Текст книги "Officer's Prey"

Автор книги: Armand Cabasson

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‘Mate within six moves,’ Nakalin announced.

Delarse was shocked. He lost within four.

‘Checkmate. There was a better combination,’ the Russian declared soberly.

‘Let’s have another game!’ exclaimed Delarse, who was already lining up his troops again.

‘I’m tired. I’ve been wounded.’

‘Are you conceding the return match?’

‘“Concede” and “surrender” are words that have no equivalent in the Russian language when the motherland is at war.’

Delarse began a new game but the lieutenant did not move a single piece. After a few minutes Delarse stood up in annoyance.

‘Very well. You’ve won the game with the little wooden soldiers. But I’m the one who won the game out there on the plain! The battlefield is strewn with green pawns and red knights.’

At last the Russian came to life. His cheeks reddened and his expression became more animated.

‘Yes, but that particular game is not over yet …’

Delarse turned towards one of his captains. ‘I want him to be well treated! See that he has a tent, blankets and proper food. Because when I defeat him I don’t want him to be able to say he was in a weakened state. Let him have a chess set as well! I don’t want him claiming that he was prevented from practising.’

The colonel then strode quickly towards Margont.

‘So, Captain! You are dishevelled and badly shaven. Why do you look like a beaten man?’

‘I apologise, Colonel. But thanks to us the Russian army had a close shave.’

‘When one has wit, one should put it to better use than trying to be clever.’

‘By playing chess, for example?’

Delarse turned round to watch Nakalin, who was being led away by two soldiers. The Russian was walking with his arms folded, as if out for a stroll.

‘What an odd character! I might as well have been playing on my own.’

‘True indeed. It seemed as if everything around him was more interesting than the game: the singing of the birds, the cloud formations, the weather …’

‘He’ll escape.’

‘Worse than that, it’s as if we haven’t even captured him. Colonel, may I enquire how you met him?’

‘He’s a well-known chess player. He was born into the Ukrainian nobility and leads a dilettante life. He does nothing, has no interests, forgets to attend dinners he’s been invited to … He lives only for chess. But what a player he is! He has beaten Tsar Alexander himself, the Emperor of Austria, General Bagration, General Kutuzov … Here’s an amusing anecdote about the latter. That crafty old fox Kutuzov was being given a hard time when he ‘accidentally’ knocked the chessboard on to the floor. He apologised, explaining that the loss of an eye in the war had affected his sense of distance. But to Kutuzov’s chagrin, Nakalin declared that it didn’t matter, picked up all the pieces and put them back exactly as they were. Kutuzov was then beaten soundly by his opponent. How I would have liked to see his face that day! I know all this because I’m a member of several chess clubs. Nakalin has acquired such a reputation that he spends his whole life being invited to various European courts and by keen chess players. His travels are paid for and he goes from palace to stately home – a very nice life. He’s the only person in the world to have defeated as many generals as the Emperor. But in his own field. Unfortunately, his successes are more of a curse than a blessing because it is increasingly difficult to rouse him from the apathy he’s helplessly sinking into. One match is not enough to stimulate him. He needs to play against ten opponents at a time and be literally surrounded by chessboards. Or else play blindfolded, with a friend whispering the other player’s moves in his ear. He cannot do anything except play chess. Not even be a real soldier because he was accepted into the Guard and given a commission only because he beat Grand Duke Constantine Pavlovitch.’

Colonel Delarse’s face clouded over with regret. If only he had managed to beat Nakalin! Then, indirectly, he would have demonstrated his superiority over all the others: the Tsar, Kutuzov, Bagration, Emperor Francis I …

The man was wandering amongst the bodies, the air pungent with gunpowder, burning and blood. Everywhere there were bodies lying on the grass. And yet he felt at ease. It was as if this charnel house had become his true home. He told himself that he was going mad but it was a madness he revelled in.

He thought again about all those years it had taken him to discover his liking for death. One part of him had had to fight night and day against these desires before finally giving in, utterly exhausted. Or perhaps it was because of the war. He had witnessed so much killing … Differences and limits seemed more and more blurred. He felt nothing but confusion.

CHAPTER 16

THE following day Margont was summoned again by Prince Eugène. He had to wait a long time until the comings and goings of generals, aides-de-camp and dispatch riders had ceased. It was like some kind of ball. A constant stream of cavalrymen dressed all in blue and gold came prancing along before merging into the excited throng surrounding the prince. The latter had sought out a shady grove. With his general staff around him, he seemed to be listening to four conversations at once. He had to commit everything to memory, make decisions about it all and ensure that his orders were faithfully carried out. The discussion concerned troop deployments, the enemy’s presumed routes of retreat, tactical possibilities, early estimates of losses, the names of officers who had distinguished themselves or not lived up to expectation … The Emperor, exasperated at seeing the Russians escape his grasp once more, had unleashed his fury on all and sundry and, when the Emperor was angry, his rage made the whole army tremble. The tension on these faces was in sharp contrast to the calm that prevailed on the plains and in the surrounding woods.

Eventually, the prince was able to extricate himself and motioned to Margont to join him. Margont saluted him respectfully, noting that Eugène was under so much pressure that he frequently gave people murderous looks.

‘Captain Margont, I’m glad to know you’ve survived, because your brigade got into serious difficulty.’ But the prince spoke mechanically, as if commenting on the fine weather. ‘Let’s go for a short walk. Be brief and give me good news!’

Having decided not to talk about the four colonels he suspected, Margont was glad not to have to discover how Prince Eugène would have reacted to such bad news.

‘I’ve scarcely made any progress, Your High—’

‘Oh, no! Oh, no!’

The prince did not shout, he yelled. He sat down on a tree stump and motioned to his escort to move away. The grenadiers of the Italian Royal Guard deployed around them. Margont was enjoying the refreshing shade and the tranquil surroundings. Now that the guns had fallen silent, the birds were singing once more. The grove looked like a corner of paradise that had accidentally fallen to earth. The blood rushed to Eugène’s face.

‘A supply system that supplies no one, the desertions, the Cossacks, the Russians whom we constantly lose track of, this gruelling pursuit of the enemy that’s about to resume, and now you! Tell me everything.’

The ‘everything’ in question took less than a minute. The prince folded his arms.

‘Carry on talking. And if you’ve nothing to say, just move your lips. Otherwise that lot will pounce on me.’

Margont followed Eugène’s gaze and noticed a new gathering of messengers and officers waiting patiently or impatiently in the company of General Triaire.

‘Don’t worry about your investigation remaining confidential,’ the prince said at once. ‘Your brigade suffered a humiliating reverse in the Russian counterattack. All those watching our conversation will think that you’re reporting back to me on the conduct of your superiors.’

Now it was Margont’s turn to become annoyed. He was likely to be taken for one of the prince’s spies or an informer. If this rumour spread, he would lose most of his friends and be treated like an outcast by his own regiment. Nevertheless, he took advantage of the opportunity to ask the question that had been troubling him since the start of the investigation.

‘Well, Your Highness, if we have to speak, it might as well be about something interesting. May I know why finding this murderer means so much to you? I know the official reason but I wondered whether there was another.’

Surprisingly, instead of snapping at him, Eugène remained calm.

‘Captain Margont, either you are exasperating or you are very perceptive. In fact, you are both at once. When one is perceptive, one is often exasperating.’

That’s normal, given that we live in a world that operates on lies, Margont added to himself.

Eugène was reticent. He glanced again at the messengers waiting patiently. With a wave of the arm he could summon them to his side and Margont would be swallowed up in the excited throng. Margont decided to press home his advantage.

‘The reasons you have put forward to explain my investigation are valid, that’s certain. However, I have been wondering about your personal interest in this. General Triaire would easily have sufficed. But you and the Emperor himself! Could there be a more personal reason, Your Highness?’

‘You are wrong about the Emperor. He takes the political aspect of the problem very seriously. As far as I’m concerned, the answer is yes and no. Perhaps. In fact, probably not … There was another murder, just before the start of the campaign. I found this coincidence disturbing.’

Margont almost flew into a rage, something he did rarely. His meetings with the prince were really not good for him.

‘Another murder? And you didn’t tell me about it?’

‘No, because the culprit has been arrested.’

This new lead had scarcely come to light and it was already being snatched away. However, Margont noted that the prince did not seem convinced.

‘I should be grateful if Your Highness would tell me the story so that I can form my own opinion. Above all, do not hesitate to give me all the details. Paradoxically, the more details I have, the clearer things will become to me.’

‘Very well. This business occurred about a week before the murder of the Polish woman. Our corps was still in Poland and we were putting the finishing touches to the preparations. The Emperor wanted to be kept informed of everything. Every subject held his attention: the numbers and quality of the troops, the calibre of the officers, the supplies, the reserves of ammunition, the artillery, the clothing, respecting the privileges granted to my Royal Guard, the pay, maintaining discipline, relations with the Polish population … And His Majesty would not tolerate any delays or approximations or disappointing answers! In a word, my general staff and I were constantly in demand. So I was careful to organise regular entertainments. A mind that enjoys itself from time to time works better than one that is subject to permanent pressure.’

The prince cast another annoyed glance in the direction of poor General Triaire, who was attempting to stem the flow of missives.

‘One evening, a grand reception was given by Countess Nergiss, a Polish sympathiser. I should point out that I was not the instigator of this event. It was entirely conceived and organised by the countess. There were four hundred guests at the very least. Perhaps you were there?’

‘Unfortunately not. I am not of high enough rank to be invited.’

‘Lay your hands on our murderer and that sort of disappointment will be a thing of the past.’

‘I knew about the celebration but I didn’t hear anything about a crime …’

‘Let me continue. Countess Nergiss is as rich as Croesus and she had set her sights on an ambitious promotion for her husband, who is a general. She hoped that, if General Prince Poniatowski happened to be wounded or killed, her husband would replace him in command of V Corps, the Polish Corps. Can you believe it? So she had been preparing this reception for weeks, even before the Grande Armée reached Poland. To her chagrin, the Emperor informed her at the last minute that he would not be able to come as he was with the bulk of the army much too far north of the castle. Only IV Corps was camped nearby. The countess therefore fell back on me in her calculations, hoping that I would plead her cause with His Majesty. To make her tactic less obvious, she had decided to dazzle me. I must admit she succeeded very well. What splendour!’

The prince must, though, have been used to this type of event. Margont told himself that the countess must have beaten all records for extravagance.

‘She had invited the full complement – the full complement! – of my senior officers.’

Margont attempted to disguise his dismay. His suspects had therefore all been invited to this reception.

‘Each guest was allowed to bring up to three people. When I arrived – late because I was being informed about last-minute problems practically all the time – it was only to discover a crowd of officers, Polish nobles, notables, wives, children, soldiers on guard duty … all of them being pampered by an armada of servants. Try to imagine an immense castle. As it was a clear night, the countess had set up outside an endless array of buffets: Polish, French, Italian, Danish, Indian, Creole … Valets provided the lighting by standing still with lanterns in their hands. Any sensible person would have planted stakes in the ground to hang the lanterns on, but no! Why make savings when you can throw money out of the window? Orchestras, dotted around the grounds, were giving concerts while fireworks crackled in the sky. To mark my arrival, the entire surroundings were briefly illuminated by sparkling showers of light and thousands of fireworks. It was like being back in the extravagant era of the Sun King. But it was even better than that because this time I was the Sun King.’

Margont blinked. How could anyone be so rich? And how could they waste so much money?

‘It was so luxurious it was grotesque,’ concluded Eugène. ‘But it was ideal for taking your mind off things. I whispered to Triaire that one or two more evenings like that and though I wasn’t sure whether the count would be given command of V Corps, I’d be pleased to offer him that of IV. The countess seemed to me quite a pleasant person, in the sense that she knew how to avoid overstepping the boundaries. That’s a very rare quality among courtiers. So she vaunted her husband’s merits – he’s serving in the Polish Corps – but she interrupted herself before my irritation surfaced. She had one strange quirk: she would disappear every hour and come back showing off a new dress and different jewels, in a crescendo of extravagance. That’s exactly it! With her sapphire necklace and her champagne-coloured diamond …’

The prince had raised his voice. There was a tense sadness about him. He seemed caught in a moment of futile protest against a past that could not be altered.

‘If Countess Nergiss had not been so obsessed with luxury, everything would have turned out differently, and a young lady I thought highly of would still be alive. In short, the evening continued its pleasant course, interspersed with the extravagant follies of our hostess, including cut-crystal glasses that she cheerfully invited her guests to toss into the air as soon as they were empty, a hunting party—’

‘But it was night-time.’

‘Do you think that was a problem for the countess? She had illuminated one of her woods with lanterns and had it surrounded by beaters before getting the gamekeepers to set the deer loose. I admit that we killed far more lanterns than deer. When the wood started to catch fire because of the oil from the lamps that had been hit by the bullets, the countess declared that it did not matter. However, this silly game came to an end and the fire was brought under control at an early stage. The countess’s next stunt was to parade past me the one hundred and twenty horses of her stud farm before presenting me with one of her handsomest stallions. That evening was a folly, I tell you! On the stroke of eleven, the master of ceremonies – a man always stiff and mannered – announced that a play was to be performed. Immediately, swarms of servants busied themselves in setting up an open-air stage and laying out hundreds of chairs. When the actors appeared, I was astonished. Because I knew them.’

The prince’s voice had changed, becoming less cold and more human. His account sounded less like an official report and had become more personal. Eugène even seemed on the verge of tears. But the exercise of power had taught him to hold his emotions in check, in the same way you would train a dog. No tears flowed.

‘Yes, I knew them. It was a Parisian company I had often seen perform. Oh, they’re not very well known but … you’re bound to know … As the whole of Paris knows about it, I suppose you do too.’

Margont noted that for the prince Paris was synonymous with the whole of France, that is to say, a hundred and thirty départements, including Amsterdam, Brussels and Rome.

‘I know Your Highness is having an affair with an actress.’

Eugène seemed about to fly into a rage.

‘Not an actress, an opera dancer! And an affair, an affair! One does not say to a prince that he’s having an affair or has a mistress. One says he greatly admires such and such a young lady. So, as you know, I greatly admire an opera dancer. Getting to know her has brought me into contact with other people from the world of entertainment. This friend of mine was very close to a person of real talent, Élisa Lasquenet. It was this young lady who performed for us that evening before being murdered. No one could fail to find her utterly charming. She was only nineteen and yet she already acted divinely well. I never tired of going to applaud her in her all too rare appearances. Oh, if she had lived, I swear to you that she would soon have had Paris at her feet.’

Margont said to himself that in addition to his opera dancer, the prince must also have ‘greatly admired’ this Élisa Lasquenet.

‘This woman had a wonderful talent, Captain, wonderful. What a waste. And all because the countess wanted to please me! After finding out well in advance – doubtless via her husband – that IV Corps would be passing quite close to her castle, she did some research into my tastes. She then offered this troupe of actors a princely sum to get them to come to Poland, thinking that I would be easier to influence than the Emperor. As in billiards, she wanted to hit the Emperor indirectly and I was the cushion. There’s calculation and determination for you! Heaven forbid that I should ever make an enemy of a woman like that!’

The prince paused. When he resumed, he spoke more quickly.

‘The performance lasted a good hour and a half, then the actors mingled with the guests. Élisa was stabbed a moment later, in one of the castle bedrooms that she was using as a dressing room. She had gone there to remove her stage costume.’

The account had speeded up considerably. Detailing the festivities, yes; detailing the murder was altogether another matter.

‘The countess noticed that the young actress whom she had engaged at great expense was slow to return. She sent her housekeeper “to ensure that Mademoiselle Lasquenet had everything she needed”. The servant came back saying that there was no answer to her calls. She had not dared to open the door. The countess went to the room herself and discovered the body. What self-control! She did not scream but ordered the master of ceremonies to keep guard at the door and came to inform me of the tragedy. At most she looked a little pale. She begged me not to let news of this incident get out, in order to preserve her reputation. I agreed with some relief, as I already had enough problems with the campaign without having my officers being suspicious of one another. The countess continued to supervise the party, though she did bring it to an end early. When people asked for Mademoiselle Lasquenet she said that she was unwell and resting. None of the guests were aware of anything at all!’

It’s she rather than her husband who deserves to be the possible replacement for General Poniatowski in command of V Corps, thought Margont.

‘She had paid the actors to speak their lines but she paid them double for keeping quiet. For my part, I informed the Polish authorities, demanding of them the utmost discretion. Fortunately, the culprit was arrested the following day.’

‘Really?’ said Margont in surprise.

‘He admitted to the crime. He’s an unstable Polish layabout, a lunatic who has already been put away several times. He passed himself off as a servant and melted into the crowd of domestics, which enabled him to have access to Mademoiselle Lasquenet.’

That’s why he kept on so much about the servants: he wanted to convince not just me but himself as well, thought Margont.

‘Why did he murder this actress, Your Highness?’

Prince Eugène seemed taken by surprise. ‘Why? How can you tell what’s going on inside the head of a madman?’

Obviously. It was so simple. This disturbed individual might well be the culprit. But he could just as easily be the ideal scapegoat for investigators eager to please the prince.

‘I am listening, Your Highness.’

‘But my account is at an end. Your task and this crime are probably not related.’

Eugène rose to his feet. This way of seeing things suited him best.

Margont interjected once more, ‘I would very much like to ask Your—’

‘Did you say something, soldier?’ the prince interrupted.

Margont was indeed a soldier. However, the words could also mean that if he persisted he risked losing his epaulettes and having his pay divided by twenty. He felt he was approaching a defining moment. It was impossible for him to carry out a thorough investigation under such conditions. Either he did what the prince wanted and scuppered his investigation or he stood up to him. Eugène’s behaviour was completely contradictory. On the one hand, he wanted the murders of this actress, the Polish woman and the sentry to be solved. On the other, he was afraid of facing up to the possibility that one of his officers was a criminal. Saber was always talking about plans and tactics – Margont thought that his friend would have been proud of him at this moment: he had just worked out a strategy for making the prince talk.

‘How could an intruder have made his way into the castle when there were so many people present?’

The prince frowned. ‘Do you listen to me when I speak? I’ve told you more than once that there was a host of domestics. He passed himself off as a valet.’

‘Your Highness, servants wear servants’ clothes. Here’s a man who arrives dressed like a beggar – because you said yourself he was a layabout, so I imagine—’

‘You imagine far too much. He’s said to have stolen a servant’s outfit. The Polish authorities have investigated the matter, I’ll have you know.’

‘Their investigation lasted less than twenty-four hours as—’

‘If a case is solved in twelve hours that does not automatically make it a miscarriage of justice.’

‘Did people notice this madman in the course of the evening?’

‘The question was put to a few trustworthy servants – and only them in order to prevent the spread of rumour – and admittedly the reply was no. But the countess had taken on a large number of staff solely for the duration of that evening’s entertainment. None of her usual valets would have had any reason to pick out one new face among the employees because they were all new.’

The prince was getting annoyed. He was going to break off the conversation. Margont nodded his agreement.

‘Perfect, Your Highness. I’m quite prepared to believe in the efficiency of the Polish investigators. Would you be so kind as to explain to me how this man proceeded?’

‘The day before the reception he entered the house of one of the countess’s servants and stole his outfit. The servant thought it was an ordinary theft. The theft was confirmed by the domestic in question after he had been traced.’

This story was so full of improbabilities and extraordinary coincidences that Margont did not even bother to make a list of them. On the other hand, his strategy was working. Eugène was not fully convinced of the guilt of this deranged man but he wanted to believe it. Margont was toying with this element of doubt like someone pulling at a loose thread, and gradually Eugène’s confidence was fraying. Margont had reversed the roles of prince and captain and this was exactly how he planned to conduct the conversation.

‘There’s one thing I don’t understand, Your Highness. This man killed without a motive …’

‘Not without a motive, but because he is mentally disturbed.’

‘But how can he be mentally disturbed when he kills if he is perfectly sane when he is planning the crime? We know that he did some research, drew up a plan, stole a servant’s outfit …’

‘How should I know? I’m not a specialist in these disorders.’

‘If I may be so bold, neither are the Polish investigators. I assume that one of them has been questioned.’

‘Of course not, because the culprit has confessed.’

‘How was this man tracked down?’

‘He had already committed a public order offence in the past. So the investigators questioned him, as they do all the usual suspects.’

Margont was furious. So much for the ideals of the Revolution and the rights of man! Were all men equal then, except the insane?

‘I see. “Insane and therefore suspect.” Or even better: “Insane and therefore guilty.”’

‘He confessed! And no force was used to make him confess. I’d sent one of my aides-de-camp to make certain of that.’

‘May I talk to this aide-de-camp?’

‘Yes, but after the campaign is over because he stayed behind in Poland to follow the trial.’

They were going round in circles but Margont remained unruffled.

‘How did the suspect confess, Your Highness? Did he give his own version of events or did he accept the one presented to him?’

The prince seemed exasperated by this conversation but was unable to bring it to an end.

‘Well, the facts were put to him and he admitted to them. It was quicker that way because he seemed incoherent. According to the report I was given of his interrogation, his explanations were hopelessly confused. For example, he would break off in the middle of a sentence and remain silent for several minutes, for no apparent reason, before continuing to talk but about something completely different in the same rambling manner. And he didn’t even seem to be aware of these inconsistencies.’

‘What are we to think of a confused mind that carries out a consistent plan in masterly fashion? Did he even understand what he had been made to confess to? I don’t doubt that he admitted to doing it. What’s surprising is that he didn’t also admit to being responsible for the double murder on the Lyons mail-coach, Marat’s assassination, the booby trap that almost blew up the Emperor in Rue Nicaise, and to being the man in the iron mask.’

‘Don’t overdo it. I don’t need you for that. At least I asked that, in view of his mental disorder, he should not be sentenced to death. That’s something.’

So they even wanted to execute him, did they? Margont felt nauseated.

‘I’m going to order a new inquiry,’ continued the prince. ‘I admit that your argument does trouble me. However, I’ve often had positive reports about the efficiency of the Polish authorities.’

Margont did not doubt that. He sensed a presence behind those who had conducted this mockery of an investigation. Countess Nergiss. The prince was so eager for this case to be solved … Bribing one of her servants and one or two Polish notables was neither here nor there in terms of expense as far as she was concerned. Margont had mixed feelings about this woman. Either she had been seduced by power or else she had acted out of love, to fulfil her husband’s dream. If that was the case, her ambition was rather moving and Margont could not bring himself to dislike her.

‘Nevertheless, it has to be him,’ muttered Eugène.

‘How did events that evening unfold?’

‘The murderer mingled with the guests. That must have been the case because there were sentries all around the castle and such a large number of people present …’

Of course he mingled with the guests because he was one of them! Margont exclaimed to himself. Still, at least the prince was co-operating now.

‘He went into the dressing room …’

‘How did he find it?’

‘Just after the performance a crowd of spectators hurried into the dressing rooms to congratulate the actors as they were removing their make-up. I went in myself. It was easy therefore to locate the place. The actors then went back out into the grounds. Mademoiselle Lasquenet returned to her dressing room later so her murderer then took an enormous risk in following her there because an admirer might have tried his luck with her, or a servant might have encountered him or heard him. He acted very swiftly, otherwise someone would certainly have caught him in the act. He entered the room. Mademoiselle Lasquenet was not worried. All she needed to do was to shout and a servant would hear her. Besides, either the murderer was disguised as a valet and she thought he had been sent by the countess, or he introduced himself as one of the guests. If that were the case, actresses are used to this sort of situation and know how to deal with people tactfully. The man took her by surprise and stabbed her twice. She died before she even had time to scream. So, as you can see, this crime is different from the one involving the Polish woman.’

‘But it’s very similar to the one involving the sentry – killing someone outright by stabbing them only twice. Besides, we can’t say whether the murderer would have mutilated his victim or not if he’d had time.’

‘On that subject, there is one detail. The murderer cut out her tongue.’

Margont shuddered. He could never get used to horror. ‘The tongue …’ Now it was his turn to feel unsettled. Fortunately, he had shaken the prince sufficiently to persuade him to provide all the details.

‘I’ve thought about it long and hard. An anecdote can perhaps explain such a cruel act. By the end of the performance, the audience was completely enthralled. Seeing this, Countess Nergiss suggested that the actors should give a repeat performance of certain scenes according to public request. Everyone joined in the spirit. They were even asked to recite speeches from other plays and were then applauded enthusiastically. From time to time someone asked a question. How could such and such an actor play such an odious character? Did they themselves feel anger when their character was angry? Opinions differed. Some of the actors maintained that you had to use your sensitivity and your emotions to “become” your character in order to perform the role properly. Hence a considerable limitation of roles because any given person could not “become” just anyone. Others thought that the actor remained an actor pretending to be the character. Therefore he had to use first and foremost his intelligence. Hence the possibility for a gifted actor to take on any role. In a word it was the insoluble debate begun by Monsieur Diderot.