Reign of Fear: Story of French Revolution and Napoleonic Wars (Cantiniére Tales) (35 page)

‘Oh?’ I asked, hurt. ‘Cleft
told them this shit?’

‘Cleft, perhaps, yes? He was bitter last night,’ Laroche suggested, smiling at my sour face. ‘He nearly struck me, as I told him he is a cuckold.’

I gazed Cleft’s way, and saw he was sitting under a gnarled poplar tree, and was chatting with the wide shouldered Didier, one of the Jacobins. ‘We have no agreement with Cleft, and I have nothing with the captain, you imbecile. I don’t want to antagonize Cleft more, though. Stop teasing him and you have to stop slapping my rear. It will not take you anywhere, anyway, and you can keep your virginity.’

He smiled and leaned forward
as if to impart a secret. ‘I am not,’ he whispered, ‘interested in girls.’

‘Then why do you touch my ass?’ I asked him
, confused.

‘It’s a bit like a man’s ass,’ he told me in all seriousness.
‘Bony and wart-ridden. I like such freaks of nature.’

‘It is not! It’s pretty and pleasant you damned mongrel!’ I yelled at him, too loudly and men snickered all around us as I blushed.

‘In all seriousness, yes, it is, I have only done so to discomfort you. I cannot help it. I was always trouble when I grew up and cannot help but antagonize people I like.’ He looked honest.

I
forgave him and hugged him. He squeezed my behind nonetheless and I kicked him off me painfully, confused over what he was. We gave him some eggs, which were almost gone already. Men approached the wagon; a chasseur wanted to buy some of the remaining wine, but had nothing to pay with. Henriette took him aside and gave him a tin mug full of good wine. ‘Pay later, citizen,’ she said happily, and the man nodded appreciatively. She glanced at me and saw my concerned scowl.

I shook my head disapprovingly. ‘I know we have to be friends to all of the men, but what if he dies? We won’t get paid.’

She laughed at me happily, and I felt foolish. ‘What?’ I asked.

‘Dear girl,’ she said. ‘This is our home. I like them. Poor bastards will indeed die one day. These men will likely never be paid, nor will we, and if we make any money, it is from our own activities, not from the money these men might have. I do approve of you using Laroche and the others, for we have to stake our place and fight for our livelihood.’

‘I like them too,’ I said and despite my tarnished reputation I agreed, feeling strangely at home in the company, where we might die anytime, to terrible diseases, to enemy muskets or to Gilbert’s schemes. Mother was right, and I was happy I had the strange Laroche as an ally, even if I rued losing Cleft.

The wind was blowing gently
through the silent fields and hillsides, when we spotted Henri coming back, looking like an upset god, his stride long, and his chin hard as a rock, veins bulging in his forehead. ‘Citizen Boulton! Sergeants!’ he yelled, and Marcel along with the other sergeants moved forward, following the lieutenant. They were crouching under the canopy of low hanging trees, the captain giving over many cigars to his noncommissioned officers. Sergeant major Thierry was slouching nearby, talking to captain Voclain, whose rat’s face was scanning the activity, taking note of all that happened, and they seemed to enjoy themselves. Henri got up, and pointed at Thierry to come over, but the sergeant major turned his back insolently. Captain Voclain waved his hand. ‘Sergeant major is summoned by the colonel! He has a job for him and his wife.’ Henri ignored him, his eyes remaining on Thierry’s back. Vivien shouted: ‘heyaah!’ as she whipped her horse, and smiled rarely at us as she turned the cumbersome wagon away, and Thierry followed her with the grinning Voclain.

Then Henri grabbed Marcel’s shoulder, gesturing down the road towards north. The captain got up, spat at Chambon’s general direction, and snapped his fingers loudly. He was a bastard, Marie, but a bastard that was so glorious, so strong. God, I hated and loved him, but instead, I scowled as he glanced our way.

Soon, the sergeants were running, pulling up the sixty crumbling men of the company, ordering a triple battle line while rest of the battalion was staying still, curiously looking on at our preparations. Surprised, the men were grabbing their muskets from the faiseaux of muskets leaning on each other. ‘Cantiniére!’ Boulton called out. ‘Get the wagon and follow along. Only one wagon, and stay near me!’ I grimaced as Henri walked past for his horse and he flashed an annoyed look at me, but I did not care, for a woman is allowed her grudges. I found Humps and left my pilfered wagon in his care, and he looked uncertainly at our preparations.

‘What is going on?’ he asked as his
quick eyes darted around. ‘Where is the company going?’

‘Forward, Humps, my friend,’ I told him, pecked him on the
soft cheek and he grinned. I glowered at Voclain and Thierry whose eyes followed me emotionlessly. Then I hugged mother briefly, feeling the curious tingle soldiers have before something foul is about to befall them. I avoided her grasp and scampered off to find the lieutenant, who smiled as he regarded me, swishing the ground with his thin sword, his formerly fine blue habit full of stubborn hay and sticky thorns.

‘What is going on?’ I
asked him. ‘Is it customary for the cantiniére to trundle along like this?’

‘The captain would not leave you there with the colonel. We will go ahead and have a look-see over the hill in this
thrice-damned pass. It is by the command of the colonel, our lord and master, who thinks there is nothing out there, but frightened hares and stray pigeons.’

I looked on as the
serried lines were forming. ‘Is this a battle formation?’

‘Yes! See, leader will stand on the right of the first of the three lines, Marcel on the second line after him, corporals will keep the lines at the ends and in the center and sides, and us useless bastards of officers, lieutenants and under-lieutenants, which we have none, will walk behind and make sure the bastards do not run.
Few do and thank God for that for I am not sure what I could to stop them.’

‘What about the rest of the force?’ I asked, lookin
g at Chambon on his horse, again discussing with the frenzied hussar, who was gesturing angrily towards the north. Chambon was apparently eating a bit of lunch, munching on something, uncaring of the hussar’s wild gestures.

Lieutenant Boulton grinned.
‘The hussar? He worries me,’ lieutenant said and clapped the wooden side of our trusted wagon. ‘This is coming along, in case we need to evacuate the wounded or carry some stiffs.’

‘Surely the colonel would not send us to die? This would break him, no?’ I asked, but I knew I was wrong. There were people who would appreciate officers who got unsavory nuisances like Henri killed, and someone would be grateful.

‘Yes,’ he said drily, as he saw my face. ‘You understand. It’s not even about you, girl, so don’t feel sorry, for Chambon has been culling officers in the battalion, and God, he hates Henri. Henri…’

‘The captain, you mean,’ I told
him icily.

He looked taken back but grinned. ‘I see. Yes, the captain. Excuse me for thinking you might be on first name basis. Nasty rumors, these, but do not worry, for you saved the sergeant, and that weighs heavily on your favor, no matter what happened last night. Just stay clear of the captain’s table.’

I cursed involuntarily. Surely Henri had not told the lieutenant anything? ‘Nothing…’

Boulton twitched and jerked as he waved his hands, not wanting to discuss the matter, and I shut up as he continued. ‘Chambon is holding them back, which is shit stiffening scary,’ the lieutenant said, and then blushed. ‘I am sorry, I…’

‘I will survive,’ I told him, grinning.

‘I hope so,’ said the lieutenant grimly. Men were cursing on the third line as they formed along behind the two first lines. Laroche was struggling with the
massive marmite, the cooking pot. The twins and Cleft were hoisting the stubby pickaxes and the well-used shovels of the company, and the gamelles, sacks of food were being distributed around. Newcomers had to learn their place, and they carried most of the extra items. Corporals were screaming and coaxing men to keep the lines, Henri was leading his horse away and gave it to a sergeant of another company. ‘The captain does not ride to war,’ said the officer, matter-of-factly.

‘Isn’t Henri easier to see on it?’ I asked. ‘Though his ego will make him apparent to all, no doubt, even should he fall into a drainage.’

‘What?’ he asked, bemused. ‘I thought you were not on first name basis with him? Yes, he would be easier to see on the horse, but he would rather lead the men than be the first to die.’ I glowered at him, but couldn’t help liking Boulton.

Henri observed the lines were ready and nodded, the drummer rapped his instrument expertly, the leather helmets bobbed and bicorns swayed and so we took off in three
nearly horizontal lines. The hills around us were high, the men were nervous, and I saw Marcel steady some of the men with encouraging words. The lieutenant was swinging his sharp sword at the tall, wet grass and cursing the looming cliffs towering over us. Henri sent some reluctant men to left and right side of the road, to the higher ground. I noticed the frustrated hussar ride far to the right, whipping his horse furiously, leaving the encampment. Looking back, Chambon was sitting on his horse, but the battalion was not moving. ‘No use looking that way,’ lieutenant said. ‘Chambon is risking us intentionally. He cannot order the enemy to fillet us, but he is putting bait out there, and this bait is very lucrative, Jeanette. May I call you Jeanette? Never mind, for I shall anyway. This company is no friend to the Parisian sans-culottes trash and those people are in power, of course. We dislike them, present litter excluded, of course,’ he smiled and I slapped his hat off his head. He picked it up, but I saw Henri’s eyes flicker to the officer who went white from face. ‘Do not touch me, dear lady, for I think the captain is smitten by you.’

‘I assur
e you, the fool is not,’ I said with a huff.

‘All men are such fools, when confronted by such beauty,’ he said, flushing, keeping his eyes off me. ‘He is lying if he claims otherwise.’

I forgot our danger. I eyed Henri and wondered, for hurt pride looks for any words to mend itself, and Boulton gave me hope to battle what was tearing at my soul. If under all that snobbish bastardy, there was the man lieutenant thought there was, then why had he talked to me like he had? This thought bothered me, as we walked for a while in silence. Only the birds were singing, the melancholy drum rapping every now and then, men talking softly in the lines. I scowled as some ever-present mud was thrown on the lieutenant’s coat. He cursed, but it did not matter. It was everywhere. Dirt. The troops looked nasty, like beggars with muskets and then I looked at myself, for I was filthy, my hair was braided in a greasy mess, I had not properly washed my face in a week, and my clothes were a terrible heap of unsavory rags. Perhaps that was it. If I were prettier and cleaner, he would have, perhaps, been interested and loved me back? God, Marie, I was a fool.

We walked for an hour, the men on the hills running ahead, the men before us crumbling foully about the triple line formation in seemingly peaceful landscape, forcing most of them to walk outside the
pleasant road. Some men called for column, but Henri ignored them, and lit another cigar, looking ahead resolutely.

The road came to a thinner area between two hills, and there was a house there with a roof missing.

‘Halt!’ the captain said, as we stood about. I saw mother look up to the hills. I heard something out of place, far out there, distantly echoing in the hills. I saw one French soldier on the hill waving his hands wildly.

Boulton cocked his head as he saw that. ‘Stay in the wagon.’

‘Why? Trouble?’ I asked, and that is when we got into trouble.

Few of the men pointed to our left and some to the right. Up on the
lightly vegetated hillside, trumpets rang harshly, we saw clouds of billowing dust, heard mad horses neighing wildly, and then, we saw forests of tall, sharp lances appear, shimmering up in the air.

‘Jesus, Christ!’ the lieutenant said, as we witnessed the few men up there on our flanks fire their muskets at an enemy we could not see, but then, suddenly we saw and felt them. Dozens of Poles were kicking their fur saddled beasts forward, topping the hillsides, most holding the lances couched, their mustached faces smiling under their weird square shakos. The ground shook a bit, there were dozens, over a hundred
savage enemies out there. ‘A squadron, full one,’ the lieutenant said in quaking terror, as the Poles rode down the few men who flung away their useless muskets. The riders were well versed in battle from the early years of their lives, being mostly of noble stock as Poles were, and we prayed aloud as the Frenchmen fell on expert stabs from the spears. Soon, they were moaning, some dying instantly to the horrible weapons. The horses milled briefly around the bodies, and then I saw the rittmeister who had accosted me earlier scream at his men, and pointed his sabre at us. A trumpet rang out, the enemy cheered.

‘Square, form a fucking square!’ Henri was screaming and I suddenly understood he had been screaming it since the enemy appeared.

‘Square!’ the lieutenant echoed weakly, so did the sergeants, and corporals joined them, pushing the bewildered company into action.

‘Where do we go?’ I asked him, my face white from fear.