Marianne and the Crown of Fire

roof. But they were Engineers and had no connection with the ones she had come up against earlier in the prison tower. None of the officers organizing the chain was known to her and, in any case, she had no choice.

She slid to the ground but was no sooner down than a gust of wind caught her and rolled her over and over down the slope to the bottom, wrenching her injured shoulder so cruelly that the tears came to her eyes. When at last she came to a stop, she lay for a moment or two in a daze, flat on the grass with a ringing in her ears and her bruised head aching again as if it would burst. But in another minute, she found herself miraculously on her feet again, and face to face with the oddest woman she had ever set eyes on: a matronly individual, heavily rouged, with a red handkerchief knotted bravely round her head and on top of that a grenadier's bearskin so covered in scorchmarks that it looked like a badly mown field of corn.

From the cask slung round her neck, Marianne knew her for a vivandiere. She was probably about forty years of age and her clothes, although bizarre, consisting of a print skirt, grey stuff bodice and leather gaiters in addition to her curious headgear, were at least clean. Having picked Marianne up, she set about dusting her down, shaking out her dress and brushing off the bits of grass adhering to it with vigorous sweeps of her hand.

'There,' she said with satisfaction, when she had finished. 'Now you look presentable again, love! My but you came a cropper! Not to mention that great bump on your head – though you must have got that some time since, for it's colouring up nicely now.' She indicated the bruise on Marianne's forehead from contact with the Chinese vase, the instrument of the imperial wrath. 'And where d'you think you're going to in such a hurry, eh?'

Marianne pushed back the strands of hair that were falling across her face and gestured to the blazing sky.

'Who wouldn't be in a hurry at such a time?' she said. 'I want to get out of here. A branch of a tree or something fell on my head and I don't feel very well.'

The woman stared at her.

'And you think it's any better outside there? Well, you poor little thing! Don't you know yet those Russkies've sent the 'ole flamin' town sky high? Seems they must've got tired of it or somethin'. But there, it's true you don't look well. 'Cept for that bruise of yours, you're as pale as a bucket of whitewash! You just wait while I give you a sup of what'll set you up! A drop of my fire-water'd have a dead man dancing!'

Detaching a cup from her belt, she poured a generous measure from her cask and put it to her protegee's lips. Not liking to refuse, especially as she really did feel in great need of some stimulant, Marianne swallowed a mouthful and instantly felt as if she had swallowed the fire itself. Coughing and spluttering and half-choked to death, she was grateful once more for the good offices of the sutler woman who thumped her on the back with enough force to fell an ox, laughing merrily as she did so.

'Anyone can see as you're a young lady, gently bred! You've not got the way of it!'

'It – it is a trifle strong but – but, as you say, it does set one up! Thank you very much, Madame.'

The other only laughed the more, clapping her hands to her sides.

'Well, well! That's the first time anyone ever called me madame! I'm no madame, my poppet! I'm Mere Tambouille, vivandiere to that lot.' She jerked her thumb at the chain of soldiers. 'I was just taking them a little something to keep their spirits up when you came tumbling right on top of me. And there now, you still haven't told me why you're so set on running out into that oven out there!'

Marianne did not hesitate for an instant. The fire-water seemed to have sharpened her mental faculties astonishingly.

'I am the niece of the Abbe Surugue, the priest of St Louis-des-Francais.' The words came out without a pause. 'Someone told me that my uncle had come to the Kremlin to see the Emperor, so I came to look for him, but I could not find him here and so I want to go back home—'

'Well I never! So your uncle's a priest, is he? Trust me to run into something out of the way! But my poor dearie, how d'you know you've even a home left?'

'Perhaps I haven't – but I must go and see. My uncle is an old man and his legs are bad. I must find him or he will be very frightened.'

Mere Tambouille heaved a sigh that rivalled the efforts of the gale.

'Stubborn little thing, that's what you are! You remind me of my donkey, Lisette! Well, if you want to play Joan of Arc, it's your own affair. It's your skin, ain't it? Not but what you'd do better to stay with us and wait a bit, because the Little Corporal, he's not going to stay here for ever.'

'But I heard that he would not hear of leaving.'

'Moonshine! I know better. It was that sly old Berthier who did the trick, telling him that if he insisted on staying he'd likely find hisself cut off from all the rest of the army as was left outside. I 'eard it all as I was comin' 'ere. An officer chap was tellin' one o' the grooms and sayin' as he'd best be saddlin' Taurus, one of the Emperor's mounts. So wait a bit and we'll go together.'

All this talk was agony to Marianne. She was desperately afraid that one of her pursuers would pick up her trail and find her standing chatting amicably with the vivandiere. Now that she could regard the cardinal's escape as an accomplished fact, she was terrified by the thought of having to face Napoleon. She knew his uncontrollable temper only too well, and that he would regard the rescue of a man who desired his own death as a personal affront, capable of erasing all else that had ever passed between them. She was, in fact, in very real danger of finding herself arraigned as an accomplice and, as such, a traitor to her country.

However, seeing that she remained firm in her determination to quit the Kremlin without delay, Mere Tambouille gave in.

'Go, then, if you must,' she sighed. 'I'll come with you as far as the gate.'

Together, they reached the postern where the men were still tirelessly passing their buckets of water. They greeted the vivandiere with a volley of cheerful oaths and coarse jokes about the new assistant she had got herself. Marianne's shape, in particular, excited their interest and Gallic wit, coupled with more explicit invitations, began to flow freely, so freely, indeed, that Mere Tambouille lost her temper with them.

'You stow your gab, my lads,' she bawled at them sternly. Where d'you think you are, eh? She's none of your lightskirts but a cure's niece! So if you've no respect for her petticoats, have some for her uncle's! Now step aside there and let the lady out!'

'Out? That's no way to treat a lady,' observed a magnificently bearded, red-haired sapper, who had been winking so hard at Marianne that she began to wonder if it was a nervous tic he had. 'It's blazing like hell out there! She'll be burnt to a frazzle and that would be a shame – and all on account of a cure, too!'

'We've been into all that already. So just you shove over. Out of the way and let her get through the gate. And keep your hands to yourself, what's more. It's a tightish squeeze.'

'Hands? What hands?' panted a perspiring youth. 'Have to drop the buckets, wouldn't we?'

And in fact, for all their joking, the men were wasting no time. All the while they talked they were passing the full buckets of water, not without spilling a good deal over their feet, while the vivandiere poured generous rations of her famous fire-water down their throats. However, since they still showed no sign of making way for her, the officer in charge of that section of the line, who had so far taken no part in the affair, now came forward and took Marianne by the hand.

'Forgive them, Mademoiselle. They are reluctant to let you go. And indeed, they are right. It is not wise.'

'I am grateful, Monsieur, but it is imperative that I rejoin my uncle. He must be very much alarmed on my account.'

With the officer's solicitous hand to guide her, Marianne negotiated the gateway, no easy task since a miniature landslide had combined with the water slopped from the buckets to turn the passage into a quagmire. When she was through, she thanked him politely, suppressing a sigh of relief at finding herself outside the citadel at last. Not that the view of the burning city which met her eyes was at all reassuring. All round the Kremlin was a ring of fire.

'Over there, there's a gap in the flames,' called Mere Tambouille who had followed her out, still doling out measures of spirits to the men. 'If that's your way, you've a chance.'

It was true. In the direction of St Louis-des-Francais, the city was still standing and the fire had not yet become general. Only the Bazaar was burning, but less fiercely than elsewhere.

'Yes, that's it,' Marianne called back, glad to see that there was still a possible avenue of escape. 'Thank you