Once again, we are approached by a rider. Here I go again...
"You, Bouvier. Report to the Emperor's staff. He is much in need of messengers. Don't expect to come back till the battle is over. Go now."
"Oui, M'sieur," I say, as the rider pulls his horse's head over and is off.
Bardot chuckles as he pulls out yet another long thin cigar from inside his jacket and lights it—he seems to have an inexhaustible supply of the vile things. "Looks like things are going to get hot, Bouvier. Very hot, indeed."
I nod and say to him, "My men will be attached to your unit. Please look out for them as best you can."
"Of course. No evil, hard-nosed Sergeant for Bouvier's Own, by God! I will assign them to my best man." He grins around his cigar and sticks out his hand and I take it. "Good luck, Jacques. You are a good lad."
"And you have been just the best of company, Sir," I say, giving his hand what I hope is a manly squeeze, my own small hand feeling puny in his grasp. "Bonne chance. Adieu, Capitaine Bardot."
I turn Mathilde around and return to my Clodhoppers, who struggle along the uneven road. Laurent looks at me expectantly as I come upon them.
I pull up next to him and lean over so that only he can hear what I have to say. "Laurent. I am being sent off. You are the leader now, so be a good one and watch out for your men. Place your poachers where they will do the most good. And especially take care of the boy. For me, you will do this?"
Laurent looks me in the eye. "Oui, I will do that, yes." He sits up straight on his mount and looks back over his troops, then he turns his gaze to me. "You, too ... M'sieur ... be careful of yourself. You are small, yet a bullet could still find you. And men are not the only ones who die in war."
I look at him for a while, sizing up the man. Ah, Laurent, you are a sly one. In another place and time, perhaps when on my ship the Emerald, one such as you would have made the very finest Captain of my Marines, but no, we are not there, and we never will be. We are here. I shake those thoughts out of my head and just smile and say, "Thank you, Laurent. I will address the lads now."
I pull Mathilde to the center of the squad and I say, "Men, I have been detached to the Emperor's staff until the war is over. You are assigned to Captain Bardot's company—he's up ahead. See, that is him right there. Follow him and he will tell you where to go and what to do. I will try to get back to you after the fighting is done. Dufour, my knapsack and bedroll, please. Thank you, lad. And please, Denis, don't look so downhearted."
I ruffle the boy's hair as he ties my gear to the back of my saddle. He is not happy with this, I know.
"Au revoir, you pack of ignorant plowboys. I could not have found better men to serve with!" I say in parting, "We shall meet again, I just know it! Vive les Clodhoppers! Vive la France!"
I pull my shako down low over my eyes and leave then so they won't see the tears about to spill.
As I ride away, I hear their cheer of Vive la France! Vive Lieutenant Bouvier!
Reporting to Napoléon's staff, I am assigned to a pool of messengers. All of them are like me—young and small and quick. We ride alongside the moving column in a group, and when our names are called, we ride forward to take our orders and then are off at the gallop. There are six of us here now—others are off on their missions. We talk among ourselves as we wait to get news from the riders as they return. I hear Lannes has moved the V Corps...
Yes, but where's Bernadotte and the I Corps? I hear the Emperor is furious!
They say the Prussians have over a hundred thousand men!
Who cares? We have ninety thousand right here in Jena! And one of ours is worth two of them!
Wish this damned fog would lift. Can't see a thing!
We try to outguess the generals and marshals to impress each other with our military expertise and personal bravado, but I know it is all for nothing—it is all rumor, all the fog of war. Me, I just sit astride Mathilde and wait. I have the feeling it is going to be a very long day, and an even longer night.
One who is not impressed with any of us is a certain Colonel Dupré, Napoléon's communications officer. He has a short temper and a very sharp bark, and he is in charge of us messengers. He is coming up to us now.
"Genet, take this to Marshal Ney at VI Corps. Wait for his reply," orders Dupré, handing the letter to the lad next to me and then turning to another. "Beaulac, deliver this to Marshal Murat. Both of you get back as fast as you can. Move it!"
The two shoot off like scared rabbits.
Too bad ... I would like to have been chosen to go on the Murat errand—I might have been able to see Jean-Paul for a bit. And maybe Randall, too ... Ah, well, it's probably for the best.
Napoléon's carriage is right over there. Messages are passed into the windows and written orders are handed out and taken up by the designated messengers to be delivered.
The dust has barely settled after their departure when another rider, this one from the north, pounds up to the carriage and submits a letter. Then he comes to join us.
"Marshal Lannes has encountered the Prussians and bloodied their noses, by God! He has occupied the town of Jena and awaits further orders from l'Empereur!" the messenger shouts, panting from the excitement and the exertions of his travel. His horse is clearly exhausted.
A minute later Colonel Dupré is handed a message from the carriage and cries out, "Bouvier!"
I give Mathilde a nudge and hurry over.
"To Marshal Lannes! In Jena, about ten miles ahead. It is of the utmost importance! While you are there, take your instructions from the Marshal's staff! Go!" he shouts, giving me the letter. I put it in my pouch, salute, and charge off.
It takes me over an hour to reach the headquarters of V Corps. There was dense fog all of the way, and I was glad of the cover—I would hate to be picked off by a Prussian skirmisher. I was well ahead of the Army and in open country, having passed through Murat's screening cavalry on my way. I looked for Jean-Paul but did not see him. I did, however, catch a glimpse of Randall in Murat's camp and waved to him as I thundered through. He recognized me and waved back, shaking his head over the unlikelihood of seeing Jacky Faber, Soldier, Sailor, Beggar, Spy, galloping through a French army camp in Germany. Yes, Randall, it is, indeed, a bewildering world.
I deliver the communication to an officer on Lannes's staff, and I am told to stand by for further orders. After looking over the message, he calls for his horse and is gone. Apparently the Marshal is off somewhere else.
Well, good. I didn't want to be sent right back, for Mathilde's sake. I take advantage of the wait to rest the poor girl and to find her some food. Looking about, I see a stable nearby so I take her there, where I manage to hustle up a good drink of water and some oats for her. Then I look around for something to eat myself.
It is strange being in a town again, I'm thinking, as I cast my eyes about.
Lannes has taken over an inn as his headquarters and I'm thinking, what the hell, and wander in. Amazingly, I am not stopped and thrown out but instead find a table loaded with food and drink. There are not many people around, most of the staff probably being at Lannes's side, wherever that is, so I help myself.
I'm halfway through my third sausage, first loaf of bread, and second glass of some really excellent Rhine wine when there's a great clatter outside.
Uh, oh ... My Street-Urchin Alarm goes off, so I proceed to cram the remainder of the provisions into my mouth, chewing and swallowing as quickly as I can without choking.
A man, who, by the grandness of his uniform and the dignity of his bearing, must be Marshal Lannes himself, strides in, followed by his staff. "The fog has lifted! We can see them!" he announces to those of us in the room, and there is a cheer. "We must inform l'Empereur! Quick, Lucerne, get out your ink and pen and write!"
"Where's that damned messenger?" grumbles the officer I had seen before.
"Right here, Sir," I mumble, my cheeks full of cheese. I make a sort of bow.
"Well, good. Put down that glass and go get your horse and be ready."
"Oui, M'sieur," I answer, managing to get one more slug of the wine down my neck. "Right away."
As I exit the place, I hear Marshal Lannes dictating:
"Excellency, the fog has lifted, and from a hill above the town, we are able to make out at least forty thousand Prussian troops spread out on the plateau east of this town. I believe we are in excellent position to—"
And then I don't hear any more because I am outside, getting my Mathilde ready for yet another arduous ride. I pick up the reins and give her lovely muzzle a bit of a rub, because I know she likes it. I'd managed to stuff my pocket with a couple of apples from a plate on that table so I hold one up to her mouth and she takes it ever so gently.
"Come on, girl, one more ride. Yes, I know, it's hard, but we must do it. Good girl. Let's go..."
An hour later we pull up next to the Emperor's coach. I don't see Colonel Dupré so I just pass the letter through an open window. A hand takes it and a face looks up at me. Oh, God ... no, I ain't all that blasé yet.
I retreat to the messenger pool to give them the news, and there is great excitement.
Forty thousand Prussians!
Don't worry, we shall take them!
It must be tomorrow!
It will be tomorrow!
Glory for all!
I don't say anything. I just dismount to give Mathilde a bit of a rest and lean my face into her heaving sides. Good girl...
After a short while the conversation stops as we see Bonaparte's spirited gray Arabian stallion, Marengo, brought up. The door of the carriage opens and l'Empereur steps out. He mounts his horse and announces to us gathered about him, "The veil has lifted. We march to Jena."
It's plain that nobody's gonna get any sleep this night. And I know with a terrible certainty that for many ... this will be their last night on this earth.
I shudder and turn to my duties.
Chapter 40
We have been on forced march since the Emperor received that message from Marshal Lannes. He gave the order to move forward and move forward we did—all that night the Army was crammed into narrow ravines, marched through woods and over endless hills and fields. The worst of it was when we had to grope our way in the dark along the edge of a precipice, keeping complete silence, for we knew the enemy was near. Incredibly, on one of my return trips, I saw the Emperor, himself, holding up a lantern and personally supervising repair work on a road so that his artillery could pass. The light shone on his face as he directed his engineers, most of whom were mere common soldiers. It is an image I shall never forget, should I live through this. In one of my few idle moments, I've tried to imagine our King George doing that, but, of course, could not.
Our pool of riders has been provided with fresh horses so my Mathilde will be given a much-needed rest. Loyal and steadfast as she has been, there are times, I'm sure, when she wishes she were back in her snug stall in Paris. I'm thinking that 127, rue de Londres, room number seven wouldn't look too bad to me, either. And a nice cup of coffee and a plump croissant at Café des Deux Chats along with maybe a steaming plate of ... stop that, you. Here's another message slapped in your hand, so mount up and get back to work.