 Call all hands. Beat the quarters. Broadside into it, if you please, Captain Bush. Pointes on target. Linstaff's ready. On the land of the sea, a ratio hornblower. So long afterwards, it's difficult to see how I could have acted otherwise than as I did. I was still a naval officer, and it was my duty to harry the enemy of my country as far as lay within my power. Yet this pitiful little guerrilla war of mine in the forests and the valleys of the Upper Loire was obviously a losing battle. As we plotted through the sullen heat over the forest track, I felt that the end was near. Of our gallant army, there were only 30 men and two women left, and the men were as exhausted and dispirited as myself. Or is your feet are so blistered you can hardly walk? Why do you not take my off for a while? Oh, no, my friend, Michelle, of course. You're more exhausted than I am. I am younger. Besides, it's not fitting that the King's Lieutenant-General should hobble through the forest like a woodcutter. Who stands yonder where the track's caught, eh? Antoine, one of the advance guard. He is pointing. What is this, Antoine? I can see it. It's a peasant. I hang from a tree. There's a placard on his chest. It is a proclamation by General Closen calling on all Frenchmen of the Nivermets to rally to Bonaparte. It's worse. Do not let the men read it. It offers pardon and freedom to any who desert the King's cause. I'm afraid they already know, my friend. They found a similar proclamation while we were ahead yesterday. The amnesty lasts for three more days after which any rebels will be shot at sight. Any village offering us help will be burned, and it's inhabitants' shot. Somehow we must keep them together for three more days, and after that they will fight for their lives. Are you and I, Monsieur Le Comte, included in the amnesty? We are expressly excluded. The last sentence reads, Exceptions to the amnesty are the Comte de Grasse, his daughter-in-law, the Vicontes de Grasse, and the Englishman known as Lord Hornblower, who is required to pay for a life of crime. I forced my aching feet to quicken her stride to catch up Marie. She was a vastly different Marie from the happy young Vicontes who had laughed and loved with me at the Chateau de Grasse. She'd sawn off her hair with a knife. She was wet with sweat and sweet with dirt. She carried a musket sling across her back. Yet, when she had insisted on joining us, she had claimed to be as good as any man, and she'd fulfilled that boast. She was still fresher and more determined than many of the men. The fort begins by those trees. It is a ledge under the surface, but I fear it is too deep already. I will take the horse and try it. Here, let me inside, Madame. This is no task for a lady. I am a lady no longer. I am a soldier of the King. Help me into my saddle. My habit is in the way. Do as she says, Brian. Madame is fresher than me and a good rider. Good luck, Marie. I'm sorry. The river is impossible. It is lucky the horse was strong enough to swim ashore. I could not have fought the current. I did not wish you to try, but it would have been useless to argue with you, Marie. Well, there's nothing to do but follow the river until we find a boat. We cannot stay here. Very well, men, then. It's here we say goodbye. You are not leaving us? How are you, sir? No, I'm not leaving you. You're leaving me. Your lives are safe. You've already caused ends' proclamations. Madame and the Count and I must go on. Go on, we must. And we'd still go on, even if we need not. But we shall return. Remember us when you're in your homes. One day we shall call on you again to thrust down the deterrent. Now, one last cheer for the king. Live, little one! Before I tried to keep the parting on a sane level, I knew in my bones that we were going to die. My hardest task was to force Brown to leave his wife. It was the only way to save her, and in the end he bowed to the inevitable, with many oaths to return. But, Marie could not stay. My life was forfeit. Come with us, even though death may at the end of the ride. Marie, the Count is almost at the end of his taboo. I must make plans there. Think how to escape. What is the position? Is there a column close to us? As far as I've gathered from our scouts, close ends' columns are spread round us in a half circle. So, there are troops behind and to the side, and the river in front. Behind us is a half column of the Fourteenth Leisure. They must have been ordered to pursue us direct while the others head us off. Let us keep along the riverbank a little longer, and then we'll rest till dawn and try to make a crossing. Later, we slept in fits and snatches until dawn. We lay on the wet ground in saturated clothing, and it seemed the most natural thing in the world that Marie and I should lie in each other's arms. It was warmer thus in any case. The surge of love and tenderness which swept me had nothing to do with passion. War was behind us and death before us. Nothing could come between us in these moments. For half an hour before dawn, I slept tranquilly with my head on her shoulder. Perhaps that was the happiest half hour I've ever given poor Marie. Her love for me had brought her a little happiness. But the rest bit was brief. With the first light, we were off again on horses which seemed weirder than ever. Well, the rain stopped anyway, my lord. Oh, it looks like being ought when this mist clears off. Yes. Surely we must reach a farm soon where they'll have a boat. Then we can cross the river, steal some fresh horses and shake off the pursuit. Quick! Hold! Left wheel! Now, behind those willows there. Behind those willows. What is it, Rachel? Look, look. Those outbuildings below the ridge. Is it a farm? Uh, shall I go and spy out the landlord? Yes, I'll watch you for any signal. Aye, aye, sir. We must lie low. If there's any troops around, they'll be quartered here, but I can't see any. Wait a minute. Look, there's a young woman and an old man as... It is a boat, lying by the water's edge. Look, Brian is attractive. The girls' attention. They're talking. Wait! He is waving to us. It is safe. Oh, come on. We must lose no time. It's all right, my lord. The frogs was here yesterday. Cavalry. Uh-huh. Them same who's ours. We beat last week. They left here yesterday morning, so the old man is here. Oh, very well. There's no time to lose. Let's get the boat launched. The boat? Yes, my lord. I wish you could launch it. Why? What's the matter with it? Just look at this, my lord. Someone's been at this boat with an axe. The bottom smashed in four places. We shall only cross the river. You can come with us and bring it back yourself. Oh, I shall be shot for helping you. The stars will come back. Quiet, you old pessimist. We're busy. The fact is, Alcock, you can't help yourself. You might get shot if you help us, but you will get shot if you don't. Now, this is war, and don't you forget it. Oh, hello. Hello. Here's Madame riding back. What is it, Marie? Hussars. Coming along the main road from the south. About 20 of them, I should think. They'll come down here. They always do. Well, we must ride off and hide. Come on. Put the repairs on the boat, sir. They'll see them. Well, there's no time. We must risk it. All right, sir. Now, listen, olden. If the Hussars come here, you tell them it was you that was repairing the boat, see? Oh, come along. Come. Back to the hollow behind the willows where we hid before. Come on. Swift in. We must hide around the rocks and watch. This'll do. I'm afraid this is our last stand. Here they come. Well, there are only three men and a woman with pistols, but we must make every short tell. We are four men. Four determined men. Behind the rocks, all of you. Face in different directions so that they cannot flank us around. Here they come. They're firing already, but they're only wasting part of it this way. Marie, save your shots. Oh, God, Marie. Marie, what is it? But even as I spoke, I saw Marie fall over from the impact of the bullet which had struck her and caused her to fire involuntarily. I saw the possible look on her face change to agony. And then I was at her side. She'd been struck on the thigh. I felt for my pen knife to rip off the clothes. But at that moment, a shattering blow on my shoulder flung me to the ground. In my anxiety for Marie, I'd heard nothing of the Hussar's charge or the shots of Brown and the Count. Sick and dazed, I struggled to my feet, ignoring the carbine butt above my head. All that mattered was Marie. I tore open my knife, but Marie was limp and lifeless at my feet. She is dead. A pity. It is over, my friend. We are disarmed and captured. The Court Marshal will try you this evening. Wait. This man, Brian, he is a prisoner of war. You cannot try him. He is a sailor of his Britannic Majesty's Navy doing his duty under my orders. He fought on the side of rebels. Under my orders. He's not amenable to Court Marshal. Well, there's no credit to speak for him. I will take this matter into consideration. Damp cold, more pain. And then, blessed sleeper. When I woke, my head was clear. I amazed the captain by demanding a bath and a shave. If I was to be sentenced to death, I intended to appear as a British officer and not as a tramp. When I was clean and shaved, they brought me food and wine. The Emperor won two great victories last week. Your Wellingtoners met his destiny last. General Ney beat him at a place called Le Capre-Brain. And on the same day, the Emperor destroyed Blue Cher and his Prussians at Leeney. Indeed. And how did this news reach you? By official bulletin. My felicitations, Mr. But is there not a saying in your army about lying like a bulletin? Enough. The court is waiting. They have already tried the Conte-Grasse. He is to be shot at dawn tomorrow. The prisoner has already admitted his identity. He is a racial Lord Ornblower, Commodore of the British Navy. It only remains to submit to this court the verdict of a court martial held on June the 10th, 1811, wherein this said, a racial Ornblower was condemned to death for piracy and violation of the laws of war. I must request that the death sentence be enforced. Lord Ornblower, it is the sentence of this court and the order of this military commission that you shall suffer death by shooting at dawn tomorrow, immediately after the execution of the rebel Grasse. I beg your excellencies pardon, but parrots are hanged, not shot. It is the order of the commission that he be shot. Remove the prisoner. Thank you, Your Excellency. I'm ready. The cell was dark. It sank upon my mattress. There it was, I was to be shot. This was the last round of the struggle I had waged against Bonaparte for 20 years. There was no arguing with bullets, our pitiful little rebellion, our army scattered the count condemned to death. Marie, Dad, poor Marie, she had loved me and my folly had killed her. And Barbara, what would she think of her late husband? She would guess why I had come to France, would guess at my infidelity and be hurt. What a shambles I had made of my life. What had I brought to all my friends and loved ones but pain, dishonor and... death? What is it, huh? What is it, dawn already? It is, Monsieur Lacapitin. Good morning, Lord Ombloyer. Good morning. You need not force yourself to smile, sir. I do not need your sympathy. Your words are tourer than you know, sir. You do not need sympathy, indeed. It is not death. What do you mean? Is this some new form of torment? No, sir. There is news from Belgium. It says that the Emperor has been defeated in a great battle. Defeated? But what about the defeat of Wellington and Blueshire that you told me of? It seems we were misinformed. Now we hear that the Emperor has been defeated in a great battle at a place called Waterloo. It is said that Wellington and Blueshire are already over the frontier and marching on Paris. And Bonaparte, where is he? He is in Paris already. The Senate are demanding that he abdicate again.