Reign of Fear: Story of French Revolution and Napoleonic Wars (Cantiniére Tales)

by Longward, Alaric

  Cleft roused himself after a short, unsuccessful struggle at remaining silent. ‘Citizen Sergeant?’

  ‘Yes, Ass-Chin?’

  Cleft looked sour for a second. ‘Sergeant. Is it right to shoot men who only exercise their right to equal treatment?’

  Marcel sat still, as if thinking about it. I saw his face, and he was actually biting his lip. Laroche, sarcastic and realistic pulled his helmet over his eyes, snorting in disgust, and the two dull twins were arguing over a piece of bread. Marcel finally could not help it but handed the reins to me. He laughed. His eyes got wet as he laughed, his belly heaving up and down. Some cows stopped chewing on hay as we passed them, ogling at the laughing sergeant. Finally, he wiped his eyes and settled somewhat, trying to catch a breath. ‘Cleft.’

  ‘Citizen Lefebvre,’ Cleft answered icily, insulted.

  ‘Sergeant. I am a sergeant. I have fought for France, the king, the-whatever-body-happens-to-rule-now. I have bled profusely and often. I have done so, when your papa was still whipping your skinny bottom with a switch. You call be sergeant. I dare you to do otherwise.’

  ‘Yes,’ Cleft said, defiant as a baby. Marcel gazed at him, and Cleft stiffened visibly. ‘Sergeant.’

  Marcel grinned widely. ‘There. So simple. Now we have established that equality is but a fart and a fantasy in the army, as it should be, for what kind of an army would negotiate with its tools? Eh? What if we had to attack, and citizen Ass-Chin would like to have some delicious coffee instead, citizens Right and Left would like to sleep later and citizen Laroche was off stealing something? Only brave sergeants would attack, and perhaps they would be enough to over roll any opposition, but the truth is the army would be full of useless apes. So, we are not equal, never will be. ‘

  ‘God created us equals,’ Cleft said carefully, stubborn as a mule.

  ‘Ah! You love your God, you do. I remind you we all do as well. God is big in the army.’

  ‘That is good, citizen sergeant,’ Cleft replied, apparently a bit mollified by God still being present in the army.

  ‘Yes,’ Marcel said icily. ‘But you see, God has different rules for a soldier. A soldier is a tool, not a man. One that occasionally gets shot, sometimes by the enemy, often by the sergeant. God says you have no rights, though more rights than a civilian.’

  ‘That cannot be,’ Cleft said. ‘Sergeant. God has similar rules for all men.’

  ‘Indeed it is true. There are hundreds of Commandments, and…’

  ‘Surely only ten?’ said Cleft with pity.

  ‘You might think,’ Marcel growled, ‘that a sergeant is a simple thing, unable to read, but I know where the bible came from and it came from the Jewish religion. There, you have hundreds of Commandments. But fine, let us go with the ten. It makes this argument easy. The great Ten Commandments. The one stating you must not kill is obviously void. For us, this means: kill abundantly. Kill often. The right to kill makes us omnipotent and gives us power over the other nine.’

  ‘Surely we only kill for the God and Republic, and when it is needed?’

  ‘Republic has a God of Reason. Or Treason. How do you explain this, Ass?’ Marcel mocked Cleft. ‘How is it you love the Republic that hates God?’

  ‘God is still there, and even the Republic makes mistakes. It was due to priests, not the God we abolished….’

  Laroche stepped in. ‘I was poaching on a fat priest’s lands last year. He took an oath, like many did, and became a state priest. He forgot the church and married a plump farmer’s wife. He is very happy now.’

  Cleft grimaced at Laroche’s light tone, holding his head tiredly. ‘What about the other commandments.’

  ‘Thou shall kill nullifies them, I told you,’ Marcel said as if to an idiot.

  ‘How?’ Cleft asked, mystified.

  ‘Well, we all curse God. We name him time and after and it is usually a foul, hair-raisin curse his name comes up in. Yes, we curse him and spit at him, especially when on some fucked up campaign. We do ask his help again when we are about to die, and he forgives us for we will kill for him.’

  Laroche laughed. ‘And the Sunday? Sabbath? One should not work on the Sabbath? Was that it, priest?’

  ‘Cleft. I'd rather be cleft than an Ass or a Priest. Yes. Sunday is sacred.’

  Marcel guided the wagon off the road, for it was darkening evening. ‘We have to kill on Sundays, too. Sometimes, especially on Sundays, if we want to surprise an enemy who thinks like the priests.’

  Right, the taller one of the twins seemed deep in his thoughts. Then he looked happy and snapped his fingers. ‘What about honoring one’s parents?’

  ‘Most of you,’ Marcel said happily, ‘would not be here if your parents loved you. No, God is your parent here, and you honor him by letting blood in his name. You will see. As for the rest, God knows we want the houses and cows of our neighbors and we take them too, for we might kill anyone too attached to theirs. A French army making camp next to a village? We take the food and the shelter and we do so, because we can kill them if they don’t give it up. If they complain, or dare to try, we will shoot them. And we all lie, all the time, especially when gendarmes try to accost one of us for taking the wrong cow, one meant for a lazy general. We lie for we are killers for God. He needs few honest fellows in the ranks.’

  ‘Is there no honor in the army?’ Cleft asked. ‘It sounds like I joined the devil’s own regiment.’

  ‘God and Devil share the French army, Cleft. And God knows we covet wives. We covet them, if they are young and pretty and sometimes they fall in love with our rogues, for we are killers and they are attracted to men who speak less and act more. Yes, and we try to seduce them, often.’ He glanced at Henriette, alarmed. ‘I, of course do not.’

  ‘And if I covet your wife, and commit foul adultery?’ Laroche said, holding his hands up to scowling Henriette, showing he was not serious.

  Marcel grinned. ‘Well, as you have seen now, we are more equal than civilians. God gives us a right to kill, and so we are elite in his vast following. But some are more elite than others, and here we come to the part of sergeants being equal to angels in the army while you are the hapless, lost souls. Do so; Laroche and I shall shoot you. That is quite reasonable, if you are caught,’ Marcel said happily. ‘See Cleft? Things are quite different for you while you stay with us. You are better than the citizen you meet farming his soil, but you sure as hell are not better than men with stripes. Snap out of God and forget the illusion of brotherhood and lies about equality.’

  ‘I try to be a good Christian and a good Republican, nonetheless, sergeant,’ Cleft said aggressively.

  Marcel shook his head. ‘Cleft. I warn you. Do not go political in the army. There are many Jacobin clubs with the corps, especially in the fourth company, but if you want to succeed in the fifth, keep away from them. Obey your officers and noncoms, and you won’t be shot. There have been too much turmoil for the Republic in the ranks, when all we do is fight for it.’

  ‘I try, sergeant, but I have my rights,’ he said stubbornly, unable to shut up and give up. I eyed him, and he eyed me. There was a story there, behind the reclusive, stubborn eyes, and his handsome face was drawn in a wooden mask I would love to understand better.

  Marcel looked at him as if he was slow. Then he spat and yelled: ‘Laroche?’

  The fat man smiled. ‘Yes sergeant?’

  ‘You will cook for us,’ he said. ‘I mean, you will go and find us something to eat.’

  ‘Yes sergeant,’ he said, and jumped down as we camped. He disappeared and in two hours, he came back with two chickens. ‘Found them wild in the woods, sergeant,’ he lied.

  ‘Very good. I love wild chicken,’ Marcel said happily. ‘As Ass, pardon me, Cleft, is a good Christian and does not understand the privileges God has bestowed on the army, he can eat biscuit.’ Cleft glowered at him, his mouth watered as we tore at the tender chicken flesh, but I noticed he managed to overcome the rule against stealing, as he silently enjoyed
many other meals coming days, all procured by Laroche.

  Much of the trip, we slept under the bright stars, one of the soldiers always keeping watch. Henriette and Marcel slept in the wagon, and I was happy to see mother smile like the sun in the mornings.

  Cleft was on guard one night, eyeing me carefully as I stared at the multitude of the fine stars. I sighed, draped a scruffy blanket over me, and sat near him. He was apparently terrified, for he fidgeted and opened his mouth several times, only to close it again. I amused myself for a while by listening to his frenzied attempts at small talk, and finally left him off the hook. ‘What is your name?’ I asked him.

  He was quiet for a while, as if trying to remember his real name and then, resigned, shaking his helmeted head, he answered. ‘Victor. Victor Laur. Of Paris.’ I nodded at him kindly and he smiled wistfully as he conquered his shy demon and cleared his throat and nodded at the darkness. ‘Savoy over there. Not long before we reach the sea.’

  ‘Never seen it,’ I said.

  His eyes light up as he licked his lips. ‘It is beautiful, Jeanette.’

  ‘What is it like?’ I encouraged him.

  He went on his haunches. ‘It is emerald green, sapphire blue and the air dancing across the waves is crisp like the first autumn rain in the city. It gives you a slap, not unlike a gentle mother would after a mistimed prank. The ships, they fly on the waves, and you will never feel such peace and happiness as when you gaze over the blue heaven.’

  I imagined it and smiled. ‘Peace would be great.’

  I saw him struggling with himself. Then he smiled, giving in to his obviously insistent need to spoil the moment. ‘Well, yes. Now, France holds the strip of land all the way to merchant filled Genoa, but that is pretty much it. As the sergeant complained, Piedmont and the Austrians keep us out and the ships in the sea are British. Massive armies bent on destruction fill the land there. Not a village has escaped unscathed. Even Toulon and surrounding formerly lush areas are depleted and the inhabitants culled after they rebelled. War, hunger, pillage, murder. Otherwise, peace. I think, perhaps, your wish might be hard to fulfill.’ He looked at me, amused, waiting for my reaction.

  I rewarded him by being annoyed. I was sure he was either unable to have a nice discussion or he just wished to show off with his obviously superior knowledge. ‘It is certain to be more peaceful than Paris, you dimwit. I will enjoy it, I am sure. We were in jail. Pillaging armies are kids play compared to threat of guillotine.’

  He grunted as if hit, perhaps regretting the change he forced on my mood. ‘We will see. Jail, eh?’ He had a mildly disapproving look on his face. ‘Republic’s prisoners? Did you betray France?’

  ‘We were betrayed by the state,’ I told him angrily.

  ‘That man sergeant bayonetted was a Jacobin?’ he asked, nervously.

  ‘He was not a good Jacobin,’ I hissed at him. ‘A murderer of the first degree, a selfish bastard. A man, who wants us dead for his own profit and his own, sad past. And we don’t even threaten him. He is quite mad. But he used to be my friend. So, it makes me sad and I’d rather not talk about it, if you please.’

  He said nothing to that, gazing at the stars, and I worried about him. He was full of Republic, wearing it around him like armor. He was obviously sad, and I wondered what his story was. He was unlikely to share it, too hurt to trust anyone. He saw my furtive look, and roused himself from his thoughts. ‘I suppose they might make mistakes, even in Paris,’ he allowed generously. He glanced at me and I smiled at him gratefully, stealing a small smile from his stern lips. He shook himself up. ‘Now, go wake up the fat frog, Laroche. My turn to nap a bit.’

  ‘Say please, you arrogant sod,’ I told him.

  ‘The sergeant explained in a very detailed way, that civilians are less equal than soldiers, and I can shoot you, if you don’t,’ he explained to me and we laughed silently.

  ‘Why did you join the army? You do not seem the type to enjoy it,’ I asked him, trying to understand him.

  He slouched, thinking about it, apparently mulling over how to refuse to answer my question, but he liked me, I saw that much and sharing a laugh with a stranger often makes them less strange. He moved dirt with his foot, and finally shrugged. ‘My father was a priest. He used to beat me daily, and tried to mold me into his stern image. I didn’t mind the beatings, mind you. I was a slow learner and lazy as a fat miller. Thanks to the ungentle prodding I might have become a fine priest myself. I respected him. Looked up to him. I thought him the most dutiful man in the world. Perhaps one makes up excuses to oneself and blames the victim, loves the one with the cudgel.’

  ‘It is often so, yes,’ I told him, thinking of Gilbert while taking his hand, as I noticed his eyes probe at me. He nodded gratefully and continued.

  ‘Yet, when he had to prove himself, when he had to risk his life, he signed that paper, the one to detangled himself from the holy church and holiest father in Rome and became a pitiful priest for the nation. Like the fat one described, I have seen it firsthand. Holy became unholy out of fear. He betrayed his God and his fine believes out of fear. It didn’t help him. Someone told the nosing officials he was praying for the king still. When they executed him last year, we lost everything, our home, income. I decided to love Republic that gave me the freedom from his falsehood. He was filthy. All the things I endured to learn his way of life? All for nothing.’ He was simmering with anger but also sad in some way.

  I nodded. ‘I think we have this in common at least. Our father let us down. We would not be here had he been a better man.’

  ‘It is good, then, to have met someone who knows how terrible fathers haunt our thoughts daily,’ he said and was clearly happy for a moment there, sitting with me. He held my hand and thumbed it, and I realized I had, perhaps, made him think I wanted something more. I cursed myself silently, but kept smiling.

  ‘We must learn new life now and it will be a new page, no?’ I told him as I got up, letting go of his hand.

  He looked upset as I did, but finally nodded. ‘Hard to learn to be the victim again. I think that is my problem with the damned sergeant and the oppressive army. We should have more rights.’

  ‘Be careful, if you can,’ I said, concerned.

  ‘Warning me, girl?’

  ‘We don’t know what it is like out there, do we?’ I said, looking down. ‘Let’s give it time.’

  ‘Why worry about me?’ he asked, his voice a bit desperate. He wanted assurances; he had indeed thought I had liked him in more ways than as a friend.

  I shook my head at him, navigating some difficult waters. ‘I like you fine, Victor. I don’t want to see you get shot for insubordination brought on by memories of priestly whippings. Your father, like mine, should not affect our future beyond their deaths.’

  We looked at each other and he nodded, stretching his back. ‘I thank you for your warning. And I…’ he was struggling, his face red, ‘have to tell you, that you are most beautiful. I like you too, Jeanette.’ He walked off, and sneaked a look at me, and I smiled, cursing myself for an idiot. Why is it, that a girl cannot speak to a man without making them think they are the center of the universe. Yet, I did like him, for we did have things in common. Scars, mainly, but even scars give people common ground. And I did like the way he spoke to me when we parted. God, a woman is a fool for flattery. I went to kick Laroche awake.

  He was awake already and pulled himself up as I approached. He grinned and whispered to me. ‘The shitty little toad is smitten with you. His sodden tale about his father might be true, but why he is here? The truth is that we all joined this damned army because we have no food and no talents and some faced criminal charges. A heavy-handed sergeant is preferable to the executioner. He can be as idealistic as he wishes to be, but that is the truth.’ I smiled at him and then hesitated. He saw it. ‘What?’

  ‘I was wondering, could you take me with you when you go find food next time? I would desperately like to learn. I want to be of use, in the coming
long years.’

  ‘You?’ he asked incredulously, pulling on his scruffy boots with a savage grunt, and then cursing as a sad excuse for a sole came loose. ‘No.’

  I was hurt and startlingly surprised. He had been joyful company so far, seemed to have a great sense of humor, and liked us with few restrictions. He grinned as he guessed what I was thinking. ‘Look. I have nothing against you. I just think there is a place for everyone in this world, and yours is not to steal, for that is what I do, but to look pretty and be good company. That is what you should do, and you do it well. Be content with that.’

  ‘What?’ I asked him dangerously, gnashing my teeth. ‘I’m an ornament?’

  His eyes grew wary, having apparently had trouble in similar kind of discussion. He continued, but speaking a bit more slowly, as if walking in a dark room, afraid of bruises. ‘Girls are impossible. You are rotten in this line of work, you are. A bastard like me thrives, but you do not, for you don’t know how to lie like a lawyer, you have bleeding hearts for sodden stories and would not steal to survive, if it means someone else starves. And then, finally, when all humanity has finally been squeezed off you, trained to thieving with excruciating effort, you fall in fucking love, you run away simpering and thinking about babies. I spend time on people who I appreciate as finest of professionals and trustworthy. A woman, as a partner in crime? No.’ He got up and startled me by slapping my bottom and then went to relieve Cleft. I fumed and went to sleep under a blanket, cursing both men for fools.

  We passed Savoy, the former kingdom, land France had captured from Sardinia-Piedmont some years past. We took the roads southwest, avoiding the grand Alps and stubborn Piedmont beyond them, ruled from fabulous Turin, all refusing the revolutionary armies a victory. We aimed for the famous Nice on the coast, where some forty thousand dispirited Frenchmen pretended to make war on Piedmont and Austria.