‘It’s four in the afternoon. How are we going to proceed?’

The eight men had installed themselves in the ruins of Countess Sperzof’s house.

‘The letters will be delivered by messengers,’ Margont explained. ‘They’re people I came across in the street. I’ve paid them in dried fish. The day after tomorrow they’ll be given more food if they’ve done their job properly.’

‘When is the rendezvous for?’

‘Tomorrow night at three in the morning. We’re going to position ourselves in our hiding-places straight away and stay there just in case our man does some reconnaissance well before the rendezvous or sends someone on his behalf.’

Margont showed them a plan of the area. The street the house was in had been severely damaged by fire. The handsome townhouses on either side of it were now no more than blackened façades, collapsed walls and decapitated columns. A series of gardens backed on to these ruins. Countess Sperzof’s had survived. Others had been reduced to ashes. Opposite the meeting place was a street with piles of rubble and sections of wall on either side. There was also a crossroads nearby, several paces to the left. Only one block of houses had survived the flames. It was a building that had partially collapsed at its far end. A battalion of the 48th Regiment was quartered there.

Margont drew a cross on it. ‘I’ll be here, under the porch. This is the plan: our man turns up, I try to talk to him and, if he confesses his crime, you all emerge from your hiding places and converge on him, weapons at the ready.’

All eyes turned towards the dozen or so pistols that Margont had requisitioned. The weapons reassured them, despite their lack of precision and range, and the fact that they more often wounded than killed.

‘I want to do all I can to make him talk, so no untimely intervention!’ he emphasised.

‘Only the man we’re after can find this address. And he’ll turn up with some gold. That’s enough,’ reckoned Dalero.

‘We’re dealing with a colonel: in a military tribunal his word will be given three times as much weight as all of ours put together. He’ll say he just happened to be passing by, that he just had a discreet rendezvous with someone to buy something … We need irrefutable evidence, not suppositions or unlikely coincidences.’

Saber, Fanselin and Piquebois exchanged glances that betrayed their dismay.

‘A colonel? We’re not going to arrest a colonel, are we?’ Saber eventually asked, convinced that he was about to clear up some misunderstanding.

Margont explained to them that they were indeed looking for a colonel. He told them there were very good reasons for this but he was not allowed to go into them.

‘If some of you want to back out, I’ll understand,’ he added.

‘You can rely on me,’ Piquebois immediately replied.

Fanselin nodded. Saber agreed reluctantly. He didn’t want to get the reputation of being a quitter, as there was no surer way of killing off all prospects of promotion.

‘Therefore we need a confession,’ Margont went on. ‘If you see me raise my arm, come to my aid. It will mean that I’m in danger or that he’s said enough to be arrested.’

‘And what if he doesn’t talk?’ asked Dalero.

‘I’ll let him go. Then we’ll discuss what to do next.’

That last point would depend above all on Prince Eugène’s judgement.

‘I want you to position yourselves in a circle around me. Then, in order to meet up with me, our man will enter the circle without realising it. There’ll be no possible retreat. Piquebois will take up position in the next-door house to my right, Sergeant Fimiento in the one to my left. Lefine will hide in the garden to protect the rear. Fanselin and Saber will be in the street opposite the house. Captain Dalero and Sergeant Andogio will place themselves at the far left of our street, where it’s intersected by the crossroads. Captain Dalero will be on the same side as me and Sergeant Andogio opposite, hiding in the ruins adjacent to the building where the battalion of the 48th has its quarters.’

‘There are more men on the left,’ Dalero pointed out.

‘Correct. Because it’s easier to hide there: the buildings are in a better state. But you told me that Sergeants Fimiento and Andogio were excellent marksmen.’

Fimiento smiled but it wasn’t clear whether it was in response to the compliment or because he was remembering a few particularly well-aimed shots.

‘I’ve positioned them at key points. Sergeant Fimiento can have the whole of our street in his line of sight as well as the one opposite this house. Sergeant Andogio is covering both our street and the crossroads. Any questions?’

‘We’re going to spend more than twenty-four hours hiding beneath the remains of walls in danger of collapsing and without making a fire – so having to freeze all night and eat cold food – is that it?’ asked Lefine.

‘Absolutely. Any more questions? So, let’s wish ourselves good luck.’

CHAPTER 28

IT had been a long wait. At last the time fixed for the rendezvous had arrived and Margont was pacing up and down at the front entrance, surveying the area, his breath turning to steam. He thrust his hands deep into the pockets of his grey greatcoat. His fingers stroked the butt of his pistols. He had also brought his sword and a knife. He smiled at the thought that he hadn’t been as well armed as this when he launched into the attack on the Great Redoubt. He was trying to guess which of the four faces he would find himself up against. He was also wondering whether the man would answer his questions. And if so, whether it would just be to allay his suspicions before trying to eliminate him.

After what seemed both a short and a particularly long period of time, he glimpsed a silhouette. His heart began to race. The passer-by was alone. He was coming from the right, Piquebois and Fanselin’s side. He was walking slowly. He too was wearing a greatcoat and had his hands deep in his pockets.

Gradually, the distance lessened. The stranger had his collar turned up and was wearing a cap, so that it was still not possible to make out his face. When he was about a hundred paces away, he stopped. He was looking at Margont. Suddenly a shot rang out. Margont was hit full in the chest and fell. The stranger did an about-turn and started to run. The shot had been fired from the corner of the crossroads, where Sergeant Andogio had taken up position. Piquebois was the first to jump out of his hiding-place.

‘There are two of them!’ he yelled. ‘Fanselin, come with me!’

He set off in hot pursuit of the figure, who was by now far away from the circle that was supposed to trap him. Fanselin suddenly emerged holding a pistol and ran to join Piquebois. Dalero and Saber rushed towards the marksman whom Fimiento was already aiming at. The man was lurking in the darkness. He had thrown aside his discharged musket and was taking aim at Fimiento with Sergeant Andogio’s weapon. The sergeant was lying at his feet. Two shots rang out almost simultaneously. Fimiento’s bullet lodged in the section of wall behind which his opponent had positioned himself and Fimiento fell to the ground immediately afterwards. The marksman dropped his second musket and then it was his turn to flee. He sped across the street and into an area littered with rubble.

When the fugitive failed to respond to his warnings, Saber opened fire with his pistol. Dalero did likewise. The two bullets were way off target. Lefine skirted the house and ran towards Margont, who was sitting up. His greatcoat had been holed near his right lung.

‘It’s all right. I’m not hurt, look.’

He opened his garment. He was wearing a cuirassier’s breastplate. The piece of metal was thick enough to stop bullets and was pigeon-breasted to deflect projectiles.