‘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 Margont, 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 Margont.
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