CHAPTER I
Alarm!
Rattling drums rudely woke the Mediterranean garrison. First by pairs and then by dozens, alarmed soldiers spilled out into the cobbled courtyard. They tugged on their low boots and grappled with their shakos. Half-dressed men twisted themselves to sling their ammunition boxes and bayonet scabbards. Some fool recruit dropped his musket, but the clatter of wood and metal on stone was drowned out by chaos. The sentry Sergeant was screaming himself hoarse even after the other company senior ranks joined to the noise. Major Valauris ran, buttoning his tunic as he scrambled to join his men, and demanded an explanation from the watch lieutenant. At first, a single low campfire beside the western gates lit the fusiliers falling into their ranks, but as high shutters were pushed open, lamps and lanterns began to bring a glow to the mustering scene. The people of Antibes were as startled as any to see this pre-dawn assembly. Through twenty years of war, never had an enemy marched close to the sleepy port. Only now, after peace had come to France, was there some kind of attack. This was no drill, they all knew.
And through it and despite it all, Privet Etienne Neville had to watch it all alone, atop the wall. The youth's training urged him to respond to the thrill of the drums. He should be down there, he felt, falling in amongst his friends. His place was on the rampart though. A sentry did not leave his assigned post. He had not yet been recalled. Had he? He moved closer on the inside walkway and struggled to make sense of the cluster of men that stood between the gates and the three-rank line of fusiliers. All the company's officers were there, for certain, and sergeants too. They all appeared so frantic behind the stout town gates. Etienne smiled. He had never seen Sergeant Bolonge so flustered. Just then, that sergeant glanced up, but Etienne was quick, springing back away from the edge in a fleeting instant. His smile had vanished as quickly as he. His duty was to watch out, and so he turned his back to the light and the excitement of the courtyard and his regiment. Now the sentry leaned out over the outside edge of the ramparts to get a view through the dark of the troop there that caused such a commotion. His left hand gripped the high wall of the gatehouse and his right held his musket firmly. From his vantage, Etienne could see the leader of the column pacing anxiously. He had even drawn his sabre and was scraping it loudly upon the stones at his feet in some gesture of bravado that likely had a better effect from a more personable angle. He could make out the tall bearskins of the Imperial Guard and could even see the white grenade symbols atop them. Unlike all the others, these veterans had not been stripped of their Imperial adornments for they were the personal guardians now of the deposed Emperor himself and had chosen to share his exile on the Island of Elba. The rock where Napoleon was imprisoned with his tiny army was little more than a day to the south. Sections of Guardsmen had been coming to Antibes on leave all through the year but never before had anything like this happened.
. "I am Captain Lamouret of the 1st Grenadiers of the Imperial Guard. I command you to lay down your arms and surrender the town to me, in the name the Emperor Napoleon."
The demand of the grenadiers was repeated. Excited remarks issued from the mustered garrison defenders at this as surely each man turned to his comrades with questions. This was why they had been called out in the middle of the night. Napoleon was in exile. He had no power. No authority. How dare these men presume to speak for him as though he had not been struck down? But what if he was back? Surrender the town? What if things had changed and he was Emperor again? What of the King? Major Valauris would have an answer to this challenge. The 102me Regiment was loyal to the King, surely. Every soldier of France had been required to make new oaths to the Bourbon Monarch not six months before. The Major's response, when it finally came, was not defiant but still rang with authority, "Open the Gates!"
Etienne was taken aback. He thought for certain that his Major would not surrender so easily. He thought for certain that his brave regiment would have made some effort to repulse this arrogant imposition. He thought he heard another scrape at the wall beneath him but his thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the massive town gates having their locks unfastened. Familiar sergeants barked gruff orders and the troops in the courtyard began to draw back from the opening doors.
Captain Lamouret led his detachment beneath the walls and into the town. “Vive L’Empereur!” he called. His grenadiers echoed the cheer with enthusiasm. With arms shouldered, they marched through the gateway. These men had marched under Napoleon for four and a score years and their cadence reverberated with bearing and pride. These represented the very best of France's legions. They entered Antibes in triumph just as they had entered Vienna, Moscow, Berlin, Cairo and Madrid years before.
That is when the Major stepped back and threw out his arm in a grand gesture. His voice raised above all the din, "Company, Present!" For a split second the garrison regiment was galvanized into action. Their movements blurred and they suddenly presented a hedge of a hundred bayonets to the advancing grenadiers. The Captain was dazed by this turn of events and fumbled for a response. His men halted behind him, awaiting his word but the Major did not allow them the initiative.
"Yield, Captain, or die! You are defeated."
The ashen visage of the young grenadier Captain betrayed the veracity of this charge. He was still fumbling for a response when the great gates of the wall slammed closed behind him. He was well and truly trapped. His sabre fell clattering to the cobblestones in defeat.
"We yield to you, sir," stammered Captain Lamouret " and we are your prisoners."
Etienne's jaw dropped as he watched this scene develop and move to completion. The Grenadiers were disarmed without incident and his regiment marched the veterans off toward imprisonment in Gabelle Fortress. He was not certain what had occurred. Even as the last sounds of the marching troops faded into the darkness and calm once more settled over the town he could make no sense of it. Eventually he was once again alone atop the ramparts. He inhaled a deep breath to settle his mind into the stillness of the night.
He could hear the closing of shutters as the citizens of Antibes made their way back toward bed. A few lamps had been lit but those were now being extinguished. Soon all the tightly packed houses were once more shut up and still. It hadn’t been much but it was more excitement than this town had seen in years. Now it was rolling over and going back to sleep. It had a market to open in the morning. Etienne shook out his shoulders and began to think about his own mattress. It was a long way from comfortable but after several hours of standing patrol, the simple idea of sleep seemed like an unattainable paradise. He imagined the luxury of sleeping in for a few hours and missing breakfast. It would be worth it, he imagined.
Once again there was the sound of something scraping upon the stone. Stepping to the edge he squinted down and was dumbfounded by what he beheld.
Not an arm's reach away huddled the dark form of a man clinging to the stonework near the top of the wall. Some ten yards of empty space gulfed between him and the ground below. Etienne's mind scrambled to react even as this climber lifted itself to the summit. An ungloved hand grasped the top of the wall and almost touched the guard's booted foot. Etienne stumbled back reflexively and fumbled to bring his musket to bear on the intruder. Even as he did so though it flashed through his mind that perhaps he had not loaded the firearm this night. He tried to think, tried to recall if he had done it but all he could conjure were memories of loading it so may times before. Was there time to fix his bayonet? What absolutely did not occur to him was that he should sound any alarm. He should be able to resolve this.
Settling himself to task, he kept the musket pointed at the stranger and issued his challenge with as bold a voice as the youth could muster "Who is there?"
The reply was not what he may have anticipated in his wildest imaginings. A merry chortle preceded the simple answer of "A Frenchman," said with such richness of tone as to be disarming.
Nor did he expect that the figure would continue advancing without pause. With surprising agility, the climber suddenly alighted upon the top of the wall and drew himself up to full height where he was revealed in the moonlight to be a Hussar. His appearance was remarkably martial. The brown flesh of his face was made warm against the sky-blue brilliance of his costume. His black hair was swept back into a short ponytail but for two long braided locks descending from temples to shoulders. A thick, teased moustache hovered over his brilliantly white smile. About his throat was the high collar of a waist-jacket that fit tight to his waist and arms. Snug cavalry breeches of the same blue were buttoned up the sides and tucked into calf-high black Hungarian leather boots. Hanging low from his left hip was a scabbarded sabre that undoubtedly was the source of the telltale scraping. If the light horseman had worn a headdress, it had been lost in the ascent. He wore the rank of Captain.
Etienne struggled to assert himself in the presence of this stranger. "Who are you?"
A smile danced in the eyes of the Hussar. "I am Henri Darlon. One of the good Frenchmen." He then spread his arms wide, showing them empty of any weapon and began to move forward. "Embrace me, my brother!" With that, the trespasser advanced and, with a gesture so assured and calm, brushed aside Etienne's musket exactly as a Country Gentleman swings open the gate of his neighbour on a warm Sunday afternoon. The farmer's son was confused but could not resist the genuine warmth and courage of the sky blue-clad counterpart and Henri's arms wrapped about Etienne in a firm hug. Henri continued as though he were the oldest of friends and laughingly remarked to the guard "They are feeding you well."
Etienne faltered though but briefly and sought to push himself free from the embrace. To his surprise and relief, Henri released the hold with no more resistance than a sad look to his eye. Too, when Etienne started to raise his musket once more to a vigilant and wary position, he caught a look of such disappointment on the visage of this Hussar that he was unable to assert the manoeuvre to completion. He lowered his musket part in defeat, part in bewilderment. All he could do was once again ask, "Who are you?"
Adopting a jaunty pose by thrusting his fists to his hips, the Hussar declared once more, “My name is Henri Darlon, the greatest swordsman in all of France. “
“Really?” asked the boy, to which Henri laughed once more.
“Perhaps not but what is of critical importance right here and right now is that I am probably better than you and even if I was not, the advantage of confidence is now assuredly mine.”
Etienne was indeed losing his tentative grasp on confidence. He was unsure if he was being threatened. It was unclear indeed if he had even been challenged. Did this man mean to fight him? Was he an enemy? He was on the same side. It seemed they were more brothers-in-arms than foes. The extent to which he was unnerved was made abundantly clear when he could only mutter the question, “What?”
Still grinning through the moonlight, Henri corrected the boy, "What you mean to ask is 'How did I climb the wall'."
Etienne, nodding, found himself obliging, "But how? How did you climb the wall? It is impossible."
Instantly the hussar's face effected an expression of gravity. "The critical thing to succeeding, Lad, is to attempt. After that, everything falls into place." He took another pace forward and with easy grace placed a hand upon Etienne’s shoulder and spun the fusilier to look down on the lower courtyard of the Mediterranean town. He maintained his arm across the shoulder girdle of the younger man and leaned against him.
"I can assure you, Private, that the climb is neither impossible nor particularly difficult. Strenuous and possibly dangerous perhaps, I'd be much more hesitant to scale it under fire."
Etienne was as much struck at that moment by the brazen yet not unwelcome familiarity of this man as he was by the aromatic sweet scent of tobacco that invested him. As the two men stood studying the quiet cobblestone street below, Henri asked after the name of his new acquaintance.
“My name is Private Etienne Neville” was the honest answer but then the speaker picked up the spirit of his companion. “I am the finest shot in the regiment.”
The wry reply was “It is lucky for me then that you chose to capture me then rather than shoot me.” And Henri good-naturedly squeezed Etienne’s shoulder. “Tell me, Etienne, what befell the soldiers that came here not long before.”
Etienne obliged and described the incident in detail, remarking as he did so that “They acted as though Napoleon were still Emperor and were under his authority. We are sworn to the King now and Napoleon is the past. France is not what it was.”
Henri sighed almost wistfully, “No, France is not what it was. In former days, a Captain of Grenadiers would not have been so foolish. He would not have acted without orders so.”
“Ah!” exclaimed the lad, “So it was not true then. They were not trying to seize the port for Napoleon. What were they doing then? What possessed them?”
“Well,” answered the Hussar, “I cannot tell you that. Not here.” and he lifted a finger to his lips. “I can show you though, and I promise you, on my honour, that what you see will be a tale that your grandchildren will never tire of hearing.”
At this, Etienne tried to pull away but found that the older soldier’s grip was not so relenting as before. “I cannot leave my post. I am on piquet, ” and on further reflection added defiantly, “If you were any kind of soldier you would understand duty.”
Despite this show of courage on the part of the young man, or perhaps because of it, Henri’s moustache-laden smile changed to a bright grin. “You have completely outflanked me, sir. I thought you were a sharp one but your brilliant maneuver has demonstrated that there may be a genius about you.” Etienne swallowed a response and just waited, hoping that his new companion would explain himself, which he did in a cheerful tone that seemed to belie his words. “You have insulted me most ignobly and it is certain now that we must fight.” The grip on Etienne’s shoulder further tightened as he said this and the young man found his escape arrested. The Hussar continued with a mischievous sparkle in his eye. “Your courage will become legendary in the barracks for you are the man who fought Henri Darlon, the greatest swordsman in all of France! They will toast you.”
Just as Etienne began to stammer out the beginnings of an apology, Henri’s finger flew to the boy’s lips and sealed them silent. “No retreat!” called out the older man in a louder whisper, “The enemy will break at any moment. We must stay to your strategy.” Thankfully perhaps for Etienne, the moon had hidden itself behind a thin cloud enough to conceal the startlingly pale expression on his bloodless face.
“Come!’ said Henri and removed his grip on the younger man to pat him on the back. “Let us be away then before the dawn.”
Etienne protested impotently, “I cannot go with you. My duty.”
“Well protested,” replied Henri and pivoted neatly as though to depart as he had come. “But since our ferocious battle upon the ramparts, you have been made my prisoner and were compelled by force of arms to accompany me. Now come. Greatness awaits us.”
The young fusilier did not seem inclined. Henri tried another tack, "Come with me and see what I promise is there. You can return and report this wonder to the Garrison Commander if you so choose, and so earn a word of praise for your intelligence gathering, but I believe that you will instead determine yourself to take this opportunity to begin a life of great glory and adventure."
The fusilier watched the hussar move to the edge of the ramparts and look for all the world as though he intended to leap. Etienne knew that with but one quick shove he would be rid of the man. He cast glances left and right. If he but shouted once, aid would quickly come and they could arrest this intruder. There were a dozen things he could do that duty might require of him but there was one thing he could do that answered to a call that felt somehow beyond duty. He could follow this stranger to wherever he led, off a great height and into darkness. From safety and security to certain danger and the unknown. Prudence had something to say first in any case, “Captain Darlon, surely you don’t intend for us to leap.”
“Its not that bad,” Henri suggested, “Already this eve has seen me twice fall from very near the top. See that tree there? Don’t land on it.”
Then, with a “Vive L’Empereur!” he was gone.