The Best of Gerald Kersh (28 page)

Cornelys repeated it, word-perfect. He was not the fool that he pretended to be…. Or was he? I don’t know. I have known congenital idiots, and nagging women, who had that same curious knack of repeating, with just such exactitude, precisely what vibrated the nerves of their ears. Empty domes throw back the most perfect echoes…. This Cornelys repeated the very
inflection
of the man Klaes, who, in something between a groan and a yawn, expressed approval, and then went on.

‘Excellent. You will say this to Collaert, then:
Our
man
de
Wissembourg,
whom
Collaert
knows,
has
taken
the
place
of
Lacoste,
as
Napoleon’s
guide.
Napoleon
is
completely
ignorant
of
the
terrain
around
St
Lambert.
It
is
reasonably
certain
that
the
Emperor
will
deploy
his
cavalry
before
the
plateau
of
Mont
St
Jean.
This
force 
of
cavalry
will
consist
mainly
of
Milhaud’s
cuirassiers
–
twenty-six
squadrons,
supported
by
Lefebre
Desnouette’s
division.
Altogether,
between
three
and
four
thousand
of
the
cream
of
Napoleon’s
heavy
cavalry
…. Have you got that?’

‘I have. Continue.’

‘Good. Listen again: ‘
If
Wellington
makes
a
show
of
English
infantry
on
the
plateau
of
Mont
St
Jean,
behind
a
light
covering
fire
of
canister
from
the
masked
batteries
on
the
Nivelles
road,
the
odds
are
that
Napoleon
will
make
one
of
his
master-strokes
–
his
heavy
cavalry,
en
masse,
will
charge
the
English
infantry
line,
with
a
view
to
smashing
it
and
cutting
the
Allies
in
two,
before
the
German
reinforcements
arrive;
Blücher
and
Bülow
being
already
delayed
…. Is that clear?’

‘Perfectly clear – not that I understand. Go on. It is written in my head as on a slate.’

‘You are neither expected nor required to
understand
, only to remember. Listen again:
Before
the
French
cavalry
can
reach
the
English
infantry,
therefore,
they
must
cross
a
certain
little
road
that
runs
across
the
plain
from
Ohain
to
Mont
St
Jean
——’

‘Cross it, how?’ said Cornelys. ‘I know the Ohain road. Road? It is a ditch, twelve feet deep, banked up steep on either side. Mountaineers cross such a road, not cavalry. I know the Ohain road.’

‘All the better. Tell Collaert so, and answer clearly any questions he may ask. Meanwhile, remember again:
If Wellington, having arranged his foot-guards above the
Ohain
road,
draws
the
main
charge
of
Napoleon’s
heavy
cavalry,
he
will
break
the
head
off
Napoleon’s 
sledge
-
hammer
,
and
break
off
the
jaws
of
his
tongs,
too.
It
is
Jan
Klaes
who
says
so,
having
received
word
from
de 
Wissembourg,
alias
Lacoste,
Napoleon’s
own
guide
…. For God’s sake, is all I have said impressed upon your memory, Cornelys?’

‘Every word,’ said the blacksmith, ‘firm as print, clear as ink – aie – aie! What’s this?——’ He had put out his hand, instinctively stroking and stroking as blacksmiths will, feeling the back of the mare Cocotte. ‘– Why, may I die, if Morkens hasn’t saddled the Englishman’s mare!’

‘What Englishman? What mare?’ Klaes asked.

‘A bony dapple-grey, sixteen hands. I shod her myself today. Fed like a fighting-cock. Broken to shafts and saddle, and good for anything; a horse for a lady or a gentleman.’

‘What Englishman?’

‘Oh, a millionaire, a nabob. He left the horse as a tip for his valet; simple as that! Not to go into details: I guess that Morkens had her saddled and ready, knowing that my little gelding is a little too light for my weight. This dapple-grey will carry two hundred pounds over fifty miles of mud. A good idea!’ said Cornelys.

‘The Englishman is gone. And the valet?’ Klaes asked.

Cornelys said: ‘I think the valet won’t be needing the dapple-grey tonight.’ I almost felt the darkness contract and expand as he winked unseen.

‘Good,’ said Klaes. ‘To horse and away, hell for leather! Be off!’

But now Cornelys became insolent and, quoting some clownish proverb, ‘Patience, fleas, the night is long!’ he then said: ‘Those two sots have left the best part of half a bowl of punch, eh?’

‘Hurry,’ said Klaes.

But Cornelys insisted: ‘A stirrup-cup first, and then we’re off!’ – and splashed back to the house.

Crouching in the hay with my hands on my pistols, I was almost sorry then for the man Klaes, squatting on his truss of straw; for I perceived the weary misery of him when (believing himself to be alone in the dark) he moaned ‘… Oh Lord, Lord, Lord! … Is it for me to choose Your instruments? … I can no more, I have done my best….’ Wow, but that man was tired!

Then the oaf Cornelys came back chuckling, saying: ‘May the Lord forgive all the sins of the man who mixed that punch! It goes down well on a night like this. I finished it to keep out the damp….’

So Cornelys had drunk the rest of my punch, then! Good.

‘Away with you!’ cried Klaes. The blacksmith swung himself into Cocotte’s saddle, said
au
revoir,
and was off.

I kept still in the hay, working over in my mind the tremendous significance of the message which Klaes had conveyed to Cornelys, and which Cornelys was to carry to Wellington. The weight of this message crushed the breath out of me, because the fate of an Empire
depended
upon it! I knew that this messenger Cornelys must, at all costs, be intercepted and his message diverted. But, I ask you – how? Violence is not in my line – I live or die by my wits. He was a powerful and resolute man, mounted on a strong, fresh horse. I was a shrimp of a man with nothing to put between my thighs but an exhausted scrub. True, I had a pair of pistols in my pockets; so, without doubt, had Cornelys.

But the odds, as I counted them, were evened by the laudanum in the punch Cornelys had drunk. He had told Klaes that he had drunk half a bowl of the mixture; so he had (the shallower half of the bowl, which was, therefore, only a third of the total volume); still, that
should be sufficient, in a literal sense, to tip the balance – Cornelys’s equilibrium – in my favour.

In a flash, you realise, I had seen my duty. I did not like Napoleon; indeed, in my time I had plotted against him. But in this moment I saw him not as the renegade Republican, not as the ingrate, not as the ambitious little deserter of Egypt and of Russia; I saw him as the old eagle hatched again. I saw in him something symbolic of the Spirit of the Man that goeth Upwards. In this
extraordinarily
indomitable little rogue returned from Elba to confront the gathered might of the Allies I saw – for give the comparison – something of myself. I recaptured a little of the old enthusiasm. Yes, old comrade, I saw again the red dawn of Egypt. I knew then that I must, by hook or by crook, warn Napoleon of the menace at his elbow.

Ah, if only I had had with me then you, or any one of half a dozen other stout fellows I could name! Then I should have let Cornelys carry his message to Collaert, while you carried to Napoleon the intelligence of that message well in advance. Thus forewarned, having allowed the English infantry to form, Napoleon would have fallen upon their left flank and carried the plateau of Mont St Jean!

But I was alone, and only one course was open to me: I must intercept Cornelys, before he reached Collaert, and cut him down. This, as a first move, was the wisest for me, situated as I was. I had something like a dog’s chance of overtaking Cornelys, and then, mounted on the mare Cocotte, making my way to the French lines. And this I resolved to do.

Hence, when the tired man Klaes dragged himself back to the inn, I mounted that weary horse of his, and,
using my pen-knife as a spur, made after the blacksmith. That horse had heart. He drew a long breath, and hit the road.

And do you know what, old comrade-in-arms? Then it was as if I had shed the weight of a quarter of a century. I felt as I had felt on a certain dawn in the spring of 1795, when, seeing sunlight through the powder-smoke, I first realised that I was a grown man, and therefore too old to be afraid…. Then my heart, which had been flapping and fluttering somewhere below my belt, found its wings and soared, singing to high heaven; Fear of Death was a shadow in the valley far below and far
behind
me; and I laughed and cried, delighting in my
new
-
found
freedom from that fear….

So I felt, then, when I nudged and goaded Klaes’s weary horse back into the mud and the darkness. Ah, but that was an enchanted moment – how good it was to feel that rain, and to see so far away that struggling, watery moonlight!

The horse seemed to catch my exhilaration. He was winded, so that I might have been sitting astride Cornelys’s own heaving, wheezing bellows; but still he galloped. All the same, exaltation apart, my reason had not deserted me. The blacksmith was mounted on Cocotte, who was strong and fresh, and had the start of my poor nag. But I had not forgotten that, within the hour, Cornelys should be most insecure in that little hunting saddle, if he were seated at all. By the time I overtook him, he must in any case be too befuddled to aim a pistol; and then I should have him.

I planned to put a ball in his thick head, take his mount, and ride belly-to-earth north-east to the first French outpost where I would pass the word:
The
so-
called
Lacoste,
the
Emperor’s
guide,
is
an
enemy
agent
–
beware
the
sunken
road
between
Ohain
and
Braine
le
Leud,
between
the
French
front
and
the
plateau
of
Mont
St
Jean!

… So, I rode, only God knows how, for that road was rutted inches deep under a layer of red clay whipped by the rain and mashed by a million wheels and hoofs into a most dangerous mire. And then, that rain! The Deluge was come again. I believe that summer of 1815 was the wettest summer in the history of the world. It was as if Fate, in a sporting mood, seeing two
tremendous
adversaries coming to hand-grips had said: ‘You shall wrestle in the Indian style, my children – in a pit of slippery mud, just to make the game a little more
difficult
….’

A storm broke, and at every clap of thunder the whole black sky splintered like a window struck by a bullet – starred and cracked in ten thousand directions letting in flashes of dazzling light, so that I was stunned and bewildered. Dr Mesmer (he, also, dressed all in black) used to daze his subjects with little mirrors revolving before their eyes in order to put them to sleep. So the elements under the black cloak of the night seemed resolved to mesmerise me.

But my brave horse carried me on until, at a bend in the road, he stumbled and shuddered; went down on his knees, and rolled over on his side. I sprang clear just in time … tugged at the reins, shouting encouraging words; then let go his head. He was dead. He had burst his heart.

I stood by my dead horse, sick with hopelessness. But then the lightning flashed again, and I saw, not a
hundred
paces in front of me, the big grey mare Cocotte,
walking very slowly, riderless, in the rain. I made my way to her, and you may rest assured that I had my hands on my pistols under my cloak. When I reached her, I saw in the light of another flash why she was
walking
slowly: the blacksmith Cornelys had tumbled out of the saddle, his left foot had caught in the stirrup, and she was dragging his enormous bulk in the clinging mud.

Hope flamed high again. I was sure then that Fate was on my side. Cornelys was not dead, only drugged and stunned. In a little while he would recover and continue on his errand as best he could. But first he would have to find another horse; he would be seriously delayed. Before he could be well on the road again to carry his message to Collaert at Braine le Comte I should be half-way to Genappe, where Napoleon was!