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load on my longrifle, and warily entered the dark home.
    “Renato?” I almost tripped. He was seated on the stone floor, muddy boots outstretched and bottles at his side. I heard the click of his pistol hammer. “It’s Gage, from Napoleon.”
    “You’ll forgive my caution.” A softer tap as the hammer was eased back to rest near the pan. As my eyes adjusted I saw the muzzle lower, but he didn’t put his pistol away. He was watchful as a cat.
    “My orders are to meet you.”
    “How convenient for us both. And your reward, American?”
    Why not the truth? “I go back to Paris.”
    He saluted me with his pistol muzzle and laughed. “Better than this cold farmhouse, no? You have the loyalty of a mosquito. Some blood, and you’re off.”
    I seated myself across from him, rifle by my side, only slightly reassured by our candor. “I’m no warrior. I’ve been riding around in the rain for four days, no good to anyone.”
    “Then you need this.” He tossed me a bottle sitting next to him. “I found the trap to the cellar’s sparkling wine, just the thing for a party. To a fellow spy! And of course I could believe you really are a mosquito, irritating and aimless. On the other hand, I’ve heard you have a reputation for pluck and persistence as well. No, don’t deny it, Ethan Gage! So perhaps you’re here to fetch my latest missive. Or perhaps to spy on me. ”
    “Why would I spy on you?”
    “Because the French don’t trust me! Yes, we men of intrigue see things clearly.” He nodded to himself. “I don’t blame you for trying to get back to France. Can you imagine being a soldier in regimental line, shoulder to shoulder with a rank of similar idiots just fifty paces distant, everyone blazing away?” He shuddered. “It’s amazing what armies get conscripts to do. If the morons survive, it will be the highlight of their lives.”
    I took a drink, thinking. His bottle was two-thirds empty, the champagne loosening his tongue. “People better than me say they believe in something, Renato.”
    He drank again too, and wiped his mouth. “Believe in Bonaparte? Or that old ass, Melas? What are they fighting about, really? Ask any of those soldiers to explain a war of a hundred years ago and they’ll go blank. Yet they’ll march to their death for this one. They’re all fools, every one. Fools universal, except for me.”
    “You serve the French, too, don’t you?”
    “Alas.” He winked. “The cabbages pay better than the vain Corsican.”
    “Napoleon would find that hard to believe, at your price.”
    “I’m a double agent, my naïve friend. If you are really that naïve.” He belched, and drank again. “While I report, I spy, and then cross the lines to report and spy again. Why not keep everyone informed? Now Bonaparte is going to get a surprise.”
    “What do you mean?” I took a more vigorous swallow and lightly reinserted the cork, eyeing the pistol he kept in his lap.
    “The Austrians are not running. They’re concentrating. Napoleon has split his forces to catch an army massing against him.”
    “But you told him the opposite!”
    He shrugged. “If he wanted the truth, he should have paid more than Melas.”
    “Men will die!”
    “You think they won’t die otherwise? Bonaparte believed what he wanted to believe. He remembers the clumsy Austrians of four years ago and gives Melas no credit. That old man is a fox, let me tell you. Fox enough to outbid Bonaparte for me. So I tell the French what they want, and the Austrians what I’ve told the French. Now the little despot will get his comeuppance.”
    He massaged the butt of his pistol, making me feel safe as a goose at Christmas. Why was he telling me this? I rocked my bottle, considering.
    “Yes, American, Napoleon is about to get his nose bloodied. When he loses, I’ll sell him still more advice—he’ll be desperate enough to pay double—and then I’ll go back and sell what I sold him to the Austrians for triple. This is how