Reign of Fear: Story of French Revolution and Napoleonic Wars (Cantiniére Tales) (42 page)

‘You want to see?’ I asked him, amused.

He grinned. ‘As I said, you are a girl. You are part of the
bleeding company, Jeanette, but still a girl, and we all try to see when you take a piss or a bath. Which is not often enough, if I might add. A bath is a fine thing.’

‘But not when I am taking
a shit? Then you prefer not to ogle?’ I growled at him as I took my belt where I tucked the two pistols Georges had left us with. He eyed me suspiciously.

‘No, not then, we do not like such
sights; unnatural it seems to witness a beauty produce such fertilizer. You are not going far, right?’

I shrugged. ‘I need a good spot, just like a dog does. Just curious, but how do you know which it will be, piss or shit, since I am a girl and squat for both?’

‘Your mother belches before she does the big nasty, and you fidget before you have to go for one, and so you didn’t fidget, and I don’t trust you.’ His skinny face was hard as stone as he accosted me. ‘At least wait until Charles comes back.’

I took an indignant breath. ‘I cannot wait and don’t wish to talk about this with a mule like you. I will go or do it here. No, in fact, I will just go and you will not look and I will have a moment of blissful peace out of the prying eyes of the perverts and freaks.’

He shrugged and smiled; yet not daring to challenge me. ‘Don’t go far. There might be sneaky Hungarians and even some odd Austrians out there, and they like to see pretty girls pee just as much as we do.’

‘You are a nasty, dirty creature, Skins, but I love you. Don’t worry.’ He shrugged, took
more brandy, and tried not to worry, cursing Charles for not being there to help him.

So I went.

I checked my guns and shot, tucked my skirt into the fine uhlan boots to prevent it from being caught on sharp rocks and stubborn, low-hanging boughs and started to hike carefully through the undergrowth. It was a scary trip, for there were both French and Austrians in the woods, probing, looking for things to eat and kill. I heard many shots and bitter laughter, and at one point I froze on a small bank of a swift, cold stream as some horsemen went past. I was so scared I had to relieve myself and I giggled silently as I noticed I had indeed fidgeted.

Finally, groping in the dark, I got to the farmhouse, where the light was burning on the porch, bright and smelling of rancid oil. Surprisingly, there was a hog squealing inside the house proper, having evaded robbery by being hidden with the people living there, and I smiled as I heard a man curse and the
poor pig squeal, as it was struck. I made my way through a wheat field, fell in a disgusting ditch, got up ponderously, cursing as a soldier, and crawled towards the summit. I found a slight path, rocky, the well-trod depression indignantly fighting weeds, but there were hoof marks, which I barely saw in the slight moonlight. I smiled and begged to good God ill-tempered dogs or even determined men would not guard the animals I hoped to find, but that is why I had the pistols and would use them, for the cow.

There were shots and yells of distress somewhere nearby, and I froze. They were likely enemy soldiers, being chased by our men, I decided and moved on for the summit. Up there, after a small, thick wood, I found a high rock formation, and on its root, a large shack, with a pile of hay next to it, covered by a shoddy wooden roof. I took out my pistol and cocked it with difficulty. Then I crept to the door, holding my breath, listening, and scanning around the darkness, I opened it, thinking how much the setting reminded me of the day Humps was killed. And that thought made me flinch and turn to run.

It was too late, for a torch flared behind me.

I turned, aimed the gun, and saw men’s silhouettes in the bright flare and one was on foot, aiming a musket my way, the other sitting on a horse holding the
bright torch. If they were Italians, they would hurt me, maybe kill me. I hardened myself, determined to fight, not willing to die like this.

‘Put it down, girl,’ said Voclain calmly from his horse, as if
utterly satisfied and finally at ease after months of waiting. A pure, all-encompassing fear filled me, disappointment burning me with cold despair, as Cleft had betrayed us. Apparently, I had disappointed him again, one final time, and he was a man not to take such things lightly, despite his apparent acceptance of the fact.

Didier was aiming the musket carefully. He noted the
desperate look on my face but said nothing. The captain, on the other hand, enjoyed the moment. ‘Yes, your friend was, perhaps, more our friend, for he is a man of the Republic. And girl, we are serving the Republic by giving it justice for past sins and also ourselves, of course. We will profit greatly, I will be a colonel and one day a general. My scum will be officers. And yes, monsieur Baxa has finally made it back to the power. He is paying us more than Paul Barras. So the game is over.’

‘I doubt Henri will let you anywhere near such l
ofty position, you sack of shit, especially if I die here, or disappear,’ I told him as resolutely I could, and pulled the trigger aimed at him. The gun did not fire, the powder was wet. Voclain’s eyes flickered to my other gun, and Didier shook his head empathetically.

He growled. ‘Do not. Live longer, at least, or die now.’

I took a deep, frightened breath, and then another, close to panic. I had been to battle, had faced fear, but here, stood death. ‘Mother?’

Voclain looked amused. ‘She will come to you later, and she will, doubt it not, for we will have time. Drop the guns.’ I did, carefully, glancing around for an escape. Didier was
ready; he advanced, aiming the weapon, his leather helmet shadowing his animal-like eyes as he scanned the dark for possibilities for escape, like a wolf cornering a doe. He pushed me back, grabbed the guns and put them on his belt with a satisfied grunt.

‘Henri,’ I hissed, eyeing the large man near me, ‘will guard them. So, there is no man from Paris, then?
Nobody coming to meet you tomorrow? What will you do to me?’

‘Oh,’ Voclain said. ‘There was a man from Paris. He gave us orders, finally. It’s been so long, love, to suffer you and the colonel
and even Paul Barras, who trust men bought with coin, but we were more patient than you, after all. You will go on a trip, to Paris, and Didier here will take you. He has leave, you see, and you will go back home, to this place.’ He eyed a letter and the address in the torchlight. ‘Home to your relative, no doubt.’

‘Relax, girl,’ Didier said quietly. ‘Eat it all and bear his words. He will shove it down your throat anyway.’

I shook my head. ‘Henri…’

He slapped the letter on his thigh and threw the torch to the woods, and things got shadowy and mysterious. I saw his eyes glimmering in the dark as he leaned forward. ‘Henri, girl, will be killed today. Thierry and
Poxy Fox will do it. Both shot, I say, and so will be that fucking Marcel and any other bastard you call friends. In the dark during a battle, it has happened before, it happens this night, and will happen again in the future, but not to me, since I will be the king of the killers, and keep an iron fist around the battalion.’ In the distance, musketry began, rattling, battle joined. ‘Perhaps, now? He is dead, possibly?’ Voclain asked, cocking his head, eyeing me with pleasurable look on his face.

Cold sweat was gathering on my
forehead, as I feared for my friends. Cleft would pay for this, for surely, Henri would survive, if there were a forgiving God, and I prayed for him, even if I had made pledges to the devil. The captain nodded for the camp. ‘Downhill, we will walk quickly, in the dark so no enemy or friend comes to disturb us. Here,’ Voclain said harshly and threw a halter on the ground. ‘Take it, bow before me as you do, and let us ogle at your juicy tits.’ He was apparently a bit drunk and his tone was dangerous. Fear tore at my guts as I took the halter and placed it around my neck, tightening it. ‘Give the end here,’ he said. I walked to him and he grabbed the end, turned his horse, and started to pull me along like a dog. ‘Where is the wagon?’ He asked his soldier.

Didier grunted.
‘By the road a mile to west from the camp. Near the tavern. Hidden in the shabby barn.’

Voclain’s eyes glinted as he looked at me. ‘I know the place. Lead on then.’ In the distance, cannon roared, musketry rattled, and men died.

The captain was taking swigs from a small green bottle as his thick pallid face turned to look at me smugly. He was giggling to himself. ‘Humps cried, you know. We were facing a prolonged wait before we could act, and wanted to at least slap you. Thierry’s fine idea and I approved it. Oh, he whimpered. It is sad Skins did not.’

‘Skins?’ I asked, confused and scared. He had been guarding mother.

‘He followed you. That other bastard as well, Charles? They followed you, and left your mother guarded by some other cantiniére.’ His eyes looked hard at me, finding enjoyment in the despair on my face. Surely, they were not dead? ‘Here, look,’ he said and we passed a lump of flesh. Skins was lying on the ditch, his mouth open. I noticed an oozing hole in his throat; he had been stabbed. Voclain clapped his sword, pulled it, and showed the red tip. ‘He and that younger one were rushing, and it’s stupid to rush about, especially since we knew this hill, and Didier is one sly hunter. It took time, and much planning and patience, but your hungry brat finally gave us a solution. Perhaps, if Marcel survives, he gets to see me deal with your mother as I will deal with you.’

I shook tears off my cheeks, rage burning inside. ‘Deal with me? Where is Charles?’

‘He was hit, Didier shot at him,’ Voclain said, gesturing to the darkness with the bottle. ‘Ran to the woods to die, and yes, I will deal with you.’

‘You shoot your fellow soldiers,’ I yelled, hoping someone to hear me, even an enemy. ‘I am a cantiniére, a member of the army, and the colonel gave us the paper…’

‘You are not a member of the army!’ he screamed, pulling me so hard I flew on my face. His horse was walking around me. ‘Keep quiet you, or fall this night. You are a mistake, a freak of nature. You are the enemy of the Republic, a thief who escaped jail and hurt our master, but the Revenant is not dead. He will prosper again and you, his ill luck charm will be utterly broken and stomped down to the gutters you apparently threw him. I know he plans to do this, see, and he knows how to tie knots. That Barras who gave us coin for our services is no Jacobin, but a temporary problem soon done with. He will die. And the colonel? The noble fuck? Dead. Colonel was your pimp, girl, I know this, and he had exclusive rights to you, and guarded you like a horny bull his favorite cow. Now, you will have a new pimp, for tonight, at least.’

‘You will not touch me,’ I told him as I tried to get up, but he laughed harshly, dismissing my words as inconsequential. Didier was walking ahead
resolutely, holding the musket on his shoulder, and not looking back.

‘I will see you there, in fifteen minutes,’ Voclain told his back. Didier nodded.

The captain pulled the horse to stand still, and waited for Didier to disappear to the dark. I tried to jerk the halter free, but he held it with a brutal strength. Suddenly, he spurred the horse, kicked my shoulder and I fell hard. I heard him dismounting, his spurs jingling and his bicorn was bobbing as he laughed. He was mad, enjoying his power over a seemingly helpless woman.

‘You struck me, girl, with a belt, and now you pay for that. Strip,’ he said.
‘Clothes off. Now. It will hurt girl, but you will live.’ He grinned lecherously, spittle on his clear, thin chin, his rat like face twitching in sadistic amusement. I shook my head as I got up painfully, but he took hold of the halter, and pulled me towards him. ‘Gilbert will want you, so you will live. As Didier said, I will shove it all down your throat anyway, anything I wish to do, so live now and enjoy even this, or feel pain unlike you have never felt, and still be humped. Your choice. I might be kind; I might be done quickly, for I have not had a woman for a while. I do not know, not yet. Do it.’ His rat like face was flushed with desire and his eyes were dangerous, hoping I resist.

I took a shuddering breath and prayed for strength. I shook in
terrible fear and nauseating revulsion, cursing myself for a stupid bitch as my hands moved slowly and I looked away as I took off my jacket. I felt his eyes burn my skin, as I opened the belt holding my skirt, but with a rush of determination, I pulled the shirt off, standing there my breasts bared, nipples hardening for the cold. I looked at him, and he waited, his eyes resting on my nakedness. I cursed him and myself and pushed the skirt down, and my undergarment with it and stood there exposed, with only my boots on, my clothes in a heap around me. He quickly twirled the reins of the horse around a tree, his other hand opening his coat. He let go of the halter as his eyes spoke of what was going to happen.

My bravery betrayed me
and I panicked.

‘No!’ I yelled like an animal, but he laughed
viciously with perverse enjoyment. I turned to run, the halter coming off his hand and I felt brief hope, but he was fast, surprisingly fast, and soon he kicked my legs from under me, and I fell hard on the stony ground and cursed in fear as a weight of the repulsive man dropped over me. It was a desperate struggle and for a small man he was strong. I cried and hissed in futile anger, raked his face but he pinned me down, grabbed me by my throat, and held me there, as he opened his pants, enduring my flailing hands and fingers scratching at his head, pulling at his hair. He forced my legs open. He was a rapist, and I often wonder if I was raped that night, for a mind tries to deny the truth and is quick to find excuses, and I often thought of it, and told myself he did not quite manage it. The truth is that he was erect, bared and he put his hand on my breasts, kissing my neck roughly, panting like an animal over me. Then he put his hand roughly between my legs, and touched me for a while as I wept in rage, unable to stop him, and he was hoping to make me wet, his eyes mocking the tears in my eyes. Brutally, he fondled my struggling body for a long time, in any way he liked, enjoying himself enormously, touching my breasts, biting my nipples, and putting his fingers inside me. Then he shifted weight, and I felt his penis touch my vagina, starting to enter me and that is when he put his thumb in my mouth, and I bit it so hard he screamed like an animal, the tip of his finger staying behind in my mouth as he pulled off me in agony. I turned to vomit it out with what was left of my meager dinner and I felt dizzy, utterly revolted and turning I saw him standing there, half-dressed. His face took an unholy look, mad, beyond reason. He took a rock, and perhaps I would have died, had it not been for Didier. A thump echoed in the forest as Voclain fell hard on his side, lying on a pile of dead wood, and I backpedalled away from them and saw the wide chasseur lean over the captain. Apparently the bastard lived for the man grunted, almost disappointed.