Reign of Fear: Story of French Revolution and Napoleonic Wars (Cantiniére Tales) (32 page)

‘I do not know,’ I said as I fretted there awkwardly as the bearded chasseurs ogled at me with mixed feelings, and apparently, with probably good reason, they thought they had to babysit me. I noticed Laroche moving up, taking part in the merry troop, and he smiled at me, surprised, pointing his finger towards me. ‘At ease boys,’ he said. ‘She will be useful, never fear, for she can flirt a cow or two out of some foolishly amorous peasant. She won’t bother us, at least. I’ll carry her if she must come with us.
I’m used to slapping her rear and can get her moving.’

‘Not true!’ I told them, cursing Laroche. ’And you’ll not touch me, fat bastard.’

Syphilis silenced me with a lazy wave. ‘Ah, relax girl. We like the captain, and will let you run around with us this one time if he so pleases. Boys, she is captain’s darling maid and comes with us to fetch lunch and to make sure it is fresh. Let’s march, and beg she can keep up, and we do not need to carry her around, but if we do, be gentle to her.’ They snickered, volunteered to hitch me around should I fall behind tired. I protested, but soon we marched and I immediately struggled to keep up. I saw Henriette at the end of the company, and she waved at me, nervous, driving her creaky wagon after Vivien, who was staring after me woodenly, her enticing, hard face frowning. Cantiniére, love, gathers her stock of items to sell to the company from loot, and Vivien did not enjoy Henri’s decision to send me out there.

We took briskly off to
wards northeast, and marched under gently swaying poplar trees. I was soon panting, trying to hide the fact, but Laroche kept rolling his eyes at me. I cried, nearly, but pushed myself, rather dying than having someone carry me and in the end, I think they did not have to stop too often, though kindly Syphilis likely adjusted his boots a bit more often than usual, halting the snickering men.

All around us, nestled on the serene hills, there were pink and white manors, even a drab castle with untended wine yards and wild olive trees, and I was happy to accompany Syphilis and the men, for I drank the sights like a glutton would devour a mutton. Had we not spent years enclosed in a cold castle, little knowing about sights as this? Had I not spent some of my best years staring at bars and the people who were all to die? This was the
life; I felt it, breathed it with every fiber in my body and even grinned at Laroche, my mood the best possible. I loved every sight and breathed deep the air that was devoid of smell of sweat and shit. Syphilis smiled at my sniffling, but the men did not find it strange, for they were looking for food, and they were also sniffing the strong winds to spot some poor soul with a broth cooking on a pot, unaware of the hungry troop running around, looking for prey. They were all hungry, and so was I, I noticed, and thought I would not, perhaps, be too upset to be a looter, after all as it was quite standard for the army and God surely did have different rules for us.

By midday, we broke out from the shallow woods to find a small manor with low, moss-covered wall made of round-mortared stones. It looked deceptively calm, arrogantly peaceful amidst the war that was raging around it and gentle smoke was rising from the half-mortared chimney. On the second floor, there was a row of smoky windows facing us, and green and red wines grew around the red tiled roof.

‘Juicy onions, some kind of bread, can you smell them?’ said one of the men. I sniffed expertly but smelled nothing. They were veterans, but I would learn, the more chronically hungry I would grow. ‘The bloody stable is closed. It would not be closed if it was empty, would it?’ The same man noted, his brains calculating.

Syphilis nodded agreeably, scratching his bearded chin.
‘Indeed, indeed yes. If it is a horse, we take it, for I could use a horse steak. Do not let the chicken go free, if there are any, do be careful. I will go to the door, and hopefully, we get to do this peacefully, and they will play along and let us do the deed without muskets being fired.’

‘Will you pay them?’ I asked and they laughed hollowly, not bothering to answer, and Laroche rolled his eyes, his point proven, again. ‘You won’t hurt them? If there are women…’

Syphilis snorted. ‘There are men like that, yes, but not in the fifth company, for the captain has them shot like invalided dogs or he sends them first to the battle, usually against a battery. Same thing.’

‘Good,’ I said, and so we went.

Syphilis pointed at me to go to the stables with the two chasseurs, and he took Laroche with him, teasing him for his fat belly, telling him he had better keep an eye on him or Laroche will eat a cow intended for the whole company. In reality, Syphilis insisted on keeping him near so the soon-to-be victims of French army would know they were not brigands by his fairly pristine uniform.

We climbed
cumbersomely over the wall, and I felt exhilarating fear run through my spine and near irresistible urge to relieve myself, as I gazed ahead to the stable. It was a separate building, wood and brick construction, and a horse whinnied inside, apparently sensing our presence, and the two men with me grinned. ‘We are not supposed to eat horses, girl, for they want them for the cavalry, but I do not really care for their needs, and neither does any sane infantryman,’ said the other one as they lifted the bar holding the doors closed. I glanced to the door of the main building, and I noticed a brief shadow on the upstairs window, a whiskered face soon gone, as Syphilis was knocking hard, demanding attention.

The two men smiled even wider as they scanned the shadowy stable, as there were horses tethered at the end of the building, two cows in dirty stalls, and a huge hog ey
eing us in suspicious terror. The men went inside and I turned to look at Laroche, who was glancing my way, while trying to look stern, as Syphilis was discussing in angry tones as an older man apparently disagreed with him over the future of his livestock<. The two men with me removed their sweaty leather casques as they started to take stock of the food we were about to liberate, already savoring a taste of a good stew, arguing on the way to cook the still alive animals. I spied a chicken or two, and cursed, as they looked mysteriously dangerous while squatting in some dusty hay, harboring their nests. I approached one, and at first it shuddered uncertainty, it’s devilish eye regarding me with uncanny intelligence. Then it got on it’s ugly feet, clucking warningly at me, turning its head back and forth and sure enough, when I approached it, it flapped it’s pitiful wings, and took off for the very back of the stable, feathers flying. I ran after it, hoping there were no open doors back there, and finally, it ducked under the horses tethered at the end of the dark house. The horses made noises of displeasure, as they pulled at their tethers, and I swore profusely like a soldier, or former prisoner would, as the chicken stayed stubbornly under the beasts, wisely eyeing me with hostility and determination. It was not a foolish bird and likely knew it was fated to be eaten by a gluttonous light infantry captain, should I capture it.

I saw some tall staves on the corner, and took one, planning to thrust it at the chicken, but the stave was thick and I grunted with effort of hefting it. There was a spear point on top of it, and yellow
 and black pennant hanging down, and the horses glanced at me carefully, thinking I might skewer them accidentally. Nobody had taken the saddles off the beasts, meaning the owners intended to leave soon and I squinted at the saddles, which sported dark, fluffy hair and fine leather details. Then I saw cipher and numbers.

I went to the men salivating over a grunting pig they had just tethered. I showed them the spear, and the other one took it immediately, his mouth open. ‘A lance?’ he said, carefully fingering the pennant.

‘The horses have numbered saddles, and I think they must have riders about, no? I think they are military horses and there are more spears, lances, over there,’ I said. ‘Are these from the French hussars?’

One of the men stared at the horses in
growing alarm. ‘The 7
th
Hussars do not own Lipizzaner horses and wave lances around.’

I kicked the ground in confusion, nervous at the look on his face. ‘Then what…’

‘Austrians!’ said the other man, terrified as a child, turning to take his Charleville musket from the pile of pig shit it had fallen in. ‘Fucking Austrian uhlans, bleeding lancers!’ I froze for a second and went before them, remembering the face in the window. Our friends were entering the house, Laroche was grinning at Syphilis, who was visibly happy, apparently having convinced the houses owner of the pressing needs of the French army as he disappeared through the treacherous door.

‘Laroche!’ I screamed hoarsely, and many things happened, none of them pleasant. I saw Laroche scowl in confusion, and step back out to stare at me, and that perhaps saved his life, for I heard yells in a foreign language, and it
was Polish, for the Austrian 1
st
Uhlans were raised in faraway Galitzia, the riders savage and skillful riders of the famous land. They rode strong Lipizzaner horses, hosted two stubby pistols, a deadly tall lance and a wicked saber per man, and they were silently scouting the area like we were. They had surprised us, like we had surprised them, but perhaps, we were the ones more surprised after all, for guns banged, a man yelled.

Laroche looked shocked, his mouth hanging open. Syphilis ran out of the door, holding his bleeding face, and he fell to the muddy ground in shock, as he was also bleeding from his side. Laroche raised his musket quickly, and fired inside the house, where apparently uhlans were busily charging out, then he stooped to take at the sergeant’s discarded musket, but blanched and fell back as shots rang out, barely missing him, the bullets throwing mud just beside him. He fell on the slippery mud and then the Poles were out, just like that, all three of them. The uhlans were small men with long mustaches, green uniforms and wearing czapka, the polish cap with a high, four cornered top. They wore yellow jackets and looked dangerous and dashing as they were bellowing at Laroche, one jumping forward to kick the fat man in the face, dazing him. Two of them held sabers, having discharged the pistols; the last one held the still loaded pistols my way, surprised as he saw me standing there. He smacked his lips with an unpleasant grin, but then saw the two other chasseurs charge out behind me, and the man shot his guns.

Now pistols are not weapons of accuracy, but this man was good, and one of the chasseurs hollered as he held his chest, falling on his back. The other chasseur, a veteran, fired immediately, and one of the saber wielding men collapsed, his forehead a mass of red. The two Poles cursed and ran towards us, they swung their sabers, they were yelling savagely as the chasseur bravely charged them with a bayonet. He took a slash on his side from a sabre as he pulled one of the uhlans down with him for a wrestling match, struggling to kill his foe as the other Pole hovered around, looking for an opportunity to finish the outmatched man.

I shook in fear, and grabbed the musket dropped by the dying chasseur, and prayed it was loaded. I had pissed myself, I noticed, but I raised the weapon, and eyes round from shock I shuffled forward, as the men were struggling on the ground, in animal like fight where they even bit at each other. They were panting, terrified, one about to die.

In my head, every instinct screamed at me to flee, to go far away, and tell everyone that I could not save my mates, should they ask, and I was just a girl, tottering around with veteran killers busy at their grisly business. I chased the thought away as I went as close as I dared and thrust the musket at the standing Pole’s back. He turned, grinned at me in disbelief and I pulled the stiff trigger, the man fell down like a trunk, making a strange hissing sound as he bit his tongue in morbid pain and I flew on my rear, crying in surprise as the butt of the musket had bruised my shoulder. I saw Laroche get up, eyes wide, looking at the dead uhlans as he, animal like, ran to the struggling pair and started to clobber the now desperate uhlan wrestling with the remaining chasseur. After some solid, meaty swings from the musket butt, the man went quiet and limp, and I threw up as I saw part of his skull flapping around as he rolled.

Laroche turned to look at the house owner, an old Italian, who spat at us from the doorway, cursing us profusely, for he did not like the French, and I know what happened to him, as Laroche pulled a bayonet, took him inside, and came out alone, with no more protesting noises heard from inside.

The chasseur was checking on his friend, cursing and crying in pain and loss, and Laroche kneeled next to the sergeant, who was moaning softly. I ran to him and saw the sergeant was white from face, a pool of blood spreading under him.

Then, trumpet rang harshly from the hills.

Laroche blanched and looked around and squinted up to the hill, and I stared that way as well, and soon I saw cavalry, a forest of pennants descending from the top of the hill, and trumpet was blowing notes, giving orders as the men spread out. They looked tiny in the distance but would be there soon.

‘Come! Let us run!’ Laroche said, grabbing his musket, and the chasseur, bleeding from a sabre cut, grunted
total agreement.

‘We have to take the sergeant!’ I said sharply.

‘Come, Jeanette!’ Laroche said, his face white, pulling at me.

‘Cannot leave him!’ I told him.

He grabbed me and pulled me face to face. ‘Those riders will kill us, rape you and you will not enjoy it. Sergeant is dead. Live with it, you fucking brat!’ he yelled, but I shook my head, terrified of leaving the sergeant. ‘Suit yourself, follow us, or suffer,’ he said, uncertain, licking his lips at the sight of death approaching and they left, as fast as they could.