Reign of Fear: Story of French Revolution and Napoleonic Wars (Cantiniére Tales) (28 page)

‘He is just playing, you know,’ I said.

‘I don’t think its right to fondle…’ he started.

‘I know, but I adapt.’ I didn’t, in truth, mind Laroche’s slaps, for I trusted him for some reason, but Cleft needed assurances. He looked sad as he stood there amidst an army, but he smiled at me.

‘Our trip is over, then,’ he told me reluctantly.

I nodded. I felt sad for it as well, but realized he was lamenting the loss of our private smiles and rare talks from the trip. Here, life would change. He was gathering courage, desperately trying to be brave, I noticed and I placed a hand on his to calm him. He clutched at it desperately.

He stammered, but spoke out. ‘Do you think we…’

I smiled at him and again put my finger on his lips. I
had sworn to God I would not be interested in men, but I was a woman, Marie, of marriageable age, and I should have felt strange, impatient tugs flutter in my chest and excitement grab my belly in a vice like grip, for I knew a handsome man had feelings for me. It was so on the books. I looked at him, thinking on what to say, thinking about mother and father and if it had been like this for them.

For I had no feelings for him
and no flutter and excitement in my belly. I wondered if there was something wrong with me.

It was not unlike it had been with Florian, who had been, in truth, my friend.
Now Cleft, or Victor, hoped for some more, but he was nervous and did not really belong, and I knew I wanted more than mother had had. I wanted what the books whispered of. I wanted fire.

Laroche called out from the dark. ‘She does have a shapely rear, Cleft. She does. Don’t mind if I keep clapping it in the future. I think she likes it.’ Cleft smoldered at Laroche’s direction, and I got perverse pleasure at his
sudden anger. I was not upset with Laroche; his words were just to torture a fool. A woman, Marie, is a sadist, when men fight over her. It comes with the mother’s milk. Yet, I was also grateful to Laroche, for the moment was broken.

I sighed and let go of his hand, assuring him w
ith a smile. ‘Let us see, Victor. It’s very hectic and we have to settle in.’

‘Yes, of course,’ he said with a confused smile, for I had not said yes
or no. God, I cursed and hoped we could settle into a comfortable friendship.

Then I noticed a sunburned woman
in a fine tunic and red sash looking at us. She had high cheekbones and very little fat on her muscular body. ‘Who is that?’ mother asked Marcel, who was talking to a scruffy man in happy tones. Marcel glanced at her. ‘Vivandrie? Cantiniére? There are many companies here,‘ he said anxiously and guided his men towards a bivouac, having located his company. The woman followed us, carrying a tonnelet of brandy, hanging from a belt running over her shoulder and chest. Soon, we were greeted by even heartier welcomes in a small copse of wood, hosting our future company. There a man materialized from the dark and hugged the impressive woman, still walking after us and he gave her a kiss on the neck. The man sported a huge, unruly beard, was squat and hard, and had silver strings at his cuffs, more elaborate than Marcel’s and stopped to look at him. Marcel did too, nodding carefully. Finally, the man came forward and clasped Marcel’s hand. ‘Welcome back citizen Lefebvre,’ said the man, eyeing the new men. ‘So few?’

Marcel grunted guardedly, apparently not enjoying the man’s attention. ‘Syphilis took two; guillotine one
unlucky one and two had a change of heart as they learnt I was there to take them to Italy. One was but a child. How is life, Thierry?’

The sergeant shrugged. ‘Much the same, save we have actually done well in war this year. Oh, I got married
and promoted.’ The man turned to look at us. His pig like eyes scanned us suspiciously.

‘To the cantiniére?’ asked Marcel, looking at the woman walking away.

‘From Turin, yes, she is now the fifth company cantiniére. And the woman with you?’ he asked furtively.

‘I hoped she would be the fifth company cantiniére,’ said Marcel morosely.

‘Too late, Vivian has the paper,’ said Thierry. ‘But do not worry, we can use washerwomen, though perhaps not them.’ He snickered nastily and clapped Marcel on the back, but his eyes looked at us cannily. Mother and I glanced at each other. We did not fear hard work, but we did not like this man. ‘The captain wishes to see you.’ He said it with meaning, and eyed us, his orbs moist. Something was afoot.

Marcel nodded and waited. Thierry waited as well.
Finally, Marcel threw his pack on the ground and gestured for the woods. ‘Shall we go? Show me the tent, Thierry.’

He nodded. ‘I will. Take them too.’

‘Them?’ Marcel asked, looking at us.

‘Yes, citizen,’ Thierry said. Marcel’s eyes twinkled in the dark as he regarded us. He did not look worried, but he was tense.

‘Lead on,’ Marcel told Thierry, and we joined him. ‘I know the captain,’ he assured us. ‘Thierry is apparently our company sergeant major now. He is political; so do not speak to him about Jacobins or your past. He and some fourth company men have a small club. Dangerous men.’

We passed men singing and gambling, lean as wolves, bearded and dirty. Then, drums
rapped crazily around the woods and all the lazy men sprung to their feet, running purposefully with swinging spoons. Soon, we saw there was a strange routine going on, where men were standing around a steaming cauldron. Some had bread, others not, all were keen on eating.

Marcel grinned. ‘That is how we eat. Laroche will get thin soon enough. Seniority dictates the order of turns.
One at the time, one spoonful, each taking one after another. Scalding thin water it is usually, for we do not, as you know, have much food. You might have some bread with it. The ones, who stand heat the best, are sure not to miss their turn. Best develop a parched throat so you keep fed. No sybarites here, girls,’ he said. Thierry was walking carelessly forward, shooting glances at us. Marcel leaned on us. ‘Now hear me out. In there is the captain, we call him citizen Freckles. He is a young fellow. A miller from Burgundy. He likes people who know about many kinds of bread, how to make flour, and basically all the down to earth matters. He will ask you questions, so smile. Tell him we are married, and you would like to be a cantiniére. Captain will say no, perhaps, and perhaps he will transfer us to another company, one that lacks a cantiniére. I do not wish you to wash this lots shitty pants. I will deal with Thierry.’

‘You surely love your own company?’ Henriette asked, alarmed.

He shrugged, a pained look on his face. ‘I love my woman too and have a responsibility. I am sincere, and will not let you down. I promised you would be safe here.’

Henriette smiled at him and nodded as I scanned the crowd. ‘Why are there so many civilians here?’ I asked.

Marcel eyed the surrounding bustle. Men were lounging and laughing around the cauldrons. It was a raucous crowd with very few pieces of uniform. He scoffed. ‘You mean the 1792 and 1793 draft? The men with barely a piece of uniform between them? They are not volunteers, who are excellent soldiers. These were forced, draftees. Many troublemakers. Bad quality, much of it, but some we take and make into proper men.’

We arrived near a dark cliff, and from there, overlooking vast woods, we saw army bivouacking. Thousands of fires created an unbelievable sea of light, as if it was a day, the murmur, music and laughter of men making it seem like a market. There were some tents, and one commanded attention, being larger than the others. ‘The tent of the
General of the Army, Dumbertion resides there, it seems. Now dear,’ Marcel said. ‘You will be selling various items, food, drink, to the company; we will see which company if we are lucky. You will need a tonnelet, a barrel where you will carry brandy, or something close to it, and you have to have tin cups for serving it. Just, Henriette, treat the men like family, and they will share any loot with you.’

‘I have no money to buy such things,’ Henriette said. ‘I have not a sou…’

He smiled. ‘I will get us started and we will loot the rest so we can take care of the boys.’

She looked at him, aghast. ‘So we are to be thieves? I mean, not only to feed us, but to profit?’

‘Soldier, dear, is a thief out of necessity, didn’t you hear me say it is as God intended,’ he grinned and kissed her, mollifying her. We arrived at a ragged tent that had once been luxurious. It had visible faded red posts with silver etchings, and the linen, while frayed now, looked decently clean. Marcel scowled at it. Thierry smiled at him.

‘There have,’ the bushy bearded sergeant said, ‘been changes.’ He went to lean on to the tent. ‘They are here.’

A caporal-fourrier, the quartermaster in his fancy undercoat opened the tent flap. He eyed us appraisingly and smiled at Henriette, quite forgetting his airs. He nodded inside. Thierry sat down on a bucket outside the tent, lighting his pipe. We noticed he had some men with him. One was hard looking man, muscular and fey with thin, dark hair, another tall, gaunt, with a weasel-like face, pockmarked cheeks and nervous eyes. Marcel hesitated, put a hand on his musket, but then ducked inside.

We fo
llowed and found Marcel gazing carefully at the man sitting behind a simple desk, holding a stack of papers, a straight sword on top of many others. The man raised his face from the sheets that were violently crumbled, as he apparently was very frustrated at skimming them over. Immaculately dressed, in culottes of fine linen, gold braid all over his jacket, the man was not the captain Marcel had thought to meet. Smart, even if surprised, Marcel snapped to perfect attention, his eyes hovering above the captain’s head. Henriette pulled me to her side, to the shadows.

I stared at the man.

The captain was a hard-bitten man. Not a young man, nor old, his shoulders were wide and powerful and his strong chin was permanently stubbled. That was the only dent in his otherwise perfect military décor, where others just accepted the filthy conditions and lived like pigs.

I found him disturbing
and could not tear my eyes off him. There was an air of dignity around him. He was handsome and rugged, his hands large as he worked. I had a hunch if he were to ask me to jump; I’d jump like a happy hare, hoping to please him. I felt a fool, but there it was. I thought he was gorgeous, and my solemn oaths to God evaporated from my heart in an instant. When he glanced at Marcel, his eyes flashed like I imagined wolf's eyes would, when stalking a deer. The grey orbs took in the rod-straight sergeant, as he changed one paper from the top of the pile in his hands. His eyes flashed back to that paper.

‘Citizen Nouret,’ he said, and the caporal-fourrier jerked, and stood to attention.

The captain took the paper as if it was made for the toilet and dropped the rest unceremoniously to the desk. He eyed the paper, his face betraying his disgust, twitching as if swallowing vomit. ‘I realize that captain in charge of this madhouse of a company could not read, but I can. You are asking for a signature for mysterious gaiters we have apparently received for a hundred and two men, no? Payment for them, no? You wish me to pay for the damned gaiters? Gaiters, which the men would dump after first march anyways, if they had them, which they do not.’

The caporal-fourrier was sweating. He nodded. ‘Citizen captain, we just received the bills, and they should be signed, so…’ He went quiet, as the captain stared at him like an animal.

Then the captain jumped up, made a ball out of the paper, and walked next to the caporal. God, he was tall. ‘Open mouth.’

The caporal looked confused.

‘Open the fucking mouth, citizen!’ the captain said with a hint of violence.

The caporal did, and the captain placed the ball of crude paper in his mouth, and using his finger, gently pushed it inside. I giggled despite myself, and looked down as everyone stared at me for a second. The captain’s eyes lingered on me and I felt myself blushing, as I glanced at him. After some seconds, he tore his gaze off me.

‘We have not,’ the captain said, calmly, ‘received any gaiters. Now, if you try to make me sign shit like that again, I will have you in the ranks. If you have a supply officer threatening you for this money, you just have to cope. When I get the gaiters, we will sign for the useless pieces of crap. Not before. Cheat me again at your peril. Now, go sit in the corner and swallow that paper. Do not dare remove it.’ Then the captain snapped his eyes at Marcel. ‘Citizen sergeant.’

Marcel’s back went even straighter
, if possible.

Captain grabbed a paper. ‘You were fetching ten men for the company. Replacements. You came back with five.’

Marcel adopted the most emotionless voice I had ever heard. ‘Sir. Yes sir. Four men only, sir. Two ran away en route, victims of the disease of an amorous kind, meaning they had syphilis, guillotine took at least one, and one, sir, was twelve. I sent him home to his fine papa. There were never ten men, not even in the depot. They are, sir, like the gaiters. Simply not there.’

The captain smiled. His smile was sarcastic, leaving one unsure if he mocked you gently, or if he was truly angry
, or even wondrously happy. In his dark blue, gold braided jacket, he looked like a man not to cross, in any case. He slowly eyed us, and then snapped his face at Marcel. ‘You wanted to make up for the deficit by a beautiful woman or two? Have them march with the men, their juicy tits bouncing, loading and firing like the best of the chasseurs, no? We take no whores in the company.’