Our Eternal Curse I (31 page)

“
We can’t go back without you Sir!”  repeated
Howatson.

“
Christ, they’ll be upon us in a minute!” whimpered
Braithwaite as he watched the angry French horsemen thundering down on such an
easy target.

The British regiments cheered
the four running men on and when they plunged through the lines at the very
last moment everyone but the French felt total relief.

“
What the bloody hell do you think you are doing
jeopardizing the lives of my men, Captain Pishiobury?” shouted Somerset, who
was very upset and very red in the face as he berated his young officer.

“
I must confess Sir, that I have no idea what
compelled me to do what I did,” replied an extremely humble Robert.

The spell once broken seemed to
leave him with the beginning of an explanation for his illogical existence and
even though his constant doubt still lingered, Robert desperately wanted to
live long enough to understand what was hidden so deeply within him.

“
Get back to your post; we will take this up at the
battle’s end, if you survive that is!”  The General walked away wondering what
had caused the young man to behave in such a strange and suicidal manner.

Robert turned to the men who had
saved him and apologized for nearly getting them killed.  All three of them
looked at him as though he were a mad man but saying nothing they turned to
face the French once more.

When the last of the French
horses passed through the British squares for the fourth and final time the
formations broke up to rematerialize into a long line on the lip of the hill.

Where the squares had been, lay
patches of trampled grass surrounded by perfectly straight lines of British
dead.  The area in-between the bare patches of green was littered with the
blood and carcasses of the French heavy cavalry.

A horse wounded by musket balls
lay kicking in the mud on top of its still conscious rider who cried out in
agony.  The British soldiers paid no attention to his cries behind them because
they were looking intently at Napoleon’s Old Guard marching across the field to
deliver what Bonaparte referred to as his hammer blow.  As the regiment who had
never lost a battle approached with drums beating the French artillery
bombarded the British line with devastating effect.  This time, Robert and the
rest of the army could not retire and lay down because they had to be all
together, ready for the Guard when it arrived.

For three years the only thing
that had occupied Robert’s mind was the thought of dying honorably in battle to
end his hollow pain.  Now as he stood on the thin red line watching men being
blasted to pieces by cannon shot he wanted to live with all of his heart.

Surveying the battlefield before
him in order to distract his mind from this perfect irony Robert noticed quite
how grand the battle had been.  His field of vision extended from the heavily
defended farmhouse on his left past the La Haye Sainte farmhouse almost
directly in front of him and onto the large stone building called Hougoumont on
his right.

As far as the eye could see lay
the dead and wounded from both sides of the conflict.  Corpses lay everywhere
in lines in piles in the most tangled of positions and for the first time in
his life Robert did not envy them their fate.  How bizarre that he would have
gladly given his soul to be adorning this field only moments before but now he
not only wanted to live he was going to fight with all his power to survive.

When the cannons slowed then
ceased their crashing something familiar snagged at Robert’s thoughts.  It was
the regular beat of the French drummers; and while looking for the source of
the familiar noise, Robert caught sight of the Old Guard marching towards his
position from the right of the line and he became completely transformed.

With great clarity he was
watching a 2000-year-old Roman legion marching through the eyes of another. 
Brass tassels striking red tunics replaced the rhythm of the drums as Robert
became completely oblivious to the battle raging all around him for a second
time.

“
Charge!’ ‘Charge!”  Were the words that brought him
crashing back to his field of battle and after a bloody fight which could have
gone either way the Old Guard turned and ran for the first time in their proud
history.  Their retreat signaled a turn in favor of the British so Wellington
drove home his advantage with great speed.   All regiments were ordered to
follow the fleeing French down the hill across the road which passed directly
through the middle of the valley and on to Bonaparte's own camp.

All of the French but two
regiments of Napoleon’s personal guard ran away and these men of honor formed
squares and braced themselves against the light cavalry, which rode ahead of
the advancing British infantry.  The thought of surrender for a second time was
too appalling for these proud fighting men to consider so they decided to stand
and cover the retreat of their beloved Emperor.  With their tall bearskin hats,
their bushy walrus mustaches and the earrings, which denoted their exulted
status they died with great honor.

Robert no longer had the taste
for killing or dying and he ordered his men to take care as they walked.  All
of them were grateful and surprised that Mad Bob had seen the light and was no
longer hell bent on getting himself, and them, killed.  At eight on the clock
the day was completely won by the tactics of Wellington; and the British
soldiers, who could still muster the strength, gave three cheers as the Duke
and his staff passed through their ranks.

Just like Marius, thought Robert
as the Duke rode by, your men love you.  Shocked yet again by his apparent intimacy
with a historical figure Robert decided then and there that Rome was the place
for answers and determined to get to the ancient city just as soon as the army
and circumstances would allow.

Going about the field helping
wounded comrades and looting the twenty-five thousand French bodies took the
victorious British troops all of the remaining twilight hours.

At the end of this most
important day, great fires were lit and much needed food prepared.  Robert
thanked Wellesley’s messenger who rode up to convey an invitation to dine with
the general staff but chose to stay near the men who had saved his life.  Upper
class officers seldom showed such loyalty to lowly peasant soldiers and his men
were puffed with pride as the ornate dragoon rode away to tell the Duke that
Robert would rather be with them than him.

After a meal of scavenged French
food some of his men fell into exhausted sleep exactly where the lay.  One man
near a distant fire played lament-filled tunes on a harmonica and a few of the
lads hummed the chorus to familiar songs as they stared into the fire and
relived the horrors of the day.

Unwilling to rest until a
measure of amends had been made, Robert wandered around until he found a dead
courier and one of the many dead drummer boys.  Kneeling down he respectfully
closed the child’s still terror-filled eyes before unbuckling his white
shoulder strap.  A few looked up with curiosity in their tired eyes as Robert
sat near the fire with his legs on either side of the musket ball riddled drum
but they turned back to the fire having answered their own unasked question.

Opening the French messenger’s
highly polished black leather pouch, Robert removed a piece of paper and rested
it on the still tightly stretched calfskin drum.  Then, by the light from
burning debris he removed a pencil from the pouch and found the courage to
write a letter for the first time in his life:

18 June 1815.

Waterloo.

Dearest Julia.

The pain I have caused you is
burning within me as though I inflicted it upon myself.  I can offer no
explanation for the most callous and heartless treatment of one who deserves
nothing but respect and the safety of complete love.

Since first we met at Cambridge
so many years ago it seems that I have been constantly at war with the Americans,
the French and myself.  Until this day I had not understood any of the emotions
that compelled me to you then drove me away, but during this most fierce of
battles I caught a glimpse of my soul and have realized the folly of my ways.

It has become clear to me that
the puzzle which has so irrationally clouded my life since birth can only be
solved in Rome and it is there that I must take myself at the conclusion of
this business with Bonaparte.

The purpose of this letter is
not to ask for your forgiveness because I clearly do not deserve the respect of
one as worthy as yourself.  It is merely an attempt to place your mind at ease
and make sure that you understand my behavior was driven from within me and not
induced by you.

The shame I have brought upon
your family and my own ensures my expulsion from polite society.  Therefore at
the conclusion of my time in Rome I will be returning directly to Canada where
I hope to make a new start.  Please pass my most humble apologies to your
mother and father.

We are destined never to meet
again my dearest Julia but I will think of you every day until my very last.

With all my love.

Robert.

One further letter of apology
was written to the parents to who he had caused so much pain.  Robert then lay
his head on yet another dead Frenchman’s discarded pack and fell immediately
into a peaceful sleep.

As he lay under the brilliant
stars in a field full of dead and sleeping bodies, Robert dreamed of himself
and Julia standing on the deck of a sailing ship crossing a deep blue ocean.

On the morning of the day
following the battle of Waterloo, Wellington rallied his able-bodied troops and
began the long march for Paris.  The regiments remained always at the ready in
case Bonaparte turned his retreating army for another battle but it was all
over, the French people had no more heart for war or their Emperor.  They like
France were in a mess after twenty five years of revolution then war and now
defeat and everyone was just too busy looking for food to fight.

As they marched the British
found that the retreating Grand Army had devoured every single scrap of food. 
Anything edible was completely gone as though a vast swarm of ants was passing
ahead of them.  Riders were sent in all directions but everything for miles around
had been taken and this caused a new set of logistical problems for
Wellington.  Provisions had to be brought in wagons from the Low Countries,
lines of supply became stretched to breaking point and the advance slowed to a
frustrating crawl.

When the bedraggled British army
eventually entered Paris its humbled citizens were made the scapegoats for the
soldiers exhaustion, hunger and frustration.  A defeated city in the hands of a
vengeful army is a very dangerous place and the British quickly imposed martial
law in an attempt to minimize the inevitable raping and looting.  As hard as
they tried, it could not be stopped completely.  Robert made it very clear to
his lads that they were duty bound to help any innocent civilians and in the
event of them being caught doing anything untoward they would be
court-martialed and hanged on the spot.

Wellington liked Robert’s
professional approach to soldiering and used his trusted unit to round up many
of the senior city officials.  Robert was also one of the many officers
involved in the hunt for Bonaparte but their search was in vain because he was
found a long way from Paris by the British naval blockade on a ship bound for
America.

Even the locals cheered when
they heard the news that Napoleon had been sent away for a second term in exile
and this time there would be no escape from the barren rock of an island called
St Helena off the coast of Africa.

As with all cities in France,
Paris was short of every commodity, the people were starving and the British
began to fear insurrection.  Something had to be done and all resources were
directed to the task of feeding the starving populace.  Robert volunteered his
services, such as they were, to the quartermasters and while serving as a
provisioning clerk it was discovered quite by chance that he had the most
incredible ability for logistics on a grand scale.

Robert instinctively knew how to
purchase and move great quantities of food from wherever it could be found into
the city.  He understood the complexities of importing goods from foreign
countries, even the ships necessary to move cargo he managed in the most
efficient manner.  As impossible as it seemed it was as though he had
provisioned a war-ravaged population before.

Robert also had an instinctive
nose for sniffing out corruption and counseled Wellington to bring in draconian
laws to deal with the black-marketeers who exploited their own people by
stockpiling much-needed food.  As much as the villains tried to work around the
laws young Pishiobury was always one step ahead of them.  His foresightedness
never ceased to amaze the Duke.  Robert seemed to understand the criminal mind
intimately.  His detailed directions allowed Wellington’s flying squads to
drive them out of business.  By way of an example many were even dragged from
their slums and guillotined in the Place de la Concorde just as Robert’s Aunty
Prudence had been years before.

As so often happens when someone
performs well, Robert found himself trapped by his own ability.  The harder he
worked the less expendable he became which meant he was one of the last
frontline troops to leave Paris.

Always extremely anxious to be
on his way, no one would let him go because he was just too competent.  Worried
that he would be held up in Paris for many years Robert found that he had
another instinctive ability.  It was the skill to delegate responsibility and
within weeks he had created a structure that rendered him superfluous.

Having freed himself by the
spring of 1816, Robert requested a special discharge while partaking in one of
his regular evening meals with Wellington.  The grateful Duke readily agreed
and when he heard that Robert intended to visit Rome he offered to provide an
escort.

“
Paris still has many un-needed British soldiers who
are constantly involving themselves in drunken brawls,” he said; then added,
“Sending a few across country will keep them occupied and out of trouble,
what?”

A few days after their last
dinner together Robert departed. It was a simple farewell and Wellesley asked,
“What shall I tell Lord and Lady Pishiobury when I see them dear boy, what?”

“
Please inform them that I most sincerely meant my
written apology for my ridiculous and shameful behavior at Cambridge and that I
will write to them from Canada.’

“
As you wish Pishiobury but I think you will be
welcome home you know?  Your Mater and Pater love you very much.”

“
I’m afraid you don’t know the half of it Sir,” said
Robert, “I am compelled as a gentleman not to compromise my family honor.” 
Shaking hands as he spoke Robert noticed, what looked like, a little moisture
in the Duke’s eyes as he turned to board his carriage.

Sitting back in the plush
leather seats Robert admired his luxurious coach and fine horses as he rolled
away from the waving Wellesley.  The entire rig had been purchased for
surprisingly little money because in the complete wreck that France had become
the value of everything except food had collapsed.

Trusting the lads to do a good
job Robert sent them out to purchase a coach for his journey and he was very
pleased with their work.  Haggling for a good price was expected in Paris and
the men brokered a very good deal from the once wealthy but now
poverty-stricken owner.

As Braithwaite had once been the
coachman for a wealthy highland family he jumped at the chance of driving to
Rome.  The other men were equally keen to form Robert’s guard because they both
loved his leadership and wanted to get out of Paris.  The only one who could
not ride a horse was Howatson and rather than be left behind he volunteered to
sit in the dickey seat at the rear of the carriage where he held a short musket
at the ready.

Each man was heavily armed
because there were so many hungry and desperate French soldiers wandering the
countryside.  It was no longer safe to travel the roads without a military
escort so the Waterloo-hardened veterans riding before and after the carriage
were always alert and ready for an attack.

The journey was unhurried as
Robert wanted to enjoy the sights passing his window.  Sometimes when they
stopped or made camp Robert surveyed fields where copies of very old maps told
him Roman battles had taken place.  His history lessons grew to become a much
anticipated highlight for his veterans and they loved the fact that Robert knew
everything about the Roman leaders who tamed the wild country they now knew had
been called Gaul.  Wherever they went Robert told them, ‘Marius fought the
Gauls here or Sulla there, even Julius Caesar against Vercingetorix there.’

It seemed that over a period of
several hundred years the Romans had fought on every inch of this country and
they found themselves excited about the prospect of each new stop on their most
fascinating journey.

From France they made their way
through the Alps and just as Hannibal with his elephants, crossed over the
border into Italy.  When they camped in the countryside by the road they all
slept under the stars by the carriage but whenever they stayed in a town Robert
always paid the price of a room for his comrades.  They stayed at places like
Pisa with its strange leaning bell tower and a variety of other coastal towns
and villages.  Beautiful late summer weather accompanied them on their way
southwards.  All enjoyed their peaceful surroundings as they rode gently by the
side of the Ligurian Sea and the closer they came to Rome the more Robert found
the smells and sounds of the ancient countryside hauntingly familiar.

Carriages always develop faults
on long journeys such as this and the men traveling with Robert had become
extremely adept at fixing them.  The failure that stopped them on this occasion
involved the axel and the lads swiftly set about repairing it.  Robert offered
to help, as he often did, but the men took pride in looking after him.  It was
a compliment of course but always left him bored for the duration of the
repairs.  After watching for a few minutes, he decided to go for a walk among
the old olive trees in the grove by the side of the road.

“
Shall I bring the musket?” asked Howatson reaching
for his weapon.

“
No. I will be safe enough thank you,” said Robert
in reply, while tapping the grip of his holstered flintlock pistol.  The first
simple steps soon turned into a purposeful gate, each stride drew him onward in
a seemingly preordained direction.  Within ten minutes Robert was no longer in
control of his objective.  He became a passenger as something inside his body
took him deeper into the ancient grove.

When he found a very old well he
was somehow resigned to the fact that it would be there.  Resting his back
against its crumbling stonewall he sat looking into the distance and
impulsively reached for his wallet.  After a few moments wondering about the
meaning of the familiar eyes on the wellworn paper Robert noticed a movement
away to his right.  Moving rapidly for his pistol in defense he noticed that
his potential assailant was nothing more than a harmless young girl carrying a
wooden pail.  Placing the flintlock on the ground he stood and just as had
happened outside the square at Waterloo, Robert felt the strong presence of the
strange being moving deep within him once again.

While he had never seen her
before, the girl stirred feelings of familiarity for his inner companion.  It
was like watching a sibling as her strong but feminine body glided over the
ground.  In all of his life he had never seen such primitive beauty and her
innocence moved Robert’s hidden persona to the verge of tears.

Making eye contact as she
approached, the startled girl triggered floods of protective emotions within
him.  Nothing was said but a connection was made and the girl placed the pail
calmly on the ground and walked over to the well where the being within Robert
beckoned her to sit.

He watched his hand gently brush
the strawberry blond hair from her eyes as she lowered herself to sit with him
and even this spontaneously intimate act seemed right.  After a long period of
silence the purpose of their meeting seemed to have been fulfilled and she
instinctively rose to leave.  Robert filled her bucket and placed the rope
handle in her most beautifully formed hand.  He then watched her walk away
carrying the water and felt there was something very significant about this
girl’s unhindered return to her life in the groves.

Wondering about the implications
of what had just transpired Robert was forced by the growing heat to find shade
under an old olive tree where he sat until the shortening shadows told him it
was time to return to his men.  When he placed his hand on the ground to lift
himself to his feet the edge of a metallic object pushed against his finger. 
Brushing away the dry soil Robert saw what looked vaguely like the hilt of a
dagger completely eaten by rust.  Cleaning away the years of dirt and decay the
piece fell apart in his hand and without a thought for its origin Robert
casually discarded the dust and walked back to the ancient road which the
Romans called the Via Aurelia.

The pitch black horses seemed
restless as he walked out of the trees and his already mounted men were
obviously very happy to see him return.  Having fixed the coach they were all
worried that something may have happened to him and Robert was touched by their
concern, it was very clear that they truly loved their battle-hardened Captain.

Touching his empty holster
Robert realized that he had left his pistol by the well.  It did not matter
because there were spare weapons in every locker on the coach so giving a shrug
he said, “Let’s make all haste for Rome lads.” Then spontaneously added, “We
must travel at the gallop!”

There was no real urgency but
traveling at speed seemed like the correct thing to do.  Braithwaite did not
question the order he just whipped the horses to a foaming gallop and
concentrated only on the task in hand.  Passing very old villas and houses in
the Italian countryside provoked flashes of familiarity for Robert but entering
the gates outside the city of Rome felt like a homecoming.

Exhausted tired and hungry they
clip-clopped through the dark streets until they found the home of Anton.  It
was a huge high-walled structure near the river Tiber and Sergeant Major Alfrey
dismounted and knocked on the solid wooden door, which was opened by a
housemaid holding an oil lamp.

Lights started appearing at
every window as the household was roused to greet their guests.  Anton had been
expecting Robert and his party for some days and had left instructions to be
woken upon their arrival.  While standing in their nightshirts the family
welcomed their son’s old Cambridge friend and his cohorts warmly.  After a
light supper the friendly housemaid showed Robert and his men to rooms in
various parts of the house.  The old home was truly vast and each man was given
a room of his own.