CHAPTER VIII
Ambush!
At the first crack of the musket, the horse collapsed. Henri leapt clear and then scrambled for safety from those madly kicking hooves. Churning dust and debris clouded the countryside scene quickly. Another firearm reported but it whistled past him. Ahead, Etienne struggled to rein his mare in. She was spooked and fought to find the danger. A third shot was fired and Etienne could now see blue-grey smoke rising from a clump of trees less than thirty meters from the roadside. While struggling to remain in the saddle, he spun about trying to see if his comrade was safe. He could not be seen yet too, there was no corpse. The stricken horse continued its lonely flailings. Etienne grimaced at the low hedge at the roadside. He couldn't trust his beast to jump it in either direction, not in these conditions. The horse spun nervously about in place beneath him and the pair presented a surely inviting target. Suddenly she staggered. The fourth shot had hit her someplace. The chestnut retained her legs for now but she was clumsily moving sideways, unable to find sure footing. The youth atop her held as firm as he could to the saddle and wrestled with his own balance amid the awkward swaying. Another musket shot and another still. Where was Henri?
A ragged cheer rose up from the offending tree line when six rough looking men broke from cover and charged Etienne. The bandits wore all manner of costume but several had brown jackets and a pair had the traditional sky blue Hungarian trousers. None bore muskets but instead carried heavy sticks and branches. Crossing the short open ground quickly, they howled as they came. Suddenly Etienne was all too aware that he was carrying no weapon. Now the steed saw the threat. Now she wanted to run and Etienne kept fighting her. There was no sign of his fallen friend. That low hedge was an obstacle to one thug who sprawled onto the road with a curse. The others bounded over it and into melee with the mounted Frenchman.
Grubby, frantic hands grabbed at the reins. The frightened mount kicked and tried to bite to no good. Etienne was smashing his fist down on the scrambling arms of his assailants but their clutching grasps had seized hold of his jacket. They were dragging him out of the saddle so he dug his heels into the flanks of the mount when a heavy branch hit him square on the temple. Suddenly Etienne was on the ground amid a confused mass of pummelling sticks, shouting and insulting bandits, and dangerously stumbling hooves.
Through it all Etienne heard a familiar voice, “Careful! Do not kill them! They must not be killed!” cried Ruffolo above the din. Concentrating on trying futilely to weather the barrage of blows, Etienne had shifted his position on the road slightly but making no progress at escaping the ambushers. His horse had been allowed to run off.
It was at this point, when Etienne was suffering so grievously at the hands of a half dozen aggressors, that Henri's sabre cut through the shoulder and spine of one bandit. The scream was shrill as the man fell to writhing beside Etienne. As soon as he'd dropped one, Henri was slashing at another but this time, alerted, his attack was foiled by a crudely parried stout branch.
In fairness, we ought forgive these low-waged brigands who first began to take to their heels. Henri was putting on a display of ferocity and violence that was quite unwelcome. A second companion was now on the ground and ignobly seeking to gather up his own intestines. The first casualty was still gurgling loudly. Ruffolo and one German took flight yet a pair of thugs bravely remained while falling back to spread themselves out. This obliged the vigorous Frenchman to split his attentions and too his began to bring order to the scene. Etienne was a third body on the ground and he was not moving. Henri stood over the boy and faced off against the two remaining Germans. The Hussar in his majestic sky-blue uniform did indeed appear as a heroic, capable, and dashing figure, determined to defend his own life and that of his friend and the figure must have inspired great admiration in the hearts of his foes. He bid them flee.
Surely the wary foes would have accepted the hussar's compromise save that right then there emerged from the wooded cluster another handful of rogues. At their head was a tall man with a remarkably oversized moustache. He wore elements of a Grenzer's officer uniform but it was fairly hidden beneath broad sashes and belts of silky bright fabrics. He instantly barked out the order of "Hold!" in some variant of the Germanic tongue and the relief on the faces of the two front men was clear There was a pause at the skirmish line as Henri weighed his odds. The two on the road were regaining their courage. Ruffolo and his companion had paused in their flight and were looking make as though to rejoin the fray. Of the eight approaching the paused fracas, six bore muskets (undoubtedly reloaded) and the Bandit captain's sword was unsheathed. Even the villainous Italian walking at the side of that leader carried a pistol in his belt. Francesco added his own thoughts to the scene, using broken French to command Henri to surrender. Too, the last standing soldier knew that he had no horse to affect an escape with. Should he imagine that fleeing on foot was an option, he would have been quickly reminded of the difficulty in running with his attached equipage. Two bandits were now silent but Etienne groaned at Henri's feet. The sabre fell, discarded and sadly mute.
Henri spread his arms to display their emptiness.
That's when the heavy log was swung full into the side of his skull.
***************
"Are you alive?"
"It seems likely though the pain in my head is encouraging me toward death."
"Though I am also sore and likely quite bruised, nothing seems broken."
"I might be blind but I expect that your cell is as dark as mine."
"It is.
"Still... we were blind to be so ambushed."
“I told you that you should have gotten rid of your uniform! We were so easily identified.”
“Perhaps you were right. We are soldiers though, not spies and one must have pride.”
“You are proud of our captivity?”
“I still have my uniform. Did they leave you your clothes?”
“Yes. My bag has been gone through but I have all my belongings… not that I had anything.”
“The brigands took everything I had of value. They took the letters also which, as you might imagine, has compromised us greatly.”
“Oh…and I wasn’t feeling greatly compromised before locked in this attic and facing a firing squad anytime soon. No, indeed, NOW I feel compromised.”
“Ha ha! Well done lad. Keep up the spirits!”
“My spirits are not in any way up. If you could see through this wall you would know that I have been weeping.”
“As you say. Your voice had betrayed you yet there is no shame in that. We are not English, after all.”
“I will have courage and face my death like a man….like a Frenchman.”
“No, my friend. We have too much to do to allow ourselves the luxury of a noble and stately execution. I, at least, am not done living yet and I swore to my Emperor that I would see this task done.”
“But…I can hear the guards moving and murmuring beneath us. I see no sunlight. How do you propose to escape?”
"I’ve been giving it some sober thought but and…. but… I am stymied for my lack of tobacco. If I could get my pipe back, we would be out of here in no time. So yes, the first goal is the pipe….”
“Hrmmm…well that is a predicament. I’m glad to see that our brightest mind is bent toward our salvation.”
“Always, lad. This mind never stops working. From the moment I awoke and found us in this situation, I did not spare a single thought to blaming you, regretting our venture, or swearing revenge. No! Advancing the adventure is all that my brain has focussed upon and if I could but smoke…”
“The ceiling boards here have a bit of give. Not too much. They are dry. Maybe if we had a bar…”
“My chamber is not bare. I will see what is in here. They did not, it appears, expect to have prisoners to be so disposed of.”
“I can try pulling down a board or two and wriggling out. They do seem weak here. Then I can come over the roof to help you get out.”
“Do not though risk capture to gain my freedom. If I cannot be escaped then you must away on your own to Vienna. You must rescue the Empress.”
“Vienna? I do not know the way. I would be lost! Without the letters, why go?”
“You are, I swear, more determined to fail than to succeed. We must get to the Empress and save her and the King of Rome.”
“We!”
“Yes, we. Let us escape first and bicker afterwards when we need something to amuse ourselves on the road. Now, if we are to punch our way out we should do it after dark.”
“There is a window in your cell? How will you know when it is dark? I have nothing but the darkness here.”
“You said you can hear the guards. We will listen then for them to eat and drink for they are soldiers in garrison. When they start to drink, we will know it to be dusk.
“They are not soldiers. They are bandits!”
“How very 18th century of you."
***************
"Well, that went much better than I'd expected." remarked Ruffolo while joining his friend seated upon the doorstep. The view from here was magnificent. A long green meadow wound down from alpine foothills and then spread itself upon the Tagliamento valley. The path that wound its way down through the narrow valley could be seen almost in its entirety, snaking slow and patient throughout the steep descent. Cumulous clouds floated careless over the extensive verdant plain as evening settled in. Roadways, copses of trees, fields, and all manner of villages and farmhouses dotted the vast landscape and reminded the viewer of the scale of things. The two spectators of this panorama might see the scene of the morning's ambush but they could not discern it were they to try.
Likewise, if Francesco had any deep naturalist or romantic notion from the picturesque view it was not discernable. For all the handiwork of God displayed triumphantly before him, this descendant of some ancient archbishop was fully invested in his horseflesh stew. He paused in his dining though to voice an invective before saying, "It was looking like I'd be getting your share. You still keep your safe coins in the hem of your shirt? It'd have been a shame to have buried that along with those other two."
Ruffolo laughed and wriggled his butt in quest of comfort, "Indeed. A pity. And you? You keep yours in the same place?"
Francesco shook his head while his jaw worked the tough meat. "No. I got too many. Paolo is holding it for me for this trip..."
His companion nodded and picked at his toe through a worn boot. "Its tough getting too wealthy."
"The responsibility of wealth," philosophized Francesco, "...is intimidating."
Ruffolo began to recount their rise toward nobility, "First the Princess pays us to spy the town then we get a bonus to make this run. That Prince gave us fine coin to do nothing."
"I wanted to be his second." spoke up Francesco." There's always good money in that."
"Especially if he dies." added the other.
"...or gets wounded. Dragging him to a doctor would get a double tip, maybe thrice!"
Ruffolo went back to his accounting." Now Otto's offering us more to stay behind to let the Frenchies go."
"Head start."
Ruffolo pulled a small piece off meat out of his friend's plate. He paused to soak up some stew too. "I think we're rich enough."
Francesco witnessed the loss of his cuisine without concern."...especially after we got the purse from that Hussar Captain. We got a fair share of that."
"It was all he could do to stop you from swearing at him."
"He could have tried killing me."
Ruffolo shrugged and conceded, "Always an option." he paused and put on a serious tone, saying "I don't want to stay."
"Refuse a job?" asked Francesco.
"Refuse a bad job. It won't end well. We can instead ride out and be back in Parma in a couple of days."
Francesco grumbled some curses as he imagined the ride but Ruffolo assured him, "We can go much slower."
"We could hire a coach. We are rich afterall." ventured Francesco while turning to ensure his friend's hands did not pilfer his remaining morsels so easily.
"It is thinking like that which paupers our riches."
Francesco's oath was not at all suitable for polite company. There was no point in pursuing that course. No, he could approach it from another angle. "The Princess will want those letters."
Ruffolo adopted a pensive pose. Briefly he was struck by the beauty of the landscape laid out before him but he shook his head. ""I imagine not. She said to make sure that we got them. She said nothing about delivering them. If she had wanted them, I am quite confident that she'd have exclaimed that with certainty. If she had wanted the letters she could have taken them while the gentlemen were under her roof."
Francesco tried to be polite. "You are over thinking this."
His friend though was struck by new thoughts. "Oh!" he gestured, "We might pocket the letters and tell the Princess that we left them with Otto. If all works well, she then pays us (and this is the brilliant part) ... she pays us to go get them. We spend a week drinking in Mantua then go back to collect the due reward like good little servants. In any case, we don't remain here and we take the letters with us."
Francesco turned to his friend, mentioning "If we leave, they may kill the prisoners." He wanted to see the other man's face.
Ruffolo's expression betrayed his carelessness, "I was surprised that they didn't kill them on the road. He lost two go.. He lost two men. There had to be some sense of wanting revenge."
With a shrug, Francesco backed off another course. "Still, I don't trust them. I never have."
Ruffolo grinned as he found the way to convince Francesco. "If we leave, they can't kill us."
"Wisdom." was the concession speech.
"S'why I'm so rich." proclaimed Ruffolo. He rose and stretched. A spectator might have noticed that he didn't brush his clothes nor set them in order.
Francesco finished his stewed repast and muttered reflectively, "I won't miss this life."
Ruffolo was a bit surprised by Francesco's musings but reassured him, saying "For what it is worth, my friend, I'd miss you."
The subject of his compassion sneered good naturedly and rose to follow to where his confederate led, commenting, "Its not worth much."
After that, Etienne could hear no more of them. He rolled onto his back and stared through the darkness to where the ceiling must be in his tiny loft cell. Pauline was behind this. He had thought for sure that it was the Prince's doing. Pauline. Princess Pauline. It explained so much yet it didn't seem to make any sense. Why would she do such a thing? She had to know that he and Henri were good and loyal agents of her brother. Was she betraying him? Maybe she did not trust them. Perhaps they need to return to Parma and persuade her of their honour and integrity.
The couriers had left Parma the morning after the duel but Henri had been dragging his heels. It was as though he was trying to make a show of being in no hurry at all. Thoughts began to creep into Etienne's mind. They were not welcomed ideas and spoke of nefarious intrigues. He did all he could to dismiss them. Afterall, Henri was just as much inconvenienced by this arrest as he was. He was just as likely to be slain by these bandits should the whim strike them. No, the Captain was loyal to the mission.
Etienne whispered through the wall, calling out Henri's name.
There was no reply.