‘How come?’

‘Colonel Barguelot really was an officer of great courage. He proved it at the battle of Austerlitz but he never talks about this exploit, which is out of character. Do you remember the rumour you told me about concerning the wound he’s said to have received that day? Well, I’m sure it’s true. He must have lost an eye at Austerlitz. When he realised that this wound made him a partial invalid, that his image had been tarnished – because this is his strange way of seeing things – he was terrified. Colonel Barguelot is not afraid of death but of the image others have of him. It’s his wound that has made him a coward. The conclusion I was able to draw from all this was that Colonel Barguelot was not our murderer. Because how the devil could he have escaped so acrobatically across the rooftops?

‘We know that the man we’re looking for probably knows the identity of the other suspects. He himself had a note sent to Colonel Barguelot to get him to come to our rendezvous. It was an excellent idea. On the one hand Barguelot’s arrival was a diversion that almost cost me my life. On the other hand we all suspected Colonel Barguelot. When I realised my mistake, I decided to make it look as if we were still convinced of Colonel Barguelot’s guilt. I said nothing to you because the murderer needed to be convinced of this. But in secret I continued to keep our suspects under surveillance. Unfortunately, our man did not betray himself. I’d assumed that he would seek out another victim, in which case my spies had orders to intervene. Either out of suspicion, because he didn’t want to, or because the opportunity did not arise, he did not strike. The murderer was the marksman in hiding. It couldn’t have been Delarse: with his asthma he would never have dared to escape by wading through ashes. That left our Italians and Pirgnon. The murderer knew Colonel Barguelot well enough to find a way of forcing him to go to a remote district alone at three in the morning. But our Italians had never been outside Italy before. They hadn’t taken part in any campaign and were mouldering away in their provincial garrison. They therefore had very few senior officers among their acquaintances. That’s why I inclined towards Pirgnon.’

Margont waved the letter handed to him by Colonel Barguelot.

‘Barguelot has just confirmed to us that Colonel Pirgnon was aware of the contents of this note! Although Pirgnon is capable of going into raptures over a poem or a painting, he seems to have no feeling for human life. His passion for classical heroes is morbid: he probably considers himself a sort of demigod, a superior being to whom other men’s morals and laws do not apply.’

‘What are we going to do? Inform Prince Eugène?’

Margont shook his head. ‘Colonel Barguelot will never give evidence. That would mean admitting the truth of what was in that note. I think he’d be capable of blowing his brains out rather than face such dishonour. And Pirgnon is very well thought of in IV Corps. Are we really sure he’ll be put on trial for his crimes?’

‘Well … yes, surely.’

‘Not surely enough for my taste. Especially amidst such chaos, where every senior officer who’s survived is worth his weight in gold.’

Lefine blew on his gloves. ‘I think I’ve guessed what Prince Eugène would think if we broke the news to him: “My God, how much simpler it would be if the Russians would just kill Colonel Pirgnon for us.”’

CHAPTER 31

SMOLENSK was not the promised paradise. The damaged city had not been sufficiently restored. Many soldiers had to sleep outdoors in the snow. Food supplies had been badly managed and the reserves depleted by the troops passing through. An inefficient administration had been incapable of organising the distribution of resources properly and looting had resulted in considerable wastage. The Guard was the first to be served, something that Napoleon always saw to. The officers often received good rations but some regiments were given only a little flour, which some of the infantrymen swallowed immediately, just as it was.

Margont and his friends went to the Valiuski palace. Unfortunately, it was empty. One of the servants had stayed behind to wait for them. The Valiuski family had learnt of the French retreat and had decided to go to the Duchy of Warsaw to stay with relatives. They were afraid that the French would entrench themselves in Smolensk and that the Russians would attack them there. Margont thought that they probably also feared reprisals on the part of the Russians and preferred to let time heal the wounds. The servant went into a storeroom. He removed two planks from the wall to reveal a recess containing a package. Inside it was a ham, some rice, a jar of honey, a bottle of brandy, two sacks of flour and some potatoes: a treasure trove.

‘That’s all, because a lot of food was requisitioned,’ explained the servant in an accent so heavy that they had to guess the meaning of most of what he was saying.

The man also handed Margont a letter. The captain went to his former bedroom, as if he was going to read its contents before going down to dinner with the Valiuskis, as if by returning in space to Smolensk he had also gone back in time and it was no longer mid-November but mid-August again.

Dear friend,

My father has decided that we should leave for Warsaw within the hour. It does indeed appear as if the campaign is not over and that more fighting lies ahead. Father had already greatly underestimated the violence of the attack on Smolensk when you came, so he prefers to take us away from the ‘field of operations’ (you know how fond he is of talking like a general). Contrary to what I had hoped, we shall not therefore be celebrating the peace with you in Smolensk.

My good Oleg has agreed to stay behind. He will hand you this letter as well as a little food. Unfortunately, your Emperor has requisitioned so much and the war has disrupted trade so badly that I cannot offer you more.

Keep my book or, if you have finished it, take some others. I hope we shall have the opportunity to see each other again in happier circumstances. It will be easy for you to find us: all the nobility in Warsaw knows the Valiuski family. But I realise that the combatants are unlikely to be liberated in the near future. Even if all French people are nothing but dreadful heathens, be assured that despite everything you are present in my prayers.

Countess Natalia Valiuska

Margont reread the letter several times, trying to hear the voice behind the words. This was only the first of a long series of disappointments. Napoleon had quickly realised that it was impossible for him to winter in Smolensk. The city was nothing but ruins and there was a shortage of food. Added to which, to the north-west Wittgenstein’s fifty thousand Russians were increasing the pressure on Marshal Gouvion-Saint-Cyr, who had been defeated at Polotsk in mid-October. Similarly, to the south, the army of Moravia under the command of Admiral Chichagov, and reinforced by Tormasov’s army, which had become available because of the peace with Turkey, had pushed back Schwarzenberg’s Austrians and Reynier’s French. The Grande Armée risked being surrounded by substantial forces. So the retreat resumed, with temperatures falling to twenty degrees below zero. There were only forty thousand men left in the army proper, with thousands of disarmed people as hangers-on.

Kutuzov was attempting to position his army between the different French corps in order to destroy them separately. At Krasny, on 16 November, IV Corps, which now consisted of only six thousand men, had to force its way through twenty thousand Russians, under the command of General Miloradovich, who were blocking its path. Two thousand French soldiers perished.