Henry IV of France once said, "I want every Frenchman to have a chicken in his pot."
Chicken was their dinner that day.
One of the refugees had escaped, and the Imperial Guard had gone after him. Two others were being dragged to the cemetery beside the old battlefield of Ivry for interrogation. The cemetery did not bury locals; everyone there had died in the Battle of Ivry. Most of the gravestones were gone, or perhaps none had been erected when they were buried. A soldier's grave usually needed no more than a wooden cross at its head, and after so many years of wind and rain, those had long since rotted away. The few remaining stone markers were covered in moss and brambles, making the whole graveyard look dark and terrifying. Georgiana could hear the two refugees' screams from far away.
Napoleoni sat by the fire, warming himself as he watched the cleaned chicken slowly roast.
He said nothing, not even to scold Georgiana, but everyone felt uneasy, as if he were a volcano on the verge of erupting. Whenever possible, they kept well away from the two of them.
A thin mist rose over the battlefield, turning the full moon above into a hazy halo. It felt as if something might leap from the darkness at any moment, making the place all the more sinister.
From one perspective, weather like this was ideal for a raid on a camp. In truth, instead of camping in the wilderness, they should have gone to Évreux while it was still early. There, they would have had not only comfortable beds, but also sturdy walls for defense.
But Napoleoni had not said they were leaving, so no one dared leave. These Frenchmen, hardened by campaigns north and south, were perhaps accustomed to