CHAPTER X
Wherein Etienne continues his escape and gets a chance at revenge
Etienne fell. Panting. Landing hard. Breathing. Sobbing. Shaking and wheezing. He took a deep intake, then gasped. Choked. And again, he breathed. He was spent. He was done.
His lungs demanded that he lift himself up onto his elbows but it was brief relief. White knuckles clutching a green grass were greyed out by the color of the night. There was no sound but the pounding of his heart. Shaking, he took in another mouthful of oxygen and sought to savour it. But no, the man coughed and slid back prone.
And he wept.
Etienne was likely several miles from the cottage. The run had been hard. Crashing through rough and broken terrain, descending through wild meadows, and stumbling at every dark recess, he had brought himself to exhaustion. His legs were not bad but his lungs sorely ached. His head too spun dizzily
Somewhat confused and unsure of his security, Etienne sought to assess his situation but ended the thought with a shake of his beleaguered head. This was good enough. He could rest here. He could rest and regain his breath. It was not his lack of breath that truly had felled Etienne. It was the shock and deep sadness at the loss of his friend. He was without strength and without heart. Laying there with his eyes tightly closed, he was plagued by regret and disbelief, distant from his place in the world.
The place was nearer the trail than the fugitive imagined. It was little more than a winding goat path and he'd crossed it several times in the course of his flight, often without being aware of anything more than just a sudden levelling of the decline before the next long step fell away again. Etienne was not aware of his proximity though, just as he was not aware of the figure picking its way down through the darkness along that route some several minutes later. This former Grenzer turned brigand was alert to the form of his quarry where it lay upon the field. The hunter quietly cocked his musket and stepped off the trail toward his prey, using all his forester skills. The tread was silent and soon this threat was standing over our fallen hero.
Etienne's eyes flew open when he heard that unintelligible question in German behind him. He knew what it meant and suddenly, violently, he was snapped back to the world of the here and now. There would be no time for doubts. There would be no opportunity to second guess himself. He knew with complete certainty that he could not now surrender. There would also be no talking his way out of this. In a flash, he spun about, kicking madly, blindly for the enemy. Lucky! He struck a leg and as he flipped onto his back, Etienne let fly with a handful of dirt at the face of his foe. The bandit fell forward, crying out at the pain in his calf and in the next moment the two men were scrambling and flailing on the grassy field. They wrestled with the musket but also threw elbows and knees almost randomly, seeking any vital spot they could. They fought in silence and in desperation. Each knew that their life was in the balance. Etienne got an upper hand. He began to throw frighteningly vicious blows at the face of the other who could only then flail about in a failing attempt to shield his beaten visage. The bandit kicked out, shouting. He dropped the musket and stuck a frantic claw into Etienne's face. He fumbled to find a finger hold on the eyes but Etienne at that moment took up the abandoned long firearm and sprung back, disengaging by a pace. The brigand was still making his way to his feet when the stock of the musket crashed loud onto and into the unfortunate man's skull.
Stumbling off balance from throwing the mortal blow, our Frenchman did not need to see the wound to know that the battle was ended. There at his feet was a lifeless thing. He staggered, collecting himself, and let the musket fall to the ground. It had broken against the victim. Next, Etienne spun about and searched the dark horizon. There were no others. It was over. Perhaps instinctively, he tugged at the fit of his clothing and set it to rights. His sleeves were brushed and when he had gained his bearings, he set off at a resolute pace refusing to give a thought to the corpse left behind him. He had deserved it. Yes.
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It had been more than an hour since Etienne had heard anything suggesting that the bandits might yet be still pursuing. They'd abandoned the chase believing him either too capable to be recaptured or too inconsequential to be worth the effort. The youth was not of any mindset to take confidence or shame from it. He was glad to be free but as miles were put behind him and the danger lifted, his thoughts came to settle upon what had happened to him.
What had happened to his friend?
In the short time that Etienne had known Henri, the man had come to mean so very much to our hero. He would have trusted Henri with his life but more, he'd have risked his life for that Hussar. He'd have killed for him. Really, he knew nothing about him. He didn't know anything about where he was from, what his history was, or what made him the man that he was but all that didn't matter. Henri Darlon made Etienne want to be a better person and he made him think it possible.
Henri believed that it was possible to be heroic and glorious and yet, he died quiet and miserable. It was all a lie. You can't be more than you are. Facade does not trump foundation. Dreams do not survive confrontations with reality. There is no glorious death.
There is only death.
The Grenzer had met no glorious end at Etienne's hands. He now lay alone and discarded on a hillside. Any life that he had once lived was forgotten. Lost.
With these heavy thoughts burdening him, the trooper descended into the plains. Fatigue clung to his legs but he had already slipped into the measured cadence of the infantry. He marched on. His arms wanted to swing now that he was on level ground so his jacket had to be removed as being too restrictive. The sleeves were tied around his chest and unexpectedly the feel of this about his shoulders and back encouraged him to memories of his fusilier equipment. Though his thoughts were on his friend, there was also another layer that had him remembering what was in his backpack in Antibes and thinking about a need for a mess kit. He pondered where his next meal would come from and as he moved resolutely down the road he studied farmhouses and fields that he passed, assessing them for forage. For all his grief, the marching songs of the 102nd regiment were accompanying him and those tunes could not help but be uplifting.
Would he watch over the Empire?
Would he march home to his love one day?
He would need money to get to Parma. His stomach was also on his mind. His captors had never provided food during his confinement. He remembered his regimental companions. He recalled the friendly ones, the surly one's, and even the ones who just ever trudged along in silence. Absently digging out his pay book, he reminded himself of his accounts by bright moonlight. He would be owed but that put no coins in his pocket and certainly did not contribute to filling one's belly.
A stream required crossing so he did.
The sky was tall and the horizon wide. Italy seemed so vast now, so far from France, so far from home. Home. Maybe duty demanded that Etienne return to the regiment. He didn't know. He didn't know if you wanted to go. It felt suddenly like he knew so little. Nothing seemed certain except that Italy was vast. He had no idea where to get food. He was thankful that he had Parma. It didn't need a decision. Thank God for this road, he thought, though he knew not where it led.
On he marched with music in his heart.
Etienne found himself humming a tune about Glory and the Emperor and he could only reflect then upon the foolishness of it all. What was Napoleon to him? Just another King. Just another one of them, those who had everything when he had nothing. The man had so much so why was Etienne crossing Europe to try to bring him his Austrian wife. Why couldn't Napoleon do without? Etienne was.
There are so many things that a man can fight for. He can fight for freedom. He can fight for power. A man can die for riches and a man can kill for dreams. It just did not make sense to this man, at this time, to fight for a love that was not his own. It probably wasn't even love. How could it be justified? What sense could be made of the death of Henri? How could this be fair?
These morose, disheartening questions plagued Etienne for several hours as he continued on along the road. Suddenly up ahead, through the darkness, he heard a loud an offensive Italian curse. This was followed by a second voice a moment later asking, "Are you all right?"
The first answered "Mostly. Who builds a fence this close to the road?"
"Perhaps it is a trap to waylay inattentive strangers in the night."
"Their ambush has beaten my kneecap unto death. Am I obliged then to leave my purse?" The first asked and then issued another foul oath on principle.
Laughter came from the pair so the injury must not have been too severe.
"Oh, do... and go on ahead. I'll linger behind and watch for who removes it."
Ruffolo and Francesco moved on. The reader will note that, in point of fact, they abandoned no purse. Etienne followed them closely for a time, making full use of the darkness to maintain the advantage of perception. The two rogues continued to talk as they walked and they proved themselves completely confident that they were not pursued by the brigands. Their pace was casual, their moods light. The escape had been made, afterall. These men had no reason to suspect that there was an enemy lurking behind them who was overhearing their every word.
Etienne, though, was not their foe. He had thought he would be but on hearing them speak on what report they would give Princess Pauline, he found himself taking to envying them and worse, musing on the idea of how he could benefit by them. If he would join their side, he would be joining the Princess' side. He could not say for certain what side they were even on. He knew none of their motives. He could not be certain, at this time, what his own were. If he joined them, he could at least take advantage of it for now and betray them when the situation required it. Opposing them seemed to gain him nothing. Enlisting with them offered some very rich possibilities.
Etienne's strategy was like one of Weyrother's. Advancing from the darkness, he spread his arms wide to demonstrate his disarmed state.
Instantly the two men spun. Even as they did so they were already fumbling for their weapons with Francesco tugging at the pistol in his belt and Ruffolo grabbing at the hilt of a French cavalry sabre. He did not draw the weapon though before they had recognized who had come up on them from behind and Etienne had spoken.
"Friends" began Etienne in broken Italian, "I am glad to see you also escaped."
Ruffolo paused, seeking the best turn of this event but Francesco would not be disarmed so easily. The pistol was quickly unsnagged and thrust into Etienne's astonished face. The youth froze. Francesco's free hand clutched his opponent's collar and forced him bodily to the ground.
There was a frightened, violent look in the gunman's eye and he seemed to be on the verge of making a hard decision when suddenly it seemed as though the same idea struck both villains if that same instant. They abandoned their domination of the Etienne and put their backs to one another, vigilant toward the surrounding night.
"Where is he? Tell him to come out! He will not catch us again."
When Etienne realized what had happened it became clear that he had new options. There were so many ways that he can play this. They had made a mistake and he could use that. He could make it fatal error. Should the reserves be committed?
“Captain Darlon is dead. They slew him, in anger, after you escaped.”
Francesco appeared honestly horrified and lowered his pistol. His partner frowned at least but was more calculating in his reaction. Achieving an indecisive victory, Etienne did not pursue but put out piquets, asking, “Would you kill me now also?”
The retreat from Francesco was determined “No.” but Ruffolo threw out a weak yet sufficient rearguard, saying, “We could…” When the Frenchman’s shoulders sagged, Ruffolo entrenched and began to negotiate terms of armistice. He opened with a clarification of policy. “We meant no harm to either of you.”
Etienne seemed to struggle to find his response but settled on a diplomatic reply, saying, “I believe you.”
The quieter Italian gave this response a steady peer but Ruffolo continued as an able foreign minister.
“What do you want of us?”
The answer to this question had not been fully prepared but Etienne suggested a few of his broad demands.
“Food.” He first ventured and then “Security. I need to know that we are not enemies. Am I free to be on my way?”"
"Give us a moment to discuss this." and Ruffolo retired to confer with his confederate. Francesco resolutely remained where he was until Etienne acquiesced to rise from his kneeling position and withdraw a respectful distance. The conversation between the Italians was remarkably inanimate though Francesco did direct his pistol at the sky at one point. The hammer was slowly let forward before he tucked it away back about his loins.
Etienne was confident. Getting this far was a sure sign that he was safe. Relaxing, he took the opportunity to look the men over. Their costumes were entirely common, their faces distinctly peasant. Even their postures seemed uncouth and ill considered. The youth ran a hand through his own fair hair. It wasn't washed but it was combed and cleaned and kept. Francesco's dark mop was particularly filthy. It was a knotted, Medusian mass of oily ebon. Ruffolo's hair was trimmed but his moustache fought a battle against his brows for both scale and ugliness. Ridiculous.
At a latter point in their conversation Ruffolo patted his breast reassuringly and it sprung into Etienne's mind that the man held a valuable secret therein. He had an idea as to what that might be. Further to that, glancing at the weapon of Ruffolo, he saw the sabre that the man wore at his side looked exactly like Henri's. It was hard to be certain in the dim light, yet Etienne was fairly sure that the small tassel atop the sheath was that same blue.
Our young French hero was still pondering the stolen sword and its possible ramifications when the others ended their dialogue and turned to face him. Ruffolo was curious, "Where would you go? Where will you seek for liberty?"
Etienne did not think to lie, saying "Parma." at which point the two rogues grinned widely at one another.
"We will take you..." said the moustachioed one, "...under our wings." and here he apparently mimed a flapping stork of some undoubtedly obscure Italian variety. "We will protect you and ensure that all manner of vile bandits do not slay you also." His hand went to his heart for unnecessary emphasis. He continued on, adding "Upon arrival at the Duchy, we would present you to the Princess Pauline as being successfully escorted."
Francesco contributed, "...by us."
"By us." echoed Ruffolo and then he asked, "Will you come?"
Etienne gave several slow nods. "Those terms suit me but you did not say: Have you food?"
At this, Ruffolo turned and began to continue the journey down the road. He noted, "We have money enough for food enough." First Francesco and then Etienne undertook to follow the leader who continued with an itinerary, "We walk to Valvasone and from there we take coach toward Parma."
"Coach?" asked Etienne though he was not unsurprised.
"We are in no hurry and it may even be cheaper than hiring three separate horses."
Etienne needed little persuasion, saying "Do not misunderstand me. If I never ride another horse it may be too soon. A coach sounds like a marvellous scheme." At this, Francesco reined himself in and faced the Frenchman. He offered a hand in friendship. It was clasped in good faith and they paused a moment on the roadway to exchange quiet smiles. They set off then to collect their fortunes.
Moments later very venomous words were spilling from Francesco and trailing after the offensive litany was a declaration, "I hate the dark."
Ruffolo sympathized, "Me too. It is all negative."
More curses issued from his partner. "I think I broke my toe. Damn but that hurt."
...And on it went.