Marcel stiffened, nodded and turned, pulling mother after him. I turned to the captain and walked in front of him, his eyes sizing me up.
The captain pointed a finger at me. ‘As I said. I do not like Chambon. He was a captain in the carabiniers company. I was aide-de-camp to the last colonel. That colonel, girl, was taken to Paris, and I survived because some of the men liked me. Chambon is an informant. I spit on him, Robespierre, and his ilk. I love it. I take the risk gladly, for I also have some high cards in my sleeve. However, they were not lying about monsieur Danton, were they? Can you, girl, tell me one reason why I want a revolutionary bitch, a king killer…’
‘We were held when the king died. Same with the fair queen,’ I said as strongly as I could. ‘We sat in the Temple with the nobles, and they were there too, the unfortunate royals. And I know Georges…’
‘So familiar with the murderer, are you?’
I raised my voice at his interruption and he froze, unaccustomed to such behavior. ‘He was a damned thief, an opportunistic murderer and a dreaded schemer of the first class. Yet, he also saved our lives, perhaps to further his own career in crime and politics, but we owed him. In the end, mother and I spent years as his prisoner. We tried to survive.’
The captain looked at me shrewdly. ‘Come forward, girl.’
I did, boldly.
He gazed me over appraisingly. ‘Why aren’t you married? Never mind. One more time. Give me one reason why I should let you in?’
I spat, bitter. ‘You do not mean I should offer myself…’
‘No!’ he said, angrily, slapping the desk so hard, it cracked.
I breathed a sigh of relief and took a chance, for giving shelter to us, he would be in grave danger. ‘Because we will go to the guillotine if you do not, sir. The Council of Public Safety wants us dead for no other reason that my cousin Gilbert hates and fears us. He works for the bloody Robespierre brothers, before that he betrayed his master Danton and he thinks we know of some deed of his, something to do with the dead Mirabeau. He has his personal reasons as well. They call him the Revenant, for I took his eye, when I was twelve and tried to drown him, but he came back. Now he wishes to forget his past and can do so only over our corpses. He survived to become one ugly, nasty piece of gristle, one with ties to high places, or low, depending on how you view the Parisian trash. We are running from him, sir, for he sees us as a threat. He knows we know his sad past and is terrified we soil his kingdom of fear. He threatens us, and tried to kill my lost siblings in Lyons, when Marcel saved us. I have this, from the queen.’ I gave him the handkerchief, embroidered with her initials.
‘Stolen from her body?’ the captain said, touching the cloth reverently.
‘No! She gave it to me after Gilbert tried to kill us in the Versailles. He did kill my friend, Marie-Louise, a cowardly act from behind.’ I felt tears flow and the noble grumbled, slumping, his anger spent as his eyes sought mine. God, he was a handsome, strong man, one with a heart. ‘She gave that to me so I could wipe the blood off my hair. I was hurt by Gilbert’s knife. The queen was kind to me.’
‘She was a hard woman to like, sometimes,’ Henri said wistfully, fingering the handkerchief. ‘But we all admired her. Where is this Gilbert now?’
I jerked as I thought of him. Henri noted my fear and I was ashamed. I collected myself. ‘I do not know, sir. Marcel saved us from him. He bayonetted the bastard.’
Henri laughed happily and eyed the silken thing in his hand, his mind made up. ‘It shows class and nobility, girl, not to have used it for the blood in your hair. She was strong, not weak, a woman to be much admired. The bastards smeared her by claiming she slept with her own son. Why I serve France still is a mystery to me, nearly beyond comprehension. Well, yes, I have one reason, but it is none of your concern. However, I do serve it. It will be hard, impossible even, to keep you safe for long, girl. So I will think about it.’
‘Keep it, as our thanks,’ I told him and closed his hands over the handkerchief. I went to my knees before him, thankful for his words and kissed his hand. He looked startled and then shrugged and slumped even further, and ran his hand across his face. Then he straightened. ‘It is not easy, girl, to live in France these days, to survive if you have no luck and become objects of hatred for vile men. Very well, I have decided; you will serve me, wash my shirts, wait on me, and help my servants with my meals. I think you will make an amusing servant. I will make your mother and you a cantiniére, and bugger the colonel and Thierry’s wife. Tomorrow, the battalions have orders to march, and it might buy us time. We take the battalion forward, and our company goes first. Go now, and look out for sergeant major Thierry. He will not like it I break the rules on the number of the cantiniére; this will mean his wife has competition. Of course, he has men procuring things to sell, and you do not, so they have a clear advantage. Yet, they would hate you for this Gilbert. They have no sense of humor, these Jacobins. There is no reasoning with fanatics.’
I got up to leave, and was struck by a fire in his eyes as he looked at me. He looked away quickly. It was an impulse, Marie. I stepped forward and hugged him, and I felt his strong body tense in that quick, warm embrace, but for a second the man hugged me back. He pushed me off quickly, turning away as he swished his hand in the air towards the caporal. ‘Oh, and get a doctor. I cannot draft a single document before he has revived my caporal. The fool will create your papers by morning.’ The clerk was nearly unconscious, clawing at his throat. I went out and heard the captain laugh darkly at the poor man. ‘Tomorrow,’ the captain yelled after us, ‘come here in the morning, before the sun! We leave for war.’
I spoke to Marcel and mother and told them what had happened. Marcel nodded happily and guided us towards our haphazard camp. While I walked, I noticed nothing around me. I had a strange feeling in my belly. I was excited, anxious and felt somehow foolish. While I had noticed I had power over men, at least recently, the captain had power over me. I was festering for the man, my peace gone. There was something untamed about him, and to me, that danger felt irresistible. I felt drawn to him, even if he was much older than I was. No other man had raised such unreasonable, strange sensations in my usually reserved thoughts; none had keen, sharp eyes like that man. Not Florian that one night, not Cleft this evening. No, Henri’s eyes, his bravery and straightforward manner made my knees weak. Nothing would come out of it, I swore. I wanted a different fate than mother, who was depending on compromises. True, she seemed happy now. She had taken Marcel, for he was the first decent man we had met and offered protection, but at the same time, Marcel could, in the end be like father. I wanted a man that was trustworthy. I thought the captain was. Had he not, like Marcel, put his neck out for us? All the finely argued decisions I had made about ignoring love were dust. I wanted to be alone, and laugh stupidly, giggle like a madwoman and dance wildly, and then fret over the impossibility of it all and cry bitterly. I felt like I was far beneath him, worthless as a worm, yet I knew it was not a one sided feeling, for had not the captain let me embrace him, did he not look deep into my eyes like a sweet lover in the tales Gilbert had read to us. I walked around in circles until Marcel took a hold of me, guiding me resolutely forward, but I barely noticed, while in my head I was making excuses to forget what I felt, then desperately justifying my feelings.
Finally, I decided I was in love.
I held my face as I walked on and everything seemed possible, Marie, that night. God help a woman in love, dear.
CHAPTER 13
Our company was the fifth company of the battalion. In the paper, it had some eighty chasseurs, well-trained, fine light infantrymen. The battalion was supposed to have five chasseur companies, and one of the companies was made up from heavier men, carabiniers, sharpshooters. In practice, the battalion missed one company, the second, and our company was perhaps sixty strong, and not all had a weapon. Most used the 1777 Charleville type musket, some had Austrian weapons, and few had something else. Most had at least one piece of c
olorful civilian equipment, for there was no real system for supplying the men. Yet, the bearded, dirty, and angry men were the best of soldiers. They excelled in going out before the troops to shoot at horse born officers and tightly packed unlucky men in columns, and at the deadly artillery. They were used in missions requiring undaunted courage.
Mother told me we would go and live with other cantiniére after next day’s march, but for now, we would stay with Marcel, and use our wagon for the trade, though we had nothing to trade. There was nervous energy amok in the camp, men were preparing to march, some slept, others prayed. In the army, God was never forgotten, no matter what the revolution required, especially since God had different rules for the soldiers.
Many happy men had come forward to ask Marcel about his trip. A young man, a corporal with a fair complexion, Charles Monet, eyed us curiously, grinning like Bacchus, already friends with Laroche and the twins, Left and Right, though Cleft stood apart, brooding at the dirty camp made up from boughs, fallen trees and dirt. I sighed as I looked at him, hoping he would shed some of the gloom off. Laroche and the twins were busily shedding their excess gear from their backpacks, helped by the howling veterans who laughed with tears in their eyes at the pristine gear of the newcomers. An incredibly skinny man, hence called Skins was laughing at the old newspapers in Laroche’s bag, and took some with him as he disappeared for filthy purposes. Marcel was chortling, as he sucked at his pipe though he eyed us nervously. Charles was nodding at something Marcel whispered, and when he looked at us, he made an imperceptible nod. Apparently, they were not going to give us up easily, should the captain have a change of heart.
Soon, Marcel was joined by three other sergeants, two of who were older, grizzled men, and they smoked pipe with Marcel as they sat by the fire. Thierry was there as well, hovering nearby, eyeing us angrily. I edged closer and listened on their calm discussions.
Sergeants always had their own language. They could not complain to the men, nor to the officers, so listening in on sergeants speaking to each other was almost like sitting at a theater, looking at a terrible piece of drama unfold before you. They looked desperate, hopeless beyond words. They spoke of the company, though we could see Marcel and Thierry were estimating each other, glowering under their eyebrows. There had been some losses while Marcel was away. They had fought over the bridges in the Barricades and lost ten men. Many of the men were good for nothing else than dying, a sergeant with very bushy moustaches claimed, and aptly he was named Breadcrumbs, for his moustache indeed boasted curious scraps of food and men thought he might live for days should he have to rely on the substance found in the brush-like things. Another, a gloomy man with a crooked nose spat on the flames, and called his men the worst thieves in any army, and lazy as whipped mules. Yet, he was happy for the thieving part, for they kept themselves and the sergeant better fed than the others. Marcel whispered to me, nodding at this sergeant. ‘Syphilis, we call him. He had it, once, and we cured him. The cure was worse than the disease, I think. It is ugly. Very ugly. Malformed and cancerous.’ I snickered though I had no idea what he meant. Syphilis saw it, rolled his eyes, made a mask of disgust and with his eyes twinkling, he pointed at his crotch.
‘Oh!’ I said and they laughed, their gloomy mood broken. The third sergeant, Humps, so named for his unusually strong shoulders was a band sergeant who did not say much, but agreed with all that was said by twinkle in his bright eyes. Unlike the others, he was young, beardless, had a round, pleasant face and smiled a lot and seemed not to be able to look away from me. I was flattered, but I only thought about the captain Henri.
Having ruined their doom-ridden mood, they all agreed it was a good company. I sat by fire and stared at them. It felt strangely safe and cozy there with them, despite Gilbert’s hand hovering over us, threatening us with death. ‘Is the captain a good one?’ Marcel asked suddenly.
Syphilis shrugged. ‘Our lords in Paris did a lot of strange shuffling with the maddeningly confused units. Most officers were changed two months ago. He was aide-de-camp to the last colonel, last year. The last one, citizen Freckles was a good captain, but this one?’
Humps was nodding sagely, but Breadcrumbs continued. ‘This one is stubborn as an ox, merciless as a hungry wolf and battle mad and skillful when under fire. That saves us lives. And he takes care of us. He takes only his meager part of food and medicine, and rest comes to us. I like him. In one of the last battles it was raining like the end of the world, he got hugely upset when his cigars got wet. He avenged that on the Piedmontese and led us to a dry convent they held, going first, claiming a bloody victory, but more concerned over how to dry his tobacco than having praises from the generals waiting in the rain. I think he just wanted to make sure we got a dry place to bivouac. He is very good with his sword. Noble, you see.’ I tried to imagine that. To be a soldier, was to face death as a profession. Marcel saw my look and thumbed my way.
‘That there. The younger one? Guess what?’ He asked the sergeants, not turning his face from Thierry. They turned their brutal faces my way.
Breadcrumbs spat. ‘She is a lovely one. Takes after her mother, I see. What has she done? Stolen church wine?’
Marcel grinned. ‘She shot her uncle when she was twelve. The bastard had it coming.’
Thierry’s eyes glinted, but Marcel’s message got through. Other men could be shot, too. We were no pushovers.
The others cheered me, and raised mugs of wine and rum, and forced me to down a bit of the former. I gagged terribly. The crooked nose Syphilis huffed and smiled. ‘Most have not killed anyone in this army, only hares and pigeons. On the other hand, if they have, how the fuck would they know? The musket fired en masse can hit anything from the man you aimed at, to the barn door to the side.’
I was surprised. I thought all soldiers had killed men. Breadcrumbs winked at Marcel. ‘Marcel here actually can shoot. A former carabineer skirmisher he is.’
‘Skirmishing? What does that mean?’ I asked.
Marcel explained, his voice taking a tedious note. ‘I told you, remember? When you attack the enemy, you have many men out in front of the lines and columns sharpshooting at their officers, gunners and the poor buggers waiting for you. That way when they tell us to charge, the enemy is already, or at least hopefully, demoralized.’
‘Isn’t that dangerous? He said no skirmisher gets killed.’
They hooted.
Breadcrumbs clapped my back so hard I nearly fell forward. ‘He lied. But do not worry. It is no more dangerous than dying of the usual dysentery or horror, shit-spitting cholera. If your mother is an excellent person and does not nag too much, one of us will marry her. If Marcel meets his maker that is. He might, there will be more war for the Republic, no? Tomorrow, we march to God knows where, no doubt to see if the Austrians are scouting around, or just fondling their tiny pricks, as we are. A proper army of dogs, we are, licking our collective asses.’
Henriette walked up from behind the men, carrying bowls of cold lentils and some portions of rock-like meat. She had am attentive guard, and I looked at Marcel gratefully. Breadcrumbs and Syphilis turned to her, and they grinned. Marcel was smoking a pipe, mirthfully looking at Henriette’s reaction at their speech about her next marriage, in case Marcel died.
She was quiet at first but handed a bowl to me, and to Marcel. Having come late, some of the men had mercifully saved food for us. She smiled at Breadcrumbs, apparently trying to come to terms with her new, strange life. ‘Only if you shave that horrid bush off.’
Marcel pulled her on his lap. ‘See love, here you are safe.’ He spat and looked at Thierry, who took the hint as his smiled died. They all liked us. They might fight for us.
She kissed him and pulled his mustaches, not as grand as the other sergeant’s, but long enough. ‘Oh no, you don’t,’ he said, and they were happy.
‘Who will she marry?’ asked Humps, finally speaking, nodding at me, grinning. ‘I got the dibs!’ I saw Cleft in the shadows twitch at that, b
ut Humps was a happy, blue-eyed man and so I played along, smiling at him.
‘Really? Who else is on the list?’ I arched my eyebrow at him and felt anger as I saw Cleft walk away. The man would be trouble, no matter if I liked him.
He looked flustered. ‘Why? Surely you would not let anyone jump the line?’
Henriette pointed a fork at him. ‘She will never marry. She is my daughter. Give me this list.’
They laughed happily, but that did not suit Thierry, who looked irritated by the mirth. ‘There can be only one cantiniére in the company,’ Thierry said from the side, and we saw Vivien walk over. ‘And that cantiniére should be a citizen of good standing, not a wanted criminal.’
Marcel nodded happily but disagreed. ‘The captain seems to be of a different mind. I asked to change companies. But he want’s me. He needs good sergeants, you see. We are all good Frenchmen, but we all know you are more for the Republic than for the company. And we know you made sergeant major because you have Chambon’s slippery dick in your hand. Perhaps the captain wanted a cantiniére he can trust? Pardon me Vivien, it is not about you, but him.’ Marcel shrugged at the striking woman.
‘I outrank you,’ said Thierry with barely concealed anger. ‘And I do love the Republic, unlike many here. One day, there will be fewer fools to deny the light of equality, and many more understand why the Republic must be up kept with blood and no sins forgiven.’
Syphilis snorted. ‘Really? We do upkeep it with blood. Ours and theirs.’ He swept his hand to the north. ‘In the army, you have to be a loyal soldier more than a sinister politician,’ Syphilis said, glowering at Thierry. ‘Fine speeches do not belong here.’
Sergeant major shook his head, very displeased. ‘Vivien and I do not give up on the money we make from holding the canteen. And these two have betrayed the Republic, and should not be here.’ He spat at his feet. ‘Soon, you will see.’
Reign of Fear: Story of French Revolution and Napoleonic Wars (Cantiniére Tales) Page 25
