by C. N. Bird
“I haven’t yet had the pleasure. Should I have?”
Yves cursed and marched to the opposite side of the table. “You didn’t receive the message then. That pigfucker Marchand was supposed to give you your instructions to meet with her and make sure that she’s comfortable, treated with all due courtesies.”
Amaury raised his hands.
“Mon frère, it is merely a message delayed. It is of no real consequence.”
“But it is!” Yves hissed, before lowering his voice. “Amaury, you must understand that this campaign is not like the others. Yes, we just won this battle but the war? There are rumours that le Général is not the man he once was, that the campaign falters, that men are deserting in droves. You are the only person in this supply post that I trust to take care of this. Marchand is no doubt in the arms of some syphilis ridden whore in the supply post—no offence, mon frère, I’m sure your whores are as good as any in Russia—and the men’s tempers are too raised.”
“Our men have always been very disciplined.”
“Our men have never had to travel so far to forage for food, even before the frost settled in—and for the love of God, this is only September! The cattle we brought are nearly all gone. The horses suffer. And of course, those Russians—what can you say about a people who destroy their own land? But regardless, what care our men what happens to one over pampered Russian strumpet whilst they are told there’s no food and yet must be disciplined? No. This is a task I can only entrust to you.”
Amaury frowned and rubbed his chin. “It is as bad as that?”
“There are reports that men who lose their way foraging are meeting other lost soldiers and marauding across the land, raping the women, stealing food, destruction for the sake of destruction. They don’t think of how things will be if we are masters of Russia and they remember the cruelties we inflicted upon them. Those caught are hung for their crimes. These are civilised times, not like the barbarism of old.” Yves sighed and massaged his eyes. “Amaury, men listen to you. They follow you naturally and of their own accord. Regroup as many as you find, draw them back into a fighting force worthy of France.”
Amaury nodded. “I understand. And the Russian woman?”
Yves smirked. “If you value your skin and your ears, you’ll not call her the ‘Russian woman’. She’s a proud creature.”
Amaury shrugged and smiled. “The archduchess then? One assumes then that this will be treated as usual protocol. There is no suggestion that she is anything but our most honoured guest, it’s desperately unfortunate that we meet under such circumstances, naturally we deeply regret her father’s passing. Other such niceties.”
Yves snorted and waved his hand impatiently. “Yes, yes, all that courtly bollocks.”
Amaury nodded. “Let it be so.” He moved towards the tent entrance before turning. “You depart soon, I assume?”
Yves waved his hand impatiently, already beginning to pace the length of the tent. “Yes, yes. Tonight.”
“And you will be headed to?”
“To Moscow.”
“Our guest will stay here until I receive your summons?”
Yves scowled. “Well what else do you suggest I do with her for the time being? Of course she stays with you. Once we reach Moscow, Alexander will be forced to surrender and all else falls into place. It will be Napoleon’s greatest triumph.”
Amaury bowed. “I understand, mon Commandant. I will make you proud.”
Yves paused, mid pace before looking up at Amaury, grabbing his shoulders and kissing his cheeks. “Ah but you already do, little brother. Now! Go welcome our guest before I start thinking of even more imaginative ways to fuck over that Marchand shitbag. I ought to be thinking about Moscow!”
***
It was no good. The tears just would not stop. Archduchess Katinka of Viasma sobbed like a hysterical child. Pauline and Josefa watched their mistress with increasing concern, looking at each other with ever raising eyebrows. The archduchess cycled between marching around the upper floor of the stone house that served as their quarters, face crimson with rage, hands clenching and unclenching before her energy would leave her. Perching on the edge of the bed, lip trembling, she would burst into tears again and turn onto the bed, shoulders shuddering with violent tears. Finally she would sniffle, look up with ever greater anger and determination before resuming her march up and down the confines of the room. It was during one of these latter sessions that Amaury arrived, knocking on the door to the house and entering when his requests to enter were met with silence. As Amaury climbed the wooden stairs and opened the door to the upstairs chamber, Katinka sniffed. She lifted one lace-gloved hand to her eyes and swiped away any trace of moisture with some determination before eyeing Amaury through a narrowed gaze.
Amaury surveyed the Archduchess and bowed, hand to his chest.
“Your Excellency, I must apologise. I fear I have arrived at a time of inconvenience.”
Her eyes tightened with rage and almost imperceptibly, Pauline and Josefa leaned back.
“I did not bid you enter.”
“You did not, your Excellency, nor did your ladies respond at all, even to bid me not to enter. I wished to be assured of your safety.”
“So many niceties... Frenchman.” A low purr of rage grew into a snarl and finally into outright rage, her cheeks becoming ever more crimson. “You might have short memories but surely even you remember your crimes against my family and person!” Amaury held his low bow and dropped his head further.
And waited.
“What?” she shrieked. “You wait there, offending my presence further! Have you nothing else to say? Nothing else to do but torment your prisoner?”
“Your Excellency must forgive me. I can perceive that you are indisposed. But if I may depart with just a couple of words?”
Her lip trembled and her knees shook, her rage threatening to implode into uncontrollable sobs.
“As far as I am able to tell, Capitaine, you will speak whether I will have you do so or not.”
He paused before he spoke again, quietly, seeming to choose his words with some care.
“My Commandant and I deeply regret that we meet under such circumstances. My very best men, Lavigne and Thibault are stationed at your accommodation and are instructed that as far as they are able, they are to endeavour to ensure that this inconvenient and dreadful time is as pleasing as it is within our gift to give. Your safety is assured. Under their guidance, you may travel within the supply post freely and without fear of injury or insult. Should there be anything that can be done to assist, it would be our greatest privilege to assist.”
Unbidden tears slid down her hot face. She stood silently.
Amaury bowed and turned towards the door, frowning. For just a moment, Katinka fancied that she saw sorrow, perhaps even compassion in the dark shadow that passed over his face. Impossible.
“Your Excellency. If I may be so bold as to say just one more thing, though in your time of grief, this may be difficult to hear…My commandant and I bore no ill intentions or ill will towards your father and brother…indeed, we deeply regret that they were lost as they were…. The French are an honourable people. Le Grande Army is under formal instruction that the disagreement between Alexander and Napoleon extends no farther than to those who take the colours. We extend friendship to all others. Your family were to be treated with all the courtesy due to such noble people.”
He paused, as if unsure if to continue. The archduchess stood perfectly still, save for her shoulders dropping and her fists unclenching. Her pulse pounded, sounds grew muted as her bewilderment gave way to a great heat that consumed her, blazing through her like wildfire. How dare he. Did he truly imagine she, Archduchess of one of the largest regions in Russia, to be a fool? To be coddled and pacified so after such an outrage? Fury and indignation coursed through her as surely as through her blood. She felt her lip curl, despite herself.
“The soldiers involved in the incident with your
father and brother have been court martialled but as you will no doubt know and I am duty bound to state, the men involved acted in self-defence. I will visit again shortly wi—”
Before even Katinka had realised what she was doing, she snatched an inkpot and hurled the it at the Capitaine. Amaury ducked just as the inkpot flew past his ears, hitting the wall and rebounding onto his back. He looked up with an expression of startled admiration.
“I see Your Excellency is still in the throes of grief. My message was too soon, I see—”
“You bloodthirsty bastard! You dare, you very dare to stand in front of me, the Archduchess Katinka of Viasma, and tell me that my father, the archduke, that his death, my brother’s death, was the result of some sorry little squabble? That their deaths were unnecessary? They died repelling your evil forces and your evil Général. He and my beloved brother Vasili are martyrs to the noble cause of your destruction and the evil, degenerate, godless people you serve, Heed my warning! I shall destroy France, I shall destroy you and I shall not rest until Napoleon’s head is upon a spike, his bollocks made into a fancy for a museum. I shall obliterate everything that bears a mere trace of Frenchness, so help me God!”
She was almost spitting, the veins in her neck and forehead throbbing. Amaury paused and after the shock faded from his eyes, a glimmer of a smile crossed his lips.
“You imagine the rage of an Archduchess is something amusing?” she gasped.
Amaury shook his head, a ghost of a smile refusing to disappear completely despite his obvious best efforts.
“Your Excellency, you must excuse me for not bowing and showing my respects but alas, that inkpot did rather hurt my shoulder. You speak as one with royal blood and I am heartened to see that you retain such strength in this most difficult period.” He stepped backwards, still facing her. “I will visit daily in order to ensure that conditions are as befits such an illustrious guest. For now, I shall depart. Until tomorrow, Your Excellency.”
***
As he left the building, he allowed a broad grin to cross his face as her screamed curses echoed throughout the supply post. Such a fierce woman, he marvelled. It would be quite something to tame that mouth of hers. The image of his fingers on her lips crossed his mind and he shuddered with pleasure as his member tingled with desire.
Hearing her outbursts, a few men gathered too, pointing towards the Russian’s quarters and guffawing. Who knew royalty knew the same coarse language that mere mortals did.
Amaury stopped and held his hands up. Instantly the sniggering troops were silent.
“Gentlemen! We have illustrious guests whose safekeeping will be instrumental to the swift resolution of this campaign. It is the fervent will of myself, my brother Yves and the Generale himself that our guests are treated with all due courtesy and respect. You will show them no crudeness, crassness or poor manners.”
He took a moment to review his silent troops. Satisfied, he continued.
“Should you wish to exercise your passions, well… there’s Madame Lillette in the neighbouring village who will be most willing to scratch your itches!”
The crowd roared with laughter and cheered.
“Let it be so. Consider that as firm a directive as you’ll ever receive from me, good men. Now, back as you were.”
The men dispersed, laughing and good natured and Amaury smiled. The discipline and morale of these soldiers was nothing to fear but regardless, Amaury knew the truth of what Yves had said. The men were underfed, becoming more and more slender each day and they had lost many to typhus. The supplies from Viasma had helped but after that? He shook his head and entered his quarters, one of seven stone houses in the tiny village they had commandeered. Other than the houses, there was merely a dirt road long destroyed by rain, soldiers’ feet and frost and beyond that, rocky grasslands spotted with the occasional tree for as far as they could see. He took the poker and reignited the fire before pouring himself a brandy before mulling over the day.
Yves had come bringing all manner of intriguing news, good and bad. The news about the campaign merely crystallised what he had already perceived for himself but to discover that Le Grande Army faced such difficulties across the entire campaign and not just in his region was deeply troubling.
Then of course there was the archduchess. For all of her bad temper, she was truly entrancing. His mind drifted, recalling the way her dark ringlets tumbled over her shoulders, clad in pale blue silk and it seemed to him that she had been formed by the same maker’s hands that created birds; delicate, slender, elegant. Her temper, the speed of her movements; these suggested a constitution like a tigress.
He sighed. It was foolish to deny that he desired her, wanted to possess her. It was not as though he had not had his share of women in his soldier’s career but this was beyond mere release, the mere scratching of an itch. No. She was extraordinary. He wanted to discover more.
He took another sip of his brandy before shaking his head. It did him no credit to be attracted to her, not with everything she had just been though. She was a feisty one for sure but she was in considerable danger, regardless of his guardianship and that mouth… that mouth. He smirked and rubbed his shoulder, feeling the bruise developing under the skin. It had pained him to see a lady cry, whether an enemy of France or not. Whether or not he should have tried to comfort her with his words was perhaps another matter. He chuckled dryly to himself. To think that he had congratulated himself and imagined that he had managed to talk sense into the archduchess! The loss of a parent and brother forgotten in just a short conversation with Old Silvertongue. He winced with the memory.
Still, it was clear that his concern had been misplaced. The little bird was not so delicate as she once appeared. But Old Silvertongue had misread this situation rather badly.
An intense surge of longing enveloped him and he shook himself. No, she needed to be protected. In another time and a different place, things might have led elsewhere. This was not that time or that place.
Chapter Two
The following day was a long drudge of equipment maintenance and stock management but an idea came to Amaury that morning during the cleaning of the rifles. He told himself no and sought to dismiss it from his mind but it stubbornly floated back up to the surface over and over before he finally decided that, really, there would be no harm in that at all. None at all. But still, for the remainder of the day, he was impatient, filled with anticipation and excitement. Once the sun had begun to set and the soldiers began to settle back to their makeshift barracks, he breathed in the frosty air and marched towards the storehouse. He was too excited, too full of anticipation, like a poorly trained spaniel puppy. As he arrived at the supplies stores, he accosted Thibault with a wink and a smile and took the platter from his hands.
He had the archduchess’s evening meal.
He walked slowly to the door and stopped for a moment, running a hand through his hair and scolding himself. If he did not calm down… To lead her into a relationship may ruin her after the war was over and he had no right to her. Sighing, he made his resolution. She would be made comfortable and kept well and he would depart. Nothing more. He was an honourable man and honourable men did not forget their duty at times when it was inconvenient.
Arriving at the archduchess’s quarters, he nodded at Lavigne who was guarding her quarters.
“Enter.”
One of the serving ladies. He entered.
It was the plump one, Pauline, scurrying around at his feet like a mouse. “Oh please, carry it upstairs to my lady’s chamber and place it on the table there, I shouldn’t want for you to… to… just put it on the table, yes, that would just be best. Let me take you upstairs.”
Pauline knocked on the door and announced herself before escorting Amaury into the archduchess’s chambers. The archduchess sat by the fire and looked across at him nervously, before looking away and walking slowly towards the bed. Pauline shuddered and fussed with renewed fervour.
“Your Excellen
cy,” Amaury acknowledged.
She looked at him again before glancing at her hands. “Umm…Capitaine,” she hesitated, twisting a piece of lace between her fingers.
“Your Excellency?”
“Did I hurt your shoulder?”
He smiled broadly and she smiled shyly back.
“It’s a little bruised but I have faced much worse. The wall, I fear, is the true victim of your aggressions.”
She looked over his shoulder and giggled. A two inch chunk of plaster was missing from the wall.
“Well, I am sorry to have caused a bruise.”
“Your Excellency, if I may be so bold, I am most glad that you threw that inkpot.” He looked across to her. “You think I jest? I am most serious. Before you threw the inkpot, I feared that the horrors of the last few days may have been too much for you to bear and, for most young ladies, that would have been the case. Your Excellency is of royal blood and such strength is evident in the courage you have shown in the face of such troubles.”
“Flattery, flattery… but thank you for being so understanding.” She paused, knotting the lace tighter and tighter in her hands. “Did you really mean that Vasili and my father need not have died?”
“Upon my honour as a soldier, they would have lived. They were brave but to my shame and to my brother’s shame, they did not believe that we were sincere in our peaceful intentions. It is not the easiest thing to convince a person that an army advancing upon one’s property comes with peaceful intentions but on this occasion, that very much was the case.”
He watched her reaction, whilst carefully noting the location of heavy objects within her reach but she was quite still, studying him with those large, almond eyes, lips gently parted. Suddenly, she turned around and with a thunk she opened the decanter to pour a vodka. If he did not know any better, he could have sworn she blushed.
“A vodka, Capitaine?” she asked, her voice slightly higher pitched than before.
He raised his eyebrows. “That would be most kind, Your Excellency.”
