Wolf Hunt (6 page)

It was springtime, the sun was shaded by leaves and the sunlight didn’t travel far. If you left the beaten track, it was easy to get lost. I had just surprised Franz behind some shrubbery and I threw myself on him. We were playing at war.’

Relmyer shivered. ‘I’m still playing at it today, in a way ... The man appeared out of nowhere. He came from the forest, not along a path. I saw him briefly. He threatened us with a pistol and ordered us to turn round. I thought he was a robber, that he would let us go because we had nothing. But no. He forced us into the woods. We were walking in front of him and he was guiding us. He deliberately complicated the route. Finally we arrived at a ruined farm, very isolated. The road leading to it was completely obscured by branches and shrubs, the collapsed walls covered in ivy. He took us into one of the old buildings. There was a trap door, which led down into a cellar. After he had forced us into the cellar, he removed the ladder and left. He abandoned us there, imprisoned in that damned room like two birds in a cage!’

Margont felt the weight of oppression. Imprisonment, even imaginary imprisonment, was intolerable to him.

‘Franz and I were left there for hours with nothing to eat or drink. Later I learnt that we had been missing for two days. We could barely see, the trap door was impossible to reach, and in any case the man had removed the lock. We shouted and banged on the walls but no one came to our rescue. Who would be out walking in that area? And anyway, the cellar was in a much better state than the external walls, and the ceiling had been carefully sealed. The man had fitted out the cellar so that no one would be able to hear us. By the second day, we were so weak that our captor would have been able to do whatever he liked to us without our being able to defend ourselves ...’

Relmyer then related his escape and how Franz had disappeared by the time he got back. ‘Franz’s body was found the next day in another part of the forest, hidden under branches. He had been stabbed and also abused. Someone had mutilated his corpse in exactly the same way as Wilhelm’s by carving a smile with a knife!’ Relmyer remained frozen, his face strained, as he recalled the

horror of the body.

After a silence, Margont asked: ‘How long did it take for you to find help and get back to the cellar, after your escape?’

‘It’s hard to say. I was so exhausted I wasn’t exactly racing along, and of course I was lost in the forest. Eventually I stumbled on a path that led me out of the woods. I returned to Lesdorf and raised the alert. Unfortunately, I couldn’t find the damned farm again. We had to wait for the police to arrive with several volunteers to organise a massive search and we finally found it. So I would say between seven and ten hours.’

Relmyer suddenly grew agitated. There should have been a hue and cry about the whole affair, but relatively little was said. Madame Blanken, who financed and managed the orphanage, did everything in her power to prevent people knowing about the crime. She wanted to maintain the reputation of her orphanage. Madame Blanken is part of the Viennese establishment and she has good contacts, so she had no difficulty in achieving her aim. The investigators were ordered to be very discreet and only two newspapers reported the crime. Madame Blanken did sincerely want the perpetrator caught, but I am convinced - and I always will be! - that her silence severely hindered the investigation. I, on the other hand, had different ideas: I wanted the affair to have as much publicity as possible. I hoped that would eventually flush out some witnesses. I also thought it was important to warn the Viennese! The killer might be preparing to strike again, everyone should stay alert until the killer had been arrested!’

The tension that Relmyer had felt at the time resurfaced as powerfully as before. ‘My disagreement with Madame Blanken quickly became more and more virulent. Our points of view were completely incompatible. In the end she forbade me to mention Franz’s death and every time I did in spite of her, she punished me! I was to “forget”, leave the case to those who were competent to deal with it, and shut up! The man responsible was never identified. Gradually the police grew discouraged and abandoned their investigations despite my pleas and protests.’

‘Why the bizarre desire to cover the affair up?’ demanded Lefine.

‘Because, in Austria, the establishment has an obsessive fear of scandal. Appearances are much more important than reality. The honourable reputation of an institution far outweighed the murder of an orphan. If the truth had leaked out, Lesdorf Orphanage would have been harshly judged, and so would the police.'

‘It’s the same in France, and everywhere else,’ said Margont.

‘I couldn’t stand the failure of the investigation and the indifference of most of the people involved. Besides, I was worried that the assassin would come after me; I had briefly seen his face. A few months later I fled. I had begun to detest Austria, so I left the country. I wanted to live off my own resources but, rapidly falling into poverty, I decided to enlist in your army. I chose the army because in times of war they take on practically anyone. I was guaranteed board and lodging. And I chose the French army because they were firing on the Austrians. But the real reason I became a soldier was to learn to fight. I acquired fighting skills; I am no longer defenceless.’

The three men found themselves staring at Relmyer’s scabbard.

They were all aware that it was a fearsome object guarding a blade that was the extension not only of a skilled hand but also of a determined will.

‘I always knew that I would come back here to settle the affair. It’s only that I have come a little earlier than expected. I would have preferred to wait three or four more years, to perfect my skills, to become a master of arms without peer.’

Relmyer’s boundless vanity was childish. He passed from adulthood to adolescence to childhood in an instant, as if he were perpetually oscillating between these three stages of his life. ‘However, my premature return is a good thing. Because the man is still here and he’s killed again! Wilhelm was sixteen. Almost the same age as Franz and I when we were kidnapped! We came from the same orphanage and, besides, I knew him: we used to play together sometimes. And most telling of all, there’s that smile!’

‘I wonder why the assassin mutilates his victims in that way?’ asked Margont, baffled.

‘I don’t know, but I’ll find out. I know that I can count on Luise,

but that's not enough. I had put all my hopes on two of my hussars, Barel and Pagin. I sent them to look for Wilhelm but alas, Barel is lying somewhere between Essling and Aspern. As for Pagin, he’s barely seventeen; he needs guidance. The other troopers in my squadron only care about themselves and the war, which, I do concede, is already a lot to think about. Are you willing to assist me?’

Margont appeared undecided and Lefine looked at him, willing him to refuse.

‘I can help you out for the moment. We’ll have to see for how long.'

Relmyer leapt to his feet, beaming. Thank you! Let’s go and find my captain and get him to release me so that I can show you the spot where Wilhelm was killed. Pagin will come with us - he managed to find out quite a bit about the crime. Then I’ll take you to where I was imprisoned. Perhaps you will notice something that escaped me.’

Margont was surprised by Relmyer’s precise, coherent proposal.

He must have thought endlessly about this investigation. Margont realised that, for reasons he did not fully understand, he had been drawn into a duel between two redoubtable adversaries, for the murderer, who had been able to strike a second time without being caught, was as formidable as Relmyer.

Overcome with joy, Relmyer embraced Margont, Lefine, then Margont again. ‘Oh, Monsieur! I am so indebted to you! If ever anyone picks a fight with you, tell me and I swear I will have his guts for garters.’

Even his presents were stained with blood.

Instead of going to Relmyer’s captain, Margont addressed himself directly to Major Batichut, whom he had heard much about from Piquebois. Batichut, a tough little hussar, did not even reply to Margont’s salute.

‘You’re in the 18th of the Line? Do you know Second Lieutenant Piquebois?’

‘Yes, of course. He’s one of my best friends.’

Batichut’s face lit up. Amazing! Here was one of Piquebois’s friends! ‘Why didn’t you say so earlier? When you introduce yourself to the 8th Hussars and you know Piquebois, you should say, “I am a friend of Antoine Piquebois,” not, “Captain Quentin Mar-gont, 18th of the Line, Brigade such and such, Division so and so”.’

Noticing Relmyer frowning, Margont explained to him that Piquebois was a former hussar of the 8th Regiment.

‘No, Monsieur Plodding Infantryman,’ corrected Batichut. ‘Piquebois was not a hussar but 
the
 hussar! You would be lucky to find two as good as he in the élite platoon. An example to follow, Relmyer! At least to follow up until 1805, when, alas, he left the hussars after being seriously wounded, and went to become an infantryman. What a shame!’

It was not clear whether Batichut was bemoaning Piquebois’s injury, or his departure. Best not to ask.

‘Please pass on greetings from Major Batichut! I met your friend at a duel when he was fighting some melancholy dolt from the mounted artillery—’

‘With all due deference, Major, I’d rather not hear about it,’ cut in Margont. ‘I’m sure that Piquebois remembers you very well.’ Batichut was overcome with surprise and disappointment, like an attentive host whose guest turns up his nose at the main dish. Then he became angry when Margont made his request. ‘You take Piquebois from us and now you want Relmyer! Would you also, by any chance, like my horse and my wife?’

Reflecting that it was not in the best taste to refer to his wife in this way, Batichut calmed down as suddenly as he had flared up. His outbursts were like storms in a teacup. Except on the battlefield ... ‘It shall not be said that I disappointed the friend of a hussar, even the foot soldier friend of a former hussar. Relmyer, you may go wherever you please, but if you miss a call to arms, you will be sanctioned.’

As the three men moved away, Batichut shouted, ‘Captain Margont, ask Piquebois when he’s coming back! Because he will come back one day, for sure, mark my words!’ 

RELMYER was accompanied by three of his hussars. Pagin, who had scoured the countryside before finally finding Wilhelm’s body, seemed to have forgotten the mutilated face. His blood, heated by the flame of youth, boiled in his veins and his ardour communicated itself to his mare, which was ready to set off at a gallop at the least provocation. Even the heat that streaked his face with sweat did not calm Pagin.

‘How did you hear about the boy’s disappearance?’ queried Mar-gont.

Relmyer pressed his lips together, annoyed with himself. ‘I’ve been discreetly keeping a watch on the orphanage since we arrived in the Vienna area. It was easy for me to organise.’

Hussars were in fact always deployed across a wide area, and since they were observant and resourceful they acted as the eyes and ears of the army.

‘I didn’t know exactly what I was hoping for. I wanted to have news

of the orphanage. Was it still there? Who worked there? I had a feeling of latent menace, but I’ve had that for years, ever since my kidnap. When I heard that one of the orphans had disappeared, that it was Wilhelm, I immediately thought, it’s starting all over again. I didn’t have any proof, of course, but it’s what I firmly believed. I always thought that Franz’s murderer would strike again. What was to stop him? I gave the order to search for Wilhelm, to interrogate people ... I tried to persuade myself that he had only run away.’

‘Why did he leave the orphanage?’

‘He stole out on the night of his death. His friends don’t know where he was headed, but he had taken all his meagre belongings so he had gone for good. It’s an astonishing coincidence: as soon as I return, there’s another murder.’

‘I don’t believe in coincidences,’ declared Margont.

‘Neither do I.’

‘So what’s the link between the two events?’

‘I can’t answer that question yet, although I keep asking it myself.’

‘We will have to try to find the people who investigated Franz’s death.’

Relmyer gritted his teeth to prevent himself from letting loose a stream of vituperation. The merest mention of the Viennese police made him want to hit something — the trees, the houses, the world. For a few seconds he was unable to reply. ‘I’d already thought of that. As much as it pained me, I did make the effort to try to see those incompetent imbeciles, but I failed. One died last year of inflammation of the lungs. Two others joined the Viennese Volunteer force and were subsumed by Archduke Charles’s army. The last one fled before the troops arrived. And to top it all off, when the police were evacuated from the capital they took most of their archives with them ...’

Relmyer raised his chin and looked at Margont with sparkling eyes. He regularly forced himself to appear cheerful and sometimes even felt it. Changing the subject, he added: ‘I like the way you put things. Very clear, very mathematical.’

‘Really? “Mathematical”?’ Margont had never heard the word used as a compliment.

‘Do you like maths?’ asked Relmyer.

‘Not much.’

‘That’s a great shame! Maths is at the core of everything, it is the very essence of the world. It enables us to translate the complexity of what surrounds us into a simple, codified language.’

‘The essence of the world?’

‘The trajectory of a cannonball, the dome of a cathedral, the strength of a bridge, the speed of movement of an army, a series of attacks in a duel ...’

‘And that’s what you think the world is? What about love, friendship, literature? Also just maths?’

‘Not yet, but one day, certainly.’

Margont did not agree with this point of view and wanted to respond, but Lefine intervened with the consoling words: ‘Not to worry, Captain, we won’t be around to witness that sad state of affairs. The war will have killed us long before.’

The little group stopped on the banks of the Danube and the