansion of the name of Balachov where the King of Naples has established his headquarters.'
Marianne was on her feet at once and running to the windows, but these did not look in the right direction and she saw nothing beyond a slight haze of smoke to the east.
'I told him there would be more,' she said tensely. 'Perhaps this new outbreak will make him decide to pull out.'
'I hardly think so,' Constant observed. 'Withdraw is not a word known to His Majesty. Any more than the word retreat. He does not know the meaning of it. And that in spite of any danger. See,' he added, showing her a fat, green portfolio which he had just extracted from a travelling trunk, 'look at this folder. Do you see the laurel crown that is stamped on it in gold leaf?'
Marianne nodded. Constant sighed and his finger traced, almost tenderly, the design stamped on the leather.
'That crown is the same as the one he placed on his own head in Notre Dame on the day of his coronation. Look at the design of the leaves. They are pointed like the arrows of our old archers and, like them, go straight for their goal.'
'But they may be destroyed. What will become of your laurels in the midst of the fire, my poor Constant?'
'A halo, your Highness, and shining all the brighter in time of trouble. A flaming crown, as you might say.'
He broke off as the Emperor's quick footsteps sounded outside and withdrew, with a deep bow, to the far end of the room, just as Napoleon came in. His face was clouded now and his frowning brows were drawn down like a bar above his steely-grey eyes.
Thinking that she must be in the way, Marianne sketched a curtsy.
'With your permission, your Majesty—'
He glared at her frostily.
'Save your curtsy, Princess. There is no question of your leaving. I wish you to stay. You have a recent wound, let me remind you, and I've no intention of letting you go running off to be a prey to all the hazards of war.'
'But Sire – I can't!'
'Why not? Because of your – forebodings? Are you afraid?'
She shrugged her shoulders faintly, more from weariness than disrespect.
'Your Majesty must know that I am not. But I left my young coachman outside and there are old friends waiting for me at the Rostopchin Palace who may be anxious—'
'Then they need not be. You are in no danger with me, so far as I know. As to the Rostopchin Palace, Trévise's grenadiers are billeted there, so your friends are not without protection. Never mind. I won't have you worrying, or making some foolhardy attempt to escape. Who brought you here?'
'Major Trobriant.'
'Another old friend,' the Emperor commented sardonically. 'There seems to be no end of them. Well, I will have him sent for to go and pick up your Jolival and the – Irishman, I think you said he was? They should be brought here. There's room in this place to lodge an army, thank God! Constant will see to you and tonight we will sup together. That is not an invitation, Madame,' he added, seeing Marianne about to beg him to excuse her. 'It is an order.'
There was nothing for it but to obey. Marianne swept a low curtsy and then followed the valet who, with the confidence of a man long used to finding his way about the most extensive palaces, led her by way of two corridors and a small staircase to a comfortable room with windows almost directly above the Emperor's, only rather more dusty.
'We'll see what we can do by way of chambermaids tomorrow,' he told her with a reassuring smile. 'For tonight, if your Highness would kindly make allowances…'
Left to herself, Marianne did her best to calm her agitated spirits and to shake off the misery that oppressed her. She felt lost and abandoned, in spite of the undoubted concern Napoleon had shown for her, and that at a time when he must have had other things to do than trouble himself with a woman's private emotions. What was it he had said? That perhaps he still loved her? No, that must be impossible. He had said it only to comfort her. The one he loved was his little blonde Austrian. Besides, what did it matter now? What was more serious, and more disturbing also, was that bold, categorical declaration of his. With what remorseless logic he had demonstrated that she was not a woman dedicated to a single love, that she might be susceptible to the attractions of other men besides Jason. How could he fail to see that that was false, that she loved him, had never loved anyone else but him, not even after Corfu when—
She clasped her hands together tightly and a shiver ran down her spine. Corfu! Why had that name come to her mind just then? Was it because, unconsciously, something in her mind was trying to prove the Emperor right? Corfu – the cave – and the fisherman, that mysterious lover whom she had never seen but in whose arms she had experienced total fulfilment, an intoxication such as no other man had ever given her, not even Jason. That night she had behaved like a wanton, and yet she had not regretted it, not once. Far from it. The memory of that invisible lover, whom she privately thought of as Zeus, remained to charm and trouble her.
'I must be mad!' she exclaimed wildly, clutching her head in her hands as though she would tear out such sacrilegious thoughts. But that she could not do. Everything Napoleon had said went on going round and round in her head, driving agonizing furrows through her brain and raising a thousand questions which she knew she could not answer, yet which resolved themselves at last into one single question: could she really know herself so little?
Confronted with the most difficult problem she had ever had to face, Marianne lost all consciousness of time. Hours must have passed while she sat deep in thought, for the sun was long past its zenith when there was a tap at the door and Constant reappeared. Finding her still seated bolt upright on a low, straight-backed chair, he exclaimed: 'There, I don't believe your Highness has rested at all, and you looked so tired…'
Marianne tried to smile at him and, failing, drew an ice-cold hand across her brow.
'Yes, I am tired. What time is it?'
'Gone six o'clock, Madame. And the Emperor is asking for you.'
'Good God! And I've not even combed my hair—'
'That is of no account. His Majesty has something he wishes you to see – something very serious.'
Her heart missed a beat.
'Serious? My friends—'
'Have arrived – quite safely, never fear. But come quickly.'
This time he took her to a kind of antechamber where an extraordinary scene met her eyes. A number of men were grouped about a stretcher on which lay a figure draped in red. The Emperor was standing beside the stretcher and next to him was a distinguished-looking man whom Marianne had never seen before. Reclining on a bench a little way off, enveloped in a dressing-gown several sizes too big for him, was Jolival, a pale-faced Gracchus at his side.
Marianne felt a wave of relief at the sight of them.
'Thank God, you are here—' she was beginning, when Napoleon beckoned her to him.
'They tell me you know this woman. That it was she who tried to kill you. Is this true?'
Marianne's eyes widened. The figure wrapped in red cloth was Shankala, but a Shankala so changed that Marianne could not help feeling a rush of pity. The gipsy's face was very white and there was a trickle of blood at one corner of her mouth. She seemed to have great difficulty in breathing.
'Her chest is crushed,' the Emperor said. 'She will not last an hour, and well for her. It will spare her a hanging. Do you want to hear what she had to say?'
Marianne stared in stunned amazement from Napoleon's stem face to the waxen features of the dying girl.
'Yes, of course… But how does she come to be here?'
Gracchus spoke up timidly from his corner.
'It was Monsieur Crai
g who found her when he was coming back with a carriage, along by the Yaouza, just as the fire was taking hold. She was still living, so he brought her with him in the hope of learning something about Monsieur Beaufort. He arrived just as the major and I came to fetch them and Monsieur le Vicomte said that we should bring her to you because – because it seemed to be important.'
Understanding came to Marianne and she uttered a strangled cry and clapped her hand to her mouth.
'Jason! Oh, my God! They've killed him—'
'Unfortunately not,' Napoleon said irritably. 'He is alive. Now stop tormenting yourself about him and listen to what they have to tell you. This is my interpreter, Baron d'Ideville. He managed to speak with the woman and make out rather more than this young man here was able to catch. Well, Baron.'
'No, Sire!' Jolival spoke up on a note of entreaty. 'I beg you will let me tell her. It will be less painful. I am most grateful to the baron for his help, but we are strangers to him.'
Baron d'Ideville bowed, indicating that he perfectly understood, and moved away a little. Napoleon went with him and took his arm.
Marianne turned to her old friend.
Well, Jolival? What is it you have to tell me that is so terrible?'
'Oh, nothing tragic after all,' he said, with a little shrug. 'It is not so very terrible – except for you, alas!'
'Explain, please! What is this all about? They said that Jason has not been shot?'
"No. He is in perfect health and at this moment is no doubt travelling serenely on his way to Petersburg. The cossacks took him to Kutuzov's camp outside Moscow and there he was brought before an officer of the staff – a Colonel Krilov.'
'Krilov? But that was the name of the friends he was trying to reach!'
'He was undoubtedly a member of that family. Shankala could not tell us very much about him but she remembered the name and she saw Jason come out arm in arm with a Russian officer. The two seemed on the best of good terms. At that, thinking the danger was past, the gipsy went to Jason. He would have driven her away at first but then he changed his mind and called her back and had this Krilov question her. He asked where you were and why you were not with her.'
'What did she say?'
'That she did not know. That she had lost sight of you. That you had vanished round the corner of the street.'
'And he believed her?' Marianne cried, stunned.
'So it seems. He asked no more questions. He simply shrugged and went off with his new friend, after telling Shankala that he had had enough of her, or words to that effect. But she's a stubborn creature. She stayed in the camp, which was not difficult because there were other women with the army. No one took any notice of her and she was able to learn a little more because the affair naturally caused something of a stir in the camp – an American dressed as a moujik dropping, as it were, out of the blue. Well, she discovered that Colonel Krilov had obtained permission to escort him to St Petersburg himself to introduce him to his family and she hoped to be able to follow them. But when Kutuzov resumed his march, he got rid of all the women and sent them back to the city. Shankala was caught up in the crowd and obliged to return here, willy nilly. There, that's the sum of it.'
'But it's not possible!' Marianne cried, unable to believe her ears. 'Jason will try to find me. He can't have gone already—'
'Shankala saw him mounted before she left the camp. By this time he must be well on his way.'
'It's not true. It can't be. The woman is lying—'
A groan from the stretcher made her turn and she saw that the gipsy's eyes were open. There was even, she thought, a faint trace of a smile on the pallid lips.
'I tell you she is lying!' she cried.
'Those as close to death as she is do not lie,' Jolival said gravely, while Gracchus bent quickly over the woman who was evidently trying to say something.
They heard a murmur ending in a low groan. The bloodless hand which Gracchus clasped in his relaxed suddenly. The face turned to stone.
'She's dead,' Gracchus whispered.
'What did she say? Did you catch any of it?'
He nodded, then looked away.
'She said: "Forgive me, Mademoiselle Marianne." Then she said: "Mad – as mad as I!'"
A few minutes later, when Marianne, with a heavy heart and mind a blank, had allowed the Emperor to lead her out on to the terrace and was sitting down to dine with him, Duroc came to say that fires had broken out again in various quarters of the city. Napoleon threw down the napkin he had been on the point of unfolding, got up from the table and made his way to the steps, along with all those present at the meal. What he saw brought an oath to his lips.
Clouds of black smoke, carrying a horrible reek of sulphur and pitch, were being driven before the wind. Eastwards, a long street was spouting flames, while down by the Moskva a huge warehouse was beginning to burn.
Someone said: 'That's the reserves of grain, and there's another outbreak over towards the Bazaar. I think that's where the shops are that sell oil and cooking fat. It's as well there's not much wind, or I doubt whether we could have got them under control.'
'Damned idiocy!' the Emperor growled. 'I see a whole regiment down there running about with buckets and casks. There may be no fire engines left but there's still plenty of water in the river—' He bellowed out some orders and then made his way to where Marianne was standing a little way apart, hugging her arms across her chest and staring unseeingly at the ominous spectacle.
'I'm beginning to think you may have been right – at least in part. These fools are trying to cut off our food supplies.'
She turned sightless eyes to him and shook her head.
'They won't be satisfied with that, Sire, you may be sure. But it doesn't matter about me. It's you we have to think of.'
'Little fool,' he murmured through clenched teeth. 'Do you think I'd leave you to perish? You're a good little soldier, Marianne, even when you talk nonsense, and I love my soldiers like my own children. Either we die here together, both of us, or we both come out of it alive. But we're not going to die just yet.' He saw that she was looking at him with a smile too sad for tears and added, more softly still: 'Trust me. Your life is not over yet. It is only just beginning. A long and happy life. I know you are unhappy now. I know you think I'm rambling, but the time will come when you will know that I was right. Forget about this Beaufort. He does not deserve you. Think of your child, waking to life without you. He can give you so much happiness. And think, too, of the man whose name you bear. He is worthy of you… and he loves you very much.'
'Are you a magician, Sire? Who can have told you that?'
'No one – unless it is my own knowledge of men. All that he has done, he can only have done for love. Stop trying to catch the star in the bottom of the well. There are roses close beside you. Do not let them fade. Promise me—'
He drew away, but still without taking his eyes from her. Then, with a brief glance at the city, he rejoined the rest. The flames seemed to be dying down now and the smoke was thinning. This had been no more than a warning.
The Emperor paused and turned.
'Well,' he said. 'I'm waiting!'
Marianne sank slowly into a deep curtsy.
'I will try, Sire. You have my word.'
Part II
WINTER
CHAPTER FIVE
Cassandra
The bed was as hard as a board and the blankets smelled faintly of mould. Marianne tossed and turned for a long time without finding sleep. Yet she was very tired and when the Emperor had retired early, immediately after a somewhat frugal and unconventional meal, she had been really glad to seek her own room. She had gone to ground there, as to a refuge, after first assuring herself that Jolival was comfortably installed in the room next door. The day had been an emotional one for her and it had ended so painfully that she could not help a feeling of relief at escaping from even the pale shadow of court etiquette which the Comte de Ségur had managed to inaugurate in the Kremlin.
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br /> Asking nothing better than to go to sleep and put off until tomorrow the consideration of problems which were becoming warped and magnified by weariness, Marianne went to bed at once, thinking that her brain would be clearer and her reactions sharper after a good night's rest. But the discomfort of her bed and the remorseless treadmill of her thoughts had given her no rest and the blessed oblivion of slumber still eluded her.
Her mind refused to be put off but went roaming along the road to St Petersburg after the man who had so callously and selfishly abandoned her, without troubling himself to discover what had become of the woman he professed to love. Yet even then she could not find it in her heart to blame him, so great and so blind was her love. She knew the fierce obstinacy of his nature, in its rancours and desires alike, too well not to have started finding excuses for him, even if only in his determined resentment of Napoleon and the passionate urge he felt to get back to his own country now that she was at war. Both sentiments were, after all, quite comprehensible, and wholly masculine.
Moreover, Marianne could not hide from herself that, but for the promise extracted from her by Napoleon, a promise she was already beginning secretly to regret, she would have made every effort to escape from the palace in which she felt herself to some extent a prisoner. How gladly would she have followed the example of Craig O'Flaherty! For the Irishman had not remained with Jolival and Gracchus in the Kremlin. On learning what had become of Jason, through the few words that Gracchus had been able to get from Shankala, he had made his decision at once.
'Now that you are safely back with your own people,' he had said to Jolival, 'I will ask leave to resume my own journey to the sea, in other words, to St Petersburg. I can't breathe on these interminable inland roads. I need the open sea! Once I get there I'll have no trouble at all in finding Beaufort. I'll only have to ask for his friends, the Krilovs. And even if he travels on horseback while I'm obliged to go on foot, I'll catch him up because it's bound to be some days before he can sail.'
[Marianne 6] - Marianne and the Crown of Fire Page 14
