I sobered at that and growled a warning. ‘A cantiniére and this is mine.’ I slapped at his fingers.
His eyes opened out wide in surprise and he smiled hugely. ‘Why, dear one, is he yours?’
‘I killed the fucker,’ I told him, hoping he would not insist, for I knew I wanted to please him. I cursed myself for such weakness, tore my eyes from his grinning face, and pulled out a pouch full of coins. His eyes flashed greed, but he did not stop me. I saw Henri looking on, and Laroche coming closer.
‘It is good,’ he said, ‘that I rode to fetch the boys to help you. That fat colonel of yours would have let you die.’
‘It was you? Trying to rouse that bastard?’ I asked, my eyes round with admiration.
‘Yes! But worry not, I have managed some loot, I need no reward,’ he said happily. He jingled a bloody sabretache hanging from his sabre sheath. I was pulling at a simple silver ring in the Pole’s hand, which refused to move. He clucked his tongue, took the hand, and pulled a knife. ‘One advice, if the rings are too tight in their fingers, just cut the finger, it will be easy to remove it later when the juices have drained.’ I looked on in horror as he deftly did so, and offered the index to me.
I shrugged and gingerly rejected it. ‘Keep it,’ I told him. ‘Rations?’ I said, and he laughed merrily. I spat, and wondered how such an exquisite creature as he was could cut men’s fingers.
I glanced at the bloody sabretache and he laughed. ‘No, that’s just my own blood. But sometimes, it does come from such fingers.’ He touched his head wound and winced gently. Then I saw Henri looking on, and I decided I wanted to hurt him.
‘Come, let me see it,’ I said, not knowing if I knew what I was doing. I wiped my fingers and removed some hair from the wound, and his eyes probed me and he put his strong hands on my hips as he crouched there, for balance, I supposed, but of course, he just wanted to do that. His grip was firm, and I struggled to keep my face angry as I cleaned the wound with a rag.
‘Your captain does not like this,’ he said, his lynx-like eyes twinkling as he regarded Henri. ‘But perhaps, that is how you like it?’ He was keen, but I said nothing, not even when his hand moved higher to rest on my sides, and I knew I should stop him, but I enjoyed torturing the noble bastard looking on. After all, he had no feelings for me, did he? I glanced at Henri and his face was stony, as he regarded me.
‘He is just worried,’ I said, as I noted the wound was hardly superficial. I ripped some cloth off my ragged shirt and bound the wound clumsily, then gazed at him, as he had not let go.
‘Our boys have many wounds, I am sure, enough to cover all your shirt!’ he said while smacking his lips and I slapped him, stepping away, pulling off his grip.
‘Jeanette!’ Henriette yelled and I looked at mother, who looked worried.
‘I must go, girl and I thank you,’ he chortled, mounting his horse.
‘I didn’t do anything,’ I said. ‘I’ve seen children with deeper cuts.’
He looked hurt, only momentarily, but smiled at me as he leaned forward, his hair flowing to his chest. ‘Oh, you did. You gave me a purpose to live, a hope of meeting you again. I have never let another rob a man I shot, and I doubt not that you tried, but you hit the stupid horse. There.’ He pointed at the uhlan horse, which had a bleeding hole in its rear. ‘This one,’ he nodded at the Pole, ‘died of pistol ball. Trust me.’ He winked at me. ‘But you are worth a ton of such coins. And thank you for the rations and the ring.’
So I blushed, for here was a man who knew what he wanted. I looked down, trembling under his probing eyes. The soldiers had been mercilessly applying flirt at me the whole time I had known these soldiers, but such a creature as this man? I felt my confidence returning after what Henri had done to me, and I was grateful.
‘If you would, a kiss, even on the cheek? A reward for saving you?’ the man dared.
And so I did, tiptoeing as he reached down, except he turned his face and kissed me full on the lips, laughed, kicked his surprised horse like the devil and rode away before Henri’s smoldering eyes. I wanted to be angry with the hussar, but could not, and instead I went to mother, glanced at the captain as if daring him to speak. ‘That man is a bastard,’ I stated, unconvincingly to the crowd looking on.
‘You were kissing the bastard, though,’ Marcel said from the side, disapproval thick in his voice.
‘On the cheek! He…’
‘Is a hussar, girl. Never trust one. Captain, we should get the wounded back.’
Henri, his square jaw set, nodded. ‘Load them up. Leave the uhlans; they will be picked up, no doubt. I hope your wagon has room,’ the captain said, eyeing the loot filled wagon appraisingly.
‘I will make room, sir, for the men come first,’ Henriette said.
In the afternoon, we limped back, short of twenty brave men, many of the rest wounded. I helped Boulton breathe by loosening his tight coat and constricting, bloody shirt, and he smiled in pain. He pulled me closer. ‘The captain likes you. However, he has ghosts haunting him, from the past. He is a good man, much moved by things that happened a terrible night of Paris. Ask him.’ He was feverish, and in overly romantic mood for the wound in his chest. He wanted to do something worthy, and apparently he thought of getting the reclusive captain married a noble cause. I told him I would talk to Henri, I nodded patiently at his incoherent babblings and lied I’d not give up, finally telling him to be quiet.
When we marched back, we saw the battalion formed, with a stream a companies marching away to south towards Savona and one standing still, in three ranks, ominously silent. Fat Chambon was sitting on his horse, and with him were Gilbert and two gendarmes, fancily dressed military police.
It was Gilbert, it really was.
Henriette grabbed my arm as she spied him and I nodded, and wondered at the near seventy men standing there, waiting for us. At the head of the men was apparently Voclain, his rotund body and thin face undistinguishable, so it was the fourth company and something strange was taking place. Chambon’s face, even from afar, was one of disappointment. Gilbert gestured lazily towards us and Chambon nodded, making dismissive notions. Henri was walking forward resolutely, his loyal men spent. His face was dirtied by dark gunpowder, his coat slashed by a lance. The men were moaning in the wagon, perched precariously. I saw Thierry with his huge beard cursing at Vivien for they knew we had made fine amount of loot, but at the same time, he was pointing at Gilbert, and Vivien was nodding, uncertain, but persuaded we would soon be lost. Gilbert turned his horse towards us, his one eye seeking me out. He was slouching on his saddle, taking in all the sights. His eyes turned to the forth company and his eye met Voclain, who nodded carefully. We had but twenty men and the forth was rife with Jacobin sentiments.
The other companies were gone.
We were in trouble and I hesitated, terrified of Gilbert once again, contemplating on taking the wagon back to the uhlans, but we would not get that far. Mother shook her head, apparently thinking the same. Henri glanced at us, his face brave as he also, was going over the apparently nasty future.
The remains of the company stopped before Chambon and the fourth. Gilbert guided his horse to the side, happy to let the colonel deal with the unpleasantries. His face betrayed pain, and resolute anger, and perhaps a hint of relief.
Chambon greeted Henri with a barely perceptible nod, adjusting his waistcoat and sash. They stared at each other until the colonel nodded. ‘Captain? You had trouble?’
Henri was glancing at Voclain who seemed to be totally at ease. The fourth company was confused, it was easy to see on their faces, but the corporals and sergeants kept them silent as our men huddled into a sad, bleeding line, led by Marcel and Charles.
‘What did the hussar tell you, my colonel?’ Henri asked evenly. ‘And why, pray tell me, are the men gone home?’ Henri’s voice was cool as steel as he stared at his nemesis.
Chambon was clearing his throat. ‘Well, they are gone, captain, since we have confirmation of Au
strian activity in the areas. Yes, we do. They will use the road, soon, no doubt, for the uhlans were not here for a picnic, were they? Did you neglect to scout, captain? Sloppy work. Many dead men you have there.’ Chambon’s voice was gathering strength as he spoke, his hatred of Henri taking over. He had been snubbed, denied and humiliated and now it would be his turn. He raised his voice. ‘It would seem, the company is gone. The men will be attached to the fourth.’
‘What did the hussar tell you colonel?’ Henri asked again, his voice raising.
‘The hussar? He wanted to know where they were. They were lost, captain. You, men! Fall out of the ranks and form with the fourth. All save the captain and sergeant Lefebvre. And the two cantiniére.’
The men did not budge. The wounded in the wagon were cursing; grabbing muskets and some were hopping down, bleeding, and ready to join the lines.
Gilbert was looking at the men disdainfully. ‘Do your duty, colonel, if they should resist. They will, I see it.’
‘And you are?’ Henri asked Gilbert, ignoring the threat.
Gilbert rode slowly forward, the Revenant silencing the troops by his presence. He was a notorious figure in a high felt hat, tight dark coat and his face was grimacing in pain as his eye flickered towards Marcel, the terrible wound causing him much discomfort. Such figures often circulated with troops, followed by losses in officers as changes were made.
‘I’m here as a representative of citizen’s Saliceti and Augustin Robespierre and of the Committee of Public Safety. I am here to relieve you and citizen Saliceti is bringing the orders to arrest you, the whores and your murderous sergeant, in a few minutes. It is too bad you didn’t die out there, citizen captain, but perhaps it is fated your bravery is tested where you cannot surround yourself with your men. Men you no longer have, it seems, and for that, I thank good colonel Chambon,’ Gilbert added, scornfully eyeing the ragged, wounded band.
Henri laughed, freed from his restrictions. ‘Indeed. But I have my sword and it’s as good as a company of drunken grenadiers who are denied drink. Now, go fuck yourself, citizen bastard. Chambon. For my men, I challenge your peasant ass to a duel.’
‘You are a sword master, captain, I know that,’ Chambon smiled insipidly. ‘I let you duel the fucker of a executioner if he wishes to humor you.’
Henri grunted. ‘You refuse?’
‘Yes, of course I refuse!’ Chambon said indignantly. ‘I’m not a former noble.’
‘Then, let me beat some nobility to your spine,’ Henri spat, charged forward, pulled Chambon down from his bolting horse, wrestled the fat man onto his back, and began to beat him with his fist, the meaty whacks echoing from the surrounding woods. The gendarmes pulled their glittering swords, Voclain and Thierry came forward, surprised, but Marcel and the few remaining men raised their muskets. Voclain growled orders and the fourth reluctantly raised their weapons at their comrades. Gilbert eyed the few loyal men of Henri disdainfully, uncaring like a snake as Henri hit the colonel so hard the bastard threw up on Henri’s boots. ‘Ah, beef, chicken even, and I am sorry colonel, for taking it out of you before it could come out the normal way,’ Henri said, eyeing the breakfast his superior had eaten while we fought.
‘Arrest him!’ the colonel gasped, nearly suffocating in his vomit. Thierry moved forward, gazing at Marcel’s musket, which was aimed at his forehead. Voclain grinned and snapped his fingers at his fourth company, he barked orders and it might have ended very badly for all of us.
A group of men arrived.
With the riders was a man in fine civilian clothing, his cloak dusty. He looked harried, for his severe cravat was askew, hair combed sloppily to both sides of his head and his nose was dripping despite the warm air. He stopped his horse inexpertly as his hand held a set of orders. ‘Saliceti?’ Gilbert smiled at the famous man. ‘You brought the orders?’ Saliceti looked down as he pulled out his papers.
The man’s thin voice came out as if forced. ‘Your orders, Revenant, have been revoked. So has your favor.’
‘What?’ Gilbert asked softly with steely voice, baffled but still in control. ‘What do you mean?’
Saliceti fidgeted, slapping his paper on his thigh so hard his horse began to look nervous. The man stared at Henri with incomprehensible look.
Henri grunted. ‘So, give us the news,’ the captain said happily, summoning a cigar as if by magic.
Saliceti nodded carefully, pointing a bony finger at Henri. ‘You are…’
‘I am,’ Henri interrupted him rudely, wiping some blood from his knuckles on Chambon’s coat tails. ‘The captain you are likely seeking.’
Saliceti looked like he was chewing on an icy apple. ‘You are made the colonel of the battalion, for the time being. Your friend, army commissioner Paul Barras orders this. It costs him dearly, dear captain, to save your hide once again, so you had better appreciate it.’ Voclain and Thierry looked like a mule had kicked them. The fourth company lowered their muskets in confusion.
Chambon threw up again, got up on very wobbly feet, and screamed: ‘what! Who is this Barras to order anything? I have served the Robspierres…’
Saliceti made a liquid movement with his finger towards Henri. ‘Seems monsieur Barras is this one’s friend. He was going to save the captain, Chambon, at least the captain. But this is not all that has happened and so others are saved as well. It’s a day for miracles.’
‘I demand…’ Chambon started, but Henri kicked him savagely on the backside, spilling the fool on the ground. Gilbert was silent, waiting patiently as a stalking snake.
Saliceti ignored the violence. He ripped open the seal around his orders, and read as if his heart was torn from his chest. ‘On the 27th Thermidor, some days ago, the many crimes of the Jacobins were voiced in the Convention.’
‘Speak up!’ yelled Voclain, a horrified look on his thin face.
‘French Directory has put an end to most of the bloodshed, and amnesty is planned. Before that, we will deal with the bloodthirsty Jacobins and make sure nothing like what has happened, will come to pass again. For the time being, the fools who followed the late Robespierre brothers and the Jacobin scum…’ he said mischievously, and I saw Gilbert stiffen in barely controlled anger, as Saliceti continued, ‘are arrested. Including Chambon here, and you, Gilbert Baxa. Chambon is just one of the hundreds of fools who have to bleed to smother the fires and demands of justice the people are loudly voicing, but you, Gilbert Baxa, are one of the leaders of the filth, and so it is good we caught up with you here.’
Gilbert spat. ‘Lies. Robespierre surly has a thing or two to say about this. Do you know who I am? You…’
‘They kissed the bucket, citizen,’ Saliceti said drily. ‘Both your protectors.’
‘You are one such fool who served them!’ Gilbert said evenly, his horse nervous at the sudden tension. ‘And I have other protectors.’
Saliceti smiled. ‘Most of them are dead as well. Few are alive; few owe you anything, boy. I served them, yes, but this time I found the right horse to pull my cart and you hitched yourself to the wrong ones for too long.’ So, Georges had been right and his foes were dead. I felt acute relief and yet, I was terrified for Gilbert, just for a second, despite everything that had passed.
‘Who leads now?’ Gilbert asked, shaking in anger, his one eye glancing my way.
Saliceti spat. ‘National Convention, citizen. None are left who owe you anything, I said.’
Gilbert also spat. ‘Who? Not what.’
Saliceti spoke icily. ‘Merlin de Thionville, Tallien, Billaud-Varenne, Paul Barras.’
‘And you say none owe me anything, eh?’ Gilbert said with an evil smirk, and I feared, for Gilbert’s head was filled with devious schemes, and this might be just a nasty bump on the road, perhaps a painful one, but by no means enough to finish the Revenant. Had he not survived Georges Danton and God know how many others? Perhaps there was someone left to save him, someone who he threatened with the contract he had stolen.
Henri gr
unted. ‘My dear friend Barras! How is the devil? I sent him an urgent letter, full of brimstone and indignant complaints the evening we left for this short stroll in the countryside! He is, after all a commissioner, and was interested to know how it is so, that my corrupt colonel is threatening my men and myself. And my women. How about this dog then? Voclain, I know, is a good Jacobin.’ I blushed at his words and cursed him, for some men snickered nastily at the ranks, casting meaningful looks my way. But most turned to look at Manuel Voclain and his few fanatic Jacobin friends, who suddenly stood alone as men took steps away from them.
Saliceti ignored him. ‘Arrest them.’ Saliceti gestured at Gilbert and Chambon, who was bewildered beyond words. Henri made a crude chopping motion to the colonel, winking at the man, whose eyes widened in terror. He gagged but had nothing left. ‘What is going on out there, colonel?’ Saliceti asked, as if still thinking about Henri’s question.
Henri took Chambon’s skittish horse and pulled himself on it, apparently happy with the quality of the beast as he stroked it, ignoring Chambon’s sobs. He addressed Saliceti. ‘The company has found that the Austrians are indeed busy here. We will go home, tell Dumbertion and Napoleon Buona…’
Saliceti grunted. ‘Our Buonaparte is soon under arrest, because he wrote the Souper de Beaucaire, a Jacobin pamphlet. A pamphlet, in the coming months, written to endorse Jacobins, is a deadly sin.’
Henri spat, angrily. ‘His plans put our heel on Piedmont’s balls and kicked the Austrians into senility. And you would…’
Reign of Fear: Story of French Revolution and Napoleonic Wars (Cantiniére Tales) Page 31
