“I am a Brienne man myself. Long live the golden lion.” Kellermann offered the hint of a measured smile. “You are from the north, yes?”
“Yes, General, my family comes from Normandy.” André left it at that. Kellermann most likely already knew his troubling secret: that André came from landed aristocracy on the northern coast, his lands and title dating back to even before the expulsion of the British from Normandy. But there was no need to advertise the guilt of his birthright. And, besides, Kellermann himself was in a similar situation, having renounced his own lands and title as le Comte de Kellermann at the outbreak of the Revolution.
“I heard of your…misfortune,” Kellermann continued in a low, barely audible voice. “You know, I had the honor of knowing your father.”
Despite his efforts to stay impassive, André’s mouth now fell open. “You…you knew him, sir?”
Kellermann nodded. “Also at Brienne. He was several years ahead of me, but I admired him greatly. If you don’t mind my saying so, he was a good man.”
André blinked, struggling as the familiar flood of pain and sadness and a strange new feeling, perhaps guilt, ripped through his insides, searing him like a cruel, hot iron. He couldn’t help but see the image of his father’s face the last time he had beheld it. The night that his father had sent their mother away to England, the night he had begged his sons to stay in the army and change their last name, hoping that those two actions might be enough to save his boys from his own damned fate.
“But I’ve upset you with such remembrances. Of course I have. I am sorry,” Kellermann said, his tone softening.
“No need to apologize, sir.” Taking in a slow, measured breath, André tried to steady his shaky voice as he answered: “Thank you, sir.”
“He was a good man,” Kellermann said after a pause, repeating himself.
“He was.”
“But there were two of you, two sons, if I’m not mistaken?”
André nodded. “Yes. My brother, Remy. I’ve just heard from him. He’s here in the artillery encampment with the Thirteenth Regiment. In fact, I thought that I might go and seek him out before final bugle call.”
Kellermann nodded, his light eyes showing the hint of sympathy. “You go and do that. And know that we are happy to have two of de…Valière’s boys in our company. We’ll have great need of your brother and his artillery comrades tomorrow. Their guns might make all the difference.”
André nodded, relieved to turn back to the topic of battle, easy by comparison.
“So this is to be your first taste of combat, Captain Valière?” Kellermann gestured for André to follow, and the two of them walked away from the command tent. The camp was now aglow with nothing but the light of a thin slice of moon and a dozen campfires, eerily silent but for a few soft murmurs of humorless conversation. A horse whinnied from the direction of the cavalry bivouac.
André paused, suddenly self-conscious as he answered: “Yes, sir. I’ve marched and drilled for years, of course. But not yet in sight of the enemy.”
“I’m sure you are impeccably prepared, Captain Valière.” Kellermann looked at André, pausing for a moment. His eyes glassed over as if he were lost in a daydream, and for a moment André was not sure if he should fill the silence with a comment. The general stirred suddenly and leaned forward. “Just remember, Captain, when your imagination begins to fill with visions of horror and your own impending death, your spirit must master it and be the stronger of the two. Otherwise fear will creep in and take root, and you will be unable to act or think. Remember your drills, and tell yourself that victory lies in front of you.”
“Yes, sir,” André said.
With a heartening grin, Kellermann took André by the hand and said, “Good luck. And don’t feel too ashamed if you piss yourself. Though most would never admit it, many who face their first baptism by fire also face baptism by their own piss.” With that, the general turned and stepped into the blackness of the new night, leaving André alone.
There he stood for several moments, his mind digesting the conversation he’d just had. That the general had sought him out, had known of his father and his family. If only Remy could have been here to witness it; but his younger brother would never believe that it had taken place.
“Valière, I believe it was?” A deep voice startled André, pulling him from his reverie. A tall figure with a dark ponytail approached, stepping out of the dim shadows.