The Trojan Icon (Ethan Gage Adventures Book 8) (14 page)

CHAPTER 17

“S
urrender what you stole!” a voice demanded in accented French.

By the hounds of hell, who was chasing us now? I lifted my own rifle through the crack in the doors, aimed at a spot between the trees where I calculated a Russian would try to dash, and fired just as he was filling my sights, dropping him. Another blaze of gunfire barked back, and I dodged behind the iron to reload. “I’m guessing at least thirty men,” I said. Now I knew why the birds had gone silent. They’d spied the creeping assailants.

Caleb and Izabela’s servants also got off shots, but the furious firefight was somewhat ineffectual. We were firing almost completely blind through a narrow slit, while the Russians were hitting nothing but stone and iron. The temple was stout as a bank, bullets bouncing off like raindrops.

“It’s a standoff,” Caleb said. “But we’re trapped.”

“How did they even know we were here?”

“They must have been watching for your arrival,” said Izabela. “Or tracking you.”

“We’d have spotted them,” my brother insisted.

“Sent from St. Petersburg to intercept us,” suggested Astiza. “While the Prussians chased west, Russians deduced our true destination and came here.”

“Have they arrested Adam?”

“My son would never betray Poland,” Izabela said.

“Well, someone did,” Caleb replied.

I stepped up to shoot again. The enemy was circling toward the temple’s rear where the cellar opened to that lawn. “They’re making for our backdoor,” I reported. “I hope it’s impregnable.”

“The iron sheathing has yet to arrive,” Izabela said.

“Then they’ll soon cut a battering ram.”

“Perhaps our attacker is a rival to Adam who guessed his strategy and seeks to undermine him,” Astiza speculated. “The Russians will seize the swords, denounce the Czartoryskis, and force Adam’s fall from the foreign ministry. With Izabela complicit, they may burn Pulawy again.”

“Perhaps Louis told the tsar we were making for Poland,” Caleb said. “As a way to get his revenge for our escape.”

I reloaded, requiring almost a minute to push the stubborn ball down the tight spiraling. Rifle shots can’t be wasted. “And perhaps all this perhapsing is academic if we don’t find a way to turn the tables.”

As if to confirm, an ominous thud came from the door below. Another, and another. Boom, boom, boom. Two of the groundsmen descended to see if the wood could be reinforced.

“We can’t let them pound away unmolested,” Caleb said. “I’ll circle outside, using the pillars as cover.”

“And be killed. They’ll have fine sport as you dance from column to column.”

“They’ll have fine sport if they get inside.”

Too late. The wood began to crack and the Russians began firing blindly into the cellar. One of Izabela’s men was wounded and they were forced to retreat up the stairs. Then there was a crash as the door finally burst open. We heard cries of triumph as the enemy occupied the room below.

“All right, I’ll get the first one as they come up the stairs,” Caleb said. “You the second, Ethan. Izabela’s men next.” He sounded almost cheerful at the prospect, as if enjoying the fight. “A Polish welcome.”

“While they tighten their trap,” I said grimly.

“We’ll sell the temple dearly.”

“Just fight for time and rescue,” Izabela said. “They’ve stumbled into a trap themselves.” She’d grabbed an old war horn from her trophy wall, put it to the gap in the iron doors, and blew like a Viking queen. I jumped. The blare was tremendous. The temple itself seemed to shake. “Help is coming.”

Gunfire slackened in surprise. The sound from the cellar briefly stopped. Russians shouted to each other in consternation.

She blew again. And then again, like the French hero Roland at the Pass of Roncevaux. The sound echoed across her estate as a call to arms. Hearteningly, I heard hunting horns call in response.

“The entire countryside will rise,” she promised, her chest heaving.

“I love your music.”

“We practiced after the last invasion.”

The Russian shooting began again, becoming more urgent.

“We may be the best shots,” I said, “Caleb and I can man the upper door while your men defend the cellar stairs. A volley when they charge upward. Pikes for Astiza and Marie.”

“I don’t know how to use a pike!” Countess Walewska protested.

“You stab,” Astiza instructed. “With the pointed end.”

The Russian commander called out again, his voice betraying anxiety. “Give up what you’ve stolen, Ethan Gage! Surrender it and we’ll leave you alone!” By Satan’s luck, the voice was wretchedly familiar. Was it possible?

The princess sucked in breath, puffed her cheeks, and blared. The temple reverberated like a bell. She gasped for breath, face red, eyes bright, tendrils of hair plastered to her cheeks. “My estate and village can muster hundreds with guns, scythes, and pitchforks,” she wheezed. “More, if the women join. The Russians have stumbled into a hornet’s nest, Monsieur Gage.” Sixty years old, a princess without a principality, and she could shriek like a Valkyrie. I am forever attracted to strong women. This one could spit brimstone.

Caleb and I took turns firing out the slit in the front, a game of marksmanship in which it was damnably difficult to keep score. The tree cover was thick and the Russian soldiers had gone to ground.

“I can get off two shots for every one of yours, brother,” Caleb said.

“And I can hit a target twice as far.”

Shots were fired from down below up the stairway, pinging into the dome. Outside, hunting horns echoed from every direction, a Polish rally that unnerved even me. The Russians were sounding desperate as they, who’d surrounded us, were being surrounded. Yet just as the tide was turning in our favor the men in the cellar stormed the stairs.

“Fire!” Izabela’s groundsmen volleyed and Russians cried and tumbled. Answering bullets came from below. One of our men fell, writhing from a leg wound. Marie yelled and hurled her pike, leaving herself empty-handed but eliciting a howl from one of our enemies. A Russian head appeared, Astiza viciously jabbed, and the man fled downstairs again. There were calls of frustration as the attackers regrouped. Then they surged once more, before the Czartoryski servants were done reloading, so some groundsmen hurled down suits of armor on top of them. “We need more guns!”

Outside, Polish reinforcements were beginning to shoot into the Russian attackers from the rear.

“This is madness!” Astiza called. “Can’t we talk?”

I looked outside for the man demanding the swords. A miasma hung in the air, punctuated by muzzle flashes and the whiz and whap of bullets. How serene the pagan temple had seemed an hour ago, and how quickly it had been yanked into modern barbarity! I shouted out my suspicion.

“Dolgoruki, is that you?”

The gunfire slackened again. “A prince of Russia,” came a reply from behind a tree, “reclaiming what you stole.”

“You’re going to be massacred, idiot!”

“Not before we kill you first.”

“You’ll die uselessly for antique iron?”

“For honor and restoration!” His men banged away.

“What lunatic are we dealing with?” Izabela asked me.

“Prince Peter Petrovich Dolgoruki,” I said, the name sour on my tongue. “He combines blustering arrogance with courageous stupidity, and was a fool at Austerlitz. He no doubt thinks seizing the swords will get him back in favor with the tsar.”

“Is he amenable to reason?”

“Barely.”

“Can he set aside his passion?”

“Barely. Better to get a clean shot.”

“No, your wife is right. Let’s parley. A determined assault will absorb all our bullets. They’ll use the captured temple to bargain for their lives, threatening to destroy our heritage. Talking will buy time to make their position hopeless. What can we use for a flag of truce?”

“Let me at least contribute something,” said Marie. “I, too, believe in negotiation.” She reached under her dress and ripped off a piece of white chemise, giving us a glimpse of leg and ankle. It’s odd what a man will notice.

Izabela used an old spear to thrust a white flag through the doorway. “Parley, Dolgoruki! Parley! Cease fire before more are needlessly killed!”

“You surrender?” His voice was shaky.

“I’ve a proposition to save both our lives.”

“The only proposition is to give up the swords!” The imbecile had spark, I’ll give him that.

“The only proposition besides compromise is death, my bold prince.” Izabela’s voice was cold with warning. “Your men are surrounded. By dusk there will be a thousand Poles here. Each one remembers Russian savagery. They’ll hunt you to the last man.”

There was a long silence.

“At least hear what I have to say,” she persisted.

“The rogues below have dragged off their wounded and backed into the cellar,” Caleb reported. “They’re waiting for orders.”

“Use the respite to barricade,” I said. “Take the sturdiest museum pieces and choke the stairs.”

Servants began to comply.

“I’m low on powder, brother.”

“Me too. I may have use for my medieval horse pick.”

But finally Dolgoruki stood away from his sheltering tree and stood defiantly, holding a useless cavalry saber. “I’ll listen.”

“Sheath your silly sword,” Izabela commanded. “And approach on foot, alone.” She shouted into the forest. “No shooting, by order of Princess Czartoryski! Hold your fire as long as the Russians do! If they break the truce, kill them all!”

Horns tooted to signal understanding.

The prince was in a general’s uniform, somewhat pretentious for the leader of a few dozen men. I guessed he didn’t want the other commanders of the Russian army to know this side errand and had marched off with a modest company of volunteers, assuring them quick victory and easy loot.

Instead, Izabela had given him a real fight. Dolgoruki came to the foot of the stairs and stood as truculent as a school bully. The princess stepped out the iron doors and studied him with distaste, her war horn at her side.

“Get Ethan out where I can see him,” the Russian demanded. “I don’t want a rifle in his hands.”

So I made sure I
did
keep my rifle in hand as I stepped onto the portico. I stayed close to a pillar, grounding the loaded weapon by its butt. “Indeed you don’t, Dolgoruki.”

“You’re a thief and murderer, Gage. The report is that you killed your own manservant. And you, Princess Czartoryski, are jeopardizing the fortunes of your entire family by sheltering a criminal.”

“Which Gage are you referring to?” said my brother, stepping out to a pillar on the other side of the door and grounding his musket as well.

His appearance made Dolgoruki gawk. He looked from one to the other of us as if we were a magic trick. “The snake has molted.”

“For a blundering soldier surrounded and outnumbered, you have a risky instinct for insult, lieutenant,” Caleb said, deliberately misstating the uniform rank. “Strong words and weak position gets a man killed.”

“I am a prince of Russia.”

“With a lieutenant’s command.”

My brother had his own knack for insult. Must run in the family.

Dolgoruki flushed. “How are you two related?”

“Brother and guardian,” Caleb said. “I’m the responsible one.”

“You’ve joined an odious conspiracy, guardian.”

“It’s called return of confiscated treasure to its rightful owners,” I said. “Princess Czartoryski is assembling a museum of national heritage to celebrate her nation’s rebirth.”

“When Bonaparte reestablishes our country,” Izabela put in. She had her own skill at getting under Dolgoruki’s skin.

The prince did his best to draw himself up with haughty scorn, but he couldn’t very well look down his nose at us since we were up on the temple portico and he was at ground level. “You can defeat me with your village militia,” he tried, “but unless you want war with the tsar you’ll give the swords back now.”

“It seems to me we’re already at war, thanks to your bumbling ambush, and that you’re losing it,” Izabela replied. “I have an offer. If you accept, we become allies. But if you don’t, by nightfall you’ll be my prisoner and your men will be dead. I’m not exaggerating about a thousand followers.”

He glanced behind, as if to count. “You’ll die too,” he said stubbornly.

“Possibly. This war is as stupid as any other. So we can fight it out to the end or you can accept my proposal.”

“Which is?” He sounded like Harry when contemplating vegetables.

“That you partner with the Gage brothers here.”

That struck a blow not only to him, but us as well. What in Hades?

“Are you joking?” the Russian said. “For what possible reason?”

“To retrieve a relic even more valuable than the Grunwald swords, an artifact that will restore your career and save Russia.”

Dolgoruki looked suspicious. “What relic is this?”

“Something that again and again has changed the history of the world. Something that could insure Russia’s survival in the coming wars.”

“What coming wars?”

“Come, prince, you’ve met Napoleon. Don’t be naïve. The Gage brothers can help you as they’ve helped me.”

“We can?” I asked.

“But it will require enormous valor on your part, Prince Dolgoruki, and enormous sacrifice on mine, since I’d dreamed of retrieving this icon for myself. It’s my compromise for peace. In return, the Grunwald swords must be guaranteed to Poland and the Gage family gets to live in peace and safety when they complete the quest. Russia must grant them amnesty.”

“That’s unacceptable. Besides, I’ve no amnesty to grant.”

“You’ll be in a position to seek any favor you wish from the tsar, once you retrieve what I’m offering. So I demand your word of honor that you’ll guarantee Gage family safety. Otherwise you surrender, or die, and the swords still stay here, and Russia gets nothing. Your choice is a futile death, or a chance at heroic immortality.”

“Why me?” he asked suspiciously.

She let the question hang in the air a moment. “Because you’re expendable. No man who has sought this prize has ever returned.”