Reign of Fear: Story of French Revolution and Napoleonic Wars (Cantiniére Tales) (41 page)

It was the life, Marie, sad life full of stories of survival and of failure. We likely caused many a family to go hungry, but then, it was either that or
die, and we did not wish to die.

Things were deceptively calm, for I was waiting, Cleft was apparently committed, but silent, perhaps not finding anything of use. I was afraid he had changed his mind, but he wo
uld still smile at us, and wink conspiratorially.

In December
1794, just before what was the new year in the ancient regime, and what was still celebrated in silence even now, I noticed poor mother was holding her belly. She had been serving stiff drinks to some happy grenadiers, bantering and chatting with the large men, then she had sat down in unexpected pain and the alarmed grenadiers had gone go fetch a doctor, their drinks held gingerly in their gnarled hands. ‘Mama?’ I asked her, gravely worried. She was in pain, but she was smiling.

‘Don’t worry, dear. It’s not bad. I think in some seven months, you will have to care for a baby sibling again.’

‘He made you pregnant?’ I screamed and endured the laughter of the company. Marcel was hoisted on the strong shoulders of the men in the company and he was very, very drunk after the fine feast he was given, and I tucked him in, forgiving him for making mother pregnant, missing the siblings I knew, and cursing the apparently useless Cleft, who had not found out anything of use.

Year changed to 1795. When I accosted him in secret, Cleft told me Voclain and Thierry received letters from Paris, but nothing particular. They would go and loot, but would not mention anything to him before hand, for they were a closed group, and he was not yet accepted as one of them. He and Vivien grew closer, and Vivien even smiled at us, sometime
, apparently happy at times, though not with Thierry. Cleft told me to be patient, that Vivien was coming around, and that would help us all for she was in Thierry’s inner circle. I told Marcel and Breadcrumbs, and my other friends that things would move along soon, we would act, we would have help, but we were all growing very impatient with Cleft. When I asked Henri about Paul and Gilbert, he would look gloomy. Gilbert was winning.

Cool s
pring came, and hot summer followed and the scorching sun beat down upon us, as we lived in the lightwoods around Savona, like forgotten wood nymphs, discarded and forgotten by Paris, turning into myths. In June 29
th
, Cleft was sitting with us around the fire. We had not spied Thierry for a while, and Henri was up to his elbows in work. Fox and Didier were lounging in Vivien’s place, apparently drunk most of the time, and Voclain was suddenly busy also, for new men were finally arriving, and companies were filling up. Even Voclain got some thirty new men from southern France, with a sprinkling of unhappy Italians amongst them. There had been no sign of any new officers in the fifth company, but occasionally, some old formerly wounded comrade would come home with stories of horror of the hospitals. Of Boulton and Syphilis, for example, there was no sign or even scraps of news, and we often feared our friends dead, for one would get ill in the hospital, often to a disease that was deadlier than what put them there in the first place. There were men, who travelled from one hospital to another for years, collecting things that one would rather do without, and many died that way. Someone was singing somewhere, a ribald song of a homosexual general and a captain in debt, and while I was tittering at the words, Cleft was crumbling at some paper he was reading.

‘Seems general Buonaparte is now Bonaparte. Turning French, no?’ he asked
from no one in general, and I nodded, for the Army of Italy loved citizen Bonaparte, formerly Buonaparte. Cleft read from the paper, adopting a sonorous voice. ‘After taking Toulon back from the insurgents, laying waste to Austrians and Piedmont in Italy in 1794, he, the Brigadier General Buonaparte turned down the measly commission in operations against the insurgency in La Vendée. He has balls.’

‘Most men do,’ I said
drily.

‘Not
Cleft,’ grinned Charles. ‘He doesn’t even go to whores, can you believe it.’ Cleft reddened and eyed me briefly, and Skins hollered.

‘He is staying chaste for our girl here! Or the other one.’

I smiled at Cleft to allay his hurt pride and possibly any extreme reactions, and he swallowed, covering his face with the paper. He continued. ‘He was unemployed in March. He apparently tried to hire himself to the Turks, like some others have. They say he is writing a novel. He looks likely to be part of the history, forgotten, like he was never born.’

‘Jesus, help us!’ we heard Marcel scream and all jumped up. He had been resting with mother in our
sad little shack, and most of us rushed inside as if our lives depended on it. Marcel was holding his head in some weird, overpowering motion; his eyes large as eggs and mother was busy drawing painful breaths, gasping and I noticed her water had broken. ‘Help her! God’s sakes, help her!’ Marcel yelled like a doomed man.

I snarled at him and helped mother sit up. She was going to give birth, possibly very soon. Henriette was gasping, trying to speak, finally managing it.
‘Sorry, dear. The baby’s been very busy this past day and I was not sure, since it was like this two days ago as well, but I think you will have to help me get this monster out.’

‘Yes, mother,’ I said with a small
, frightened voice, wishing for a battle instead. The company was staring at her; there were some ten men, hats in their shaking hands as if it was a funeral. I screamed at them like a sergeant to new recruits and they dropped the hats, got us linen, boiled it in water, but when it was time to start pushing, in two hours, they had to take Marcel out and make him very drunk. Laroche stayed with me, Cleft as well, but Cleft got dizzy as the baby crowned, and Laroche blanched. We heard Marcel outside, crying.

‘For God’s sakes, keep the bastard quiet,’ mother hissed. ‘He has done this to me, so he should eat his medicine in silence. Laroche, go and hit him. Slap, at least.’

‘Yes, madam,’ Laroche said, carried Cleft out and we heard sharp sounds of slaps follow soon after, then silence.

But for me, things got hard, as I tried to coax her to push, and it took
another terrible, long two hours and mother got weaker, but the baby did not cooperate. The top of the head was there to be seen, but the baby would not budge nor obey my desperate commands and clumsy ministrations. ‘Mother,’ I sobbed, trying to help, wondering at her face as it turned grey and white from pain. ‘Help me. What shall I do?’

She shook her head, trying to calm me, but I think she would have died, had it not been for Vivien. She came in, pushed me aside, and got down. After some time, she stared at mother with her hawk-faced, Italian beauty. ‘This won’t hurt at all.’ She took a
sharp knife, apparently having boiled it already, and cut at her with deft movement. Soon, a person appeared out of the rubbery, bloody and stretched hole, impossibly large thing flailing its hands and feet, and grasping at the air, and then he cried and pissed on all of us and we laughed as he drenched us. Outside, men were screaming in joy and relief, Marcel was banging on the door, incoherent with joy and drink, and we heard someone slap him again sharply.

Vivien, her face full of triumph, picked the baby up, deftly cut the string, tied the end and gave the baby to mother, who gave it a nipple, which the
he took immediately. He, for I realized it was not an it, was a thing of boyish beauty, Marie. He was my brother, and I cried as I hoped Julie and Jean were alive. Mother held my hand and Vivien was sewing at the cut she had made. ‘Usually, a woman giving birth a second time, has an easier time, but sometimes, not,’ she said calmly as she was cutting at the string.

‘
This is my fourth,’ mother said, tired to the bone. ‘The other ones were easy as eating a pie. This one, not so. I thank you Vivien.’

‘You have others than Jeanette?
’ she said, cursing at the oozing blood that was making her work harder and a lump of something cloth like fell out. I blanched, but she shook her head. ‘That’s the thing the baby lives in, don’t worry. Now this will bleed, and there will be mucus. Keep your husband at bay for some weeks.’

‘I won't let him near me, the weak livered bastard. Yes, I have others.’ Sh
e looked sad and Vivien nodded carefully, probably thinking my siblings dead. Mother shrugged. ‘I have Julie and Jean, they are now six, seven?’ It shocked us both to think about it, and we gazed at each other in wonder. ‘I had to hide them in Lyons from Gilbert Baxa.’

‘Why?’
she asked carefully.

‘His father raped me, and Jeanette took Gilbert’s eye for trying to do the same to her.
He is trying to kill the lot of us, to protect his secrets, both personal and ones leading to power. He is mad and utterly cold.’

Vivien shrugged. ‘I’m from Piedmont. I care little for the revolution and Republic. I am sorry things are
so strained between us. I was grateful to Thierry when he took me in, after the war took our home, but he has grown evil over the years. I did not love you for competing with me for the little money we could make, but neither do I fully approve this madness the Republic has bestowed on us all. Fox and Didier, and my husband are all hoping the Jacobins will reappear. They wait for it, hope for it. They are just unreasonable, most the time.’

‘And Manuel Voclain?’ I asked.
‘He a mad republican as well? Gilbert writes to him, no?’

She licked her lips and shook her head. ‘
Many people write to that one. I have said enough. As I said, I wish we were not enemies and things were not so bad between us.’

‘Perhaps,’ Henriette said, ‘they need not be.
At least between us. Women need to hold together in this world, no?’

She looked embarrassed and took mother’s hand.
‘Perhaps so. Let us hope the baby stays healthy. I say this much. I wish I were with someone else than Thierry. I know you know with whom. Alas, he does not have a sergeant’s pay, whatever that is in French army, as he is a private, but he is a good man, who listens to me. I like him. Perhaps… more.’

‘Perhaps,’ I said, ‘that man might make sergeant, or a corporal. If some other sergeant or corporal fell in battle, or while looting in dangerous places?’

Her eyes took me in, gauging at the depths of my words, and she finally nodded. ‘We shall see, perhaps, soon?’

Henriette hugged and thanked her. Marcel clawed his way in, so did the company, and no baby, not likely even Jesus had as happy a company by his birth bed as the drunken men admiring the little monster. In the end, I fell asleep with Jacques, for that was his name, and next morning, my plans almost came to nothing, for we had wai
ted for too long and the Austrians came for us.

CHAPTER 17

God knows, Marie, how it
was possible to lose all the Army of Italy had bitterly bled for, especially in such a short time. Yet, Carnot had been asking for it, and Austrians acted while we dozed in the woods.

That morning, Henri was yelling
like a possessed man while he dressed, for not far, musketry could be heard and cannons roared. Soon, officers were running around like headless chicken, most important gear was being packed and I was helping mother to load our trusty wagon, for we had sold the one I stole. I tucked the whimpering baby on to her lap, assuring Marcel we were fine, which we, of course, were not.

For the next week and a half, we
marched along the beautiful coast, though unable to enjoy the sights as close, but mostly unseen Austrian forces harried us. What was usually a trip of days was now a fighting nightmare. General Kellerman’s Army of Italy was entirely surprised, almost cut off from Niece, bullied mercilessly and it was only due to the hard-fighting chasseurs of the army we managed to avoid loosing many of the slower moving units, like the lumbering, elite artillery to the Austrians. All through the bitter nights and scorching hot days, men would turn about at a terse order to go drive back the relentless and unusually aggressive Austrians. Once, stealthy hussars rode around the demi-bridge in a very early morning. The baby cried, the enemy sortied brutally and charged half asleep camp in a confused mass, but our men got up, grabbed their muskets, the thin lines fired at the nick of time and even I shot at a horseman, who slumped on his small horse, guiding it away while bleeding. The cart filled with wounded and sick, and mother tried to take care of them as well as the unhappy baby.

Finally, after at least a hundred and fifty miles of hell, we stopped at Loano, where the French army had started from in 1794, before it had been victorious and glorious. There were rumors of Napoleon again at a role in the Ministry of War, and that there would be help, that Army of the Alps was coming with all its men, but for us, those few weeks, it was all about
close calls and survival. We did not understand what was going on, other that general Kellerman got sacked in favor of Schérer, and all proper soldiers need such sensible gestures, for we were a madly superstitious lot and Kellerman was the scapegoat and a terrible bad luck charm.

We sat in the hills and valleys of Loano, tentatively wondering why the Austrian forces were dithering. We did not know it, but de Viens of the Austrians and Colli of Piedmont were
foolishly indecisive, much surprised and not expecting such a success, not knowing what to do next and how to do it quickly and also waiting for their massive supply trains to catch up with their main forces, unaccustomed at living off the land. Their confusion and disagreement saved us, but it did not stop the war, and in the small, idyllic towns, thinly wooded hills and pristine, small valleys, we fought the savage enemy that was not sure how to proceed, but did advance when it saw an opportunity.

Mother was ill and weak, and Laroche had procured her
much needed food, and she ate some thick soup, but the baby was unhappy and hungry, as Henriette was not producing enough milk. Laroche and I stole a goat from a fusilier company for its milk, but the unlucky goat disappeared, no doubt eaten by some more skillful thief than we were.

One
cold evening Laroche was sitting on a stump, looking at a scratch made by a musket ball in his leather helmet. He smiled ruefully. ‘That bastard had a hiccup. It was a Hungarian. Jäger. Inch below and I would not be here starving.’

I smiled as I was wondering where to get milk for the baby. ‘God, imagine what they would be serving in the afterlife, Laroche;
German ale, fat beef, French wine, and scrumptious white bread.’

‘Shut up, Jeanette,’ Skins moaned
miserably from nearby. The skeletal man was even thinner after the grueling retreat. ‘Besides, I bet in heaven they serve severe, hourly prayers as entertainment while ugly virgins dish out some pure, tasteless porridge.’

‘Not our problem,’ Charles
told him, ‘we won't see it. I bet the devil sets up an excellent fare. Only Cleft sees the holy lands and starves on prayers and heavenly choirs.’ Cleft had a deeply disapproving look at Charles’s mockery of his sensitive religious soul and I sighed, hoping he would find some humor in his ever-dour soul. He would be a victim forever, otherwise. I sat next to him, and he shut his eyes. We were all dead tired.

‘Baby? Is it ok?’ he asked, drowsy.

I snorted. ‘He is hungry. But otherwise, indeed.’

He smiled as he leaned back. ‘I shot a man today. I saw him fall
hard, a tiny hole in his chest. A man became “it," a carcass. It is mad, but perhaps Marcel was right in his estimation that we have rules different from an ordinary man with an intact soul. Mine is torn by this life.’

‘It has been
so, Victor, and likely not going to change at all,’ I told him, vaguely.

‘Yes, and I thank you for
remembering my name, Jeanette,’ he told me, as if approving my surprisingly good memory.

‘I’m not an imbecile,’ I told him tar
tly, antagonized by his patronizing tone.

‘Thank you for being patient,’ he said
more kindly, calmly eyeing me.

‘About the thing we discussed last year, you mean?’

He nodded. ‘That. Vivien and I have grown close, for Thierry has been away a lot, well, before the retreat that is. Didier and Fox have been busy as bees as well, training the new, apparently imbecile men in the fourth. I have slept with her.’ He did not seem happy by that, and said it like he was describing the most mundane activity in the world.

‘I see,’ I told him
carefully. ‘Did it make you happy?’

‘It made me… sated.’ His eyes glittered as he gazed at me. ‘She is a hard woman
who does not open up easily. I suppose it might work between her and me, but I think I love you.’

‘Ah?’ I said, looking away, knowing I loved Henri. ‘How do you know this?’

His lips trailed a small, insecure smile. ‘One’s first love feels different from loving Vivien, one who has so much sadness in her past, and memories that harden her outlook on life. She doesn’t smile, much. I thought about you and the kiss we shared, when I kissed her. So tell me, is there hope for us? Or have you now moved on, again.’

‘
My past is not exactly a fanciful ball. First love?’ I said, trying to fathom what he was saying. ‘Are you saying I was your…’

He interrupted me, taking a deep, ragged breath. ‘I asked Henriette. She refused to say. She is your mother and did not want to lie, but I asked her, and Marcel, if you would marry me.’

Enraged, I turned on him. ‘They do not decide such things for me. I do.’

The smile on his lips was now sarcastic. ‘I could ask the colonel, perhaps?’

‘The colonel?’ I said, dreading he had done so already.

He was quiet for a long time as he gazed at me, but finally nodded, understanding what I was unwilling to share. ‘When you accosted me that day
of Vivien and what happened between you and I, you led me to believe there was a chance for us. I asked you if you have slept with our illustrious leader.’

‘I did not lie,’ I lied, and his eyes took me in. He nodded sagely, doubting my words.

‘That does not matter. Perhaps I should have asked instead: are you in love with him?’

‘I am not,’ I lied again, my belly aching with the untruths, but my voice cracked and I knew he was bright enough to pick up subtle hints.

He spoke of nothing for a while, looking at fat Laroche and agitated Skins, who were arguing over something insignificant, like the color of the sky. We were very tense and bored at the same time. Then Cleft got up, grunting with the effort, and squatted near me, looking deep into my orbs. ‘Yes, you were my first love. When we travelled here, to wonderful Italy, I had lost my foul father and had decided to love the nation, for there was nothing else to love, and I was very lost, more than angry and hoping for a better life than what my father left me with. You talked kindly with me that night, remember, when we travelled here? You sought me out. It was not a very romantic discussion, I admit, but you came to lean near me, treated me kindly, you were brilliant as the stars above us and I loved you from that night on. It is unexplainable thing, love. You are most beautiful, as I said, but there is a bright fire in you a man is drawn to, the quality of your brave soul more beautiful even above that of you looks. You are full of life, brave, amusing, savage and strangely innocent, with wonderful goodness and steely evil wound together in a most curious way. Sometimes, men burn in such fire, like father preached to me, in that he was right. To you, I seem mundane. To me, now, as I see the truth, you are high and precious, and I cannot hope to attain you.’

His words flustered me, and I was ashamed for my lies and for the fact I did not feel such torment
and fire for him. ‘I said, there might be very well feelings from my side….’

‘Hush.’ He silenced me. ‘This night, we will go out to the woods to drive the Hungarians away, but tomorrow afternoon, Vivien told me Thierry and the fucker of a captain will meet with a man from Paris. Gilbert’s man,
I think, at noon. I will show you where. Tomorrow. Then you will be free, and I will try to live my life with Vivien, for one must settle for lesser joy, and be humble.’

I nodded, miserable that he was keen enough to know of my truest feelings, but I could not change them, and cursed Henri for not speaking as he did.
But if there was indeed a man of Gilbert’s out there, then Paul Barras had likely lost all control of Gilbert and we would act. I was grateful to him. ‘We will shoot them, Cleft, for they are evil men. Then we will see…’

‘I know,’ he smiled. ‘Vivien. She thinks I will keep her safe, and I will, if I can, and that means Thierry is going to have
to turn into a rotting carcass. Oh, by the way. Vivien also worries about the baby.’ We listened to Jacques cry a heartbreakingly, his usual shuddering cry reverberating in the woods, for he was desperately hungry, and I felt tears come. Cleft leaned over to wipe some off my face.

‘Up there is a farm, two miles that way.’ He pointed at a distant hill that loomed up in the darkness. There was a light flickering bravely there, halfway to the summit. ‘On that hill, there is a farm. We skirmished near it today, and Vivien saw a man come down to the farm with a rake, his clothes muddied and dirty with
fresh dung. He came down the track leading up to the summit, and I think he has animals there, perhaps a cow. We go and see what is up there after noon tomorrow, when we are all free. Milk for the little one, she thought it might entail, that place, and I agree.’ He smiled sadly at me, and I nodded thanks to him, feeling sorry for his earlier bitter words and deep disappointment.

Then Henri came forth, thinner I remembered him. His cigar was unlit in his mouth, his blade hanging low on his hip, bicorn loosely set on his head. He clapped his hands, drawing looks and groans from the sprawled company.
‘Now, now boys. We have a duty to go drive out some Hungarian bastards who are over fond of our woods. Get ready. Lefebvre! Citizen Lefebvre!’

‘Colonel?’ Marcel said from the darkness, where he had been relieving himself.

‘Get the men moving. How’s the little man?’ Henri’s eyes rested on me.

‘Jacques is hungry, but we are work
ing on it,’ I told him woodenly

Marcel nodded. ‘
The baby stole a bread from a grenadier yesterday, and didn’t give it back to the man, who surrendered entirely too quickly. The boy might think life is easy as eating pie.’

‘Light infantryman in the making,’ Henri growled. ‘There are many enemies creeping in the woods, so bring all the shot, but leave everything that makes noise. See to it, sergeant major. Whole battalion is going, so be ready in an hour. Take care, my friends. Oh, and leave someone to guard them.’ He nodded at us, his
grey eyes lingering in the woods, where Didier and Fox were standing, and apparently getting ready. Captain Voclain was busily ordering his men to lines. Somewhere, not far, cannon roared and yells and screams of desperate pain could be heard. Tomorrow, we would be free to do what we wanted, I hoped, if we survived this war. Voclain’s eyes passed me by, moist and strange, and he grinned briefly. Yes, it would be a pleasure to see that bastard go still and breathless, I thought and smiled back at him.

The
praying company marched, the thinned battalion filtered out of the sorry camp and Skins and Charles stayed to watch over us. Henriette was sleeping with the baby as Skins was sipping on some watery brandy, looking around the now silent woods. Charles was getting water from a stream. I threw more faggots on the fire and listened to the baby whimpering. It needed milk, I cursed. How hard could it be to find milk in Italy? I eyed the hill Cleft had mentioned and squinted at the brave light burning there. I heard Jacques again whimper in hunger and my heart was wrenched with bitter anger and bottomless pity for the small one, and so I made a decision. ‘I will go and take a shit,’ I told Skins, who looked mildly embarrassed. ‘What? You have seen us all do that,’ I asked him incredulously.

He looked embarrassed. ‘Still, you are a girl, though, and… go where I can see you.’