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

by Longward, Alaric

  By midday, we broke out from the shallow woods to find a small manor with low, moss-covered wall made of round-mortared stones. It looked deceptively calm, arrogantly peaceful amidst the war that was raging around it and gentle smoke was rising from the half-mortared chimney. On the second floor, there was a row of smoky windows facing us, and green and red wines grew around the red tiled roof.

  ‘Juicy onions, some kind of bread, can you smell them?’ said one of the men. I sniffed expertly but smelled nothing. They were veterans, but I would learn, the more chronically hungry I would grow. ‘The bloody stable is closed. It would not be closed if it was empty, would it?’ The same man noted, his brains calculating.

  Syphilis nodded agreeably, scratching his bearded chin. ‘Indeed, indeed yes. If it is a horse, we take it, for I could use a horse steak. Do not let the chicken go free, if there are any, do be careful. I will go to the door, and hopefully, we get to do this peacefully, and they will play along and let us do the deed without muskets being fired.’

  ‘Will you pay them?’ I asked and they laughed hollowly, not bothering to answer, and Laroche rolled his eyes, his point proven, again. ‘You won’t hurt them? If there are women…’

  Syphilis snorted. ‘There are men like that, yes, but not in the fifth company, for the captain has them shot like invalided dogs or he sends them first to the battle, usually against a battery. Same thing.’

  ‘Good,’ I said, and so we went.

  Syphilis pointed at me to go to the stables with the two chasseurs, and he took Laroche with him, teasing him for his fat belly, telling him he had better keep an eye on him or Laroche will eat a cow intended for the whole company. In reality, Syphilis insisted on keeping him near so the soon-to-be victims of French army would know they were not brigands by his fairly pristine uniform.

  We climbed cumbersomely over the wall, and I felt exhilarating fear run through my spine and near irresistible urge to relieve myself, as I gazed ahead to the stable. It was a separate building, wood and brick construction, and a horse whinnied inside, apparently sensing our presence, and the two men with me grinned. ‘We are not supposed to eat horses, girl, for they want them for the cavalry, but I do not really care for their needs, and neither does any sane infantryman,’ said the other one as they lifted the bar holding the doors closed. I glanced to the door of the main building, and I noticed a brief shadow on the upstairs window, a whiskered face soon gone, as Syphilis was knocking hard, demanding attention.

  The two men smiled even wider as they scanned the shadowy stable, as there were horses tethered at the end of the building, two cows in dirty stalls, and a huge hog eyeing us in suspicious terror. The men went inside and I turned to look at Laroche, who was glancing my way, while trying to look stern, as Syphilis was discussing in angry tones as an older man apparently disagreed with him over the future of his livestock<. The two men with me removed their sweaty leather casques as they started to take stock of the food we were about to liberate, already savoring a taste of a good stew, arguing on the way to cook the still alive animals. I spied a chicken or two, and cursed, as they looked mysteriously dangerous while squatting in some dusty hay, harboring their nests. I approached one, and at first it shuddered uncertainty, it’s devilish eye regarding me with uncanny intelligence. Then it got on it’s ugly feet, clucking warningly at me, turning its head back and forth and sure enough, when I approached it, it flapped it’s pitiful wings, and took off for the very back of the stable, feathers flying. I ran after it, hoping there were no open doors back there, and finally, it ducked under the horses tethered at the end of the dark house. The horses made noises of displeasure, as they pulled at their tethers, and I swore profusely like a soldier, or former prisoner would, as the chicken stayed stubbornly under the beasts, wisely eyeing me with hostility and determination. It was not a foolish bird and likely knew it was fated to be eaten by a gluttonous light infantry captain, should I capture it.

  I saw some tall staves on the corner, and took one, planning to thrust it at the chicken, but the stave was thick and I grunted with effort of hefting it. There was a spear point on top of it, and yellow and black pennant hanging down, and the horses glanced at me carefully, thinking I might skewer them accidentally. Nobody had taken the saddles off the beasts, meaning the owners intended to leave soon and I squinted at the saddles, which sported dark, fluffy hair and fine leather details. Then I saw cipher and numbers.

  I went to the men salivating over a grunting pig they had just tethered. I showed them the spear, and the other one took it immediately, his mouth open. ‘A lance?’ he said, carefully fingering the pennant.

  ‘The horses have numbered saddles, and I think they must have riders about, no? I think they are military horses and there are more spears, lances, over there,’ I said. ‘Are these from the French hussars?’

  One of the men stared at the horses in growing alarm. ‘The 7th Hussars do not own Lipizzaner horses and wave lances around.’

  I kicked the ground in confusion, nervous at the look on his face. ‘Then what…’

  ‘Austrians!’ said the other man, terrified as a child, turning to take his Charleville musket from the pile of pig shit it had fallen in. ‘Fucking Austrian uhlans, bleeding lancers!’ I froze for a second and went before them, remembering the face in the window. Our friends were entering the house, Laroche was grinning at Syphilis, who was visibly happy, apparently having convinced the houses owner of the pressing needs of the French army as he disappeared through the treacherous door.

  ‘Laroche!’ I screamed hoarsely, and many things happened, none of them pleasant. I saw Laroche scowl in confusion, and step back out to stare at me, and that perhaps saved his life, for I heard yells in a foreign language, and it was Polish, for the Austrian 1st Uhlans were raised in faraway Galitzia, the riders savage and skillful riders of the famous land. They rode strong Lipizzaner horses, hosted two stubby pistols, a deadly tall lance and a wicked saber per man, and they were silently scouting the area like we were. They had surprised us, like we had surprised them, but perhaps, we were the ones more surprised after all, for guns banged, a man yelled.

  Laroche looked shocked, his mouth hanging open. Syphilis ran out of the door, holding his bleeding face, and he fell to the muddy ground in shock, as he was also bleeding from his side. Laroche raised his musket quickly, and fired inside the house, where apparently uhlans were busily charging out, then he stooped to take at the sergeant’s discarded musket, but blanched and fell back as shots rang out, barely missing him, the bullets throwing mud just beside him. He fell on the slippery mud and then the Poles were out, just like that, all three of them. The uhlans were small men with long mustaches, green uniforms and wearing czapka, the polish cap with a high, four cornered top. They wore yellow jackets and looked dangerous and dashing as they were bellowing at Laroche, one jumping forward to kick the fat man in the face, dazing him. Two of them held sabers, having discharged the pistols; the last one held the still loaded pistols my way, surprised as he saw me standing there. He smacked his lips with an unpleasant grin, but then saw the two other chasseurs charge out behind me, and the man shot his guns.

  Now pistols are not weapons of accuracy, but this man was good, and one of the chasseurs hollered as he held his chest, falling on his back. The other chasseur, a veteran, fired immediately, and one of the saber wielding men collapsed, his forehead a mass of red. The two Poles cursed and ran towards us, they swung their sabers, they were yelling savagely as the chasseur bravely charged them with a bayonet. He took a slash on his side from a sabre as he pulled one of the uhlans down with him for a wrestling match, struggling to kill his foe as the other Pole hovered around, looking for an opportunity to finish the outmatched man.

  I shook in fear, and grabbed the musket dropped by the dying chasseur, and prayed it was loaded. I had pissed myself, I noticed, but I raised the weapon, and eyes round from shock I shuffled forward, as the men were struggling on the ground, in animal like fight where they even bi
t at each other. They were panting, terrified, one about to die.

  In my head, every instinct screamed at me to flee, to go far away, and tell everyone that I could not save my mates, should they ask, and I was just a girl, tottering around with veteran killers busy at their grisly business. I chased the thought away as I went as close as I dared and thrust the musket at the standing Pole’s back. He turned, grinned at me in disbelief and I pulled the stiff trigger, the man fell down like a trunk, making a strange hissing sound as he bit his tongue in morbid pain and I flew on my rear, crying in surprise as the butt of the musket had bruised my shoulder. I saw Laroche get up, eyes wide, looking at the dead uhlans as he, animal like, ran to the struggling pair and started to clobber the now desperate uhlan wrestling with the remaining chasseur. After some solid, meaty swings from the musket butt, the man went quiet and limp, and I threw up as I saw part of his skull flapping around as he rolled.

  Laroche turned to look at the house owner, an old Italian, who spat at us from the doorway, cursing us profusely, for he did not like the French, and I know what happened to him, as Laroche pulled a bayonet, took him inside, and came out alone, with no more protesting noises heard from inside.

  The chasseur was checking on his friend, cursing and crying in pain and loss, and Laroche kneeled next to the sergeant, who was moaning softly. I ran to him and saw the sergeant was white from face, a pool of blood spreading under him.

  Then, trumpet rang harshly from the hills.

  Laroche blanched and looked around and squinted up to the hill, and I stared that way as well, and soon I saw cavalry, a forest of pennants descending from the top of the hill, and trumpet was blowing notes, giving orders as the men spread out. They looked tiny in the distance but would be there soon.

  ‘Come! Let us run!’ Laroche said, grabbing his musket, and the chasseur, bleeding from a sabre cut, grunted total agreement.

  ‘We have to take the sergeant!’ I said sharply.

  ‘Come, Jeanette!’ Laroche said, his face white, pulling at me.

  ‘Cannot leave him!’ I told him.

  He grabbed me and pulled me face to face. ‘Those riders will kill us, rape you and you will not enjoy it. Sergeant is dead. Live with it, you fucking brat!’ he yelled, but I shook my head, terrified of leaving the sergeant. ‘Suit yourself, follow us, or suffer,’ he said, uncertain, licking his lips at the sight of death approaching and they left, as fast as they could.

  I turned the sergeant over, and saw he breathed, but he was bleeding from his head and he had a hole on his side that was seeping blood. The trumpet sang again, wailing note trailing across the hills, and I got up, squatted back down, fighting back the urge to piss, which I had already done, happily, and decided I would not leave him, even if I could not easily move him. I tried, but he was so heavy. I had to think of something else. I acted and prayed for God to help us.

  Five minutes later, the uhlans rode up. Their strange shakos with the square tops were bobbing as they rode their strong horses carefully into sight. One held a trumpet and another rode under the banner, all held their dangerous looking lances up in the air, as the Polish eyes scanned the chaos, lynx-like. I glanced at them in morbid fear, and saw the undisguised anger in their faces as they spied their dead lying around. I held Syphilis, who was groaning, and I prayed he would not come to and speak out, as some of the uhlans dismounted, pulling sabers and holding pistols, stalking around the yard. One stepped next to me, and toed me angrily, as I cradled Syphilis, asking a grunting question I did not understand, the man clearly cursing as more of their men came up, and I saw one was searching the dead chasseur by the stables. The man asking the questions tried to pull me up, but I ripped his hand off me and went back to Syphilis, crying, faking loss and sorrow. I saw them drag the body of the house owner out of the doorway, wearing French sergeant’s habit and hat, which I had swapped between the men. Syphilis would, if I were lucky, survive a cursory inspection, but should they look closer, I would suffer.

  The Pole snorted in anger, and tore at my jacket and shirt, pulling me up as some of his friends laughed. I saw their wolf like faces smile at my distress as the uhlan turned me around, his eyes flickered on my bare shoulder, which I tried to cover up, but he stopped me, shook his head, and pointed at the dead men, asking more very upset questions. One of the uhlans made a lewd gesture my way, and some others nodded in agreement, but I spat to the general direction of French army, uttered something unintelligible, throwing my hand towards south and savagely bent down to cradle Syphilis again, hoping they would believe him my father or relative. I was terrified that there might be someone upstairs or about, someone who saw all that passed, and someone who would saunter out of the house, point a finger at me.

  They spoke angrily, kicking at the bodies. They went about, looting, taking a cow from the stable, but the Pole who had accosted me was still staring at me, and I shook in terror. Then, one of the uhlans walked up, grabbed me, his intent clear from the cruel laughs, but the Pole, who had tried to address me, pushed him away, grunting and the men around went quiet, displeased. He kneeled before me, raised my chin, nodded at Syphilis, and shrugged. He was sorry. He was the commander, his title rittmeister of the squadron and got up to kick his unruly men into order. Soon, they mounted and the officer pulled before me and handed me a dead chicken, nodding as he offered it, and I took it, and nodded back, grateful. He grinned handsomely and they rode off, carefully eyeing the countryside for our men, as they prodded south.

  It was near night when I drove a small, stolen wagon to the camp. The battalion had bivouacked, and I saw no guards, though they were there, for hundreds of men were lying about. I found our company soon from the jumble of haphazard makeshift shelters, by asking for directions, and what I noticed made my hair stand out. Henri was standing before Laroche and the wounded chasseur, screaming like a wild creature. The company was arranged around him, all looking on as Laroche sweated and prayed, for never was there a more terrible threat to one’s life as a man like Henri jumping before a man, like a man-eater from ancient tales.

  ‘You left her there? Really!’ Henri was screaming as I guided the wagon forward.

  ‘We thought she was going to follow us, sir!’ Laroche said, miserable.

  ‘And there were uhlans up there? You thought, maybe they would kindly enough give her bouquet of flowers, some fine perfume, dress her up in a silken finery and escort her here? Are you a fucking coward or just a fucking idiot? And my sergeant! Where is he? And the corpse! Not to mention my fucking lunch, which you admit was there, tottering around on spindly legs, but I do not see it. You left her there!’

  ‘There is no excuse, citizen captain, other than confusion,’ Laroche was mumbling and I felt sorry for him, and even more sorry for mother, who spied me at the same time with Marcel, and both held their chests while gaping in happy disbelief. Men started to turn our way, but Henri did not notice in his unholy rage.

  ‘In an ancient army, boys, you would be stripped naked as the day you were born, yes you would. Then we would pour honey on your damned anus and sit you down on an anthill and you would get up when there was no anus left. I’d make sure of it. Alas, we do not have honey, so I will just hang you and if Chambon wishes to bury you as they follow us, he is welcome to. I…’

  ‘Sir?’ I called out.

  ‘Yes?’ he said, annoyed at being interrupted and his eyes went round from joy as he saw me there, though he sobered quickly enough as men snickered at him. Mother ran at me, screaming happily and the only ones not smiling were Thierry and Vivien, who were whispering in disappointed tones on the side. I spat at their direction. The captain was tapping his foot and Laroche’s eyes were bulging as he stood in attention, yet trying to gape at me.

  ‘Well?’ the captain asked, expecting an answer.

  ‘I got lost,’ I told him. ‘Couldn’t get back before lunch. Had to save the sergeant and gather the stock from the woods.’

  ‘But you have my lunch?’ Henri asked and the c
ompany laughed.

  ‘These are prime stakes,’ I said and patted one of the uhlan horses I had managed to hide in the woods just before the rest of the enemy arrived. ‘Their saddles are at the back, worth some to the cavalry, perhaps. Behind the wagon, a pig and a cow, both very unhappy for the late trek through the hills and there will be good wine, delicious sausages, spiced beef, German beer, lots of eggs, and other things in the wagon. Many things there, in fact, my friends, everything I managed to drag and throw to the bushes before the uhlans came.’ Vivien was looking on from the side of Thierry, whispering as men surged around the wagon, and I pulled out the chicken, its dead eye regarding me accusingly, and I felt sorry for the creature. ‘The lunch, sir, though it is dinnertime, no?’ He grinned and I eyed Laroche, who looked down, ashamed beyond speech. ‘There is one wounded sergeant back there too and you have to be careful with him, for I hurt him when I pulled, pushed and pried his carcass over the food, it was hard work.’ The men were carefully pulling Syphilis out of the cluttered wagon, while gazing at me with wonder as Syphilis groaned in pain and I smiled, for he had hope to survive his ordeal, being a hardy man. The men cheered me, happy, hugely happy and impressed, all babbling about the stuff Syphilis had been lying on. ‘You had better climb on,’ I told her and slapped the wagon’s seat. ‘I risked a lot by hiding these from the Austrians, or rather the Poles.’ She smiled and shook her head in wonder.