of hold over him. He felt there was a reason for it, but he could not express it clearly. He told himself that once he had succeeded in discovering the secret, the charm would dissipate and he would be free from her influence.
Margont slept for several hours, weakened by loss of blood. The wounded were perishing en masse, for lack of care. Others were still arriving and were laid down between the corpses and the dying. What few surgeons there were continually amputated limbs, which were piled into wagons and transported far from sight.
Towards two o’clock, the air was rent by the deafening roar of artillery fire. The soldiers sat up, if they had the strength, narrowing their eyes in the direction of the fighting, trying to guess the cause of the racket. They learned that the Austrians had placed in battery, in the front line of their centre, two hundred cannon – two hundred! – and were firing relentlessly on the troops of General Oudinot, who had barely eighty. Shortly afterwards, the little bridge was repaired once more, but no reinforcements could get through because of the stream of injured and panicked deserters fleeing onto the Isle of Lobau. By the time some order had been restored, the bridge had collapsed again.
Finally, a little after three o’clock, Archduke Charles, short of ammunition and worried about Austrian losses, gave up crushing the French, who were resisting with an energy born of despair. His adversaries were beaten even if they were not annihilated, and he judged the result satisfactory and put a stop to the attacks. Napoleon therefore immediately ordered that the east bank should be abandoned and his troops fell back onto Lobau and to the west bank. Each army had lost twenty thousand men, killed, wounded or taken prisoner. Napoleon had been vigorously driven back and so had just suffered his first personal military reverse. Intoxicated by the spectacular success of the preceding weeks that had seen the retreat of the enemy army and the fall of Vienna, he had underestimated the fighting spirit of the Austrians. Wanting to act quickly, he had pressed forward too precipitately. The floating missiles had been the unexpected element that had shattered the impetuous advance of the French. Napoleon and his empire had almost been overthrown by some tree trunks, flaming barges and windmills. But the setback was only partial. With only twenty-five thousand combatants on the first day of battle and fifty-five thousand the next, the Emperor had miraculously succeeded in resisting a hundred thousand of the enemy, narrowly escaping total disaster. From then on Napoleon had only one idea in mind – to erase his defeat by pulverising the Austrians.
As soon as the news of the French retreat was known, Vienna rang with the peal of bells, sounding strange after the thunder of cannon fire, now finally silenced. Although the capital was still occupied by the French, it manifested its joy.
A grenadier lying near Margont declared: ‘Obviously the bells are tolling for us!’
MARGONT still felt tired in spite of a good night’s sleep. His wound had stayed clean and the pain had lessened, becoming less bitingly acute and more of an itch. Jean-Quenin Brémond had prescribed rest, but of course, Margont had been up at dawn because he already had a thousand projects for the day.
The French army, massed on the Isle of Lobau, was licking its wounds. Margont rejoined his regiment and was happy to find that Lefine, Saber and Piquebois had escaped unharmed from the dreadful butchery to be known from now on as ‘the Battle of Essling’ or ‘the Battle of Aspern’. He immediately began the search for the 8th Hussars, accompanied by Lefine.
‘I don’t understand what this is all about!’ grumbled Lefine, his arms crossed like an obstinate child.
Fernand Lefine, although only twenty-five years old, was as devious as a bagful of monkeys. He was furious that Margont had interrupted him right in the middle of his horse-trading. He was illegally selling horses confiscated from Austrian dragoon prisoners to French troopers. The buyers paid a derisory price so they got a good deal, but it was less good for the seller because of all the intermediaries and accomplices taking cuts; but from little acorns great trees grow. Lefine was also cross that Margont had appropriated one of his beasts. If honest men started robbing the thieves, what would become of the world?
‘I’ve already told you,’ replied Margont.
In fact, Margont had not wanted to admit how attached he had become to the Austrian girl, whom he barely knew. So he had lied about his motivations, pretending that he had offered his help in order to gain access to her glamorous Viennese circle.
‘The war is going to start again, Fernand,’ he went on. ‘Archduke Charles would have had to attack Lobau immediately after his partial success at Essling in order to defeat Napoleon. With our Emperor, if you don’t crush him completely, and his entire army along with him, he will rise up again to annihilate you. In matters of war Napoleon does not accept happy mediums. But before the next confrontation, there will be numerous preparations. So we’ll be trapped here for several weeks. Either we pass our time playing cards on this stupid island, or we are regularly invited to Vienna!’
Vienna, Vienna, Vienna! Margont could not stop thinking about that legendary city. Lefine shook his head. ‘You’re not giving me the full story, Captain. I know you. We’re going to get involved in an escapade that doesn’t directly concern us just because of your humanist ideals!’
Having said that, though, Lefine thought his friend might be right. The ruins of Aspern and Essling were still smoking, but already Napoleon had whipped his army into a frenzy of activity. They had started to build a bridge on stilts to provide a better link between Lobau and the west bank; they were setting up batteries everywhere, even on the tiny neighbouring islands; they were clearing the roads to make them passable; they were digging and nailing together bastions, depots for provisions and munitions, a forge, hospitals, barracks … The French army and its German allies were settling in. So obviously, if there was a way of going off to Vienna to have some fun, rather than labouring in the sun on this ant hill …
Margont, impatient as always, led Lefine rapidly into the midst of thousands of soldiers. Many were still asleep, exhausted by two days of combat. They were stretched out in the shade of the trees, their white breeches and dark blue coats almost entirely obscured by the high pale green grasses. The blows of felling axes cracked like feeble gunshot and the noise of saws filled the air like the buzzing of a swarm of bees building a new hive.
The 8th Regiment of Hussars were resting in the cool thickets, after their sustained attack on the Austrians. Margont spied three hussars passing a long-stemmed pipe amongst them.
‘Could you tell me where I can find Lieutenant Relmyer?’
A quartermaster of cavalry caught hold of one of his plaits, twisting it round his finger. His green dolman was spattered with dried blood. ‘What do you want to see our Lieutenant Relmyer for, Captain? If it’s to tell him something, we can pass it on.’
‘I must see him personally.’
‘We’ll make sure we tell him that.’
‘Are you going to tell me where I can find Lieutenant Relmyer or not?’ fumed Margont.
The quartermaster of cavalry puffed out his chest in the manner of a cock dealing with some lesser fowl come to squawk in his poultry yard. This infantry bird was lucky he had an officer’s epaulette, otherwise he would have received a sharp peck.
‘Captain, once when Lieutenant Relmyer was quartermaster, his lieutenant shouted at him for wearing non-regulation uniform. The exchange became heated. Relmyer insulted the lieutenant, who challenged him to a duel, or perhaps it was the other way round, and bam! The lieutenant was floored, and his shoulder run through. Now the
