Chapter IV

Chapter IV

It was a short ride back to the small thicket of trees. The fire was waning, nothing more than a small heap of smoldering embers. The bedroll was still there, and this was to be expected as the blankets were of very heavy wool. A bitter cold still swirled around him but he did not shiver, instead he saw the small frame of the girl shiver violently. His heart, usually cold and steeled, hurt for this young girl.

She did that to him, from the first day his heart was warm towards her. They dismounted; "Aimee, you look frozen," Maurice led the young girl to his bedroll, "Use this, the finest quality to be found in France."

"Thank you Maurice," She replied, getting in and hiding beneath the covers. It was cute, thought Maurice, shaking his head once more.

Stefano was sitting on the log Jacques was sitting on not thirty minutes before, "Thank you Maurice, if it were not for you, we would have surely died."

Taking a seat, Maurice lowered his voice, "Why did you two follow me? It's dangerous out here. Those rouges were bad, but if you met a really clever villain you probably would not be here," but those kind of men would have let a peasant girl and a grape farmer pass by, Maurice told himself. He looked back at the Italian, noticing the black eye and numerous cuts, "Aimee shot someone?"

Stefano made a painful grin, "Yes, shot him through the foot. It was great; she pulled out this pistol and BAMM!!" He slammed his hands together, causing everyone to jump, "He was crying and whimpering."

"Is there a storm?" Aimee muttered, confused in her drowsiness.

Maurice's voice went into his caretaker mode, "There isn't a storm darling, go back to sleep," a muttering from Aimee and she fell back asleep, nothing showing from the blankets except for a few tufts of red hair. He shook his head, "Let me see the wounds my friend, and try to keep it down."

"Here you go," the Italian's wounds were on his arms and his face. The arm wounds were probably defensive; the face ones were after that. None were immediately fatal, and there were few cuts on his face. Maurice pulled out two long pieces of clean cloth and a small flask.

There was a small trick Maurice learned from all his battles and that was alcohol could sometimes be the best medicine. Removing the cap, he handed Stefano the bottle, "Take a sip," it was whiskey, a good whiskey. Stefano took a hearty swig of the bottle and handed it back…that wasn't the trick, "Now this is going to hurt a little, so do your best to keep your pain cries to a minimum," he advised, putting a leather saddle strap in Stefano's mouth. Maurice tipped the bottle and poured some of the contents on the Italian's wounds…that was the trick.

He didn't quite understand the reason why Nicolas Appert, the man who showed him the trick, did it, something to do with rotting food and preservation, but Maurice couldn't argue with the results. Something in the alcohol caused fewer infections.

Stefano's eyes snapped open, the hiss of air rushing into his mouth did little to alleviate the pain and biting only transferred the pain to his mouth. The urge to scream was almost too much, but he kept remembering Maurice's words. After a while the pain subsided and through his tear misted eyes he could see the Sergeant finishing up his handy work. A tight tug meant that the bandages were finished, but Stefano laid there for a few more minutes.

"Find a comfortable place to lay down my friend, we leave at first light," Maurice was loading his pistols and rifles and the weapons he had taken from the dead men. It was fortunate that the horses didn't spook easily as it made the task of searching them for supplies easier. None of the weapons were particularly good.

Stefano had grabbed his bedrolls and laid it out, "Mind if I asked you something?" Maurice shook his head, "How do you know so much? I mean, no offense, but you were just a Sergeant."

A grin crossed Maurice's face, "Let's just say I had a life before the Army, and I never completely quit that life. Now get some sleep." Stefano took his advice and within thirty seconds he was snoring. The Sergeant just shook his head and placed the blunderbuss he was loading down. Yawning, Maurice sat on the ground and propped himself against the log and began to doze off…

…He was fourteen and leaning against a log. A small journal on his lap and Iron pen in his hand, he was writing to keep his mind sharp and alert. The pen strode smoothly on the paper, only stopping to dip into the ink well.

This was his second month on the campaign trail and already he had made a name for himself. Capturing an Austrian Standard and such had earned him some glory, but nothing was more glorious then just being a member of France's…no, Napoleon's Grande Armee. He stopped writing and eyed his new Corporal ranks earned for bravery in combat. He was now in charge of a small unit of men in his company.

"What are you doing Corporal Tabor?" Jacques asked. They had met within the first week of the Italian campaign and had become fast friends.

"I was just jotting down a few things Jacques," It was true, he was jotting down bits of poetry that he had come up with during the march. They were lyrical pieces of the things he had seen and that battles he had fought. The journal was filled with such things. He used it to fill in time between battles and to express himself in what ways he wanted be it poetry, prose, music, drawing, anything at all.

"Well, what is…" Jacques immediately stopped and stood up. Maurice was too focused on dredging up the right word to finish the line of poetry to really notice. He couldn't think of anything that would work just right.

"How about fire?" a voice said from behind the log.

Maurice's eyes snapped open and he wrote the word down. Of course, how could he be so stupid, "Thanks frie…" he looked at the man standing behind him and immediately jumped up, "General Napoleon, forgive me I had no idea…"

Napoleon raised his hands, "No need to apologize Corporal, I was just going around the camps for a walk. Care to join me?"

Maurice was shocked and could only reply with a nod. There was a hearty laugh from Napoleon who proceeded to continue his walk through the camps. Maurice quickly gathered his saber and musket and sprinted after Napoleon. I was just a short jog and Maurice recovered quickly. Napoleon's joviality had not lessened, "That was some interesting poetry Corporal, and very eloquent. It looks like you've had formal schooling."

"What makes you say that sir?" Oh yeah Maurice, let's act like he's dumb. THWACK!! Maurice gave himself a mental slap and looked at Napoleon whose expression hadn't changed.

Napoleon looked over to the taller man, "You were writing the poem, line by line, in French, Italian, and German. Tell me, do you know any other languages?" The General wasn't interrogating him, he was just simply curious.

Maurice cleared his throat, "Yes sir, I also know English, Spanish, and a little Latin," the Corporal's eyes continually scanned the sides of the path, his musket at the ready.

Another laugh, "It's alright Corporal… I don't think I caught your name."

"I'm Corporal Maurice Tabor sir. I apologize, you are a prime target for an ambush, I'm doing my duty to protect you sir," but as he was ordered, Maurice did ease his tension. His stride was a little less cautious, but his senses were still heightened.

"Ahhh, Maurice, I knew a Maurice back at the academy…" Napolean was interrupted by the sounds of hooves pounding the ground.

The frantic rider looked Napoleon in the eye, "Sir…The Austrian…Army is advancing on our positions."

Napoleon's Joviality was gone, but his calmness did not disappear, "I was aware this would happen. Go and tell the other officers to prepare to move," The horseman saluted and hit the ground hard towards the camps. Napoleon turned to Maurice, "As for you, get your men ready for the attack Corporal. Being light infantry you'll get the first taste of battle," Napoleon's hand rested on Maurice's shoulder for a quick second, "We shall see each other again..."

…Maurice shot up. Daylight was cresting over the ridge of a distant mountain. Both Aimee and Stefano were sleeping. Maurice stood up and began stretching. He stepped over to the saddle bags and pulled out a breakfast of dried beef and bread. It was going to be an interesting trip, "We will see each other again Napoleon," Maurice said to the morning air, sure that Napoleon heard and understood him.