River Of Fire Read Online Free PDF

fortnight ago, I was a captain in the Rifle Brigade. That gave me experience in command and organization. I've also been aide-de-camp to a general and can write a fair hand."
    "You begin to interest me, Captain Wilding." Sir Anthony set his palette and brush on the small table to his left. "Lavinia, go downstairs and have a cup of tea while I talk to this fellow."
    The model rose and languidly donned a silk robe. Then she strolled for the door, passing so close to Kenneth that her trailing draperies touched his leg. The carefully arranged robe did little to conceal her lush breasts. She gave him an enticing smile, then swayed from the room. His bemused glance went after her. Working for an artist might have unexpected benefits.
    When the door closed behind the model, Seaton asked, "Why would an army officer wish to become a secretary?"
    "Because I need work," Kenneth said tersely. "Now that the wars are over, the army needs fewer officers."
    Sir Anthony's expression kindled. "It's a disgrace the way the nation is treating the soldiers who saved civilization from the Corsican monster." He hesitated and his doubtful gaze went over his visitor's broad frame again. "However, I really can't hire a secretary who doesn't have some knowledge of art."
    Kenneth was used to people assuming he was ignorant of anything more complex than laying bricks. "I've always been interested in art, and during my years on the Continent I was fortunate enough to see many great works. The churches of the Low Countries are a feast for the eyes. I was also in Paris during the occupation. The Louvre contained perhaps the finest collection in the world until the stolen masterpieces were sent back to the original owners."
    "That must have been a sight to behold." The painter shook his head. "Still, a man can look at the sea without learning to swim. You must demonstrate your knowledge. Come." He strode across the room to a pair of double doors and threw them open to reveal a formal drawing room.
    Kenneth followed Seaton into the room, then stopped, frozen in his tracks. Directly in front of him was the huge canvas of Sir Anthony's most famous painting.
    "Do you recognize that, Captain Wilding?" Seaton asked.
    Kenneth swallowed back the dryness in his throat. "Everyone in Britain has probably seen a print of
Horatius at the Bridge
. But no black and white copy could ever do full justice to this. It's magnificent." His awed gaze went over the canvas. The left side was dominated by the figure of Horatius. Behind him was the bridge over the Tiber. At the far end, the tiny figures of two fellow Romans worked frantically to cut the supports so that the enemy could not cross. Sweeping toward the bridge was a troop of savage warriors, with only Horatius to block their path.
    "Tell me about the picture," Sir Anthony ordered.
    Uncertain what the artist wanted to hear, Kenneth said tentatively, 'Technically it's brilliant—your mastery of line is equal to that of Jacques-Louis David."
    Seaton sniffed. "Not equal. Superior. David is nothing but an overrated French revolutionary scribbler."
    No one would ever accuse Seaton of false modesty. Kenneth continued, "The power of the painting comes from the composition. There's great tension in the angle of Horatius's raised sword. That diagonal dominates the picture and brings it to life."
    Encouraged by the artist's nod, Kenneth went on, "I once saw another treatment of this subject that showed Horatius as a seasoned warrior, but the fact that you made him a boy lends great poignancy to the picture. There is fear in him, for he's never seen battle. In his eyes is a terrible regret that he might lose his life before he has had a chance to really experience it. Yet it's clear in every line of his body that he will stand fast no matter what the cost."
    "Very good, Captain." Sir Anthony's gaze went from the painting to Kenneth. "What is the picture's underlying meaning?"
    If this was a test, it wasn't a difficult one. "You were