Armand Cabasson - Wolf Hunt

Four hussars appeared from behind some trees - an adjutant of the 9th, two troopers from the élite company of the 7th and a young sabreur of the 5th. The variety of their uniforms made an iridescence of colour animating the gliding motion of their horses. They were like exotic birds, combining the colourful plumage of robins with the ferocity of birds of prey.

The men approached Margont. The sun played on their gold braid. ‘Would you by any chance be Captain Margont?’ enquired the adjutant with extreme courtesy, too much courtesy.

His rosy lips and his moustache with the curled tips might have made him look rather ridiculous, but any hint of a smile, and you would find yourself challenged to a duel.

‘I am. And whom do I have the honour of addressing?’

‘Adjutant Grendet. And this is Warrant Officer Cauchoit, Trumpeter Sibot and Hussar Lasse.’

The face of the warrant officer was extremely scarred. The surface of his skin was like a fencing manual. Sabre fencing, of course; for him that was all that counted. He owned two sabres, one very

curved, like a Mameluke’s weapon, and the other almost straight. He looked disdainfully at Margont’s sword. The adjutant went on in the same unctuous, honeyed tone.

‘We have been looking for Lieutenant Relmyer, of the 8th Hussars, for several days. They call him the Wasp sometimes, or the little lieutenant because of his youth and childish countenance. But of course you know exactly to whom I’m referring ... Very unfortunately he is never to be found with his regiment. However, I am told that you know him. Can you tell me where we would be able to find him?’

Margont was an excellent liar. He could thank Lefine for advice on the best techniques.

‘I’ve known Relmyer for only a few days and I don’t know where he could have gone. May I ask why you are looking for him?’

‘It’s very annoying,’ lamented the adjutant. ‘We would be so happy if we could speak to him.’

At these words the trumpeter burst out laughing.

‘Speak to him about...?’ persisted Margont.

‘Well, you see, Captain, Relmyer wounded Lieutenant Piquebois. Yet Lieutenant Piquebois is a very fine swordsman. So we would like to know if Relmyer would agree to show us his technique.’ Margont was outraged. ‘You want to challenge Relmyer to four duels?’

The adjutant shrugged to indicate his disappointment. It did not surprise him that Margont did not understand. He had always considered that foot soldiers and cavalry belonged to different worlds.

‘We don’t fight duels, Monsieur Infantry Officer; we make art! Very well, we’ll be on our way. Tell your friend Relmyer that we’re looking for him. He will easily find us in our respective regiments. Explain that I would be very much obliged if he would respect the order of hierarchy in his encounters with us. The highest in rank first, of course.’

The warrant officer was last to leave. Just before he did so he threw out: ‘Please say hello to Antoine Piquebois for me.’

His finger traced the length of one of his scars, running diagonally

through the chequered pattern of the welts. Margont suddenly remembered him. In 1804, Piquebois, then a hussar, had floored him with a sabre stroke. Officially it had been recorded as a training accident ...

After the hussars had gone, Lefine announced: Tm going to try not to get too close to Relmyer. That way I won’t be too grief-stricken when they bury him in two or three weeks’ time ... because even if he succeeds in knocking off those four strapping fellows, there will be more, and still more. For Antoine, all that calmed down after he was wounded at Austerlitz, because he changed completely after that. He’s no longer a swashbuckler ready to fight at the slightest challenge. Except when he sees Relmyer! But Relmyer, he does everything to attract the calamity that is duellists!’

‘He doesn’t mean to. He has only one idea in his head: to find the man he’s looking for. Look how little he takes Luise’s feelings into account, even though he regards her as his sister. And that fortune that he spent to be able to examine the archives at the

Kriegsministerium. Imagine what else he could have done with all that money? No, he attracts death without even being aware of it.’ Lefine was appalled at this.

The problem is that death is blind,’ he declared. ‘It’s stalking Relmyer but it could just as easily get us by mistake!’

‘Relmyer is tied to his past. He won’t really start to live until he has broken the ties.’

‘There are other ways of freeing yourself from a rope than tugging to make the bulldog attached to it come and bite you.’

‘He only knows how to do it his way.’

‘Listen, about that dog ...’

Pagin galloped over to them. As he felt he was not getting there fast enough — the world turned too slowly for his liking - he was gesticulating. That would have saved time had anyone understood what his waving arm signified. He brought his sweating horse abruptly to a halt, causing it to whinny.

‘Captain, Sergeant: Lieutenant Relmyer wants you to know that he’s found what he’s looking for in the registers. He’s going to try to find the person concerned. If you want to go with him, you will have to follow me immediately.’

CHAPTER 18

RELMYER was everywhere all at once. He had gathered a dozen hussars from his squadron and he walked from one to the other, checking their arms and giving orders. An Austrian peasant, unwillingly forced to be their guide, sat stiffly on a mount controlled by a non-commissioned officer. Relmyer, already overwrought, grew even more excited when he saw Margont. The latter had seen similar expressions in hospitals when a victim realised that the bullet inside them was about to be extracted. In certain cases, the relief caused rapture.

‘Here you are at last!’ cried Relmyer to Margont and Lefine, shaking them by the hand. ‘We have a lead! We have a lead!’

He held out a letter written in German. It was dated 3 May, just before the French had occupied Vienna. Relmyer did not have the patience to wait for Margont to decipher it.

‘It’s the copy for archiving of a letter written by a certain Limbsen to a secretary at the Ministry of War called Homkler. Look here, and there!’

His excitement was making him confused.

This Limbsen explains that he has been put in charge of an internal inquiry concerning the military registers. One of the men responsible for keeping the documents in good order had noticed the anomalies in the lists of effectives of the Infanterieregimenter 20 and 23! Those were the regiments that Mark and Ernst were supposed to have served in!’

Becoming more and more agitated, he raised his voice. ‘Limbsen verified the relevant registers. He suspects a certain Johann Grich of being responsible for the errors. In this letter, according to procedure, Limbsen asks Secretary Homkler - Grich’s superior-for authorisation to question him. We don’t know if Limbsen ever did so. I would imagine not. The Austrians have had other things on their minds since our troops arrived in Vienna.’

‘Why does he suspect Grich?’

‘That’s not made clear in the letter.’

Margont was finding it hard to believe in this miracle.

‘Where did you find this document?’

‘In the chaos of the archives. I told you we had to look there! Now, we’ve wasted enough time, let’s go! Let’s pay Johann Grich a visit. According to the letter, he lives in Mazenau, a hamlet a few leagues north of Vienna.’

Lefine was suspicious.

‘Lieutenant, why all the hussars and a guide?’

Relmyer spoke calmly, as if he had inadvertently forgotten a minor detail. ‘I found out a bit about Mazenau: it’s in a forest.’ In the face of Lefine’s fury, he immediately added: ‘It’s on the French side. If Grich had lived on the other bank, everything would have been more ...’