Mireille and Elisa and the Corsican Bandits

by mireille08

This story takes place during Mireille's stay with the Bonapartes on Corsica. She receives a message that the White King from the Montglane Service is buried in a cave, which is the lair of a group of bandits. Mireille and Elisa Bonaparte fight the bandits and search for the White King. But it's mostly about the friendship between Mireille and Elisa.

Mireille and Elisa and the Corsican Bandits

Ajaccio, Corsica, November 1792

"Mireille, wake up!" Elisa shook Mireille awake in the bedroom they shared in the Bonaparte house in Ajaccio, Corsica. Mireille sat up in bed, sweat pouring down her forehead. "You were having another nightmare about Valentine."

Mireille slowly nodded, her throat parched from screaming. "I'm sorry. It must be hard for you, having to listen to my screaming every night."

Elisa put an arm around her shoulders. "It's no trouble for me, I promise. I just wish I could do more to help you. Besides, it's not every night."

"But I have them quite often."

"Yes." Elisa nodded. "It's only natural. I can't imagine how horrifying it must have been for you, seeing your cousin Valentine, who was like a sister to you, murdered before your eyes."

Mireille shivered in spite of the heat from the fire in the room. "What was I saying this time?"

"You were calling out Marat's name. As you usually do. And begging him not to kill Valentine."

"That's a nightmare I have all the time. Even when I'm awake, I can't get the image out of my head." She shook her head and continued, "Oh, why am I wasting my time here? I need to do something. I don't know what, but I need to do all I can to keep the Montglane Service out of that monster's power!"

"It hasn't been a total waste of your time, has it? I am very glad you're here, and so are Maman and Lucien. And so is Napoleon, even though he had to go back to his regiment."

"That's not what I mean. I'm very glad to have gotten to know all of you, and you especially, Elisa. But I need to keep the Montglane Service out of Marat's hands, and discover the secret before he does. I don't even have all the pieces yet, so how am I going to figure out the secret?"

Ever since Mireille had come to stay with the family, Elisa had heard much talk, mostly from her mother, Letizia Ramolino Bonaparte, about the Montglane Service, the legendary chess set once owned by Charlemagne, whose pieces, once they were all assembled, contained a secret of enormous power. Once she had thought, as most people did, that it was all just a made-up story. But then Mireille, a former novice from Montglane Abbey in the Pyrenees, had arrived, and Elisa had learned that the chess set was all too real. Mireille's beloved cousin Valentine had been murdered for those pieces during the September prison massacres. Marat had ordered her death, after promising Mireille that he would spare Valentine's life, and Mireille had seen Valentine beheaded in front of her eyes.

Elisa remembered the day she had first met Mireille. Her boarding school at Saint-Cyr had just been closed on the orders of the National Assembly, because it had been run by nuns. Her brother Napoleon had just taken leave from his regiment to escort her home, when she met a girl dressed as a boy. It was Mireille, who had come to Saint-Cyr to find an important clue in her quest for the Montglane Service, only to find the school had closed.

Mireille and Elisa had become friends as soon as they met. Mireille, at seventeen, was tall and big-boned, with red hair and green eyes that seemed lit by an inner fire. She had a mysterious birthmark shaped like a figure 8 on the palm of her right hand. Elisa remembered that her mother's old friend, the Abbess of Montglane, whom she had met only once, when Elisa was twelve, had the same birthmark. Elisa, now fifteen, was small for her age, fragile and flat-chested, and seemed almost a child, even though she was now considered a young woman. She had dark chestnut hair and dark blue-gray eyes.

After Mireille had arrived at Elisa's family home, the two girls found they had much in common. They were both great readers, and especially loved to read about ancient legends, particularly, in Mireille's case, as they related to the Montglane Service. During her stay at the Bonaparte house, Mireille shared Elisa's bedroom, and the two would often stay awake at night, whispering to each other. Mireille told Elisa about her and her cousin Valentine's childhood at Montglane Abbey, where they had been sent at the age of seven, after their parents had died in a plague in Paris. And she told her of how the Revolution had come to Montglane, and how the National Assembly had ordered the Abbey closed, just as they had with Elisa's school, and how the Abbess and the nuns carefully dug the legendary chess set out of its hiding place. The Abbess had entrusted various nuns with the pieces, including, to their great surprise, Mireille and Valentine.

After the closing of Montglane Abbey, Mireille and Valentine came to Paris to live with their uncle, the great painter Jacques-Louis David, and there they were introduced to Parisian society, including such illustrious figures as Talleyrand and Madame de Stael. Both girls had fallen in love with Talleyrand. And then came the time of the prison massacres, and Mireille told Elisa about her cousin's horrific death. Elisa did the best she could to comfort her, but nothing could stop Mireille's nightmares.

But it was not only horrors the girls talked about. Mireille told Elisa, in a confidential whisper, about her brief affair with Talleyrand and their one night together. Elisa, giggling, asked her what it was like, and Mireille told her as best she could, even though at the time she had still been in a daze after Valentine's death and couldn't remember much. Elisa, in turn, told Mireille about her feelings for Felix Baciocchi, an officer who served in the army with her brother Napoleon, and her hopes that they would someday marry. Napoleon, in spite of being Felix's friend, had different ideas about her marriage. He wanted a grander marriage for her. "But I don't see why that should be," said Elisa one night. "We're just poor minor nobility, after all."

"He will come around," said Mireille, attempting a smile, which was rare in these days since Valentine's death. "Your brother loves you. It's obvious to everyone. He will give you what you wish."

"I hope you're right," said Elisa.

The two months Mireille had spent with the Bonaparte family had been enjoyable, relatively speaking, even though Mireille could not shake off the demons of past, and Valentine's death. She had spent much time with Elisa and her mother, studying the ancient legends and trying to figure out what the secret of the Montglane Service might be. Elisa and her brother Lucien, who was her favorite sibling and Mireille's age exactly, were fond of theater and often, with the rest of the family, put on amateur theatricals. They tried to include Mireille in their performances, but she became nervous trying to act, and told them she was still too upset by her cousin's death. But, for the most part, she enjoyed her time there. She had never had any family except for Valentine and her uncle Jacques-Louis, whom she hadn't met until the closure of Montglane Abbey, and her time with the Bonapartes was the closest she had ever come to having a family. She realized she had always wished for one, without even knowing it.

The family always ate together in the Bonapartes' dining parlor. On the day after she had her latest nightmare, Mireille remembered her first dinner with the Bonapartes, where they had eaten, among other things, octopus, goat cheese, honey, and potatoes, which had only recently arrived in Corsica, and drunk apple brandy. This day they were having a similar dinner. They sat around the table speaking Italian, which Mireille had learned on the ship on the way to Corsica. The Bonapartes, like all the nobility of Corsica, spoke Italian among themselves. They didn't learn French until they went to school. The two youngest children, ten-year-old Caroline and eight-year-old Jerome, who hadn't been to school yet, didn't speak French at all. But when Mireille and Elisa were alone together, they spoke French. Elisa told Mireille she wanted to keep up with her French, even though she was no longer in school. She had never completely lost her Corsican accent. None of the family had. She took the first opportunity she could to complement Mireille on her ability to learn languages, which she said was amazing. Mireille shook her head. She'd always had this ability and never thought it was anything special, even though people were always telling her they'd never known anyone who learned languages so quickly.

They were just finishing their dinner and drinking their apple brandy when a messenger arrived. This was nothing unusual, with all the brothers in the army, but what was surprising was that the message was for Mireille. The messenger threw the note down on the table, waited only for Mireille to give him a few coins, then turned to leave. "Don't you want to wait for a reply?" asked Mireille.

"No, there's too much danger," the messenger said in a whisper. "Please be careful, Citoyenne de Remy. And always watch your back."

Mireille's face turned pale with horror, and she shuddered. Elisa put an arm around her. "What is it, Mireille?"

"I don't know. I'm so afraid. What if it's Marat? What if he's found out where I am."

"Then we will hide you," said Elisa's mother Letizia in a firm voice. She was a tiny, red-haired woman, even shorter than her daughter Elisa, but she had immense courage and strength of character. As a young woman, she had fought off bandits sent by the family's mortal enemies, the di Borgo family. "There are many caves near the bay, and we can find one where you can hide until the danger is past."

"Come on, open your letter, Mireille. And don't be afraid," said Elisa.

But Mireille's hands shook as she broke the seal. She immediately recognized the handwriting of one of the nuns of Montglane. The note said, "My dear Mireille, we know you must be devastated by the death of dear Valentine. She was always so full of life, it's hard to believe she's gone. What an amazing coincidence that you've gone to Corsica, because shortly after I heard the news of Valentine's death, I received word that the White King of the Montglane Service has been located in Corsica. It is buried in a cave just to the right of the main bay of Ajaccio. If you are able to recover it, it will be a great help to our cause."

Mireille gasped. "The White King!" she exclaimed. "One of the most important pieces of all. But," she lowered her voice, "it's Marat's piece."

"What do you mean?" asked Elisa.

"We're all pieces in a great Game, played with human lives," Mireille explained. "It was set in motion as soon as we dug the pieces out of Montglane and scattered them all over the world. It's a real-life, deadly chess game. We are the Black team. Yes, Elisa, you and I are pawns in the Game, and I think your mother and Napoleon are more important pieces. Your mother is a rook, I believe, and Napoleon is a knight. The Abbess is the Black Queen, or she was until she resigned from the Game. And in this Game, Marat is the White King. So this piece represents him."

Letizia nodded. "Yes, from all I have read and heard about the Montglane Service, that is true. Even though I do have some idea of who the new Black Queen might be."

"Who?" asked Elisa.

"It is not my place to say. Or the right time. But, Mireille, the messenger was right, there is great danger. I know exactly where this cave is. It's the lair of the bandits in service to the di Borgo family."

"Your enemies?" asked Mireille.

"The very same. So, my dear, it will be next to impossible for you to get to the White King."

"But I have to try," said Mireille. "It's such an important piece! I'm not going to leave it the hands of your enemies."

"There are at least six of them. Six strong, armed men. How do you expect to get past them? If Napoleon were here more often, he could help you, but he's always with his regiment these days. Lucien is not much of a fighter, in spite of what he wants to believe. And Louis is far too young." Louis was fourteen, a year younger than Elisa.

"Why don't you fight them, Maman? You could do it! You fought our enemies when Napoleon was a child."

"Oh, my dear Elisa, I was young then. I could never do it now. I'm an old woman."

"You are not that old!"

"But I feel older than I am, with all that life has put me through. My mother seems younger than me, sometimes. No, my dears, you will just have to wait until the next time Napoleon takes leave from his regiment."

"But when will that be? We need the White King now!" exclaimed Mireille.

"It's been buried all this time, so it can wait a little longer."

"No, it can't! The nun who sent me the message knew about it. If she knows, who else might know? What if Marat finds out? We need to find it before then."

"Well, we can only hope Napoleon returns before then." And with these words, Letezia left the room.

"Mireille, we will have to fight them ourselves!" said Elisa. "Just the two of us."

Mireille's green eyes glowed. "Yes, we'll have to. But the two of us against six armed men? How can we do it?"

"We could ask Lucien to teach us to fight with swords," Elisa suggested. "He's a better fighter than Maman thinks."

"Yes, that's it! I'd love to learn to fight with a sword. And how about we dress as boys? Our skirts would get in the way."

"Good idea! You can wear the boy's clothes you wore when we first met you. But what about me?"

"Borrow something from Lucien."

"It would be much too big for me."

"Or from Louis. Yes, that's it! He's close to your size."

"Yes, but he's so sour all the time. I don't know if he will agree."

"Pretend it's for one of your theatricals. I don't think he'd mind. He seems to love the theater as much as you and Lucien."

"Good idea, Mireille. I will ask him."

As it turned out, Louis had no objection to lending Elisa some clothes for one of her theatricals, or so he thought, and Lucien had no objection to teaching the girls to fight with swords. In fact, he thought it would be great fun. Mireille took to it immediately, and before long she seemed almost as skilled as Lucien. Elisa, smaller and frailer than Mireille, was awkward at first, and it took a while before she started to do well. But, eventually, she did. One day, Lucien told them, "I think I've taught you all I know. You've done well, both of you." But his eyes were on Mireille. "Now you don't want to tell me what this is all about, do you?"

"I'm sorry, Lucien, we can't." Elisa kissed her brother on the cheek. "But thank you! You're the best brother in the world!"

"Ah, I think it's something to do with this Game of yours," said Lucien.

"And what do you know about the Game? You're not a part of it."

"No, but I know that the two of you are, and so are Maman and Napoleon. And that it's very dangerous. Take care, you two. Do you promise me that?"

"Yes, we promise," said Elisa.

That night, they whispered together in their bedroom. "I think Lucien likes you," Elisa told Mireille.

"Of course he does. He likes all of us."

"No, I mean he likes you. The way I like Felix Baciocchi."

Mireille blushed. "I hope not. I can't like him that way, you know. I love Talleyrand, and I can't love any other man."

"I know you do. But Lucien doesn't know that."

"Well, tell him."
"It's not my place to tell him. Anyway, I'm so glad he's taught us to fight. Even though you're so much better at it than I am."

"No, you're very good at it."

"Not as good as you. But I'm glad you're so good at it. It's going to be very helpful for you."

"You mean for both of us, when we fight the bandits."

"Well, yes, but I mean for when you kill Marat."

Mireille recoiled in horror. "What? I'm not going to kill Marat."

"But you have to. He killed Valentine!"

"I could never kill a man. When we fight the bandits, we're only going to scare them off, aren't we? Wound them, at worst."

"If you say so. But don't tell me you're not going to kill Marat. I hear you calling out his name in your sleep every night. I can just smell the revenge in you."

Mireille shook her head. "I can't. You know that."

"Nonsense! We're all capable of killing, in the right circumstances. And you're definitely in the right circumstances."

"No. I certainly wouldn't mind if someone else killed him, but I'm not going to."

Elisa rolled her eyes. "Really, Mireille, you might be two years older than me, and you're so brilliant in so many ways, but you're such a child sometimes. You're certainly not a coward. You're the bravest person I've ever known, except maybe for Napoleon. So what's the matter with you?"

"Nothing. I just couldn't kill a man, that's all."

"And I say you can. You have to. You have the vendetta traversa against him."

"What's the vendetta traversa?"

"It's a Corsican custom. When someone is murdered, the person's male relatives have to kill the people who killed him. Or her. It can go on for generations. We and the di Borgo family have had the vendetta traversa against each other for more generations than I know of. Don't you have something like that in the Pyrenees?"

"I don't know. The nuns sheltered me so much, even if there were a custom like that, I wouldn't know it."

"I wouldn't be surprised if there were."

"Well, it sounds like a barbaric custom to me."

"I'm not saying it's right. I'm just saying it's the way it is. Anyway, Marat killed your cousin. You're obliged to kill him."

"Didn't you just say it's the person's male relatives who have to carry it out?"

"Yes, but why can't a woman do it, the same as a man? And Valentine doesn't have any male relatives, does she? It's just you."

"Well, there's our uncle, Jacques-Louis David, but he's a big supporter of Marat. He would never do anything."

Elisa gaped in horror. "He supports the man who killed his niece?"

Mireille's eyes filled with tears. "I'm afraid so. Or at least he's too afraid to speak out against him."

"He sounds like a coward to me."

"He is."

"So, you see, Mireille," said Elisa, "it's up to you to avenge Valentine's death."

"I suppose, when you put it that way." Mireille shuddered. "But I still don't like the idea."

"There's one other thing, " said Elisa. "They say the spirit of the murdered person..." she hesitated. "Oh, I'm sorry, I've gone too far. I shouldn't have said that."

Mireille took hold of her arm. "No, go on. Now that you started to say it, I want to know."

Elisa swallowed. "They say the spirit of the murdered person walks the earth and won't find rest until his or her death is avenged."

Mireille recoiled. "No, that can't be! Valentine is in Heaven, I know she is!" Her body shook as she began to sob.

Elisa held her in her arms. "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to say that. I'm sure it's all a legend. Of course Valentine is in Heaven. But still, her death is unavenged, and you're the only one who can avenge her." She rocked Mireille back and forth, trying to soothe her.

But now a tiny seed of doubt was planted in Mireille's mind. Could it be that Valentine's spirit was not at rest? Was that why she was having so many nightmares?

It took a long time for Mireille to fall asleep that night, and when she did, she had a nightmare she had never had before. She dreamed she saw Valentine's ghost flying around outside her window, as pale as a sheet, and with a huge gash on her throat where her head had been cut off. In a high-pitched, otherworldly voice, she kept saying, "Mireille, avenge me! I will not rest until you kill Marat!"

Mireille woke up screaming. Elisa comforted her and said, "Oh, I'm so sorry, Mireille. I didn't mean to tell you that. Not so soon after Valentine's death. Please forgive me."

"But could it be true? That Valentine's spirit is not at rest?"

""Of course not. It's just a legend! I shouldn't have said anything. Valentine is in Heaven."

"I hope you're right."

"Now, I hope you sleep better. We need to start thinking of our plan, to fight the bandits."

Mireille nodded, but she knew she would not get any more sleep that night.

The next morning, after breakfast, Mireille and Elisa discussed their plan. "Those bandits are going to be heavily armed," said Elisa. "And probably with pistols, not just swords. Can you think of a way to get the pistols away from them?"

"Yes, why don't we go to the cave in the early afternoon, when they're sleepy after their midday meal? We could sneak in, and perhaps we could grab their pistols while they're still asleep."

"Mireille, you're a genius! Why didn't I think of that? Do you think we can carry out the whole thing, and find the White King, before they wake up?"

Mireille shook her head. "No, I doubt it. They'll wake up sooner or later. I just hope we can grab their pistols before they do. Then they'll just have swords, at the most, and we can fight them."

"But still, they'll be six against two of us. Are we that good, do you think?"

"Why not? And we'll have the element of surprise on our side."

Elisa nodded. "I hope you're right."

"Now, do we promise just to use the flats of our blades?"

"As much as we can. But what if we can't avoid using the points?"

Mireille shuddered. "I hope that doesn't happen."

"I hope it doesn't, either. But what if it does?"

"Then we'll just try to wound them, and not hit a vital organ."

"But we'll be fighting! Will we even be thinking of that?"

"I don't know," Mireille admitted. "I thought of something else. I think we should take rocks in our pockets, to hit them over the head and knock them out if we have to."

"Great idea!"

"And we'll have to bring ropes, too. To tie them up, of course. And I imagine the White King is in a pit somewhere. Certainly not in plain view. We'll need ropes to climb down into the pit."

"We'll bring plenty of ropes, then. Tie them around our waists, I suppose. Anything else?"

"I can't think of anything. When should we do it, then?"

"We'll have to wait for the low tide. I think that's tomorrow. In the high tide, the cave would be flooded."

"The bandits wouldn't be there, then."

"No, but can you swim?"

"No. How could I have learned to swim? I spent my whole life in an abbey, after all."

"I can't swim, either. I spent my whole life in a girls' boarding school."

"So that's out of the question. We'll wait until tomorrow."

The girls spent the rest of the day gathering what they needed: their boys' clothes, swords, rocks, and ropes. "Do you think we need a lantern?" asked Mireille. "It will be dark in the cave."

"A lantern is too heavy to carry around." Elisa shook her head. "And if we lit it, they'd see us coming. That would be the end of our element of surprise."

"I know!" said Mireille. "We could make tiny lanterns with just a small candle, and we could even attach them to ropes and wear them across our foreheads, when we go down into the pit. We could keep them in our pockets until we need them."

"Excellent idea! You always think of these things," said Elisa. Mireille put two small lanterns together, and placed them in the pockets of their boys' garments.

After lunch the next day, after they looked at the bay to make sure the tide was low, they changed their clothes. Lucien whistled when he saw them. "Well, look at you!" he exclaimed. "This is it, isn't it?"

"Yes, it's time," said Elisa.

Lucien's face became serious. "You're going into danger."

"Not too much, I hope," Mireille tried to brush it off, but she felt more apprehensive than she sounded. She was working hard not to think about the butterflies in her stomach.

"Please take care." Lucien embraced Elisa, who gave him a kiss. "If I should lose you, my dearest sister..." He turned to Mireille. "If I should lose either of you, I don't think I could ever recover."

"We will try to make sure all will go well," said Mireille.

"Oh, Mireille, I..." he muttered. "I never thought I could be at a loss for words. Mireille, you must know... I've tried to hide it, but I can't any longer. I care for you, very much. Even if you don't feel the same way about me." He let go of Elisa and stroked Mireille's red hair. "Would you mind... one kiss, before you leave?"

Tears came to Mireille's eyes, and she shook her head. "Lucien, I'm so sorry. Elisa told me you might feel this way, and I hoped she was wrong. You're a good friend, and I think I could care for you if..."

"If what?" Lucien's face fell. "If you weren't playing this dangerous Game?"

"Well, that's part of it. But also... Lucien, I'm in love, and I've been in love for quite a while. With Talleyrand."

Lucien's cheeks turned red. "Talleyrand? That old lecher?"

"He is not that old! And, yes, he's had many women, but he loves me! He told me so."

"And you believed him, I suppose?" Lucien scoffed. "Mireille, he says that to every woman he'd bedded. And he never means it."

Mireille couldn't keep the tears out of her eyes. "He did mean it! He told me about all the other women, but he said I was his one true love."

"Mireille, don't be stupid! He'd say that to any naive young girl to get her into his bed."

"But I know it's true!" Mireille shook her head. "He really loves me. You weren't there. You couldn't know how it was, when he said it."

Elisa tugged her sleeve. "Stop it! Both of you! I can't stand to have two of the people I care about most in the world arguing just when we're about to go into danger."

"Very well." Lucien sighed. "Mireille, I hope, for your sake, you're right about Talleyrand. But if you're not, please remember I'm here. And I care for you. Now, what about a kiss on the cheek, at least?"

Mireille nodded, and they kissed each other on the cheek. "I'm sorry, Lucien. It's not that I don't care about you, at least a little. But it's hard to explain. Something inside me tells me I belong with Talleyrand. And I'm sure you'll find a wonderful woman to marry some day. What about that girl Christine who comes to your theatricals? She seems very nice."

Lucien nodded. "Perhaps. She's beautiful, if rather frail. But not like you." And they kissed each other on the other cheek, then the girls left for the cave.

Mireille and Elisa slowly climbed down the cliffside to the cave, Mireille helping Elisa, who was clumsier and often stumbled. When they finally arrived at the cave, they looked inside as they tried to fight off the butterflies in their stomachs. At first they could see nothing, because it was so dark inside, but their eyes finally adjusted. And then they saw them: six bandits with scraggly hair and beards, lying fast asleep on the cave floor, with empty wine flasks lying next to them. Each had a sword and a pistol on his belt. "They're in service to the di Borgo family, just as I thought," whispered Elisa. "I can tell by the colors they're wearing."

"I hope they're in a deep sleep," whispered Mireille.

"Let's find out," replied Elisa. With utmost caution, they tiptoed into the cave and came up to the first bandit. Very slowly, Elisa reached out to take the pistol from his belt and could hardly restrain a sigh of relief when he didn't move. "Sound asleep," she whispered. "Must have been strong wine, just as I hoped. Come, let's grab all their pistols before it's too late." She grabbed the pistol from the next bandit, and brought the pistols outside the cave. Mireille took the pistols from two other bandits and did the same. Then they went back and grabbed the pistols from the remaining two bandits.

"No more pistols," said Elisa when they were back outside the cave. "At least we don't have to face that. We're good enough to fight them with swords."

"What should we do with the pistols?" asked Mireille.

"Let's throw them into the bay," said Elisa. "I hate guns!"

"In spite of all those soldier brothers?"

"Perhaps because of that. Because I hate to think of any of them being killed in battle." Mireille saw tears in Elisa's eyes and took her hand, then she slowly nodded. She knew what it felt like, to lose someone she loved. Then, without another word, they threw the pistols into the sea and returned to the cave.

"How long do we have before they wake up?" asked Mireille.

"I don't know. Let's find this pit where the White King is hidden as soon as we can."

They were relieved that the bandits were still asleep. As they looked around, they noticed the entrance to a deep pit towards the back of the cave and slightly to the right, past where the last bandit was sleeping. "That must be the place," said Mireille. She lay flat on her stomach at the edge of the pit. "I can't see anything down there. It's too dark. We'll have to light the lanterns." She took her tiny lantern out of her pocket and struck a flame to light it, when the bandit lying near her woke up.

"What have we here?" he asked, in a deep gravelly voice, still groggy from the wine he'd drunk. "Two boys? What are you doing here?" He grabbed Mireille by the collar. The flame went out.

"We don't have to answer that!" said Elisa, drawing her sword. "And we're armed."

"So I can see," the bandit laughed. "Wake up! Wake up!" he shouted to the other bandits. "We've got a fight on our hands. Two boys! Should be good sport for us!" He draw his sword and lunged at Mireille, who parried his blow. Meanwhile, Elisa clashed with a bandit on the left side of the cave. She struck a blow on his face and gouged his cheek. So much for using only the flats of their blades, she thought. She had known it was unavoidable. As the bandit touched his wound, Elisa took a rock out of her pocket and hit him over the head. Then he fell senseless to the ground.

"One down!" she shouted to Mireille. Then another bandit came at her.

Mireille was busy trading blows with the first bandit. They were evenly matched, she could tell. Neither had been able to make the slightest scratch on the other. "You are good with a sword, boy, I'll give you that," the bandit grumbled. "Who are you? Not one of the Bonapartes, are you? No, not with that red hair. Haven't seen a red-haired boy around here."

"No, I am one of the Bonapartes, you idiot!" Elisa turned to him, after knocking out another bandit. Now there were only four bandits against the two of them. She took the opportunity of the distraction to strike a blow on the bandit's sword arm. The bandit touched his wounded arm, giving Mireille the chance to hit him over the head with a rock and knock him out.

"Three down!" shouted Elisa.

"Not so fast, boy," said another bandit, who was wearing slightly richer clothes than the others. His beard was the thickest of all. "I know all the Bonapartes, and you are not one."

"I am so!"

"No, you're not. I know Joseph, Napoleon, Lucien, and Louis. Don't think I haven't clashed with them before. You are not one of them, even though I have to admit those garments of yours look like Louis'. Steal them from him, did you?"

"Do you expect me to tell you?" asked Elisa. "Never!" She lunged at his shoulder, but he parried the blow.

As Elisa fought the bandit who was clearly the leader, Mireille traded blows with another. She grazed his shoulder, then, as he was distracted by the wound, hit him over the head. Now they were two against two. As Mireille turned toward the remaining bandit, he went for a blow on her head with his sword, and knocked off her cap. Her hair, which had been tied up to fit into her cap, came cascading down her shoulders. The bandit couldn't suppress a gasp. "A girl?" he exclaimed. And Mireille took advantage of his shock to hit him over the head with a rock and he fell, stunned, to the floor of the cave.

Now only the leader remained standing. "We've been bested by a girl?" he asked in horror. Turning to Elisa, he asked, "But who are you, boy? Or are you a boy?"

"No, stupid, I'm a girl, too!" shouted Elisa, undoing her cap and letting her hair hang down to her shoulders. "I am Elisa Bonaparte! And my friend and I can fight just as well as any boys!"

"Elisa? The Bonapartes' sister? You and your friend fight just as well as them, I have to admit. I am Caragone, the leader of the di Borgo bandits, as you might have guessed. Now, what have you come here for. And would your friend mind telling me her name?"

"Never!" exclaimed Mireille. She didn't know if Caragone, or any of the di Borgo family, were in the Game, but she had to take that chance. If they were in the Game, and knew what the treasure was that they were guarding in the cave, she would be in terrible danger if they knew who she was. And they would not fight only to wound.

"Why so reluctant?" asked Caragone. "You must be a stranger. You're obviously not from here. Your accent isn't even Corsican. It sounds like..." he hesitated. "A bit of Parisian, but you haven't lived all your life in Paris. I know! It sounds like the accent of the Pyrenees!" His face lit up, and he charged at Mireille.

That erased any doubt in Mireille's mind. Caragone, or his employers, must be in the Game, or at least know of the Game.

"No!" shouted Elisa. She swung her sword to defect his blow against Mireille, only to receive his blow on her arm. Caragone's sword made a deep gash on her upper arm, and blood poured from the wound.

Mireille rushed to her friend's side, sick to her stomach at the sight of the blood. "Elisa! No!" she shouted.

"It's not as bad as it seems. Just a scratch," said Elisa. "Leave me here. Fight him! It's our only chance."

"So, it's between us," sneered Caragone. "Are you, by any chance, the novice from Montglane who escaped the prison massacres in Paris?"

"I'll never tell you that!" said Mireille. Her blood boiled with rage and she struck blow after blow, only to have him parry them all. For what seemed like ages, they fought back and forth. And then a rock whizzed past them. Elisa, using her unwounded left arm, had managed to throw it at Caragone, enough to distract him. Mireille took advantage of the distraction to plunge the point of her sword into Caragone's shoulder. She shuddered, feeling sick at the sight of the blood that poured from the wound. She knew he would live, that she hadn't struck a vital organ, but still, she had not expected so much blood.

"Hit him over the head! What are you waiting for?" asked Elisa. And Mireille took a rock and struck a blow on his head, stunning him. Then she ran to her friend's side and looked at her wounded arm.

"Elisa! Your arm!" Afraid of what she would find, she gazed at Elisa's wound, only to realize the gash was not as deep as she had feared. She tore off a strip from her garment and bound the wound. "That should hold it for now, until we can go home," she said. "Are you in a lot of pain?"

"No," said Elisa, her voice stronger now.

"Can you get up?"

"I'm sure I can," said Elisa, as Mireille helped her to her feet. She looked around at the bandits, all of whom were stunned. But for how long? "Hurry, we have to tie them up before they wake up again."

"But can you do it, with your arm?"

"Yes, I can. Really, it's not that bad."

And so they took the ropes out of their pockets and tied up the bandits so they couldn't move, even if they did awaken. "And now," said Mireille, "I'm going into the pit. It's time to find the White King."

"I'm going with you."

"No, Elisa. Not with your arm. I'm going alone. But does your arm hurt too much for you to help to lower me?"

"Not at all." Mireille tied a rope around her waist. Then she lit her tiny lantern and, with her last bit of rope, tied it around her head. Elisa did the same with hers, so she would be able to see Mireille better. "I am ready," Mireille said. "Are you sure you can lower me?"

Elisa nodded. "Quite sure." And she helped lower Mireille into the pit.

With only the light from her lantern to guide her, Mireille looked around. This was the darkest, gloomiest place she had ever been in. She stumbled about, looking for the spot where the White King might be buried. At first the ground all looked the same, but then she saw it: a place where the ground had been disturbed. Frantically, she dug with her hands and the blade of her sword until she struck something. She saw a golden, glowing object emerging from the ground. Taking a deep breath, she pulled it out.

It was the most beautiful object Mireille had ever seen. Of course, she had seen other pieces of the Montglane Service, including the ones she and Valentine had taken to Paris and buried in Jacques-Louis David's garden, and which Mireille had given to Talleyrand when he went to England, but never one as beautiful as this. It was solid gold, covered with diamonds and rubies, and depicted a king riding in a magnificent chair on the back of an elephant. She remembered the Abbess describing it to her and Valentine, and how the two girls had laughed and said it was Hannibal who had ridden on elephants, not Charlemagne. Then tears sprang to her eyes as she thought of Valentine.

And then, as she held the magnificent piece in her hands, an otherworldly feeling came over her. She felt almost as if she floated above the ground. Suddenly sleepy, she rubbed her eyes. The White King glowed, as if giving off its own light. But clearly that was impossible? Her mind tried its hardest to resist the thought. She was just too tired to resist.

As the piece glowed brighter and brighter, she began to hear Marat's voice in her head. She shuddered and tried to shut it out, but was powerless to do anything. "You will kill me," it said. "It is what you are meant to do."

"No!" she said. "I can't kill anyone!" But her voice sounded feeble.

"That is nonsense and you know it. You can draw blood. You know that yourself. Think of that man who's lying above you. You wanted to kill him when you realized he knew who you were."

"No, that's not true."

"I know you better than you know yourself. If you don't kill me, you will remain forever in my power. And Valentine will never rest."

"How dare you speak Valentine's name! You killed her! She never harmed anyone in her life!"

"Oh, your silly little cousin! She was nothing, compared to you."

"She was the kindest person in the world! And look what you did to her!"

"Her spirit will never rest until you kill me. You know you've wanted to kill me, ever since I killed her. Even your friend up there knows you can. Everyone knows you can, except you!"

"But I..."

"Scared of the sight of blood!" he taunted. "You little coward!"

"I am not a coward!"

"Then prove it."

Just as Mireille was about to come up with a reply, she felt a tug at the rope on her waist, and she dropped the White King. She heard Elisa's voice as if from a great distance. "Mireille!" Elisa was shouting. "What's the matter? Who are you talking to? Is someone down there with you? Another bandit?"

As soon as she dropped the White King, she was cut off from Marat's voice, and she felt as if she had awakened from a deep sleep. "Elisa?" she asked. "Are you there?"

"I've been here all this time. I heard you talking, and I was trying to pull you up, but you wouldn't move. Who's down there with you?"

"I found the White King," said Mireille. "But I can't explain it. Elisa, this piece is pure evil. As soon as I touched it, I heard Marat's voice coming out of it, saying I'm going to kill him."

"Well, we know that already. I've heard before, about these pieces taking on a life of their own. I need to pull you up, right away."

"Can your arm handle it?"

"Yes, it's going to have to."

"But what about the White King? I can't just leave it here. But if I pick it up, Marat's voice will start up again."

"I'll talk to you the whole time, to distract your mind." And, as Elisa pulled her up, she talked to her about her brothers, especially Lucien, and how proud of her they would be. As soon as Mireille was out of the pit, Elisa took the White King from her. Her eyes lit up, and she gasped. "It's so beautiful! I've never seen anything like..." But then she seemed to fall into a trance.

"Elisa!" Mireille shook her. "What's the matter?" The piece fell to the ground.

Elisa shook her head. "It spoke to me!"

"Marat's voice? What did it say?"

"I don't know what Marat's voice sounds like, but this sounded like Napoleon. He said I'd be a queen, or something close to it, but then I'd lose my kingdom."

"You may be named after a great queen-Elisa is another name for Dido of Carthage, as you know-but I don't know what he meant by your being a queen yourself."

"No, it's very unlikely, isn't it?" Elisa smiled. "But you're right, this piece is evil. It says something different to each of us."

"I think it plays on our fears."

"That's exactly it! Or it twists our hopes for its own purposes."

"What should we do with it? We can't leave it here-it's too important. But I don't know how we're going to carry it with us, without its driving us mad."

"Perhaps if we didn't handle it directly? If we put it in a pouch to carry it home?"

"Good idea!" said Mireille. She detached a pouch from her garment and very carefully placed the piece inside. She tied it to her back and carried it past the still-sleeping bandits, and then the girls left the cave. They both breathed a great sigh of relief, then climbed up the cliff toward the Bonaparte house.

The family was waiting for them, and they exclaimed when they saw the binding on Elisa's arm. "Elisa!" her mother exclaimed. "Are you hurt?"

"Just a scratch," she said. "Maman, we did it! We knocked out the bandits, and we have the White King." Her siblings started at the two girls with admiration.

"But it's a thing of great evil," said Mireille. "When we touched it, we both heard an otherworldly voice speaking to us of our deepest fears."

Elisa's mother nodded. "I have heard of such things happening to people who've handled the Montglane Service. So you see how dangerous it could be if it fell into the wrong hands?"

"Like Marat's?" asked Mireille.

"Exactly. That monster must never get his hands on these pieces." And in that moment, Mireille realized that Elisa had been right all along. Marat had to die, or they could never be at peace.

"But what should we do with the White King?" she asked. "I know I have to continue my quest, but I'm afraid to take it with me."

"Should we bury it in our garden?" asked Elisa.

"I think that's a good idea," said her mother.

"No! I need the symbol on the piece, or I'll never figure out the formula that's contained in all the pieces," said Mireille.

"Copy down the symbol, then we'll bury it," said Elisa.

"Good idea!" Mireille went inside to get a pen and a piece of paper, then she very carefully unwrapped the piece, copied down the symbol, and put it back in its pouch. Then Elisa and her mother took it from her and buried it in the garden.

Mireille wanted to stay longer with the Bonapartes. They felt like her family and she, who had never had a family except for Valentine and their weak-willed uncle, wanted very badly to have one. But Elisa told her, "As much as I would love for you to stay, I'm afraid for you. Caragone knows who you are. And the di Borgo family will come after us, since we defeated their bandits."

"The vendetta traversa?" asked Mireille.

"Exactly."

Mireille sighed. "You're right. I know I can't stay here forever. And we did what we meant to do. We found the White King, and I have the symbol on it. And I have so much still to do. I supposed I will have to take my leave tomorrow."

Mireille took one more delicious meal with the family, then went to bed early as she prepared for her journey. The next morning, she took leave of the family. Lucien's eyes lingered on her longer than the others', and he asked, "Mireille, are you sure? You don't feel anything for me?"

"No, I feel great friendship for you. And I'm sorry it can be nothing more."

Lucien nodded in resignation, and kissed her on the cheek. She returned his kiss. Then the rest of the family went back inside, and Mireille and Elisa were left alone together.

"I will miss you so much, Elisa," said Mireille.

"And I will miss you, too. But we will correspond, won't we?"

"Of course."

"Where are you going next?"

"To the desert in Algeria, to find a secret that's hidden there. And then... I suppose I must go back to Paris."

Elisa nodded. "Now go and kill Marat."

"Yes, I will. I know what I have to do now. Valentine's spirit will never be at rest until I do."

"And just think, you will be ridding the world of a monster. Think of all the innocent lives you'll save. People like Valentine. And the people who love them will never have to grieve for them, the way you've been grieving for Valentine."

Mireille nodded. "I know that now."

"Well, I will be eagerly awaiting the news."

"But I know I'll have nightmares again. And you won't be there to comfort me."

"I'll comfort you by letter. That will have to be good enough."

"Unless I go to the guillotine, of course."
"Somehow I don't think you'll go to the guillotine."

"I hope you're right. But how I'll escape... I guess I won't know until then."

"Things will work out. I think great things are in store for you."

"And for you, too, Elisa."

Elisa shook her head. "I doubt it. I think you're the one who's important."

"No, I think you will be, too."

The two girls embraced and kissed each other on the cheek. As she turned to leave, Mireille said, "It's good to have a friend again."