Читать книгу Wolf Hunt - Armand Cabasson - Страница 11

RELMYER was accompanied by three of his hussars. Pagin, who had scoured the countryside before finally finding Wilhelm’s body, seemed to have forgotten the mutilated face. His blood, heated by the flame of youth, boiled in his veins and his ardour communicated itself to his mare, which was ready to set off at a gallop at the least provocation. Even the heat that streaked his face with sweat did not calm Pagin.

‘How did you hear about the boy’s disappearance?’ queried Margont.

Relmyer pressed his lips together, annoyed with himself. ‘I’ve been discreetly keeping a watch on the orphanage since we arrived in the Vienna area. It was easy for me to organise.’

Hussars were in fact always deployed across a wide area, and since they were observant and resourceful they acted as the eyes and ears of the army.

‘I didn’t know exactly what I was hoping for. I wanted to have news of the orphanage. Was it still there? Who worked there? I had a feeling of latent menace, but I’ve had that for years, ever since my kidnap. When I heard that one of the orphans had disappeared, that it was Wilhelm, I immediately thought, it’s starting all over again. I didn’t have any proof, of course, but it’s what I firmly believed. I always thought that Franz’s murderer would strike again. What was to stop him? I gave the order to search for Wilhelm, to interrogate people … I tried to persuade myself that he had only run away.’

‘Why did he leave the orphanage?’

‘He stole out on the night of his death. His friends don’t know where he was headed, but he had taken all his meagre belongings so he had gone for good. It’s an astonishing coincidence: as soon as I return, there’s another murder.’

‘I don’t believe in coincidences,’ declared Margont.

‘Neither do I.’

‘So what’s the link between the two events?’

‘I can’t answer that question yet, although I keep asking it myself.’

‘We will have to try to find the people who investigated Franz’s death.’

Relmyer gritted his teeth to prevent himself from letting loose a stream of vituperation. The merest mention of the Viennese police made him want to hit something – the trees, the houses, the world. For a few seconds he was unable to reply. ‘I’d already thought of that. As much as it pained me, I did make the effort to try to see those incompetent imbeciles, but I failed. One died last year of inflammation of the lungs. Two others joined the Viennese Volunteer force and were subsumed by Archduke Charles’s army. The last one fled before the troops arrived. And to top it all off, when the police were evacuated from the capital they took most of their archives with them …’

Relmyer raised his chin and looked at Margont with sparkling eyes. He regularly forced himself to appear cheerful and sometimes even felt it. Changing the subject, he added: ‘I like the way you put things. Very clear, very mathematical.’

‘Really? “Mathematical”?’ Margont had never heard the word used as a compliment.

‘Do you like maths?’ asked Relmyer.

‘Not much.’

‘That’s a great shame! Maths is at the core of everything, it is the very essence of the world. It enables us to translate the complexity of what surrounds us into a simple, codified language.’

‘The essence of the world?’

‘The trajectory of a cannonball, the dome of a cathedral, the strength of a bridge, the speed of movement of an army, a series of attacks in a duel …’

‘And that’s what you think the world is? What about love, friendship, literature? Also just maths?’

‘Not yet, but one day, certainly.’

Margont did not agree with this point of view and wanted to respond, but Lefine intervened with the consoling words: ‘Not to worry, Captain, we won’t be around to witness that sad state of affairs. The war will have killed us long before.’

The little group stopped on the banks of the Danube and the horses hastened to drink from the river. Behind them, the French troops and their allies were arriving at their quarters. Large shapeless masses, topped with a forest of muskets, moved slowly across the plains. The noise of their displacement, the muted hammering of thousands of steps and the clanking of arms and other equipment sounded almost ferocious. Messengers went to and fro at the gallop. The march of these titanic centipedes could be halted by three virtually illegible lines scribbled by an aide-de-camp trying desperately to take down orders rapped out by Napoleon. They would then be sent in a different direction.

‘Look at all those islands,’ commented Relmyer.

The majestic course of the Danube was indeed sprinkled with an astonishing number of small wooded marshy islands, covered with tall grasses … impossible to tell with the naked eye what their topography was like.

‘Without even counting the part of the Danube that runs north from Vienna or south from Lobau, which is the largest island, you can see hundreds of them – they look like a labyrinth. The vagaries of the current either throw them up or obliterate them. I don’t know why Wilhelm and the man we’re hunting would have come here. But I know one thing: if you knew this area well, you could easily lose yourself in it, even if fifty soldiers were on your trail.’

‘Which of these islands were they on?’

Relmyer’s gaze sought Pagin, who was investigating the river, his horse submerged up to the chest. He was imagining himself parading in front of the Emperor, to announce that he, Pagin, of the 1st Squadron of the 8th Hussars, had discovered a ford across the river. No more pain-in-the-neck bridges collapsing! Unfortunately, others before him had searched and failed, and before long he would be swept away by the current, waving his arms in agitation. These days, it was always the Danube that had the last word. Relmyer signalled to him and Pagin came galloping back. The affair distressed him. He would dearly have loved to solve it for the two officers.

‘It’s impossible to tell, Lieutenant. I was able to interrogate only second-hand witnesses and they contradicted each other. It was somewhere here, not far from Vienna, during the night of 19 May. The patrol was following the river when they heard a noise and saw two silhouettes on the one of the islets. They shouted out and then fired … In the time it took them to commandeer a boat, the other fellow had disappeared.’

‘Was the boy wet?’

‘Soaking.’

Relmyer, pensive, stroked his horse’s neck. ‘They must have wanted to swim across. The bridges have been destroyed in several places by the retreating Austrians, and Archduke Charles has sabotaged most of the boats.’

Margont let his gaze slide over the surface of the water, seeking out the shimmers that caught the rays of the sun. ‘The Danube’s currents make it dangerous to cross. They must have gone over at night to avoid being seen by the sentries. And our man must have taken care to keep his pistol dry; he probably hid it under his hat. He would have been able to make use of the confused mass of islands to conceal their escape. Would you know how to do that?’

Relmyer shook his head. ‘I don’t think so.’

‘So he knew the lie of the land even better than you. How did he meet Wilhelm? What did he do to persuade him to come as far as this? Where were they going? And for what? There are so many unanswered questions.’

Relmyer gave a bitter laugh, but it seemed to hide the salty taste of tears. ‘So many unanswered questions? That’s all I have, questions! Who is this man? Why does he mutilate his victims? How long will he go on killing? And how can we stop him?’

They frittered away several minutes trying to work out the exact spot where Wilhelm had been assassinated. They tried to find a boat first, but all the boats not already swiped by the Austrians had been requisitioned by the French. Pagin insisted on plunging into the water, bolt upright on his horse. The current bore him away and his horse began to turn its head from side to side, searching for firm ground. Finally the animal succeeded in reaching one of the little islands, but it was not the one Pagin had been aiming for. Despite his best efforts the hussar was only able to explore half a dozen islands.

Finally Margont exclaimed in exasperation, ‘It’s like looking for a needle in a haystack!’

‘Even an entire regiment wouldn’t be enough to find the island,’ admitted Relmyer.

Pagin painfully made his way back to the riverbank, exhausted and trembling, and delivered his conclusion: ‘This man knows the area like the back of his hand.’

Lefine clenched his teeth. ‘We knew that already before wasting three hours here.’

Margont turned towards Relmyer. ‘Why don’t you show us the cellar you were locked up in?’

‘I don’t think we have time, it’s already late …’

Late? It was midday! Relmyer wanted to return to the cellar, but at the same time he would have given anything never to have to set foot there again. ‘All right. I’ll take you,’ he conceded with bad grace.

They followed the banks of the Danube back towards the north-west. Then they skirted round Vienna to the north. Neither Lefine nor Margont had managed to visit that admirable city at the time of the 1805 campaign. All the riders except Relmyer looked towards it, avid to discover the least little detail about it even from afar. They lost time because there were troops in their path. The battalions had become muddled up trying to get round a mass of ammunition wagons. The light horse of the Imperial Guard, arriving in their turn, had decided to take the shortest route and simply galloped through the infantry. Bad idea. The resulting disorder rang with shouts, threats and injunctions. Behind this chaos could be seen the hand of Napoleon.

Lefine leant towards Margont. ‘The Emperor is deploying his troops in the best way to confront the Austrian army, while still holding on firmly to Vienna. That will give pause to those who want to stir themselves to cause havoc behind us.’

Like every French soldier, Lefine still remembered the Viennese bells ringing out in celebration of the Austrian semi-victory at Essling.

Finally their way was clear and they were able to trot rapidly into the forest. It was denser and more massive than Margont could have imagined. Visibility dropped dramatically, as did the heat, which became more bearable. The hussars spread out one behind the other, a few paces apart. They held themselves at the ready, sabres or muskets in hand. Lefine and Margont were ill at ease. They passed a dead tree, suddenly revealing bushes, invisible the moment before. A group of shrubs trembled; was that just the wind? The tree trunks obscured their vision. If there were danger you would definitely not realise it until too late.

‘How much further, Lieutenant?’ asked Lefine.

Relmyer, lost in his memories, did not answer. Margont recalled an old history lesson. What was it now? Shortly after Jesus Christ, the Germanic Armin, chief of the Cherusci, annihilated three Roman legions that had imprudently taken a short cut through the Teutoburg forest. Margont moved up alongside Relmyer.

‘I hope we’re not going to linger here.’

‘No.’

‘Can you describe the man we’re looking for?’

The irregular shadows of the foliage flickered slowly across Relmyer’s tormented features.

‘I’m tempted to say he was tall, but I was shorter at the time. His clothes were unremarkable, neither rich nor poor. His hair? Brown.’

‘And his face?’

Relmyer grew agitated at that question. ‘His face – I see it, but I can’t describe it! It’s like a splinter perfectly visible beneath the skin, but impossible to pull out. I only saw it briefly; then he made us turn our backs. It was so long ago … Everything is so vivid but at the same time blurry. He was thirty-five or a bit younger … with heavy eyebrows. No moustache or beard, blue eyes.’

‘Would you recognise him?’

‘Most probably. At least I think so …’

‘And would he recognise you? Have you changed much?’

‘Yes, I have changed! Today I know how to fight.’

Actually, the answer to Margont’s question was obvious: Relmyer still looked very young.

‘Let’s put that to one side for the moment. What can you tell me about his hands?’

‘His hands? He had two of them, each with five fingers. Flesh-coloured. Does that get you anywhere?’

‘You must have seen his hands, at least the one brandishing the weapon. Was he right-or left-handed?’

‘Right-handed, I’m sure about that.’

‘He knew this forest well, according to what you’ve told me. Did he have the calloused hands of a woodcutter?’

Relmyer brightened. ‘No, not at all! His hands were slender with clean nails.’

‘Are you certain you’re remembering correctly?’

‘I’m not remembering, I’m seeing them.’

After a while, Relmyer stopped. ‘It’s somewhere near here that he surprised us. But I can’t tell you exactly where.’ He made an effort to overcome his apprehension. ‘We have to go this way, now,’ he added, forcing his way through a curtain of branches.

They abandoned the path they had followed up to that point. The interplay of greens and shadows became even more pronounced. The horses picked their way painfully through bushes and branches.

‘We are a long way past Vienna now. You must have strayed far from your orphanage,’ remarked Margont.

‘At the time, I loved to ramble as far as possible. I had even thought of leaving, never to return. In the hope of abandoning my problems and grief at the orphanage. As if everything was their fault. But if I hadn’t gone back of my own accord, I would have been dragged back by the police or the orphanage staff …’

They continued on their way in silence. Birds sang with full throat, not the least bit intimidated by the presence of the horsemen.

‘Here we are,’ declared Relmyer finally.

Margont and Lefine stared, unable to make out anything unusual. Tree trunks, foliage, shrubbery, bushes …

Relmyer leant over his horse, dumbfounded. Pagin joined him in three bounds of his horse, pistol at the ready. The area had been burnt. The bushes, ivy and tall grasses, which had previously carpeted the clearing, were all singed. The remains of the walls, eaten away by the depredations of time and bad weather, had collapsed. They lay there, a heap of blackened rubble. Relmyer leapt from his horse and hurried over to the cellar. The roof had given way. Relmyer froze at the sight of the spectacle, his boots in the cinders. His back shook, a pale indication of his inner turmoil.

‘He came back and destroyed everything.’

Lefine and Margont dismounted in their turn and went over to him.

‘That’s just supposition,’ objected Margont. ‘Why would he do that? To—’

Relmyer rushed at Pagin, yelling, ‘Damn your eyes! I ordered you to stay here lying in wait! I’m going to have you arrested!’

The young hussar paled, looking suddenly more dead than alive. ‘I really wanted to, but it was impossible, Lieutenant … I couldn’t do it on my own. Several Frenchmen have been assassinated by—’

Relmyer continued to fulminate, expecting the impossible. Margont intervened.

‘If Pagin had stayed here, his incinerated corpse would have been laid out in the middle of these ruins. It would have needed fifty to stay and keep watch; one is useless. You don’t have fifty troopers under your command. And even if you did, I doubt that your major would have let you do it.’

‘I should have stayed myself then!’ fumed Relmyer, going forward amongst the ruins.

‘That would have made you a deserter. Your men would have been forced to reveal where you were and—’

The carbonised debris gave way under Relmyer’s weight and he was suddenly buried up to his waist. He struggled to free himself, stirring up ash and staining his dolman and his dark green greatcoat with sooty marks. Then, realising how pitiful he looked, he pulled himself together and extricated himself. Margont crouched down beside him.

‘Look at that beam beside you.’

The thick piece of wood, eaten away by the fire, had broken in two, but the extremities were still intact.

‘The flames attacked it from underneath. The top is not burnt, and it’s the same with the other beams. It’s astonishing. It means that the fire that ravaged the cellar was started inside and not outside. Was there anything flammable in there?’

‘No.’

‘So branches were arranged inside first. You’re right: this fire is linked to the cellar, and therefore to your affair. In fact there were two fires. The trap door is in a room where the walls act as a fire screen. The cellar was destroyed by the fire lit inside it, but I don’t see how the burning twigs could escape from there, jumping over the walls and starting off new fires. So obviously there were two fires, one inside and one outside to destroy the surrounding area. If anyone had passed by, they would have thought that someone had abandoned a badly extinguished campfire. The fire outside was designed to hide the other fire, which itself hid any possible clues.’

‘There were no clues. I had already examined everything from top to bottom.’

‘When did you come?’

Relmyer, covered in soot and ashes, seemed to belong to the ruins rather than to the world of the living.

‘Thirteenth of May. We were scouting out the area ahead of the arrival of the main body of the troops and I took advantage of that to come here.’

Why had the murderer returned to this spot? Who had burnt the area and why? Margont was drowning in conjecture.

Relmyer went over to the exit that he had escaped from formerly. The toy he had placed there had melted. All that remained of it was a little pool of solidified tin.

‘That bird is singing offkey,’ declared Lefine.

Margont was not listening to him. ‘If the man we’re after is responsible for this fire, he’s particularly methodical. He’s applied scorched-earth tactics to ensure that he’s left as few clues as possible behind him. The only “evidence” is Franz, Wilhelm, the mutilations he inflicted on them … and you.’

Lefine froze, listening intently.

‘There’s another bird singing off key. Listen, will you?’

Margont made out a sort of far-off trilling, which seemed to be answered by another much closer one. It sounded like a bird, but which one exactly? Lefine threw himself onto his horse in panic.

‘The Austrians!’

The whistling of a blackbird rang out, coming from yet a third direction. The French bounded into their saddles. A detonation sounded. A hussar’s horse bolted, wheeling round on itself and whinnying. Pagin made to help it, but a bullet hit his own animal in the chest. The horse collapsed, its bit striking the stony ground harshly. Lefine fired his pistol into the thicket where the shot had come from. The leaves shook, perhaps because of the breeze, or possibly because a body had fallen behind them. Other trillings resounded, longer and much louder. Lefine rode his horse over to Pagin, who hopped on behind him. New explosions crackled. They were coming from all sides, mingling with the echoes of previous reports, so that the French felt as though they were being deluged with bullets.

‘They’re surrounding us!’ cried Lefine, huddling down with Pagin gripping his waist.

They made for the forest, hammering their horses’ flanks with their heels, though obstacles in their way slowed them down. Margont thought he saw someone and fired his pistol into a clump of ferns to his left. In response a shot cracked to his right and buried itself in the trunk of a pine tree, spraying his cheeks with fragments of bark. Although the horses were aided by the slight slope, Margont, too impatient, tried to make his mare go faster. The frightened, maddened horse entangled its legs in dead branches and to regain balance placed its shoe on a carpet of dried needles. The shoe slipped and the beast’s head plunged downwards, almost causing Margont to lose his stirrups and tumble forwards. Three more gunshots rang out, but more for form’s sake than to kill. The French were too far away to be hit.

Relmyer saluted Lefine as he would a colonel.

‘If you hadn’t picked up their damned signals, they would have caught us hook, line and sinker; none of us would have escaped. How would you like to join the hussars?’

‘I’ve had my fill of that sort of thing today, Lieutenant.’

The horses continued down the slope at a hurried trot, constantly slowed down by the thickets and trees. Margont could make out the Austrians shouting something.

‘Are they calling for reinforcements?’

Relmyer smiled. ‘No, they’re saying: Welcome to Austria.’