CHAPTER XVI
Iacta Alea est
Count Adalbert Von Neipperg pulled close the panes and turned away from the night sky whose colour matched his patch and soul. All that would happen had happened. He allowed translucent drapery to fall over the light of the moon and watched as the gloom settled over the bed where on the Archduchess lay still clinging to her sheet shields. She was not watching the Black Hussar, for her undraped shoulders shook with sobs. Her nightgown, this night, was spare and white. Adalbert, black booted, paced the way to the woman's bed and there he set himself upon the mattress, sitting aside the woman softly shivering, and his hand, so seeming tender, slowly stroked her sleeveless arm.
"You did so well. So courageous. All the courage of a grenadier."
"I was frightened." she replied. Her tear-flushed eyes looked to Adalbert in the dark and she wordlessly begged him.
The Count kissed her, sweetly upon trembling lips, and then moved to nestle further kisses upon her nape. When he was done with these affections he said, "Of course you were frightened. You were helpless but still you overthrew them. You triumphed wholly. Courage alone is such a weapon."
Marie Louise buried her head in the shoulder of her lover and clung to him as though he were the only flotsam in a storm-tossed sea. They floated together through several minutes.
Eventually, the Archduchess inhaled noisily; a grand sniffle, and then sat back to grind palms into her red, wet face. The Colonel took the opportunity to examine what pieces of paper he had sat down upon. He turned those two letters over a few times, puzzling out their qualities in the dark and was satisfied to see seals remaining in place. He was just slipping them into his belt when Marie Louise noticed the objects.
"Letters? For me? We need a candle."
Neipperg continued tucking the messages out of sight and into safe keeping. "You ought not read them."
"Why not? I want to see."
"So that you may be persuaded to cause pain to your dear father? So that you may be tricked into betraying your nation and forcing doom upon your child?"
"The letters were for me. I want to know..."
"Do you wish to laugh aloud at his devoted scribblings? I would hope my love was not so petty. No, my love is strong and pure of heart. She does not mock the lesser peoples. Pity without Mercy. We feel sad for the pathetic exile but he has what he deserves and we owe him nothing. We must not diminish ourselves for he is low and clawing at our heels, seeking to drag us down."
"I shall not read them." Marie Louise pulled back her shoulders and held her breath, seeming for all the world as a woman determined.
"Then I will not read them either for I wish to keep no secrets from you."
Through her fading tears, the woman smiled at the man in black costume that was sharing her bed. "I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't arrived when you did."
"I awoke as the rains stopped and was preparing to come to you for what remained of the night. I cannot awaken without thinking of you. You know how I love to watch you sleep."
"You are so good to me yet you ask for nothing in return. Everyone else always expects me to be something... something for them. You let me be me." and even as Marie Louise said these heartfelt things, sadly, her Neipperg rose from the bed and began to adjust his costume's presentation.
"Captains of the Guard await me in the hall. I bid them wait until... I will tell them that you are safe and then... then I will have some warm milk sent up to you. After seeing to that I will track down your trespassers. This cannot be allowed to happen again."
"You will return?"
"Likely not until much later this morning but I assure you that I shall work tirelessly for you while I am gone. Do not trouble your pretty head."
The villain delicately touched his lips to the brow of the young woman so she sighed with relieved delight and, after watching her dark champion depart, she lay back upon the sprawled sheets and wallowed in each of dreams and fears until sleep once more embraced her.
****************
Away from palaces, pomp, and expansive Baroque gardens, toward the old, walled city of Vienna, there are neighbourhoods of a more earthen sensibility where the common people live out their full lives with little more than dreams of peaceful security and a willingness to toil to realize those dreams: it is to such a place that our action now moves. Here are quiet narrow streets lined with unremarkable row houses and there is no picturesque view toward any horizon. The occupants of these aged, unfinished homes do not appreciate the rustic charms but in balance, nor is the deep stench of refuse in the forefront of the senses as it might be to an unaccustomed visitor. Spring rains cannot rid a city of its characteristic vapours, coloured by the culinary customs, but time has embedded the aromas into the walls as much as it has worn once colourful painted surfaces to muted memories of more joyful days until the tones about the alleyways and houses matches perfectly the melancholy of the men and women who spend the span of their days not a stone's throw from this place.
Neither hustle nor bustle resides in this residential enclave. A trio of dogs lazily tussle, perhaps play, with some muddied meat scraps. A mother with empty baskets and dark red, sunken cheeks moves along a well-travelled route to some nearby market, the faint sounds of which complement the morning mood. All up and down the block, behind shuttered windows, people are putting bare feet to wooden floors with more resignation than enthusiasm. Without observing, they could know that the rains had ceased. There is that, at least.
Our attention is upon a second story apartment, the lower half of the windows of which are obscured by the painted sign of the linen shop that occupies the ground floor. The craftsman that had made the sign some twenty years ago had tried to embellish elaborate patterns around and throughout the name of the establishment with the end result being a confused mess made worse with the passage of time until it now retained very little legibility indeed. Leaning an elbow upon the top of that bold, weathered board was a woman in a window, employing the early morning light to read by.
The book is sparse distraction and Madam le Countess de Montesquiou's gaze tended to flit about the street scene enough to betray a disinterest in her continuing education this morning. She found relief from Caesar's Campaigns in Gaul when three men round the corner below her. Etienne still wore his greatcoat but Anatole bore the costume of the Moonflower tucked under an arm and so was fully resplendent in his dark blue uniform with violet waistband. The Countess raised a particular brow when she recognized the last of the three, who was swaggering beside the others and laughing over some merry jest. His moustache had retained its characteristic charming shape and the braids of hair that swung from his temples gave his jaunty saunter such a playful air. The countess gave a perfectly dignified wave down but even she was not certain whom it was intended for.
Bringing his party to an abrupt halt, Anatole de Montesquiou responded to the woman's slight gesture with a vaporous flourish and an energetic greeting that would have set some shuttered and moody neighbours to rolling their eyes. He fairly sang "Good morning, Mother! I bring two fellows for us to entertain."
In her nest, the Mother shut up the pages and smiled down. She offered hospitality: "They are welcome." she said, and then rose to unbolt the door.
The one other room was a cozy dining room with a cooking stove. The walls spoke in a comforting tone with pockets of peeling plaster such that residents were assured that all was right with the world, for the present. Stuffy, especially after cooking, the room required the opening of two windows and a door before ventilation and lighting were habitable. Were Madam de Montesquiou given to complaining she would have had much to say about the common tables and chairs and lack of utensils. As her son had taken the place furnished, he had been quite happy to live here. It was fit for a bachelor (or at least one who chose to live as a bachelor despite having a distanced wife and child). Until his mother had been ejected from the palace the abode had sported more luxuries than he required. That had now changed. It was cleaner than it had ever been.
Upon ascending the stairs, Anatole embraced Madam warmly and kissed her cheek. "It was a marvellous adventure, Mother..."
She interrupted him to briefly scold, "You ought make introductions first."
All three men smiled awkwardly. Madam de Montesquiou glanced aghast at her moistened dress when Anatole pulled back. She explained, "You must get out of those wet things! You cannot adventure with a cold."
Moving in to occupy the tiny room, Anatole introduced Captain Darlon.
"I know Monsieur Henri... Captain Darlon from way back." nodded the Countess, hiding any trace of a blush.
"He is a friend of father's?" asked Anatole.
"No." she conceded. "He is no friend of your father's."
Anatole shrugged his shoulders as elegantly as though all eyes were upon him and indicated Etienne with a gesture. "This is Monsieur Neville."
"Actually," ventured Etienne, "It is Private Neville. I am a fusilier in the 102me Infantry Regiment."
Colonel de Montesquiou grinned slyly, saying "All the better. Such is a title to be proud of in these times." and Madam le Countess de Montesquiou punctuated her son's comment with a delicate and seeming earnest curtsey toward Etienne. The fusilier messed up the bow that he tried to do in response.
The Countess whinced and commented "You must work on that."
When Anatole had finished the introductions with a catalogue of Madam's titles and awards, Henri asked by way of making small talk what book it was that she had been engaged in upon their arrival.
"Caesar's memoirs." she responded politely to the Hussar and then turned her attentions to her son to say, "I don't understand what you intend to learn from this: How to conquer rebellious barbarians? There is no practical application."
Seeing the discussed book set aside upon the nearby table, Etienne took it up for reference. He squinted at the pages while the conversation continued.
"It is lessons in leadership and decisiveness. Napoleon was a devout reader." defended Anatole.
Henri took opportunity to quip, "...and whatever became of him?" which earned a chastising glance from Madam.
Anatole took up the standard and continued the charge, "He took Paris without firing a shot. Louis XVIII has fled to England. The people carried him to the palace on their shoulders.... just as Great Caesar might have done!"
"They say that Caesar was ambitious." commented the Countess dryly. Henri and she shared small smiles while Anatole rallied for another assault.
"History is the best way to understand the modern. You understand a man by knowing his father and ..." La Fleur de Lune threw up his fair palms in submission. "Enough of that."
Anatole proceeded to recount the adventure of the night to his mother leaving out no detail and with only several generous embellishments of his own part in the escapade and having learned the others' roles in the story during their retreat from the gardens, our poet was able to include the chapter of the polar bear which was, it should be said, made much more exciting in the retelling than Etienne's meager exposition would have had it but then he digressed in the saga to offer up imaginative ideas for polar bear busbies, boots and other accessories such that there was great moaning and gnashing of teeth while he mourned the loss of the hide and, for a time, even spoke about an enterprise to return to the menagerie as soon as possible (perhaps this morning even) in anticipation of finding the carcass as yet undisturbed and, with the help of a tanner who could be pushed up and over the garden walls by the buttocks as required, they might rescue the fur of the exotic beast for a more fitting end: especially befitting Anatole's new costume ideas so it was some time before Anatole got back on the trail of the adventure of the dark and stormy night where he was able to include mention of Henri's earlier encounter with a series of guards that he won through by way of bluff and guile; pretending to be a courier for the Duke of Wellington and he described it so well, including some theatrical accents and Germanic mannerisms that the whole of the company laughed aloud and applauded his merry account.
Madam le Countess was seated by this time and when the room was once more subdued, she marked her intention to speak with a sigh. "I knew she would not go if offered. She is lost to Napoleon and all I could do was to protect her son from falling off the path along with her. He is a good boy and still loves his father. He asks after him daily... he did." here she paused, to reflect on what had been lost but she took up her sentiment again boldly saying, "No! I know the Eaglet. He will ever love his Eagle."
Etienne looked at each of the other men before asking, "Can we not still take the child to Napoleon at least? Can we not return the Eagle to his nest?"
"No." said Anatole with a shake of his head. "A boy should not be so separated from a mother. Force would be cruel and persuasion unjust."
Madam rose from her seat to say, "The mother cares not for the infant. She sees her husband in him. Perhaps she repels him because she also sees herself."
"You imagine her to be unhappy with herself?" questioned Henri.
"I know her to be without goodness." answered the Countess, "She does only what she is told and will not be seen to wring her hands while doing it. In the quiet solitudes of her private chambers, it seems to me that she would be placing painted coverlets over any mirrors."
"Then the son would be best with the father, surely." suggested Etienne unsure.
Henri answered him, "It is a tragedy, Etienne, but I would not steal the son from her."
Etienne would not be so settled though and replied, "It is Napoleon's son who has been already stolen away. We are between two wrongs. Where is the young Napoleon being held?"
"I could not imagine." answered Madam de Montesquiou sadly. "Perhaps I can discover it through friends. Alas, I have so few confidants remaining in Vienna. They have all been exiled."
"Exiled to France, Mother; their home. You too should return to Paris as soon as you are able."
"But the boy...", she flailed about. Words would not come.
Henri calmed her with a gentle touch to the arm, saying, "You can do no more for him. None of us can though it pains us to accept it."
The Countess turned to Etienne as a possible last ally and urged, "If you steal him away, I can come with you and care for him. Bring him to me! Together we can escape over the mountains and across raging torrents of rivers."
Henri asserted himself, "That would indeed be a Romantic story but still a Romantic tragedy. The child is out of the question."
Anatole nodded his support. "I concur. Have faith, mother, that God will protect him."
Etienne held up the book as though it were some sort of talisman and asked of his comrades, "What of Caesar? What of Napoleon? What of the mission that he has charged us with?"
Henri's expression was pained but he could say only that, "It is over. We must put Moscow to our backs."
**************************************
Sydney Smith hurried through the palace halls, tugging at his nightshirt to muscle it into his too tight trousers. He could feel the coldness of the tiles through his stockings but that was good: it was working to awaken and alert him the more. Those feminine screams must have come from the Archduchess' rooms. The knot of guards there confirmed this but it was also apparent by their attitudes that any crisis had past, thankfully.
Shorter, darker, but still the center of everyone's attention, Colonel von Neipperg commanded the guardsmen with distinct orders. None questioned his authorative air and soon all but two of the grenadiers were scrambling in various directions. The Black Hussar marched decisively toward Sir Sydney. The monster's one eye seemed to burrow into the Englishman's psyche, stripping him of confidence. Neipperg took Smith by the arm, turned him away from the door to the Archduchess' bedchambers, and promenaded with him.
"The affair is ended...for now. We must remain vigilant. There was something amiss in the enterprise." said the German as he walked. When Sir Sydney asked for details, Neipperg told him, "Three men got as far as the Archduchess' room and delivered two letters, only to flee without a word to her."
"Queer." remarked the Englishman.
"But that is exactly how Schulmeister works. He plants seeds of doubt."
"Did she receive the letters?" asked Smith.
Neipperg shook his head and said, "No. She gave them directly to me with no desire to see the contents."
"It seems a victory to me then." said the Admiral of Acre.
Count von Neipperg laughed aloud and then slyly grinned at his companion. "When you have suckled the teat of your enemy's giggling wife, you will finally know the taste of real victory. I won long ago."
Sir Sydney Smith halted at this remark and tried to wrest his arm free from the Austrian. "Sir, That is your Emperor's daughter."
The Black Hussar shrugged and said, "Oh, I keep the two ideas quite separate to be sure. She has two breasts, you know." and pointing to his dark patch added, "I can only see one at a time."
The Englishman pulled away and stepped back. Outraged, he spun and put his back to the other and that man laughed while Sydney retreated.
****************
Dusk was long past and the two Montesquiou had some time ago retired to the other room but Etienne was still awake and reading Caesar by candlelight. His friend also remained alert yet his attention was on something beyond the window.
"Caesar had all the horses - starting with his own - sent away and out of sight, that everyone might stand in equal danger and no one have any chance of flight."
Henri slowly looked from the vantage. He silently studied the young fusilier. Perhaps it was the flickering light, casting the blond boy in strong shadows that was making the lad seem more heroic.
Etienne looked up from the writings to say in earnest, "Caesar would not retreat. Succeed or die."
"You would kill our horses then, would you? You would have stayed in Moscow?" asked Henri, crossing his arms while he leaned against the windowsill.
It was a daunting question. Etienne knew the answer. He could not claim to have known better than Napoleon. Sometimes battles are lost but still, something was nagging at him. Finally, he shook his head and pretended to return to reading. "No. You could not stay there."
The room fell to silence for a long while.
Finally, Etienne pushed the book away. He looked at it for a moment and then made the point of closing it with some finality.
"This isn't about winning and losing. It isn't about prudence or caution. Something is wrong. I feel like we are failing." said the youth.
"We are failing." answered Henri. "There is a gulf between prudence and risking all for something that cannot succeed."
Etienne took a moment to collect his thoughts and then tried a new direction, "If you are sentenced to the guillotine, do you writhe and wriggle to escape or do you concede and go meekly to your doom? There is another way... the way that I know that you would choose: step up and show yourself to be a man of mark at the end."
"We are not sentenced." said the Hussar, "We can go home."
Etienne said only "Writhe and wriggle."
Henri chuckled and shook his head but there was a change in the light of his eyes. His brow was becoming unsettled.
The shift was noticed by Etienne who insisted, "We have not yet stood up and shown ourselves to be men of mark. We have not done all that we could hope to do."
"And taking a son from his mother is what we can hope to do?"
"When we began, this mission was honourable. It will be honourable in the completion." encouraged Etienne.
"Completion?" clarified Henri, "That mission cannot possibly succeed. I do not believe it is honourable now. I saw it unfolding differently." The Hussar scowled out the window and shifted his weight uneasily.
Leaning forward at the table, Etienne buried his face into his palms. He murmured, "I don't know, Henri. I don't know. I just know that we haven't done enough."
"France would not ask more of us."
Etienne lifted his eyes almost angrily. "Its not about what France thinks...what anyone thinks. Its not about regrets or looking good...or even being thought well of. It matters not if others think you a man of mark as the guillotine rises. It matters that you ARE a man of mark at that instant." The man gestured expansively and he continued his plea, "It is about being great. It is about what humanity is capable of. It is the story of man and our briefest of chances to add to that story. Why do we read Caesar? Because we think the story is powerful and important. I want to continue that story... living it."
"Strive for Glory!" said Henri as he moved from the window. He placed his hands upon the table and leaned in to confront his friend. "Strive for Glory!" he repeated.
Etienne shook his head with wide eyes. "No! Not Glory! Strive to be great. Strive to be good. Glory will follow. Strive to be great! Be a genius. Strive for Genius in all things!"
"That is a great responsibility." said Henri. Taking up the book of Gallic Campaigns, he threw it open and tore out the front piece with some determination. "We must do great things because we can and perhaps because others cannot. We must do important things on behalf of others… for the sake of others."
"It is a terrible weight." added Etienne, sitting back. "We have an opportunity to do something great, a near impossible thing. We must not falter for lack of courage."
Henri shot Etienne a disapproving look but restrained his tongue. Meanwhile he drew a pencil out of a breast pocket. He turned his attention to writing out a note on the stolen page.
As the Hussar began to neatly fold the sheet, he issued an earnest look to Etienne and watched him in the candlelight for a moment before giving a short speech, "Etienne, you are correct. We must be great. You are also wrong though. You are caught up in the mission and have lost sight of what is possible and impossible, what must be done and what ought not be done. I had also been blind to it. I was not seeing what I knew had to be done…or I was afraid to admit it."
He paused again and then said, "The die is cast. Put out the light."
*****************
Baron von Hager nodded to himself, checked his watch, and made a notation in his papers: Lights were extinguished at Montesquiou residence at midnight - none of the parties had departed.
He was quite satisfied with the night's work and was glad to have seen to the affair personally. These were definitely the conspirators but so far there was no sign of Schulmeister. If Neipperg's suspicions were correct, the master spy would be making contact with them shortly through some intermediary. That person would be followed and the trap would then begin to close. The Baron was beginning to put his papers away when he noticed, too late, that French Gentleman was approaching his hiding place directly. He was not 10 metres away. No time to flee, the chief of police opted for a calm demeanour.
"Good morning, Monsieur." said the Baron smoothly.
Etienne did not smile but did give a stately nod. He passed a folded piece of paper to the Austrian, stayed but a moment to ensure that it was received, and then wheeled martially about to return to the apartment.
Baron von Hager waited until the courier was off the street and out of sight before he unfolded the torn page. There was enough moonlight to read.
Count Adalbert von Neipperg,