Susan Johnson (13 page)

“Yes, yes, of course,” she assured him, ready to promise anything.

“And expect ribald comments directed at you. I can’t divert them all, I won’t always be there.”

“I won’t take offense.”

“And I warn you, I’m not sure how much time I’ll have with you even if you’re with me.”

“I understand.” She spoke calmly even though exultation filled her soul.

“I found I couldn’t leave you,” he said so quietly she had to strain to hear him. “I’ve been awake for a long time trying to persuade myself that I could.”

“I’m very grateful,” she whispered, not daring to touch him in his present mood.

“There may be repercussions,” he gruffly murmured. “We have orders not to allow women with the army. That’s not to say those orders are obeyed. But be prepared for disgruntled comments from those officers who’ve left their mistresses behind.”

“Am I your mistress?” Such an impermanent word.

“No, you’re the love of my life,” he said very, very softly and then his smile appeared, full of wicked charm. “If you were my mistress, I’d leave you behind.”

“I’m glad,” she said, returning his smile.

He quirked an inquiring brow.

“You fell in love,” she clarified.

“Are you now?” he quietly murmured.

“You shan’t get rid of me, I warn you.” It was a light-hearted threat.

“No fear of that, darling.”

“I’ll make you happy,” she said, her gaze, like her words, clear and direct.

“You have already.”

When the commotion of Bonnay’s arrival reverberated upstairs, Duras said, “The restrictions begin now, darling, the campaign’s
en train
.” And he went down alone to speak to his chief of staff.

After they’d exchanged greetings and briefly shared their apprehensions over Jourdan’s ability to meet the archduke’s army, Duras said with male brevity, “Teo’s upstairs.” Bonnay’s nod was acknowledgment and understanding, and then they set about organizing the rescue effort: assigning companies and commanders; setting the schedule of march;
trying to foresee the course of events. And at last when all the details had been satisfactorily arranged, Duras said, “Teo will be coming with me.”

“You’ve lost your mind, of course,” Bonnay calmly replied.

“Probably.”

“Is this open to discussion?”

“No.”

“You know the new orders concerning women are more stringent.”

“I’m aware of all the arguments, Henri. I tried to talk myself out of this for the better part of the night.”

“She could be in enormous danger.”

“She’ll be well behind the lines.”

“Cholet tells me Korsakov asked for her return.”

“She doesn’t want to go.”

“
You
don’t want her to go.”

“That too.”

Bonnay smiled. “Now Amalie will want to come with me on campaign. You’re going to make this very difficult for us all.”

“I trust you can handle your wife, Bonnay,” Duras sportively answered.

“I can’t handle her at all, but hopefully our four children will prove a deterrent. You’ll need a guard for the countess,” he added.

“You heard Korsakov’s in Mainz.”

“Cholet mentioned that. Will his corps supplement the British in Holland or the archduke’s army?”

“I’d say the archduke’s. I want Vigée’s men for Teo’s guard,” Duras flatly said. “They have less scruples.”

“I’ll make it clear any Russians sighted are to be killed.”

“I’ll speak to Vigée myself, but you brief him as well. I don’t want her in danger at any time.”

“Understood.”

“Now then,” Duras murmured, inhaling deeply, “the race to save Jourdan is on. Can the advance troops be ready to march by nightfall?”

“With luck, yes.”

They marched through the night, a rider from Jourdan intercepting them shortly after midnight with an urgent appeal for aid.

In two days of continuous battle, with all of the French units badly outnumbered, Jourdan had been trying to hold back the Austrian offensive at Ostrach, sending reinforcements up to stem the persistent Austrian advance. When one of the French brigades had been cut off and surrounded, a division had pushed through to their rescue. As they covered the brigade’s retreat, the withdrawal in turn exposed the flank of the French troops north of Ostrach. To avoid encirclement the northern units joined the general withdrawal. Jourdan’s army was pulling back all along the front.

Although Jourdan’s forces had inflicted over twenty-nine hundred casualties on the Austrians, they’d lost
twenty-five hundred of their own men. And had bitterly discovered that the archduke’s army, far from being scattered in small detachments as thought, was advancing in a single, strong offensive.

Responding immediately to Jourdan’s appeal, Duras informed him their march should bring them to Bregenz by dawn. At which point he would immediately attack.

Jourdan was in the process of stabilizing his line west of Pfullendorff with Stockach on the right and Emmingen on the left. On receiving Duras’s message, he made plans to attack again and issued orders for his army to move forward. Jourdan would personally direct the left flank.

At the gates of a monastery several miles west of Bregenz, Teo was taking her leave of Duras. Sitting their mounts side by side, they were surrounded by staff and guardsmen, the army passing by on the road beside the gates, a sense of urgency in their forced pace through the night. “You’re under Major Vigée’s command,” Duras quietly said, his tone polite, neutral, privacy impossible. “Please heed his orders.”

“Yes, of course.” She opened her mouth to speak and then reconsidered with the focus of so many eyes on them.

“If I can’t personally return for you, one of my staff will bring orders. Don’t stray beyond the confines of the buildings.” He reached out and touched her gloved hand briefly.
“Au revoir,”
he murmured, his gaze holding hers for a moment.

“Godspeed,” she whispered.

Then turning to Bonnay on his right, he crisply asked, “What word do we have of the artillery?” Lightly touching his spurs to his charger’s flanks, he was already cantering off as Bonnay replied.

Approaching her, Major Vigée pleasantly said, “The monastery should be comfortable, Countess.” And the most defensible in the village although he refrained from saying so. “One of my men will take your mount.” He held out his hand.

Teo was dressed in the guise of a cavalry officer, a common pretense for officers’ companions on campaign.
⁹
Throwing her leg over her saddle pommel, she took his hand and slid from the saddle.

A linden-lined path led from the gate to the main entrance, the tree limbs spidery black against the starry sky, two lanterns on the entrance doors shining in the distance. “Let me show you to your rooms,” Vigée suggested, offering her his arm. “The general thought you’d enjoy the library during your stay,” he went on, keeping pace with her shorter stride. “The monks pride themselves on their collection of hunting lore. I understand you hunt.”

“My tribe hunts for sustenance,” Teo replied. “My grandfather taught me how to shoot at a young age. Do you hunt, Major?”

“I was raised in Paris so my hunting has been confined to Austrians,” he replied with a grin. “No offense, Countess.”

“None taken, Major. My alliances are defined within a very small area of Siberia.”

“Will you be staying in Switzerland, then?”

She couldn’t decide whether he was impertinent or gauche and while she was hesitating, Vigée quickly added, “The general seems taken with you, ma’am, and we all wish him the best, that’s all.”

“I do as well,” she said. “And I hope very much that I can stay.”

“We’re here to see that the Cossacks don’t come for you, so you needn’t fear.”

“The Cossacks?” Those escorting her from Petersburg were in detention at Zurich.

“Your husband’s men, Countess.” And at the sudden horror in her eyes, he realized Duras hadn’t told her. “You didn’t know,” he murmured in self-reproach. “Forgive my blunder, Andre didn’t make it clear—”

“Where is my husband?”

He glanced around quickly, as though he hoped to be rescued from his dilemma, but the two monks coming out to greet them were still too distant. “I shouldn’t have said anything,” he mumbled.

“I’d appreciate knowing what sort of danger I face,” Teo said, forcing herself to remain calm.

“We’ll take care of you. You needn’t worry.”

“Is Korsakov with the archduke?”

“I don’t honestly know.”

“Do you
think
he’s with the archduke?” She found her heart beating furiously, the impulse to flee overwhelming.

“I don’t know.” His gaze held hers for a moment. “I really don’t.”

“But Duras thinks he is or he wouldn’t have told you to guard me from the Cossacks. How far is Bregenz?”

“Don’t become alarmed,” Vigée soothed, her agitation visible. “The archduke is more likely at Stockach.”

“Not at Bregenz.” Relief flooded through her and she wondered, now that she was removed from Korsakov’s suzerainty, how she’d survived in the past. Like a caged animal set free, she felt terror strike in her soul at the prospect of a return to her prison.

“No one will harm you, Countess, while you’re under my guard. My word as an officer.”

“Thank you, Major,” Teo said, her voice a mere whisper, her face pale. “I find the thought of going back to Petersburg extremely unwelcome.”

“Duras wants you safe, ma’am, and his orders will be followed.”

“Thank you,” Teo gratefully murmured. “Thank you very much.”

And once the monks had welcomed her to their order and she was shown to her rooms, a more coolheaded counsel overcame her mindless fear. Vigée’s guard was strong—sixty men—the monastery itself had the look of a medieval
stronghold, and her rooms were situated in what appeared to be an original keep.

If one could feel safe anywhere with Korsakov alive in the world, it would be in this well-defended sanctuary.

But she didn’t sleep well, plagued by nightmares and brutal memories, frightened by shadows on the walls, waking with a start at sounds from the outside, seeing Korsakov’s face like a ghoulish phantasm in the moon outside her window.

After several restless hours, she gave up any further attempt to sleep and found a seat by the fire, hoping the warm flames and dancing light would help keep her demons at bay. She needed Tamyr’s comfort now but her maidservant had been left behind in Sargans. Even more she needed Duras, but he was beyond even her wishes, his life in the hands of the gods.

During the night, Duras with six thousand men had crossed the marsh protecting Bregenz and now faced the strongly entrenched Austrian positions. His artillery was still thirty miles west, making wretched progress through the wetlands, but most of his cavalry had managed to navigate across narrow tracks through the swamp and they waited in readiness for his order to charge. He had little time to contemplate the possibilities; in any event there were few possibilities beyond a deadly frontal attack. And while Duras silently cursed Jourdan for his incompetence, for not following the first rule of warfare—pick the time and place of battle—he directed the disposition of his columns.

As the pale light grew, the Austrian artillery opened up on their exposed position and Duras gave the order to attack. The assault moved over ground completely without cover, the sound of their drums beating the attack rising into a cloudless morning sky, the way before them a killing field. The advance guard began to falter under the heavy
bombardment, then gave way. To stem the tide, Duras rode along the front lines, encouraging his men, and the first wave reached the base of the escarpment. The Austrians ordered up two brigades and gradually, after a protracted struggle, the French were forced back down the slope.

Duras re-formed his infantry and under the thunder of Austrian guns they advanced again, while the Austrian cavalry tried to turn the French flanks on the slope. If they could break through there, they could roll up the whole French line. It was a desperate moment for Duras’s men. At first they yielded ground and then the second French infantry column charged the Austrian cavalry, followed by Duras’s horse that fought its way through the mud and water to face the Austrian cavalry. Pressed by the fierce charge, the Austrians retired. But Duras’s army gained little ground under the intense Austrian fire.

Calling up his third column, Duras again ordered the charge only to be met by fresh Austrian troops pouring down from the fortifications. As the French were forced back yard by yard, the last reserves were called up and those reinforcements pressed the assault. A score of men were sacrificed for every foot of ground gained on either side, but at last the Austrians withdrew behind the entrenchments.

Duras now tried to storm the walls, but a severe raking fire from the bastions and the neighboring heights seriously thinned his ranks. He then tried to gain ground to the left of the entrenchments but found himself in a murderous crossfire. Re-forming his depleted ranks, Duras directed himself even farther to the left, but having struggled at great cost almost to the crest of the entrenchment, Austrian troops rushed out to take them in the flank. They had to fall back again in great disorder.

By eleven that morning, fresh reinforcements poured into the Austrian camp and the renewed French assault was a repetition of what had happened before. The carnage was dreadful. Six times they went forward only to be cut down
by a rain of fire; each time they were forced back and each time the depleted ranks re-formed. By noon, after five hours of stiff fighting, the French were repulsed with heavy losses, leaving behind fifteen hundred dead and three hundred prisoners.

Fortunately the Austrians were as exhausted as Duras’s men and hadn’t the strength to pursue his withdrawal. Gathering up his weary troops, he fell back to Constance where he first heard of Jourdan’s rout at Stockach. The archduke had struck hard at Jourdan’s army, and after suffering five thousand casualties, Jourdan was driven back behind the Rhine.

“Find Vigée,” Duras instantly ordered, fear tightening his belly. With Jourdan’s rout, the Austrians would be rapidly pushing west; Teo could be overtaken.