Le Temps des Cerises (15 page)

Joubet, always quick to anger, threatened to punch the man's eyes out if he didn't shut up and Bidulph had to prevent him from actually doing it.

‘Silence in the ranks,' shouted the Captain. ‘Let them pass, please.'

‘Keep it calm, sir,' grinned Tessier. ‘Don't let your head swell so, sir.'

The Captain had an unfortunately large and bulbous head and was the butt of many jokes. He frowned at the stifled chuckles that greeted Tessier's remarks, oblivious to the comedy going on at his expense.

Sometimes they even had to stop for a dispatch rider galloping up with some telegram or other. It irked the men not to know what was going on and Bidulph, who had good ears, was always sent forward to try and make out what the rider was saying. Coupeau, on the other hand, ducked at the sound of galloping hooves, much to the delight and amusement of the others.

‘Place your bets for the two-fifteen!' they teased him. ‘This isn't Longchamps
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you idiot. You won't get stampeded.'

But poor little Coupeau wouldn't be consoled until the sounds of rattling bit, creaking saddle and ‘hefty hoss's breath' as he put it were far far away. Only then did he return to his former cocksure self.

The rain was coming down now in sheets – they were getting a real lashing from a cloudburst – and a thick fog was blanketing the country roundabout. Visibility became so poor as they progressed that Laurie could barely see the battalion in front and the path behind was practically obliterated. Shapes jumped out at him suddenly like an enemy ambush and he was forever tightening his fingers about his rifle in preparation for an attack. He hoped the weather wasn't an omen for the day's events. He was particularly susceptible to omens, good or bad, though he realised the thought processes involved were not entirely rational. It was just one of the little demons that skulked about his head and which he tried to stiffen his soul against. This little demon wasn't giving up that easily. The weather, he kept muttering, was a very bad sign indeed.

‘Gawd Almighty!' grinned Tessier, splashing through a puddle in his clod-hopping boots. ‘I'll need an umbrella with me at this rate!'

Laurie laughed, glad of the distraction – it was just some god-awful weather after all – and said he'd like to see Bismarck's face at a bunch of umbrellas descending on Versailles.

‘Imagine,' giggled Coupeau, having gotten over his close encounter with the hefty hoss, ‘battalions dressed up as cocodettes with bottines
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and parasols. We bat our eyelids, flap our...' he wiggled his meagre little chest, ‘...attributes. Inveigle our way past buttresses, barrages…until lo and behold we are in the headquarters. We bring our weapons out of our bosoms,' the salacious little sod made a saucy gesture with his chassepot
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, ‘and blow them all to kingdom come!'

The men laughed at the pantomime got up for their amusement and began to sing obscene songs about the enemy to keep their spirits up.

Bismarck the fat oaf

With a greasy moustache

Pleasured himself with a tart

And fell on his arse

‘
Bismarck the fat oaf

Pleasured himself with a loaf
,'

someone added and everyone laughed. It was hard not to think of the Iron Chancellor sticking a baguette up his backside without smiling, even though most of them were hungry enough to have eaten it afterwards.

They were nonsense made-up little rhymes, usually on the spur of the moment but their message was clear. To hell with a bit of rain and fog. They could launch an attack blindfold if they had to. And Laurie sang along as heartily as the rest of them.

After what seemed an eternity of marching they were given the order to halt. There had been no let up in the rain and everyone was secretly relieved to be able to take a breather, blow the drips of water from their noses. Their waterlogged packs weighed a ton, they chafed around the privates and their hands were almost blue hanging on to their rifles. They had to grumble a bit though to save face. Bidulph said he'd just reached his optimum rhythm and was going like the latest vélocipede; Joubet said if he waited too long his feet would swell up. Laurie nodded sympathetically – his left heel was killing him, rubbed raw by an ill-fitting boot and he wished he could stand barefoot in the virgin snow on the wayside; but no order had come to stand easy and they huddled together like sheep, backs against the wind. Only Alphonse stood apart, the rain running off him like water off a duck's back. He was staring at the sky as if trying to get his bearings and Laurie wondered if they were lost. The Captain had been laden down with staff maps and reconnoitring glass but he hadn't appeared to use any of them. He probably didn't know how to. A demon of doubt and creeping anxiety skipped into Laurie's head and he hunched his shoulders with the rest of the men, wishing he had a cigar.

‘Silence in the ranks!' shouted the Captain a touch unfairly because nobody at that moment was saying a thing.

‘Too much manure,' winked Tessier. ‘With all this rain it'll grow to the size of a watermelon.'

After another hour of waiting with no order to stand easy the mood became sullen, almost angry. Joubet suddenly blew his top and threw his kit bag down on the ground, many of the younger members of the battalion following suit. He hadn't come all this way, he said, to stand in a puddle. What sort of a roundabout route was this? Trochu's plan, eh? What a surprise! What a strategy! The only surprise was that they'd got this far already. Lambs to the slaughter that's what they were. He read the papers. He knew what was what. A sop to public opinion, that's what this was. And where was the precious public? Back home with its feet up swilling wine like pigs!

‘You haven't even clapped eyes on a Prussian yet,' Alphonse said sternly, looking him straight in the face, ‘and you're already defeated.'

Joubet said nothing and Laurie felt a little ashamed. He too had been wondering what on earth they were doing, wishing fervently he were back in his rooms, reading a volume of
Victor Hugo with Eveline staring out at Miss 49 and Mr 50. He tried to rally himself but the weight of his pack, the rain and the endless waiting oppressed him. He just wished that they would get going.

‘Still,' said Bidulph gloomily, taking up the cudgels on behalf of his friend and peering from under his thick matted hair like a baleful sheep, ‘I have read that Prussia is a grand empire in formation. That her system of compulsory military service has produced a marvellously efficient fighting force; and that, combined with the nationalist movement that has swept the country since Sadowa, has put her at the head of all the German states…'

‘Shut up, Bidulph,' said Alphonse curtly and Bidulph was so surprised that he did.

Laurie tried to distract himself from the waiting by studying the men's physiognomies. It was strange, he felt, how occupations were reflected in the face and body. Coupeau, the dyer, with his red neck and ears as if a runlet of pink had seeped upwards from his shoulders; Tessier, the bookkeeper, with his small eyes and ink-stained fingers; Joubet with the ragged hard features of a street fighter; Bidulph the sallow-faced doleful intellectual. He wondered if he himself had a perpetually half-asleep look about him, being a waker-upper. He knew he possessed the soft soul of a poet but he didn't think that was visible to the naked eye. Alphonse, no doubt about it, had the look of a heartbreaker… Laurie wondered for the second time what Eveline had given his friend. It struck him suddenly that her farewell to himself had been more sisterly than anything; and he glanced suspiciously at Alphonse who was still staring at the sky as if he could read some secret up there.

All of a sudden there was a commotion at the front – a rider had galloped up from the opposite direction. Everyone clamoured about, eager to hear the news and Bidulph was pushed forward with his good ears. He came back a moment later to spread the word.
Buzenval broken through! Bellemare's lot advancing on St Cloud. Versailles to be taken by nightfall! Hurrah!

What a cheer went up. This was more like it. The Prussians taking a peppering? Of course they were! Tessier gazed about him triumphantly and even Joubet picked up his kit bag with a perky air. The bugler let out a little burst to pep up the men and then they were off, the rain and the wait forgotten. ‘Onward march! Onward march!' sang the Captain, his large face beaming like a beacon in the mist.

The going was tough – the rain had turned the snow into a glutinous mud and the men were practically wading through it, their faces bespattered, the red stripe on their brown trousers almost invisible. Strange shapes and sounds came out of the whiteness: an old farmhouse, a rotten apple orchard, the yapping of a dog, mournful cry of a bird. And in the far distance the recognisable whir and spin of the
mitrailleuse
.

‘Time to join the party,' said Tessier merrily, taking great snorts and gulps of air. ‘Sniff the air, folks. I smell the blood of a Prussian man.'

Nobody bothered to reply – most of them were bent double against the wind. More like a bunch of old crones, Laurie whispered to Alphonse, not
cocodettes
. He smiled grimly to himself. He was limping as badly as Tessier with his inflamed heel but at least he was upright.

‘A crone with a parasol,' Alphonse gave a wry smile, ‘can be lethal!'

Laurie grinned and jammed his képi down hard on his head. It had blown off twice already, involving mad dashes behind thickets and brambles and he wondered if he oughtn't just dispense with it altogether as many of the men had done, leaving a trail of hats cross country like a macabre little treasure hunt. He wished he could dispense with the weight of his kit bag. It bumped about on his back as if he were giving a tubby little child a piggyback. And he wouldn't mind getting rid of his rifle either – he kept swapping it from one hand to the other, trying to give each arm a small respite. But at least they were moving. He comforted himself with the fact that he was upright and moving.

No sooner had he thought such a thing than to his utter disbelief they were given the order to halt once again. A rider galloped out of the mist, spattering them with mud and shouting madly. Poor little Coupeau cowered behind Tessier but this time nobody teased him. They were almost too stupefied to think straight. Bidulph didn't even have the energy to go up and see what was happening; but word came down only too quickly.

General Ducrot had given orders to retreat. They couldn't get the guns up because of the weather!

The men stood open mouthed and aghast, half blinded by the rain and squinting at each other in astonishment.
What d'you mean, couldn't get the guns up? What d'you mean, General Ducrot had given orders for retreat? General Ducrot who'd headed the battalions on his splendid white charger? General Ducrot who had said they would return dead or victorious? Where was Trochu in all this? What about the plan? There must be some mix up. There must be some mistake.

Joubet lost his temper for real. He was sick of being led by a bunch of imbeciles, he was sick of playing games and he wanted to know what the fuck was going on. This time he wasn't listening to Bidulph or Alphonse or the Captain. He walked off into the fog, firing his gun in protest. A little old fellow at the back, believing some skirmish with the enemy to be afoot, panicked at the sound and started jumping up and down in excitement and shooting into thin air, narrowly missing another member of the battalion.

‘I'll blast 'em,' he shouted, jigging up and down. ‘I'll blast 'em. See if I don't blast 'em!'

Alphonse, white with fury, marched up to the Captain. They exchanged a few angry words and moments later the order came to advance again.

‘What the hell did you say to him?' asked Laurie as Alphonse slipped back into line.

‘That I'd put a sugar plum in his head if he didn't get the men moving. Demoralisation will kill us before the enemy does. We'll have a riot on our hands if we're not careful.'

‘What d'you think has happened to Joubet?' Laurie asked then, more than a little edgy at the strange turn of events.

‘Don't worry,' grinned Bidulph. ‘He'll be back.'

But Joubet didn't come back; or at least if he did nobody noticed for a moment later they were being fired upon. Bullets screamed out at them like sirens. Some, too surprised to move, were hit smack in the face, including the Captain. Others scattered into the undergrowth or, losing their nerve completely, fled the scene. Men trying to advance were hampered by men in retreat. It was mayhem. A tangle of arms, legs, kit bags and bayonets.

‘Hold the line,' croaked the Captain, spreadeagled in the mud as fleeing feet leapt or trampled over him. ‘Hold the line!'

But Alphonse had taken over immediately. ‘Take cover!' he roared, brandishing his bayonet. ‘Let the enemy show its face, don't fire blind.'

For once Laurie didn't agree with his friend. Presumably the enemy were firing blind so why shouldn't they? Take a few pot shots and hope to get lucky. He dropped to his knees and aimed into the fog but his hands were shaking so violently and his eyes smarting so badly that he couldn't do anything but kneel with a trembling gun in his hands. The air was filled with a shrill whimpering and he didn't know if it was the guns, his own voice or even a little demon carrying on in his head. To his astonishment a man dropped dead at his feet. He'd never seen a man drop dead before and he was surprised at how elegant, casual and discreet an affair it was. He simply fell into the soft dark snow without a sound or a murmur. He made it look easy the way he did it.