by Barney Broom
“Sir, I really should…”
Drummond interjected.
“Captain Drummond…?”
Although sounding tired, O’Hara’s voice was mild.
“I’ve been serving on your staff for over six months now.”
“Correction. You were serving on General Mulgrave’s staff and he confined you to quarters. Anyway, its Captain Light’s services that I require.”
“But sir, I really must protest!”
O’Hara turned back and cut across his subordinate.
“Captain Drummond. I trust it won’t be necessary to remind you that where orders are concerned, the British army takes a very dim view of insubordination. Right now the report that will be written on you is likely to be distinctly unfavourable but don’t make it worse for yourself. I advise you therefore to hold your tongue. General.”
O’Hara indicated to Dugommier that he was ready to leave. Archie stepped forward to accompany the departing party.
Arriving upstairs, O’Hara headed towards his old office and signaled Archie to follow him. Two French soldiers stood guard at the door.
“A gallant attack.”
O’Hara kept his voice low.
“A failed one.”
“Yes, but at least it was attempted.”
“Irrelevant in the scheme of things.”
“My dear Light, you mustn’t be so hard on yourself.”
“Why not? Failure has no friend.”
O’Hara didn’t have a reply to this and Archie continued.
“What’s the situation? Where’s General Mulgrave?”
O’Hara gave a snort.
“Departed with Smith’s inshore squadron. They’re rounding up all our senior allies – especially d’Imbert and the French royalists. There’s been talk of taking a few of them to Paris under Dugommier.”
“To be tried.”
“Surely. But the journey – whether it offers escape or not, these blooded revolutionaries will kill every man, woman and child they can find in the city. I fear the worst. They want a purge – a suppression they call it.”
A great howl began outside, temporarily rendering further conversation impossible.
“Ah, he’s appeared.”
“Your damned dog. Apparently everyone loves the animal. Even Dugommier wants him now. Always seems uncontrollable to me.”
Dog barked some more.
“Maybe we could use him as a secret weapon?”
Archie was light. O’Hara stared out at the courtyard below. It was several seconds before Archie realised that the general was laughing.
“Given me an idea… do you think you could actually get him under control?”
It was Archie’s turn to chuckle.
“Rarely been known but I suppose I could try. What do you have in mind – some kind of canine attack?”
“If your dog can be obedient – show that you’re his master, it might give us some leverage.”
“You’re not serious. My dog?!”
“The world’s turned on stranger thing, Captain Light.”
“Hmm – if you say so…”
A knock on the open door and a French subaltern appeared.
“General Dugommier awaits your presence.”
Acknowledging, O’Hara nodded curtly.
“Sir, if you intend me for other duties may I suggest you re-instate Captain Drummond?”
“Rum suggestion.”
“He’s not incapable as a secretary and might be useful.”
“Huh.”
Collecting a document case, O’Hara crossed the room and picked up a bridle lead hanging from a wall peg.
“Come, Captain, your destiny awaits.”
Archie smiled. Still uncertain what the general had in mind, it appeared that Dog was pivotal. Hilarious!
In the Grand State Room, long tables were positioned – a top table with shorter ones running directly off it at either end. Leaders of the Republic including Robespierre the Younger, Antoine Louis Albitte, Paul Barras and Stanislas Fréron, along with several generals including Dugommier, presided. Escorted to one of the side tables, O’Hara and Archie sat down beside Baron d’Imbert, General De Lángara and their staffs.
“Very well, General O’Hara. You have prepared your surrender documents?”
O’Hara removed several sheets of paper from his case.
“Before discussing the relevant terms, I wonder if I might have a private word with General Dugommier. A personal matter.”
O’Hara flicked the leather lead between his fingers and eyed the French general expectantly.
“It is most unorthodox. The matters before this session must be deliberated immediately.”
As judge presiding, Robespierre the Younger was petulant. Dog let out an enormous growl outside the chamber.
“That animal!”
Dugommier shifted his weight.
“I think we could adjourn for five minutes.”
“No!”
Robespierre was vehement but Dugommier rounded on him.
“I remind civilian members of this sitting, you are only here because of the military’s victory.”
Other members of the Council of the République never knew exactly what passed between the French and British generals but it was with renewed spirit that both returned to the table. O’Hara having instructed his aide about other duties, Archie was leaving the room when he met Captain Drummond.
“Consigned to the kennels, Captain Light?”
Drummond’s smile was false, as was Archie’s.
“I’ve learned a lot about handling dogs since joining this campaign, Drummond. You’ve been of great assistance.”
It was probably just as well that Drummond didn’t know of Archie’s role in springing him from the dungeon.
Walking through the residency, Archie was amazed how quickly it had become shabby. In just a day or two, the place had a run-down feel, furniture broken and windows smashed.
Approaching a door to the courtyard, Archie became aware of voices in an anteroom. Looking around, he saw a French officer lying on a low ottoman, his face drawn with fatigue. A medico was bent over the man’s wounded thigh. Removing the field dressing, a nasty gash lay beneath. The man seemed oddly indifferent as the doctor worked to stem the flow of blood. It was with a faintly quizzical look that the patient turned a soldierly eye towards the British captain.
“What are you staring at? Never seen blood before?”
It was Napoleon! Napoleon Bonaparte. Britain’s nemesis, the man who was to become France’s greatest leader and the man Archie wanted to destroy before he became famous.
Looking at Bonaparte’s wound, Archie wondered if it had been he who had inflicted it. He thought about finishing him off now but he had no weapon.
“Staring at a man for more than a few seconds causes paralysis of action. Are you going to help him or kill me?” Speaking in his rough Corsican dialogue, Bonaparte’s French made it difficult for Archie to understand.
“Why should I help him? You’re the enemy and might bleed to death.”
Napoleon laughed and then winced.
“Do that again Hernandez, the job will be over whatever he does.”
The doctor turned to Archie.
“Can you, Monsieur? If you could hold this strap it would greatly assist.”
What the hell am I doing? thought Archie. I’ve come back into this weird game-life to try and kill this man and change history. Now his doctor wants my help! From underneath his pillow, Bonaparte produced a pistol.
“Perhaps this might centre your mind?”
Archie kept tension on the tourniquet as Jean-François Hernandez swiftly worked on Napoleon’s leg. His deft hands cleaned the open laceration before applying a lint dressing. The doctor was binding up t
he wound when Dog began again, his bark more of a snarl.
“I have to go. I’ve been instructed to take control of the animal.”
Bonaparte looked surprised.
“Shoot if you like but those are my instructions. It’s why I’m unguarded. I was going to the stables.”
“Are you a dog master of some kind?”
Archie laughed. Could he really be talking to Napoleon about Dog?
“He’s mine. They’re having trouble controlling him.”
“Why not kill him?”
“I wouldn’t let them.”
Archie was surprised by his own utterance. In the past, he’d often felt he’d do anything to be shot of Dog.
“You English – you love animals more than people.”
“True – and gardens more than houses.”
Hernandez lowered Napoleon’s leg on to the divan. Standing by the door, Archie fiddled with the bridle General O’Hara had given him.
“You won’t win, you know.”
“What are you talking about?”
“The conquest of Europe; we’ll defeat you.”
“As well as dog-loving gardeners, the English are mad.”
“Also true. It’s our secret weapon.”
Without waiting for a response, Archie turned and left. Coming out into the courtyard, he couldn’t quite believe the previous few minutes. Dabbling with attempts at changing history obviously wasn’t for him. His philosophical thoughts were disrupted by the fearsome sight of Dog leaping through the air only to be throttled by a choker chain tied around his neck. The animal was a sorry sight – dirty and unkempt. That this had happened in such a short space of time disturbed Archie. French guards backed away from the snarling wolfhound as he tenderly approached his pet.
“Hey hey.”
Dog’s initial response was to try and get his jaws around his master’s throat – an action that brought the old Archie back to life.
“Dog, you damned animal! How dare you?!”
The transformation in Dog couldn’t have been more dramatic if he’d been Saul on the Damascus road. He whimpered and nuzzled into Archie’s crouched legs.
“You poor old bugger. Let’s get you cleaned up.”
Archie became aware that people nearby – French soldiers, no less – were clapping and shouting with admiration. Looking at them, he continued to stroke Dog, whispering in his ear as he unclipped the leash.
“They don’t know anything about us, do they, huh? They don’t know how we came here and if it’s going to be like this, we’d better get you home.”
“You are a dog trainer.”
Archie turned to see Napoleon on crutches, hobbling towards him.
“He’s my animal. If I can’t control him…”
“You wouldn’t be the first owner who couldn’t manage his dog. He’s a big specimen. What type?”
“Irish wolfhound.”
“Looks as though he could be dangerous; are the Irish dangerous?”
Bonaparte sat down on a bench.
“They’re a passionate people – sometimes hot-headed.”
“And ill-treated by the English.”
Archie stroked Dog.
“What did you mean about conquering Europe?”
Archie took his time before replying.
“A French attempt to dominate the continent.”
“We’re in the middle of a revolution.”
“A country cannot stay in a constant state of upheaval. But France will emerge from it and what better opportunity than this to create a proud nation, a triumphant France.”
For all his frailty, Napoleon laughed.
“A philosopher and a dog trainer!”
Feeling strangely calm, Archie saw Captain Drummond emerge from the residence.
“Captain Light. You’re requested in the State Room – sir.”
Drummond’s last word was virtually spat out. Archie stood up. With Dog now quiet, he dusted his uniform and made his way towards the building.
“But captain – how could you be so sure the English will win?”
Archie stopped. From where he stood, Toulon’s harbour was just visible.
“Soldiers always think land battles will give them ultimate triumph, but we British inhabit an island which has already built itself up as a successful trading nation. That means one thing.”
“Yes…?”
“It’s there before your eyes.”
Not waiting for a response, Archie followed Drummond into the residence. Dog padded along beside him. They entered the State Room; the session was obviously in another recess. A murmur of amazement went around the French contingent at Dog’s docility. Detaching himself from the group, O’Hara came over to Archie.
“Well done. Magnificent! Matters are delicately poised – whether any royalists are allowed to leave the city and face trial in the capital.”
“Otherwise?”
“They meet a certain fate here.”
O’Hara rubbed his eyes.
“If they go to Paris, I’m to travel with them.”
“You’re to be tried?”
O’Hara smiled.
“They just say that. I’m worth more to them alive than under a guillotine blade. No, I’ll be traded. But those of Bourbon persuasion won’t be so fortunate. However, the prison guard will be under the command of General Dugommier, who as I explained, is enthralled by your dog – even more so now that he can be controlled.”
“It would seem my animal has a unique ability to excite military staff – be they friend or foe.”
“Indeed! I can probably organise your immediate release from here but I would count it a great service if you’d be prepared to accompany the prison party to Paris.”
Archie was unable to answer as at that moment Dugommier himself approached.
“It is fantastic – this beautiful animal and your control of him, Captain. I look forward to learning your technique. It’s a long road to the capital.”
Archie smiled. Dugommier turned to O’Hara.
“We must resume the session.”
The British general nodded. Archie bowed to both men, who re–entered the assembly.
Unexpectedly alone, Archie and Dog walked along a broad corridor past several state apartments before arriving at a smaller one. The door was ajar and peering into the room, Archie saw thirty or so people, most of whom were in a languid state. Bewigged and dressed in what had been court attire, the group was now bedraggled. Whilst a few gave off an air of arrogant condescension, the overriding sentience was one of fear.
For several seconds Archie and the group stared at each other. Then a young girl of about fourteen skipped across the room and approached him.
“What a beautiful dog. Is he dangerous?”
Her French was refined and Archie replied in a similar manner.
“He’s so dangerous you can stroke him.”
Light smiled. The girl put out her hand which Dog began to lick.
“What’s your name?”
“I’m the Vicomtesse Louisa d’Angoulac.”
“Louisa, huh? A pretty name.”
Archie bent down.
“That’s it, he likes a big pat. Why are you all here?”
“We were brought with the Duchesse. She’s a member of the royal family. My mama says we’re to go to Paris.”
“Louisa!”
A young woman’s voice caused Archie to look up – straight into the eyes of his daughter.
11
Troubled Realities
At school that day, Podric’s mind drifted between listlessness and excitement – indifferent to being at school but elated by his recent adventures. Glancing at Catherine, she seemed preoccupied and receiving a text, Podric noticed she became agitated. Not wishing to int
rude, he left her alone and it wasn’t till lunchtime they met. For a little while neither of them spoke.
“Sally had an accident this morning running by the river. A motorbike spooked her and she ended up in the water.”
“Is she okay?”
Podric was concerned.
“Shaken up. Reckoned she was drowning but someone pulled her out then disappeared. It’s freaked her.”
“Anything I can do?”
Catherine shrugged.
“’Don’t think there’s anything to do. She’s okay – just in shock.”
Walking away from the school building, there was a feeling of restrained tension between them.
“Difficult to get hold of you later on Saturday night.”
Podric didn’t immediately reply.
“Busy, were you…?” She suddenly turned to Podric.
“Did you go into your computer world? You did, didn’t you? You’ve been in.” Catherine was intense. Podric looked at her.
“Well say something!”
“Yes. I went in.”
“You really did?”
“Yes, I really did!”
“What was it like?”
Catherine was smiling, obviously interested.
“Amazing.”
“What did you do?”
“It was in Napoleonic Wars. Met Nelson, William Pitt…”
“Wow! Anything else?”
“Some theatre – an actress called Dora Jordan and the Prince of Wales… met you too.”
Podric smiled.
“Podric…!”
“You were this young actress working with Dora…”
“An actress? Me?! I can’t act to save my life!”
Podric hesitated before replying.
“Do you feel any different?”
“How do you mean?”
“Sense anything? Anything changed…?”
“Between us? Since last Saturday?”
Catherine considered Podric more thoughtfully.
“In your game’s world, in Napoleonic Wars, did we get to know each other?”
“A bit.”
Podric’s attempt at being casual sounded hollow to himself.
“How much of a bit?”
Podric shrugged, and assumed nonchalance.
“Some.”
