Princess in Love (27 page)

Leo had never seen anything like this before, and he felt a sudden pang of shame for
his own selfish desires and violent anger. It was followed quickly by a semblance
of reassurance in knowing that Rose would be cared for by a man such as this.

He always knew nothing mattered more to him than Rose’s happiness. If he had to, he
would lay down his life for her.

He suspected this man would do the same.

Suddenly a shot was fired from the enemy lines. Leopold shared a look with the archduke.
Together they galloped farther up the rise. They each withdrew and extended their
spyglasses.

Leo saw smoke curling upward from the barrel of one of the French cannons.

“Do you see that?” Joseph asked.

Leo snapped his spyglass shut and slipped it into his pocket. “I do. It appears the
French are finally ready to pick a fight.”

They glanced at each other for an intense moment of realization before Joseph wheeled
his horse around. “I must return to the 25th. Good luck to you, General!”

“Good luck to you as well, Your Highness.”

With an odd sense of bewilderment, Leo watched Joseph gallop off, then returned to
his own troops to await Wellington’s orders.

*   *   *

After the first shot was fired at approximately 11:30
A.M.
, the battle began like a series of ocean waves, one after another, each side advancing
forward to foam up onto the beach, then retreat back to its position on the plains.

It began with the French forces storming the Hougoumont, a château in the valley between
the two opposing armies. It required ten thousand French troops to overtake the twenty-five
hundred British defenders that occupied it—but overtake them, they did.

Later in the afternoon Bonaparte laid siege to a second farm in the valley—La Haye
Sainte—and captured that as well, causing the situation to look increasingly bleak
for Wellington’s center.

All day long, Wellington waited for the arrival of the Prussian army, for the battle
would be hard won without them, but they remained just out of reach, slowly making
their way back from their initial retreat from the lost battle at Ligny.

Again the French advanced across the field, but the British and Petersbourg cavalries,
along with the brave Scots Greys, drove them back. The Scots Greys were fearless and
passionate in their charge and attacked the French guns, putting an end to the crisis
in the British center.

Yet Bonaparte pressed on. The French cuirassiers—a terrifying spectacle of mounted
troops with steel helmets and breastplates that reflected the glare of the sun—advanced
upon the allied forces, but did so without the support of infantry or cannon and failed
to break the well-prepared British squares, which held off the charge of the horses
with unbreakable lines of infantry with bayonets at the ready.

At last the Prussians arrived late in the day and captured the village of Plancenoit
on the French right flank, just as Wellington’s center was beginning to falter.

Recognizing an immediate opportunity for victory, Bonaparte sent his most prized and
experienced Imperial Guard forward to break Wellington’s back once and for all, but
a British brigade of guns rose up on the crest of the hill and fired upon them. Fifteen
hundred muskets faced only two hundred French guns, and sent them packing in a staggering
array of confusion and broken morale.

With the long-awaited support of the Prussian army, Wellington called out,
“No cheering, my lads, but forward and complete your victory!”

Leopold heard the command, drew his sword from its scabbard, and called his brave
Petersbourg cavalry to action.

“This is it, men! The final charge! Onward in the name of King Randolph!”

His shout echoed through the ranks as every man spurred his horse into a thundering
gallop down the slope toward glory, and to conquer and crush Napoleon’s famous French
Imperial Guard.

The massive charge caused the ground to vibrate beneath the force of thousands of
pounding hooves driving forward at an incredible speed.

The allies reached the enemy and fought with raging fury. It was a mad frenzy of violence,
which soon became an uncompromising pursuit as the remaining French lines broke and
scattered in retreat.

Leopold reined his horse to a skidding halt and paused to look around and gain his
bearings.

Violence and madness surrounded him in all directions. Men were shouting and running,
driving swords into the bellies of their enemies. Everywhere there was mud and blood
and smoke from the guns. The acrid smell of death filled his nostrils, but the allies
were winning. Only a few brave French grenadiers remained to fight to the death, while
most were escaping in a headlong rush to save themselves.

Leopold could barely see through the shifting smoke from the guns, but that did not
stop him from recognizing at a distance that distinctive blond head of hair, hatless
now, as the future emperor of Austria galloped into a mob of red-coated English infantry
fighting against the blue-uniformed members of the Imperial Guard.

His Highness swung his sword bravely and knocked down four French Guards with expert
precision before a bullet struck him in the shoulder. The impact knocked him onto
his back in the saddle.

With a red-hot surge of panic and no time to think, Leopold spurred his horse into
a gallop and shot like a bullet toward the mob of fighting men. He kept his eyes fixed
on the archduke, now rolling off his horse and sliding from the saddle to the ground.
His boot twisted in the iron stirrup as he fell.

The archduke’s white horse reared up as a cannonball whizzed by, then he bolted in
a mad dash toward the British right flank.

Leopold shouted
“Yah, yah!”
and galloped faster through the smoke and chaos to chase after Joseph, who was being
dragged by the boot along the blood-soaked field.

At last Leo reached the frantic animal and grabbed hold of the bridle to gentle him
and pull him to a halt.

A second later, Leo was tossing a leg over Goliath’s rear flank and leaping to the
ground to free the archduke’s foot from the stirrup.

He dropped to his knees beside Joseph, who was still breathing but unconscious. Leopold
unbuttoned the archduke’s coat to assess the damage. His white shirt was drenched
in blood.

Leo withdrew his knife and ripped through the fabric where the bullet had entered
near the shoulder joint. With fast-moving fingers he untied Joseph’s cravat and used
it to stanch the flow of blood while glancing down at his leg, which was twisted and
mangled.

“We need help here!” he shouted, lifting his gaze and looking all around, but his
voice was just one more desperate plea among the piercing roar of fighting men and
the continuing racket of muskets and cannon.

Joseph moaned. Leopold looked down at him.

“Your Royal Highness,” he said. “Can you hear me?”

Joseph’s eyes fluttered open. He winced in pain. “My leg…”

“I’m quite sure it’s broken,” Leopold explained to him, “and you’ve been shot in the
shoulder. Try not to move. An ambulance cart will be here soon.”

His heart was racing with fear and dread as he lifted the silk neck cloth to take
another look at the wound. It was still bleeding profusely.

Leopold covered it again.
“We need help!”
he shouted, louder this time, feeling more and more powerless with every passing
second as the blood continued to pour from the wound. He could do nothing but wait
for assistance, which might not come in time.

Joseph’s eyes blinked open again and he looked up at Leopold. “Tell me what is happening.
Have we won the battle?”

Leo looked around for his men and saw that the battle was nearly won. His mounted
regiment was now chasing the Imperial Guard from the field.

“Yes,” he replied. “It is a tremendous victory. Napoleon’s army is crushed.”

The gunfire began to subside. The disturbing roar of the shouting men grew quieter.
Leo could hear the sound of trumpets signaling the victory.

“Make sure they are harsher with him this time,” Joseph managed to say, though it
cost him dearly to breathe deeply enough to get the words out. He grabbed hold of
Leopold’s arm and pulled him closer. “Don’t let them send him back to Elba. He must
be imprisoned or sent to St. Helena. That is where they should have sent him the first
time.”

“I wholeheartedly agree.” Leopold gazed desperately about the battlefield, searching
for help while the neck cloth soaked up more and more blood.

All the sounds of the battle grew muffled in his ears, as if he had just plunged his
head into a barrel of water. The pop of the musket fire seemed very far away, and
the whole world spun to a dizzying halt.

Looking down at the man Rose had married—a good man; an honorable and courageous soldier
who was bleeding to death before his very eyes—he cursed this damnable war and prayed
that this would be the end of it.

God! Please, God, stop the blood
. He pressed firmly against the wound and shouted again,
“Help, goddammit! The archduke of Austria has been shot!”

Joseph’s hand squeezed Leopold’s wrist where he held the fabric in place. “Do something
for me,” he said.

Leo quickly nodded while his heart pounded like a heavy mallet in his chest.

“Tell Rose I love her, and that no woman could ever have made me as happy as she has
made me these past few months. Tell her that my world, my life, was not complete until
she entered it.”

Leopold clenched his jaw against the urge to utter a wrathful oath to curse God for
this.

“No,” he said. “You will tell her yourself.”

Joseph gazed weakly at the sky. “Promise me, if the worst happens…”

“I promise,” Leopold replied, if only to ease the archduke’s mind. “But it won’t be
necessary, because I am going to get you out of here.”

Leo’s eyes lifted just as two medics came running toward him with a stretcher.

“Is this the archduke?” one of them asked.

Leopold exhaled with relief. “Yes. He has been shot in the shoulder and his leg is
broken.”

“Thank you, General. If you would please move aside…”

They took charge of the situation and assessed the wound at Joseph’s shoulder, then
glanced only briefly at his leg, which seemed a lost cause.

“You must take him to the Montgomery Inn in Waterloo and send for the very best surgeon
we have,” Leopold said. “That is an order. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir,” the medic replied as he eased Joseph onto the stretcher.

Joseph had fallen unconscious by now, which was a blessing as he was awkwardly shifted
about.

Leopold watched them go, then took off in a sprint toward his horse and swung up into
the saddle. He galloped swiftly back to his regiment and found the first man who was
done with the fight and whose horse appeared fresh and strong.

“You there!” he shouted to the young private. “I have an important errand for you!”

The private saluted. “I am at your service, General.”

“You must ride back to Brussels immediately and go straight to the hotel on rue Montagne
du Parc, where you will deliver an urgent message to Rose, the wife of Archduke Joseph
of Austria. Tell her that her husband has been gravely wounded in battle and was taken
to the Montgomery Inn in Waterloo. She must go to him, and you must escort her there.
Do you understand this? Do you have it?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Now go!” The young soldier wheeled his horse around, but Leopold shouted to
him again. “Wait!”

The private reined in his mount.

“Tell her we were victorious, and that her husband fought bravely and proved himself
to be a great hero.”

“I will tell her, sir. Is that all?”

“Yes.” With a sinking heart and a painful surge of deep anguish for what Rose was
about to endure, Leo watched the rider gallop away.

Chapter Twenty-nine

It had been an unbearable two-hour carriage ride from Brussels to Waterloo, and by
the time Rose arrived, twilight had settled over the town. The streets were teeming
with wagonloads of wounded soldiers being taken to God knows where, for the casualties
had been enormous. There was an estimated total of fifty thousand dead counting both
sides, and many more injured.

Her heart was focused on only one man, however: her husband, who might very well be
among the dead by now if she had not reached him in time.

When the coach finally arrived at the inn, she did not wait for a servant to open
the door. She opened it herself while the wheels were still turning and leaped onto
the street. With a quick glance up at the sign to ensure she was in the correct location,
she gathered her skirts in her fists and ran to the door.

Inside, the inn was packed with wounded men lying on the floor of the taproom and
along the walls in the center hall. Many were bandaged, bruised, and bloody. Some
were weeping for their mothers.

“I am looking for my husband,” she said to the first civilian she came to—possibly
the innkeeper’s wife. “He is Archduke Joseph of Austria. I was told he was taken here.”

Let him be alive …

The woman’s eyes widened. She quickly curtsied. “Yes, Your Royal Highness. We have
been expecting you. He is upstairs. Please allow me to take you to him.”

They skirted their way through a narrow winding path between the bedrolls laid out
on the floor, and climbed the stairs to the top.

The woman led Rose to a room at the end of the corridor and knocked gently with one
knuckle upon the door. “The princess is here,” she said.

Rose heard the sound of a chair scraping across the floor and heavy footsteps. Then
the door quickly opened.

To her utter shock and dismay, there stood Leopold, covered in dirt and grime. His
chin was splattered with blood, but he was in one piece, thank God. She sucked in
a breath at the sight of him.