The Irish Witch

Having thanked him, Roger enquired about the pros­pects of the present campaign.

The General shrugged. 'As you must be aware, much depends on whether Austria comes in against us. But, even should she do so, I think our chances of defeating this new Coalition far from bad. According to my latest intelli­gence, the Russian field army is some one hundred and eighty thousand strong, the Prussians about one hundred and sixty thousand, the Swedes and Mecklenburgers about thirty-nine thousand. That totals approximately three hundred and eighty thousand men, and between them they have some one thousand one hundred guns. Should Austria join our enemies that would bring the Allied strength up to roughly six hundred thousand men and one thousand four hundred guns. Against that, we and our allies have over eight hundred and sixty thousand men under arms. They are not, of course, all with the Emperor but, including reinforcements now on the way to him, he should have well over six hundred thousand in the German lands.'

When Roger left the Ministry, he was considerably perturbed by the figures that had been given him. A large percentage of Napoleon's troops must, he knew, be raw recruits, and also he was short of cavalry. But, although Austria was coming in, he would still have superiority in numbers; and, while it was certain that the councils of the Allies would be divided, the Emperor alone would control the dispositions of his great army. Moreover, he was unquestionably a greater strategist than any of die Generals opposed to him.

Among those of the twenty-four people known to Roger who sat down to dinner at Talleyrand's that afternoon were Goudin, Duc de Gaete, once a junior official at the Treasury, whom Napoleon, on becoming First Consul, had made Minister of Finance and who had by his bril­liant measures rescued France from bankruptcy, and Car­dinal Fesch. The latter was the half-brother of Napoleon's mother. As an Abbe, at the time of the Revolution, he had fled with the Bonapartes from Corsica to the South of France, but there renounced the Church to become a supplier of army stores, and in that capacity accompanied Napoleon on his first victorious campaign in Italy, return­ing to Paris with an ill-gotten fortune. Later, feeling that it could prove useful to have a prelate in the family, Napo­leon had made him Bishop of Lyons then, on the rap­prochement with the Papacy, a Cardinal and Grand Almoner. 'Uncle' Fesch, as he was known, was a sly fellow and insatiably avaricious. Like all the other Bonapartes, he showed little gratitude for his elevation and, as Ambas­sador to Rome, had proved an expensive failure; but he had great influence with his half sister Madame Mere, and was not a man of whom to make ah enemy.

Later that evening Roger told Talleyrand that La Belle Etoile had changed hands, and he did not at all care for the new landlord, so the Prince renewed his invitation which Roger now gladly accepted, and the following morning he moved into the mansion.

That day he attended the levee of the plump, stupid young Austrian Arch-Duchess Marie Louise, who was now Empress of the French, and made his bow to her son, the King of Rome, a charming little boy who was old enough to stand beside her, dressed in a miniature uni­form.

From the Tuileries, Roger went on to pay his respects to Madame Mere, the only other Bonaparte then in Paris. The gaunt old lady had a forbidding presence and could be very tart at times; but she liked Roger because he had never shown any fear of her, and talked to him in her atrocious French for over half an hour about Napoleon and her other children, whose well-being was the one con­cern of her life.

Having made his duty calls, Roger rode out on the Sunday to Malmaison, to see the ex-Empress Josephine. They had been friends for many years. She received him with delight, took him round the hothouses, in which she grew a remarkable collection of tropical plants, and insis­ted that he stayed on to dine with a number of other friends she had coming out to visit her.

In her youth and the early years of her marriage to Napoleon, while he was absent on his campaigns she had given free play to her amorous inclinations; but, belatedly, she had fallen in love with her husband and became furi­ously jealous about his affairs with other women. At the time of the divorce, losing him had been a more severe blow to her than losing her position as Empress. But Roger was glad to find that she had become resigned to living in retirement at Malmaison which, with her boundless extravagance—paid for willingly by the Emperor—she had made one of the most beautiful homes in France and where, owing to her intelligence and charm, she never lacked for company.

During the days that followed Roger found plenty to occupy him. When it became generally known that Aus­tria had declared war on the 14th, distinguished visitors to Talleyrand's mansion, who wished to discuss the new situation, became more numerous than ever. Old ac­quaintances of Roger's invited him to their houses, and on two further occasions he rode out to Malmaison and spent several hours with Josephine. Having heard nothing from Clarke by the Friday, he called again at the Minis­try of War, but the General told him that there were still a whole series of files to be gone through. Impatiently he waited until the following Monday. That evening a note was brought to him, which read:

'My dear de Breuc,

'I much regret to have to tell you that we have drawn a blank. My people tell me that after the Brunswickers were shipped by the English from Spain they were landed in north-west Germany and employed there against the forces of the Marshal Prince d'Eckmuhl in Hanover; so your relative is probably in a prisoner-of-war camp in the Prince's command; and of the occupants of these we have no records.

'With my most distinguished sentiments, etc.’

Giving a sigh, Roger laid the letter down. Obviously the mission on which he had set out was not yet anywhere near accomplishment.

15

The War Reopens

As Roger had had good reason to expect that Charles had been sent south to a camp somewhere in France or, at the worst, in the Rhine Provinces, General Clarke's letter was a grievous disappointment. Not only did it mean another journey of at least six hundred and fifty miles, but the Prince d'Eckmuhl was Marshal Davout, a dour man who had no liking for Roger, so it would be useless to go direct to him. The only course was to go first to the Emperor and obtain from him an order to the Marshal to release Charles.

All that was known in Paris of the situation in the north was that the French were holding the line of the Elbe and that the Emperor's headquarters were somewhere in the neighbourhood of Dresden. So, on the morning of August 24th, Roger took leave of his charming host and set off in that direction.

Again averaging fifty miles a day, he travelled by way of Chalons, Nancy, Strasbourg, Stuttgart, Nurnberg, Plauen and Chemnitz.

At officers' Messes in garrison towns through which he passed he picked up news of the conflict that had re­opened when Austria entered the war. On the 18th Mar­shal Macdonald's army in Silesia had been defeated by Blucher and forced back over the river Katzbach; but on the 21st the Emperor had arrived on the scene and re­stored the situation. Two days later he hurried back to Dresden. Macdonald was said to have believed that the allies were retiring, but they were not, so the two armies, this time unexpectedly, again came into collision. Blucher's Prussians were severely handled, but the Russian cavalry broke through the French flank and drove the centre of Macdonald's army in great confusion down into the flooded river Neisse. After further severe fighting, by September 1st the allies had driven die French out of Silesia, so could claim their first substantial victory.

In the meantime, on August 22nd, Prince Karl von Schwarzenberg, who had been nominated Generalissimo of the Allied forces, had invaded Saxony with his Austrians, and advanced on Dresden. As the Emperor had by then gone to the assistance of Macdonald in Silesia, the city was covered only by St. Cyr's corps. Schwarzenberg, presumably unaware of this, and at all times a hesitant General with an obsessive fear of Napoleon, decided to await further reinforcements; so he did not open the attack until the morning of the 26th, and then only half­heartedly.

But for this dilatoriness he could almost certainly have taken the Saxon capital. As things turned out, St. Cyr's three divisions proved staunch enough to hold off the first assaults and, that very morning, Napoleon returned. Halting on the bridge over the Elbe, he swiftly deployed the army he had brought back with him from Silesia, and despatched General Vandamme with a strong force to Pima, from where he could fall on the Allies' rear.

Early on the 27th Napoleon launched a full-scale attack and, although the Allied army exceeded the French by some forty thousand men, by afternoon their left wing had been shattered, which led to a general retreat. The weather was appalling, the roads bad and that night Rus­sians, Prussians and Austrians were fleeing in hopeless disorder. They had lost ten thousand killed and wounded, and fifteen thousand had been taken prisoner. On the fol­lowing day they were relentlessly pursued, and lost a further five thousand men.

Such was Napoleon's great victory at Dresden, but he was robbed of its fruits a few days later. While the Allies strove to stem the retreat and bring up reinforcements, the King of Prussia appealed to the Russian General Ostermann to use the reserve division he commanded in an endeavour to check the French advance. On the 30th the fifteen thousand Russians fought heroically against great odds, lost half their number, but succeeded in holding Vandamme before Kulm. By the following day von Kleist's Prussians had outflanked the French, and both the Russians and Austrians, now fifty thousand strong, attacked them fiercely. At Kulm two divisions laid down their arms, and ten thousand prisoners were taken, includ­ing Vandamme himself. For him this was a great mis­fortune, as he was one of Napoleon's ablest Generals and, but for this defeat, might soon have been made a Marshal.

Such was the situation, as far as it was known to Roger, when he rode into the great camp just outside Dresden on the afternoon of September 6th.

Whenever Roger rejoined Napoleon, it had always been his custom first to see Duroc, the Grand Marshal of Palaces and Camps, who had long been a close personal friend of his, to learn from him how matters were going and the mood of the Emperor. Stopping a Lieutenant, he enquired of him the whereabouts of Duroc's quarters.

The young officer looked up at him in surprise and replied, 'Did you not know, Sir, the Duc de Friuli is dead? He was killed by a cannon ball that ploughed right through the Emperor's staff on the day after the battle of Bautzen.'

This was a great blow to Roger, as he knew it must also have been to the Emperor, since for nearly twenty years Duroc had been Napoleon's constant companion, and a man for whom he had a very deep affection.

For a few minutes Roger remained seated on his halted horse, his head bowed in sadness; then another horseman cantered by, glanced at him in passing, abruptly pulled up and exclaimed:

^rMon Dieu! If it's not le brave Breuc! We thought you long since dead on the plains of Russia.'

Swinging round, Roger recognised Caulaincourt, Duc de Vicenza, a soldier-diplomat whom he had known for many years, and said, ‘I got cut off, but had the good luck to escape. At the moment though, I am quite over­whelmed, for I have only just learnt that poor Duroc is dead.'

The Duc nodded. 'Alas, yes. Without him at head­quarters things will never be the same. Neither will the Imperial Guard without Bessieres as its commander. He was killed at Lutzen.'

‘I must then condole with the Emperor on the loss of both when I report to him.'

'You would do better to wait for a more propitious moment, both to report and to condole. He got back to Dresden from one of his reconnaissances in force only this morning, so is up to his eyes in business and in a far from good humour. Wait until this evening, and in the mean­time accompany me to my quarters, where I can provide you with refreshment and you can rest for an hour or two.'

Roger happily agreed, as Caulaincourt was one of the Emperor's closest confidants. He came of a noble Picardy family and, when Bemadotte was Minister of War, had been given by him the command of a crack cavalry regi­ment. Under the Consulate Talleyrand had, on discover­ing that Caulaincourt had an excellent brain, sent him as Ambassador to Russia. On his return Bonaparte had made him an A.D.C., and it was then that Roger had first come to know him.

Later, when Napoleon had become Emperor, he had made Caulaincourt, Grand Equerry then, in 1807, sent him again as Ambassador to Russia. He had got on excel­lently with the Czar and his advisers, and done everything he possibly could to prevent war between the two coun­tries, but failed. Having accompanied Napoleon in the retreat from Moscow, he had left the shattered army with him when he abandoned it to return in haste to Paris, and since had handled the negotiations that had led to the armistice of June-July.

In his marquee, over a bottle of excellent hock, he gave Roger the inside information about what had been going on. As one of Napoleon's most loyal subordinates, he lamented the state into which his master had fallen. He said that the Emperor, unlike his old self, was now a prey to constant indecision, wasted hours and sometimes days in sleeping or lazing about and, instead of concentrating his forces, tended to disperse them. It was his failure to follow up and swiftly support Vandamme which had led to that General's defeat and capture; and his attempt to take Berlin had been both ill-judged and disastrous.

Roger had heard nothing of this last. Napoleon had always disliked Bernadotte, so had displayed ungovern­able rage when he learned that his ex-Marshal had actu­ally brought Sweden into the war on the side of the allies, and had sworn to be avenged on him. When the war re­opened, the allies had put Bernadotte in command of their army of the north, which consisted of some one hundred and twenty thousand Prussians, Russians and Swedes. Instead of concentrating all his forces against the Allies' main army on the far side of the Elbe, Napoleon's personal hatred of Bernadotte had led him in mid-August to despatch Marshal Oudinot with sixty thousand men, and General Girard's division of fourteen thousand in support, to capture Berlin.

French intelligence reported that there had been dis­sension among the Allies. Bernadotte, afraid to try con­clusions with Napoleon, had been for retiring behind the Havel and Spree, but the Prussians were determined to die if they had to in front of their capital rather than behind it, and had pushed the Swedish Crown Prince into letting them have their way. After some initial successes, Oudinot was surprised by an independent corps of Prus­sians on his right; his centre, under Regnier, was driven back and, a few days later, Girard's division was almost annihilated. So this pointless attempt against Berlin had led to another defeat for the Emperor, and the loss of some ten thousand men.

The bottle of hock being finished and Roger having given a brief account of his movements since escaping from Russia, he took his ease while Caulaincourt settled down to work at his desk. An hour or so later an adjutant brought him a despatch. Having glanced at it, he sprang up from his chair with an excited shout:

'Here is splendid news! That traitor Moreau is dead. His legs were blown off by a cannon-ball during last week's battle.'

Moreau had first become famous as a General during the wars of the Revolution and, while Bonaparte had been in Italy, won the great battle of Hohenlinden. But he was a die-hard Republican, and his enormous popularity with the people had made him an obvious leader of any move­ment to curb the powers of a dictator, which Bonaparte as First Consul was already showing signs of assuming. To forestall any such danger to his position Napoleon had had him and a number of other Jacobins brought to trial for conspiring against the State. They had been con­demned—in Moreau's case probably unjustly—but, fear­ing a popular outcry, Bonaparte had not dared order the hero's execution, so had sent him into exile.

Roger had not heard of him for a dozen years and, sit­ting up, exclaimed in surprise, 'Moreau ? I thought he was in the United States.'

Caulaincourt shook his head. 'Nay. He was, but had recently returned, hoping that the time had come to take his revenge on the Emperor. He was received with the highest honours by the three Allied monarchs, and has since been acting as military adviser to the Czar Alexan­der. I must take these great tidings to our master. Personal feelings apart, he will be delighted, for Moreau was a very able General, and so a danger to us. Come with me and you can be assured of a good reception from His Majesty.'

Ten minutes later they were both in the presence of the Emperor. In the nine months since Roger had last seen "him, he seemed to have aged several years. His paunch was even more prominent, the dark hair brushed across his big head was thinner, his stoop more pronounced and his face, always pale, now had an unhealthy look.

When Caulaincourt announced his news, Napoleon's fine eyes suddenly lit up, and he cried, 'So that treacherous pig is dead, eh? What a splendid bonus to our recent vic­tory. God be praised for yet another mercy.'

Then his glance lit on Roger, who had been standing a little behind Caulaincourt and in his shadow from the big lantern that lit the marquee. Leaning forward he scowled for a moment and thrust out his powerful jaw. Then he suddenly laughed:

'Breuc, or I'll be damned! I swear you have nine lives like a cat. How did you get out of Russia?'

Bowing low, Roger started off, 'May it please Your Imperial Majesty . . .' then gave the account of himself that he had told both Clarke and Caulaincourt. That Roger had been in England did not surprise the Emperor, as his memory was prodigious, but when it emerged that, from Sweden, Roger had been carried off to the United States, Napoleon's interest immediately quickened.

'Ha! Then you can tell me about the war the Ameri­cans are waging against the accursed English. You shall do so while I eat.' Turning, he called in his heavily-accented French to his secretary, Baron Meneval, who was working at a desk at the far end of the marquee, 'Have my dinner brought.'

Meneval was absent only a few minutes. During that time Roger continued his account of how he had suc­ceeded in rejoining his master by way of Spain. Then Rustom, the Mameluke slave whom Napoleon had brought back from Egypt as his personal body servant, came in carrying a single dish under a silver cover.

Napoleon had never had any interest in food and at meals in his Palaces had tended to embarrass his guests by the swiftness with which he despatched course after course, evidently grudging the time that had to be given to eating. When in the field he ate irregularly and, in order that he should not be kept waiting whenever he felt hungry, day and night his chefs put a fresh chicken on the spit every ten minutes or so, in order that one should always be sufficiently roasted to be served immediately.

While he ate voraciously of this single course, washing the meat down with gulps of red wine, Roger told him all he had gathered about the Anglo-American war on land and sea. When he had exhausted the subject, he went on smoothly:

'You will recall, Sire, that I have English relatives. While I was in London I learned that a young nephew of mine, the Earl of St. Errnins, a Lieutenant in the Cold­stream Guards, who was attached to the Duke of Bruns­wick's contingent, had been taken captive. I have reason to believe that he is now in one of the Prince d'Eckmuhl's prisoner-of-war camps. The boy's mother is a dear friend of mine, so I should take it as a great personal favour if Your Imperial Majesty would give me an order for his release. It could be executed without his becoming aware that I am in fact a loyal Frenchman and in your service. He could be told that his liberty has been restored owing to an exchange with the Prussians, on condition that they send him home and he remains a non-combatant for the duration of the war.'

The Emperor considered for a moment, wiped his mouth on a napkin, then replied, 'Why not? It will make one less mouth for us to feed and, God knows, supplies in this damn' country are devilish hard to come by. My poor army is now living on starvation rations.' Turning to Meneval, he added:

'Write an order to Davout, or whom it may concern, in accordance with Breuc's wishes, and let him have it.'

Ten minutes later, with the order in his hand and greatly elated by his success, Roger was bowing himself out of the marquee. But his elation was short-lived, as Napoleon said curtly:

'I can't let you go off to Davout to arrange such a minor matter yet, though. The campaign has already proved most costly, and I am short of A.D.C.s. With your long experience you will prove most valuable to me. You must remain until I've taught those treacherous Austrians a lesson and dealt with the rest of the rabble that has combined against me. When I've done that, it will be time enough for you to restore this youth to his mother's arms.'

'To hear is to obey, Sire.' Roger forced himself to use cheerfully the Gasconade with which he had often before taken the Emperor's orders. But, as he made his way to find the quarters which Caulaincourt had promised to have allotted to him, he was greatly worried. It was al­ready September. Charles was menaced by death when the leaves began to fall, and that would not now be long. It might be months before a decisive battle was fought, and he dared not flout the Emperor's orders by leaving him at once. He must remain for a week or two at least, but it had become imperative that he should not remain longer with Napoleon. He made up his mind there and then that at the first chance, during a reconnaissance or skirmish, he would disappear, leaving it to be believed that he had been killed or captured, and make off with all speed to Davout's headquarters.

Next day Roger learned that the Emperor, still obsessed with his desire to defeat and humiliate Bernadotte, had, on the 5th, sent Ney with his corps to reinforce and take over the command from Oudinot for another attempt to capture Berlin. On the 7th Napoleon, with further divi­sions and his staff, including Roger, left Dresden to sup­port this new opposition.

The Emperor's position was now a far from favourable one. Since the recommencement of hostilities, he had lost one hundred and fifty thousand men and three hundred guns. His communications were under constant attack from German irregulars, it was becoming more and more difficult to supply his army, and he had at least three hostile armies of mixed Allies threatening him from dif­ferent quarters, the exact positions of which were unknown to him.

Not long after leaving Dresden he received a despatch from Ney, reporting that his opening move had proved successful and he had driven the enemy back on Jiiterberg. But on the following day intelligence was received that the army of Silesia was again advancing on Dresden; so, in­stead of continuing north to join Ney for a concerted attack on Berlin, Napoleon turned his army about, to defend the Saxon capital again.

The Emperor's failure to support his Marshal, coupled with Ney's misjudgement in ordering Oudinot to rein­force their front on the north bank of the marshy Ahebach, brought about disaster. Courier after courier brought tidings of the ever-worsening situation. In the neighbour­hood of Dennewitz, Bulow's Prussians drove in the French right. Ney made a desperate attempt to break through the Prussian centre, but failed. Oudinot was unable to get his troops back across the marshy little river in time to turn the tide of battle. Before he could do so, the cautious Bernadotte had decided to commit his Swedes. As dark­ness fell, the French broke and fled. The second attempt to take Berlin had failed lamentably and cost the French twenty-two thousand men.

With this depressing news, Napoleon returned along the road to Dresden. On the morning of September 12th, be­fore breaking camp to make the last day's march, he sent for Roger and gave him a despatch for St. Cyr who, as be­fore, had been left to defend the Saxon capital, and told Roger to ride on ahead with it.

This was just the kind of opportunity Roger had been waiting for. Once clear of the army, instead of going to Dresden, he could turn off along a road leading west, then make his way north to Davout's headquarters in Ham­burg. To have carried out his plan would have been impos­sible had he had a long distance to cover, through terri­tory made dangerous by partisan bands that roamed the country harassing the French whenever opportunity offered, as he would have had to take an escort. But Dresden was only twelve miles off and, as it was the Emperor's main base, there were constant troop move­ments taking place in the vicinity, making the area too dangerous for German irregulars to operate in.

Normally he would have taken his orderly but, with so litde time to plan his venture, he could think of no excuse by which he could rid himself of the man later, and it was important that he should disappear without trace. So, while his charger was being saddled up, he said to the man:

'I have been ordered by the Emperor to ride on ahead, but I'll have no call to dismount before reaching Dresden, so I'll not need a horse-holder. You are to remain with the column, and when you reach camp, keep a sharp eye on my baggage.'

A moment later he had mounted and set off. Within a quarter of an hour he was clear of the advance guard and cantering cheerfully along, greatly elated by the thought that at last he was free of Napoleon and, within a few days now, should be finished once and for all with this unfortunate business that had yet again brought him unwillingly back to the Continent.

During the next half-hour he passed several tracks lead­ing into the wood that bordered the road, but he knew that a mile or so further on there was a highway to the west, and it was this he intended to take; for he was well aware that in the country that lay between Dresden and Hamburg, a solitary French officer was liable to be attack­ed unless he kept to the main roads.

He was within a mile of the highway leading west when the unexpected happened. Suddenly a shot rang out. He felt a blow as though he had been hit by a musket ball on the calf of his right leg. His horse gave a loud neigh, rear­ed and attempted to bolt. With an effort he checked it and brought it to a halt. For a minute the animal stood with its head down and legs splayed, quivering, then it slowly sank to the ground.

Roger had ample time to free himself from his mount as, panting heavily, it rolled on to its side; but, as he put his weight on his right foot, the numbed leg gave under him, and he fell on his knees beside the horse. One glance at his leg confirmed his worst fears. He had been shot through the calf and the bullet had then penetrated the horse's belly.

The nature of his attacker he had already guessed. No band of German irregulars would have risked operating so near Dresden. It must be a solitary farmer or woodsman who lived in the neighbourhood. All over Germany there were now thousands of such men, embittered by years of French tyranny, who would not leave their homes to serve in the armed forces, but took a fanatical delight in taking pot shots at their hated enemies whenever they could do so with a good chance of escaping capture.

On his way up from the Rhine Roger had nearly always remained in close contact with French troops, as he had heard several accounts of attacks made on French couriers, and other soldiers who had become temporarily detached from their units. He knew, too, the sequel that often followed when the German succeeded only in wounding the man at whom he had fired. He waited for a while, until his victim had become weakened by loss of blood, then suddenly emerged from his cover to fire again at close quarters and so finish him off.

Whipping out one of his pistols, Roger crawled behind his fallen horse and anxiously scanned the wood from which the shot had come. He could see no sign of move­ment, but knew that death lurked there waiting to claim him. Looking down again at his leg, he saw that it was now bleeding badly, and he had no means of stopping the flow of blood. Soon it would have weakened him to a point where he no longer had the power to resist.

As he lay there, his mind seethed with anger, frustra­tion and self-reproach. For many years he had diced with death. There had been unpleasant chances in battles afloat and on land that he had been compelled to take; but near­ly all the worst dangers he had run had been calculated risks. He owed his survival very largely to careful prepara­tion of his plans and never taking any chance that could possibly be avoided. But that morning, in his elation and haste, he had neglected the rule of a lifetime. A moment's thought should have told him that only a half-witted French officer would set off unaccompanied to ride through German forests, now that the country had become hostile. He should have taken his orderly and, as the man would not have dared disobey him, kept him for com­pany all the way to Hamburg.

Now he was to pay for his stupid thoughtlessness. Gone now was all hope of saving Charles; while he, after succeeding in so many brilliant exploits, was to die use­lessly, murdered in a ditch by a German peasant, who was no better than a human animal.

16

A Hideous Affray

Roger had only just completed his swift survey of the wood opposite when the musket banged again. Instantly he ducked his head. The bullet went nowhere near it, but thudded into the horse's neck. Blood gushed from the wound, the animal made an ugly choking sound, writhed for a few moments, then shuddered and died.

The second, ill-directed shot at least showed that Roger's would-be killer was a poor marksman, which was some comfort. It meant that he would have to come out of the wood and much closer to ensure hitting his victim in a lethal spot—perhaps even close enough for Roger to use his pistol with effect and so turn the tables on him.

But Roger was very far from sanguine about his chances. There was always the possibility that French troops might appear on the scene, but he had passed only one troop of cavalry since leaving the main army, so he had little hope of being rescued by such means before he would have to make a last, desperate attempt to save his life. He could only pray that the attack would come soon, while he still had the strength to meet it.

For the next ten minutes he remained acutely alert, listening with faint hope for the distant sound of horses' hooves approaching along the road and, with fear, for a nearby rustle in the undergrowth, indicating that his enemy was about to attack him; but the silence remained unbroken. Meanwhile he lay at full length alongside the carcase of the horse, occasionally taking a quick peep over its belly, to make certain that he was in no danger of be­ing crept up on and taken by surprise.

By then his leg was beginning to pain him badly. Obviously the muscle of his calf must have been torn right through, and blood was still seeping steadily out of the hole on each side of his riding boot. If only he could have got the boot off, he could have bandaged the wound and stopped the flow. But to get the boot off without help was quite impossible. Even normally he had to use a jack or have his servant pull his boots off. Yet he knew that if he could not somehow stop the bleeding he would become easy game for the man who was waiting to kill him.

It then occurred to him that he might open up the boot by cutting down either side of the leather so, laying his pistol aside, he got out a sharp knife which he always car­ried, and set about this onerous task. The leather, although as soft as velvet to the touch, proved unexpectedly tough, and every time he put pressure on the knife an agonising pain shot through his calf. He was also hampered by the fact that he dared not raise his head, so had to work in an awkward position, doubled up, to remain behind the cover of the horse. Within a few minutes he was stream­ing with sweat and, after cutting through only two inches of the leather, gave a loud groan, then relaxed.

The groan must have been taken by the man who was waiting to kill him as a sign that he was no longer capable of putting up a fight, for a moment later there came a scampering sound on the far side of the horse and a brief order shouted in a German patois that Roger did not understand.

Next second, to his horror, the reason for the scamper­ing and the order was made clear: a big wolf hound sud­denly came bounding round the buttocks of the dead horse. The brute had been sent by its owner to flush Roger out. He had laid aside his pistol, but was still holding the knife with which he had been trying to slit his boot open.

With a ferocious snarl the beast leapt at him. He was lying at full length. To have scrambled to his knees, so as to be better able to meet the attack would have been fatal, for he had no doubt that his enemy had now come out of the wood and was only waiting for him to raise his head above the level of the horse to put a bullet through it.

The wolfhound's jaws gaped wide. Another moment and his gleaming fangs would have fastened themselves in Roger's throat and torn it out. In a bound the beast was upon him, pinning down his hand that held the knife. There was only one hope of saving himself. Clenching his left fist, he drove it straight into the big dog's mouth. Auto­matically the jaws snapped to. Roger gasped as the sharp teeth bit into the sides of his forearm, but the sustained force of the beast's spring and the thrust of Roger's fist had carried his hand right through the slobbering mouth and down into the animal's gullet. The yellow eyes dis­tended to their fullest extent, it snorted fiercely in a vain endeavour to draw breath. Choking, it reared up and thrashed wildly with its forepaws on Roger's chest as it strove to wriggle free. Its efforts to draw away released Roger's right hand, in which he still held the knife. Savagely he thrust upward with it into the brute's belly, then turned the weapon in the wound. Next moment a warm mess of blood and guts were pouring out over his arm and body. The great dog jerked spasmodically, tore its mouth free of Roger's left arm, gave a whimpering howl and collapsed upon him.

Roger's heart was pounding fiercely as he lay motion­less, the strength temporarily drained from all his limbs. But his mind was working frantically, for he was acutely aware that he was still in deadly peril. To have survived the attack by the savage hound was more than he could have hoped for when he first heard it snarl and saw it come bounding towards him. But he had yet to escape death at the hands of its master, whom he knew must be lurking only a few yards away on the far side of the horse, with his musket at the ready.

Making a great effort he pushed the dead hound half off him, pulled his knife out of the gaping wound and transferred it to his left hand; then, with his right, he groped for and found his pistol.

Now, having got his breath back he was, for a moment, sorely tempted to end matters, one way or another, by taking a gamble with fate. Being a crack shot with a pistol, he felt certain that if he suddenly sat up and his enemy was within fifteen paces, he could kill him. But he had only the one bullet, and no means of reloading. The second he exposed himself the man would bring his musket to bear and, if he was further off, the odds would be in his favour.

On the other hand the man must know that his hound was dead and possibly think that Roger had died in his struggle with it; or at least have been rendered helpless. Within a few moments it was certain that he would come round to find out what had happened. To do so he would have to expose himself and be within easy range. Having considered these alternatives, Roger's native caution de­cided him to ignore his impulse and lie doggo.

The greatest clanger entailed by his decision was that he had no means of guessing whether his enemy would come round by his horse's head or its tail and, lying at full length as he was, he could not keep his eyes fixed on both simultaneously. All he could do, while glancing first one way then the other, was to strain his ears for sounds of the killer's approach.

He waited in an agony of apprehension. Time seemed to stand still. The suspense was almost unbearable. Again he was seized with the temptation to sit up, but fought it down. He knew that with his right leg useless, his left arm torn and aching from the dog's fierce bite, weakened by loss of blood and lying there on his back, he was no match even for an active, well-grown boy, let alone a cun­ning and stalwart peasant; yet he longed desperately for an end to this hideous uncertainty.

At last it came, and when it did come took him by surprise. His only warning was the sound of a few swift footfalls on the muddy, rutted road. But his enemy appeared neither round the head nor tail of the dead horse. He ran straight at it, looming suddenly above the saddle, with his musket pointed down at Roger.

He was a tall man with gangling limbs, wearing a worn, rabbit-skin jacket over filthy rags. His hair, a dirty brown streaked with grey, was an untidy mop, standing out in tufts where it had been roughly cut. A straggling beard covered his cheeks and chin. His lips stood out red and thick, his eyes were small, dark, and glaring hatred.

Caught off his guard, Roger had no chance to use his pistol, for to aim it he would have to throw his right arm across his chest. His eyes started from his head as he stared up into the barrel of the musket. The man's finger was upon the trigger and he was just about to fire. The dead dog still lay half sprawled over Roger's body. Inspiration from beyond suddenly came to him, as it had several times before when his life had been in dire peril. Instantly he acted on the thought that he knew had been sent to him unconsciously by Georgina's spirit which was bound so closely to his own. With all the power he had left he jerked up his good leg. It threw the dog up from midway down his body, so that its dead head landed on his face. A fraction of a second earlier the musket had been fired. The bullet ploughed through the wolfhound's head instead of Roger's.

Even as the dog's blood and brains poured over Roger's face he realised that he still had a chance to save his life; but that it would last only the next few moments. He must get the better of his attacker before he had time to reload his musket, otherwise he would be irretrievably lost.

Thrusting aside the horribly shattered carcase of the animal, he shook his head violently to get the filthy muck out of his eyes, then sat up. His right eye was still blinded by a fragment of the dog's flesh, but with his left he could hazily make out the form of the peasant He had the musket between his knees and was in the act of pouring powder from a horn that hung from his belt down the barrel. Roger swivelled his pistol, strove to steady his quivering hand, aimed for the man's chest and pulled the trigger. To his utter dismay, nothing happened.

The reason flashed upon him. The powder had become wet with the dog's blood. By then the peasant had taken a bullet from his pouch, and was about to drop it down the barrel of his musket. In desperation Roger hurled the now useless pistol at him. It caught him sideways on, full in the face. With a howl he let the musket fall, clutched at his broken nose, then staggered and fell.

For Roger to have remained where he was would have been fatal. The injury he had inflicted on his enemy was not sufficient to prevent him from coming to his feet and completing the reloading of his musket. Transferring his knife to his right hand, Roger heaved himself and, drag­ging his wounded leg behind him, scrambled over the horse's body. The peasant had come to his knees and stretched out a hand to grab his musket. Suddenly both of them went still and remained for a moment as though frozen. Simultaneously they had caught the sound of horses' hooves coming up the road from the direction of Dresden.

In the violence of the struggle neither had heard them in the distance, but now they were loud and coming on at a canter. Evidently the horsemen had been alerted to trouble ahead by the firing of the musket that had shattered the dog's head.

Wiping the blood from his face with the back of his hand, the peasant gave a frightened glance down the road; then, abandoning his musket, turned to make off into the woods. With a lightening glow of elation Roger knew that he was saved, but he was not content to let his would-be murderer go.

When in Spain he had learnt how to throw a knife. Drawing back his hand, he sent the sharp blade with all the strength he had left whizzing after his enemy. He aimed to strike the man between the shoulder blades, but by then he had become so weak that the force behind the throw was insufficient, even at that short distance, to carry the knife high enough. Yet it scored a hit, slicing into and cutting a tendon at the back of the peasant's left knee.

He let out a scream, staggered and fell. Scrambling to his knees, he attempted to run on, but his left leg had been rendered useless. The moment he put his weight on it he fell again. By then a small party of Chasseurs had rounded the corner and were approaching at the gallop. Clawing at the muddy road, the man made frantic efforts to drag himself up a low bank into the thick undergrowth.

Roger, still gasping for breath, was sprawled across the body of bis dead horse. Although he was covered from head to foot in blood and muck, his uniform was still recognisable as that of a French officer. The leader of the Chasseurs, a young Lieutenant, had grasped the situation in a glance. Drawing his sabre, he rode at the peasant, in­tending to sever his head from his body at a stroke. But Roger raised a hand and cried in a croaking voice:

'Don't kill him! I want that man alive.'

A moment later the Lieutenant and his four companions pulled up and dismounted. Two of them seized the man and dragged him to his feet, while their officer hurried over to Roger. In a few words he confirmed the fact that he had been ambushed, then added jerkily:

'A sabre slash or a bullet is too swift a death for that... that swine. I want him hanged ... but not with a running noose. Just have a loop of rope put over his head and ... and string him up to the nearest tree. When his friends find him, he'll be an example to them. They'll see from his face that we left him to dance on air till . . . till he slowly strangled, instead of our pulling on his feet to give him a quick end.'

The Lieutenant had already seen from Roger's rank badges that he was a Colonel, so did not demur. One of his men produced a lanyard, tied one end of it to the stout branch of a tree that protruded about seven feet above the road. The struggling peasant was pushed up the bank and the other end knotted round his neck. His legs were then kicked from under him, and he swung out above the road.

His shouts ended abruptly, his little eyes bulged, and his limbs began to jerk like those of a puppet on a string. His neck had not been broken by a drop of several feet and, as the noose was loose, it would not immediately choke him. It could be anything up to a quarter of an hour before the strain of the weight of his body on his neck caused his torture to end in oblivion. Roger was not by nature cruel, but he had suffered such agony, both physical and mental, inflicted on him in this terrible en­counter, that he felt fully justified in exacting vengeance.

By tins time the head of a column of wagons had appeared round the bend of the road, and Roger learned that it consisted of supplies being sent up to the Emperor's army. On hearing that the Emperor was on his way back to Dresden, the Lieutenant agreed that it was pointless to proceed further, and ordered his column to turn about. He also called up a sergeant to whom Roger gave the despatch he had been taking to St. Cyr, and ordered him to ride off ahead at full speed with it.

Meanwhile, two of the soldiers had cut Roger's riding boot away and pried his injured leg from it. As the bullet had gone right through his calf, he was spared the probing needed for extraction, but the muscles had been torn to pieces and, although he was nearly fainting with pain as they bound up the pulpy mess with a field dressing, his vanity was piqued by the gloomy thought that never again would fair ladies comment on the perfection of his legs when wearing silk stockings. He had, as he had feared, lost a lot of blood, so was very weak and now unable to stand unless supported. As several of the wagons were-loaded with hay, they were able to make him fairly comfortable in one of them and he was conveyed to a nobleman's palace in Dresden that had been turned into a hospital for officers.

There they gave him opium to dull the pain of his wounds, then stripped him of his filthy clothes and bathed him thoroughly. The thickness of his tunic had prevented the hound's teeth from biting deeply into his left forearm but, after his leg had been properly dressed, he had to submit to the further ordeal of having the bites cauterised.

Next morning he gradually roused from a heavily-drugged sleep to contemplate the extremely worrying situation in which he had landed himself by his hasty decision to set off without an orderly. Failing to take that precaution had led to his coming within an ace of losing his life; but he endeavoured to console himself with the thought that although, had he been accompanied by an armed companion, the peasant would never have dared attempt to finish him off, that could not have prevented the man from shooting him through the leg in the first place.

When the surgeon made his rounds, Roger asked anxiously how soon he would be able to ride again. The reply was not for a month or, at the least, three weeks, and then only for a mile or two at a time at walking pace. That was what he had feared, and his heart sank. If Georgina's visions had been true foresight, young Charles was due to die with the fall of the leaves, and it was already September 13th.

Fate, Roger thought bitterly, had been against him all the time in this nebulous mission, about the success of which he had, from the beginning, considered the odds greatly against him. Georgina had seen Charles in her crystal actually about to be hanged, and for his would-be rescuer to take steps in time to prevent that now seemed most improbable.

Yet for Georgina's sake he had felt it imperative to do his utmost to render her vision false by finding the boy and getting him back to England before the autumn. To do that there should have been ample time; but again and again he had been thwarted, first by Charles having left Spain, next by learning that he was not held prisoner in France, but was somewhere in Davout's command based

on Hamburg, thus necessitating the long ride up to Dresden. And Hamburg lay to the north-east, over two hundred and fifty miles away. How, now that he was crippled, could he possibly hope to cover that distance before every tree in north Germany was bare of leaves?

17

The Battle of the Nations

That afternoon the Emperor sent to enquire after Roger. From time to time, his friends on the Staff came to visit him and he learned something from them of the progress of the war, although it had again become a most com­plicated picture.

The three armies opposed to the French now greatly outnumbered them, but the weakness of the Allies was that their forces, which roughly formed a semi-circle east of the Elbe, were widely separated. One army covered Berlin, while the others were in Silesia and Bohemia. Napoleon, in accordance with his habitual strategy, aimed to con­centrate his army and defeat each in turn before they could join forces against him; but his plans were seriously bedevilled by the fact that since he was operating in hostile country he could secure no reliable information about the whereabouts of his enemies.

His strongest card was that, owing to his unique repu­tation as a General, all the Allied Commanders were frightened of him. Bernadotte had been one of the ablest Marshals, yet he had no confidence at all in his own ability to defeat his old master, so kept his Swedes well to the rear of the battle zone. Schwarzenberg, who was technical­ly Commander-in-Chief of all the Allied forces, was an able diplomat but a craven soldier, and became scared out of his wits every time he heard that Napoleon was approaching. Barclay de Tolly had, again and again, per­haps wisely, scurried off with his army rather than stand and fight during the French advance to Moscow in the previous year; and the other Russian Generals were equal­ly cagey about taking on the redoubtable Corsican. Old Blucher and his Prussians alone showed a determination to lose no opportunity of attacking the enemy, but the veteran was too shrewd to take die offensive with his limit­ed forces unless he could be assured of die support of the Russians and Austrians.

This fear of Napoleon by the majority of the Allied Generals did not prove altogether to his advantage, since although it enabled him to move the bulk of his army wherever he wished, every time he advanced against one of the enemy armies it withdrew. The result was that he was constantly exhausting his troops by long marches in most evil weather, without being able to bring any of his opponents to engage in a pitched battle. For the - remainder of September, during which there was hardly a day upon which it did not rain, he forced the pace in desperate efforts to catch up with and defeat one of the Allied forces, only to hear that another was again threaten­ing Dresden, so was forced to break off the pursuit and change direction in order to protect his base.

By the end of the month Roger was able to get about on crutches, but for him to have ridden any distance would have been certain to re-open his wound, so he began to - contemplate the possibility of hiring a coach and leaving the city clandestinely one night. But once more his plans were frustrated. The Emperor's Chief-of-Staff, Marshal Berthier, Prince de Neufchatel, happened to hear that he was able to get about again, so sent for him.

As Roger was that comparatively rare product, a beau sabreur who also had brains, during periods when Napo­leon had not been engaged in active operations he had of tent lent him for a while to Berthier; so he was well acquainted with the Chief-of-Staff, and the complicated work for which he was responsible.

The Prince, an ugly little man with an enormous head that held a card index brain; he was most unpopular and ill-tempered but, recognising Roger's capabilities, had always been polite to him, and he now explained that he was in the devil of a mess.

The constant changes of direction by the Emperor and the other widely scattered French forces, were making it near-impossible to carry out his task of re-routing sup­ply columns and keeping a record of units available, to­gether with their whereabouts; so Roger's help would prove invaluable. His request, as the senior Marshal in the Emperor's army, was tantamount to an order so, for the ten days that followed, Roger had to labour for hours on end, working out statistics from maps and schedules.

Meanwhile, Blucher, inspired by Gneisenau and encouraged by both his King and the Czar, had determined on a flank march which would enable him to join up with Schwarzenberg's Austrians, south of Leipzig. A few days later the Emperor, hearing that the Prussians had crossed the Elbe, charged Murat with the defence of Leipzig and St. Cyr once more with that of Dresden, then hurried north-west, hoping to crush his most inveterate enemy while on the march and encumbered by his baggage. Having sent Ney forward to fall on the rear of Blucher's army, Napoleon waited further news for four days in the dank, fogbound castie of Duben. When it came he learned that Blucher had turned westward, thus disclosing his in­tention of joining Schwarzenberg.

Promptly the Emperor devised a new plan to disconcert his enemies. The great fortresses on the Elbe were all still in his hands; he would march to the Elbe and cross it. But the whole of his Staff considered this so reckless that they confronted him in a body and begged him to abandon this idea. Reluctantly he agreed, but only to substitute the still more venturesome design of first crushing Bernadotte, then crossing the Elbe at Torgan and circling round to strike at Schwarzenberg near Leipzig.

Had his men been tireless machines, this might have been possible, but for two months they had been marching and counter-marching, for a good part of the time in pour­ing rain. Their uniforms were sodden, their boots worn out and, owing to insufficient supplies to feed them, they were suffering from semi-starvation.

The Emperor had gained a great victory at Dresden, but his Marshals had been defeated in five major battles: at Grossbeeren, Hagelsberg, Katzbach, Kulm and Dennewitz. At the beginning of the campaign he had com­manded half a million men but, mainly through his own ill-conceived strategy, frittered away over half of them. The hospitals were crammed, tens of thousands were suf­fering from minor wounds. Utter weariness and a spirit of despair now permeated the whole army.

By October 10th he had been forced to the conclusion that he dared take no further risks and now, if he were to save Leipzig, even abandon the middle Elbe in order to concentrate all his forces in the neighbourhood of that city. On the 11th, Berthier received orders to move the Imperial Headquarters to Leipzig, and a frantic packing of documents began.

During each of the past few days Roger had spent from a quarter to half an hour on a quiet horse, but he had not yet dared trot, and it was obviously out of the question for him to make the eighty-mile journey on horseback. In con­sequence he arranged to travel in one of the Mess carts, a small, two-wheeled, covered wagon.

All through the night and the following day the long columns of silent, depressed troops made their way west­ward and, late in the evening of the 12th, Roger reached the city to find that Berthier had taken over a Saxon noble's palace as a headquarters. Knowing that his leg wound pained him when going upstairs, one of Roger's brother officers had kindly reserved for him a large clothes closet on the first floor, and had a bed put in it. Tired out after his long journey, he pulled off his clothes, tumbled into bed and was almost instantly asleep.

On the 14th the Emperor arrived, bringing with him the unfortunate King and Queen of Saxony, whom for so long he had dragged at his chariot wheels while almost totally destroying what had once been their fair realm. With him, too, he brought the worst of news, which he had received a few days earlier. His hitherto most loyal ally, the King of Bavaria, had defected and entered into a pact with Austria that, in exchange for his putting thirty-six thousand troops at her disposal, she would guarantee a continuance of his sovereignty.

Having left the Saxon sovereigns at their palace, Napo­leon pressed on to Wachau, a village about three miles to the south-west of the city, at which Murat had his head­quarters. It was the central point opposite the arc from east to south where the allies had massed their main forces. Murat was superior to them only in cavalry, and his gloomy report conveyed the fact that he had not used it with his old dash and ability. The fact was that he was utterly sick of the war, and thought only of how soon he could get back to his Kingdom of Naples.

A similar spirit was displayed that evening by the other Marshals when the Emperor summoned them to a con­ference at the village of Reudnitz. Among others he bit­terly reproached Augereau for no longer being the intrepid leader he had been at the battle of Castiglione; to which the Marshal replied with equal bitterness, 'Give me back the old soldiers of our Italian campaign, and I'll show you that I am.'

But Napoleon himself was not the man he had been, otherwise he would not have let the 15th drift by without taking any action, thus giving the Allies an extra day to complete their concentration. During that time Schwarzenberg was able to send a Corps across the rivers Pleisse and Elster in order to threaten Leipzig from the direction of Lindenau on the south-west and also, with new divisions that came up, extend the right of his semi­circle.

That night Marmont, whose corps was stationed in the northern suburbs, reported watchfires, indicating that yet another enemy army was mustered there. Actually it was Blucher's Prussians, but the Emperor refused to believe his Marshal's warning of this new threat and, continuing to suppose that his only serious danger lay in the south-east, ordered Marmont to be ready to march his troops through Leipzig to support the attack he intended to launch against Schwarzenberg.

Thus, on the morning of October 16th, when the Battle of the Nations opened, one hundred and fifty thousand weary and dispirited troops-—all that remained to Napo­leon—were opposed to three hundred thousand enemies determined to destroy him and ready to advance simul­taneously from the south, east and north of the city.

The Emperor's forces were disposed on a convex front centred on Liebertwolkwitz, immediately to the east of the city. The enemy were stretched over a much wider arc, so he counted on being able to equal their numbers at any point; and, having driven Schwarzenberg's army from the field in disruption, deal later with Blucher and Bernadotte about whose positions he was still in ignorance.

Berthier and the rest of the Staff had left the city to join Napoleon at his battle headquarters. As Roger was still unable to ride either fast or for any distance, he would have been useless as an A.D.G.; so, considerably relieved at having a valid excuse to escape the hazards of the batde, he remained behind.

Having breakfasted, he painfully climbed the stairs to the attics of the palace, found a skylight and crawled through on to the roof. From that height, with his spy glass he could get a good view of the greater part of the country surrounding the city.

At nine o'clock the opening shots were fired by the Allies from the heights they held opposite Liebertwolkwitz, and these were followed by a furious artillery duel that lasted for six hours. The Emperor then launched the two cavalry corps of Latour-Maubourg and Pajol. Led by Murat, these twelve thousand charging horsemen provided an amazing spectacle. They scaled the muddy slopes, sabred the gunners and enveloped the Russian squares. So deep was their penetration that the three Allied sovereigns who had been watching the battle from an eminence were forced to beat a hasty retreat. But Murat had forced the pace too early. His horses and men had not the stamina left to resist the counter charges by Pahlen's Cossacks and the Silesian Curassiers. The French were driven back in confusion, with the loss of both their Corps commanders.

Meanwhile, an Austrian attack on Lindenau had been beaten off, but on the west side of the city, at Mockern, the French received a most unpleasant surprise. In accordance with Napoleon's orders, Marmont had begun to move south when he was suddenly attacked by Yorck's Prus­sians. Ney's corps should have supported Marmont, but was also on the move. Berthier sent a confused order for Ney to turn about, with the result that his fifteen thou­sand men spent the greater part of the day marching to and fro without participating in the battle, and arrived too late to help Marmont. He defended Mockern with great determination, and it proved the most bloody engagement of the whole war, ending by the French being driven out and left with greatly reduced numbers to endeavour to check Blucher's advance from the north.

During the day the French had inflicted more casual­ties on the enemy than they had sustained, but they had lost at least twenty thousand men and had no means of replacing them. St. Cyr's corps of twenty-seven thousand men was far away at Dresden, and Davout's army, which had been strained to the limit in holding down north-west Germany, was still further away in Hanover; whereas Bennigsen was now rapidly approaching with the Russian Army of Reserve, numbering forty-one thousand men, and the ultra-cautious Bernadotte had belatedly begun to march south from Halle with his sixty thousand Swedes.

On the following day, a Sunday, the general gloom in Leipzig was added to by the Saxons and other German troops, under General Reynier, becoming disaffected and threatening to desert; also by pouring rain. Experience had shown during this awful autumn campaign that in such weather infantry became almost useless, because the powder for their muskets could not be kept dry. This may have been one reason why the battle was not renewed but, in Napoleon's case, the malaise and indecision which had recently afflicted him played a part. Instead of planning a break-out, he spent most of his time dozing, then decided to send the captured Austrian General, Merveldt, to his Emperor with proposals for an armistice. But at last the

Allies were beginning to realise that Napoleon was not invincible, and that now was their chance to make an end of him; so no reply was sent.

On learning that Blucher had now advanced far enough from die north-west to threaten the only French line of retreat, the Emperor instead of taking time by the forelock and ordering a retreat to start that night, merely directed that his drenched and famished troops should withdraw nearer the city. He then fell asleep.

Next morning, the 18th, the Allies launched a general offensive. Again Roger went up to the roof of the palace and watched the battle. From the south-west right round to the north-west, the city was ringed by over a thousand flashing guns. Cohorts of cavalry and great masses of infantry were pressing forward on every side but, as on the Saturday, clouds of dense smoke soon hid most of the fighting. Later in the day he learned that at Paunsdorf, to the north-east, the Allies had broken through the ring of the defence, owing to three thousand Saxons having gone over to the Russians and taking with them nineteen guns which they promptly turned on the hated French.

By evening Roger decided that the battle was now irretrievably lost and that, for him, it was time to go. His friend having had a bed put up for him in a clothes closet now proved a piece of unexpected good fortune as, on his hazardous way up to Hamburg, civilian clothing would protect him from stray bands of Germans. When he tried on some of the clothes, he found that they had all been made for a man a few inches shorter than himself and much fatter; but that could not be helped. He chose two cloth suits, some shirts and other garments, packed them, with his own possessions, into a portmanteau and hobbled downstairs with it.

Berthier had left all the headquarters transport in the palace stables, and the Mess cart in which Roger had travelled from Dresden was among it. The name of the man who had driven it was Dopet. Routing him out from among his fellow drivers, Roger said he had been ordered to leave the city at once with certain important papers, to ensure that they should not fall into the hands of the enemy; then had him put the portmanteau in the Mess cart.

Accompanied by Dopet, he went to die kitchen and collected ample stores for the journey. Next, he secured two muskets and a good supply of ammunition from the guardhouse. Finally, while Dopet harnessed a stout little cob between the shafts of the cart, Roger made himself a comfortable seat in the back from half a truss of hay. Then they set off into the semi-dark streets which resem­bled an oasis in an inferno, as on the outskirts of the city there were constant explosions and many houses in the suburbs were on fire.

Under Roger's direction they reached the bridges to the west of Leipzig. Only in that quarter was there now no fighting in progress, but considerable numbers of men were crossing the river. Roger guessed that they were de­serters, and in fact they were only anticipating the Emperor's order given to Berthier a few hours later that night, that the whole army should retreat.

Later Roger learned that he had been lucky to get out of Leipzig when he had, as during the night the bridges became ever more crowded and on the following morning it was only with difficulty that a way was made for the Emperor's coach. By then all that was left of his army was converging from south, east and north on to the one road leading west. The narrow streets of Leipzig were half blocked by abandoned guns and wagons. Between them squeezed solid masses of panic-stricken troops, breathlessly fighting their way toward the bridges. Hun­dreds of bursting cannon-balls, coming from three direc­tions, added to the horror and confusion. Dead and wounded alike were trampled on by those still capable of making a desperate attempt to escape from that inferno. Many buildings were on fire, and in the suburbs Aus­trians, Russians, Prussians, Swedes and Saxons drove the wretched French from building to building, until tens of thousands of them had been forced out of the city in help­less herds.

The bridges were hopelessly inadequate for such masses to cross except in a comparative trickle. Early in the day the situation was still worsened by one bridge collapsing and another—the largest—being prematurely blown up owing to an error by a nervous Sapper. In desperation the fleeing host sought to escape by swimming the river. There followed a scene reminiscent of the crossing of the Beresina during the retreat from Moscow the previous winter. Hundreds of missiles exploded in the water and on both banks, creating a holocaust. Thousands of men were killed and thousands of others caught up in a tangle of bodies, and drowned.

Among the latter was the gallant Prince Poniatowski who for so many years had loyally led his Polish division in Napoleon's battles, vainly clinging to the faithless Corsican's promise that in due course he would restore Poland as an independent Kingdom. The Prince's death was the more tragic in that, only the previous day, Napoleon had made him a Marshal.

During those terrible twenty-four hours that saw the final defeat and utter rout of the great army that Napo­leon had mustered in Germany early that summer, Roger succeeded in getting well clear of the battle area and the early deserters who had crossed the bridges the previous evening, as he had. They naturally took the roads to the south, hoping to reach the Rhine and the protection of the many French-held fortresses along it; whereas Roger's destination was Hamburg, so he had Dopet take a by­road leading north-west.

By morning they had covered some twenty miles and when full daylight came he decided that they must give the little cob several hours' rest. The most likely way of avoiding dangerous encounters was to spend the time in a wood, so when they next came to a track leading into one, he told Dopet to drive up it. At a brook they watered the animal, fed it, ate a meal, then made themselves as com­fortable as they could in the Mess cart.

About midday they roused and had another meal. Dur­ing it Roger told Dopet that they were going to Hamburg, so would have to pass through country where they were almost certain to run into bands of German irregulars. He then opened the suitcase, showed Dopet the two civilian suits, and said, 'We are going to change into these; then we can pass as Germans. That is, provided you don't open your mouth. I speak German quite fluently enough to be taken in these parts for a Rhinelander, so if we are chal­lenged, I think we should get by without trouble.'

Dopet was a sturdy, unimaginative young Fleming, and although he would have much preferred to travel south rather than north, he had been in the Army long enough to know that one did not argue with officers. When they had changed, both showed amusement at the other's appearance. Dopet being shorter than Roger his trousers were the right length, but he had powerful shoulders, so when he struggled into the coat it burst at one of the seams; while Roger's coat fitted fairly well, but his trousers were absurdly short. They got over the fact that the owner of the clothes had had a large paunch by folding the slack under tightened belts. However, their appearance was a matter of no great concern, as they were not attempting to pass as persons of quality, and at that date clothes were so scarce in Germany that those they were wearing might easily have been bought second-hand.

Having packed their uniforms in the suitcase, they set off, and by late afternoon had covered another fifteen miles. They then rested again for several hours in the neck of a wood. From a map Roger had brought with him, he knew that the little town of Sangerhausen lay some twelve miles ahead, and he wanted to pass through it during the hours of darkness; so at about one o'clock in the morning they took the road again. Well before five o'clock they were clear of the sleeping town and, a few miles beyond it, settled on another suitable spot for a long rest.

By moving from Dresden to Leipzig Roger had reduced his distance from Hamburg by about fifty miles, and now they had come another fifty; but they still had a hundred and fifty to cover and, anxious as he was to reach Ham­burg, he felt that the utmost that could be expected of the little cob that drew the Mess cart was twenty-five miles a day.

Since he had been used, when on an urgent matter, to ride a hundred or more miles a day, he found this slow pace terribly frustrating. Yet there was no alternative. Even if he could have secured a horse, he would not have dared ride at more than walking pace with his terribly torn leg only recently healed. Walking beside the cart, for a good part of each day while Dopet led the cob, was better for his leg.

While he limped along, he became ever more depressed at the probable outcome of his journey. Admittedly, he had never known one of Georgina's predictions about the future fail to come to pass, yet fundamentally her vision of Charles was absurd, because whatever crime Charles had committed, he was an officer and if he were con­demned to death, he would not be hanged but shot. Yet, adoring Georgina as he did, how could he possibly not have volunteered to undertake this forlorn hope of chang­ing the course of Charles's fortune by getting him back to England? He could only console himself by the thought that, having spent three months journeying from one end of Europe to the other, in another few days he would have done all he could and at last learn if Charles was already dead or still alive.

As they slowly wound their way northward they met other travellers with some of whom Roger discussed the war. The news of Napoleon's crushing defeat at the Battle of the Nations had sped ahead of them, and the inhabi­tants of every German village were wild with delight. Here and there they were passed by bands of irregulars, all now marching south, with the hope of joining in the pursuit of the broken French.

It was not until they reached Brunswick that they saw any French troops at all. But the city was an important junction so Davout still kept a strong garrison there, and the citizens were clearly overawed by the groups of surly-looking Grenadiers who patrolled the main streets or lounged, silent and unhappy, in the cafes.

While working with Berthier, Roger had frequently heard Davout's position discussed. After the retreat from Moscow, the Emperor had made him Governor of the Lower Elbe, and instructed him to turn Hamburg into an impregnable fortress from which, in conjunction with their Danish allies, he could hold down the whole of north­west Germany.

No choice for such a task could have been better than the 'Iron Marshal', as Davout, Prince d'Eckmuhl and Duc d'Auerstadt, was called by the Army. He was the only Marshal who had studied and understood Napo­leon's revolutionary methods of warfare, so was a very formidable soldier. He was also an able administrator, completely ruthless and the strictest of disciplinarians.

In Napoleon's two bids, earlier in the year, to take Ber­lin, he had hoped that Davout might come to the assis­tance of Ney and Oudinot. That he had been unable to do, because his limited forces were already stretched to the utmost putting down patriotic risings in Hanover, Mecklenburg and Brunswick; but he had carried out his assignment regarding Hamburg with an iron hand. The whole of Germany being in a state of semi-starvation, to conserve his supplies he had first forcibly evacuated three thousand children; then, also as useless mouths, all the elderly people in the city. To reduce to a minimum secret subscriptions by citizens to patriotic societies and subver­sive movements, he had inflicted taxes on the wealthy that had reduced them to near poverty, and imprisoned many of the leading merchants as hostages. His dread tribunals sat daily, and sent to execution anyone found guilty of having offended against even his minor ordinances.

The state of gloom and terror existing in the great port on the Elbe had been confirmed by several Germans to whom Roger had recently spoken; so when, on October 27th, he came in sight of the city spires, he knew how matters stood there, but he did not intend to enter the city. Some three miles outside the walls he had Dopet turn into a coppice and there the two of them changed from their ill-fitting civilian clothes back into uniform. They then took a side road to Herrenhausen, which lay just outside the city. Near it stood an ancient castle that, until the end of the past century, had been the residence of the sovereigns of Great Britain when they visited their King­dom of Hanover. It was there that Davout had had his headquarters in 1810 when, before the Russian campaign, he had been commanding in Hamburg and Roger had been sent to him on a mission.

It was soon after midday when the Mess cart, now driven by Dopet and with Roger riding in it, pulled up outside the great gate of the castle. As Roger got out of the cart the sentry came smartly to attention and presented arms. Roger's surmise that Davout had again made the place his headquarters proved correct. The sergeant of the guard sent a man to show Dopet where to stable his cob and cart, and another to escort Roger up to the Marshal Prince's quarters.

Having announced himself as Colonel Comte de Breuc to an adjutant there, Roger learned that Davout had rid­den in to the city that morning, but was expected back to dinner. Deciding to put his necessary wait to good advan­tage, Roger asked to be conducted to the department that dealt with officer prisoners-of-war. He was taken to a room in one of the towers, where a sergeant was shuffling through some papers. Duly impressed by Roger's sash, which proclaimed him to be an A.D.C. to the Emperor, the sergeant hastened to produce a ledger and he was soon able to tell Roger that Charles was a prisoner with some hundred other officers at Schloss Bergedorf, which was some ten miles distant.

Immensely relieved to learn that Charles was still alive, and at having at last run his quarry to earth, Roger went down the spiral stairs, enquired the whereabouts of the anteroom to the Marshal's office, and sat down there to await his return.

The wait was a long one, but at about half-past four Davout, grim-faced as ever, came striding in, his spurs clinking and his riding boots resounding on the parquet.

Roger promptly stood up, came to attention and saluted.

Halting abruptly, the Marshal gave him an unsmiling stare and asked, 'What brings you here, Breuc?'

'I come, Your Highness, from His Imperial Majesty,' Roger replied.

Davout motioned toward his office. 'Come in then, and give me such news as you have of him.'

When Roger had followed him in and been waved to a chair, he said, 'Alas, Your Highness, I can tell you no more than that I last saw the Emperor in Leipzig shortly before disaster overtook our army. But I have a warrant from him that he ordered me to present to you.'

As he spoke, Roger produced the paper he had obtained from Napoleon, ordering that Charles should be handed over to him, and placed it on Davout's desk.

Passing a hand over his bald head, the Marshal read it through quickly, then asked, 'What is the reason for this? Why does the Emperor wish me to transfer the cus­tody of this young Englishmen to you?'

'Because I have a special interest in him, Your High­ness. As you may know, my mother was English, and this youth is my nephew. The Emperor graciously agreed that, if possible, I should be allowed to make arrangements for him to be sent back to England, on condition that he did not serve actively again in the war against us.'

Davout frowned. ‘I am most strongly opposed to senti­ment being allowed to interfere with war. You should be engaged on your proper duties instead of travelling many miles to secure the release of a relative who is an enemy. However, that is not in my jurisdiction, and the Emperor's command must be obeyed. I will find out where this officer is being held prisoner.'

'While awaiting your return I took the liberty of doing so, Your Highness. He is at Schloss Bergedorf.'

'Schloss Bergedorf!' repeated Davout, with a sudden lift of his grey eyebrows. 'Then he may no longer be there. Some days ago, when the prisoners at the Schloss learned of our defeat at Leipzig, they got out of hand. There was a mutiny. Several were shot, but twenty-seven broke prison and escaped.'

Roger went pale. He swallowed hard, then gasped, 'Do you ... do you know if St. Ermins was among them?'

The Marshal's face took on a vicious look and his voice was almost a snarl. 'No, I do not. But one thing. I do know. I have given orders that any of the escapers who are recaptured are to be hanged.'

'Hanged!' Roger came to his feet. 'But you can't do that! Even if you condemn them to death, which would be unjustifiably severe, they are officers, so they have the right to be shot.'

'Silence!' Davout snapped. 'Who are you that you should dare to tell me my business? To hold down these German curs is the hardest task I have ever had. Officers they may be, but they are Germans and, until recently, our allies. By turning their coats they have become traitors. The penalty of a traitor who is caught is to be hanged, and this will serve as a warning to any of their compatriots who are my prisoners and tempted to make trouble.'

‘I pray to God then that none of those who escaped will be recaptured.'

'Then you'll pray in vain,' the Marshal retorted harshly. 'Nine of them were recaptured this morning. They will be given a few hours to see priests if they wish, and make known their last wishes. But before sunset they will be dancing at the end of ropes.'

18

Fate Strikes Again

For a moment Roger gazed at the Marshal in horror. Several of the prisoners had been shot while trying to escape, and now nine who had been recaptured were to be hanged. He had no doubt that Charles was among the latter.

Fantastic as it seemed, the scene Georgina had wit­nessed in her crystal had, after all, been a true vision of the future. Even more fantastic, Fate had caused him to travel many hundreds of miles uselessly and delayed him again and again in his search for Charles, yet brought him within a few miles of the place where a rope was to be put round his neck, on the very day he was condemned to die. Clearly this was the work of Providence; there could be no doubt of that.

But suddenly it flashed into Roger's mind that the issue was not yet settled. Unless he could reach Schloss Bergedorf within an hour or so it might be too late. He might find Charles's body, with that of eight others, dangling from the branches of trees. Without another word to Davout, he turned and strode toward the door.

'Halt!' came the sharp command from behind him.

Automatically he obeyed and again faced the Marshal, who glowered at him and said, 'You seem to have for­gotten the respect due to a senior officer, Colonel.'

Roger saluted. 'My apologies, Your Highness. The peril in which my nephew stands drove all other thoughts tem­porarily from my mind.'

'You seem very attached to this nephew of yours.'

'I am indeed.'

'Yet you are citizens of different countries, which have for many years been at war. You cannot have seen him since he was a child.'

Galling as it was to Roger to have to waste precious moments giving an explanation to the Marshal, there was no avoiding it, and he replied, 'As I stated a moment back, Highness, by blood I am half English. Moreover, I was brought up there, and still have many acquaintances in that country who believe me to be an Englishman. His Imperial Majesty has long been aware of this, and on numerous occasions has sent me to England in secret to report to him upon the morale of our enemies. During these visits, which were at times several months in dura­tion, I naturally saw a great deal of my relations.'

Davout nodded. 'So that is the way of things. Even so, you could not have known that the boy was likely to be hanged, and merely to obtain his release I marvel that you should have risked showing yourself in northern Ger­many.'

'I see no reason why I should have feared to do so,' Roger replied, inwardly fuming at having to carry on this conversation when every minute was so precious. 'Your Highness's being in command of this territory is guaran­tee enough that, apart from exceptional circumstances, all French officers are safe here.'

'You are right, but you mention exceptional circum­stances^—and they apply to you.'

'In what way, may I ask ?'

'Surely you have not forgotten that in 1810 you were tried by a Prussian court for the murder of your wife and the Baron von Haugwitz, found guilty and condemned to death?'

Roger frowned. 'I recall very vividly, Highness, that most unpleasant experience, resulting from my being un­able to prove my innocence. Also that I owe my life to your having induced the King of Prussia to commute my sentence to ten years' imprisonment.'

'I felt that I could do no less for a French officer whom I knew to have served my Emperor well on numerous occasions. But I was thinking of the present. When we met again last year in Russia, you told me that you served only a few months of your sentence, then succeeded in escaping when being transferred from one prison to another, through an attack on the convoy by a mob of rebellious students. Now that Prussia has betrayed us and become our enemy, owing to the great scarcity of food bodies of Prussian troops frequently raid my territory in the hope of securing supplies. Should you run into one of these raiding parties and someone in it chances to recog­nise you, I've not a doubt but that they'll carry you off with them to serve the other nine years or more of your sentence.'

Giving a hasty glance at the clock with frantic anxiety, Roger saw that it was now past five. As it was late October there could not be much more than an hour of daylight left. Swallowing hard, he said, 'That is a chance, High­ness, that I must take. I beg you now excuse me.' Then he saluted and ran from the room.

Below in the stables he found a sergeant farrier, who picked out for him a good, strong horse and had it saddled up. Since being shot through the calf, Roger had ridden only on a few occasions and then at a walk. He had not yet even attempted to wear riding boots, but swathed his

legs in spirals of blue cloth. Now, ride he must and at the fastest pace he could manage, for Charles's life hung on a matter of minutes.

While the horse was being saddled he got out his map to make certain of the road to Bergedorf. It lay on a main road south-east of Hamburg and he must have passed within three miles of it that morning. Mounting the horse he found it more mettlesome than he could have wished, and had difficulty in holding it back to a trot as soon as he had passed out of the great gateway.

Now that he was trotting for the first time, the pressure of his wounded leg on the horse's side hurt less than he had expected; so, having covered half a mile and knowing only too well the necessity for speed, he broke into a canter. Another mile and the leg began to hurt him so he eased the pace, for he dared not risk his wound opening again and cause him to lose his grip, with the risk of being thrown from the saddle.

Luckily, the way was fairly flat, with no steep gradi­ents which would have put a further strain upon him. But by the time he had covered half the distance he was sweat­ing profusely and with each jolt of the horse a sharp stab of pain ran up his leg.

With half-closed eyes and clenching his teeth, he pressed on, trotting and cantering alternately. At last he sighted the Schloss, standing on a rise above a village, but it was still two miles off. Glancing down at his burning leg, he saw that the blue bandage was now stained with crimson. As he had feared, the wound had re-opened and must be bleeding freely. By the time he was clattering on the cob­bles through the village street the whole of his lower leg was covered with blood and it was dripping from his boot. But there could be no question of pulling up. Rounding a bend he came opposite the gates of the Schloss. At the sight of his uniform a sentry presented arms. But Roger ignored him. It was all he could now do to keep in the saddle.

Ahead, leading up to the Schloss stood a long avenue of lindens. His sight misted by pain, he saw that several score of troops were gathered in the avenue. They formed two long lines and there were several smaller groups beneath the trees. As, with his last reserve of strength, he galloped up the slope, his vision cleared. The nearest group of sol­diers was standing below a body that swung from the branch of a tree. The next group was hauling on a rope to hoist a second victim. Beyond, hatless and with their hands bound behind them, stood seven escapers among other groups. In the queue awaiting death Roger saw Charles.

In front of the two lines of soldiers stood several officers. One, obviously the commander of the garrison, was walk­ing slowly up and down. He came to a halt as Roger approached and stared enquiringly at him. Roger pulled up beside him and slid from his horse. As his wounded leg touched the ground, it gave under him and he caught at the arm the officer extended to him. Next moment, as they stood face to face, they recognised each other. The garri­son Commander was a Colonel Grandmaison, with whom Roger had served in Austria.

'Why, 'tis the Comte de Breuc!’ Grandmaison ex­claimed. 'How come you here, my dear fellow, and in such a state?'

With one hand Roger drew the Emperor's order from his pocket and thrust it at his friend; with the other he pointed at Charles and gasped, 'That man ... the last but three in a row. The Earl of St. Ermins. This . . . this is a reprieve ... an order that he is to be handed over to me.' Then he fainted.

When he came to, he was inside the Schloss and being carried up a stone staircase on a stretcher. Soon afterwards he was laid on a table. Colonel Grandmaison and several other people were gathered round him, one of whom was an army surgeon. He was given what he realised was an opium drink, then most of his clothes were taken off. Several men held him down while he squirmed and yelled during the agonising process of having his injured calf disinfected and sewn up again. After he had been put to bed in another room he man­aged to ask Grandmaison if Charles could be sent to him.

The Colonel agreed, and five minutes later the soldier who had been left to supply Roger's need of anything let Charles in. His face was still drawn and pale from having recently so narrowly escaped death, but his eyes lit up and he was about to rush forward and pour out his thanks to Roger for having saved his life, when Roger put a finger to his lips enjoining silence.

Having sent the soldier from the room, Roger beckoned Charles to his bedside, made him kneel down and said in a low voice, 'I have told the Emperor and Marshal Davout that you are my nephew; but they, and everyone else in the French Army believe me to be a Frenchman, born in Strasbourg, the son of a Frenchman who married your aunt. In England it is known only to a few statesmen that I am a Count and Colonel in the French Army. Everyone else believes me to be an English eccentric who has spent the greater part of his life travelling in distant lands. Remember these things, Charles, for my life depends on them, and avoid talking about me whenever possible.'

Charles, weeping with gratitude, readily promised; then, having given Roger another opium drink, sat by him until he managed to get off to sleep.

The days that followed were agonising for Roger and very anxious ones for Charles. Twenty-four hours after his arrival at Schloss Bergedorf, Roger's leg. began to swell and the wound go purple at the edges. There could be no doubt that the blue dye in the strips of cloth he had wound round his leg had got into his bloodstream and poisoned it.

He had to submit to the pain of having the gangrenous strips of flesh cut away and the wound being restitched. But that failed to avert the menace. The following day the signs of poisoning appeared again, and the surgeon gave his opinion that the only certain way of saving Roger's life was to amputate his leg below the knee. However, on being pressed by Charles, the sawbones admitted that there was just a chance that further cutting away of the flesh might make amputation unnecessary. Upon this the wretched Roger, his brain a prey to delu­sions caused by opium and three-parts drunk on brandy, yet still capable of feeling acute pain, submitted for the third time to the surgeon's knife and needle.

A period of great anxiety followed, but on November 1st, Roger's sixth day at Schloss Bergedorf, the surgeon was satisfied that the second operation had been success­ful. These days of constant pain had cost Roger a stone in weight. Combined with the loss of blood and fear of being crippled for life, they had left him very weak. It was no surprise to him, therefore, when he was told that it would be several weeks before he could hope to travel and, anxious as he was to get home, he made no protest.

* * *

It was during the time when Roger was so desperately ill that an event occurred in London which was to bring Susan into dire peril.

One morning towards-the end of October, just as Jemima was about to go,out shopping with Lady Luggala, a running footman arrived with a letter for her. It was from her mother, and asked that both of them should come to her as a matter of the utmost urgency. As their carriage was already at the door, they drove straight to Islington.

There they found the witch's house a scene of great activity. The servants were packing silver and linen into hampers in the hall, while the witch and her high priest, the lean Father Damien, were busily parcelling up magi­cal implements and packets of precious drugs in the draw­ing room.

No sooner had the door closed behind her visitors than the witch cried angrily, 'My dears, it is a shocking blow that we have suffered. That fool Cornelius Quelp has allowed himself to be trapped.'

'Oh dear!' exclaimed Jemima. 'How did it happen?'

'A French emigre, one of the old, sour kind who refused to return to France when the Emperor proclaimed an amnesty and has long been in the pay of the English, wormed his way into the Dutchman's confidence. He was arrested yesterday and charged at Bow Street with being a French secret agent. The evidence against him was irrefutable and it is in the Tower that he is now. A friend of his brought the news to me in the middle of the night.'

'Obviously you are leaving, so I take it you fear he may betray us,' said Maureen Luggala unhappily.

It was Father Damien who answered her. 'The Myn­heer is a courageous man and much attached to us, so I do not believe he would betray us lightly, but the brutal English may force him to.'

'The English are not brutal in that way,' Jemima volun­teered. 'They have long given up torturing prisoners.'

'There are other means of securing information from prisoners,' the priest retorted. 'They could promise to release him if he provided them with a list of his asso­ciates.'

'It is that I fear,' the witch put in, 'and Father Damien and I would head the list, since it was from us that he obtained the greater part of the information he took to France.'

'Oh my! Oh my!' Lady Luggala wrung her hands. 'Then all of us are ruined.'

'Nay. 'Tis I who am ruined. Another year or two in London and I could have made a fortune out of the Hell Fire Club. Now I must abandon it and leave the country.'

'You mean to return to Ireland ?'

'Yes, although since the English rule there, even that may be dangerous if Quelp discloses his dealings with me,. Where else could I go ?'

'You might find a smuggler who would run you over to France,' Jemima suggested.

'It would take time to find one, child, and time is precious. Besides, the stars are no longer favourable to the Emperor. He is far from finally defeated yet, but Leipzig was, I am convinced, the turn of the tide for him. This latest combination of so many nations allied against him must end in his downfall. Those stupid Bourbons will then return. But they are not such fools as to neglect hav­ing all the secret papers they secure gone through most carefully. Quelp's will show the sums paid to me for the information supplied to him. Then, should I be in France, I'd be in constant danger of being identified and sent to the gallows. No, Ireland it must be; and that, Maureen, is why I sent for you.'

'You mean to take Jemima and me with you ?'

'No, no!' the witch spoke impatiently. 'The fact that you both met the Dutchman here a few times is no proof that you were involved in his activities, any more than were the men and women who came to participate in our Hell Fire orgies. Neither of you is in any danger; but I need your help in securing a safe refuge in Ireland. I dare not settle in Dublin. It is too well that I am known there. And I've no mind to pig it in some peasant's cottage. It occurred to me that Father Damien and I could lie low in that castle of your late husband's, at Luggala. But I'll need a letter of authority from you for us to occupy it.'

Greatly relieved that she would not, as she had feared, have to flee the country, Maureen replied eagerly, 'What an excellent idea. I'll write to the bailiff with pleasure. But you do realise, don't you, that the castle has not been lived in for many years, so a lot will have to be done to make it really comfortable.'

'That is of no great moment. Father Damien and I will need the use of only a few rooms, and your bailiff can get people in from the village to clean them up for us.'

While they were talking, the priest had left the room and returned with a decanter of Madeira. As he poured the wine for all of them, the witch finished packing the last bag of herbs into a straw basket. Sitting down, she asked Jemima:

'Tell me, child, how do your relations with young Susan progress? It is some weeks since we have talked of this.'

Jemima pulled a face. 'Alas, I cannot tell you that they do progress., It is now long since I established myself as her best friend. We see one another frequently and talk with the greatest intimacy. She has no secrets from me—that I'll swear. And in many things I can influence her without difficulty, yet I am no nearer dominating her mind than I was six months ago.'

'That is disappointing. I'd hoped with time you would achieve hypnotic power over her, and so be able to make her commit acts which would ruin her in Charles's eyes when he returns.'

‘I have tried, Mama, but my efforts have proved in vain. It is not that she is a prude or sexually frigid. Indeed, she confessed to me not long since that, at the time Charles made that unfortunate scene here during a meeting of the Club, she was in half a mind to take a lover and, heaven knows, there are a dozen beaux into whose arms I have tried to push her. Yet she'll not give more than a kiss to any of them. She says that when Charles went to the wars, she vowed to herself that she'd remain a virgin until his return, however long that might be.'

'It may not now be very long, for all the portents tell me that, in a matter of months, the war will be over. I've not told you of it, child, but in recent weeks I've been much worried for Charles. Some great danger seemed to hang over him; something quite unforeseeable, for owing to the ritual that you and I performed upon his leaving, he is protected from all the normal hazards of war. But he has passed through this period of adversity unharmed.'

"Thanks be for that,' Jemima sighed. 'Yet, since my hopes of having the gossips dub Susan a society whore have failed so lamentably, my chances with him will be no better than when he went away.'

The witch patted her daughter's cheek. 'Do not lose heart, little one. We will lure Susan to Castle Luggala. You must bring her there as your guest, and then . ..'

'But, Mama, she would recognise you at once. How could she fail to do so, having seen you that night when Captain Hawksbury brought her here and she ruined your celebration? She'd flee the place the moment she set eyes on you.'

'Nay, you are in error there. She might wish to flee, but I'd find no difficulty in holding her at the castle against her will.'

Father Damien chuckled. 'And we would put her to good use. I recall her well from the night she made that grievous scene here. The thought of her nude makes me lick my lips. I'd take great joy in relieving her of her virginity.'

'You lecherous fellow,' Maureen Luggala smiled at him. 'The very thought of you forcing her makes me feel randy.'

The lean priest gave a grin, leaned forward and took her by the arm. 'If that's the case, m'dear, let's go upstairs to my room. It wouldn't be the first good bout we've had together, and maybe we'll not have a chance to have another for some time.'

Maureen gave a breathless little laugh, and stood up. ‘I regret only that, in the circumstances, it must be a short one.'

When they had left the room together Jemima re­marked to her mother, 'How Maureen can possibly enjoy being had by that repulsive man passes my comprehen­sion.'

Katie O'Brien shrugged. 'My dear, had you been had by him yourself you would understand it. He is a stallion of the first order and positively tireless. To any woman passionate by nature he is a gift from the gods. I have even seen women faint with pleasure under him. His con­trol is perfect and he can bring me to a climax four times to his once.'

'What!' Jemima's eyes widened and she exclaimed. 'D'you mean you've actually allowed that loathsome creature to make love with you ?'

'I have indeed. And so has every female member of the Hell Fire Club. It is he who initiates them.'

'Mama, you amaze me! How can they possibly bring themselves to submit when knowing nothing of his special power to drive them half crazy with sexual enjoy­ment? The very feel of his slobbering mouth on mine would make me vomit.'

'They are warned beforehand that they may find their initiation an ordeal, so steel themselves to it. Besides, there is an occult significance to the act. In the old days it is said that to become a member of a coven a woman had first to copulate with Satan. That too may have actually occurred, as in witch trials the accused frequently con­fessed it and told of their initiation as a mixture of ecstatic delight with hideous pain. They described Satan's mem­ber as huge, as cold as ice and barbed like an arrow, so that its motion tore their vaginas and they bled profusely even while screaming from a succession of erotic climaxes more rewarding than any human had ever given them.

'Yet, I doubt not that in most cases it was a man designedly made hideous who performed upon them. In any case, willing submission to a repulsive being was the price they had to pay if they wished to achieve occult power. And that is why I selected Father Damien to play the part of Satan.'

Jemima sighed, 'Eager as I am to become a witch, I find him so disgusting that I fear I could never bring my­self to let him have me.'

'That, child, is unfortunate, as I know that ever since he first set eyes on you he has desired you. In fact, more than once, he has begged me to let you be initiated with that in view. You know my reasons for having refused. I'd not risk it even becoming rumoured in London society that you had become a member of the Club. But the Club is now finished, so when you come to Ireland that will not apply. I am in hopes that you will think again upon it and overcome your repugnance to him, at least for once, in order that you may attain occult power.'

'I'll consider it,' Jemima agreed reluctantly, 'although the idea of having that old goat naked upon me fills me with disgust. And did you really mean that you would force Susan to let him take her virginity?'

'I might if it suited my purpose. The thing is do you think you could persuade her to accompany you to Ire­land?'

'Yes. I'm confident that I could, without much trouble.'

'Then you need no longer worry your pretty head about the future. I will so handle matters that, soon after Charles returns from war, he will make you Countess of St. Ermins.'

* * *

It was not until the last week in November that Roger was able to leave his bed. While confined there everything possible was done for him. Dopet was sent for from Herrenhausen to act as his soldier servant. His old friend, Colonel Grandmaison, visited him daily and, although food throughout the whole countryside was terribly scarce, saw to it that the invalid had the best of everything that could be procured. Now that Charles was officially Roger's prisoner, he was no longer confined with his Ger­man fellow captives, and was allowed out for walks on parole, but he spent a good part of his time at Roger's bedside, either reading to him or bringing such news as there was.

No-one knew for certain what was happening in the south, but it was said that the survivors of Napoleon's army had straggled back to the Rhine, and at that river, on which there were many fortresses strongly garrisoned by the French, the retreat had been checked. The Emperor, it was rumoured, had reached Paris on the 9th and was frantically at work there raising yet another army. Meanwhile, the Austrians and Russians were cau­tiously infiltrating into the Rhine Provinces, delaying to advance further before reducing French-held cities in them.

After Roger had been able to get up for a few days Colonel Grandmaison placed at his disposal a carriage in which to go for drives with Charles. Twice they drove into Hamburg and were shocked by the woebegone appearance of the remaining, half-starved inhabitants.

These drives along the shore also filled them with an infuriating frustration. Ever since Sweden had joined the Allies, the Baltic had again been open to British shipping, and the Skaggerak swarmed with British warships. Almost daily they bombarded the Danish ports and the fortresses of Hamburg. Often they sailed impudently up and down the mouth of the Elbe, within easy swimming distance of the land. If only Roger and Charles could have got aboard one of them, that would have been an end to their troubles. But Davout kept his shore patrols extremely alert, to prevent Hamburgers getting out to the ships with useful information; so, even had Roger been his old self, any attempt to swim off one night would have entailed great danger. As it was, still crippled and very weak, such a project was out of the question.

Never before had Roger and Charles spent so long con­stantly together, and both derived great pleasure from getting to know each other really well. Charles had always admired his 'Uncle Roger', but had been a little awed by him, while Roger had previously looked on Charles as no more than a promising youth. But now they were able to appreciate each other's real qualities and talked together as equals. As Roger's health improved, they discussed more frequently what they should do when he was-well enough to leave Hamburg, and they came to the con­clusion that their best plan would be to endeavour to reach France as, with Roger's long experience of that country's northern ports, they offered the best prospect of contacting a smuggler who would run them over to England.

To have again used the Mess cart that had brought Roger to Hamburg would have meant travelling very slowly, so Colonel Grandmaison agreed that Roger might take the smallest of three coaches that the owner of the castle had left in the coach-house before taking to flight, and their departure was fixed for November 30th.

As the state of the country was so unsettled, it was decided that they should travel in civilian clothes; so, on the day before they left, they went into Hamburg where Roger bought a suit for Charles, another, better-fitting one than that in which he had left Leipzig for himself, and a suitable costume for Dopet who was to act as coach­man. Then all three of them packed their uniforms in a valise.

On the 30th, with the good wishes of Colonel Grand­maison, the surgeon who had looked after Roger, and numerous other people, they set off. By this time Roger had only enough money left to see them back to France, and to bribe a smuggler to put them across the Channel would require a considerable sum, so he decided to make first for Paris, as there he could draw from the Paymaster at the Ministry of War as much as he required.

The most direct route to Paris lay by way of Bremen, Osnabruck, Munster, Dortmund, Cologne and Rheims, but such scant intelligence as they had implied that the Prussians had already reached the lower Rhine and the frontier of Holland. In consequence Roger decided that in order not to run the risks of crossing a battle area it would be wiser, instead of heading for Cologne, to make a considerable detour and head for the Frankfurt-Mainz area which had for years been so strongly held by the French that it would almost certainly still be in their hands. So, from Dortmund, they turned south-west and took by-roads through the Westerwald and Tannus on their way to Mainz.

Two afternoons after leaving Dortmund they were approaching Wiesbaden. On rounding a bend in the road, to Roger's surprise they suddenly came on an outpost of Prussian infantry. A Captain called on them to halt. The coach pulled up and Roger put his head out of the win­dow. The officer asked where they had come from. Roger replied 'Dortmund'. There followed other questions, to all of which Roger glibly gave answers which he had already thought up in case of such a challenge. The Cap­tain seemed satisfied, until he asked them to produce proofs of their identity. That they could not do. His face then took on a stern look and he said:

'I regret, Herrschaft, but there are many adherents of the arch-fiend Bonaparte still at large on this side of the Rhine, and some of them are spies. I must search your luggage.'

At that Roger went slightly pale, for he knew that they were now in a very tight corner. With apparent calm he shrugged and agreed. Anxiously he watched as their port­manteaux were unstrapped and taken down by some of the soldiers from the coach roof. The first to be opened was that which held the uniforms and there, neatly folded, right on top, was Roger's dark-blue tail coat with its gold epaulettes and the cross of a Commander of the Legion of Honour on the breast.

Too late he cursed himself as a fool for not having left it behind. But he had expected to change into it after cross­ing the Rhine, as once in France, it would have assured him a coach with four horses and priority at the Post-houses for the remainder of their journey to Paris.

'Donnerwetter!’ exclaimed the Prussian officer. 'What have we here?'

'A souvenir, Herr Kapitan' Roger asserted swiftly. 'I acquired it for twenty marks from a hospital orderly in Minister.'

^‘Ach so!' the Captain scowled. 'That we shall see.' Picking up the coat with one hand, he drew a pistol from his belt with the other, pointed it at Roger and added :

'Get out of the coach. Hand the pistol in your belt to my sergeant, then take your coat off and put this one on.'

There was nothing for it but to obey, so Roger stepped down into the road and put on his uniform coat. It fitted like a glove.

'As I thought,' sneered the Prussian. 'You are a dog of a Frenchman, trying to get across the river to your swinish countrymen.'

While he had been speaking a sergeant had taken from the portmanteau the soiled but still bright scarlet uniform of the Coldstream Guards, in which Charles had been captured. The Captain stared at it for a moment, then said, 'That is not a French uniform. Surely it is English. How comes it here ?'

'It is mine,' declared Charles in his excellent German. ‘I am a British officer.'

'If that be so, what are you doing in the company of this French spawn of hell?'

Charles smiled. 'I am his prisoner, Herr Kapitan, or was until you appeared on the scene and rescued me. I am travelling with him only because he had captured me and, in exchange for my life, I gave him my parole.'

For a moment Roger was quite shocked that Charles should have so brazenly gone over to the enemy. But then he saw the sense of it. Not to have claimed immunity as an ally of the Prussians would have been absurd, and had their positions been reversed it was what he would have done himself.

The third uniform was obviously Dopet's and, as he could speak only a few words of German, he was swiftly identified as Roger's servant. A soldier mounted the box in his place and he was ordered into the coach. Roger was told to change back into his civilian coat and the three uniforms were repacked in the portmanteaux. The Cap­tain then put his Lieutenant in charge of the prisoners and despatched them in the coach with a small escort up the road.

After about a mile it emerged from the pine woods to some open farmlands, on the far side of which was a fair-sized farmhouse. The coach pulled up in front of it. The prisoners were ordered out and marched inside. In a room on the right of the entrance an adjutant was sitting at a table on which there was a litter of papers. The Lieutenant reported to him and the prisoners were brought it.

Roger now had a choice. He could swear that he was in fact a British secret agent, and hope that Charles's testimony would convince them that he was speaking the truth; or admit that he was a French officer. But he feared that if he took the former course it was more likely that Charles's testimony in his favour would make the Prus­sians believe that Charles was a liar and also a Frenchman in disguise. In consequence, when questioned by the adjutant, he decided that it would be better to ensure at least Charles's continued freedom by maintaining his own supposed role and by giving his high rank in hope of good treatment.

To have been caught like this when so nearly out of the wood was utterly infuriating, but he endeavoured to con­sole himself with the thought that it was unlikely that he would remain a prisoner for very long. The Emperor's army had been shattered. It would prove impossible for even him to raise another of even a third the size of the forces now arrayed against him. North, south, east and west, he was menaced and surrounded by bitter enemies who were determined to put an end his career as a whole­sale murderer. Either he must save all that remained to him of his Empire by agreeing to an humiliating peace in the near future, or be completely crushed soon after the New Year. So, in either case, Roger felt that he could count on being restored to liberty within a few months at most.

He had only just given particulars of himself to the adjutant when a babble of guttural German voices sounded in the narrow hall of the farmhouse. A Colonel put his head round the door and looked in. The adjutant cried to him joyfully.

'Herr Oberst, we have just taken an important prisoner. No less than Colonel Comte de Breuc, a Commander of the Legion of Honour and one of Napoleon's A.D.C.s.'

The Colonel turned and spoke to his companions out­side. Next moment they came pressing into the room, led by a burly figure with a grey, walrus moustache, dressed in a plain, ill-fitting jacket, wearing a floppy, peaked cap and smoking a meerschaum pipe. Roger recognised him at once from descriptions he had had, as Blucher.

At that date the veteran was seventy-one. He was a rough, illiterate man who had the sense to realise his shortcomings as a strategist and rely for planning on his brilliant Chief-of-Staff, Gneisenau; but he was a fearless, ferocious leader and, in spite of his age, still seething with fiery energy. The previous May he had put up a magni­ficent resistance against great odds at the battle of Lutzen. Later at Katezbach, he had defeated Marshal Macdonald, captured eighteen thousand prisoners and over one hundred guns. It was he who had delivered the most telling assault on Leipzig and had been made a Field Marshal for it.

For a moment he regarded Roger with interest. Then the excited voice of a young Uhlan officer in the back­ground suddenly cut the silence, 'Breuc, did you say? The Comte de Breuc ?'

The adjutant looked in his direction and replied, 'Yes, von Zeiten, this is the Comte de Breuc.,'

'Gott im Himmel,^’ cried the Uhlan. ‘It is the murderer! It was he who foully did to death his wife and my uncle, von Haugwitz, at Schloss Langenstein in 1810.'

Roger swung round to face him and retorted hotly. 'That is a lie. I was accused of their deaths, but was inno­cent.'

Young von Zeiten pushed his way to the front of the group and thrust out an accusing arm. 'I recognise you now. I was in court when you were tried and con­demned to death.'

'Why, then, is he still alive?' asked Blucher gruffly.

'His sentence, Herr Feldmarschall, was commuted to ten years' imprisonment. But he escaped after a few months.'

Roger had not yet recovered from the shock of once more being identified as the man found guilty of the double death at Schloss Langenstein. His brain was whirl­ing, but not so confused that he could not guess the awful fate that now threatened him. Next moment the doom he dreaded was pronounced by Blucher.

'Then send him back to Berlin to complete his sentence.'

As the Fieldmarshal turned away, Roger stared at the ring of hostile faces, rendered speechless by this terrible blow that Fate had dealt him. Whether, in a few months' time Napoleon agreed to an humiliating peace or was utterly crushed and dethroned could now make no dif­ference to him. Instead of regaining his freedom, his lot was to suffer imprisonment among enemy criminals for all that remained of the best years of his life.

19

The House with the Red Shield

Blucher and his staff left the room. The guard was sum­moned to take charge of Roger and Dopet. As the former was led away he was careful not to look at Charles. He knew how distressed the boy must be, and for him to have shown sympathy for his supposed enemy might have aroused the Prussians' suspicions that he was not, after all, a British officer. To Roger it was at least some compensa­tion that he had saved the life of his beloved Georgina's son, and that Charles was still free to rejoin her as soon as he was able to do so.

From the hallway Dopet was pushed out of the farm­house toward some tents in a nearby field; but Roger was taken downstairs and locked up in a cellar which still contained two flitches of bacon hanging from the ceiling and a few sacks of meal in a corner.

The cellar was lit only by a small, iron grille near the ceiling. In the dim light Roger sat down on one of the sacks and ruefully contemplated his misfortune. To have to face years in prison without hope of remission was in itself one of the most terrible things that could befall a man; but in his case it would prove even more insufferable than simply confinement and being debarred from all life's pleasures. This he knew only too well after having spent three months in a prison outside Berlin. There he had been in the position of a solitary Frenchman among Germans. Such had been the hatred of the Prussians of all classes for the French as despoilers of their country that the other convicts had done everything they could to make his lot more miserable. Although regulations decreed silence when exercising in the yards, they always ex­changed the news that came through the prison grapevine, and talked in whispers. But Roger had been denied even this small relaxation, because they had sent him to Coven­try. That had also prevented him securing assistance to attempt an escape which might have been arranged with careful planning by a group, but was impossible for him unaided. And he had no doubt at all that, once he was back in a Prussian state prison, he would be treated by his fellow convicts as he had been before.

After about two hours a sergeant and two troopers came for him. They then escorted him upstairs and out of the farmhouse to the coach in which he had arrived, which was waiting outside the door. The sergeant, a big man with a walrus moustache, a mane of yellow hair and bright blue eyes, produced a length of cord, tied one end of it round his left wrist and the other round Roger's right. They then got into the coach. The two troopers mounted on to the box. One took the reins, shook them and the coach moved off.

When they had covered a mile or so they came to a sign­post and Roger saw from it that they were taking the road to Frankfurt. That surprised him, as he had imagined that stronghold of the French to be still in their hands and that they would have strong outposts ringing the city for some miles round. But as the coach rolled on, the only soldiers to be seen were occasional troops of Uhlans, Prussian grenadiers and convoys supplying Blucher's army.

The December afternoon had been drawing, in when they started, and by the time they had covered the fifteen miles to the city it was fully dusk. The coach pulled up at an indifferent-looking inn a few hundred yards past the splendid Gothic Staathaus. With Roger still tied to him the sergeant showed the landlord a billeting order and parleyed with him for a few minutes, then Roger was taken upstairs to a room on the second floor.

Having untied the cord attached to their wrists the sergeant, who spoke a little French, made it clear that if Roger attempted to escape he had orders to shoot him, and that during the night one of his men would sleep in the passage on a palliasse outside the door. Then he locked Roger in.

Going to the window, Roger parted the worn curtains and looked out. The room was at the back of the house and below him lay the stable yard. A man carrying a lan­tern was watering a horse down there, and by its light Roger could faintly make out the outline of the buildings round the yard. Up there on the second floor he was at least twenty-five feet from the ground, but the roof of the lowest floor projected about two feet from the wall of the building. By hanging from the window sill his toes would have been only about five feet from that projection. Even in full health and not crippled, to risk a drop on to such a narrow ledge would have been extremely hazardous. As it was, still weak from his recent illness and with his right leg as yet barely able to take his weight, he realised that to attempt the drop would be madness. He would certainly break his leg as it hit the ledge and, on falling from it, probably his neck.

With a sigh he turned away and sat down on the edge of the bed. Looking out of the window had brought home to him acutely that, in any attempt to escape, he must not

count on using even moderate strength; his only hope lay . in outwitting his escort.

Presently a tray was brought in to him by one of the troopers. On it there were two brodchen filled with leberwurst, a piece of apfelstrudel and a mug of cheap draught wine. Slowly he ate his supper, pondering pos­sible ways to fool the yellow-haired sergeant, but could think of none.

There was no heating in the room, so it was bitterly cold. Having examined the bedclothes he found they were far from clean, as might be expected in a second-rate inn. To sleep between them in only his underclothes would be to invite the attention of bed-bugs and probably lice. So he shook them all out, lay down fully dressed, then piled them on top of himself for warmth.

Having snuffed the solitary candle that the landlord had lit before leaving him in the room, he thought for a while of Georgina and wondered if he would ever see her again. Then he thought of poor little Mary, whom he had deserted to come on this ill-fated mission. He now felt that he had treated her unduly harshly for having interfered in his affairs. But they had made it up before parting, and he could only hope that she would find some way of making a not too unhappy life for herself when Charles got home and told her that her husband was in prison, with little hope of returning home for years to come.

After a while he began to wonder how the war was going, as for a long time past he had heard only vague rumours about it. That the French had been driven from Frankfurt showed them to be in very poor shape. But he thought it probable that they still held Mainz, as the barrier of the broad Rhine would prove a serious obstacle for any considerable force; and the dynamic Blucher's headquarters being on the right bank seemed a certain indication that the French were holding the left in strength. He was still vaguely speculating on how long the war would continue when he drifted off into an uneasy sleep.

He was roused by a persistent tapping, occurring at brief intervals. As his mind cleared, he realised that it came from the window. Thrusting the blankets from him, he limped quickly over to it and pulled aside the curtain. It was pitch dark below, but outlined against the star-lit winter sky were the head and shoulders of a man.

With sudden hope leaping in his heart, Roger strove to get the window open. It had probably been shut for years and resisted all his efforts. He dared not break the glass, for fear that the noise would rouse the soldier who was sleeping outside his door. Now desperate at the knowledge that the chance of escape was so near, yet still barred to him, he racked his brains frantically for a means of prising the window up. A possibility flashed into his mind. Hurrying back to the bedside table, he picked up the tray on which his supper had been brought, shot the con­tents on to the bed and recrossed the room with it. The tray was oblong, about fourteen inches by twenty-four and made of iron with plain, thin edges. Holding it by the sides, he jammed one of the narrow ends into the crack between the frame of the window and the sill. Using all his force he managed to insert it far enough to grip; then, using it as a lever, heaved back on it. The wood groaned and gave a trifle, so that the tray came free. Thrusting it in again, Roger repeated the process. With a sigh of relief he felt a rush of cold air as the window opened a good inch. Eager hands from outside grasped and heaved it up.

'Charles, bless you!' Roger whispered.

'Dam'me, I thought you'd never hear ray tapping,' Charles replied with a low laugh. 'Come now, can you manage to follow me down this ladder ?'

'Yes,' Roger nodded. 'I'll be all right.' Then, as Charles descended a few rungs to make way for him, he scrambled over the window sill out into the dark night.

When they reached the yard Charles murmured, 'Had I not had the luck to find this ladder, God knows how I could have got to you. But if we leave it where it is it will be seen by anyone coming to the stables and give pre­mature warning of your escape.'

Taking the ladder away from the wall they carried it into the shed where Charles had come upon it, then he said, 'Now we must find you a horse. Soon after you were taken from Blucher's H.Q., I made off with a mare on which to follow you, but...'

'Charles,' Roger interrupted him. 'You have performed a feat that does you the greatest credit. I'm truly proud of you, as your dear mother will be when I tell her of this night's work, and prodigiously grateful. You can scarce imagine the horrors you have saved me from and, crippled as I am, my chances of escaping were next to nil. Speak­ing of which, though I can mount a horse, I'm not yet capable of riding either fast or far. I gravely doubt me if we could keep a lead for long, once they send mounted men in pursuit of me.'

'What alternative have we but to attempt that?'

'To lie low here in Frankfurt until my leg is again sufficiently strong to stand up to a hard day's riding. Our problem is to find trustworthy people who would be will­ing to hide us. I know of only one, and him I have not seen for many years. Even to reveal our identities to him will prove a gamble; but I judge it to be a risk worth taking.'

'Who is he?' Charles asked as they moved out into the deserted street.

'He is a Jew, and it is all of eighteen years since I had dealings with him. It was in September '95, a year or so after the fall of Robespierre. A reaction against the Terrorists had set in, and it was thought possible that one of the Republican Generals might be induced to bring about a Restoration, as did General Monk in the case of your ancestor King Charles II.'

Roger had already turned in the direction of the Staathaus and, as they walked along together, he went on, 'It was decided that, for our purpose, the best bet was a very able General named Pichegru. At that time he was com­manding an army with his headquarters at Mannheim, and in the same theatre General Jourdan was command­ing another on the north bank of the Necker. They were some distance apart, but both operating against two Austrian armies, commanded by Generals Wurmser and Clerfayt, and a third force of Royalist Frenchmen under the Prince de Conde.

'The mission on which Mr. Pitt sent me was, first to see the Prince and obtain from him a signed promise that Pichegru should be made a Duke and receive numerous other benefits including a large sum of money, then take it to Pichegru and endeavour to persuade him, in ex­change, to lead his army on Paris instead of against the Austrians.

'I succeeded in getting Pichegru's agreement, but for one thing. He required an assurance that when he arrived outside Paris with his army, the bulk of the population in the capital would not be opposed to a Restoration. The only way to make certain of that was for me to go there and find out.

'That I was willing to do, but time was a vital factor.

It had already been agreed by Jourdan and Pichegru that the latter should make a dash on Heidelberg. By joining forces there they would have been in a position to defeat the two Austrian armies one after the other. To bring about an end to the war was the main inducement for the Parisians to welcome a change of Government, so if the Austrians were defeated and sued for peace, Pichegru would have no case to call for a Restoration.

'As England was providing the money to bribe Piche­gru, I had been entrusted with an open order on the British Treasury. To gain the time needed to save the " situation I offered to pay Pichegru a million francs if he would postpone his march to join up with General Jour­dan, and so save the Austrians from defeat’

'A million francs!' exclaimed Charles. 'That is a mint of money.'

'Yes, fifty thousand pounds, and I had to find the money in gold at short notice. I shudder now at my own temerity. Had things gone wrong, or he gone back on his word, I should have been held responsible. Through other causes we failed to bring about a Restoration, but he sent only two divisions, instead of his whole army to join General Jourdan; so the Austrians were saved from a major defeat, which might well have put them out of the war, and that was worth the money. I got it from this Jew to whose house we are now going. I only hope that he is still alive and will prove friendly.'

As Roger had been telling of this mission he had under­taken during the wars of the Revolution, they had re­passed the Staalhaus in the main square of the city and, after taking several wrong turnings, he recognised the entrance of the narrow street he had been looking for.

'Ah, this is it!' he exclaimed. "Tis called the Judengasse. In the old days not only were all the Jews in the city compelled to live here but chains were actually pad­locked across this entrance to keep them in at night. It is at least one thing to be said for the Revolution that, wherever the French went, they opened up the ghettoes.'

The street was so narrow that only a single vehicle could have been driven down it. As they advanced, Roger kept his eyes fixed on the upper storeys of the houses, from which hung signs of various designs, just visible in the starlight. Recognising one by its shape he pointed to it and said:

'That shield is painted red. Comparatively recently this family of Jewish bankers changed their name and took a new one from the shield. They are now known as the Rothschilds.'

As he spoke he turned and hammered with his clenched fist on the stout, iron-studded door of the house. There was no answer, so he told Charles to create a louder sum­mons by kicking the door with his riding boot.

At length a light appeared, a grille in the door opened and a pair of dark eyes peered through. 'We are friends,' said Roger in German, 'and I wish urgently to speak with Herr Maier Amschel.'

'To our sorrow, my master died fifteen months ago,' replied a gruff voice.

'Then I must speak with one of his sons. You can say that I am an Englishman and that the British Treasury has already had dealings with this house through me.'

The grille closed, there followed an interval of about ten minutes, then came the sound of bolts being drawn back and the door was opened, but only a few inches, and it remained secured by a heavy chain.

A man in a loose robe, wearing a skull cap, surveyed them with shrewd, dark eyes and said, 'I am Anselm Maier, the senior partner of this House. Why do you come here at this hour of the night ?'

'You will not remember me,' Roger replied, 'for it is eighteen years since I was here. But you may recall the transaction, since you and two of your brothers were with your father at the time. In four days you succeeded in securing for me a million francs-worth of gold coin against an order on the British Treasury.'

The banker nodded. 'I do remember, because it was our first transaction of real importance with the English. And now, high-wellborn one, I vaguely recall your face.'

As he spoke he undid the chain, opened the door and bowed them in. His servant, who stood behind him, re-locked it while he led them through his counting house to a room behind it, lit candles and begged them to be seated at a round table of finely-polished, beautifully-grained wood.

Roger introduced himself and Charles by their proper names, then came at once to the point. ‘I am in trouble with the Prussians. They believe me to have committed a murder of which I am innocent. I was being sent under escort to Berlin to be imprisoned, but tonight Lord St. Ermins here rescued me. Owing to a severe leg wound I have for some time been unable to ride fast without incur­ring great pain, so did we take horse from the city tonight we would almost certainly be caught. Our best hope is in lying low for some days. We will then stand a much better chance of getting away. I know no-one but yourself in Frankfurt, and I have no claim on you; yet I make so bold as to ask if you will allow us to remain in hiding here.'

Anselm Maier's expression did not change but he said quietly, ‘I think, high-wellborn one, that you do have a claim on my house. Do you recall my second younger brother, Nathan?'

'Yes. He was then a young man of about eighteen. I have met him since, some years ago in London. He told me that he had spent some time in the north of England, and made a handsome profit in Manchester goods before moving to the capital.'

'That is correct. But you seem to have forgotten that he consulted you when we first met on the pros­pects of making good money in England. It was on your advice that he went there, and you fulfilled your promise of putting in a good word for him with a Mr. Rose, who was then head of your Treasury.'

Roger laughed. 'Yes, I recall that now. May I take it then that you will give Lord St. Ermins and me sanctuary for perhaps a week or so ?'

'You will be my honoured guests, high-wellborn ones; and now permit me to offer you some refreshment.’

Standing up, Anselm Maier left the room and returned a few minutes later, followed by his servant. A bottle of wine was opened and dishes of motzas and saffron cakes set on the table. While enjoying a splendid Hock, they talked of the war and its recent developments, oh which the Jewish banker proved to be extremely well informed.

He said the Allies had been very tardy in their advance after Leipzig, but had now reached the Rhine in a num­ber of places. However, typhus was rampant among their troops, so it would probably be some time before they felt strong enough to cross the river. An Austrian army had entered eastern Switzerland, and a Prussian army under von Bulow had crossed die Dutch frontier. Berna­dotte had left his allies to march south and swung his Swedes north-west through Hanover, with the obvious intention of besieging and capturing Hamburg from his hated enemy Davout.

At these last words Roger sadly shook his head and murmured to Charles, 'Had we only known, we could have remained in Hanover until the Swedes overran it. Then Bernadotte would have put us on a British ship, and in a week or so we'd have been safely home.'

The banker went on to tell them how, after Leipzig, Napoleon's Confederation of the Rhine had fallen to pieces. The score or more of petty Princes who had licked his boots and supplied him with troops and money for a generation had hastened to transfer their allegiance to Austria. To be allowed to rule independently again in their pocket kingdoms, they had promised to raise between them a quarter of a million men.

'It was through handling their business that the fortune of your family was founded, was it not?' asked Roger.

'Indeed yes, high-wellborn; particularly that of the Landgrave of Hesse, whose territories are far greater than those of any of the others. He was one of the richest sovereigns in Europe, and owed the greater part of his fortune to England. Before the coming of Napoleon all the common people in the Principality were serfs. Every year the Landgrave had the young men rounded up, at times as many as twelve thousand, and sold them as soldiers to the English, who sent them to fight in the Americas. He then lent the money to the always needy King of Denmark, and we acted as his agents.'

'Now that he is once again master in his realm, do you think this wicked traffic in men will be resumed?' Charles asked.

Anselm Maier shook his head. 'No, high-wellborn. Having tasted freedom, the people would not submit to it. And if it did the House of Rothschild could now afford to refuse such unsavoury business. I remain at the centre of things here. My second brother, Solomon, is now well established in Vienna. Nathan, as you are aware, has already become a power in the financial world of London, and my youngest brothers, Karl and James, have recently opened branches in Paris and Naples. We have perfect trust in one another, and always act in concert. Together we decide how to utilise our now considerable resources, and always support causes that we believe will benefit humanity.'

A grandfather clock in a corner of the room struck three o'clock. Glancing at it the banker said, 'High-wellborn ones, half the night is already gone. Permit me to conduct you to a room where you can get some sleep.'

They readily agreed and he took them up to a room on the third floor, in which there was a large, comfortable-looking bed. After wishing them good sleep, he added, 'I am confident that I can trust all my people, but others come to the house, so it would be best if you remained here during your stay, and I will have your meals sent up to you.'

Having expressed their gratitude they quickly un­dressed, blew out the candles and were soon asleep.

During the three days that followed, they were well cared for. Several times Anselm Maier came up to bring them books, talk with them and see that they had every­thing they wanted. But they were extremely worried, be­cause they had learnt that not only the Main, upon which Frankfurt stood, but the greater part of the east bank of the upper Rhine were now in the hands of the Prussians. It was certain that by this time a full description of both of them would have been circulated, and all troops ordered to keep a look-out for them. Roger's leg had suf­fered no permanent damage, except that a large piece of flesh from his calf had had to be cut away, but for many weeks he would have a limp which he would be unable

to disguise and to put a strain upon his leg for any length of time still pained him considerably. And they were now faced with the problem of crossing both the Main and the Rhine before they could hope to be safely back in French-held territory.

20

In the Toils Once More

For hours Roger and Charles discussed their problems. Even if they could cross the bridge over the Main, which would not be heavily guarded, without being recognised, Roger could not ride far enough to reach the Rhine in a single night. If they hired a coach they would have to risk the driver, or an ostler at one of the post houses realising that they were the wanted men; and in these German lands everyone was only too eager to get his own back on the hated French. If they walked, that would treble the time needed to reach the great river, and along the roads they would be exposed to the scrutiny of many more people. Even if they succeeded in reaching the Rhine, there would remain the hazard of crossing it. The river was much too broad and fast to swim it, and it was certain there would be pickets all along the banks, so it would be very difficult to steal a boat and get any distance without being fired on.

They were still at their wits' end about the best course to take when, on the morning of December 15 th, Anselm Maier came up to see them and said:

'During these past few days I have been trying to think of a way to get you safely out of Frankfurt so that you need not expose yourselves to possible recognition, and I think I have hit upon one, provided you are willing to put up with a certain amount of discomfort.'

'That's very good of you,' Roger replied, 'and we'd be glad to hear what you propose.'

'As I have informed you, the Allied armies do not by any means form a continuous line from Holland to Alsace. There are still large areas which they have not yet occu­pied, and fortresses strongly held by the French. One such is Ehrenbreitstein, which dominates the junction of the Rhine and Moselle at Coblenz. During the course of the war, my House has naturally had many dealings with the French as well as with their enemies. And for both we have frequently handled valuable consignments of works of art as well as currency. If the high-wellborn ones are prepared to lie hidden in crates for perhaps two days I could have them sent down the river by barge, consigned as precious porcelain, to my agents at Coblenz.'

'Two days!' exclaimed Charles. 'During so long a time we would die of thirst.'

'Nay. The crates would be roomy enough for you to feed yourselves, and both provisions and flasks of wine would be put inside with you.'

Roger did not at all like the idea of being boxed up in what amounted to a coffin, but the banker assured him that the crate lids would be so loosely nailed down that they could be kicked off if the necessity arose.

'What of the Prussians, though?' Roger asked. 'They control the area. Are they not likely to hold up any goods being sent down river to a city still held by the French?'

Anselm Maier smiled and shook his head. 'I should send with the crates one of my people who would be in our secret. He would have the crates with him in a cabin on the barge and carry all the necessary documents relating to their supposed contents. The high-wellborn ones may rest assured that the House of Rothschild is now held in such respect that goods consigned by us to anywhere in Europe would never be interfered with.'

Charles and Roger exchanged a quick glance of agree­ment, then thanked the banker for having thought of this way of getting them safely out of Frankfurt.

That afternoon two large crates, made of light wood and measuring six feet by three feet by three feet, were brought up to the room. Both were so constructed that half-inch-wide spaces between each three side planks would let in ample air. They contained well-padded pal­liasses to lie on, pillows and supplies of food and drink. Laughing a little sheepishly to conceal their reluctance to be imprisoned in them, Roger and Charles stretched themselves out on the palliasses and listened to the lids being nailed down. By forcing their elbows against the sides of the crates, they prevented themselves from being thrown about while they were carried downstairs and loaded on to a wagon. It rumbled off over the cobbles and half an hour later they suffered further jolting as the crates were loaded on to a barge. After that they were left in silence and darkness.

The hours that followed seemed to both of them inter­minable, each hour a day, each day a week. From time to time they managed to doze a little, but had no idea whether it was night or day. The only way in which they could break the awful monotony was to fumble blindly among the packages that had been put in with them; then, lying awkwardly on one hip, swallow food or drink; but after a while they both realised that they must resist the temptation to resort to this distraction too frequently or they would soon find that they had consumed all their supplies. Very occasionally they caught the murmur of voices, but for hour after hour the only sound they heard was their own breathing and they lay, their arms stretched out along their sides, in the darkness and silence of the grave. There were times when, only half asleep, their' minds became a prey to awful nightmares, during which they were seized with panic and for a few moments believed they had been buried alive. Then the realisation of their true situation returned to them only just in time to stop themselves from screaming and striving to batter a way out of what they had imagined to be a coffin.

Their ordeal seemed as though it would never end, and they could hardly believe the evidence of their senses when a mutter of voices was followed by the crates being lifted. They were again subjected to considerable jolting, but welcomed it as evidence that they were at last near their journey's end. Twenty minutes later, to their unutterable relief, the crates were prised open.

They were so stiff that at first they had difficulty in sitting up and, after being so long in darkness, were semi-blinded by the daylight. But when they had been helped out of the crates, they saw that they were in a small ware­house half-filled with other crates, trunks and boxes. "With them were two Jews. One introduced himself as having brought them from Frankfurt, the other as the Roths­child's agent in Coblenz. The latter asked if he could be of any service to them, to which Roger replied:

‘I should be grateful if you could get a coach to take us to Ehrenbreitstein.'

He and Charles were then taken across a courtyard to a house and given glasses of wine, while a servant went to fetch a coach. It arrived shortly after midday, and having thanked the two Jews for their help, they drove off to the great fortress.

Neither of them was yet fully recovered from the men­tal suffering they had endured during the past two days, but as the high castellated walls came into sight, Roger pulled himself together sufficiently to say in a low voice to Charles:

'I shall of course, announce myself as de Breuc, but the story you gave before, on the spur of die moment, that you are my prisoner and remained with me all this time because you had given me your parole, is too much to ask them to believe. As I cannot say you are an English­man and your French is so indifferent that I cannot pos­sibly pass you off as a Frenchman, it would be best, I think, if I told them that you are my orderly officer and a Bavarian who remained loyal to us after Bavaria went over to the Allies. Have you any suggestions about a name for yourself?'

After a minute's thought, Charles said, 'What think you of Lieutenant Count von Schweibacker-Erman? That would fit in with the coronet and initials on my under­clothes should a servant chance to notice them.'

Roger laughed for the first time in many hours. "Tis one hell of a name, but most suitable. You're a fine fellow, Charles, with a good brain as well as courage.'

At the great gate of the fortress he paid off the coach and after a wait of three-quarters of an hour they were taken up to the office of the General commanding the garrison. Roger had never met him, but when die name of de Breuc was brought up to him he had made enquiries of his staff and now had with him a Colonel Orton of the Engineers, who had known Roger during Napoleon's second occupation of Vienna; so, in spite of his rumpled civilian clothes and unshaven face, the Major was readily able to identify him.

Roger's story was that he and his companion had become separated from the Emperor at the battle of Leip­zig, and that he had been severely wounded during the retreat. Fortunately they were then in the neighbourhood of a house owned by a widow lady who was a relative of Count von Schweibacker-Erman. She had agreed to hide them from their enemies. His wound had then become gangrenous, and he had been so ill that they had had to lie up there for many weeks. When at last he had become fit to travel, they had made their way, mostly by night and hiding by day, toward the Rhine. Then, hearing that Coblenz was still in the hands of the French, they succeeded in reaching the city.

In view of the disturbed state of the whole of southern Germany, the story was entirely plausible. The General accepted it and congratulated them on evading capture. He then told Colonel Orton to find suitable quarters for them, and invited them to dine with him in the Senior Officers' Mess.

The meal proved a by no means cheerful one. Those officers present were very conscious that, as in other pockets of territory on the right bank of the Rhine still held by the French, their enemies were rapidly closing in on them, and the prospect of being reinforced seemed extremely dubious. Moreover, the state of things in the city of Coblenz had become very different from what it had been when they had lorded it there. The German population had become openly hostile. The troops no longer dared go to the beerhalles in parties of fewer than a dozen, they were hissed at in the streets and had to walk warily to avoid the contents of a chamber pot thrown from an upper window on to their heads.

That evening Roger told the General that he naturally wished to rejoin the Emperor as soon as possible, and asked his assistance to get to Paris. The General willingly agreed, said that he still had the power to commandeer a coach and promised to provide a driver. By mid-morn­ing next day a coach had been procured. As the driver was a soldier, an escort was provided to accompany the coach into the town, so that Roger and Charles could buy razors, soap, flannels, a change of underclothes, some bottles of wine and other things for their journey. They then crossed the river by the bridge of boats. On the far side the escort left them, and for the five days that fol­lowed they were able to enjoy relaxing in freedom until they reached Paris on December 23rd.

Roger directed the driver to Talleyrand's mansion. On alighting there they were informed that the statesman was dining out, but the maitre d'hotel, who knew Roger well, said he felt sure it would be His Highness's wish that they should partake of a meal while awaiting his return. Soon after eight o'clock Talleyrand came in, to find them still lingering over peaches and Chateau Yquem. As he limped into the room they both stood up. With a smile and a wave of his hand toward Charles, Roger said :

'Your Highness, permit me to present my friend, Count von Schweibacker-Erman.'

Returning the smile, Talleyrand replied, 'So you suc­ceeded in your quest.' Then he extended his beruffled hand to Charles and said, 'I am delighted to welcome Lord St. Ermins to my house, and I hope that you will both remain here as my guests during your stay in Paris.'

They laughed and gratefully accepted. Some fine old brandy was produced and they sat round the table. Roger gave an account of all that had befallen him since he had left Paris toward the end of August, then Talleyrand gave them a resume of the war situation.

Prince Metternich, anxious to keep France strong as a counterweight to Russia, had in mid-November offered peace on the terms that France must give up all that re­mained of her conquests in Spain, Italy and Germany and return to her natural frontiers: the Rhine, the Alps and the Pyrenees. But Napoleon, then at Frankfurt, had shillied and shallied until the offer had been withdrawn. This had caused him, quite unjustly, to dismiss Maret, Duc de Bassano, who had long been his Foreign Minister, and replace him with Gaulaincourt.

His efforts to re-open negotiations had been thwarted by the Prussians. Determined to exact full vengeance from the French, they now proclaimed both banks of the Rhine to be German territory, and claimed Cologne, Treir, Strasbourg and Metz. The Czar, moreover, was set on dictating a peace in Paris. Ignoring a declaration of neutrality by Switzerland, an Allied army was marching through that country, and now menaced France from the east. Von Bulow's Prussians, with the aid of a British expeditionary force, had driven the French out of Hol­land, to the great rejoicing of the Dutch, and in the south Wellington had crossed the Pyrenees.

At the end of this recital Roger said, 'Then it can now be only a matter of weeks before the Emperor is forced to give in.'

Talleyrand shook his head. 'I'd not gamble on that. The man is as stubborn as a mule. Nothing will induce him to give up the left bank of the Rhine, Belgium or his Italian conquests. I fear there is yet much bloody fighting to come.'

'But, my Prince, what has he left to fight with? After the debacle in Russia, he managed by a miracle to muster another half-million men and he has since lost those in Germany. One cannot make bricks without straw, and there is no straw left.'

'You are wrong there, but it is a different kind of straw. When he returned to Paris, he was openly cursed as the destroyer of France's young manhood. For years the people have become more and more sickened by his foreign wars. But now they have changed their tune. The Allies are about to invade France—to tread the sacred soil won by the people's army, led by Moreau, Jourdan and Kellermann in the days of the Revolution. Men long since released from the Army, many even who were middle-aged in those days but can still march and fire a musket, are volunteering in their thousands to fight again.'

Roger sighed. 'How terrible that there must be yet another bloodbath.'

They talked on for another hour or so, then Talleyrand excused himself on account of having papers to go through, and had his guests shown up to bedrooms.

When Roger had left La Belle Etoile he had had his big trunk brought round to Talleyrand's mansion, and he recalled that he had an old uniform in it. It was one he had worn at the battle of the Nile, and had a big tear through the upper part of the left arm, made by a bullet that had narrowly missed him. Although the tear had been mended, he had been in half a mind to throw the garment away, but the providence he had inherited from his Scot­tish mother had led to his keeping it in case one day it came in useful. Now was just such a time, as going to the Ministry of War in uniform rather than in civilian clothes would save him from having to answer a lot of tiresome questions. Next morning, after the footman who was valeting him had given the coat a good brushing, he put it on and took a coach to the Ministry.

After the retreat from Moscow he had been listed as 'missing, believed killed', but while in Paris the previous August he had had his name restored to the pay roll and now had considerable arrears owing to him. Not expecting to be in Paris again until after a peace had been agreed, he drew the whole sum, partly in gold for current pur­poses, but the bulk in bills of exchange.

Having learned that the Emperor was not in the capital but making a tour of the principal provincial cities to encourage, by showing himself, more ex-soldiers to rejoin the colours, Roger was in no danger of again being caught up in his web, so he decided that as Charles had never before been in Paris, he would remain there for a few days, to show the young man something of the city.

During the past twenty-five years Roger had lived there for so many months that Charles could not have had a better guide; and, now that he and Roger had become boon companions, he immensely enjoyed going with him to the Louvre, to Notre Dame, the Sainte Chapel, the site where the guillotine had stood, and driving out to St. Cloud and Versailles.

It was on the evening of December 30th that Roger told Talleyrand that, greatly as they had enjoyed their stay, he and Charles must now make their way home, and that he proposed to set out on the following day.

The Prince expressed great surprise at this and ex­claimed, 'Mais non! Cher ami, how can you even think of leaving Paris now? For many years happenings in France have been the great interest in your life. You wit­nessed the rise of Bonaparte; surely you do not mean to forgo being present at the tyrant's fall ?'

Roger smiled. 'It will be a great day, Highness, and I'll regret to miss it. Indeed, I'd happily stay on here could it be anticipated in the course of the next few weeks. But that is more than we can hope for. It is your own opinion, and endorsed by many of the prominent men I have talked with while a guest here at your lavish table, that the new army, containing so many tough old soldiers, will put up a most desperate resistance when the Allies invade France. Unless the Emperor agrees to accept humiliating terms—which we both consider unlikely—it will be many months before he can be crushed by sheer weight of num­bers.'

'That I admit. But even so you should remain. You are unique in being known and trusted by many men of importance in both camps; so, as a go-between for my­self, you could be of immense help in bringing about a cessation of hostilities.'

'No, Highness. In such a way I could be of little use to you. When the Emperor returns to Paris, it is certain he will learn that I am here, so I could not avoid report­ing to him. In this past year he has lost so many of his old intimates who knew his ways, that he will instantly seize upon me and require me to accompany him to the front. I've had more than my share of luck in having lived through so many dangers, and I'm determined not to risk death now in further battles.'

'You would have no need to do so. I am happy to know that you are now nearly recovered from your wound, and that it has left you with nothing worse than a limp. But Napoleon is not aware of that. An A.D.C. who cannot ride a horse is of little use in the field. You could easily excuse yourself from further service by pretending to be severely crippled, and your health seriously affected; then remain on here in Paris with me.'

Again Roger shook his head. 'The excuse you suggest might be accepted, but I'll not risk it. I could be useful to him in so many ways that the odds are he would insist on forcing me into some employment. Besides, I am anxious to get Charles home and so put an end to his dear mother's anxiety about his still being alive.'

The Prince shrugged. 'I'll say no more then. How do you propose to get back to England?'

‘I hope, as I have done many times before, to find some smuggler along the coast who will run us over.'

'You'll not find that so easy as you did in the past. Now that the Allies are closing in about us it is feared that the English might attempt to land an army in Normandy or Brittany, so the coast is much more carefully guarded’

'Sir,' Charles addressed Roger. 'I did not put on a uni­form merely to strut about in it, but to play my part on active service. It was my intention when we reached England to sail again as soon as possible, in order to rejoin His Grace of Wellington's army. There is an alternative, though. Why should we not travel south direct to it ? That would save me the voyage from England to Spain, and you would have no need to risk yourself with a smuggler. You could go home in safety and comfort in one of our ships sailing from a Spanish port.'

Roger considered for only a moment, then he smiled. 'Charles, you have something there. It is an excellent idea.'

So the matter was settled. Two days later, on New Year's Day 1814, they left Paris in a comfortable travel­ling coach, generously provided by Talleyrand who, when they took leave of him, handed Roger a letter which he asked him to deliver to Wellington.

They made the journey through France without inci­dent, and on January 11th reached Bayonne, which was now actually in the battle zone. There they put up at a modest hostelry and next morning, having given Talley­rand's coachman a handsome pourboire, Roger sent him back to Paris with the coach. He then bought two good horses and, with their portmanteaux strapped to the backs of their saddles, they took the road east to Bidache.

From time to time Roger had heard news of the war in the south and, as he had expected, Marshal Soult had proved a much more redoubtable opponent than had King Joseph and Jourdan. During the late summer Wellington had driven the French back across the Pyrenees with a loss of ten thousand men, but his advance had then been badly held up by the fortresses of San Sebastian and Pamplona. It was not until the end of the first week in October that he had been able to plant the British flag on French soil, and he had then had to force the line of the river Bidassoa, which Soult had fortified with a chain of strong re­doubts.

From there the French had fallen back on a still stronger line along the river Nivelle. It ran through very rugged country which greatly favoured the defence, and during the whole of November the weather had been appalling, which further hampered offensive operations; so it was not until the 10th that, after many desperate assaults, the enemy had been driven from it. Soult had then retired to the river Nive at the mouth of which lay die great fortress of Bayonne. This had placed Welling­ton at a strategic disadvantage because, further inland, his army was divided by the river into two parts. The able Soult had first concentrated his army on the west bank, hoping to defeat that half of the British force. Failing in that, he had transferred his troops to the east bank and endeavoured to overwhelm the one British and one Portu­guese division there under the command of Sir Rowland Hill; but again he had been defeated. By December 13th the whole of Soult's army had been driven back and taken refuge among the ring of forts surrounding Bayonne.

On the evening of their arrival in the city and during the night, Roger and Charles frequently heard the sound of cannon as the British bombarded the forts to the south of Bayonne and the forts returning the fire. It was not until they had ridden several miles along the road inland that the sounds of battle faded in the distance. At an easy pace they covered the twenty miles to Bidache and Roger was

greatly relieved to find that now, ten weeks after the last operation on his leg, riding did not pain or unduly tire him.

They had a meal at an inn in Bidache, and rested for a couple of hours. The little town lay on the fringe of the foothills of the Pyrenees, and that afternoon they took the road south toward the mountains. By making a big detour they had skirted right round the area in which there was fighting, so had seen only a few French troops escorting wagons. Evening found them in deserted, wooded coun­try, some miles south of St. Palais. Noticing a small cave in a ridge of rocks a hundred yards or so off the track, they decided that it would be a good place to pass the night.

They had not yet reached the snowline, but it was bit­terly cold, so they got a fire going as quickly as they could. On it they cooked some slices of ham they had bought in Bidache; then, having warmed themselves up with a bottle of Bordeaux and lavish rations of Armagnac, they wrapped themselves in their cloaks and did their best to get some sleep on shallow piles of fir sprigs that they had broken off from the branches they had collected for their fire.

In the morning, believing that they were now well out­side French-held territory, Roger took off his old uniform coat, threw it away in the far end of the cave, and put on the grey cloth coat in which he had travelled from Germany. After watering their horses at a stream and giving them a feed, they ate some more of the ham, washed it down with another bottle of wine and resumed their journey.

Soon after leaving the cave they came upon cross-roads, so they turned west in the direction of the coast. The morning passed in a tiring ride up over spurs and down across valleys, but early in the afternoon they saw ahead of them a group of tents and some red coats in a clearing by the trackside. A Lieutenant was in command of this outpost, and when they made it known that they were English he gave them a cheerful welcome.

By the time they had warmed themselves at a fire and eaten a hot meal, the early winter dusk was already clos­ing in, so they decided to remain there for the night. In the morning die Lieutenant showed them on his map the direction they should take to reach Wellington's head­quarters. It meant a ride of another twenty-five miles, but knowing they had succeeded in getting safely through the dangerous area, they took the road in good heart.

After passing several other units of British troops they reached the headquarters soon after midday. It was a chateau with a beautiful view over the ridges of woodland to the north. Dismounting outside it, Roger sent in his name and that of Charles. Ten minutes later the Com­mander-in-Chief received them with his usual charm.

However, he told them that he was just about to hold a conference of his senior officers, so must wait until later to hear such news as they had brought him. He then said they must join him for dinner and turned them over to one of his A.D.C.s with orders to provide them with accommodation. Having thanked him Roger, before leav­ing the room, handed him the letter he had brought from Talleyrand.

Dinner that night proved a cheerful meal. Such brother officers as Charles knew on the Duke's staff heartily wel­comed him back among them. It emerged in conversation that they were confident of soon taking Bayonne and advancing on Bordeaux, where it was now known that a great part of the population was secretly eager to welcome the Allies. Intelligence had also been received that recently

Napoleon had ordered Soult to send ten thousand men to assist in defending the eastern frontier of France. The Spanish troops had inflicted such atrocities on the French in the towns and villages they had captured that the Duke, who was anxious to gain the good will of the French people, had sent the Spaniards back to their own coun­try. But even without them, Wellington now had such superiority in numbers that Soult's final defeat could not be long delayed.

When the port circulated there was an eager audience to hear Charles's account of all that had befallen himself and Roger in Germany. The two of them then enjoyed a sound night's sleep in comfortable beds.

In the morning the Duke sent for Roger and said to him, 'Mr. Brook, are you aware of the contents of the letter you brought me from Talleyrand?'

'No, Your Grace,' Roger replied. 'He told me nothing of it.'

‘I see. Well, to be brief, it is a most earnest appeal to me to use any influence I may have with you to persuade you to return to Paris.'

Roger shook his head. 'Your Grace must forgive me, but I am utterly sickened of war, and determined to go home to England.'

'One moment,' the Duke held up a finger. 'Talleyrand points out, and I know this to be true, that you are the only man in all Europe who has special qualifications for possibly hastening the end of hostilities. You are in his confidence and mine. You have long been an A.D.C. to Napoleon, who believes you to be devoted to him. You are known and trusted by the Czar. You know Prince Metternich, Lord Castlereagh and scores of influential persons in our camp and that of the enemy.

'You have served your country so long and so well that you are trapped by the circumstances you have yourself created. How can you possibly now refuse to serve her for a few more months? You are not a soldier, so I am in no position to order you to return, neither am I accustomed to beg; but on this occasion I beg you to do so.'

Roger's face showed an agony of indecision. After a moment, he said, ‘I . . . I don't really know. Your Grace must give me twenty-four hours to think it over.'

The Iron Duke's stern features relaxed into a faint smile. 'Mr. Brook, I will give you exactly two minutes.'

With a sigh Roger returned the smile. 'Your Grace leaves me no alternative. I will set out for Paris tomorrow.'

21

The Last Campaign

It was on January 20th that Roger again arrived in Paris. Having found that he could now ride considerable dis­tances without affecting his leg, he made the journey on horseback, but by easy stages. In the cave a few miles from St. Palais, in which he and Charles had passed a night, he found his old uniform coat where he had left it, so he was able to wear it on his journey through France, and command all the facilities to which his rank entitled him.

Talleyrand, having been confident that the trick he had played on Roger would succeed, showed no surprise at his return, and only laughed when reproached for having trapped him.

On his way north Roger had picked up many rumours of the rapidly changing situation throughout Europe. The Prince confirmed many of them, and gave him a true account of what had been happening.

All Holland had now been liberated by von Billow's Prussians, with the assistance of a British expeditionary force that had landed under General Graham. The Czar had marched his army right through Switzerland, invaded eastern France and was now threatening Lyons. Schwarzenberg's army had reached and crossed the Rhine in many places. Blucher, ever to the fore, had reached Luxembourg. Davout was still holding out in Hamburg, but Bernadotte had overcome the Danes who, on the 14th, had signed a peace treaty surrendering Norway to him.

At that Roger commented with a laugh, 'So that sly rogue has secured the plum he was after all the time, and got it with very little serious fighting. How mad the Emperor must be.'

'He is, but the worst blow of all to him has been the defection of Murat.'

'What! Murat gone over to the enemy?'

'That is so, although 'tis not yet known to the public. I received private intelligence of it from Prince Metternich. On the 11th of this month Murat signed a treaty with Austria, that in exchange for his supplying a corps of thirty thousand men, he should keep his Kingdom of Naples and, in addition, be given a sizeable piece of the old Papal territories.'

'Such treachery is scarce believable. But Murat's head is solid wood. This is the work of his wife, that scheming whore, Caroline.'

‘I judge you right. She was ever the most ambitious of Napoleon's sisters and, with the possible exception of him­self, the cleverest of the whole Bonaparte family. More­over, when Metternich was ambassador in Paris he had an affair with her; so his personal inclination would be to favour her continued aggrandisement!'

Roger raised his eyes to the ceiling. 'What a brood they are! Pauline alone among them is honest, and the only one who has shown any gratitude for the wealth and favours showered upon them.'

'You forget Madame Mere."

'True, the old lady is a tower of rectitude, and at least conserved the great fortune she has been given, against a day when her wonder child should overreach himself.'

'That day has come, and he had much of it off her to pay for the two hundred thousand new uniforms he ordered when he got back to Paris last November.'

After a moment Roger said, 'I take it that, now Murat has ratted, we can count Italy lost to France, as well as all Germany, Holland and Switzerland.'

'Not altogether. When the Emperor took over the com­mand of the Elbe from Prince Eugene, he sent him back to his old post as Viceroy of Italy. The young Beauharnais at least is loyal, and an able General. Murat's Neapolitans are not distinguished for their love of battle, so Eugene has little to fear from them; and the Alps give him a strong line of defence to hold back the Austrians when they attempt to break through into the plain of Lombardy.

'But now we must think of yourself. The Emperor is in Paris, so you must report to him. He is holding a recep­tion at the Tuileries three days hence, before leaving for the front. That will be time enough for you to make your service to him. In the meantime I suggest you give out that your wound re-opened again recently, and go about on crutches.'

Roger gave a wry smile. 'You Highness's advice is, as ever, sound. I'll do that, and pray to God it saves me from being forced into some unwelcome post. I cannot go to the Tuileries though in this stained and threadbare uni­form. So, with your permission, I'll to my tailor without delay.'

At his tailors Roger demanded and received priority; so, on the 23rd, he was able to accompany Talleyrand to the Tuileries dressed with all his old elegance; but, owing to the ministrations of the Prince's valet, his appearance was very different from what it had been when he arrived in Paris.

The man was an artist in make-up, and had skilfully transformed Roger's face. A liquid had made his cheeks pale, without appearing to be painted or powdered, there were deep shadows under his eyes and little lines radiating from the corners and from the sides of his mouth. The naturally grey wings of hair above his ears now merged into grey hair all over his head. In addition, not only did he walk with crutches, which he had used during the past two days whenever he went out, but his injured leg had been strapped up behind him on a peg leg with a sling.

As the Emperor was about to defend France from inva­sion he had again become a hero, and everyone who was anyone in Paris had come to cheer him on to victory; so the palace was a seething mass of senators, soldiers, offi­cials and their ladies. Slowly Talleyrand and Roger made their way up the grand staircase and into the Throne Room. Napoleon was standing with the Empress on one side of him, and on the other, their fair-haired three-year-old son, the King of Rome, dressed in the uniform of the National Guard.

When Roger at last came opposite them and awkwardly made his bow, the Emperor exclaimed:

'Why, Breuc, what a pleasant surprise to see you. I thought you lost to us at Leipzig.'

'I thank you, Sire,' Roger replied in a feeble voice. 'I got away with my life, but that is about all. My only regret is that neither physically nor mentally am I any longer capable of serving you.'

Napoleon tweaked his ear, the old familiar gesture of good will. 'I am the loser, Breuc; but I take the will for the deed. And you should not be here in Paris, but in the sunshine at your little chateau near St. Maxime, where you used to winter on account of your weak chest.'

With a murmur of thanks Roger bowed awkwardly again, and passed on, immensely relieved that his pre­tended inability to be of any use had been accepted.

When the last of those present had made their bows, the ushers rapped loudly on the parquet for silence. The Emperor then addressed the assembly in a loud, clear voice. He announced that he had appointed the Empress as Regent and his brother, King Joseph, Lieutenant General of France. Taking his small son by the hand he went on:

'Gentlemen, I am about to set out for the Army. I en­trust to you what I hold dearest in the world—my wife and son. Let there be no political divisions.' He then lifted the boy on to his shoulder and carried him about among the great dignitaries of the Empire and the officers of the National Guard, to whom he had particularly addressed himself.

It was a most touching scene. He had not commanded, but appealed to their feelings as human beings. The great chamber rang for minutes on end with applause and fer­vid protestations of loyalty.

On leaving Paris the Emperor travelled swiftly east­ward to Chalons. Blucher was to the south of him and, he learned, heading further south with the object of joining Schwarzenberg's Austrians. Napoleon, who throughout this campaign displayed a remarkable recovery in vitality, military genius and swiftness of decision, immediately marched south to prevent the two armies from combining against him. On January 29th, at Brienne—where, as a penniless youth of only the lowest stratum of nobility and speaking French with an atrocious Italian accent, he had been a cadet at the Military Academy—he fell upon the Prussians, driving them from the castle and the town. Blucher retreated toward Bar-sur-Aube and there had the support of Schwarzenberg. On February 1st the Allies attacked with greatly superior numbers. Although the French fought gallantly in a snow storm, endeavouring for eight hours to hold the village of La Rothiere, they were outflanked and defeated with a loss of three thou­sand men and seventy-three cannon—a loss they could ill afford, in view of the hugely superior numbers of the Allies.

The immense wealth Talleyrand had acquired during his long association with the Emperor enabled him to maintain a small army of couriers. They not only brought him early news of these battles, but also kept him in com­munication with Prince Metternich, the Czar and Royalist agents of King Louis XVIII, who was living at Hartwell in England.

On February 3rd the Emperor entered Troyes and his distress at his defeat was much increased by his reception. Far from cheering him with their old ardour, the inhabi­tants, already half-starved themselves, sullenly refused to supply his troops with anything. The soldiers, too, were desperately hungry and so cast down that six thousand of them deserted.

The weather also inflicted the most terrible hardship on the combatants. It was the worst winter for many years, and so cold that oxen were being roasted on the ice that had formed over the rivers. Blizzards frequently hid opposing bodies of troops from one another, deep drifts of snow hampered their movements, wood for the camp fires was so difficult to obtain that they often went out long before dawn and the men were compelled to sleep in huddles to keep the life in their bodies.

The situation in Paris was also grim. The funds had dropped five points, and the rich, now fearing that the capital would be sacked by the ferocious Russians, were fleeing with their jewels to their chateaux in the country.

Up to the end of the year Lord Aberdeen had been Britain's ambassador to Austria, but early in January Lord Castlereagh, the Foreign Minister, had decided to take over negotiations himself, and travelled in great dis­comfort to join Metternich in Basle. They liked each other and found much common ground on how Europe should be reconstituted after Napoleon had been finally defeated.

Before leaving England Castlereagh, who dominated the Cabinet, had secured its approval of his own views. The most important of these were : no interference with Britain's 'Maritime Rights'; complete independence for Spain, Portugal and Holland, the latter to be given as a barrier Belgian lands which positively must exclude the French from the great port of Antwerp; that France should become a Limited Monarchy; no undue hardships to be inflicted on the French people, so that they might the sooner become reconciled to their late enemies; and that the Grand Alliance should be kept in being after the war to preserve the peace of Europe.

Metternich, both from fear of Russia and because his sovereign's daughter was Empress of the French, also wished France to remain strong and become a friendly Power. He was, too, willing to forgo Austria's claim to Belgium in exchange for a free hand in northern Italy. But the two statesmen knew that their wish to grant France a lenient Peace would meet with strong opposition from Prussia, as that country, so harshly treated by Napo­leon, was determined to exact vengeance and intended to demand territorial expansion in several directions.

It was, however, the Czar's attitude that gave them most concern. The liberal principles of which he had long be­lieved himself to be the champion, were in direct conflict with his ambitions. He talked with apparent sincerity of re-creating Poland as a Kingdom and restoring their liberty to the Poles; but the fact was that he meant to make the new Poland a satellite state subject to himself. Moreover this would have entailed Austria and Prussia giving up to him great areas of territory that they had acquired by the partitions of Poland.

To compensate Prussia he proposed to abolish the King­dom of Saxony; which, to the end, had remained loyal to Napoleon. But these measures would have been of no benefit to Austria. On the contrary, they would give Rus­sia a huge increase in manpower, bring her frontier many hundred miles closer to Central Europe and eliminate the buffer state of Saxony.

Having discussed these matters with mutual satisfac­tion, Castlereagh and Metternich took the icy road to Langres where the Czar had set up his headquarters with his principle advisers, Count Nesselrode and the Prussian statesman Stein who was Napoleon's most bitter enemy.

As Britain, alone among the Allies, had remained for twenty years in arms against Napoleon and again and again poured out her treasure to finance Coalitions against him, Castlereagh was in a very strong position and his influence did much to bring the disputants closer together. The prickly questions of Poland and Saxony were tact­fully ignored, but Alexander agreed that France should be treated leniently and her people given the liberty of deciding for themselves on their future form of govern­ment. He also gave way to Castlereagh's insistence that France should be restricted to her 'ancient' as opposed to her 'natural' limits; that is to the territories she possessed in 1792 instead of her frontiers being the Rhine, the Alps and the Pyrenees. Thus she would be deprived of her Belgian lands and Antwerp. These understandings were set forth on January 29th in a document called 'The Langres Protocol'.

On the day following his victory at Brienne, Napoleon attempted to open negotiations with the Austrians, but while awaiting their reply he, in his turn, was caught nap­ping.

The Allies had called a conference at Chatillon, which opened on February 5 th. Napoleon sent Caulaincourt to it with instructions to accept the terms offered at Frank­furt the previous November, by which France would have retained her 'natural' frontiers. But the Allies had since advanced into the heart of France and were much more confident of victory. They now demanded the reduction of France to her 'ancient' boundaries, and that Napoleon should abdicate.

Caulaincourt fought hard for his master, to whom he was devoted, but on the 9th gave way and sent a despatch to the Emperor informing him that he had done so. On receiving it Napoleon erupted in ungovernable rage and vowed that he would yet destroy his enemies.

At their last Council of War it had been decided by the Allies that they should divide their forces. Blucher, with fifty thousand men, was to march direct on Paris, while the timid Schwarzenberg, who had three times that number, was to continue to engage Napoleon. Sound strategy would have dictated that the much larger army should have been that to advance against the capital; but the decision had been reached owing to dissension among the Allies.

By this time Blucher was well on his way to Paris but the Czar, determined not to be deprived of a personal triumph, sent him an order that he was not to enter the capital until the arrival of the Allied sovereigns.

His order proved unnecessary. Only a few hours after receiving Caulaincourt's despatch Napoleon learned the whereabouts of Blucher's army. With his old energy and flair for assessing military situations, he ordered Marmont to occupy Sezanne and set off with Ney to support him. On die 10th at Champoutert the corps of both Marshals struck at a division of Russians about five thousand strong, and almost annihilated it. This attack on Blucher's army cut it in half. His leading corps, under Sacken, was west of Montmirail, while that of Yorck was far to the north. With the speed he had displayed in his best years, Napo­leon followed up by hurling his troops against Sacken. In and about the village of Marchair there was the most appalling slaughter on both sides. Mortier with the Imperial Guard overcame their enemies and Sacken's corps was routed; its remnants being saved only by the tardy arrival of Yorck, whose men also gave way before the French.

Next day the Emperor drove the Russians from Chateau Thierry, to the surprise and joy of its inhabitants who believed him to have been defeated and awaiting the end at Troyes. On the 13th, leaving Mortier to continue the pursuit of Sacken and Yorck, Napoleon marched to reinforce Marmont, who was having to give ground before Blucher. The Emperor's arrival changed the tide of battle. Many Prussian and Russian formations were over­whelmed, but others fought with the greatest stubbornness, and only the veteran Blucher's courageous leadership enabled the greater part of his infantry to carry out an orderly retreat.

Never had Napoleon shown his mastery of the art of war to greater effect than in these battles. With thirty thousand hungry and ill-supplied men he had defeated fifty thousand, and eliminated the threat to Paris. His troops had again become jubilant, in the capital the fickle mobs were once more acclaiming him as a hero and predicting that he would drive the enemy from the soil of France.

Throughout this whirlwind campaign Napoleon found time to write to his Empress daily, and she sent him most affectionate replies. He seemed positively indefatigable and fought six battles in nine days.

But the odds were heavily against him. The Czar had browbeaten Schwarzenberg into taking the offensive. One of his columns defeated Oudinot in his attempts to hold the bridge over the Seine at Bray, the other advanced to­ward Fontainebleau. To his fury, Napoleon was forced to abandon his pursuit of Blucher and endeavour to halt these columns. By superhuman efforts he transported his troops by way of Meaux to support Victor and Macdonald and together they succeeded in checking the Austrian ad­vance. On the 17th and 18th his activities were almost un­believable. In addition to writing a dozen despatches and directing three battles, he laid and fired a number of can­non himself. When his artillerymen endeavoured to dissuade him from exposing his person, he inflamed their devotion to him by crying, 'Do not fear! The ball is not yet cast that will kill me.'

On the 21st he took advantage of his amazing succes­sion of victories to attempt to detach Austria from her allies. From Nogent he wrote to his father-in-law, the Emperor Francis, asserting that Britain and Russia were using him as a cat's-paw, and that Austria had nothing to gain by continuing the war. They meant to grab all Po­land and Saxony and give Austria's old Belgian lands to the Dutch.

The Austrians, more than ever alarmed by the high­handed attitude of the Czar, who had declared that when he reached Paris he intended to appoint a Russian Mili­tary Governor of the city, were inclined to listen favour­ably to Napoleon. The Conference at Chatillon had been suspended on the 10th. On the 18th it resumed its sittings and, towards the end of the month, alarmed by Napoleon's victories, was prepared to make concessions to Caulaincourt. But everything remained in the melting pot because Napoleon would give no firm undertaking that he would relinquish Belgium and the territories on the French side of the Rhine.

On March 1st Castlereagh, greatly perturbed because it now looked as though the Coalition might break up, assembled another Conference at Chaumont. There on the 9th it was definitely agreed that Britain, Russia, Prus­sia and Austria should bind themselves by a solemn treaty not to negotiate separately with France for peace.

Meanwhile, Blucher, with nearly fifty thousand men, had resumed the offensive. Napoleon, believing the army of his most inveterate enemy to be broken, received this news with consternation, but swiftly despatched Ney and Victor to fall on the veteran's rear. Blucher wisely retired northward, crossed the Marne and destroyed its bridges behind him. Having delayed the enemy in this way pro­bably saved him from defeat, as Marmont was hotly pur­suing him, Napoleon preparing to turn his right flank and his men were utterly exhausted by marching night and day through snowstorms and on roads made slippery by ice.

On March 2nd, having got across the river to La Ferte, the Emperor resumed his pursuit of Blucher, in the opti­mistic belief that he could drive his enemies back into Lorraine, then rescue the garrisons that had been cut off in Verdun, Toul and Metz, which would have greatly added to his strength.

But by then Blucher had reached the neighbourhood of Soissons and on the banks of the Aisne joined up with

Biilow, who was able to furnish supplies for the veteran's famished men and add forty-two thousand troops to their numbers. Next day Soissons surrendered.

The Emperor, still intent on relieving his beleagured garrisons, pressed on across the Aisne and forced Blucher to retire on Laon. There the veteran learned that Napoleon was approaching Craonne. Near that town rises a long, narrow plateau. Blucher ordered his Russian corps to occupy it and, on March 7 th, there ensued one of the bloodiest battles of the war.

Five times the gallant Ney scaled the slope at the head of his men, only to be driven back by the defenders. Napo­leon then used his cavalry for a sixth assault. Blucher meanwhile had attempted to outflank the French, but the manoeuvre failed, upon which he ordered a general retreat to Laon. The casualties on both sides were very heavy. Grouchy, six other French Generals and Marshal Victor were among the wounded.

In this campaign the Emperor was greatly handicapped by the absence of many of his most able Marshals: St. Cyr was a prisoner, Davout was shut up in Hamburg, Suchet was grimly hanging on to Catalonia, Augereau was de­fending Lyons, and Soult, who had recently suffered another severe defeat by Wellington at Orthez, was far away in the south. Of those with Napoleon: Ney, Oudinot, Mortier, Macdonald and Marmont, only the latter had come off best when left to engage the enemy without support, and even his corps was surprised and badly cut up in a night attack shortly after the Emperor, having on the 9th and 10th failed to dislodge Blucher from the stronghold of Laon, was forced to withdraw by the news that Schwarzenberg was advancing on Paris.

The Emperor's force had been reduced to twenty thou­sand men, while Schwarzenberg had one hundred thou­sand. Yet such was Napoleon's prestige that, on learning that he had reached the Aube the Austrian, fearing an attack on his flank, hesitated to advance further or turn upon the wizard warrior. This delay gave Napoleon time to call up the corps of Macdonald and Oudinot. The fight­ing around Arcis-sur-Aube lasted two days and became ferocious. The Emperor rode about among his troops to urge them on. To the horror of those about him a shell burst just in front of his horse and, for a moment, he dis­appeared in a cloud of smoke. But he emerged unhurt, mounted another horse and continued to direct the battle.

But God was indeed 'on the side of the big battalions'. By the 20th he was forced to fall back northward toward Sezanne. Still convinced that he could relieve his garrisons in the east—where the French peasantry had raised armed bands of irregulars to help defend their beloved France by harassing the enemy's supply routes—he hurried his army toward Vitry; but on the 23rd Cossacks captured one of his couriers carrying a letter to Marie Louise. In it he said, ‘I have decided to march toward the Marne in order to draw the enemy's army further from Paris and got nearer my fortresses. This evening I shall be at St. Dizier.'

Made aware of the Emperor's plans, Blucher marched south and joined up again with Schwarzenberg. At the Czar's insistence it was decided that, instead of following Napoleon, they should renew the advance on Paris. The greatly weakened corps of Marmont and Mortier were all that barred the way to the capital. They fought well with great gallantry, but were brushed aside and the advance on the capital continued.

When the ordinary citizens of Paris became aware that the enemy was within a few miles of the city they were amazed and horror-stricken. For over twenty years they had become accustomed to celebrating France's victories. Their armies had marched triumphantly into Milan, Vienna, Rome, Naples, Lisbon, Venice, Madrid, Berlin and even Moscow. It had been unthinkable to them that a day could come when barbarian Cossacks and jack-booted Prussians would, shoulder them off the pavements in the streets of Paris. Yet all the woe that could be in­flicted by an enemy army of occupation could be only days away.

The better informed, Talleyrand and Roger among them, far from being surprised by the Allies' break­through, found it difficult to understand how even the genius of Napoleon had prevented it from happening long before. It was nine weeks since he had left Paris and for the past six they had been waiting impatiently to hear that his army, less than a third the size of that of the Allies, had been completely defeated.

During these weeks of waiting the question upper­most in their minds had been what would happen in France after Napoleon had been vanquished. Through his secret sources Talleyrand knew the divergent views of the Allies. All of them were agreed that the Emperor must be deposed and France reduced to her old frontiers be­fore the Revolution, but there their agreement ended.

Castlereagh was for giving the French liberal terms so that their good will/vvould result in a treaty of commerce with Britain, similar to that which had been signed with King Louis XVI in 1787, and that they should be allowed to choose their own future form of government by a plebiscite.

The Czar also was not harshly inclined toward the French people. He was averse to a Republic, yet did not favour the return of the Bourbons. He would have prefer­red a limited monarchy under a new dynasty, and he had been heard to mention Bernadotte for that r61e.

Frederick William agreed with the Czar about a limit­ed monarchy; but the Prussians generally were filled with hatred for the French and wished to impose upon them the harshest terms possible.

Austria wanted to leave France strong and, as Marie Louise was die Emperor Francis's daughter, he proposed that she be made Regent for her little son, the King of Rome.

Lastly, from January onward the Senate had at last thrown off its long subservience to Napoleon. A large majority in it wished to see the end of him, and many of the older members who had been Jacobins, eagerly hoped for the return of a Republic.

Talleyrand and Roger had discussed the question exhaustively. For many years they had agreed that the only hope of a lasting peace in Europe lay in a treaty of friendship between France and England, They therefore favoured a strong France. Both were for a limited monarchy as the most stable form of government, fore­seeing that a return to a Republic would lead to dissen­sion and, if the extremists got the upper hand, the possible repetition of '93, with another reign of terror. Talleyrand was confident that, given the power he hoped to have, he could restrain the hotheads in the Senate and he aimed to bring about the restoration of the Bourbons.