The sound of gunfire and the panicked shouts of servants grated on Marquis Saint-Véran's nerves.
A servant was helping him into his uniform, while he angrily shouted at the dust-covered Major Bruin, "Are you telling those are Berthier's troops?"
The major, raising his voice to be heard over the gunfire, replied, "It's their flag... and the Paris Police Academy too…"
It wasn't that he was confident, but if he didn't shout, his voice would be drowned out by the noise.
"Are you out of your mind?" Marquis Saint-Véran shot him an angry glare, snatched the telescope from a servant's hand, and stord up to the rooftop, muttering curses, "So who's attacking now? Berthier's three regints, or so ridiculous police force?"
As he reached the rooftop, he was imdiately struck by the sight of thick black smoke rolling across the estate, with the sounds of gunfire and military horns growing even clearer—indicating a fierce battle was underway.
"Who is it?" Saint-Véran muttered as he adjusted the telescope. What he saw made his face twitch—a line of infantry, four or five hundred ters wide, was steadily advancing toward the estate.
These soldiers moved in tight formation, firing skillfully as they marched, seemingly unaffected by his troops' defensive fire. On both flanks, a few companies of skirmishers were using the terrain to advance, quickly closing in on so of the estate's outer buildings.
His eye twitched again as he saw his troops, entrenched in the buildings, being outgunned. Two critical buildings to the south had already been lost.
Soon, the skirmishers planted flags on the rooftops and began firing down on his n from above.
As the flags unfurled in the wind, Marquis Saint-Véran's face went pale, as if he had seen a ghost—those were indeed the flags of the Paris Police Academy! Major Bruin hadn't been lying.
Monts later, he caught glimpses of Berthier's regint's flag through the drifting smoke.
It dawned on him that only the royal family could have mobilized both forces. So, was this really a royal attack on him?
Using just three regints and so police reserves to attack the elite Montcalm Regint?!
He tried to push away the absurdity of the situation, but his brow furrowed deeply. What the royal family was doing would surely provoke a full-scale civil war—the military wouldn't ignore what had happened today!
Has that Austrian wench gone mad?
As these chaotic thoughts raced through his mind, a dull thud echoed from below, and the entire building shook violently, causing him to stumble.
A servant quickly rushed to steady him, urging, "General, the house has been hit by artillery. You need to leave imdiately!"
Marquis Saint-Véran's pupils contracted as he realized what had happened. This estate was enormous, spanning over four kiloters in both directions. The artillery outside the estate shouldn't have been able to reach this far.
For the cannonballs to hit this house ant that the enemy had advanced to within six or seven hundred paces!
He shoved the servant aside and peered over the edge of the rooftop. Sure enough, on the western side, he saw over a hundred enemy troops exchanging fire with his personal guards.
The door to the rooftop burst open as the regint's adjutant stumbled in, shouting, "General, Lieutenant Colonel Bernier has surrendered to the enemy. The western defense line has fallen…"
"I can see that," Saint-Véran said darkly, cutting him off. He had no reserves left—how could he plug the breach in the line?
He watched as more police reserves flooded in from the west, pinning down his guards behind the mansion's front garden with heavy fire.
After a mont, he let out a long sigh and turned to the adjutant, saying, "Order all troops to cease resistance."
"Yes, General…"
Forty minutes later.
In a hunting lodge on the eastern side of the estate, Marquis Saint-Véran glared icily at the young man in a cavalry uniform before him, his voice cold, "Your Highness, Prince, I demand an explanation for this attack!"
He wasn't worried about his own safety. In fact, he believed it was the royal family that had landed itself in serious trouble—big trouble.
"An explanation?" Joseph smiled. "The Montcalm Regint rebelled, and my soldiers bravely crushed this rebellion."
Marquis Saint-Véran's eyes blazed with anger as he retorted, "Rebellion? This is a baseless accusation!"
Joseph cut him off, "No, it's what over a hundred reporters witnessed. It'll be in the newspapers tonight."
"Hmph! Don't you realize you're provoking a civil war?" Saint-Véran remained defiant. "The King is persecuting his own army. Do you really think the other generals will stand by and do nothing?"
"It's just a rebellion; they won't mind."
"Do you think anyone will believe this nonsense?!"
Joseph waved dismissively, "Whether you rebelled or not doesn't depend on what actually happened. It depends on whether the high command accepts the conclusion that you did."
"Oh, I'm sure the smarter generals can guess what really happened here, but they'll choose to believe that you did rebel."
"Because that will separate your situation from theirs."
"With no widespread riots and no justifiable cause, the military won't openly oppose the royal family." Joseph gestured to the battlefield outside the window. "Your troops didn't even last two hours, which only makes them more aware of the royal family's strength.
"Now, you're the rebel, and they're not. The royal family will punish the rebels, but they'll be safe."
"Do you think, in this situation, they'll pull you back into the 'non-rebel' camp, forcing them to stand on the sa side as you?"
Marquis Saint-Véran's face turned ashen.
He knew the Prince was right. The other military leaders would accept the narrative that he had rebelled, avoiding any risk of opposing the royal family.
As for the truth? No one would care.
Especially with the newspapers shaping public opinion, they would just go along with it…
Marquis Saint-Véran swallowed hard and nervously asked Joseph, "What... what do you want?"
Joseph stepped forward, brushing the dust from the bombardnt off the marquis's uniform. "Don't worry. If you cooperate with and expose your plot, pointing fingers at certain people, you can be exiled to Besançon, and you might even keep so of your property.
"Or you could choose to keep their secrets, and your entire family will be exiled to the Seychelles."
He knew that, by French tradition, even if Marquis Saint-Véran had rebelled, the worst punishnt would likely be exile. After all, even the Grand Condé, who twice led rebellions with Spanish support and forced Louis XIV to flee Paris, eventually just ended up in exile before returning to France a few years later.
Without hesitation, Marquis Saint-Véran nodded. "Your Highness, please allow to swear loyalty to His Majesty once more! Oh, all of this was orchestrated by Duke Orléans! Just two months ago, he told us there would be a famine…"
(End of Chapter)
Friends, if you want to read chapters in advance, subscribe to my patreon.
You can also buy the book if you are only interested in reading the novel.
User Comments
0 comments from readers