Wolf Hunt

CHAPTER 8

PART of the army was camped on the Isle of Lobau - IV Corps and also the reserve for General Lasalle’s cavalry. As Relmyer served in the latter, he was just a short walk away from the 18th of the Line. But it was not actually possible to walk there because the artillery convoys blocked the way. Lobau and the surrounding islands bristled with cannon. There were cannon on the Isle of Massena (each of the islands was nicknamed after a hero of the Empire, or an ally), on Saint-Hilaire, on Lannes, on Alexandre ... six-pounders, twelve-pounders, even eighteen-pounders, and howitzers, not to mention the gigantic field guns seized in Vienna from the arsenals that the Austrians, in the haste of their retreat, had forgotten to sabotage. Altogether there were thirteen hundred mortar cannon acting as a deterrent to the Austrians. For them to attack would have been suicide. Napoleon was manoeuvring his resources to protect himself, but doing it in such a way that he would also succeed in foiling his enemies and regaining the initiative. For now

Archduke Charles was obliged to wait for the French to mount an assault. He was, however, ready to receive them unflinchingly; he was well dug in around Aspern and Essling.

As usual Relmyer trained hard. But unusually, there were spectators watching him from a distance. One of these was Saber. Margont went over to him.

‘What are you doing?’

In reply, Saber murmured admiringly, ‘I’m learning. So young and already so gifted ... He’s like me.’

Margont, who was accustomed to his friend’s overweening vanity, contented himself with watching Relmyer again. It was true that his attacks seemed to be devilishly precise. But were they extraordinarily so? Saber was also a very fine duellist and, until now, Margont would have assumed that he was better than Relmyer.

‘Is he more gifted than you, Irenee?’

‘He would lay me out stone dead in less than ten seconds. He’s much better than me,’ Saber conceded. ‘Only in duelling, of course.’

Margont could not get over his surprise. Saber never complimented other people (except women, whom he flattered in the hope of seducing them, assuming them to be as avid as he was for a bit of love-making). Relmyer was truly a remarkable man - he seemed to make an impression on everyone.

The young hussar lunged, beat a retreat while parrying a storm of imaginary thrusts, suddenly attacked again, feinting, dodging ... To Margont it all seemed like a Gregorian chant: very beautiful, but incomprehensible. Saber, on the other hand, had the necessary expertise to form a judgement and he was marvelling at what he saw, even going so far as to tap his thigh to prevent himself from applauding.

‘He lives only for the art of the sword,’ he said under his breath, ‘without looking to left or right.’

That was totally untrue. Most people did not see past the image Relmyer projected. It was a brilliant image, so people looked no further. His violence covered up his suffering.

‘He has natural talent and the compulsion to learn. He’s nicknamed “The Wasp” ... Bezut took him on as a pupil, but alas they fell out.’

Bezut? Probably another renowned master of military arms. Saber knew the most illustrious of them. He would have been their biographer had he not had it in mind to dedicate himself solely to his autobiography.

‘I heard that from one of his cavalry regiment,’ explained Saber. That would definitely have been Pagin. Especially as he was one of the spectators.

‘Why train so hard with a sabre when you can use a pistol?’ Margont wondered aloud.

‘When a pistol is empty, you’re done for,’ replied Saber. ‘Pistols are also unreliable, imprecise and rarely fatal. In any case, I understand that Lukas Relmyer is also an extremely good shot.’

Relmyer caught sight of Margont and, interrupting his training, saluted him with his sword. Saber stood up straighten ‘I knew he had heard of me.’

Relmyer came over to Margont, sword still in hand. Did he never lay it aside? In spite of his intensive training, he still looked energetic, not showing the slightest sign of fatigue.

‘Dear friend! Can I talk to you a moment in private?’

Saber stiffened, trying not to show his disappointment and jealousy. The other two men moved off together, leaving the admirers to rejoin their battalions.

‘Before you say anything, I must warn you, you’re in danger,’ declared Margont. ‘If it is indeed the man we’re looking for who set fire to the ruins of that farm, he is being exceptionally careful. If he knows that you went back there, he might well try to kill you. So you must always have an escort when you leave camp.’

Relmyer sheathed his sword, noisily clanging the hilt against the scabbard.

‘I am my own escort.’

‘I hope you’ll take me seriously. Can we go and visit your old orphanage now?’

‘Unfortunately I’m not welcome there. They were very angry with me for stirring up trouble before I left in 1804. It has to be said that, out of frustration, I did become aggressive. I actually struck the man in charge of the investigation. I was angry with everyone.’ His words plunged him into despair, and his hand came to rest on his sabre, his support.

‘We’re conducting an inquiry - that gives us rights,’ decreed Margont.

Relmyer’s eyelids drooped tiredly. ‘Of course, but it’s not as simple as that. Madame Blanken, narrow-minded, insensitive old witch, is still the director of Lesdorf Orphanage. As I’ve told you she has connections with the Viennese aristocracy. If you go ferreting around in her back yard, she won’t be content with whacking you with her broom. Her outcry will bring down much more serious consequences on us.’

Relmyer went on in a tone that anger rendered as cutting as sword strokes, ‘The Emperor wants Vienna to continue undisturbed, so anyone who causes trouble is heavily punished. If a dozen countesses and wives of Austrian nobility complain about us, accusing us of sowing panic in an orphanage, we’ll be summarily arrested. Believe me, La Blanken has a long arm and an effective fist.’

Margont backed down. Better to take time to inform yourself about a potential enemy before confronting them.

‘In any case, without Madame Blanken’s co-operation, our investigations will be fruitless,’ Relmyer emphasised. ‘That’s why I propose that we take a different approach. I sent one of my hussars to Luise with a note, asking her to try to organise a meeting with Madame Blanken for us. She has answered saying that her parents are giving a ball. Napoleon is pressurising the Viennese to organise receptions. The Emperor wants to divert his officers and to show that he is so confident of victory that he regularly allows them to waste time in worldly discourse. He even invited actors from Paris to appear in the theatre of Chateau de Schonbrunn, where he has taken up residence. The Mitterburgs agreed because, like many Austrians, they are trying to have a foot in both camps. If Archduke Charles wins, they will be able to say they were forced to give the soirée, which is true. And if it’s Napoleon who wins the war, the Mitterburgs’ business will continue to flourish ...’

Margont nodded.

‘Franco-Austrian relations certainly seem to be complex, no one can make head nor tale of them! During the Revolution and the Consulate, Austria and France were enemies. Then after Austerlitz they were reconciled and French soldiers were told they must not criticise the Austrians because they were our friends. Today Austria is at war with us again. But no doubt, if Napoleon triumphs, Austria will hasten to ally herself with him once more, to soften his anger and limit the extent of his sanctions!’

Relmyer appreciated the irony of these constant reversals of alliance.

‘Many Austrians are patriots,’ he declared, ‘but there are others who run with the hare and hunt with the hounds. And those last are only following their emperor, Francis I, who turns his coat after each defeat.’

At that, he started to laugh at the insolence of his own behaviour. ‘But let’s get back to our investigation. Madame Blanken will be invited. She is always to be found at that type of reception. What's more, Luise tells me she’s one of those whose allegiance goes both ways. During the ball we will be able to talk to her. Perhaps you will succeed in buttering her up and interrogating her? Are you still listening?’

‘Absolutely,’ replied Margont.

He was listening to Relmyer, but at the same time thinking about Luise. So he was going to see her again. Would she have the same effect on him as the first time he met her?

The soirée is going to be on 31 May. We will just about have time to prepare our ceremonial uniforms. I would be delighted if Lefine could also come. Without him, we—’ He did not finish the sentence. ‘And the famous Piquebois!’ he exclaimed. ‘He’s a former hussar, so I say he’s one of us. Apart from those two, do you have any other friends?’

Margont looked over at the figure hanging about under a weeping willow.

‘Lieutenant Saber, who’s kicking his heels over there, and Medical Officer Brémond.’

'They will all be welcome! You'll see what Viennese balls are like. They’re pure magic.’