Evil in a Mask (9 page)

Overwhelmingly relieved, Roger expressed his thanks. Sensing that she was to be deprived of her revenge, the Baroness again broke into violent denunciation; but Roger's paramount advantage was that she could not understand what he said to Dutoff and the Russian could not understand what he said to her. So he silenced her by telling her that the Hetman intended to send his prisoners next day to headquarters, where they would be tried by a military tribunal, and had little hope of escaping a death sentence.

Then, changing over to Russian, he told Dutoff what he had said, and added, ‘All the same, she is so filled with venom that, should I and the others sleep tonight in the castle, I think she is quite capable of endeavouring to make certain of our deaths by getting her people together and attempting to murder us. So, if you are agreeable, I'd prefer that we occupied our old quarters in the loft of the barn, and you set a guard on us; although, of course, I'll give you our parole that we will not try to escape.'

To this the Hetman agreed; so, twenty minutes later, Roger was rejoined by Sergeant Fournier and Corporal Vitu. For the past hour or more they had believed that there was no chance of their escaping the worst, and they could have hardly been less scared had they shared with Roger the awful gamble he had taken in leading Dutoff out to the pigsty. When he told them how he had fathered Kutzie's death on to the Baron and they had no more to fear than being taken to a prisoner
of-war camp, the old Sergeant impulsively embraced Roger and kissed him on both cheeks; while Corporal Vitu gave way to tears of relief.

The following morning, Dutoff commandeered the best horse in the stable in order that Roger could ride with him. The Baroness was furious, but he shrugged aside her protests and insisted on her accepting a scrawled requisition order, on which he had included the
troika
for the other two prisoners to ride in.

On leaving the castle, the
sotnia
of Cossacks did not head south, in the direction from which they had come, but took a track through the forest that led north. After they had proceeded for a mile or so, the forest ended and they entered the sprawling township of Znamensk, from which the Baron had taken his inherited title. It was a poor place, consisting of not more than a hundred one-storey wooden houses. The few people they saw there looked half-starved, and were clad in tattered furs or sheepskins. From the doorways of their dark hovels, with sullen, resentful stares they watched the Cossacks pass through the main street that led down to the river Pregel. For the greater part of the year a large, wooden ferry attached to a stout rope was used to cross it; but the river was still frozen so hard that there was no danger of the ice cracking under the weight of a body of mounted men.

On the far side of the river they turned east along a road that followed its course and led, as Dutoff told Roger, to Insterburg. As the two officers rode along at the head of the small cavalcade, they conversed in the most friendly fashion, exchanging accounts of the engagements in which they had fought, and gossip about mutual acquaintances in St. Petersburg.

Roger had last been there in 1801, but he had also spent some while in the Russian capital in the summer of 1788, when Catherine the Great was still on the throne. Dutoff, being several years younger than Roger, had never known that bold, beautiful, cultured, licentious woman, and was fascinated to hear Roger's description of the marvellous fêtes, luxury, licence and gaiety of her Court; for he had known
only the grim, gloomy one of her son, the mad Czar Paul I, and the sedate, respectable one of his present sovereign, Alexander I.

Alternately trotting and walking their horses it took them a little over three hours to cover the twenty-odd miles between Znamensk and the much larger town of Insterburg, and they arrived a little before midday.

Halting at the prisoner-of-war camp for ‘other ranks', that consisted of a group of hutments on the edge of the town, Dutoff handed over Fournier and Vitu to the officer on duty. Before parting with his companions in misfortune, Roger took down the names and addresses of their nearest relatives and promised that if he could find means to do so he would send the news that they were still alive, after sustaining only minor injuries.

When he rejoined Dutoff, the Hetman said, ‘Colonel, to my great regret, I cannot avoid taking you to the mansion in which officer prisoners of war are confined. But I see no reason why I should do so as yet. At least I can first offer you luncheon in my Mess.'

‘You are most kind,' Roger replied, ‘and I accept with pleasure.'

They then rode on to one of the better houses in the town, handed their horses over to orderlies and went in through a spacious hall to a lobby in which Roger was at least able to have a wash and attempt to comb out his tangled hair. Dutoff then took him along to a room in which a score or so of Cossack officers were drinking and chatting.

Roger's ablutions had done little to improve his appearance. On the morning of Eylau he had been wearing a brilliant uniform, but Znamensk had ripped from it all the gold lace and his A.D.C.'s scarf. One of his field boots had been cut off, so that his broken ankle could be bandaged up, and in its place he had been given only a felt sabot. The Baron had also robbed him of his fur cloak, and that morning nothing better could be found for him to travel in than a tattered bearskin. Working and sleeping for five weeks in his coat and breeches had further added to their dirty and dilapidated state
and, having had no opportunity or means to shave since the battle, he now sported an inch-long beard.

It was little wonder that the officers could not hide their surprise at Dutoff's having brought such a bedraggled and unsightly guest into their Mess. But no sooner had the Hetman introduced him and given a brief version of his misfortunes than they became most friendly.

His gift for readily getting on well with people swiftly enabled Roger to gain the sympathy of his hosts and acceptance of him as an unusual personality. The fact that he was an
aide-de-camp
of the fabulous Corsican brigand who had made Catherine, and of another night when he and the giant Grand to make them regard him with awe. Most of these Cossack officers came from the distant Steppes and had never visited St. Petersburg. Over luncheon Roger enthralled them with an account of how, when he was scarcely out of his teens, he had one night been bidden to dine
tête-à-tête
with the great Catherine, and of another night when he and the giant Grand Admiral, Alexis Orloff, one of Catherine's many lovers, had got drunk together.

After Eylau, both armies were so weakened that there was no prospect of either taking the offensive for some time; so the Cossacks were acting only as a cavalry screen and made occasional forays to secure supplies. In consequence, they sat over lunch until past five o'clock, and the party broke up only as dusk was approaching.

Roger had been generously plied with a variety of liquors but, having in mind one very important matter that he hoped to arrange before passing out of Dutoff's custody, he had managed to keep sober. As they left the table, he drew the Russian aside, and said:

‘Hetman, I have a request to make. You will agree, I am sure, that no soldier wishes to remain a prisoner of war for longer than he is compelled to. I am in the happy position of having known the Emperor Napoleon ever since he won his first laurels as a down-at-heels Artillery officer at the siege of Toulon. If he is informed that I am not dead, but a prisoner, I am confident that he will arrange for my exchange with an officer of equivalent rank. Will you be good enough to inform General Bagration that I am here at Insterburg, and request him to send that information to French headquarters under the next flag of truce?'

‘Indeed I will,' Dutoff replied, ‘and most willingly. I sincerely hope that an exchange for you will be arranged.'

Going out into the courtyard, he called for their horses. Having mounted, they rode three-quarters of a mile to a mansion on the far side of the town. It was surrounded by a garden and orchard enclosed by a wall, outside which sentries were lazily patrolling. At the main gate there was a lodge which had been converted into a reception office. There Dutoff handed over his prisoner, full particulars of whom were taken down; then they bade one another a friendly farewell.

Greatly curious to see what his new accommodation would be like, Roger, escorted by a Lieutenant who spoke a little French, crossed the garden and entered the big house. In the inner hall a dozen depressed-looking officers were either drowsing on old sofas, talking without animation or playing cards. They favoured Roger with only an idle glance as the Lieutenant took him straight upstairs and threw open the door of a bedroom furnished with only the bare necessities. Then he said:

‘Monsieur, you are fortunate, as at the moment we have not many officer prisoners. In consequence, as you are a Colonel, you have been allotted a room to yourself. One of the soldier-servants will bring you things for your toilette and perhaps be able to find you some better clothes. The evening meal will be served in about an hour. When you feel like it come downstairs and make yourself known to the others.'

As Roger had no luggage to unpack, he sat down on the edge of the bed and, thinking things over, decided that, had the room not been so cold, it seemed that he would not have much to complain about.

Some ten minutes later, the soldier-servant arrived, bringing with him soap, a razor and a very small towel. Having
deposited them on a wooden table, he conveyed by signs that the wash-room was at the end of the corridor.

To his surprise Roger thanked him in Russian and raised the question of his securing for him some extra blankets and a pair of comfortable boots.

The man responded pleasantly. He thought he could find a bearskin rug to go on the bed and tomorrow would go to the hospital. Now and then French officers who had been badly wounded when captured, died there, then their clothes were at the disposal of others who might need them.

Alone once more, Roger regarded himself in a small mirror that, with the exception of a crucifix, was the only thing on the bare walls. He was shocked by his reflection. Due to malnutrition his cheeks had fallen in; his hair, despite the combing he had given it before lunch, looked like a bird's nest, and the lower part of his face was covered with an inch-long stubble of brown hair.

Picking up the shaving things, he was about to go to the wash-room and remove his beard. But, on second thoughts, he decided against it. There had been times when he had worn a beard and, given certain circumstances, to have one now might stand him in good stead. At such times he had posed under a second alias that he used on a few occasions.

He happened to have, on his mother's side, a cousin of nearly the same age as himself, who later became the Earl of Kildonan. His mother's people had been Jacobites and had been furious when she ran away to marry his father, the Admiral, a staunch supporter of the Hanoverian line. They had disowned her and, after Prince Charles Edward's abortive attempt to regain the throne for his father in 1745, they had gone into exile, attending the Court of the Stuart Pretender in Rome. In consequence, Roger's cousin being so remote from France and England, Roger had now and then used his identity.

Having done his best to tidy his hair, he went downstairs. Again the depressed-looking scattering of officers in the big, echoing hall took scant notice of him, apart from a few of them nodding a greeting; as they imagined him to be of no
particular interest and just another unfortunate condemned to share their dreary existence. But one young man stood up, smiled and said:

‘Monsieur, there are few grounds for welcoming you here, but at least it is pleasant to see a new face in our unhappy company. I am Captain Pierre d'Esperbes of the Hussars of Conflans, at your service.'

Roger returned his smile. ‘Indeed, then you must be a brave fellow, since you hold that rank under such a dashing commander as Brigadier Gerard. I am happy to make your acquaintance. My name is Breuc, and I have the honour to be a member of His Imperial Majesty's personal staff.'

There was a sudden tension perceptible among the other officers. Those who were napping sat up. The four at the card table ceased playing and one of them exclaimed, ‘Not “
le brave Breuc
”, the hero of a hundred exploits and the man who saved the Emperor from assassination when we were in Venice?'

‘I am called that, although quite unworthy of the soubriquet,' Roger replied modestly. ‘I am sure that I have done nothing that any of you might not have done had you been in my place at the time.'

They all came to their feet and crowded round him, plying him with questions. ‘How long have you been a prisoner?' ‘How did you come to be captured?' ‘Your limp implies that you were wounded in the leg; have you just come from the hospital?' ‘Have you any news of how the campaign is going?' ‘How comes it that your uniform has been so stripped of all signs of your rank so that we took you for a junior officer of little account?'

For the next twenty minutes, Roger gave his new companions an account of what had befallen him. Then they were summoned to their evening meal. In a long, dimly-lit room they partook of it. The food was plentiful, but uninteresting. There was no wine which, being a life-long accompaniment of every meal, these Frenchmen bitterly resented; but each of them was provided with a good ration of vodka.

During the meal and after, when they had adjourned to
the hall, Roger was plied with questions about the Emperor. In the now huge French Army, very few junior officers had ever been spoken to by him or met any member of the Bonaparte family; and they were eager to hear what the great man and his horde of relatives were really like.

Roger spoke with great admiration of his master as an administrator as well as a general. Then when he came to the family, he was careful that his criticisms should not sound too malicious.