The prince stood up and began to walk around the two chairs.
‘You were at the battle of Auerstädt.’
‘That is correct, Your—’
The Viceroy interrupted him abruptly with a wave of the hand. ‘Of course it is correct. I know all about you. At Jena and Auerstädt we blew these wretched Prussians and their Saxon allies to smithereens. And today they are at our side, fighting with us against the Russians!’
The prince spread his arms in a gesture of powerlessness. ‘Ah, the miracles of diplomacy! I shall never get used to it, even though I observe its rituals. In short, a rumour such as “A French officer is murdering and mutilating Polish women” – and “officer” would soon become all officers, and the Polish woman would become in turn German for the Germans, Prussian for the Prussians, Austrian, Saxon, et cetera – is quite enough to rekindle ill feeling in the hearts of those who lost a brother, a cousin, a friend or an arm at Jena, in Italy, at Wagram …’
The prince continued to walk around in a circle as if this circle embodied the problem he was unable to solve.
‘When the Emperor was told about this business, he lost his temper. He began to rant at my messenger in Corsican!’
The Viceroy stopped dead. He was lost in thought and was staring at the elaborate arabesques on the rug.
‘Just think about the Russian civilian population!’ he exclaimed all of a sudden, raising his head. ‘How could we rally them to our cause, or at least prevent them from doing too much harm to our rear? “Here come the women-killers!” Pillagers! Yes, they’ll think we are pillagers. And what about the Emperor? He’ll fly into a rage again, that’s for sure. Then there are the Germans …’
His words were becoming more and more disjointed as troubled thoughts swirled around in his head. Margont had the impression that the prince was hiding something from him. It was a vague feeling prompted by various small details: an evasive look; a hurried delivery as if Eugène wanted to convince him quickly; a puzzled expression; lips that opened as if about to say something then closed again immediately … It lasted a few moments, then the prince’s attitude became perfectly assured again.
‘Captain, you are going to unmask this man for me!’
Eugène spoke these words with incisive firmness. If he had been hesitating about whether to reveal an extra piece of information, he had in the end decided to keep it to himself.
‘For the moment there are no such rumours. It should be added that I have taken every possible precaution. The person who discovered the body was the innkeeper with whom the victim lodged, a certain Maroveski. I had him arrested and he’s being held in an isolated farmhouse. Officially, he robbed an officer. His gaolers speak only Italian, so he can’t tell them anything. On seeing the body, this Maroveski informed a picket of soldiers on duty, who immediately alerted a captain on guard. The officer was completely out of his depth and informed my general staff. I had these witnesses interrogated by one of the captains from my Royal Guard. They told him nothing. The sentry was a long way from the murderer, it was dark and the scene lasted only a few seconds. All he noticed was that the man was between five foot six and six foot in height. A remarkably precise piece of evidence indeed!’
That leaves a mere five hundred suspects, thought Margont.
‘The soldiers who kept watch at the spot until the arrival of my grenadiers, the captain on guard and this sentry were all transferred to Spain at daybreak.’
Margont managed to restrain his anger. ‘But it’s essential for me to question these men personally, Your Highness!’
‘Well, you’ll just have to do without what they would have been able to tell you. I had to nip the rumour in the bud. They are on their way to Vieja Lamarsota, Vieja Lamarora. In a word, you could say they’re off to “Vieja Go-to-Hell”!’
‘I regret to inform Your Highness that I decline to carry out this investigation.’
The prince gave him a taunting look, as if daring Margont to stick to this position.
‘Because you think there’s still time for you to set off for Vieja Something-or-Other, do you? If you refuse to help me, it won’t be the road to Spain for you but the nearest wall!’
The Viceroy of Italy broke off. Margont’s silence confirmed that he could continue.
‘When one of my aides-de-camp, General Triaire, gave the order to go to fetch you, he led the messenger to believe that he wanted to inform you personally of the death of your brother.’
‘I don’t have a brother.’
‘Well, you do now. Major Henri Margont, killed in an ambush on the road to Madrid a few days ago. That band of guerrillas led by the famous Mina again. Your brother was a close friend of General Triaire. That’s why you were sent for. You have my deepest sympathy.’
‘My friends know I don’t have a brother, so if they hear that—’
‘Do as Triaire does: make it up!’
The prince eventually sat down. He seemed eager to see the back of this captain who was going to lighten his burden considerably.
‘To summarise, my grenadiers are guarding the innkeeper and that poor woman’s bedroom. The body has been buried …’
The captain looked up to the heavens.
‘The body has been buried!’ the prince repeated unequivocally. ‘All that a few soldiers and the inhabitants of Tresno know is that a woman has been murdered. They do not know that an officer is the suspect and that the victim was found in a grisly state. Now you may ask any questions.’
‘Why not put the military police in charge of this case?’
‘Impossible! There would inevitably be leaks. This investigation must not be carried out by a whole host of people. I need a single sleuth answerable only to me. Leaks would produce rumour, which I fear almost as much as I do the Russians. Besides, the leaks might come to the attention of the murderer, who would then discover that we knew he was an officer. We would lose our only trump card.’
Margont guessed a third reason. He was under Prince Eugène’s orders; there was no one else he could talk to about this business, so to antagonise the prince could cost him dearly. Conversely, an investigator from the military police would be accountable to his own superiors. By choosing Margont, the prince ensured total control of the investigation. He would have complete freedom in deciding the fate of the culprit if he were unmasked. But if he proved to be a high-ranking officer, would he be fairly tried and sentenced, or would he be discreetly transferred to ‘Vieja Go-to-Hell’?
‘Why choose me, Your Highness?’
The Viceroy stood up and grabbed a document case lying on the sofa. He swiftly opened it and took out fifteen or so sheets of paper.
‘You have been chosen for a number of criteria. I know everything about you, Captain. Your childhood, your short and enforced career in the Church, your military record, your opinions, the books you read, the names of your friends …’
‘May I know how Your Highness obtained all this information? You could not have found out my life story overnight.’
The prince had the triumphant look of someone who sees his predictions coming true, giving him the misleading but exhilarating feeling of being in total control.
‘A few years ago I got Triaire to draw up a secret list of individuals with various skills. My idea was to create my own network of spies. But in the end the ones the Emperor uses proved so efficient – Schulmeister is the prime example – that I abandoned my plan. However, Triaire continued to keep this register, striking out the names of those killed in combat and adding others. One day, your name cropped up.’
‘Is there really only one way of being struck off the list?’
The prince ignored the question. He casually pulled the reports from his file as if pulling the petals off a daisy. The reports were in such small, compact handwriting that they looked like pages from a bible. Triaire had conducted his investigation meticulously. With every page that the prince skimmed through, Margont felt a little more exposed. At last the Viceroy looked up.