by L. A. Meyer
He seems to be a colonel, and I figure this is as far up the chain of command as I am going to get. It turns out that I am wrong in that assumption.
Again I say that I have a message for l'Empereur and I dismount, salute, say the password, and hand the dispatch to him.
He takes it but does not open it. Instead he looks up at Dufour, sitting there dazzled by the realization of exactly where he is. "That is a Hapsburg flag, boy. Where did you get it?" demands the Colonel.
Denis is unable to speak. I clear my throat and give a quick account of the day's events and hand him my leather pouch.
"Here are the papers we took from the Prussians. Marshal Murat is of the opinion that l'Empereur would like to see them."
He takes the bag, nods, and says, "Wait here." He turns and goes back to the tent.
"Dismount, boys," I say to my men, and they slip off their horses. "Stand easy."
As I wait for what I think will be yet another message to deliver, I gaze about me. The Army stretches to the horizon in all directions—thousands of just-pitched tents in neat rows, the smoke of hundreds of cooking fires rising into the sky, rank upon rank of cannons. The camp followers, too, have worked their way into the center of the Army, and I hear the lilt of female laughter as well. No, an army does not travel only on its stomach.
The tent that the general had entered has two guards standing at attention on either side of the entrance, and each holds a staff on which is mounted a shining brass eagle—Napoléon's battle standard—the Imperial Eagle.
Hmmm. The Emperor of France is in that tent, I figure. As I'm getting used to that idea, thinking on that old saying that "a cat may look at a king," a man in a blue coat with a golden sash across his chest comes out, followed by two other men. Oh, my God, it is him. He looks at the flag and walks slowly toward us, his hands clasped behind his back. My knees commence to shake, and beside me I hear Du-four gasp.
"Dufour! Down on one knee! You will present the flag to the Emperor!" I whisper. I whip off my shako and put my own knee to the ground, bowing my head. In a moment I'm starin' at Napoléon Bonaparte's gleaming black boots, twelve inches from my nose.
Napoléon stands before us and says, "Get up, both of you. There is no need for that sort of thing on the battlefield. After all, we are all fellow soldiers, non?"
I struggle to my feet, unable to reply.
"So you have captured a Hapsburg battle flag?" he asks. "You have the honor of having taken the first prize in this campaign," he goes on. "You have done well, Lieutenant."
"N-N-Non, Your Excellency, I have not," I stammer. "My men took the flag, not me. I was but a helpless captive at the time."
He looks at me, and I uncase my eyes and sneak a look at him. He is not the small man the British press would have us believe, no, he is of medium height, and a good head taller than me. His dark hair is cut short and an errant curl falls over his forehead. For the ruler of much of Europe, he is very young-looking. Many thoughts are rushing through my head, but the chief one is Here is Little Mary, member of the Rooster Charlie Gang of Street Urchins, and just what the hell is she doing here?
He nods and says, "Well and modestly spoken, Messenger Bouvier. However, I have found the papers you captured most interesting, and I suspect that you were the one who realized their value. You are to be commended."
Well, I can't argue with that.
"Thank you, Excellency," I manage to say. "Our drummer Dufour here would like to present you with the flag, if you will accept it."
Napoléon nods and turns to the boy. Denis, his eyes wide, hands the flagstaff to his leader, who takes it and hands it back to one of the men behind him.
"Thank you, Dufour. That flag shall stand in the center of all the battle flags we shall take in the coming days when we march victorious back into Paris."
Denis Dufour weaves on his feet, his eyes go back in his head, and then he topples over in a dead faint.
The Emperor chuckles, looking down at the boy. "See to your drummer, Lieutenant. It seems the events of the day have overwhelmed him. Then wait here. I will have a message for Marshal Murat for you to deliver. Bonsoir."
With that, Napoléon Bonaparte turns, clasps his hands behind him again, and returns to his command tent.
"Guerrette, Michaud," I say, turning to my men, who stand dumbfounded behind me. "Pick him up and see if you can revive him. Does anyone have any water?"
It turns out that they have. There were canteens attached to the Prussian saddles, and after they carry Dufour off a little distance, they apply a flask to his lips.
He awakes sputtering, looks about, and then starts crying. "I disgraced myself!" he wails. "In front of the Emperor! I shall die of shame! Oh, God!"
"No, you did not, Denis Dufour. You distinguished yourself today, and the Emperor knows it," I say, looking deep into his teary eyes. "You were exhausted. After all, you had run on your own feet for fifteen miles then rode back the same distance in the same day. Who would not keel over after that?" I take him by his thin shoulders and give him a gentle shake. "You delivered an Austrian battle flag into Napoléon Bonaparte's very hand today. Count on it, you will tell that story to your children, and their children will tell it to theirs down through the ages, generation after generation. Now hush. There is work to do. Laurent, take the men back to the Sixteenth Fusiliers and pitch your tents. Get something to eat. Dufour, set up our tent and make sure there is a bucket of clean water for me when I get back ... no, two buckets of water. Do you have that? Good. I will be back later, after I deliver the message to Murat. Do not worry, I am in no danger here in the middle of the Army."
They get back on their horses.
"And, men," I go on, looking up at Laurent and trying not to choke up, "I cannot thank you enough. You saved my very life today and I shall never forget it. Know that. Now go."
And they are off.
I wait by Mathilde, stroking her neck, and reflect that I really could use a bath. And yes, baby, I know you could use some good oats and a bit of rest, too, but just wait and we shall both get what we need.
Presently an officer comes out of the command tent and hands me a sealed message. "For Marshal Murat."
I take it, salute, and I am off.
We pound into Murat's encampment and I leap off Mathilde and stride to the front of the tent. I salute the guard, say the password, and am admitted to the headquarters of the Reserve Cavalry.
"Ah," acknowledges Marshal Murat, looking up from his charts. "It is our bold messenger back from l'Empereur."
"Oui, mon Général," I answer, holding out the message. "With his compliments."
Murat takes the letter, breaks the seal, and reads it, then turns to the other men in the tent. "It is as I thought it would be. We cross the Saale tomorrow, and we shall be the first to go!"
There is a cheer from the others as Murat goes on. "Based on the Prussian plans taken today, the Emperor is considering dividing the army in two, one half to draw out and strike the main Prussian force on the open plateau above the Saale, near the town of Jena, the other at a place called Auerstädt. We are to start moving before dawn tomorrow. You will have your men ready."
There is much clicking of heels and reports that yes, they will be ready and they can't wait to go, and then they go back to poring over their plans. Murat turns to me, smiling.
"We plan and we plot, but who knows upon whom Fortune will shine, eh, Sous-Lieutenant Bouvier?" he says. "We have heard how you stood up before the firing squad today. I only hope that when my time comes, I will be as brave."
I bow my head and say, "I was not brave at all, Sir. I was too terrified to have any thought of bravery in my mind at all."
"Well, you acquitted yourself well today, whatever your state of mind," responds Murat. "I am preparing a message for your General Charpentier concerning our deployment tomorrow. Right now, please refresh yourself at our table, and, oh yes, you might acquaint yourself with your fellow American who is attached to my staff. He i
s right over there."
"Thank you, Sir," I say, and I look over to the table laden with bottles of wine and plates of bread and cheeses and choice meats, and my belly growls and both belly and I say oh, yes! and to hell with any fellow American, whoever and whatever he may be. Murat turns back to his men, and I go to the table, where I quickly gobble down some sausage and cheese.
There is a man standing there, facing away from me. He turns, and I am amazed to look into the equally astounded eyes of Lieutenant Randall Trevelyne. I break out into a real sweat and my jaw drops, but I have enough presence of mind to say, very quietly, "Good to see you, Lieutenant Trevelyne. If you say anything about this, you will have killed me. If you want that, do it."
He shakes his head and laughs a quiet laugh. "So. Here you are. And already you are a hero. How can I possibly keep up with you, Jacky?"
"Pour me a glass of wine, Randall, and we shall see."
He grabs a wine bottle by the neck and a wineglass by its stem and fills it up and hands it to me. I lift it to my lips and drink. Oh, Lord, that is good!
"So this is where you went, Randall, after you left Dovecote," I say as I lower my glass. "You know everybody back in Boston is very worried about you? How did you get here?"
"Lissette's father, the Comte de Lise, got me the commission. I had to do something when my father kicked me out of the house after I was expelled from Harvard for a second time for being drunk in chapel. So let them worry. I don't care. Besides, everybody back in Boston is worried about you, too."
I know it had always rankled Randall that even though he was a Lieutenant in the militia and I was just a stupid girl, he had never seen a real fight, whereas I had been in lots. Me, who never wanted to be in any fight at all and would have happily lived out my life in peaceful pursuits, 'cept it didn't work out that way.
"I came over here to test myself in fire and what do I find? The renowned Jacky Faber already a goddamned hero and the battle hasn't even started yet!"
"You're a fool, Randall. I'm no hero and never was. Everything's been accident or luck. You don't know what it's gonna be like when it comes down to it. You don't know what's gonna happen in a few days."
"Well, I'll find out, won't I?"
I put my glass back down on the table as one of Marshal Murat's aides comes up to us. "Lieutenant Bouvier," he says, handing me a letter. "For General Charpentier."
I nod, let my eyes bore into Randall's, and say, "Bonsoir, M'sieur Trevelyne. I suspect we shall meet again on this march. Till then, au revoir." I bow, click my heels, and exit the tent.
Well, I'll be damned ... What a world!
I get back on Mathilde and head back to the Sixteenth Fusiliers, and I am glad, for I am very weary, but, tired as I am, I find my day is not yet done. As I trot along, my head nodding, I find I am joined by Jean-Paul de Valdon, another Lieutenant of Cavalry.
"Ah," I say. "My Bonny Light Horseman. And how are you, Jean-Paul? Well, I hope." I reach over to take his hand. It seems that it is my day for meeting up with handsome young cavalrymen. Dropping his hand, I say, "You are here for a report. Very well, here it is: The Army begins to cross the river Saale at dawn tomorrow. Murat will lead. Napoléon will divide his forces as soon as all are across—one half to face the Prussians near a town called Jena, the other to fight them at Auerstädt."
"And just where did you get that information?"
"I delivered a message from the Emperor to Marshal Murat, and I was in the Marshal's command tent when he opened it and gave orders to his officers."
"From Napoléon, himself?" he asks, aghast.
"Yes. I met him today," I say, yawning. "Gave him a message from Colonel Maurais of the bridge builders."
Jean-Paul is struck dumb. After a moment, he says, "A month on the job and already you meet the Emperor of France. You have certainly wasted no time getting into the tents of the mighty. I can barely gain entry to my own commanding officer's tent."
"I am but a simple messenger," I say, and kick poor Mathilde up a little faster. We do have to deliver the message to General Charpentier, after all. "So tell me—have I done well at this spying? You know I hate it, don't you? Well, I do—I hate being a sneak—and I now ask of you, 'Is it enough? Have I done my job?'"
"Yes, you have, but—"
"You know you could cross the river and go give that information to the Prussians. They would find it very valuable." I watch his face. "If you wanted to do that."
"I do not wish to do that. My quarrel is with Napoléon, not with French soldiers. I will send that information back to Jardineaux and he may do with it what he wishes, but it will get to him too late for him to do any harm to this army."
"I don't care. In fact, I am glad of that, Jean-Paul. I would not like to think I did anything to hurt my friends."
He smiles at that. "Your friends? Just who are you working for, Jacqui?"
"I don't know. I am just a simple girl who tries to do her job, whatever it might be, and I leave the politics to others."
"Um. A simple girl? Right. At any rate, this will be my last dispatch because my line of couriers will be broken when we cross that river. Napoléon is sure to take up a section of the span after we're over, to prevent the Prussians from using it. But that is not what is important to me right now."
"Oh? And what is?"
He clears his throat and then says, "Jacqui. I must ... see you."
"See me? Here, you are looking right at me, non? Here I am, mon cher, all of Sous-Lieutenant Jacky Bouvier—tired, dirty, stinky, and very much in need of a bath."
"Non. I do not mean that. As man and woman, I must see you. Ever since I first met you on that day in Paris, when you tricked me with the carriage, I..." He pauses. "...I have not been able to get you out of my head."
Hmmm...
"Ah, Paris. I do miss her so. And it's only been a few weeks," I sigh, wistfully. "We did have some fun there, didn't we, Jean-Paul?"
"Oui, ma chérie, and some of the finer moments of my life," he replies. He reaches over and takes my hand.
I give his a gentle squeeze and then take mine back. Full night has not quite fallen.
"Two very junior officers should not be seen holding hands, Lieutenant Valdon. I'm sure the French Army is a little more forgiving of that sort of thing than is the British Navy, but still..."
We ride along in silence for a while, then he speaks again.
"I ... heard something of what had happened to you today. I am sorry. I cannot imagine how you endured it, but I am most thankful that you survived."
"Me, too, Jean-Paul, believe me on that. I am not ready to leave this world just yet, however glorious are the promised charms of Heaven above," I say. "But let's put that out of our minds."
And I fall silent, then say, "I have thought upon what you said, and yes, we shall meet again as boy and girl, but it will be when we get to the other side of the river. I have a way. All right?"
He looks at me and nods as we come to a bend in the road and we are out of the view of the Army for a moment. I bring Mathilde to a halt.
"One kiss is all that can be risked, Jean-Paul," I say. I remove my shako and lean over to press my mouth to his. I feel both the puff of his hot breath on my cheek and the feel of his hand on the back of my head as he holds my face to his. Oh, yes...
After a few moments, I raise my hand to his chest and push him away.
"No more, Jean-Paul. Not now. In a few days," I tell him, my breath a bit ragged. "You will know me when you see me, count on it. Now go."
I put my heels to Mathilde, and we are off, leaving a very confused Lieutenant Jean-Paul de Valdon behind us.
After I deliver the message from Murat to General Charpentier—and yes, there is much shouting of orders of how we leave in the morning and what everyone is to do to prepare for it, but I am so tired that I don't take much notice of it. As soon as I am dismissed, I turn toward my lovely tent for some blissful sleep.
But it is not to be, for my poachers have plainl
y been spreading the word.
"Bouvier! By God, you're back! Bravo!" says Captain Bardot upon seeing me emerge from Charpentier's tent. He claps his hand on my back and pushes me toward the Officers' Mess and in through the door flap.
"Please, Captain, I am not fit, I am filthy..."
"What? Who cares about that? We all get dirty in a campaign. It's to be expected. No, you must go in! I order you, Sous-Lieutenant, so you have no choice!"
I reckon I don't, so I go in.
"Behold, comrades!" bellows Bardot to the assembled officers, who turn astounded faces to us. "I present our beau sabreur Jacques Bouvier, who has faced the enemy today and captured the first enemy standard and delivered it into the very hand of the Emperor himself! Stand up, all of you!"
And they do it with a roar. Bouvier! Bouvier! Bouvier! The pride of the Sixteenth Fusiliers!
I protest that it was not my doing, but they will have none of it, and glasses of wine are pressed upon me and toasts are proposed and soon my head is spinning with it all.
I am seated at a table next to Bardot and food is placed in front of me. I eat it and I am glad of it. But soon my head drifts down toward my plate so that eventually Bardot picks me up and takes me out to deliver me to my tent where my Clodhoppers take me from him.
"Dufour," I say to my orderly, who had, commendably, gotten the two buckets of water I had asked for and had placed them in my tent, "thank you."
After Bardot left me off, I had revived myself by plunging my head into one of the buckets, and then I sent Denis out. I stripped down and spent the next half hour washing both myself and my small clothes, all of which really needed the washing after the events of the day. After I laid them out to dry, I put on my nightshirt, crawled into my sleeping bag, and then called him back in.
"You shall put your bedroll over there on the other side of the tent and sleep there. If you hear me scream in the night, you will take that rag and dip it in the water and then lay it over my face until I stop and come out of the nightmare. Do you understand? Very well. Good night, Dufour. Sleep soundly. You acquitted yourself well today."
