Читать книгу Wolf Hunt - Armand Cabasson - Страница 10

MARGONT still felt tired in spite of a good night’s sleep. His wound had stayed clean and the pain had lessened, becoming less bitingly acute and more of an itch. Jean-Quenin Brémond had prescribed rest, but of course, Margont had been up at dawn because he already had a thousand projects for the day.

The French army, massed on the Isle of Lobau, was licking its wounds. Margont rejoined his regiment and was happy to find that Lefine, Saber and Piquebois had escaped unharmed from the dreadful butchery to be known from now on as ‘the Battle of Essling’ or ‘the Battle of Aspern’. He immediately began the search for the 8th Hussars, accompanied by Lefine.

‘I don’t understand what this is all about!’ grumbled Lefine, his arms crossed like an obstinate child.

Fernand Lefine, although only twenty-five years old, was as devious as a bagful of monkeys. He was furious that Margont had interrupted him right in the middle of his horse-trading. He was illegally selling horses confiscated from Austrian dragoon prisoners to French troopers. The buyers paid a derisory price so they got a good deal, but it was less good for the seller because of all the intermediaries and accomplices taking cuts; but from little acorns great trees grow. Lefine was also cross that Margont had appropriated one of his beasts. If honest men started robbing the thieves, what would become of the world?

‘I’ve already told you,’ replied Margont.

In fact, Margont had not wanted to admit how attached he had become to the Austrian girl, whom he barely knew. So he had lied about his motivations, pretending that he had offered his help in order to gain access to her glamorous Viennese circle.

‘The war is going to start again, Fernand,’ he went on. ‘Archduke Charles would have had to attack Lobau immediately after his partial success at Essling in order to defeat Napoleon. With our Emperor, if you don’t crush him completely, and his entire army along with him, he will rise up again to annihilate you. In matters of war Napoleon does not accept happy mediums. But before the next confrontation, there will be numerous preparations. So we’ll be trapped here for several weeks. Either we pass our time playing cards on this stupid island, or we are regularly invited to Vienna!’

Vienna, Vienna, Vienna! Margont could not stop thinking about that legendary city. Lefine shook his head. ‘You’re not giving me the full story, Captain. I know you. We’re going to get involved in an escapade that doesn’t directly concern us just because of your humanist ideals!’

Having said that, though, Lefine thought his friend might be right. The ruins of Aspern and Essling were still smoking, but already Napoleon had whipped his army into a frenzy of activity. They had started to build a bridge on stilts to provide a better link between Lobau and the west bank; they were setting up batteries everywhere, even on the tiny neighbouring islands; they were clearing the roads to make them passable; they were digging and nailing together bastions, depots for provisions and munitions, a forge, hospitals, barracks … The French army and its German allies were settling in. So obviously, if there was a way of going off to Vienna to have some fun, rather than labouring in the sun on this ant hill …

Margont, impatient as always, led Lefine rapidly into the midst of thousands of soldiers. Many were still asleep, exhausted by two days of combat. They were stretched out in the shade of the trees, their white breeches and dark blue coats almost entirely obscured by the high pale green grasses. The blows of felling axes cracked like feeble gunshot and the noise of saws filled the air like the buzzing of a swarm of bees building a new hive.

The 8th Regiment of Hussars were resting in the cool thickets, after their sustained attack on the Austrians. Margont spied three hussars passing a long-stemmed pipe amongst them.

‘Could you tell me where I can find Lieutenant Relmyer?’

A quartermaster of cavalry caught hold of one of his plaits, twisting it round his finger. His green dolman was spattered with dried blood. ‘What do you want to see our Lieutenant Relmyer for, Captain? If it’s to tell him something, we can pass it on.’

‘I must see him personally.’

‘We’ll make sure we tell him that.’

‘Are you going to tell me where I can find Lieutenant Relmyer or not?’ fumed Margont.

The quartermaster of cavalry puffed out his chest in the manner of a cock dealing with some lesser fowl come to squawk in his poultry yard. This infantry bird was lucky he had an officer’s epaulette, otherwise he would have received a sharp peck.

‘Captain, once when Lieutenant Relmyer was quartermaster, his lieutenant shouted at him for wearing non-regulation uniform. The exchange became heated. Relmyer insulted the lieutenant, who challenged him to a duel, or perhaps it was the other way round, and bam! The lieutenant was floored, and his shoulder run through. Now the poor bugger has a dead arm dangling and he serves in the equipment corps. He counts the wagons …’

The NCO spoke the last words sadly. For him it was a thousand times better to be a hussar – even a dead one – than a bureaucrat in the commissariat.

Margont looked surprised. ‘Relmyer injured an officer? Surely he was arrested at least?’

‘Captain Lidoine wanted to have him shot, but Major Batichut promoted him to lieutenant in place of the lieutenant Relmyer had floored. Now do you understand why we’re not in a hurry to send you to see him? You never know, he might want to become a captain …’

Lefine recoiled instinctively. Better to stay well away from duellists. Duellists handed out death like others might hand out accolades.

The quartermaster shrugged and indicated the nearby willows. ‘Don’t say we didn’t warn you … You can’t miss him, he’s practising with his sabre over there.’

Margont went off towards the thicket. Lefine hung back, gazing at the quartermaster’s dolman. He was having a sort of vision. He saw the coagulated blood growing wet, liquefying. The stains glistened in the sun before beginning to run down, tracing wide vertical stripes on the jacket. The quartermaster took a puff of the pipe before frowning as he surveyed Lefine.

‘Well, what are you waiting for? Mid-Lent? You won’t get any tobacco, however long you hang about!’

Lefine moved off, telling himself that it must be the sun, the heat … The vision terrified him. This affair smelt of death. Wasn’t there enough of that already with the war?

It was indeed impossible not to notice Relmyer. In shirtsleeves and covered in sweat, he vigorously fought invisible assailants. He lunged, jabbed, parried, sidestepped in order better to attack, feinted … against a seemingly inexhaustible number of enemies. Or perhaps just one enemy that he was unable to vanquish. Margont was not a great swordsman – he had more or less mastered a few moves. Nevertheless he could tell that Relmyer was extremely gifted.

‘It looks as if Relmyer has a few accounts to settle,’ he murmured to Lefine.

‘In that case, I wouldn’t like to be in the shoes of whoever he wants to settle them with.’

‘His adversary must be pretty dreadful to drive him to such rage.’

Relmyer turned in their direction, saluted them with his sabre and joined them, mopping his brow. His physique was impressive. What age was he? Twenty? His manner, assured without being arrogant, was that of an experienced man. On the other hand, his rosebud mouth, naïve expression and slightly infantile features were those of an adolescent. He therefore appeared both older and younger than he actually was.

‘May I ask the reason for your visit, Captain?’ His Austrian accent betrayed his origins.

‘Lieutenant Relmyer? I’m Captain Margont and this is my friend Sergeant Lefine. We have come to inform you that Mademoiselle Luise Mitterburg wishes to see you.’

Relmyer immediately barricaded himself inside his inner fortress, locking up his feelings so that they would not show. ‘Yes, certainly, but later.’

‘Mademoiselle Mitterburg and I met by chance. I helped her search for a certain Wilhelm …’

The name hit Relmyer like a blow impossible to parry. His face hardened, ageing him brutally, as if his age were more a matter of his emotions than his years. Suddenly the trilling of the birds seemed to irritate him and Margont thought that he was going to draw his sabre and slice through the poor robin sitting carolling on too low a branch.

‘He’s dead, I know. And disfigured! The two hussars I dispatched to find him described the state he was found in. I wanted to see to it myself but my captain forbade it. He finds me unruly. Unruly! I’m a cavalryman, not a horse!’

He tidied his brown curls and then managed to smile. ‘You’re a captain yourself: perhaps if you were to talk to him, he would let me go and investigate this business …’

Margont was infuriated. Like Luise Mitterburg, Relmyer had no compunction in soliciting his help. ‘I know nothing about this affair, why would I go—’

Relmyer placed his hands on Margont’s shoulders. ‘Come, Monsieur! I can see you’re a man of compassion! Won’t you help an honest officer in distress?’

His tone might have sounded theatrical had there not been tears in his eyes. At that moment he could have been taken for a thirteen-year-old boy.

‘Well, perhaps, it depends on …’ stammered Margont, embarrassed.

Lefine suppressed the desire to hit his friend. If you always looked after other people, you ended up failing to look after yourself – a dangerous defect that he was at no risk of succumbing to.

‘Mademoiselle Mitterburg is my sister, or as good as, and she’s rich,’ added Relmyer. ‘She can lend you money, or give it to you … She’ll do it without hesitating if I ask her to.’

Now Lefine was interested. If they were to be paid for doing a favour, that put everything in a different light.

‘She’ll get you invited to receptions,’ continued Relmyer.

‘I know, yes …’ Margont cut in before Relmyer could also promise them the moon.

‘But for pity’s sake, for the love of Christ, you have to make my captain loosen my reins!’

‘Tell me the whole story and I’ll see if I can plead your cause with your superiors.’

They settled down in the shade of a large oak tree. While Relmyer finished unbuttoning his dolman, he contemplated his lieutenant’s stripes. The silver chevrons contrasted elegantly with the dark green of the cloth. ‘I’m not used to them yet,’ he declared, smiling. ‘I was only recently promoted, following a happy conjunction of circumstances.’

Relmyer leant back against the trunk but could not keep still, constantly trying to find a more comfortable position. ‘I’m hunting a man. He’s probably close by, perhaps in one of these forests …’

As he said that word, he made a sweeping gesture. There were certainly forests round about. Their dark expanses dotted the countryside.

‘I am Austrian by birth. I was abandoned at the age of one. I don’t know why. Perhaps because my family could not afford to keep me. Or maybe my parents were killed in the war, or carried off by illness … or possibly I was the cruel result of the adulterous affair of one of my parents. I was placed in the Lesdorf Orphanage, north of Vienna. The children were well cared for there. It was the least that could be done, let me tell you, since several of the orphans had lost their parents in wars against the French, the Italians, the Turks or God knows who else. You were taught good manners, the Bible, patriotism …’

He laughed sarcastically – he was wearing a French uniform.

‘Not to mention reading and mathematics, especially mathematics for the boys. You see, you have to be a good mathematician if you are going to become an effective gunner: measurement of angles, calculation of the curve of the shot …’

Lefine and Margont were perplexed.

‘Gunner?’ said Margont, astonished.

Relmyer smiled, a bitter, ironic smile. ‘Of course! All these little boys orphaned by war were to be turned into soldiers. Wars are always hungry, so it is convenient that war nourishes war.’

He picked up a stone and threw it in an arc. ‘Bang!’ he joked when it landed. ‘It doesn’t work with everyone. Some marry and go into business or work the land of their new family, others move away, hoping to change their luck … but many do become soldiers. I met Luise in the orphanage.’

Margont thought he had remained impassive, but perhaps his expression had changed because Lefine turned towards him as if he had given away his feelings. The sergeant’s face registered enlightenment. He had just discovered the key to the mystery.

‘She was abandoned when she was two years old. It’s terrible! She was barely older than I was. We grew up together. When she was eight, a miracle occurred. The miracle that we all dreamt of. She was adopted. Her new mother was beautiful! Elegant, considerate, smiling … and her father, although less warm, was also happy, even if he didn’t show it in public. The Mitterburgs are rich Viennese bourgeoisie. They came to Lesdorf because they couldn’t have children of their own. They chose Luise after three visits. The day they took her away, we all clustered round the carriage, in case they wanted a second child … I’m sorry, I’m boring you with my reminiscences. Anyway, for a long time there were three of us: Luise, Franz and me. Since we didn’t have any family, we made our own. Franz was our little brother, at least he was little in stature – he didn’t know his date of birth. We spent all our time together. After she left, Luise often came to see us. Or she badgered her parents to let us come and visit her. Everything was shattered one day in April 1804. I was fifteen at the time.’

His body grew rigid. His recollections were extremely painful. ‘Franz and I went for a walk in the forest. We were playing at … I don’t know what at.’

He did remember, in fact, but since then, childish pastimes had exasperated him.

‘We were playing hide-and-seek, not knowing that someone else was playing hide-and-seek with us. I don’t know how long the man had been watching us. A few minutes? An hour? Several days? Several weeks? We often went to the woods. Perhaps he had been spying on us for a long time, having worked out when we had free time. Or perhaps he came across us by accident. If you don’t know the area around Vienna, you won’t know that vast tracts have been cleared to make farmland. But several areas are still forested. It was springtime, the sun was shaded by leaves and the sunlight didn’t travel far. If you left the beaten track, it was easy to get lost. I had just surprised Franz behind some shrubbery and I threw myself on him. We were playing at war.’

Relmyer shivered. ‘I’m still playing at it today, in a way … The man appeared out of nowhere. He came from the forest, not along a path. I saw him briefly. He threatened us with a pistol and ordered us to turn round. I thought he was a robber, that he would let us go because we had nothing. But no. He forced us into the woods. We were walking in front of him and he was guiding us. He deliberately complicated the route. Finally we arrived at a ruined farm, very isolated. The road leading to it was completely obscured by branches and shrubs, the collapsed walls covered in ivy. He took us into one of the old buildings. There was a trap door, which led down into a cellar. After he had forced us into the cellar, he removed the ladder and left. He abandoned us there, imprisoned in that damned room like two birds in a cage!’

Margont felt the weight of oppression. Imprisonment, even imaginary imprisonment, was intolerable to him.

‘Franz and I were left there for hours with nothing to eat or drink. Later I learnt that we had been missing for two days. We could barely see, the trap door was impossible to reach, and in any case the man had removed the lock. We shouted and banged on the walls but no one came to our rescue. Who would be out walking in that area? And anyway, the cellar was in a much better state than the external walls, and the ceiling had been carefully sealed. The man had fitted out the cellar so that no one would be able to hear us. By the second day, we were so weak that our captor would have been able to do whatever he liked to us without our being able to defend ourselves …’

Relmyer then related his escape and how Franz had disappeared by the time he got back. ‘Franz’s body was found the next day in another part of the forest, hidden under branches. He had been stabbed and also abused. Someone had mutilated his corpse in exactly the same way as Wilhelm’s by carving a smile with a knife!’

Relmyer remained frozen, his face strained, as he recalled the horror of the body.

After a silence, Margont asked: ‘How long did it take for you to find help and get back to the cellar, after your escape?’

‘It’s hard to say. I was so exhausted I wasn’t exactly racing along, and of course I was lost in the forest. Eventually I stumbled on a path that led me out of the woods. I returned to Lesdorf and raised the alert. Unfortunately, I couldn’t find the damned farm again. We had to wait for the police to arrive with several volunteers to organise a massive search and we finally found it. So I would say between seven and ten hours.’

Relmyer suddenly grew agitated. ‘There should have been a hue and cry about the whole affair, but relatively little was said. Madame Blanken, who financed and managed the orphanage, did everything in her power to prevent people knowing about the crime. She wanted to maintain the reputation of her orphanage. Madame Blanken is part of the Viennese establishment and she has good contacts, so she had no difficulty in achieving her aim. The investigators were ordered to be very discreet and only two newspapers reported the crime. Madame Blanken did sincerely want the perpetrator caught, but I am convinced – and I always will be! – that her silence severely hindered the investigation. I, on the other hand, had different ideas: I wanted the affair to have as much publicity as possible. I hoped that would eventually flush out some witnesses. I also thought it was important to warn the Viennese! The killer might be preparing to strike again, everyone should stay alert until the killer had been arrested!’

The tension that Relmyer had felt at the time resurfaced as powerfully as before. ‘My disagreement with Madame Blanken quickly became more and more virulent. Our points of view were completely incompatible. In the end she forbade me to mention Franz’s death and every time I did in spite of her, she punished me! I was to “forget”, leave the case to those who were competent to deal with it, and shut up! The man responsible was never identified. Gradually the police grew discouraged and abandoned their investigations despite my pleas and protests.’

‘Why the bizarre desire to cover the affair up?’ demanded Lefine.

‘Because, in Austria, the establishment has an obsessive fear of scandal. Appearances are much more important than reality. The honourable reputation of an institution far outweighed the murder of an orphan. If the truth had leaked out, Lesdorf Orphanage would have been harshly judged, and so would the police.’

‘It’s the same in France, and everywhere else,’ said Margont.

‘I couldn’t stand the failure of the investigation and the indifference of most of the people involved. Besides, I was worried that the assassin would come after me; I had briefly seen his face. A few months later I fled. I had begun to detest Austria, so I left the country. I wanted to live off my own resources but, rapidly falling into poverty, I decided to enlist in your army. I chose the army because in times of war they take on practically anyone. I was guaranteed board and lodging. And I chose the French army because they were firing on the Austrians. But the real reason I became a soldier was to learn to fight. I acquired fighting skills; I am no longer defenceless.’

The three men found themselves staring at Relmyer’s scabbard. They were all aware that it was a fearsome object guarding a blade that was the extension not only of a skilled hand but also of a determined will.

‘I always knew that I would come back here to settle the affair. It’s only that I have come a little earlier than expected. I would have preferred to wait three or four more years, to perfect my skills, to become a master of arms without peer.’

Relmyer’s boundless vanity was childish. He passed from adulthood to adolescence to childhood in an instant, as if he were perpetually oscillating between these three stages of his life.

‘However, my premature return is a good thing. Because the man is still here and he’s killed again! Wilhelm was sixteen. Almost the same age as Franz and I when we were kidnapped! We came from the same orphanage and, besides, I knew him: we used to play together sometimes. And most telling of all, there’s that smile!’

‘I wonder why the assassin mutilates his victims in that way?’ asked Margont, baffled.

‘I don’t know, but I’ll find out. I know that I can count on Luise, but that’s not enough. I had put all my hopes on two of my hussars, Barel and Pagin. I sent them to look for Wilhelm but alas, Barel is lying somewhere between Essling and Aspern. As for Pagin, he’s barely seventeen; he needs guidance. The other troopers in my squadron only care about themselves and the war, which, I do concede, is already a lot to think about. Are you willing to assist me?’

Margont appeared undecided and Lefine looked at him, willing him to refuse.

‘I can help you out for the moment. We’ll have to see for how long.’

Relmyer leapt to his feet, beaming. ‘Thank you! Let’s go and find my captain and get him to release me so that I can show you the spot where Wilhelm was killed. Pagin will come with us – he managed to find out quite a bit about the crime. Then I’ll take you to where I was imprisoned. Perhaps you will notice something that escaped me.’

Margont was surprised by Relmyer’s precise, coherent proposal. He must have thought endlessly about this investigation. Margont realised that, for reasons he did not fully understand, he had been drawn into a duel between two redoubtable adversaries, for the murderer, who had been able to strike a second time without being caught, was as formidable as Relmyer.

Overcome with joy, Relmyer embraced Margont, Lefine, then Margont again. ‘Oh, Monsieur! I am so indebted to you! If ever anyone picks a fight with you, tell me and I swear I will have his guts for garters.’

Even his presents were stained with blood.

Instead of going to Relmyer’s captain, Margont addressed himself directly to Major Batichut, whom he had heard much about from Piquebois. Batichut, a tough little hussar, did not even reply to Margont’s salute.

‘You’re in the 18th of the Line? Do you know Second Lieutenant Piquebois?’

‘Yes, of course. He’s one of my best friends.’

Batichut’s face lit up. Amazing! Here was one of Piquebois’s friends! ‘Why didn’t you say so earlier? When you introduce yourself to the 8th Hussars and you know Piquebois, you should say, “I am a friend of Antoine Piquebois,” not, “Captain Quentin Margont, 18th of the Line, Brigade such and such, Division so and so”.’

Noticing Relmyer frowning, Margont explained to him that Piquebois was a former hussar of the 8th Regiment.

‘No, Monsieur Plodding Infantryman,’ corrected Batichut. ‘Piquebois was not a hussar but the hussar! You would be lucky to find two as good as he in the élite platoon. An example to follow, Relmyer! At least to follow up until 1805, when, alas, he left the hussars after being seriously wounded, and went to become an infantryman. What a shame!’

It was not clear whether Batichut was bemoaning Piquebois’s injury, or his departure. Best not to ask.

‘Please pass on greetings from Major Batichut! I met your friend at a duel when he was fighting some melancholy dolt from the mounted artillery—’

‘With all due deference, Major, I’d rather not hear about it,’ cut in Margont. ‘I’m sure that Piquebois remembers you very well.’

Batichut was overcome with surprise and disappointment, like an attentive host whose guest turns up his nose at the main dish. Then he became angry when Margont made his request. ‘You take Piquebois from us and now you want Relmyer! Would you also, by any chance, like my horse and my wife?’

Reflecting that it was not in the best taste to refer to his wife in this way, Batichut calmed down as suddenly as he had flared up. His outbursts were like storms in a teacup. Except on the battlefield …

‘It shall not be said that I disappointed the friend of a hussar, even the foot soldier friend of a former hussar. Relmyer, you may go wherever you please, but if you miss a call to arms, you will be sanctioned.’

As the three men moved away, Batichut shouted, ‘Captain Margont, ask Piquebois when he’s coming back! Because he will come back one day, for sure, mark my words!’