Wolf Hunt

CHAPTER 25

RELMYER hastily assembled a new detachment of hussars, but this time they skirted round the forest.

The village of Leiten was on the top of a hill and slid towards a valley carpeted with fields. Teyhern’s house was set apart, isolated by a large wood. Relmyer and his men encircled it.

The vast stone building dominated a courtyard enclosed by a wall. All the shutters were closed, giving the place the appearance of a fortress. Relmyer took hold of the axe fixed to the saddle of his mount. He was going to smash in a window near the door, but Margont advised him to choose one at the back. Relmyer obeyed and attacked the shutters with force, creating a noisy shower of splintered wood.

When he went into the house, he was struck by a sharp anguish. The gloom reminded him of the forest in which he had almost been killed. He crossed the room in a flash, bumping into armchairs, not taking the time to accustom his eyes to the darkness,

and opened one of the other windows. He could not repress a cry. In the salon thus revealed hung the portrait of the man for whom he had been searching for so long. The painting, which was small, decorated one of the walls, in the midst of some landscapes.

The picture brought back the memory of his kidnapping. He allowed himself to believe that the man was standing in front of him. An abyss opened up inside him, but Relmyer refused to look away. It was another ordeal that he inflicted on himself, yet more training to reassure himself that he was ready. He walked up to the portrait, and stared at those motionless blue eyes, holding the gaze that seemed so lifelike.

The soldiers went through the house and its surroundings from top to bottom. But they found nothing. The absence of feminine clothes indicated that Teyhern was a bachelor. He owned two rifles displayed on a rack. The rooms were tastefully furnished: pictures, French furniture, marquetry chests, Turkish carpets, porcelain or crystal vases ... Relmyer went four times to the cellar, obsessed with the idea that a young boy was dying there, in a recess that they had not noticed. He tapped the walls to see if they concealed a hiding place, looked for a trap door leading to a second cellar, opened a barrel that contained only wine ...

Then he returned to the salon, on the way moodily knocking into Pagin, who had not seen him. He let himself drop into a Louis XV armchair, just opposite the portrait, his legs stretched straight out in front of him.

‘I’m going to wait for him here,’ he announced. ‘For five more years, if necessary.’

Margont was keen to think through all the hypotheses and rank them, as an entomologist would classify insects into species and subspecies.

‘This could be the man’s house, but it might not be. If—’

Relmyer, leaning his elbows on the arms of the chair, gesticulated. ‘We’ve got his portrait and the business with the registers! A portrait is personal; you don’t go giving them to your friends!’

‘Well, quite. I’ve also verified that there’s no indication of any break-in other than ours. So the assassin did not come in here secretly and put that picture on the wall.’

Relmyer looked at him in fury. They were almost there! Why bother with all this speculation? Margont lifted the portrait and the other pictures, trying to see whether the parts of the wall underneath, protected from the light and dust, corresponded exactly to the outlines of the pictures. This examination was inconclusive and only succeeded in enraging Relmyer further. The artist had not signed the painting. It must have been done by a little-known artist who would be impossible to find.

Margont proposed something else: ‘I’m going to show this portrait to the neighbours to confirm that it really is Teyhern.’

‘No!’ said Relmyer. ‘I’m going to wait here to ambush him. If we question the neighbours, well be noticed. Someone will warn him that the French are after him and know where he lives. It’s imperative that Teyhern does not know that we have identified him.’ Lefine was of the same opinion.

He added: ‘In any case, we have already seen with Sowsky and his wife how difficult it is for us to learn anything at all from the

Austrians. The villagers will say that they don’t know Teyhern, whether it’s him or not

For the first time for five years, Relmyer felt a real sense of tranquillity take hold of him.

‘I’m in his lair! He will come back here, perhaps before the great battle, perhaps afterwards. And if he dies in combat, I will hunt out his body, even if I have to dig up a hundred thousand Austrians in public graves!’

‘Wait here?’ ventured Pagin. ‘But, Lieutenant, you can’t abandon your regiment. You’ll be accused of desertion ...’

‘Exactly. That’s why I’m going to stay on my own.’

Pagin was on the verge of tears. His role model was collapsing in front of his eyes! Relmyer was a lieutenant at twenty, and already famous thanks to his prowess with a sabre. General Lasalle, that mythical hero, had come to seek him out to cross blades with him in friendly fashion. Lasalle had applauded when Relmyer had hit him - without hurting him - for the third consecutive time. His colonel, Laborde, expected him to be promoted to the rank of captain of the élite force at the end of the campaign. And Relmyer was abandoning everything! For something that happened so long ago! Pagin could not understand it at all. He wanted to run at the portrait, to brandish it and smash it on the floor. In a sudden flash of intuition he realised that Relmyer was sitting rigidly to prevent himself from dashing at the portrait.

So he exclaimed: ‘I’ll stay with you, Lieutenant! I’ll kill him! I won’t miss, I swear it. By Christ, I’ll skewer him and disembowel his body just to be sure!’

Relmyer shook his head, imperturbable.

‘You can’t sacrifice everything!’ Margont told him, annoyed. ‘What’s more, if you’re taken, you’ll be shot. After all’s said and done, the man we’re looking for will well and truly have assassinated you, but indirectly!’

Relmyer smiled, deaf to all other logic than his own, and swiftly held out his hand.

‘Thank you, Quentin! Without you I would never have identified him. There are no words for me to express my gratitude.’

Relmyer shook his hand, pressing too hard.

‘Good luck, Lukas,’ said Margont.

‘Luck does not exist. There are only consequences.’

‘We will go back and tell Luise the situation. Would you like us to give her a message?’

‘Tell her that she is my adored sister and that I entrust her to you, should events prevent me from seeing her again one day.’

Everyone resolved to depart, abandoning Relmyer, his eyes riveted to the face of his enemy, installed like a king in his throne.