any case, the body we wish to take away is decomposing. Better that his next of kin bury him now, rather than you having to do it later, in the sun.’
The junior officer stiffened. ‘Of course, obviously.’
‘How was he killed?’
‘He was caught by a patrol two days before the battle, during the night. He must have tried to rejoin the Austrian army with an accomplice. They were discovered somewhere in the woods near the Danube, not far from Vienna.’
‘Was his companion arrested or killed?’
Regret showed in the face of the second lieutenant. ‘Alas, he managed to escape. The soldiers were too far away, it was night-time … And it was already pretty good to have caught one of them. The other just had time to fire once before disappearing.’
‘It wasn’t a patrol that was responsible for that boy’s death. Look closely at his jacket: there are burn marks all round his wound. Someone shot him point-blank.’
The officer went at once to examine the body, worried by this discordant fact. Then he stood up, reassured.
‘Well, in my opinion, it was his accomplice who killed him. Either accidentally – he panicked and it was dark – or so that he wouldn’t denounce him if he was captured. Many Austrians left their mothers, wives and children in Vienna, he would have been worried about eventual reprisals—’
‘And the mutilation? How do you explain that?’
The second lieutenant shrugged. ‘Perhaps it was a soldier from one of the detachments whose friend had been killed by the partisans. War drives people mad. As for mutilation of corpses, I’ve seen worse …’
Margont did not doubt it. The man had become deaf to the horror of war because he had heard its cries of agony for so long. He had become accustomed to ‘all that’. For him, this abomination was no more than an anecdote, a momentary distraction in a dismal day of sentry duty. Although he did not know it, he was as dead as the corpses he guarded. The second lieutenant turned to Bergen.
‘Go ahead, take him. I’ll make an exception for a veteran officer of the Spanish campaign.’
The Austrian nodded. ‘Thank you, Officer. God will reward you.’
‘If your God exists, the settlement of accounts between the good I’ve done and the bad I’ve done will send me straight to hell, even if I were to let you leave with all eleven corpses.’
‘There were only two?’ queried Margont.
‘According to what I was told, yes. But the country is crawling with vermin. Enemy soldiers skirt round the front to the north or to the south, and cross the Danube in boats or at fords or by the remaining bridges. Then they hide in the forests and harass us. Don’t go adventuring for any reason in the countryside without a strong escort, Captain. Otherwise the air you breathe through your nose will leave you through the gash in your throat.’
The second lieutenant spoke animatedly. His eyes, although exhausted, with black rings under them, were always alert. He probably woke every night brutally brandishing a pistol at his phantoms.
He added: ‘But tell me, what did this young Austrian do to be so popular? The day before yesterday two hussars from the 8th Regiment came to ask me about him. They were sent by a lieutenant, one Relmyer. Is he a friend of yours?’
At that name, Bergen’s eyes widened. Having been mournful and resigned, he became extremely talkative. No one could make out his mixture of French and Austrian. He had to repeat himself more calmly. He was so emotional his voice trembled.
‘Did you say Relmyer? I know a Relmyer, I know him very well – Lukas Relmyer. He’s one of my old pupils. We haven’t seen him for years. Did you say a hussar came? An Austrian hussar?’
The second lieutenant raised his eyes heavenwards. ‘Don’t be stupid. If your Relmyer had been an Austrian hussar, I would have shot his two sidekicks on sight!’
‘If this Relmyer sent cavalrymen to find out about Wilhelm, it must be him,’ concluded Bergen to himself.
Bergen and Margont decided to go back and see Luise Mitterburg. Bergen would then try to borrow a wagon in the village of Ebersdorf to transport Wilhelm’s body back.
On the way, Margont asked: ‘You mentioned murder earlier when you announced the boy was dead. What makes you think it was a crime?’
‘It’s an old story, which concerns only the Austrians. But I don’t think Wilhelm was killed and disfigured by one of your patrols.’
Bergen appeared ill at ease, defensive. The question had upset him so much that he completely changed the subject. ‘Relmyer’s back! Mademoiselle Mitterburg is going to be so happy!’ he exclaimed.
Margont experienced this sentence like a blow to the stomach. ‘Are they … engaged?’
‘No, Captain. He’s her adoptive brother, as it were.’
Bergen told Luise Mitterburg what had happened. She was overcome by emotion at the news that Relmyer had returned. She questioned Bergen relentlessly. Where was Lukas? How long had he been in Austria? Why had he not come to see her? How dare he serve in the French army? Why the devil had he chosen to join the bellicose, brave but wild hussars? And there were further interrogations that Margont could not even understand because the young woman was talking so fast. Finally she turned to him.
‘I don’t know how to thank you. Or rather I do. Here, take my address. I live with my adoptive family.’
Margont took the paper she held out to him and looked at the awkward handwriting. She had written the lines in pencil, leaning on the palm of her hand.
‘You will always be welcome,’ she added. ‘I have another favour to ask you. I know, it’s becoming a habit. I’m always being told off for it. I think it’s to do with having been abandoned. I have the feeling of having suffered an irreparable injustice and sometimes have a tendency to think that all the world owes me something, that people must help me, me more than anyone else, because I’ve suffered more than normal. Out of compassion. If you were queuing for food you would give up your place to the invalid behind you, wouldn’t you? But in any case, as you have no doubt foreseen, I would like you to go and find Lukas Relmyer for me. It seems he is serving in the 8th Hussars. I want you to tell him that I absolutely must see him. In exchange, I swear to you I will similarly devote myself to helping you if you ask me a favour in return. What’s more, I will ensure that you are invited to parties … Viennese balls are a unique pleasure! You’re here now anyway, and it will be better than killing each other. That’s not what I meant … The war, of course, that’s another thing altogether …’
Finally she interrupted her long discourse. She had spoken without interruption, so keen to stifle Margont’s reservations with a torrent of arguments, that she had lost the thread of what she was saying and tripped herself up.
‘I accept, Mademoiselle. I will go and find Relmyer, as soon as the fighting stops.’
Luise Mitterburg thanked him profusely.
Margont hurried to cross the large bridge before it collapsed again. Was he in love with the Austrian girl, he asked himself. He could not tell. He did not believe
