‘His club was quite open … to men. Women were excluded, with one or two exceptions. The members were French or Spanish, military personnel or civilians. They met regularly to talk about books, recite poetry, argue about the translation of such and such a line of Shakespeare … Just like your club.’
‘Except that in mine women are welcome. Does he have any brothers or sisters? Did he distinguish himself in any battle in particular?’
‘He’s an only son. From a military point of view, he’s not like Barguelot and Saber, who won every battle single-handed. Pirgnon has never displayed exceptional courage or tactical sense. But he’s an excellent organiser. He juggles with figures, manages the supplies, talks very little to his soldiers and officers. He treats people rather “mechanically”, so I’ve been told. For him, if a soldier is well dressed, well fed and well equipped, then he’s a machine that’s going to function properly.’
‘I see. He’s the “military metronome” sort. Then after that, for some unknown reason, he’ll babble away in his literary salon about humanism and the beauty of literature.’
Lefine folded his arms, pleased with himself and waiting to be congratulated.
‘Yes, bravo. Good work, Fernand.’
‘So much for Pirgnon. On to our Italian. This one counts as two because Captain Nedroni sticks to him like a leech. Fidassio and his shadow Nedroni. Fidassio is an only son. He’s thirty-five. His mother’s a countess – a grand lady from the aristocracy of Rome, extremely wealthy, very beautiful and prematurely widowed. What do you expect if you marry a man three times your age?’
‘So Fidassio had a very elderly father.’
‘You said it! Because the countess is such a charming woman – she’s reputed to have a fiery temper – Colonel Alessandro Fidassio was brought up by his “father”, who hated his wife for making him look ridiculous by having so many lovers. The count retired to his country estate, taking his son with him, and sent his wife money in exchange for promises of reasonable behaviour and discretion. He can’t have been paying enough. On the day of Alessandro’s fifteenth birthday, his mother made a sudden reappearance in his life. Finding him very presentable, she took him away with her like a pretty plaything to exhibit in Roman high society, which was beginning to tire of the countess’s love affairs.’
‘She redeemed herself by using her son to restore her image as a mother. Bravo.’
‘Yes, but according to the people I questioned she became deeply attached to Alessandro. From then on she had only one idea in her head: that he should become someone important. He was a very average student, so goodbye to being a scholar. He was clumsy, so goodbye to being a surgeon. He wasn’t a good public speaker, so goodbye to being a politician. So she decided to make a soldier of him and that seemed to please Alessandro. He did well in a prestigious Italian military academy and was promoted to the rank of lieutenant. Then I was given to understand that his mother used and abused her connections and her wealth and more besides …’
‘I get the picture.’
‘And so within a few years the lieutenant turned into a colonel. She was the one who forced him to volunteer for this campaign. Her son had never taken part in a battle or even been outside Italy, so his career was stagnating in a provincial garrison. She thought that the Russian campaign would be a jolly jaunt beneath triumphal arches and an ideal springboard for Alessandro to be promoted to general.’
‘Quite an ambitious programme.’
‘Fidassio is taciturn and prefers being alone. Nobody really seems to know him in his regiment, apart from Nedroni.’
Margont tried to remember the captain’s features and that look of his, both polite and firm.
‘What do you know about this fellow?’
‘Countess Fidassio was rather worried about sending her son to Russia. After all, war can, sometimes, kill. She’d already thought about this problem. Whilst buying her son the rank of colonel, she asked for a small bonus, like any good customer about to make a large purchase.’
‘The rank of captain for Nedroni.’
‘Exactly. Silvio Nedroni was born into a poor family from the lower nobility. He’s thirty-two and is said to be the son of one of the countess’s lovers. In any case, she considers him as her second son. An indiscreet person implied to me that this maternal feeling was born of the countess’s sense of guilt. It’s true that it was her relationship with Silvio’s father that caused the child’s mother to leave home. Anyway, the countess enabled him to enrol in the same military academy as Alessandro and she always saw to it that they kept an eye on each other. But Nedroni is far from stupid and he owes his social advancement as much to his own ability as to the countess’s money and connections.’
‘So if Fidassio is the murderer, and if Nedroni knows about it, he might be tempted to cover up for him. Let’s add Nedroni to our list as a possible accomplice.’
‘Fidassio has a weak spot: gambling. He bets a lot and owes money to several officers. He’s deliberately slow to settle his debts, so sometimes they diminish because the creditor dies. I’ve found out that he owed a large amount to a certain Captain von Stils – I don’t know what regiment he belongs to – and to Lieutenant Sampre, from the 108th. But in the fighting at Mohilev, Sampre was trampled by one or two Russian battalions. Eventually his body was fished out of the river, at the foot of the dyke he’d been trying to storm.’
‘Have you discovered how much Fidassio owed Sampre?’
‘Five hundred francs.’
‘Oh, as much as that! I want you to find this von Stils for me.’
Lefine went purple with anger. ‘How about finding him yourself?’
‘Colonel Pégot is infuriated by my comings and goings. He’s ordered me to limit my movements.’
‘But how am I going to find this von Stils fellow in the middle of hundreds of thousands of men?’
‘Don’t be so defeatist. The name von Stils could be Prussian, Austrian, Bavarian, Saxon or from Baden or Württemberg. The Austrians and Prussians are too far away, so start with the Confederation of the Rhine.’
Lefine’s face was a picture of woe. Margont pretended not to notice and explained his plan.
‘Find this von Stils and send him to me. I’m going to put it about that Sampre had asked me to recover the debt for him in the event of his being killed so that I could send the amount involved to his family. Von Stils and I will then both go and find Colonel Fidassio.’
‘Poor Fidassio. He’s going to find himself once more saddled with a debt of five hundred francs that he thought was dead and buried.’
‘What else have you discovered?’ asked Margont calmly.
Margont knew that a tensing of the muscles was the first sign of annoyance in his friend but he had rarely seen him clench his fists and hold his arms to his body so tightly. It was like a leather strap shrivelling up in the sun.
‘Captain, our corps arrived here after all the others. If we don’t look for somewhere to stay now, we’ll end up sleeping in the open.’
‘We’re investigating a murder and you’re talking to me about a comfortable lodging?’
Lefine suddenly went for him, like a cat leaping at a bird.
‘I almost got myself cut in two by a cannonball because of this investigation! Have you ever seen someone getting sliced up a yard away from you like a log being chopped?’
Lefine stopped shouting. He was surprised to find himself still standing, leaning so far forward that he was holding on to his friend’s chair with both hands.
‘Forgive me, Fernand. Come on, we’ll go and find ourselves some decent quarters for the night. And something to eat, as well.’
Lefine slowly straightened up.
‘Like a log, I tell you.’