The day was forgotten to me, glimpses of faces unknown, hushed conversations between Chauville and strangers unheard to my deafened ears. From what memories I could muster we rode half way across the city and back. Chauville would disappear into some building, I in a state of daze, kept watch over the horses. He would reappear, often with that wry smile I had seen when we had met. There were a few times here and there that he emerged with a frown, but I thought nothing of it as my mind drifted over and over, the morning's events
“I-i-i-i almost died” I whispered, de Brix’s bloodied bodied clear in my minds eye
“Indeed” said Chauville riding ahead, the sun setting before him “fear not my friend, some food and a good drink will set you right, tis almost night and I should think after all this travel, a rest is what you need.”
Again my memory went blank as I found myself at the same inn of the previous evening, seated before me a warm meal of mutton, roasted vegetables and a decanter of the finest wine the barkeep had on offer. Chauville sat oppopsite, stoking an ebony pipe covered in all manner of gilt, oriental designs. Most notable of these was what I would later discover to be the ‘mon’ or crest of the Tokugawa Shogunate of the lands of the Japon. With the unfortunate events of the day behind me I ate in what peace I could find under the serene silence and contemplation Chauville had offered.
“You were there…” I said, taking a moment to look at the man before me. Chaville was supremely comfortable in silence, not one to fidget uncomfortably. He seemed to enjoy the death of conversation, revel in it almost, thrive in company of awkwardness “...last night I mean” I took a sip of my wine “You knew of the duel didn’t you?” The man broke the silence a moment later with a simple answer as he placed his bicorn upon the table
“Indeed”
“Why did you aid me so?”
“It was a gentleman’s duty”
“Oh please Monsieur Chauville, you and I both know that in this day and age a gentleman’s duty is to them and theirs.” Chauville said nothing again, lighting his pipe and inhaling deeply, grey blue smoke leaking from his nostrils. “Young though I may be, I have lived in this world and I have seen what humanity is capable of, I know that we are a selfish race, prone to acts of utter violence and depravity simply on a whim. I know that every man, no matter how honourable he might claim to be, always has his own self interests at heart and any man who claims otherwise is foolish or mentally deficient and you monsieur are neither I think.” Chauville continued to watch me for, smoke now seeping from his lips, it’s acrid smell stinging my nostrils.
“Well said my friend, or should I say my lord? You are the rightful heir to the comte de la Roche are you not?”
“Yes” I answered shortly “but I don’t suppose you’re not really here to ask about that are you?”
“Direct and true, right to the point aren’t we? Very well let us be done with small talk, I will come clean if you’ll permit me?”
“ Go on”
“In truth, sir I have been following you and the man you happened to accost for weeks. I am Captain Artemis Chauville of the Gendarmerie Impériale. I am an agent of the Minister of Police and Internal Affairs the first Duc d’Otrante Joseph Fouché and former non-commissioned officer of the Garde Impériale.”
“Good god” I uttered, the man might as well have been Bonaparte himself with connections like that, the exclamation making Chauville smile charmingly
“You see the man you killed and his compatriot were members of a violent group of anarchists calling themselves the ‘la Confrérie de Bruti.’ The Brotherhood of Brutus for a decade now this group sought to bring down the throne and restore République. From what we know, they are a splinter group of radical revolutionaries, its members mostly former supporters of the Jacobins and Montagnards.Through an informant of ours we have come to learn that they plan to assassinate his Imperial Majesty at some point, we know not how, nor when what we do know, is that they are growing in numbers ever month, recruiting from across the Empire and the rest of Europe, we have even heard that they have secured aid from Italian and Portuguese guerrillas. I am tasked with their arrest, however I figured that the duel you so conveniently declared, would accomplish my ends all the same, whilst sparing me the pains of Imperial bureaucracy.”
“So you dragged me into your little ‘operation’ because you’d rather not dot your ‘i’s and cross your ‘t’s?” I said with an air incredulity that oozed contempt.
“On the contrary my friend, for you I had, or rather have, different plans”
“Oh there is more is there?” Sarcasm was now the order of the day
“Indeed. As I have said I’ve been watching you for a number of weeks, seeing you drift from various states of inebriation. In this time I have come to realize that you are a man with the knack for survival. Despite the fact that I often found you laying in some gutter and even begging for coins from those you once considered below you, you have, against all odds, survived. At points even thrived, in a strange destitute kind of way...”
“What is your point Chauville…!” I interrupted “yes I am a beggar in a frock coat, yes I am ensnared by vice, was your plan to publicly humiliate me? To destroy the last heir of the comte de la Roche? Because I assure you, I have already done that myself...”
“Oh shut up Alexandre!” Chauville slammed his fist on the table, nonplussed by the eyes that now lay upon us. For a moment I thought to declare myself, to demand satisfaction of him. He like that blasted Jean-Gerard had wounded what honour I had left… and then the visage of de Brix’s compatriot came to my mind, the bullet wounds on his body. Instead I remained silent rather preferring my brains not be scrambled powder and shot. “Can you not see my business proposal?!” It was a rhetorical question “I have need of men like you, not only have you survived destitution, but the Revolution, the Terror... there are very few men of noble blood that claim to have done what you have and it is for this reason that I ask, my lord…” It had been a decade or more since anyone had ever styled me in such a way. “... you have proven to me you are able with a blade and I’m sure your skill in musketry and pistoleering stand in equal sted, as such I offer you the chance for gainful employment AND if the opportunity presents itself, the chance to regain your titles, restore your family name and your personal honour.” He was brief and short of temper. It was my turn to sit in silence, I felt like a spanked pup in the presence of an elder. It was true, he spoke of a great opportunity, one that had not been offered to me in some time. The daze still hung over me as my brain slowly processed his proposal. It was all a bit much in truth, the duel and all, I was feeling faint and ill, hunger gnawed at my brain and a great thirst tugged at my soul.
What did I have to loose I thought to myself I have nothing, I am a lost soul without family or friends, no property to call my own, no reputation to speak of I was fading into the deepest annals of the lowliest of histories faster than
“I apologize for angering you Captain Chauville…” I said
“It is nothing…” he said “do you accept my offer?” The thought of money, danger and presumably women was enough to push me to say yes. Yet the learned part of me, the side my father had spent some much time grooming wanted to know more.
“...and if I do not wish to become your agent, then what?”
“Them I’m afraid monsieur La Roche, I cannot protect you from the consequences of your illegal dueling. You know just as well as I do, that the penalty for such sport is death. Worse still if you manage to weasel your way out of the charges, the fact that you murdered an officer of the Grande Armée would be enough to see you hang. That alone I should think, ought to be the very least motivation for you to accept my offer”
“I see” Knowing that in reality that was all I was going to get out of him I extended my hand, in a binding agreement “I accept your offer Captain Chauville”
“Good!” He grasped my hand and shook it with a bright, albeit yellow smile “down to business then!” Over the following hours he briefed me on our enemy. According to Chauville, it would seem that the Brotherhood of Brutus was centered somewhere in south-eastern France. He had managed to track their location to somewhere within the Alps, narrowing down the search to the foothills of the Chartreuse Mountains. From there the trail had gone cold however.
It was said the band of rebels were led by an individual calling themselves ‘la Centenier.’ The Centurion’ led a violent band Italo-Swiss Mercenaries. All were former soldiers of the Kingdom of Piedmont-Sardinia and Papal Swiss Guard. Styled as the ‘La Legione Nera’ or ‘The Black Legion,’ they had sworn vengeance against France in the name of their exiled king and deposed and deceased pope. They burned, pillaged and plundered French villages, ambushed patrols and caused general havoc in the region. Were it not for his Iberian Campaign, Emperor Bonaparte would have dealt with them. Yet his majesty was fighting a war on two fronts and couldn’t spare the wherewithal to take the fight to the guerrillas.
“This is where you come in” Said Chauville gesticulating with his eating iron “la Centenier knows our faces, our names… in fact it seems there is not much the Centurion does not know… our movements, our numbers and at times our locations… his agents are almost as numerous and skilled as mine own...” He stopped, his face growing distant as though he gazed into some distant past. At the time I thought nothing of the break in conversation. Yet later I would learn of the traitor that had once existed among his ranks. He inhaled and begun again “... you however mon ami are un homme nouveau, a new man to our organisation. You are the proverbial ace up our sleeve” He looked at me with a smile most sly, his plotting mind at work.
“Hmm-m-m-m” I mused, leaning forward in my chair, clasping my hands in front of me “This begs the question Captain what am I to do? What is your stratégie? What is my role in this game of… du chat et de la souris”
“A good question sir, infiltration is the order of the day I should think” Chauville was casual with the matter as he sipped at his wine cup, again stoking his pipe with fresh tobacco. “ You will travel to the commune of Saint-Pierre-de-Chartreuse. There you will meet a man of mine and he will point you in the right direction. I worn you, the Doctor can be quite acerbic, he is English after all. We will of course supply you with everything you require.”
“How will I find him?”
“You’ll know him when you see him” It wasn’t much to go on, but it would have to do.
English Doctor with a temper, I’m sure there can’t be many of those around the French Alps I thought, curious to meet this mysterious ‘Apothicaire Anglais’ “When am I to leave?” Admittedly I was eager to see Paris from a distance. Though it was my home I was due for a holiday and I had the sneaking suspicion that debt collectors were wise to my location.
“Three weeks from today, we have plans to make” and I would get little more from Chauville on the matter. “I expect you to have your affairs settled by then. How you do so is of course your choice and I will guarantee your safety come what may. Though I would ask one small favour, try not to kill anyone for the time being. One soldier is enough I should think, anyone else and I dare not say how Minister Fouché would react”
“Of course, ermm-m-m there is but one other matter I should like to discuss before finish our meals…”
“Yes?”
Debt was something I was familiar with, it had run me into the ground, incarcerated me for the better part of three years and had taught me to sleep with one eye open. Life-debts on the other hand were an entirely different beast such things could never be repaid, at least not in full anyhow
“Some months ago, I was in, shall we say... un peu de la merde…”
“When are you not in the s#17 La Roche?” Chauville jested, chewing thoroughly on a piece of mutton
“Haha, indeed” I chuckled, smarting at the cheap shot, though entertained by its truth nonetheless. “I would say it was was a more than a little problem truth I can’t really think of the words to do it justice, it was quite the sticky situation…”
“Oh do get on with it mon ami, we have better things to do with our time then discussing semantics” I had a tendency to ramble when nervous, a habit developed at the hands of brutish thugs as I wormed my way out of their nasty interrogation tactics. Chauville was right, he was no debt collector’s interrogator or gangster’s strong arm and nor was I being threatened with the loss of a limb
“Very well...” I breathed, settling my nerves, taking a sip of wine to harden them “I have a friend, who is currently imprisoned.”
“I see” Chaville looked at me pensively “go on”
“Last autumn I had come into a spot of trouble. I’d been running my usual tricks throughout the city, cheating the wealthy out of their money with loaded dice, trick cards and the like.”
“How honest of you”
“Anyhow, I ran afoul of a particular man who styled himself the Sire de La Fère.”
“Lord La Fère, I know of him, a rather sour character if memory serves”
“Oh indeed, mon capitaine, the man was as ghastly as they came. I had planned to fleece the gentleman alone, but my friend was down on their luck and was in need of a job. So I let them tag along. Success was not to be, my friend slipped up and somehow revealed how true nature to his Lordship. There was a scuffle and I killed the Lord of La Fère in our defence”
“Ah, yes I had heard of the affair” Chauville waved off the incident as a mere trifle. Little did I know that it was the death of the Lord of La Fère that had set the Captain on my trail.
“Before we knew it the Gendarmerie were upon us like vultures to carrion, apparently La Fère’s goons had seen the whole thing and called for the city guard. We ran for our lives, well aware that we’d finally meet the Nationale Razor. My friend stopped before me, took up my bloodied blade and the last I saw of them was their arrest at the point of twenty bayonets. I had heard they had taken the blame for the death of La Fère but beyond that, there has been nothing. And so I find myself in the present situation, my friend is imprisoned in a plague pit and I am at the mercy of an agent of the Minister of Police”
“I see, do you even know if your friend is alive”
“Oh they are certainly alive, mon capitaine, of that you can be certain”
“Indeed, what makes you so confidant?” Chauville drank more of his wine and looking at me with that wry smile once more, as he took another puff of his pipe
“I’ve known them long enough to understand that they have a nifty little trick of always landing on their feet cat burglars are called that for a reason.”
“A cat burglar? Now what’s a man of your high status doing, mixing with cat burglars?” It was a rhetorical question, Chauville’s small smile turned a toothy grin, he knew all too well what my social life had degenerated to, the company of cat burglars was luxury these days, least of all someone I could call friend. “Now, where is this friend of yours being held hmm-m-m-m?”
“La Conciergerie” I answered flatly and truthfully, knowing exactly what would come next. Chauville’s eyes widened, his brow furrowed deeply and I saw what I could only be described as fear in those deep brown eyes of his, fear and utter
“La Conciergerie! Are you mad?! One does not simply break into the Conciergerie!” Chauville was flabbergasted “the Autrichienne spent her last days there for a reason you know, the place is impregnable and worse still its passages are like a damn maze! If the Queen of France can’t escape then you can sure as hell bet that your friend is going to die in there.” The Conciergerie had been the epicenter of Robespierre's Reign of Terror some sixteen years ago. Locked away in debtor's prison as a young man, I had missed the carnage, yet I had heard stories of the ‘National Razor’ and its slaughter. Tens of thousands were executed across France and Paris was of no exception to the butchery. After their slipshod trials and drumhead court-marshals, over two thousand souls were sent the guillotine be they members of L'Ancien Régime or anyone deemed as ‘counter revolutionaries.’
“Robespierre escaped…” I said the irony that the very ‘soul of the Terror’ had been interned in his own dungeon was not lost on me. Though he died soon after, he had manage to escape with the aid of his supporters. If ‘the Incorruptible’ Maximilien Robespierre could escape from the walls of the Conciergerie then anyone could do it. Surely it was an even simpler matter of gaining entrance, the only difficulty would be in finding my friend, for all I knew they were buried deep in the darkest of rat holes.
“Robespierre had connections that we could not possibly attain, he and his damn Jacobins ran the damn country…”
“We have you” I interrupted
“Please, your flattery will help not help the situation La Roche. There is very little I can do, nor would anyone be willing to help me. Anyhow, What is so important about this friend of yours?” Chauville’s mood had settled somewhat, his eyes softening, returning to their mysterious, blank gaze.
“They saved my life, that’s what’s important. A debt is a debt and I repay them, even if it means incarceration. Listen, I can gain access easily enough, it's escaping that will be tricky, I think I know a way in all I ask is that you give me a way out and my friend and I will do the rest, I have survived this long on the streets of Paris, who’s to say I can’t live a little longer aye?” Chaville continued to smoke his pipe, staring at me for a long while. His dark eyes were unfocused however, glassy and distant once again. It was as though he looked through me, ahead into some unknown space, perhaps into an unknown past once again? Smoke curled from his lips, a manicured hand reaching up slowly to stroke his oiled moustache. We sat for what felt like hours, my mind as blank as a slate and Chauville’s clearly busy, hard at work strategizing, assessing variables, weighing chances and accounting worth. I would never gain insight into the man’s mind and no one ever would. The inner workings of Chauville’s brain were only known to the man himself and never would he share what went on within that spymaster’s mind palace of his.
In this moment of silence, I took the time to quickly gauge our surroundings. The scene had changed in the tavern since I had arrived the previous night. The clientele we rowdy and drunk, enjoying a far more boardy tune played by the resident fiddler who was joined by a Spanish piper. At the center the crowded tavern were a couple who danced loudly to the garish folk tune, their eyes speaking volumes of love and affection for one another. The maids rushed about with buckets, scrubbing floors and tables, serving food and drink all the while avoiding the irksome harassments of drunken patrons. It seemed there was some form of family event near by as well, a group of women and older folk sat in the far corner coddling crying babes and young children, as they spied on their men. Like them, the keeper was ever watchful, I also noted that his gaze tended to linger on our table a moment longer then the other patrons. I didn’t blame him for his suspicions of course, in my opinion quietness in a room of noise was always something to be wary of. In truth, I was comforted that the man kept a good watch over his establishment, especially over those he deemed mistrustful. The two of us must have struck him as certainly curious, earlier events not passing unbeknownst to the man. I hadn’t noticed it the night before, but the keeper was a giant, at least six foot and five. He was as bald as a babe yet his brows and beard were thick and black. His skin was tan, body muscular like a hulking ox.
Of Moorishdescent? I wondered, France did indeed have colonies in Maroc.
“It means that much to you does it? Chauville said, finally breaking the silence
“Yes, any other loose ends I may have in this damn city I will have resolved within the week” That much, I could promise and it would seem it was all Chauville needed.
“Very well, if it so important to you you shall have your jailbreak, but on one condition.” I suspected there was to be a fly in this ointment
“Yes?” I was curious, I won’t deny it.
“Your friend will accompany you on your mission”
“I’m not so sure they’ll agree to that, a year behind bars of the Conciergerie would make anyone beg for their freedom ”
“That is not my problem mon ami, your friend will accompany you.” He gaze shifted once more, the lazy, distant look he’d been giving me most of the night was as hard as steel.
“Why?”
“Bread crumbs La Roche, we cannot leave a trail. Once we’ve quit the city we will be followed of this I can be sure, we must make it as hard as possible for them to find us,.no one can know who your friend is or who you are. You go in and out as quickly and quietly as you can. Furthermore who's to say your friend, after they’re sprung will keep quiet about their escapade? Who’s to say that if left behind won’t link them to you and thus, potentially to me. We cannot have that. They come along, as much for your safety as mine own, simple.”
“Yes, but how?”
“That’s your problem, I’m sure you’re smart enough to work something out. In the meantime I shall have you and your things moved to my apartments in the Marais. We shall go over your little prison break in greater detail later in the week.” Chauville stood abruptly, his plate and cup somehow empty and his pipe cleaned, polished and hidden away in the pockets of his black riding coat. He donned his bicorn, gave me a curt nod and a friendly smile and headed towards to the door, he paused a moment, turned briefly with a strange look in his eye “...before I forget, I’ll have one of my men pick you up on the morrow”
“How will I know him?”
“You won’t, he’ll find you. Do as you like once you are settled, come Wednesday meet me at the foot of Notre-Dame, midday, sharp.”
“Understood” and at that he was gone, briskly turning on his boot heels, deftly throwing a bag of coins on the bar as he left. The purse I knew was enough to cover my expenses here and then some.
Come the morning, I decided it best I purchase some better clothing, the garb I wore, a battered, dark green frock coat, brown trousers, white shirt, cravat and muddied boots would not suite my coming endeavours. Fortunately the weapons and horse Chauville had lent me were left in my care, so I would not go unarmed and traversing the busy streets of Paris would not be such an effort.
And so I slept, a rest I dearly needed. My bones and muscles burned and ached, my nerves still frayed from the life threatening melee I had previously endured. The pain in my head had dulled yet there existed still an aching of the mind as though my brain was stung by an irate insect. With it came a voice, a desperate voice, a voice so riddled with the terror of the unknown that were it not for my better judgment it would have had me through the door and halfway to Bordeaux.
Do not trust this man it called, do not trust Chauville, he is a demon, a monster in the dark!
“He saved my life” I answered to no one “I owe him at the very least some form of trust”
Do you Alexandre? A man does nothing without a reason, there is no such thing as charity, only veiled kindnesses neath ulterior motives, you know that, best of all!
“You speak the truth whoever you are, aye, there is something about him.” The voice came no more, yet the sensation in my mind prompted me to answer the silence “I will be wary” and then came a dreamless sleep, deep, dark, pleasant and somehow strangely contented, satisfied. And so I slept.
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Dans l'ombre de l'Aigle - "Under the Shadow of the Eagle' - By isa0005 (Last Updated: 2/11/2016 - Chapter Five On Hold!)
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Originally Posted by Alwyn
Yes I'm quite happy with them as well 
the oil painting effect I added to them makes them look really rather splendid! 
