That was convenient to everyone. Here everything was convenient to everyone.
‘Please excuse me but I must go and settle some important matters and talk to my wife and daughter, whom you will meet this evening.’
‘Your French is remarkable,’ Saber complimented him.
‘All the French are remarkable!’ retorted the count.
He quickly walked away, exclaiming: ‘Long live a free Poland!’
A servant accompanied the Frenchmen to their bedrooms. His eyes were red from crying. He did not utter a word. Fear tightened its grip on his throat, like a foretaste of the noose. Margont thought that Russian propaganda must have spread the rumour that French officers enjoyed testing the sharpness of their sabres by decapitating prisoners and that they loved to hang the servants after breakfast, which of course consisted of a roasted new-born baby. He handed the Russian a coin, which he took, trembling and utterly confused. So he wasn’t going to be killed? He was being given a tip? Where was the trap?
Margont examined the marquetry furniture closely. The four-poster bed looked so comfortable that it might have been an evil spell. Sleeping Beauty must have lain down on a similar mattress, which would explain her story. In the tapestries, handsome gentlemen were depicted bowing to ladies, who were pretending to be flattered or whispering to one another behind their fans. The statue of a centaur decorated the mantelpiece. It symbolised Russia’s untamed spirit.
Margont stood stock-still in front of a mirror. He thought he looked thin and tired. But he had that determined expression that came with critical times, a look that was too harsh, too severe and surly. Even a slightly forced smile scarcely softened its sternness. What if this campaign stops at Smolensk? he wondered.
He went across the corridor to Lefine’s room. Through the windows he could see the soldiers from his regiment. In the area at the foot of the palace a bear keeper was making his animal perform tricks, and dozens of infantrymen had formed a circle around the spectacle. Thunderous applause greeted the bear as it got back up after a forward roll. They were as happy as sandboys.
Lying on his bed, Lefine was gazing at a painting he was holding. But what he was really examining was the gilt frame.
‘You’ll lose one stripe for each painting that goes missing,’ Margont warned.
Lefine casually put the picture down on his bedside table.
‘Not interested. I thought you were Irénée. He’s furious I’m here. When he took his shako off just now I thought he was expecting me to put it on a hat stand for him. It wouldn’t surprise me if he told me to clear off.’
‘Well, if that does happen, send him to me and we’ll soon see which of you will be the first to leave. You’ve got your palace, so now you can finish off your report.’
But Lefine remained motionless, studying the cherubs chasing one another in the clouds in the stuccoed world of the ceiling.
‘What for?’
‘What for?’
‘Why are we searching so hard for this colonel? Because he’s killed someone? So what? How many deaths have there been since the start of this campaign? Ten thousand? Twenty thousand? No, far more. And that’s nothing compared with what will happen when we encounter the whole Russian army.’
Lefine was sincere. A part of him really had been cut in two by that cannonball.
‘You’re going to tell me that the soldiers are fighting for “valid” reasons,’ he went on. ‘Their country, their ideas, glory, for social advancement … Well, that’s exactly it. It’s because of your fine ideas that you’ve been so keen on this wretched investigation from the start, but if we take on a colonel, we risk having our lives buggered up.’
‘Fernand …’
‘Buggered up! With a snap of his fingers a colonel can have us transferred to a nice little French outpost miles from anywhere in the middle of the Spanish countryside. We’ll take over from the sentries who had their throats slit by the guerrillas the preceding week, before our own corpses are replaced the week after … But a colonel doesn’t even need Spain to get rid of us. He needs only to send us both on a foraging expedition and the Cossacks will enjoy nailing our remains to the fir trees for the crows to feed on.’
‘Prince Eugène is supporting us.’
‘Politicians and princes only ever support themselves! If you were so sure of the opposite, you’d have told our dear prince that we suspected a colonel.’
Lefine was beginning to turn red as if the words he was saying were going back down his throat, blocking and obstructing his breathing.
‘If the Russians don’t get us, this investigation will! And you know that perfectly well. That’s the worst thing about it! But dear Captain Margont is on the side of justice – he can’t stand the idea of heinous crimes going unpunished. You’re the plaything of your ideals.’
‘Well, we’re all the playthings of something or someone. Better to be the plaything of my ideals than of greed.’
Margont stood still after giving this stinging reply. Being attacked for what he believed in body and soul put him on the defensive. For the moment he could handle it but if he were provoked further he might become dangerous. Lefine sensed this.
‘Nothing will make you give up this investigation except a bullet between the eyes. That’s the radical way of dealing with fanatics. Despite all those years you spent with them, those Holy Joes forgot to tell you that the good Samaritans always end up being tortured and hacked to bits by the crowds they wanted to save. And afterwards they become martyrs and people light candles to ask favours of them.’
A few moments of silence elapsed before Margont spoke.
‘I don’t think I have the right to ask you to do more than you’ve already done. You’re free to let this business drop.’
Fernand smiled a sad smile, more depressing than tears.
‘I can get out of this business whenever I like and I won’t lose any sleep over it. It’s you I want to extricate from it before it’s too late.’
‘That’s a waste of time.’
‘What a fanatic! It’s absurd! Why should we risk our lives for a few crimes when there’s butchery right, left and centre? Find me one sensible reason to continue.’
‘If we don’t arrest this man, he may do it again.’
‘So what? One more death just means three more spadefuls of earth in a common grave. What difference will it make?’
‘It will make a difference to the women we save.’
Lefine sat on the edge of the bed. ‘Yes, that does mean something.’
Then, suddenly, he resumed his report, speaking quickly to prevent dark thoughts from interrupting the course of his life again.
‘Colonel Maximilien Barguelot is thirty-nine. His father died when he was a child. His mother and two sisters live in Amsterdam but he has settled in Paris and leads a life of luxury. He attended the military academy at Pont-à-Mousson, then took part in a large number of campaigns. He distinguished himself at the battle of Austerlitz where he was said to have been wounded but he never mentions this episode. He served in Prussia, Spain, Austria … He enjoys an excellent reputation among officers … who don’t serve under him. He’s not liked by his men because he openly despises them. He takes his sycophants with him everywhere and they move up a rank once they’ve flattered him sufficiently. He claims to be descended from a long line of Dutch and French military men: some are said to have liberated Copenhagen, others America. There’s no way of knowing if it’s true. He does speak Dutch. That’s been confirmed. He married a beautiful and rich heiress and owns a château near Nancy. He was promoted Officer of the Légion d’Honneur … but in December 1808. Surprising, don’t you think?’