Reign of Fear: Story of French Revolution and Napoleonic Wars (Cantiniére Tales) (29 page)

Marcel did not flinch. ‘She is my wife. Not a whore sir. Neither is her daughter.’

The captain laughed drily. He went back to his seat, flipped his coattails back. He had not adopted the sans-culottes fashions, especially the short coat that seemed to be in a rage. He spat. ‘I see. I am the captain now. The last captain, God bless his soul, got shot in May. I have rules he did not have. One of them is about women. Too many in the camp will make men sloppy. What of her then? You wish her to wash and grind, and warm your happy bed, sergeant? I hear you are one of the better sergeants in the whole battalion, and I would do well to keep your bed a happy one. But what is she to do when the bed is empty?’

‘Run a canteen for the company? Sir,’ Marcel said, resolutely.

‘We have a cantiniére,’ captain said woodenly. ‘One is all the regulations allow.’

‘Surely, citizen captain, there are companies with no…’

He sniffled. ‘I need my sergeants. That is not an option. Fuck the other companies.’

‘I would not, citizen,’ Marcel said, showing some emotion in his voice, ‘have this woman wash shirts and pants.’

The captain ogled us. ‘Are they royalty? Too fine to clean these things? Or do they have back problems? That would make your bed an unhappy one, sergeant.’

‘No, sir, citizen,’ Marcel said
, holding back a curse. ‘But I hoped to…’

A man stepped to the tent.
All went quiet, as he turned to look at us. He had a high sweaty forehead, which he was wiping with his elaborately braided coat sleeve, looking flummoxed. His eyes were wet, nervous, and his huge belly hung under the saggy waist sash, which he was obviously accustomed to adjusting regularly. The captain eyed him with hostility.

‘Citizen Chambon, my colonel,’ the captain said sarcastically, yet not sarcastically enough to be
entirely obvious. ‘What can I do for you?’ the captain asked as the colonel’s eyes went over us all. His eyes rested on the caporal that had a paper sticking out of his mouth, but he apparently decided to say nothing of the matter. Colonel Chambon waited for the captain to get up, but the captain was looking at his fingernails. The colonel ignored this as well. ‘Anything the matter, citizen captain?’ The colonel asked.

Captain fl
ashed him an innocent smile and I thought he looked fine, when he smiled, his grey eyes twinkling with mirth. ‘Why no, sir. Nothing at all. I am here, discussing gaiters and possibilities of hiring washerwomen for the company.’ He put an emphasis on the washerwomen as he glowered at Marcel.

The colonel straightened his back. ‘There are rumors, citizen, of
damnable traitors in the camp, escorted by your own, no doubt, unwitting men. I have sergeant-major Thierry outside with some properly instructed men to escort the murderers to the Parisian representatives.’ He sweated as the captain’s animal-like eyes regarded him.

Captain
stared at him coldly and then finally smiled. ‘Ah, citizen Thierry. Yes, he told me I would have visitors of questionable reputation. He hinted that there would be high-ranking people looking for these visitors. I thanked him, for his diligence is commendable. But I see only two sorry women. Do you see these criminals here, citizen colonel?’

‘They are the two women, indeed. Jeanette and Henriette Baxa. Accused of a
most serious of crimes, of betraying France! Of being compatriots to late Georges Danton. She was his lover. A letter of insipid love from the mongrel to her proves it. Also, they are accused of trying to kill a good Jacobin in Lyons. They must be given over to citizen Saliceti or to citizen Robespierre.’

They had
the letter from Georges, as if they needed it, I scoffed, and the captain’s eyes flicked at me, noting my disgust. Then the captain looked thoughtful and I feared for us.

Marcel was about to
speak, but the captain grunted before he did. ‘And my men, the ones who might have escorted these people?’

The colonel shook his head amicably, happy the captain was not being difficult. ‘They will be well rewarded.
Except the one who tried to help kill the Jacobin. But the rest? Rewards for them. You and I, captain, will get ours too.’

The captain shrugged. ‘Rewarded with arrears?
No, citizen colonel. We, the loyal men need no such rewards. We serve the Republic, and that is the end of it.’

They stared at each other
and the captain took out a cigar, looking sated as a priest after a sumptuous meal. He glanced at me carefully, puffing at the crude smoke and this time, I held his eyes. He was gauging me carefully, and I was unable to read his thoughts, though I smiled at him nervously, removing a lock of hair from my face. I think he smiled briefly back, hopefully happy with the bravery I was showing. I did not entirely feel brave, though. The colonel was shuffling his feet. ‘I will call sergeant-major Thierry then, and get these…’

I tensed, ready to fight, forgetting the captain. Gilbert. They would give us to him
, eventually, or just have us shot in the woods. Marcel was sweating, his fingers tightening on the musket, when the captain got up, swiping his hand. ‘That is not necessary. No.’

‘What do you mean, captain?’ The colonel said, nonplussed.

The captain looked astonished and swished his hand to us. ‘This here is not… Was it Jeanette Baxa? Henriette? No. These are the Lefebvre’s. However, I will look for these culprits. Unfortunate thing, betrayal. I will look, citizen colonel.’

The colonel looked confused, but then straightened his back. ‘Yours, captain, is a company in the battalion I command.
There are six companies in a battalion, usually. All have captains. There are three battalions in the demi-brigade, each commanded by colonel like me and a general commands all colonels. One day, I wish to be that general, and you will be a colonel, above the other captains, if I say so. That magic does not happen if one disobeys orders. Now, I tell you to take these people out and we will be done with this. You are risking a lot, your formerly noble life, your rank…’

The captain got up, and eyed t
he colonel, who seemed to slump like a sack of wheat. There was indeed a noble note in the captain’s voice, one of well rehearsed and even in bread cold disdain, and the colonel, evidently of humble beginnings, licked his lips as the junior officer started at him through the cigar smoke. ‘I hear that you have had a nasty fever, colonel? Yes. I can see why that would make you act like this. Rest, warm malt ale and thick chicken soup, that will heal you right up, colonel. As for the terrible culprits, I will look into it, colonel. Now, I have things to do. The cantiniére,’ he pointed at mother, ‘is to be left alone, until I have thoroughly gone over all the nuances into this name thing.’ He turned to mother. ‘Are you of this treasonous Baxa brood?’

‘Citizen Lefebvre
,’ I said for her, dreading she could not lie, and the captain smiled at me.

‘Indeed. Have you ever been named Baxa?’ he asked.

‘No, sir. We have not,’ Henriette lied admirably after all. ‘We come from Paris, so perhaps that is…’

While the captain was taking our side, the mention of Paris made him look away in anger. He hesitated, swallowing his hate and I saw Marcel was praying. Paris. He obviously hated Paris. He was of former noble stock, so he might have a very good reason to hate Paris. Little by little, he sat down and then nodded, bone white. ‘Colonel. I will look into it. Dismissed.’

‘Dismissed?’ the colonel said, his voice trembling weakly. Then he shook in anger and turned to go. ’Tomorrow have your company ready. Early morning, captain.’ He tried to reassert his authority by having Henri salute him. The captain waved a lazy, dismissing hand his way.

Chambon went red from face and left
in a huff. Outside, we heard Thierry’s voice rise angrily, Chambon speaking quickly and with a tremble in the voice, and I saw the captain put a pistol on the table, eyeing the doorway. After awhile, the voices went down. I decided the Republic had done strange things to the ranks and obedience in the army, but I thanked God for it and the captain who was nearly god like to me, that evening.

Silence reigned as he sat there, looking at us with his grey eyes. ‘While I do not mind snubbing fuckers like the Jacobin bastard and his
sniveling culprits, just like the captain did before me, I have to ask. Paris? Is the story of you being Danton’s lover true, as well?’ His eyes smoldered at Henriette.

‘I have some coin, sir,’ Marcel said, his hand twitching in anger towards his bayonet. The captain saw it and grinned.

‘I am not corrupt, fool,’ he said as coldly as a noble can. ‘Why else do you think I still serve the army and France, when many of my brethren have gone to exile? Paris, the rabble of Paris? I know the clamoring women of Paris, and sans-culottes, all bent on disorder and blood. The fourth company has a captain like that, Manuel Voclain by name and a filthy mule by manners he is. He, our Thierry, and some four others are a constant reminder of Paris and shit for me. They are filthy trash, fomenting trouble, because their fucking Jacobin masters run the horror show in Paris, and they feel like small gods. They tried to force me to obey them, last month, on a billets issue. I had one idiotic man hung for disorderly conduct, fomenting trouble on their behalf. I, count d’Montepello will not have such women in the company. I used to have a wealthy house in Paris, did you know this? You, woman, answer?’ His face betrayed terrible anger, though I thought I saw a fleeting ghost of regret that broke his otherwise aggressive mask.

Henriette took a step forward, to the light. She was
wistfully beautiful and brave, holding her head up, as she clasped her skirt. She bowed slightly, and the captain grimaced. ‘Don’t want to show me your tits, do you? That was not a bow to a count, woman. But I am sorry; I am just Citizen Henri now. I asked you about that dog, Danton. Did you, or did you not?’

Henriette shrugged, scared, I knew, but she kept her wits. ‘He saved us, when our…’

The captain threw his sword to the tent wall. ‘Leave. The girl stays.’ He pointed at me.

The caporal was slowly chewing on his paper, his eyes glinting, and Marcel did not move.

‘Leave, sergeant! I am no animal, but I will talk with her. When confronted by mischief, it is best to talk to culprits separately. Come in shooting, sergeant, in five minutes, if she is not out with her chastity.’

Marcel stiffened, nodded and turned,
pulling mother after him. I turned to the captain and walked in front of him, his eyes sizing me up.

The captain pointed a finger at me.
‘As I said. I do not like Chambon. He was a captain in the carabiniers company. I was aide-de-camp to the last colonel. That colonel, girl, was taken to Paris, and I survived because some of the men liked me. Chambon is an informant. I spit on him, Robespierre, and his ilk. I love it. I take the risk gladly, for I also have some high cards in my sleeve. However, they were not lying about monsieur Danton, were they? Can you, girl, tell me one reason why I want a revolutionary bitch, a king killer…’

‘We were held when the king died. Same with the
fair queen,’ I said as strongly as I could. ‘We sat in the Temple with the nobles, and they were there too, the unfortunate royals. And I know Georges…’

‘So familiar with the murderer, are you?’

I raised my voice at his interruption and he froze, unaccustomed to such behavior. ‘He was a damned thief, an opportunistic murderer and a dreaded schemer of the first class. Yet, he also saved our lives, perhaps to further his own career in crime and politics, but we owed him. In the end, mother and I spent years as his prisoner. We tried to survive.’

The captain looked at me shrewdly. ‘Come forward, girl.’

I did, boldly.

He gazed me over appraisingly. ‘Why aren’t you married? Never mind.
One more time. Give me one reason why I should let you in?’

I spat, bitter. ‘You do not mean I should offer myself…’

‘No!’ he said, angrily, slapping the desk so hard, it cracked.

I breathed a sigh of relief and took a chance, for giving shelter to us, he would be in grave danger.
‘Because we will go to the guillotine if you do not, sir. The Council of Public Safety wants us dead for no other reason that my cousin Gilbert hates and fears us. He works for the bloody Robespierre brothers, before that he betrayed his master Danton and he thinks we know of some deed of his, something to do with the dead Mirabeau. He has his personal reasons as well. They call him the Revenant, for I took his eye, when I was twelve and tried to drown him, but he came back. Now he wishes to forget his past and can do so only over our corpses. He survived to become one ugly, nasty piece of gristle, one with ties to high places, or low, depending on how you view the Parisian trash. We are running from him, sir, for he sees us as a threat. He knows we know his sad past and is terrified we soil his kingdom of fear. He threatens us, and tried to kill my lost siblings in Lyons, when Marcel saved us. I have this, from the queen.’ I gave him the handkerchief, embroidered with her initials.

‘Stolen from her body?’ the captain said, touching the cloth reverently.

‘No! She gave it to me after Gilbert tried to kill us in the Versailles. He did kill my friend, Marie-Louise, a cowardly act from behind.’ I felt tears flow and the noble grumbled, slumping, his anger spent as his eyes sought mine. God, he was a handsome, strong man, one with a heart. ‘She gave that to me so I could wipe the blood off my hair. I was hurt by Gilbert’s knife. The queen was kind to me.’