The Black Opera (42 page)

He placed the libretto of
Il Terrore di Parigi
on the table, and as he leaned forward, risked saying, in a low voice, “If I might speak with your Imperial Majesty privately?”

One of the Emperor's brows went up.

“If you're polite enough to give me the rank I won by the sword… you're probably an
agent provocateur
, here to trick me into speaking something to my disadvantage.”

“No, sire, I'm not. I assure you.”

Hopeless!
No wonder he thinks that anything that comes from the King of the Two Sicilies is a poisoned chalice—that's all he gets from anybody else.

Conrad muttered something evasive, aware that he was losing the short man's interest, and beginning to panic. He shifted uncomfortably.

The Emperor's dark gaze went past him.

The man sat up in his chair, utterly alert.

“Imperial Highness—” Conrad began.

The Emperor ignored that. He stood up, took four or five paces forward on the veranda, Conrad scrambling out of his way as he went
past
—

The Emperor threw his arms around Tullio in a fierce embrace.

“W
hat,” the Emperor demanded, “is this famous war hero doing as a
servant?”

Conrad stared at the spectacle of the tall, shaven-headed Tullio Rossi being ferociously hugged by a man a foot shorter than he was.

I am…
more
than bewildered by this!

The short man in the blue coat, orders and medals still on his chest, spun around and jabbed a finger at Conrad.
“What?”

Let nobody say I can't seize my opportunity
—

“If we could speak privately to you, sire…”

The exiled Emperor grunted. He turned on his companions and servants, hand sawing at the air, vocabulary that of the military camp. Before a minute passed, there was a clean cloth and light food set out, and no man was closer to the table on the veranda than the servants at the house windows—banging the shutters closed at a furious gesture—and the soldiers out on the path.

Nobody within earshot
.

Conrad surveyed the olive trees, aware that Tullio matched him in that.

Not enough cover to hide a man. This is as good as I'll get
.

“You'll excuse me,” the Emperor said, “if I summon back those two.”

He indicated two of the older men, in Northern uniform, who were hanging about somewhat obviously with the guards.

“They have long wanted to meet Signore Tullio here.”

Conrad couldn't help wincing. “Do you trust these men with your life, sire?”

Dark curved brows snapped down. “Does Signore Tullio likewise trust you?”

“Yes, sire.” He did not even have to think. Tullio Rossi, putting his coat collar straight where the vehemence of the Emperor's greeting had ruffled him, only gave a jerk of his head as if to say
Of course
.

I suspect this is non-negotiable, Conrad concluded.

“Sire, I'll trust to your judgement.”

The trusted companions—introduced only as ‘Philippe' and ‘Étienne'; two Colonels, by their insignia—joined their Emperor at one end of the long table. Both surveyed Tullio, standing at Conrad's shoulder.

Conrad caught a glimpse of Tullio's throat over the greatcoat collar. It began to glow pink.

“Sit down, Signore Tullio; all.” The Emperor waved Tullio Rossi to the chair between himself and Conrad. “No—you will not serve. I will. A brave man deserves it.”

It's not every day one is served tea by a deposed Emperor
, Conrad reflected, drinking the strong brew. He bit down on his curiosity as much as he might, but finally failed.

“What did he do?” The words burst out of him. He looked apologetically at the Emperor. “I apologise, Your Majesty, but in my country, he's said nothing of this!”

“Well, perhaps that's understandable. He is modest, to a fault.” The Emperor leaned back, loosening his stock. The shadows from the olive tree branches
played over features famous on coins, if now a little fleshier. “As for what happened… Tullio Rossi is a hero!”

Conrad saw “Étienne” and “Philippe” lean forward.

“You remember Borodino.” The Emperor's voice sank, a sensuous bass. He moved his hands as if he could shape it from the air. “Snow, mud, clouds from artillery fire, so many brave men suffering; the screams of horses, the trumpet calls of orders seeking victory, the stench…”

Letting his gaze slide sideways, Conrad saw an almost identical depth of memory in Tullio's eyes.

“And this man—this hero—” the Emperor leaned forward, putting his hand on Tullio's shoulder, “not only saved one of our Eagles in the battle of Borodino—no! That would have been enough—but he also saved his Emperor's life! He found us wounded on the battlefield, and carried us over his shoulder. When the rescue party of Generals found us, he had wrapped the flag about us both, and taken refuge from the ice and snow in the way that only an old soldier can—in the warmth of a horse's slit-open belly!”

Conrad looked greenly at his tea.

“He'd put my naked body furthest inside.” The Emperor reverted out of the imperial plural. He seemed to recall being a soldier again. “Tullio Rossi! Giving me his warmth, as well as the heat of the horse of my slaughtered enemy. And saving me, potentially at the cost of his own life.”

Tullio stared down at the tablecloth, even pinker. Conrad felt positive that Tullio was not only attempting to look modest, he was avoiding Conrad's gaze.

“I never suspected him of being so heroic,” Conrad managed without a trace of sarcasm.

The Emperor spread his hands wide.
“I
thought he died in the following battle, since he disappeared. But no! I would know you anywhere, my friend.”

“I was captured.” Tullio looked hunted—although Conrad suspected he was the only one who knew him well enough to see that. “By enemy soldiers. They were going to shoot me.”

“Shoot you!”

More confidently, Tullio added, “But the building they were using as a prison caught fire. Cavaliere Conrad Scalese here rescued me. I've been acting as his servant since then.”

“An honourable man! My brave soldier Rossi! And so you live!” The Emperor stood up, and again threw his arms around Tullio (who had automatically stood when someone considered his social superior did). The two Colonels joined in.

Conrad took advantage of the—to his mind, quite unnecessary—embracing and manly kissing that followed, to gather his scattered thoughts.

“Signore Tullio can explain why we're here,” Conrad said, as things calmed down. “You'll see we mean you no harm. Just the opposite.”

Tullio Rossi staggered through the explanation. Conrad, smiling encouragingly, saw the Emperor was already convinced—had been, in fact, as soon as his brave soldier Rossi appeared.

“If you accept the invitation,” Conrad added, “Tullio will guard you at the opera house,
and
drive the coach that takes you up the coast.”

“Of course!” the Emperor agreed. “I think I have loyal men who can arrange a ship. I might have known it would be my good friend who saves my life again!”

There was no getting away, even with their business done. The deposed Emperor suggested they have dinner there—which turned out to be a five course meal—and only the plea of urgency in planning the escape got them back to the ship before it left the island.

Conrad leaned on the ship's rail, on deck, waiting to see if his dinner would survive the choppier sea.

When he was sure of it—and the cigar-and-brandy haze had worn off—he went seeking Tullio Rossi.

He found him on a coil of cable towards the prow, faking sleep.

Conrad joined him there, out of the way of the sailors, and watched the island vanish behind them, the red column of its fire reflecting on clouds long after they had sailed north.

Before genuine sleep could intervene, he poked a solid finger into Tullio's ribs. “Right. Now let's have the
real
story!”

The big man sighed and rolled over on his back, so that he lay next to Conrad, looking up at the emerging stars.

“You don't think I could be a hero?”

“I
know
you're a hero. This, though—it's fishier than a three-day-old cod's-head.”

“You know I was a deserter from the army.” Tullio's tone was as embarrassed as when he had first made the confession to Conrad that he was a wanted man.

Conrad punched him lightly on the shoulder. It seemed to cheer him.

“But,” Conrad frowned. “I assumed you deserted from our side—the side fighting
against
the North…”

Naples had been, at that time, fighting against the Emperor as a nominal subsidiary of the Allies. They had afterwards fought
for
him, for a confusing few months, and reverted to neutral status a year or so later.

“I did desert.” Tullio stared upwards at the Pole Star. “Eh… Twice. At
least
twice.”

Conrad rested his head back against the rope coils with something of a thud. “Tell me!”

The big man smiled at his clowning, but only a little. Tullio pushed himself into sitting upright on the rope coil. He rubbed his hand across his forehead. “Borodino—that was a lot worse than he made out.”

Conrad nodded. “If you're not an Emperor, things usually are worse…”

Tullio's answering grin was wry.

“I deserted from the Allies since we were losing, there wasn't any doubt of
that
. There was a blizzard blowing, the battlefield was knee-deep in snow, waist-deep in places. I wrapped a fallen flag around myself to keep warm. Had no idea whose flag it was; didn't
care
.”

Conrad, remembering Maida, said, “I can understand that.”

Tullio's eyes were distant. “Then I tripped over. For the fiftieth time, at least. When I scraped some snow off him, it turned out to be an unconscious man in a Northern uniform. I couldn't tell much about the insignia through the snow except he looked like an officer. But I thought that if I took the uniform and wore it, it'd allow me to escape
through
the Northern lines. By that time, I didn't give a damn about either side.”

The swift twilight gave way to darkness, and the constellations of spring above them. Conrad unconsciously shivered, thinking of the Russian winter. He leaned up on an elbow beside Tullio. “And then?”

“I stripped the unconscious man, and shoved him, naked, inside the split belly of a horse. So that no one would find the corpse while I was putting the uniform on and blame me.”

Tullio Rossi took a deep breath.

“Then I heard the shouts of a search party, very close in the snowstorm. Wasn't nothing else to do. And nowhere else to hide. So I climbed inside the horse after him, and hauled the cloth over us so we wouldn't be seen. Only they did discover us—but they said he was the Emperor and I was a hero…”

Tullio shrugged.

“His Emperorship gave me a battlefield promotion for it, when he came round. Said he wanted to make an officer of me, and lieutenant wasn't good enough, so he made me a captain. I did have a medal, too, but I pawned it.”

“Of course you did.” Conrad blinked.
“Captain
Tullio?”

Tullio Rossi did the closest thing to shuffling that a man can do when he's sitting down.

“You out-rank me.” Conrad couldn't hold back a spluttering laugh.
“Captain
Rossi out-ranks Lieutenant Scalese of the
Cacciatore a Cavallo!”

“Padrone—shut up.”

“Yes, sir!”

Tullio looked at him from the corner of his eyes.

Conrad gave him a smile.

Tullio lay back and put his hands behind his head, gazing at the stars. “I knew I'd be found out before long, even if they did love me for getting their old flag back almost as much as they loved me saving their Emperor. So I took my chance in the following battle and deserted
back
. Got a long way, too, only the Allies arrested me for having left 'em in the Russias. They were keeping a bunch of us in that barn you dragged me out of. Me, I wonder if they didn't set it on fire to save the cost of the cartridges to shoot us…”