The Marquis of Bolibar (6 page)

"There's snow on the roofs," Donop said softly, and our hearts ached and melted at the words, for they conjured up memories of winters gone by - German winters. We rose and went to the window and gazed at the benighted streets through a dense veil of dancing snowflakes. Brockendorf alone remained seated, still counting on his fingers.

"Brockendorf!" Eglofstein called over his shoulder. "How many homeward miles from here to Dietkirchen?"

"That I couldn't tell you." Brockendorf gave up counting. "Arithmetic never was my strong suit. I learned my algebra from innkeepers and potboys."

He got up and tottered over to the window. The snow had wrought a strange transformation in the Spanish town. All at once, the people in the streets had taken on a familiar and well- remembered appearance. A peasant was trudging through the snow to the church with a little waxen ox in his hand. Two old crones stood squabbling in a doorway. A milkmaid came out of a byre with a lantern in one hand and a pail in the other.

"It was a night like this," Donop said suddenly. "The snow lay ankle-deep in the streets. A year ago, it was. I had been sick that day and was lying in bed, reading Virgil's
Georgics,
when I heard a light footfall on the stairs. Then came a gentle knock on the door of my bedchamber. 'Who's there?' I called, and again, 'Who's there?' — 'It is I, dear friend!' And then she came in. Ah, comrades, her hair was as red as beech leaves in autumn. 'Are you sick, my poor friend?' she asked with tender concern. 'Yes,' I cried, 'I'm sick, and you alone, my beautiful angel, can cure me. ' And I sprang out of bed and kissed her hands."

"And then?" Lieutenant Günther demanded hoarsely.

"Ah, then . . ." whispered Donop, far away in spirit. "There was snow on the roofs. The night was as cold as her flesh and blood were warm."

Günther said not a word. He strode up and down the room, glaring at Donop and the rest of us with hatred in his eyes.

"Long live the colonel!" cried Brockendorf. "He had the best wine and the fairest wife in all Germany."

"The first time we were alone together in my room . . ."

Eglofstein began. "Why should I recall it today of all days? Perhaps because a man could barely keep his eyes open in the street, the snow was driving so hard. I was seated at the piano while she stood beside me. Her bosom rose and fell as I played, ever more rapidly, and I heard her sigh. 'Can I trust you, Baron?' she asked, and took my hand. 'Feel how my heart is beating!' she said softly, and guided my hand beneath her shawl to where nature had imprinted that blue buttercup on her skin."

"Pass the wine!" Günther cried, almost choking with anger. Ah, we had all in our time kissed that birthmark, that little blue ranunculus, but Günther, who had been the first to do so, was still racked with jealousy. He hated Eglofstein, he hated Brockendorf — he hated us all for having enjoyed the lovely Françoise-Marie's favours in succession to himself.

"Pass the wine!" he cried again, hoarse with rage, and snatched up the gourd.

"The wine is finished, Mass is done, and we can sing the
Kyrie eleison
," Donop said mournfully, thinking not of the wine but of bygone days and of Françoise-Marie.

"You buffoons!" cried Brockendorf, so drunk that he swept his glass from the table to the floor and smashed it. "What are you drivelling about? Which of you knew her as I did, you runts and weaklings? What do you know of her
soupers d'amour
?
Such dishes she served!" He guffawed loudly, and Günther turned pale as death. "Four courses, there were.
'A la Crécour'
was the first. Then came
à l'Aretino, à
la Dubarry
and, to end with,
à la Cythère
—"

"And
à
la
whipping!" Günther hissed, beside himself with jealousy and rage. He raised his glass as if to hurl it in Brockendorf's face, but at that moment we heard a loud commotion and voices in the street.

"Who goes there?" called a sentry.

"France!" came the reply.

"Halt, who goes there?" called a second sentry.

"Vive l'Empereur
!"
said a curt, gruff voice.

Günther put his glass down and listened.

"Go and see what's up," Donop told me.

Then the door burst open and one of my men came in, thick with snow.

"Lieutenant, a strange officer wishes to speak with the commander of the guard."

We jumped up, exchanging glances of surprise and perplexity. Brockendorf hastily thrust his arms into the sleeves of his tunic.

All of a sudden Eglofstein burst out laughing.

"Had you forgotten, comrades?" he cried. "It's our privilege tonight to welcome His Lordship the Marquis of Bolibar!"

CAPTAIN DE SALIGNAC

Captain of Cavalry Baptiste de Salignac may well have thought us blind drunk or utterly insane when he entered the room, which rang with merriment. Boisterous laughter greeted him. Brockendorf was brandishing his empty wine glass, Donop had flopped back in his chair and was roaring with mirth, and Eglofstein, with a sarcastic air, performed a low and deferential bow.

"My respects, Lord Marquis. We've been expecting you this past hour."

Salignac stood in the doorway, looking uncertainly from one to another. His blue tunic with the white revers and his stock of two colours were torn, crumpled, and stained with red and yellow mud, his cloak was wrapped around his hips, and his white breeches were sodden with snow and bespattered to the knees with the mire of the highway. The bandage that encircled his head, turban fashion, lent him a resemblance to one of General Rapp's Mamelukes. He was holding a bullet-riddled helmet in his hand, and in the doorway behind him, laden with a pinewood torch and two valises, stood a Spanish
arriero
or muleteer.

"Come in, Your Lordship," called Donop, still laughing. "We're eager to make your acquaintance." Brockendorf, who had jumped to his feet, planted himself in front of the newcomer and looked him curiously up and down.

"Good evening, Excellency. Your servant, My Lord Marquis."

Then, because it seemed to occur to him that it was improper to joke with a traitor and a spy, he proceeded to stroke his black, waxed moustache and bellow at the man with a ferocious expression.

"Your side-arm, if you please! At once!"

Salignac, looking astonished, retreated a step. The light of the torch fell full on his weather-worn face, and I saw that it was bloodless, almost yellow, as if stricken with the ghastly pallor of some dire disease. He turned indignantly to his servant, who was bending down to extinguish the flames of the torch in melted snow.

"The wine in these parts must be dangerous," he said in a testy voice. "Anyone who drinks it loses his wits, by all appearances. "

"Yes indeed, Señor Militär," the muleteer replied obsequiously. "I know it too well."

Salignac must have judged Donop to be the least drunk among us, for he strode up to him.

"Captain de Salignac of the Horse Guards," he said curtly. "I am under orders from Marshal Soult to report to your regimental commander. May I know your name, sir?"

"Lieutenant Donop, by your kind and gracious leave, most noble Lord Marquis," was Donop's mocking response. "Entirely at your service, Excellency."

"Enough of this tomfoolery!" Salignac's hands were trembling with suppressed fury, but his voice was cold and his face as bloodless as ever. "Which do you prefer, swords or pistols? I have both to hand."

Donop was about to make some bantering retort, but Brockendorf forestalled him.

"My compliments, Your Lordship!" he bellowed drunkenly, leaning across the table. "How fares Your Lordship's precious state of health?"

The captain's chill composure deserted him from one moment to the next. He drew his sabre and proceeded to belabour Brockendorf furiously with the flat of the blade.

"Gently, gently!" cried Brockendorf. Surprised and bewildered, he sought refuge behind the table and strove to parry the blows with an empty gourd.

"Stop!" shouted Eglofstein, seizing the furious captain's arm.

"Let me be!" Salignac cried, and continued to thrash Brockendorf with his sabre.

"You can duel all you please, but afterwards. Listen to me first!"

"No, let him be!" Brockendorf yelled from behind his table. "I've broken wild horses enough before now, and never got bitten yet. Oh, damnation!"

The flat of the sabre had caught him across the back of the hand. He promptly dropped the gourd and stared with sullen resentment at his hairy fingers.

Salignac lowered the sabre, threw back his head, and eyed the rest of us with a mixture of triumph and defiance.

"Did I hear aright?" cried Eglofstein. "Salignac, you said. If you are Captain Baptiste de Salignac of the Horse Guards, I must know you. I am Captain Eglofstein of the Nassau Regiment. We met some years ago, when riding courier."

"Quite so," said Salignac, "between Küstrin and Stralsund. I recognized you as soon as I entered the room, Baron, but your behaviour —"

"Comrade!" Eglofstein exclaimed, aghast. "I cannot believe it!" He went right up to Salignac and looked closely at his sallow face. "You've undergone a curious transformation since those days at Küstrin."

Captain de Salignac pursed his lips in annoyance. "I caught a recurrent fever years ago. I've suffered from bouts of this kind ever since."

"You caught it in the colonies?" Eglofstein inquired.

"No, in Syria, and a long while ago," said Salignac, looking singularly old and weary all of a sudden. "But enough of that. It's a mischance I regard as proper to my profession."

"You've been the victim of another mischance, comrade. We were awaiting the arrival of the Marquis of Bolibar, a dangerous Spanish conspirator. It's reported that he intends to pass through our lines in French uniform."

"And you mistook me for this Spanish conspirator?" The captain rummaged in the pockets of his blue coat and produced his credentials. "As you see, I'm instructed to join your regiment and take command of a squadron of dragoons whose captain, so I was told, has been either wounded or captured by the British."

I myself had commanded the dragoons since the wounding of Captain Hulot d'Hozery, their squadron commander, so I went up to Salignac and stated my name and rank.

We were standing in a semicircle round the new squadron commander. Brockendorf was rubbing his smarting hand behind his back. Günther, the only one to remain aloof, was standing beside the window, his angry gaze directed at the darkened street. He was still brooding on Françoise-Marie and on what Brockendorf had drunkenly divulged about her
soupers d'amour
and their four "courses" of carnal delight.

"It seems I came at the right moment," said Salignac, shaking hands with each of us in turn. "I should tell you," he pursued, and the eyes in his sallow face shone with eagerness at the thought of an adventure in store, "— I should tell you that I have some experience in the detection of spies. It was I that captured the two Austrian officers who infiltrated our ranks at Wagram. Duroc himself entrusted me with several such missions."

Although I did not know who Duroc was, the name sounded familiar. I supposed him to be one of the Emperor's confidants - possibly the man responsible for his personal safety.

My new squadron commander went on to ask Eglofstein for all the information we had about the Marquis of Bolibar and his plans. His eyes gleamed and his gaunt face grew taut. "The Emperor will be pleased with his old
grognard!"
he said when Eglofstein had concluded his report. Then, turning to me, he inquired the way to the colonel's quarters and requested a dragoon for an escort.

"So there's work for me again," he said, filled with impatience. The dragoon and the Spanish muleteer kneeled down beside him and began to brush the grime from his gaiters. "My last mission was to escort a convoy of forty waggons laden with shot and shell from Fort St Fernando to Fergosa. A tedious business. Much shouting, bickering and ill temper, continual inspections, endless delays on the road." He broke off. "Are you done, you two?"

"And the journey here?" asked Eglofstein.

"I rode the entire way with sabre drawn and carbine cocked. Beyond the bridge near Tornella I was attacked by bandits. They shot my horse and my servant, but I repaid them in kind."

"You're wounded?"

Salignac ran a hand over his turban. "A graze on the forehead, nothing more. The only soul I encountered on the highroad since morning was this fellow here, who carried my baggage." He turned to the
arriero.
"Are you done? Very well, remain here with my valises until I return."

"Your Honour," the Spaniard began, but Salignac cut him short.

"Didn't you hear me? You'll remain here till I send you home. You may dig your herb garden tomorrow."

"Sit down and drink with us, Excellency," Brockendorf urged. "There must be more wine." He was so fuddled that he continued to mistake Salignac for the Marquis of Bolibar and address him as Excellency. Seeing the rest of us converse with him amicably, however, he had quite forgiven him the blow on the hand and his treacherous schemes.

"There's no wine left," said Donop.

"I should have three bottles of port wine in my valise. I take it with the juice of an orange and a little hot tea as an antidote to my fever whenever it recurs." Salignac fetched the bottles from his baggage, and we were soon seated over brimming glasses once more. He himself drew his cloak around his shoulders and sheathed his sabre.

"This marquis will rue the day his path crossed mine," he growled as he opened the door. "Before another hour is up, I shall either march him in here for a glass of port, or —"

His concluding words were drowned by the snow-laden wind that came whistling through the open door, so I never heard what Salignac vowed to do if the Marquis of Bolibar evaded capture.

THE COMING OF GOD

Eglofstein, Donop and I got out the cards as soon as Salignac had left the room. Fortune being kinder to me than usual that night, I won at Eglofstein's expense. He drew fours and doubled several times, as I recall, yet he continued to lose. Donop was just dealing another hand when the sound of a quarrel came to our ears. Lieutenant Günther had again fallen out with Captain Brockendorf.