The shadow of the eagle

took a frightened émigrée off the sand?'

'Yes. It was the first time I saw you.'

'What was the name of your commandant? Griffon ... ?'

'Griffiths.'

'Ah, yes. Do you recall who else came with me in the barouche?'

Drinkwater cudgelled his brains. There had been a handful of them, then the light dawned: 'The Comte de Tocqueville, a man called Barrallier who afterwards built ships for the navy and, of course, Étienne Montholon, your brother!'

'Of course. He is now a colonel of chasseurs.'

And he is privy to this plot?'

'Yes. He has been aide de camp to Caulaincourt and commanded his escort.'

Drinkwater frowned; fatigue and the disagreeable consequences of excess had robbed him of the ability to think through this maze of intrigue. He made an effort to clear his mind and focus his tired eyes upon her, mentally repudiating her obvious allure, so spiced as it was by her propinquity. 'But you are betraying him, Hortense? Are your circumstances so reduced that you would play the traitor to,' he floundered, gathering the catalogue of betrayal, 'to your brother, to Bonaparte, to Talleyrand, to France?'

She was weeping now, shaking and sobbing with tears running down her cheeks and revealing the dust that lay upon them.

'If it had not been you, Nathaniel,' she began in a choked voice, 'I should have taken passage in one of these ships and found my way to England. As it is, I may slip back to Paris unnoticed. Talleyrand is no longer interested in me, I was repudiated by the Emperor and the Bourbon will not want women like me to clutter up his court, nor, would I wish to do so.' She lowered her voice. 'I am a drab, Nathaniel, and like most camp followers, my end will not be an easy one. Your help might at least mitigate my fate.'

She swayed and Drinkwater stooped forward and gently held her by her arms. He was unconvinced, but her hands were on his arms too, and her body touched his, light as a feather, and then with more weight.

'Do not underestimate the risk I have run to tell you these things,' she breathed, and added as he remained silent, holding her, 'They are like boys, Nathaniel, these conspirators; they would set the world alight again. Is that what you want? Do you not most desire to go home to your wife and children?'

'That is an odd question to ask at a moment like this,' he said, 'or are we two in sudden accord?' He smiled, the twist in his mouth conveying an intense sadness to her, though he spoke to encourage her. 'Come, Hortense, courage. You have lost none of your beauty ...'

'I have lost an ear!' Her tone was petulant, as though she could betray her world for this disfigurement, and she lowered her face. 'And I am tired of conspiracy and intrigue.'

'Then it makes us the more equal,' Drinkwater said again. It occurred to him that she had received some unbearable humiliation. 'Suppose this plan of Talleyrand's and the Tsar's worked; suppose Napoleon Bonaparte, sent to exile in the Azores, was sprung from his prison and spirited across the Atlantic; suppose your brother commanded a division of trappers and mountain men in the army of New France, eh? Wouldn't you want to be a part of that? A great lady of Quebec, or Montreal, or even Louisbourg if it was rebuilt? Yet you expect me to believe you would hazard all that against a pension of forty pounds per year?'

He was looking down at her hair, the scent of which rose from its auburn profusion. She raised her face and stared up at him. Her yielding body had become rigid.

'I have nothing, nothing!' She hissed, desperation in her tone. 'Why should I come here, tonight, eh?' She pulled away from him, holding him at arm's length as she might have remonstrated with the son she had never had. 'Why should I not sit in Paris and wait for an invitation to become La Reine de Louisbourg, eh?' She threw the tide at him in French like striking him with a gauntlet. 'I do not owe you anything, and if I come to trade this information it is not to betray France, or my brother ...'

'What of Talleyrand?' Drinkwater snapped. 'What of Napoleon?'

'Why is it you English men are so stupid?' she spat back. 'I am old! It is known what I have been! It is known what I am now! Why is it impossible for men to understand, eh? You never come to terms with the inevitable, do you? Only the clever, men like Napoleon and Talleyrand, can rise above these petty considerations. It is said in Paris that, despite everything, Napoleon could have rallied the army south of the Loire, but he did nothing. Instead he abdicated in the sure and certain knowledge that only a chapter of his life was over, but not the whole history. He is a Corsican, not a Frenchman. And he believes in fate, just like you.' Hortense paused, to let the point sink in. 'Napoleon has abandoned France just as he abandoned her before and set off for India. Then, when he found his grand design more difficult that he thought, he abandoned his army in Egypt and returned to France. When Admiral Villeneuve failed him at Trafalgar, he abandoned the invasion of England; when he was confronted with difficulties in Spain, he abandoned the war to his marshals; when he was foiled by the Russians, he abandoned his army in the snow ... Why should he change now? Is fate going to give him another opportunity in Europe?'

'No,' Drinkwater said slowly.

'Certainly, I am being selfish. Perhaps this is a betrayal; perhaps this is saving many lives, perhaps ...' she shrugged and moved slightly closer to him again, lowering her voice, 'this is fate, Nathaniel.'

And she pushed against him unashamed, her head bowed unexpectantly, their roles reversed, as though she was now the child and he the parent. His arms went instinctively around her and though he felt the soft roundness of her breasts it was pity, not lust, which rose and overwhelmed him.

'I think we are both too old,' he murmured into the darkness of the shadows beyond her shoulders, and gently stroked her hair. She seemed to shudder, like a small and terrified animal. 'Shall you want a passage to England?'

She pulled back and looked up at him. 'Where could I go in England?'

He shrugged. Suddenly the reaction of his wife to the arrival of a strange, mysterious and beautiful woman claiming refuge, seemed unlikely to be sympathetic.

'Perhaps one day ...'

'Peut-être,  Nathaniel. We shall see ... I have told you everything...'

'I shall see you leave tonight with some money. There will be a ready market for English gold in Calais. I shall also ensure provision is made for you.'

'Is that possible?'

He thought for a moment and then nodded. 'Yes, I can arrange matters...'

Her relief was pathetic. The fear left her and he felt her whole body transformed. Lust pricked him as she embraced him once more.

'Hortense ...'

And then he found himself kissing her as he wished he had kissed her twenty years earlier.

CHAPTER 3 A Clear Yard-arm

April 1814

'The eastern sky was lighter by the moment as Drinkwater paced the quarterdeck. The boat had long since vanished in the direction of the Calais breakwater, the Bourbon cockade deceptively jaunty, visible like a rabbit's scut as Hortense bobbed away.

He thought again of the warmth of her body against his and the prickle of lust still galled him. She had been compliant in that moment of mutual weakness, for they both drew back after a moment, almost ashamed, as though their long acquaintance had been supportable only as long as it was above the carnal.

'I am sorry,' he had muttered, even while he still held her, 'but I...'

'I am not a drab, Nathaniel.' There were tears in her eyes again, and it was clear she thought his impropriety had been motivated by that presumption.

'Hortense,' he had protested, 'I did not ... I meant no ... Damnation I have been bewitched by you for years.