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Authors: Adrian Goldsworthy
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voice to no more than a murmur only Jane heard him add, ‘save one.’ His gaze, which had been roving over her promiscuously, now fixed on her eyes.
Jane felt herself blush, and was again annoyed at her weakness. She barely listened as the nearest officers spoke enthusiastically of hunting as admirable preparation for warfare.
‘A good officer must naturally be a bold hunter,’ said a major, whose long jaw and yellowing teeth gave his own appearance more than a hint of the equine. ‘Do you ride to hounds, Mr Wickham?’
‘Whenever my duties permit,’ lied Wickham, whose lack of funds had prevented his keeping a stable good enough for him to excel. There was little purpose served by cutting a poor figure, and so he hunted only when an acquaintance could be persuaded to loan him a decent mount.
Wickham had turned to look at the major, but Jane knew that his next words were aimed at her. ‘I do dearly love the chase,’ he said with emphasis. ‘Whatever the distance, whatever the going, once I have a view I am not to be denied.’ He smiled modestly. ‘Although not perhaps on this poor old fellow.’ Wickham patted the gelding on the neck, and slowed its walk, letting others close around Miss MacAndrews just as her mother returned to the girl’s side.
Pleased with the brief conversation, Wickham happily chatted to some other staff men, and affected indifference to the girl’s presence. Without ever catching her eye, he took satisfaction in noticing that Jane glanced in his direction more than any other.
The monks cowered in a way that seemed abject to the French officers, and the leader of the delegation struggled to deliver his petition, making the interpreter’s job more difficult. The grossly fat man kept making obeisance and was so flustered that at one point he actually used the nickname of Malaparte. The interpreter made the appropriate change, but it was clear that the Emperor had heard and was amused by the lapse.
The room was not large, even though it formed the whole first floor of the house. Beneath was the kitchen and a few smaller rooms, and above a single stairway led to two bedrooms, occupied for the moment by the Emperor and the Prince of Neufchâtel. One side of the room was crowded with staff officers, summoned to make reports and receive orders. Two tall men stood near the back, and although neither had met before they were drawn together by the association of their regiments. Each carried a silvered cuirassier’s helmet under his right arm, hand grasping the black fur band and letting the horsehair crest hang down. Their left hands supported the hilts of their long, straight swords, held up awkwardly because they were on foot. Surprisingly one of the men, a little less tall than his colleague, but far broader in the body, also wore the cuirass itself, something which most officers abandoned on all occasions apart from parade and battle. If the man felt its weight and discomfort then he refused to show it.
‘You would never have credited it,’ whispered the taller man to his burly companion. ‘Yesterday they were cursing him with every breath as we slogged up that pass. “Shoot him! Go on, Henri, shoot the old bastard!”, “Kill him, and then we can get some rest!”, “He’s close enough, I couldn’t miss from here!”, “If he doesn’t stop and let us rest, I’ll do it any minute, I swear I will”, on and on as they waded through snow waist deep. The Emperor and Marshal Lannes clustered together with a group of us, heads down and leading them on. Not what you’d expect the master of Europe to be doing.’
‘Only if he were a different man.’
‘That is true. We made it in the end, although for the last patch they put him and most of us on to a gun carriage and dragged us up. The men got billets in the villages, warm beds, food and drink. Today I saw those same soldiers screaming out “Vive l’Empereur!” at the tops of their voices.’
The noise from the monks
Jane felt herself blush, and was again annoyed at her weakness. She barely listened as the nearest officers spoke enthusiastically of hunting as admirable preparation for warfare.
‘A good officer must naturally be a bold hunter,’ said a major, whose long jaw and yellowing teeth gave his own appearance more than a hint of the equine. ‘Do you ride to hounds, Mr Wickham?’
‘Whenever my duties permit,’ lied Wickham, whose lack of funds had prevented his keeping a stable good enough for him to excel. There was little purpose served by cutting a poor figure, and so he hunted only when an acquaintance could be persuaded to loan him a decent mount.
Wickham had turned to look at the major, but Jane knew that his next words were aimed at her. ‘I do dearly love the chase,’ he said with emphasis. ‘Whatever the distance, whatever the going, once I have a view I am not to be denied.’ He smiled modestly. ‘Although not perhaps on this poor old fellow.’ Wickham patted the gelding on the neck, and slowed its walk, letting others close around Miss MacAndrews just as her mother returned to the girl’s side.
Pleased with the brief conversation, Wickham happily chatted to some other staff men, and affected indifference to the girl’s presence. Without ever catching her eye, he took satisfaction in noticing that Jane glanced in his direction more than any other.
The monks cowered in a way that seemed abject to the French officers, and the leader of the delegation struggled to deliver his petition, making the interpreter’s job more difficult. The grossly fat man kept making obeisance and was so flustered that at one point he actually used the nickname of Malaparte. The interpreter made the appropriate change, but it was clear that the Emperor had heard and was amused by the lapse.
The room was not large, even though it formed the whole first floor of the house. Beneath was the kitchen and a few smaller rooms, and above a single stairway led to two bedrooms, occupied for the moment by the Emperor and the Prince of Neufchâtel. One side of the room was crowded with staff officers, summoned to make reports and receive orders. Two tall men stood near the back, and although neither had met before they were drawn together by the association of their regiments. Each carried a silvered cuirassier’s helmet under his right arm, hand grasping the black fur band and letting the horsehair crest hang down. Their left hands supported the hilts of their long, straight swords, held up awkwardly because they were on foot. Surprisingly one of the men, a little less tall than his colleague, but far broader in the body, also wore the cuirass itself, something which most officers abandoned on all occasions apart from parade and battle. If the man felt its weight and discomfort then he refused to show it.
‘You would never have credited it,’ whispered the taller man to his burly companion. ‘Yesterday they were cursing him with every breath as we slogged up that pass. “Shoot him! Go on, Henri, shoot the old bastard!”, “Kill him, and then we can get some rest!”, “He’s close enough, I couldn’t miss from here!”, “If he doesn’t stop and let us rest, I’ll do it any minute, I swear I will”, on and on as they waded through snow waist deep. The Emperor and Marshal Lannes clustered together with a group of us, heads down and leading them on. Not what you’d expect the master of Europe to be doing.’
‘Only if he were a different man.’
‘That is true. We made it in the end, although for the last patch they put him and most of us on to a gun carriage and dragged us up. The men got billets in the villages, warm beds, food and drink. Today I saw those same soldiers screaming out “Vive l’Empereur!” at the tops of their voices.’
The noise from the monks
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