The gathering broke up, to reveal a smiling Margont.
‘Quentin!’ exclaimed Bremond, putting his hands on his shoulders.
The two men had known each other since childhood and had frequently had occasion to see each other on the battlefield.
‘What regiment are you serving in?’
‘The 84th, with Lefine, Saber and Piquebois.’
‘So you’re in good company. I bet you’re bored and are dreaming of a tutorial on how to fit out a hospital.’
‘You’ve lost your bet, I’m afraid, Jean-Quenin. I’ve a big favour to ask you.’
‘Granted. I’m listening.’
‘I’m investigating a murder but it must be hushed up at all costs. I would like you to examine the victim.’
CHAPTER 6
AN hour later, after arriving back in Tresno, Margont was in a requisitioned house, shouting at a lethargic captain.
‘With your grindingly slow bureaucracy I’ll have to wait ten months for the authorisation to dig up the body. I might as well just pick up a handful of dust!’
‘I’m very sorry. I don’t have the slightest idea of how to process such a request. So I’ll need to inform my superiors. Because as you will understand—’
‘That’s precisely it. I do not understand, Captain Ladoyere.’
‘If the correct procedure is not followed, I’ll be the one who gets the blame.’
‘But I have an order from—’
‘General Triaire, yes, I know,’ mumbled the captain, looking puzzled and reading the document once more.
‘So I command you to authorise me to dig up this body.’
‘But is General Triaire entitled to have the body of a civilian dug up? Because I, you understand, am the person responsible for law and order in Tresno. It’s my job to sort out deserters and troublemakers.’
Margont couldn’t bear to look any longer at the ugly face with its flabby jowls reminiscent of a dozy bulldog. Bremond, for his part, seemed engrossed in gazing out of the window at the Polish countryside.
‘Stick to the point!’ exclaimed Margont.
The captain spread his arms in a gesture of helplessness. ‘I’ve told you already. I’m responsible for law and order in Tresno. Digging up the body of a local inhabitant could arouse the hostility of the population, leading to unrest, rioting and the use of military force.’
‘So what do you suggest?’
‘I suggest going through the official channels. Your request will be passed on today to the appropriate person, that is to say the person above me who …’
‘… will pass it on to someone else and so on and so forth. I’m going to hold you to account to General Triaire.’
‘Oh, I’m not the one to be held to account. It will be the person above me because I will have submitted your request to him.’ The officer was pleased to have resolved this problem and concluded: ‘So we shall both have the satisfaction of having followed the proper procedure.’
Bremond turned round and, with his hands behind his back, declared quite out of the blue: ‘Very well, gentlemen, we understand your position. You have your procedures and we have ours. Captain Ladoyere, I am having you and your men put into quarantine immediately.’
Ladoyere’s jowls drooped a little more. At the same time the lieutenant, who was his right-hand man, and the two other soldiers present in the room turned as pale as sheets.
‘I beg your pardon, sir?’
‘It is possible that this woman was suffering from typhus.’
Typhus! Fourteen thousand deaths in 1796 in the hospitals of Nice alone. And even more during the military campaigns, but that was a taboo subject. Ladoyere remained petrified.
‘As I am unable to examine her to prove or to disprove this diagnosis,’ Bremond continued, ‘I have no choice other than to assume the worst and to impose the strictest possible measures. I shall therefore have you all placed in a hospital reserved for people suspected of being infected.’
Ladoyere fidgeted on his chair. ‘But if this woman had not contracted typhus, I’m at risk of infection from being in your hospital when I have no reason to be there.’
Margont nodded. ‘That is correct. But we shall both have the satisfaction of having followed the proper procedure.’
Ladoyere’s face dropped as if he was already contemplating the inevitability of death.
‘Surely she didn’t have typhus … it’s just not possible.’
But Bremond had adopted his absent-minded look again. To the captain’s dismay, he moved calmly towards the door. Ladoyere got up and walked around his desk, ready to run after the doctor if necessary.
‘All right, all right. Exhume the body. I’m only a lowly captain. I obey orders from General Triaire and from the army medical service. If you’d be so kind as to put in writing all that you have just said …’
Bremond and Margont signed their lie and went off to the graveyard, requisitioning on their way three soldiers and some spades.
Tresno’s graveyard was on top of a hill at the edge of the village. A spinney concealed its gloomy presence from the villagers. The tombs were well kept and decked with flowers.
‘I don’t much like disturbing the peace of the dead,’ murmured Bremond.
‘Neither do I, but we have to exhume this body if we want to lay this business to rest.’
One of the soldiers requisitioned in the street was Polish. He threw aside his spade the moment he realised what was expected of him. Margont didn’t make an issue of it but ordered the man to stay. While the Frenchmen were throwing large spadefuls of earth over their shoulders, a woodcutter with a bushy beard, accompanied by two adolescents, suddenly emerged from the spinney. The three of them had axes in their hands. Instinctively, the Polish soldier pulled his musket, which was lying on the ground, nearer to him with his foot. The intruder began to speak. His aggressive tone made his sons blink.
‘What does he have to say for himself?’ asked Margont.
By now the infantryman had grabbed his musket. ‘He’s saying that the French are pagans who have killed their priests, that the Revolution has destroyed the churches, that Napoleon is the Antichrist and that each of his armies is one of the heads of the dragon of the Apocalypse.’
‘What else does he have to say?’
‘Begging your pardon, Captain, he thinks that you’re digging up this poor woman to have your way with her.’
‘Charming.’
Eventually, the cutting edge of the spades struck the lid of the coffin. Margont wiped the sweat off his face and nodded towards a nearby building.
‘We’re going to transport the coffin over to that barn. Only the medical officer and I will examine the body. You will wait for us close by. And keep that lunatic away. I don’t want him trying to find out whether a Frenchman is as hard to split in two as the trunk of a fir tree.’
The place was empty. Margont was glad of the smell of straw, not for any nostalgic reason but because it would partially cover up the odours emanating from the body.
Bremond seemed equally hesitant but declared: ‘Better to get on with it straight away. The waiting is sometimes worse than the deed itself.’
The boards of the coffin, made of pine, had been carefully fitted together, and for some strange reason the
