Susan Johnson (24 page)

“I understand.” She didn’t demur, in full accord on that point.

“Lauzun will fit up commissary supplies for your protégés. I’ll give you ten wagons, but you’re obliged to ration out the foodstuffs on your own.” He sat down to pull off his boots. “I can’t spare the men.”

“Gladly. Thank you, darling. There are several women who can drive the wagons. You met Jeanne-Marie,” she said. “She’s organized the women into small companies.”

“
You
will have a guard at all times.”

His fatigue suddenly showed, she thought; his schedule had been strenuous the last few days. “I know. I shan’t argue about that,” she offered. “Are you hungry? Ollivier tells me dinner is ready whenever you like.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“When did you last eat?”

He shrugged, a myriad of last-minute details racing through his mind. “I don’t know. This morning with you probably.” His gaze was unfocused, his reply detached.

“Where are you?”

His gaze came round to her. “I’m sorry, darling. I know where I am and where I’d like to stay. Tell me what Ollivier has for dinner.”

“Trout and new spring peas and wild strawberries.”

“And pudding for dessert,” he said with a smile.

“Of course. How could I survive without pudding?”

“The food may be more rustic in Winterthur.”

“I’ll make my own pudding, then.”

“A resourceful woman.”

“I managed to find you, didn’t I?”

“Did you now?” he replied, reaching out for her and pulling her between his legs. “And in order to keep you happy I may have to make love to you tonight,” he murmured, sliding his arms around her waist.

“Would we have time before dinner?” she whispered.

“I’d much prefer eating you to trout,” he breathed. “An appetizer,” he whispered, feeling for and swiftly unfastening the hooks at the back of her dress. “Where’s your chemise?” he murmured a moment later, casting a playful glance upward.

“I thought I’d save time,” she said with an arch glance. “I’ve been waiting for you for almost two hours.”

“Ummm, a luscious prize at the end of a hard day.”

“Or a hard prize at the end of my day.”

He laughed. “You sound ready.”

“Oh, yes,” she murmured, slipping her bodice free. “An appetizer for you,” she whispered, leaning over and placing her nipple in his mouth.

His breeches were unbuttoned in a flash, and mouth full, he eased her down on his lap, his erection sliding deep inside her, her blissful sigh ending in a contented moan. She wrapped her legs around his hips and he put his hands under her bottom and raised and lowered her in a leisurely, slow undulation, capturing her nipple in his mouth on the ascent, biting it, not hard, just tasting it, as if they had all the time in the world. As if they were just passing time while they waited for dinner to be served on an ordinary night in their ordinary lives.

He played with her breasts and kissed the hollow at the base of her throat and nibbled her ears. But she could never wait, always wanting him as soon as he entered a room, even before he touched her, and always in the most physical way.

She felt the first small convulsion begin and clutched at him to hold him deep inside her. He whispered affectionately, “You’re so easy,” and tightened his hold on her bottom to meet the rhythm of her strokes, joining her in their own personal heaven.

He was the sexiest, most beautiful man on earth, she blissfully thought, and he loved her and she loved him.

How simple it seemed on a warm spring night with his body against hers.

How appealing.

Duras’s command post was established in Winterthur by the following afternoon and the next morning he counterattacked with Oudinot’s and Soult’s divisions, driving the Austrians back with the loss of 740 killed, 1,400 wounded, and 3,000 taken prisoner. The total French loss was under 800. Nauendorff’s troops retired to the line of the Rhine.

But the continuing threat to his communications and the enemy’s superior numbers convinced Duras that he could no longer maintain his forward troops in the exposed salient east of Zurich. Before the Austrians could attack again, he withdrew his center sector to the entrenched camp which he’d organized to cover the town. At the same time he withdrew his left behind the river Limmat. This gave him a very strong defensive position with the Glatt marshes a continuous water line in front of it.

For the moment, Duras had managed to stabilize his front, but the archduke was already bringing in reinforcements from Germany.

Two days later the Austrian advance was renewed when they closed up to the new French line. In the center Jellachich’s corps was opposite Zurich while farther south von Hotze advanced to the northern shores of the Zurich and Walen lakes. On June 3, the archduke struck at the French positions around the city. After a day of bitter fighting the Austrians finally abandoned the battlefield. But on the morning of June 4, they renewed their advance, the archduke’s three corps converging on the Zurichberg, the key to the battle, the two-thousand-foot height dominating the roads around Zurich as well as the bridges over the Limmat River.

Exceptionally heavy fighting raged around this mountain
as the Austrians tried again and again to capture and hold the summit only to be driven back each time by reckless French bayonet attacks. Duras took charge personally at each threatened point, forcing the Austrian offensive back, bringing up fresh reinforcements, shifting battle units, riding three horses into the ground in the course of the day.

From the villa windows, Teo watched the assault, never before witness to a battle, anxious, horrified, trembling whenever she’d catch sight of Duras riding out in front of his men, seemingly oblivious to the gunfire, never faltering or retreating. White-knuckled, she’d grip the window ledge and pray until he’d disappear from sight again.

How could he do what he did—day after day, year after year? she wondered. She was appalled by and simultaneously in awe of his unflinching courage. It was nothing less than incredible, inspiring.

And when the light began to diminish, she watched the Austrians withdraw and felt such relief she collapsed where she stood.

Having failed to break the French lines or to secure a foothold on the Zurichberg, and having lost over 3,000 men, the archduke called off the battle. The French casualties were half those of their opponents, amounting to 502 killed, 729 wounded, and 500 prisoners. General Oudinot, always in the thick of the fighting, was severely wounded and General Cherin, one of Duras’s staff, died of his wounds. Duras only had time to send a note to Teo that evening; he and his staff were up all night assessing their positions.

On the following day torrential rain fell and the Austrians remained inactive. The French were also worn out, their method of constant local attacks contributing to troop fatigue. Fearing the Austrians would renew their assault the next morning, not sure he could withstand another day of heavy fighting, Duras decided to abandon his entrenched camp and the Zurichberg and withdraw his center to a stronger position on the Utliberg, two miles southwest of
the town. This dominating peak, 2,850 feet high, commanded all the country north and west of Zurich. The withdrawal was carried out unmolested during the night of June 5 and on into the early morning hours of the sixth. Duras’s position was now stronger than before, the disadvantages of fighting with the town of Zurich and its eleven thousand inhabitants actually in the front line overcome. And although the Austrians could claim to have captured the important town of Zurich, they could not advance a yard beyond it.

Duras’s evacuation of Zurich and his withdrawal to the Utliberg caused grave dissatisfaction in Paris. This feeling became still more acute after the minor
coup d’état
of June 18 when three of the Directors were replaced.

Letters came daily from the Directory complaining of Duras’s inaction and insisting he go on the offensive. The political factions opposed to him were publishing scurrilous reports of the disasters at the front, blaming Duras. Bernadotte, the new war minister and Duras’s enemy, was doing his best to remove him from his command, going so far as to sign an order for his dismissal. Additionally, the problems of local supply were becoming so serious that Duras finally fired all the army contractors and set up army units to do the foraging.

Disgusted by all the political ineptitude and acrimony, he finally wrote to the Directors:

“Screw them and their ridiculous orders,” Duras raged. “I’m supposed to put my men in jeopardy for incompetents like them? Let Moreau take over.” Bernadotte had supposedly handed over the command to his friend Moreau. “The Austrians will overrun the borders in a week.”

“Barras and Roger-Ducos can cancel Bernadotte’s orders,” Bonnay said, seated beside Cholet, who was transcribing the letter. The men were outside the small cottage Duras had taken over as living quarters, a rough table and chairs substituting for an office. Tall pines surrounded them, the summer sun filtered through the branches, and the view of the plains below was spectacular.

“Bernadotte would like to be king,” Duras fumed, bad-tempered and testy. “A shame he can’t win any battles. He’d have a better chance.”

“Paris hasn’t ordered your replacement yet,” Bonnay pointed out.

“I’m surprised Moreau would even consider taking the command. The bastard is afraid of rifle fire.”

“But then he doesn’t appear in the front lines,
mon ami
,” Bonnay calmly said, sympathizing with Duras’s wrath but more cool-headed.

Duras spun around on the dried pine needles covering the ground. “Don’t you ever raise your voice?” he said, breaking into a smile.

Bonnay shrugged. “Damned sure not for Bernadotte. He’ll be gone in a month; his list of enemies is lengthy.”

“So I shouldn’t ready myself for retirement?”

“There’s men enough in power who know better than to lose you.”

“But until then …” Duras sighed. “I’m tired of these carping letters and of the fools demanding I attack.”

“You’ve been ignoring them for a month now.”

“We need the reinforcements they’ve been promising me since spring. And,” he sardonically murmured, “it would help if we had food and fodder too.”

But cooler judgments prevailed in Paris and a successor wasn’t named. Reinforcements finally began to reach his army and by July over eighteen thousand men had arrived in Switzerland. Throughout the month, the lines around Zurich remained quiet, and while it was impossible to forget the war camped on the heights of the Utliberg, the summer days and nights were balmy, the breeze refreshing, and the Austrians neither strong enough nor well organized enough to launch a major attack.

Duras and Teo had time together those weeks before the offensive began and their small cottage under the pines became an oasis from the world. Tamyr didn’t intrude on their solitude unless Teo asked for her help, understanding how fleeting was their time together. It was a constant in everyone’s mind; no day passed without news of the Austrian movements. Additional Russian troops were expected as well—any day.

“It almost reminds me of home,” Teo said one evening as they watched the sky change from the glow of sunset into dusk. “The pines and the immense sky, the cool air. Do you think you could come home with me sometime?”

“When this is over I’ll go anywhere at all with you.” Duras’s hand lay over hers as they sat side by side. “The farther away from this the better.” The pressures were becoming more intense, his counterattacks gaining good terrain every day. His positions were well sited and strong, his reinforcements slowly arriving, bringing his army up to strength. Very soon he’d be ready to attack.

But before that he’d have to send Teo away.

He’d talked to Bonnay already and Mingen had agreed to accompany Teo and Tamyr to Paris and stay with them until the child was born. The necessary papers had arrived. They were in Bonnay’s quarters: authorizations for passage to Paris; passports; letters of credit on his bank; instructions to his lawyers—everything Teo would need to live with their child should he not survive.

The baby was just beginning to show, making it more imperative she be safely away while she could still travel. Tomorrow he’d bring up the subject, he told himself. But he didn’t, nor the next day.

Bonnay finally spoke to him about it and Duras snapped back, “I know. I know.” Reluctant to let her go, he’d become thin-skinned about the matter.

“She’s too much on your mind. You have someone check on her five times a day when we’re in the field and we won’t be within riding distance once the offensive begins.”

“I don’t need your advice.” Duras walked away and stood in the doorway of the shed Bonnay had requisitioned for quarters.