Setting-This story takes place in France in the early 1800's between Napoleon's Exile to Elba and his return to France

Chapter I

I am Maurice Tabor, a former sergeant in Napoleon's Grand Army. I marched with Napoleon from the mountains of Italy, the wind swept lands of Egypt, the frozen fields of Russia, and I even fought his last battle at Leipzig. The Great Emperor is gone, in exile on Elba.

He is the only true leader of France, this Louis XVIII is a weakling and will be overthrown when our beloved leader returns. It is this point I am writing to you. I hear you were a major supporter of Napoleon and you are orchestrating his return back to our beloved France. I wish to volunteer my…

Maurice hid the letter as a Gendarme walked by. The big gorilla of a man, wearing the uniform of an army soldier, grunted at all he suspected of treason. The grunting was endless. Maurice loosened the strap of his pistol, hidden amongst the fabric of his winter coat, and just nodded to the big man then at his smaller companion standing guard at the entrance.

The second Gendarme looked like a weasel. Whereas the gorilla's unshaven face made him look stronger, an added psychological benefit, the patch of beard on the companion's face made look like a weasel. The weasel was sweeping the room with a nervous glance. His glance stopped on Maurice, and their eyes met.

A grunt, "What do you have there?" The look between Maurice and the weasel was not lost on the big man.

Maurice looked down at the inkwell and feather pen he had left out when the Gendarme walked in, "Sir, it is a dead raven." There was silence, the tension was overpowering, smothering. Maurice kept a calm demeanor, staring at his adversary in this mental chase game.

"No, it is a pen," the gorilla retorted. He risked a quick glance around the room, "And there are no others in this room."

"I swear to you sir, this is a dead raven," Maurice replied, stroking the black feather, "It came in here as I was drinking my wine and it crashed into my table. So therefore it is a dead raven."

The gorilla's fury escalated, "That is a pen!" he picked it up and began to scribble on the table, "There, see, no dead Raven."

This man isn't educated, Maurice observed, but what can you expect for up north. He feigned surprise, "It is a pen, wow, I don't know if I could have figured it out without you. Thank you."

Seeming to bask in this sudden recognition of his intelligence, the gorilla was disarmed. The weasel on the other hand, was a little smarter. Maurice looked at the smaller Gendarme with a grin, "How may I help you?"

"Show me the letter you wrote you treacherous swine," The weasel screamed, slamming his fist on the table.

Maurice looked around confusedly, "What letter?" there were now a few small chuckles, but they were silenced quickly when the weasel drew his pistol.

"You have a pen and unlike my gullible partner here, I will not believe a bullshit story. Where is it?" The barrel was pointing menacingly in Maurice's face. The finger on the trigger twitched, and the finger's owner's face was taut with anger. There was only one thing the Maurice could do at that moment…

…He handed the letter over, "Here you are, sorry to have caused so much trouble." The Gendarmes emotion was no longer anger, but shock, then disappointment. He lowered the pistol and took the paper from Maurice's outstretched hand. Both the weasel and gorilla looked frantically at the paper, then each other. The Former Sergeant had played his cards right, neither Gendarme knew how to read.

Flustered, the gorilla pointed to a scholarly looking man, "You, do you know how to read?" The scholar nodded and stood up meekly.

The Gendarme pointed their fingers at the paper. The scholar took it in his hands and looked at Maurice, who just smiled and nodded, "D-d-dear M-m-mother. It has been s-s-seven weeks since I have last written you. It is f-f-freezing up here but w-w-work is plentiful. I am s-s-sending money to you and f-f-father. B-b-best reg-g-gards," The scholar hesitated, looking at Maurice who was mouthing his name, "Maurice."

The Gendarme were staring at the paper, both looked as though they were waiting for more. It took them ten seconds to realize the scholar stopped. The weasel was the first to speak, "That's it? No mentions of Napoleon or of revolution?"

"No sir," The scholar lied. This letter was chock full of references to Napoleon and this mans love for him. The scholar had no love for Napoleon, but neither did he have love for the old kingdom. Napoleon may have made war in his vineyard, but at least he didn't have some noble taxing his crop. He had no desire to see a man killed today, not for what he believed.

The weasel shot a smoldering look at Maurice, "You're safe today Bonapartist, but mark my words, Napoleon will never come back."

Maurice just nodded to the two Gendarmes and asked, "Would you men care for some wine? This vintage is quite good," looking about Maurice found the red-haired barmaid, "Mademoiselle, could you please bring two more glasses for my compatriots here?"

The barmaid fluttered off to go grab the cups, Maurice followed her every move until she disappeared into the back room. He looked back at the Gendarmes, "Would you like some cheese also, it's very good. Aged to perfection," Maurice proceeded to cut off a piece and offered it to the gorilla and then the weasel. Neither of them took it, "No? More for me," and he proceeded to eat it himself.

The two Gendarmes were confused and disarmed by this man's strange behavior. They didn't say a word as they took their leave. Horses could be heard outside. Some cursing was also heard before the steady beating of hooves slowly disappeared. The tension was finally broken and the chatter finally came back. As far as anyone else knew, this Maurice fellow was innocent so talk went back to the usual stuff; crops, relatives, stories, and women, especially the red-haired bar maid.

The scholar was still standing there, next to a traitor. Worse than that he helped this traitor escape, but there was something about this man. It was…intriguing to say the least. Maurice noticed the man still standing there, "Come and sit my friend," the scholar did so as Maurice patted the scholar's back, "That was a very noble thing you did. I owe you my life."

"Yes you do you Bonapartist," The scholar mumbled. This…Sergeant was no ordinary man. He was smart, clever, and charming. His personality was magnetic. This man was no mere soldier; he was a gentleman in disguise.

The barmaid came back with the glasses, maneuvering through the tavern filled with men gawking at her figure. While a woman in this remote place was uncommon, someone like her was rare. She just strode over to the table and set the glasses, the best she could find. She could only see two people at the table, "Monsieur, did you're friends not stay?"

Maurice gave a disarming smile, "They're still here. You, my buddy here, and myself. Take a seat darling," while he was talking, Maurice had stood up and pulled out the lady's chair.

Blushing a little, she took the seat. She looked at the charming gentleman with his easy smile and sparkling eyes. This man was different than the run of the mill farmers and storekeepers up in this area, he was actually a gentleman.

The three glasses were filled and Maurice raised his glass up, "A toast, to friendships young and old, may they never die," The barmaid and the scholar followed suit. The expensive wine filled them with warmth that neither the girl nor the scholar had experienced, they were both sure this man had something to hide. Maurice turned to the barmaid first, "What is your name darling, or am I going to have to call you angel?"

"Aimee," was all she said. Maurice did not believe women like this existed in this part of the country. She was beautiful in every sense of the word, but judging by the way she acted when he used simple manners Maurice guessed that this place was very crude and she had been nowhere near a metropolis.

I must rescue this girl, was all Maurice thought as he continued to smile, "Such a lovely name for such a lovely woman," Aimee giggled as Maurice turned his attention to his scholar friend, "And what name should we call you?"

The scholar looked at Maurice behind his wine glass, "Stefano, just Stefano," Maurice's charm had just made the Italian more suspicious. This country girl may fall easily, but not Stefano.

"Ahh, a man from Italy, just a stone's throw away from Corsica, home of Napoleon," Maurice laughed, drinking his wine. He knew the Italian was suspicious of him, but he had a few days to break down the suspicion. He obviously didn't hate Napoleon, he didn't give Maurice up.

Maurice was nervous when the Gendarme chose someone to read the letter. He had figured that they would ask him to translate the letter, apparently they weren't that stupid. He admitted to himself though that being arrested wasn't that bad…they still had to take him to Paris, plenty of time to escape.

Stefano lowered his glass, "So, Sergeant Tabor. What brings you this close to the border?"

Maurice's blue eyes scanned the man, the faux joviality still in them. He picked up his glass, "To work my good man, to work," A friendly slap on the shoulder and a hearty laugh, "Drink up," he poured Stefano another glass.

"Hey, you, barmaid," A rather revolting old man called to Aimee, slapping ten five-Franc coins on the table, "Come here," Aimee walked over, her expression had turned for one of joy to disgust. She looked no older than nineteen and probably never experienced the touch of a man, although Maurice could not be sure.

"You wanted something?" Aimee asked, a fake smile on her face and a sickly sweetness in her tone. Behind the bar, as Maurice could see, the Tavern owner took no notice of these events.

"Yeah, how about you and me have a go, fifty Francs," the grungy man stated with a crooked, disgusting smile.

Aimee stared at the money, "No," she stated and turned to walk away. The dirty man grabbed her arm, Maurice jumped out of his chair.

"Alright, sixty, but no more than that," The man was vicious and determined. She tried to pull away once more and his grip tightened. She relaxed a look of defeat on her face. The dirty man grinned in triumph.

Maurice could see the distress in the young girl's eyes. He walked up behind her and lightly placed his right hand on her arm, "Here, Mademoiselle, is 600 hundred Francs for you to walk away," Maurice glared at the man still holding Aimee as he handed her a five-hundred and one-hundred Franc notes, "She would like you to let go Monsieur."

The dirty man stood up and found a pistol barrel pointed right at his forehead, "Let her go Monsieur or I will be forced to shoot."

The dirty man chuckled, surely this boy…Click. The man took another look into Maurice's eyes as the thumb left the hammer. He saw nothing but contempt and rage. A gulp and he sat back down, letting her go.

Aimee looked at her savior as he led her back to his table, the pistol still in his hand. Maurice was a striking figure in his thirties, having volunteered for Napoleon's Grand Army in 1796 at the age of fourteen. He's features were weathered, but held a noble quality, definitely a handsome quality. Intelligence and cunning were apparent in his blue eyes. His brown hair hung neat and trimmed. She grinned, "Thank you Monsieur."

Maurice's face returned to a smile, "Call me Maurice darling," He pulled out her chair once more. After she sat down he took a seat, placing the pistol on the table as if it were a dare to the next man who would solicit this woman for sex.

He took out his paper, picked up the quill with his left hand, and finished the letter…

…services to the effort of rescuing our Emperor. You will find me at the Lone Rose Café in Paris.

Your Servant,

Sergeant Maurice Tabor