so they did. Suddenly the black veil of the sky was torn by a star-light that spiraled upward until it seemed to touch the cloud ceiling. Then, slowly, it fell back to earth, dangling from a parachute dusted with magnesium that reflected its white glare across no-man’s-land. It looked for all the world like a lost traveller seeking his path in the middle of nowhere. Seizing on those few moments of brightness, our machine-gunners opened up on the enemy lines, firing through old blankets to conceal the flame, the bullets touching off sparks as they ricocheted through the barbed wire. Flashes of light appeared intermittently on the horizon, as though day were about to break, then thought better of it. The barrage had begun. Two rockets burst directly above us, their sparks falling in a girandole of glittering green sequins. I asked the lieutenant what the fireworks signified.
“Our men are signalling the artillery that their shells are falling short, and that we’re in danger of taking a hit. The eighteen-pounders must be re-aimed. Now’s the time to move.”
He heaved himself out of the trench, and I prepared to follow him.
“No. You stay here and wait for me.”
“Where are you going?”
“I’ve an errand to run.”
Without leaving me time to protest, he moved off, crawling beneath the barbed wire. Opposite us, the enemy had begun to fire its trench mortars. Fascinated, I watched as a monstrous worm emerged from a roiling puff of fiery powder. Its feeble whine grew louder, becoming an ear-splitting whistle. Curious: the worm seemed not to be moving at all. Suddenly, I heard Peakes cry out.
“Run, Dulac! The shell is heading right for you!”
Even before the shell exploded, a blast of burning air struck me full in the face and I felt myself thrown from the trench. The explosion rang out, so loud it absorbed its own noise. My ears roared. My bones cracked. Around me, shrapnel drummed down like hailstones on a tin roof.
Someone attempted to drag me feet-first toward the trench. I resisted.
“Let go! I can get there myself.”
“You’re not wounded?”
Incredulous, Peakes repeated the question. I touched myself once. Then again.
“I’m still in one piece. Not even a scratch.”
“There’s nothing left of the trench. You should have been turned into mince-meat.”
“Call it beginner’s luck.”
The barrage had begun to slacken. We found two adjoining foxholes where we could spend the night.
“What about your errand, lieutenant?”
He showed me his canteen.
“A half-pint of water from the Lys. Apparently this water has the ability to dye thread the colour of fire. I promised Miss Nell I would bring her some.”
The sun had not yet risen, but the birds had already perched atop the coils of barbed wire, and were beginning to chirp. The smell of breakfast wafted down the communication trench. For today, at least, the festivities were over.
IX
CÆSTRE STANDS AT A CROSSROADS, long the source of its strategic importance. Under the Roman Empire, if one is to believe Peakes, it was a fortress—a castrum, hence its name. Later, it was the site of the largest of the Templars’ Flemish commanderies. But now that our soldiers were bivouacked there, grand strategy had given way to games of chance: the town was transformed into a seething cauldron of debauchery. Even the meanest hut had become a gambling den. Tip-the-cork, cock fights, fox-terrier racing: there was nothing one could not bet on, and everyone was constantly placing bets, including the children. Sic transit gloria mundi, as the lieutenant put it.
I myself became a steady customer at a watering hole where one could play perudo, passe-dix, cabriolet and more varieties of zanzi than I’d ever imagined existed. The walls were studded with horseshoes, while bunches of rabbits’ feet hung from the ceiling. The customers drank straight from their dice cups. It goes without saying that the place attracted the worst kind of people—gangs of petty thieves with loaded dice who were liable to end up with a bullet in the back on the battlefield if ever they were caught red-handed.
Playing with cheaters was a matter of indifference to me: one way or another, I always ended up the winner. It was not long before I managed to clean up on the entire town, which did not stop new contenders from presenting themselves at my table with all the foolhardiness of those spindly battlers who love to provoke men twice their size. It is only human nature to want to test oneself against the unassailable.
When I stepped into the pothouse that midday, the regulars were milling around the rear table. Among them I noticed Lieutenant Peakes, who was watching the game with an anxious look on his face.
“Where have you been, Dulac? They’re down to the last throw.”
“What are they playing?”
“Snakes.”
“Never heard of it. Do they play with three dice?”
“The object is to roll three of a kind. Any threesome is worth five points. Except three aces, snake-eyes—that wipes out all your winnings.”
Four scar-faced ruffians, the sort one would not dare lend an ear to for fear of losing it forever, were seated at the table. With them was a lady friend who, inexplicably, was sitting with her back to the game. Those fidgeting shoulders, the coif that seemed to float above the loose blond hairs around her neck … Well, well. What have we here? If it wasn’t my little bluebird.
Peakes muttered under his breath, “It’s she! Miss Nell!”
“She seems to be doing penance.”
“She is trying to outwit bad luck by casting the dice over her shoulder, as if they were salt.”
“Is it working?”
“She’s already lost a good thirty dollars. And now she’s playing double or nothing.”
“Her chances of winning are … what? One in two hundred and fifty? Not a great risk.”
“For someone like you, who defies all odds, no. But for her, it’s madness. A jinx has fallen upon her.”
“We’ll soon see. It’s her turn to cast.”
“Go and stand behind her, maybe that will bring her good luck.”
Too late. The dice tumbled through the air like a bridal bouquet, then fell to the table where they scattered.
One. One. One. Snake-eyes.
Peakes caught me by the sleeve.
“I cannot stand to see her humiliated like this, in front of everyone.”
Humiliated? He hadn’t been looking. Cheeks ablaze, the loser watched with a tremulous smile on her lips as the bettors’ hands grabbed for the money piled in the middle of the table.
I knew that expression well. It was the smile
