face of such a shambles, one must react decisively. He frequently reviews his troops with the result that the 35th are a very handsome sight with their shining muskets and their trousers and gaiters as white as the Alps. Robert Pirgnon is forty-one and comes from a bourgeois Lyons family. He attended a military academy and came out placed near the bottom of the ranking. He was in the Prussian campaign and then served for a long period in Spain. It seems that he made a lot of money there by looting the palaces of captured Spanish generals …’
Lefine’s eyes lit up, as if reflecting heaps of imaginary gold. Margont was pleased to see his friend’s normal look return.
‘Well, you see, if you’d been less lazy and if you’d worked hard at school you might have got into a military academy and would be a captain or a major by now and I’m sure you’d have helped yourself to booty like he did over there.’
‘Ah!’ sighed Lefine ruefully.
He consoled himself with the thought that it was never too late to do the right thing.
‘He was living it up in Madrid …’
‘A seducer, was he, our Prince Charming?’
‘Not quite. He didn’t chase after the local beauties. He was more interested in high society, doing the rounds of dinners and balls, military parades and bowing and scraping at court.’
Margont had difficulty disguising his disappointment.
‘For example, they say that one day Pirgnon invited the King, Joseph Bonaparte, to dinner. There were about thirty guests, including some bigwigs from the general staff. Pirgnon served a wonderful wine, a first-rate burgundy from before the Revolution! He uncorked it himself and served the King. Joseph emptied his glass and was fulsome with praise. Pirgnon served him again. Joseph again emptied his glass. Pirgnon was about to pour him a third but he refused because he had already had a few aperitifs and, as you know …’
‘Yes, the Spanish think he’s an alcoholic and nickname him “Pepe Botella”, “Joe the Bottle”. He must have wanted to avoid feeding the rumour. So then what?’
‘Then Pirgnon grabbed the neck of the bottle and tipped it upside down over a vase, declaring: “The King has finished drinking.” Everyone looked shocked while the roses soaked up the wine. Apparently the King found it very amusing. I would have had him shot.’
‘How can people waste their time at such social gatherings?’
‘It’s even worse than you think. Captain Suenteria, from the Joseph Napoleon Regiment, told me that one day Marshal Marmont decided to give a grand reception while he was passing through Madrid. Marshal Soult, who had quarrelled with Marmont and was also in the capital at that time, immediately arranged a ball on the same evening. All the cream of Madrid society was invited to both places so was forced to choose its camp. When evening came, Pirgnon went to Marmont’s, saluted the marshal, helped himself to a glass of punch, danced three waltzes, disappeared, reappeared at the other end of town, saluted Marshal Soult, drank a glass of port, joked with Soult’s general staff, left again, turned up once more at Marmont’s for a toast before downing champagne at Soult’s … and so on, for the whole night. Neither marshal suspected a thing and subsequently they never failed to invite the colonel on a regular basis.’
‘It’s absurd! I can’t understand the logic of it.’
‘But you’re going to like this Pirgnon, Captain. He has a passion for art and literature. He transformed his residence in Madrid into a veritable museum and loved showing people around. He also set up a literary salon, the Cervantes Club.’
‘Excellent! That’s how I’m going to meet him! I’m going to talk to him about literary salons! What more do you know about this?’
‘His club was quite open … to men. Women were excluded, with one or two exceptions. The members were French or Spanish, military personnel or civilians. They met regularly to talk about books, recite poetry, argue about the translation of such and such a line of Shakespeare … Just like your club.’
‘Except that in mine women are welcome. Does he have any brothers or sisters? Did he distinguish himself in any battle in particular?’
‘He’s an only son. From a military point of view, he’s not like Barguelot and Saber, who won every battle single-handed. Pirgnon has never displayed exceptional courage or tactical sense. But he’s an excellent organiser. He juggles with figures, manages the supplies, talks very little to his soldiers and officers. He treats people rather “mechanically”, so I’ve been told. For him, if a soldier is well dressed, well fed and well equipped, then he’s a machine that’s going to function properly.’
‘I see. He’s the “military metronome” sort. Then after that, for some unknown reason, he’ll babble away in his literary salon about humanism and the beauty of literature.’
Lefine folded his arms, pleased with himself and waiting to be congratulated.
‘Yes, bravo. Good work, Fernand.’
‘So much for Pirgnon. On to our Italian. This one counts as two because Captain Nedroni sticks to him like a leech. Fidassio and his shadow Nedroni. Fidassio is an only son. He’s thirty-five. His mother’s a countess – a grand lady from the aristocracy of Rome, extremely wealthy, very beautiful and prematurely widowed. What do you expect if you marry a man three times your age?’
‘So Fidassio had a very elderly father.’
‘You said it! Because the countess is such a charming woman – she’s reputed to have a fiery temper – Colonel Alessandro Fidassio was brought up by his “father”, who hated his wife for making him look ridiculous by having so many lovers. The count retired to his country estate, taking his son with him, and sent his wife money in exchange for promises of reasonable behaviour and discretion. He can’t have been paying enough. On the day of Alessandro’s fifteenth birthday, his mother made a sudden reappearance in his life. Finding him very presentable, she took him away with her like a pretty plaything to exhibit in Roman high society, which was beginning to tire of the countess’s love affairs.’
‘She redeemed herself by using her son to restore her image as a mother. Bravo.’
‘Yes, but according to the people I questioned she became deeply attached to Alessandro. From then on she had only one idea in her head: that he should become someone important. He was a very average student, so goodbye to being a scholar. He was clumsy, so goodbye to being a surgeon. He wasn’t a good public speaker, so goodbye to being a politician. So she decided to make a soldier of him and that seemed to please Alessandro. He did well in a prestigious Italian military academy and was promoted to the rank of lieutenant. Then I was given to understand that his mother used and abused her connections and her wealth and more besides …’
‘I get the picture.’
‘And so within a few years the lieutenant turned into a colonel. She was the one who forced him to volunteer for this campaign. Her son had never taken part in a battle or even been outside Italy, so his career was stagnating in a provincial garrison. She thought that the Russian campaign would be a jolly jaunt beneath triumphal arches and an ideal springboard for Alessandro to be promoted to general.’
‘Quite an ambitious programme.’
‘Fidassio is taciturn and prefers being alone. Nobody really seems to know him in his regiment, apart from Nedroni.’
Margont tried to remember the captain’s features and that look of his, both polite and firm.
‘What do you know about this fellow?’
‘Countess Fidassio was rather worried about sending her son to Russia. After all, war can, sometimes, kill. She’d already thought about this problem. Whilst buying her son the rank of colonel, she asked for a small bonus, like any good customer about to make a large purchase.’
‘The rank of captain for Nedroni.’
‘Exactly. Silvio Nedroni was born into a poor family from the lower nobility. He’s thirty-two and is said to be the son of one of the countess’s lovers. In any case, she considers him as her second son. An indiscreet person implied to me that this maternal feeling was born of the countess’s sense of guilt. It’s true that it was her relationship with Silvio’s father that caused the child’s mother to leave home. Anyway, the countess enabled him to enrol in the same military academy as Alessandro and she always saw to it that they kept an eye on each other. But Nedroni is far from stupid and he owes his social advancement as much to his own ability as to the countess’s money and connections.’
‘So if Fidassio is the murderer, and if Nedroni knows about it, he might be tempted to cover up for him. Let’s add Nedroni to our list as a possible accomplice.’
