“Precisely. Drawing room, or more specifically, bedroom drama. It’s all rather useless and does not concern us. While Metternich concerns himself with listening at keyholes, we deal with more pressing, serious issues that affect the direct security of our nation.”
He was, of course, referring to military intelligence. Such as the deployment and movement of enemy troops, fortification of borders, and upholding of the peace.
Schneider cast him a swift look. “Are you still sceptical about the perseverance of peace?”
“Call me pessimistic, but I am. Congress or no, I believe we should not sleep too soundly in our beds yet. I have a feeling, deep in my bones, that the former Emperor of the French hasn’t spoken his last word.”
Schneider looked troubled. “That is worrisome. For we know that whenever you have that feeling, it turns out to be true.” Indeed, it had saved them, and the entire army, more than once. Even the Austrian emperor had learned that if Field Marshal Hartenberg had a ‘feeling deep in his bones’, one had better listen to it, for he was inevitably right. “Lord, I hope you are wrong this time, Your Excellency. If this isn’t the end of Napoleon, it will mean disaster.”
“Precisely.” Hartenberg rubbed his upper thigh, grimacing, as though it pained him.
Schneider regarded him with a worried frown. “You should have stayed at the lodge, Your Excellency. You are not fully recovered yet. There was really no need for you personally to come along on a mission that I could handle very well on my own.”
“I have no doubt at all that you can handle it on your own, but I confess I tire of sitting around doing nothing. Besides, I wanted to get a glimpse of our man and have him personally hand me the intelligence.”
“If he has chosen to show up.” Schneider threw a glance outside as they approached an abbey.
“‘If’ being the operative word.”
The carriage pulled into the courtyard of the abbey, which looked deserted. An Augustinian priest in a black habit who was crossing the yard looked up and nodded at them.
“Keep in mind I am incognito,” Hartenberg murmured. He was wearing a charcoal grey loden greatcoat, Hessians and a simple, brown double-breasted frock coat, and insteadof his usual bicorn, a beaver hat. He could be any unremarkable country gentleman. “We are merely travellers, come to admire this wonderful baroque church. Drop the ‘excellency’ and call me Herr Berg.”
“Jawohl, Herr Berg.”
To follow suit, Schneider was dressed in tobacco brown, a frock of much the same hue and a muslin cravat at the throat. Only their stiff, erect posture might signal to the observant eye that they were military men of consequence.
Hartenberg scanned the yard. “Check the other side of the house for horses. We meet inside the church.”
“Yes, sir.”
He circled the square, before stepping into the baroque church, which was empty. After a good two hours of waiting, the two men had to admit to themselves that the man they had come to meet was not appearing.
“Hofer is either late, or he has decided not to show up,” Schneider concluded.
“Or worse, he got caught.” Hartenberg threw a last look over the pews and the altar, then turned to go.
Schneider followed suit. “Hofer? Surely, you don’t really believe that? He is our best agent.” He held the heavy oak door open for Hartenberg.
“Even the best of us can make mistakes.” Hartenberg set his beaver hat on his head, glancing at the sky. A storm was brewing in the distance.
“I almost expected it,” Hartenberg said as he re-entered their coach. “I hope he didn’t get caught. I must confess, I’m somewhat worried. Let us return.”
“Yes, sir.”
* **
Der Schwarze Adler,a coaching inn on the main road to Vienna, was swarming with soldiers.
“The reserve corps returning from Saxony,” Schneider muttered under his breath. “None who would recognise you. Hopefully.” The infantrymen’s white uniforms were matted with dust, their trousers caked with mud.
Hartenberg exited the carriage, lowering his hat over his face and turning up his collar. It was unlikely that anyone would recognise him since these men were not part of his regiment. But who knew, an officer could appear, who might have seen him at a briefing at the Imperial War Council in Vienna, and recognise him. Hartenberg wanted to prevent that at all costs.
A mud-splattered carriage pulled up with groaning wheels and stopped right in front of a puddle that covered nearly half of the yard. The carriage door opened, and a vision in white appeared.
“Ohhh,” Schneider exhaled. “I, I behold…an angel,” he stammered, entirely overcome by the beauty of the vision. It appeared he wasn’t the only one, either, as the general muttering of the soldiers abruptly ceased and the entire yard was struck dumb by the apparition that emerged from the carriage.
Hartenberg blinked. Did his eyes play tricks on him, or was there, indeed, a young lady in a white silken ballroom gown, with silken slippers and a shawl, her perfectly formed coppery-brown curls glinting in the evening sun hesitating inside the carriage door? She looked dainty, as if a puff of wind could blow her away.
