My Bonny Light Horseman (38 page)

"One last kiss ...
ummmm ... oh, yes ...
now off with you. We'll meet again, my very good friend, and soon."

He takes a deep breath, lets it out, and stuffs my scarf behind the lapel of his jacket. Then he takes my hand and kisses the back of it, bows, and is gone.

I heave my own great sigh and climb back into my uniform, stuff my dress and wig back in my pouch, then I, too, am out of the tent and making my way back through the bars and brothels from which come much raucous laughter and voices raised in song.

I think about going into Augustine's and meeting up with Bardot again, but I decide against it and hurry past. I've had enough excitement for one day.
And don't stretch your luck, girl...

I find that I have already extended it and stretched it very thin, indeed.

I see the tents of my Clodhoppers up ahead, beyond a small stand of trees, and am heading for my own sweet shelter when a hand reaches out from the shadows to grab me by the neck and drag me back into the trees. I see with horror that once again it is the drunken Guards' Sergeant who had tried to force himself upon me a couple of hours before.

He pulls my face up to his and I can smell the cheap rotgut brandy on his breath.

"You dare to touch an officer, man? You will be shot for that!" I bleat.

He grunts and presses his slobbery, whiskery mouth on mine. I jerk back, astounded.

"Officer, huh?" he asks, grinning widely. "I don't see no officer here,
non.
Hee, hee. What I see is a stupid girl. You know why? Because I sat and watched, I did, after your little
pouf
boy stuck his puny sword in my face and you went off with him. Oh, yes, I did, because I've got patience, I do, and I can wait for what I want. And then what did I see? I saw a boy and a girl go into that tent, and yes, I know it was a girl 'cause I seen her
tétons
about to pop out of her dress before. And then, later, the boy comes out. And then, what do you know? I bet you know, don't you? Right. Another
boy
comes out. Hee, hee ... Only, it's not a boy, it's
you
that comes out, dearie. What's a poor old Sergeant to think?" He runs his other hand over my tail and squeezes. "What's a poor old Sergeant to do?
Hmmm?
"

Oh, God!

"Oh, that's nice, oh yes, it is. Now what you are going to do is get behind that bush and drop your drawers, girl, all the way off, or else I'm gonna tell just about everybody what I know about a certain young officer, and you'll be dead. Think about it. Now get 'em off!"

He reaches for the buttons on his own britches and pushes me farther back into the bushes.

I fall down, then get to my knees and reach for my shiv ... but
oh, no,
it is not there. I had decided that there would be no need for it tonight, plus it would interfere with my getting into my female gear, so I left it wrapped up in its sheath in my knapsack.

Damn! Stupid!

I think to run so I stumble to my feet, but even if I managed to escape, he would tell, and I would be undone. I see no way out ... except to call out...

"
Clodhoppers! To me!
" I cry out, loud enough for my men to hear but not so loud as to alert the other encampments nearby.

"Now what the hell are you going on about,
putain?
" sneers the Sergeant. "You call for help and I'll just let everybody know about you. And they'll join in the fun, too. Now let us get on with it." He takes his hand from his belt and his trousers drop to the top of his gaiters. He shoves me to the ground, then puts his hand on the waist of my pants and tugs and then...

...then there is a dull
thump!
as the butt end of Corporal Laurent's musket hits the back of the Sergeant's head and he pitches forward, out cold as a dead cod.

I struggle away from him and manage to get back to my feet, as Laurent gives the fallen man's head another solid whack, just to make sure he's out.

"
Tas de merde,
" sneers Laurent, sending a gob of spit in the Sergeant's direction.

"Laurent," I ask, regaining my breath and pulling my pants back up, but still despairing of the situation. "What did you hear him say?"

"Hear him say what ... M'sieur?" asks Laurent, looking at me with a sly smile. The moonlight glints off the white of his teeth. "
Non.
I heard nothing. Just that drunk
cochon
going on about some ... girl or other. Was that it, Lieutenant? Did you take his girl and he did not like it?"

"Um..."is all I can come up with. I have come to know that Laurent is sharp, very sharp indeed. I also know that now ... he
knows
... and so do the others. He then gives a low whistle and the other poachers—Guerrette, Vedel, and Michaud—appear from the bushes, their muskets at Trail Arms, and they gather around me.

"Ah, well ... Still, he shouldn't have messed with an officer," says Laurent. "He could be shot for that, or, at the very least, brought up on charges."

But we look at each other and both know that cannot happen. If the Sergeant is arrested, he will tell, and then it will be me who is shot, not him.

"What to do, Laurent?" I ask, realizing that my life is now in his hands, and in the hands of my men.

"Do not worry, Lieutenant. If it pleases you, go to your tent. We will take care of this."

"Why would you do this for me, lads," I ask, suddenly very weary, "knowing what you know?"

"Who else would we want to lead us? Something like that?" says Laurent, kicking the leg of the man who lies in the dirt at our feet. "
Non.
We will stick with you, Lieutenant, till the end."

"Thank you, all of you," I say, and turn away. What must be done will be done, I know that; but I don't really want to know what is going to happen to the Sergeant. Not now, anyway.

I look down and notice that my drummer boy orderly is here, too, and that he has missed nothing.
Christ!
I heave a great sigh and throw my arm around his thin shoulders and say, "Let us go to our beds, Denis Dufour. It has been a long,
long
day."

Uh ... hullo, Jaimy ... I hope you are getting well and would not be too disappointed in me and how I have been behaving. Y'see, we go into battle soon, and who knows what's gonna happen? Both Jean-Paul and my own poor self could be lyin dead on some German field tomorrow. So, a glass of wine in a dismal bar, and just a few kisses here ... and, well, there, too ... what does it hurt? It ain't like I gave myself totally to him, no, Jaimy, not that. I'm still your lass till you tell me differently. But there are other games of love that two people who like each other a lot can play ... really, just a little of me and my usual messing around ... you know ... oh, never mind. But ... I gotta say this about Jean-Paul de Valdon—never have I been handled more gently, never have I been touched with more tenderness and love.

G'night, Jaimy. I pray daily for your recovery. And I have been good ... well, mostly.

Chapter 38

It took us three days to get our Grand Army across the river, but, at last, we did it. It is the twelfth of October, and I realize with a shiver that the battle is getting closer.

Bardot, nursing what seems is a hangover of heroic proportions, rides by my side for a while as we drive into Germany.

"Damn, Bouvier, where were you last night?" he grumps.

"Otherwise occupied, in
affaires d'amour, mon Capitaine,
" I say, not entirely lying, for once.

"Well, good. I hope she was sweet. Damn! My head feels like it's going to explode!"

I reach back into my knapsack and pull out a bottle, draw the cork, and hand it to him.

"Here, my good Captain Bardot. One good swig and no more, else you shall fall out of your saddle and be shamed."

"What is it?"

"A simple palliative. You will see. One swallow, then hand it back. On your honor."

"Um. Like candy," he says, after taking a healthy slug and handing back the bottle.

"Others have said that," I say, stuffing it back in my sack.

It was a mixture of Bottle Number One and Number Two from my room back at 127, rue de Londres in Paris. The two policemen did not drink it all, so before I left I combined the contents of the two bottles to take with me.

"Matter of love, eh?" asks the rapidly improving Captain Bardot. "Say, you wouldn't happen to have a sister, would you?"

"A sister, M'sieur?"
Uh, oh
... I give a slight cough and say, "Yes, actually my twin. Her name is Amy. But she is far away, back in America."

A puzzled look comes over his face, as if he were trying to remember something. "I wouldn't be quite so sure of that, Bouvier."

Just then General Charpentier's aide-de-camp rides up and hands me a message. "For
l'Empereur.
And hurry." I take it and am off at a brisk canter, grateful for the interruption of
that
conversation.

On my order, my squad of Clodhoppers has kept the five horses we took from the Prussian cavalry, and the poachers, my elite corps, has, well ... acquired ... a wagon from somewhere and we have hitched two of the horses to it to carry all our tents and gear. Now my men do not have to carry heavy bundles on their backs, and for that they are most grateful. Happy, too, is Papa Boule, who gets to ride in the wagon as well—he was having trouble keeping up with the march, and I know it distressed him to know that he was slowing us down.

Of the other horses, Laurent claims one for himself, and that is as it should be, because he is the corporal. The other two horses are passed about among the men, so that each can ride at least part of the time.

Denis Dufour drives the wagon, and I know he takes great pride in it. Part of that job is finding grain and suitable grazing for the horses at night, and he has managed to do it.

None of them has yet said a word about that night with the Guards' Sergeant, but I notice that the poachers pitch their tents very close to mine now and Dufour has gotten himself a pistol and he sleeps with it close by his side. Before I climb into my own bedroll for the night, I make sure his weapon is on half cock so he doesn't hurt himself with it.

Today, I call Laurent to my side and we ride along together for a bit. Then I ask him straight out. "What did you do with the Sergeant? I do have to know."

He grins, his long, straight brown hair blowing about his face. "Well ... M'sieur ... you know we were right close to the river at that camp. So what we did was pick him up, throw him across a horse, and take him down there to get rid of him."

I stiffen.
Have I caused yet another death? Is this one more mark against my soul?

It turns out it is not.

"The bridge builders had a lot of rafts down there, but since they were done with their job, we figured they didn't need them anymore and they surely wouldn't miss just one, so we loaded the Sergeant on a small one, cut it loose, and sent him off down the river."

"Was he alive when you did that?"

"
Oui.
He started to come to, so we whacked him again, and then took some rope and tied him spread-eagle on the logs. He's probably about twenty miles downstream by now."

I begin to relax a bit. "Very crafty, Laurent," I say, smiling in appreciation of his cleverness.

He chuckles. "Right. When he gets off that raft, he'll be deep in German territory, wearing a French uniform. How he will explain that, I do not know. Nor care."

Now that we are close to the day of battle, almost all of my duty consists of carrying messages to Napoléon, and orders from him to his commanders, as he is, without question, the center of command. When I ride up to the column he is in, I see other messengers coming in from all directions, and I know they bear intelligence reports on the situation as it develops. Based on the intelligence that is being gathered, the Emperor has divided his force, sending Marshals Davout and Bernadotte, with their III Corps and I Corps, north toward a place called Auerstädt, while the rest of the force, including me and my Clodhoppers, drive toward a town called Jena, with Marshal Lannes's V Corps in the lead. I know all this because I was there as the orders were given.

Today, as Mathilde and I clatter up with the message from General Charpentier, I can see the Emperor riding at the head of his Imperial Guard. I get in as close as I can and wave the message over my head, and I am called forward to place the sealed letter in an officer's hand. Then I pull Mathilde over to the side to trot along and await further orders. I see the officer reading the message, whereupon he kicks up his horse and falls in next to Napoléon. He speaks to him and the Emperor nods, and then, incredibly, looks over at me and motions me to approach.

"Our bold young American," he says, as I draw close. "I remember you."

"Th-thank you, Excellency," I stammer.

"I do not want to stop to have a message written out. You are known to me now. Simply ride to Murat and inform him that we have received word that Marshal Lannes is about to take the town of Jena, and that he is to have his cavalry ready to move on my order. Do you have that, Lieutenant?"

"Aye, Sir ... er ... Yes, Your Excellency."

"Good. Then go."

I wheel Mathilde around and gallop off, gasping for breath.

Within an hour I am in Marshal Murat's camp. He is far enough ahead of the others to be able to stop and bivouac.

"I have a message from the Emperor for Marshal Murat," I announce to his aide-de-camp.

"Then hand it over."

"I cannot. It is verbal. The Emperor was busy and could not stop to have a message written out."

The officer raises his eyebrows. "You have come a long way on this campaign, Lieutenant, to be trusted so," he says, and then waves me into Murat's tent. I take off my shako and go in.

The Marshal sits at his table, having dinner with several of his officers. He looks up and says, "Ah. Our very small messenger. Bouvier, is it? Well, what news, Lieutenant?"