They had not yet reached the snowline, but it was bitterly cold, so they got a fire going as quickly as they could. On it they cooked some slices of ham they had bought in Bidache; then, having warmed themselves up with a bottle of Bordeaux and lavish rations of Armagnac, they wrapped themselves in their cloaks and did their best to get some sleep on shallow piles of fir sprigs that they had broken off from the branches they had collected for their fire.
In the morning, believing that they were now well outside French-held territory, Roger took off his old uniform coat, threw it away in the far end of the cave, and put on the grey cloth coat in which he had travelled from Germany. After watering their horses at a stream and giving them a feed, they ate some more of the ham, washed it down with another bottle of wine and resumed their journey.
Soon after leaving the cave they came upon cross-roads, so they turned west in the direction of the coast. The morning passed in a tiring ride up over spurs and down across valleys, but early in the afternoon they saw ahead of them a group of tents and some red coats in a clearing by the trackside. A Lieutenant was in command of this outpost, and when they made it known that they were English he gave them a cheerful welcome.
By the time they had warmed themselves at a fire and eaten a hot meal, the early winter dusk was already closing in, so they decided to remain there for the night. In the morning die Lieutenant showed them on his map the direction they should take to reach Wellington's headquarters. It meant a ride of another twenty-five miles, but knowing they had succeeded in getting safely through the dangerous area, they took the road in good heart.
After passing several other units of British troops they reached the headquarters soon after midday. It was a chateau with a beautiful view over the ridges of woodland to the north. Dismounting outside it, Roger sent in his name and that of Charles. Ten minutes later the Commander-in-Chief received them with his usual charm.
However, he told them that he was just about to hold a conference of his senior officers, so must wait until later to hear such news as they had brought him. He then said they must join him for dinner and turned them over to one of his A.D.C.s with orders to provide them with accommodation. Having thanked him Roger, before leaving the room, handed him the letter he had brought from Talleyrand.
Dinner that night proved a cheerful meal. Such brother officers as Charles knew on the Duke's staff heartily welcomed him back among them. It emerged in conversation that they were confident of soon taking Bayonne and advancing on Bordeaux, where it was now known that a great part of the population was secretly eager to welcome the Allies. Intelligence had also been received that recently
Napoleon had ordered Soult to send ten thousand men to assist in defending the eastern frontier of France. The Spanish troops had inflicted such atrocities on the French in the towns and villages they had captured that the Duke, who was anxious to gain the good will of the French people, had sent the Spaniards back to their own country. But even without them, Wellington now had such superiority in numbers that Soult's final defeat could not be long delayed.
When the port circulated there was an eager audience to hear Charles's account of all that had befallen himself and Roger in Germany. The two of them then enjoyed a sound night's sleep in comfortable beds.
In the morning the Duke sent for Roger and said to him, 'Mr. Brook, are you aware of the contents of the letter you brought me from Talleyrand?'
'No, Your Grace,' Roger replied. 'He told me nothing of it.'
‘I see. Well, to be brief, it is a most earnest appeal to me to use any influence I may have with you to persuade you to return to Paris.'
Roger shook his head. 'Your Grace must forgive me, but I am utterly sickened of war, and determined to go home to England.'
'One moment,' the Duke held up a finger. 'Talleyrand points out, and I know this to be true, that you are the only man in all Europe who has special qualifications for possibly hastening the end of hostilities. You are in his confidence and mine. You have long been an A.D.C. to Napoleon, who believes you to be devoted to him. You are known and trusted by the Czar. You know Prince Metternich, Lord Castlereagh and scores of influential persons in our camp and that of the enemy.
'You have served your country so long and so well that you are trapped by the circumstances you have yourself created. How can you possibly now refuse to serve her for a few more months? You are not a soldier, so I am in no position to order you to return, neither am I accustomed to beg; but on this occasion I beg you to do so.'
Roger's face showed an agony of indecision. After a moment, he said, ‘I . . . I don't really know. Your Grace must give me twenty-four hours to think it over.'
The Iron Duke's stern features relaxed into a faint smile. 'Mr. Brook, I will give you exactly two minutes.'
With a sigh Roger returned the smile. 'Your Grace leaves me no alternative. I will set out for Paris tomorrow.'
21
The Last Campaign
It was on January 20th that Roger again arrived in Paris. Having found that he could now ride considerable distances without affecting his leg, he made the journey on horseback, but by easy stages. In the cave a few miles from St. Palais, in which he and Charles had passed a night, he found his old uniform coat where he had left it, so he was able to wear it on his journey through France, and command all the facilities to which his rank entitled him.
Talleyrand, having been confident that the trick he had played on Roger would succeed, showed no surprise at his return, and only laughed when reproached for having trapped him.
On his way north Roger had picked up many rumours of the rapidly changing situation throughout Europe. The Prince confirmed many of them, and gave him a true account of what had been happening.
All Holland had now been liberated by von Billow's Prussians, with the assistance of a British expeditionary force that had landed under General Graham. The Czar had marched his army right through Switzerland, invaded eastern France and was now threatening Lyons. Schwarzenberg's army had reached and crossed the Rhine in many places. Blucher, ever to the fore, had reached Luxembourg. Davout was still holding out in Hamburg, but Bernadotte had overcome the Danes who, on the 14th, had signed a peace treaty surrendering Norway to him.
At that Roger commented with a laugh, 'So that sly rogue has secured the plum he was after all the time, and got it with very little serious fighting. How mad the Emperor must be.'
'He is, but the worst blow of all to him has been the defection of Murat.'
'What! Murat gone over to the enemy?'
'That is so, although 'tis not yet known to the public. I received private intelligence of it from Prince Metternich. On the 11th of this month Murat signed a treaty with Austria, that in exchange for his supplying a corps of thirty thousand men, he should keep his Kingdom of Naples and, in addition, be given a sizeable piece of the old Papal territories.'
'Such treachery is scarce believable. But Murat's head is solid wood. This is the work of his wife, that scheming whore, Caroline.'
‘I judge you right. She was ever the most ambitious of Napoleon's sisters and, with the possible exception of himself, the cleverest of the whole Bonaparte family. Moreover, when Metternich was ambassador in Paris he had an affair with her; so his personal inclination would be to favour her continued aggrandisement!'
Roger raised his eyes to the ceiling. 'What a brood they are! Pauline alone among them is honest, and the only one who has shown any gratitude for the wealth and favours showered upon them.'