thank the little
man as he departed. Now they could both look at one another.
And now he saw, as if for the first time, the heaviness of shock in
her eyes – the shock that he had brought to her. The white
powder on her cheeks was still pure and unmarked. Soon, when
the world would permit her privacy, it would be tracked with the
tears she held inside her. He could do nothing for her, except to
make her misery complete.
'We had thought him safe,' she said.
She sounded very tired.
'The last we had from him was a letter that reached us only
late last month, almost the same day as news of the peace. He said
nothing was happening and that it was all very dull. Then he told
us about driving pigs through a Cravatier officer's tent.'
Wéry smiled grimly. 'Yes, he did. The Cravatiers were not
pleased with us.'
'Was it a duel, then?'
'A duel? No.'
How little they had grasped of what he had said to them!
'It was the French,' he said. 'They crossed the Rhine the day
after his letter was sent.'
He drew breath. 'They were in great strength, and they had a
new commander, Hoche. We suffered losses, and fell back.
Albrecht was unhurt, then, because his battalion was not engaged.
We joined the retreat towards Frankfurt.'
(Retreat! How could he describe the chaos – the orders that
came from the Imperial headquarters, urging them to do this, do
that – and none of it either possible or meaningful? Some
regiments refused to obey commands. Others were not supposed
to be where they were, or, when you reached them, proved to be
nothing but a handful of men with a banner. Officers shot at their
own men, and men murdered their officers and left their bodies
by the road.)
'Hoche pressed us hard. We were very nearly trapped. We were
at risk of being cut off and caught with the rest of the Imperial
army. But the Erzberg commanders saw that if we could gain the
crossings at Hersheim we would have a safe road home – for
ourselves and maybe for the rest of the army too. So they changed
route.'
She was listening, but she did not look at him as he spoke. She
had gone back to watching the embers as if she could follow
there the last acts of her brother and his friends, as if she could
see the small, massed columns, many-legged, marching into the
fire.
'The French reached the crossings first – only a battalion, with
some guns, sent ahead of their main body to cut us off. But they
were digging earthworks, and of course they could have been
reinforced at any moment. Count Balcke-Horneswerden ordered
the infantry to attack. They had to cross the open ground down
to the banks, wade the river and climb the far side, with the
enemy's cannon firing all the time. Some of the men lost their
nerve and tried to shelter under the far bank. Albrecht rode into
the water to encourage them. That was when he was struck – by
canister, I think . . .'
Now she stirred.
'Canister?'
'A case of musket-balls, about so big.' He made a round with
his hands. 'It is fired from cannon at close range, to kill many
people at once . . .'
She was looking at his fingers, measuring their circle with her
eye. He could see she was trying to imagine the weight of the
shot. She was picturing how they might smash into a man's body.
He saw her bite her lip.
'You said – his servant also died,' she said.
'I am sorry. Yes.'
'We will have to tell his family how.'
'It was shot from the same battery. He was trying to reach your
brother.'
'Then – my brother was still alive?'
'The men he was rallying pulled him to the bank. They were
able to bring him in when the enemy position was overrun. But
– the surgeons could not help him.'
There was no point in trying to explain the dilemmas of the
surgeons, working into the night on whomever they thought
they might save while more and more shattered men were laid
around them.
'Was he in much pain?'
(Don't lie. It will hurt her worse if you lie, and she sees it.)
'I fear he must have been. But it would not have been
man as he departed. Now they could both look at one another.
And now he saw, as if for the first time, the heaviness of shock in
her eyes – the shock that he had brought to her. The white
powder on her cheeks was still pure and unmarked. Soon, when
the world would permit her privacy, it would be tracked with the
tears she held inside her. He could do nothing for her, except to
make her misery complete.
'We had thought him safe,' she said.
She sounded very tired.
'The last we had from him was a letter that reached us only
late last month, almost the same day as news of the peace. He said
nothing was happening and that it was all very dull. Then he told
us about driving pigs through a Cravatier officer's tent.'
Wéry smiled grimly. 'Yes, he did. The Cravatiers were not
pleased with us.'
'Was it a duel, then?'
'A duel? No.'
How little they had grasped of what he had said to them!
'It was the French,' he said. 'They crossed the Rhine the day
after his letter was sent.'
He drew breath. 'They were in great strength, and they had a
new commander, Hoche. We suffered losses, and fell back.
Albrecht was unhurt, then, because his battalion was not engaged.
We joined the retreat towards Frankfurt.'
(Retreat! How could he describe the chaos – the orders that
came from the Imperial headquarters, urging them to do this, do
that – and none of it either possible or meaningful? Some
regiments refused to obey commands. Others were not supposed
to be where they were, or, when you reached them, proved to be
nothing but a handful of men with a banner. Officers shot at their
own men, and men murdered their officers and left their bodies
by the road.)
'Hoche pressed us hard. We were very nearly trapped. We were
at risk of being cut off and caught with the rest of the Imperial
army. But the Erzberg commanders saw that if we could gain the
crossings at Hersheim we would have a safe road home – for
ourselves and maybe for the rest of the army too. So they changed
route.'
She was listening, but she did not look at him as he spoke. She
had gone back to watching the embers as if she could follow
there the last acts of her brother and his friends, as if she could
see the small, massed columns, many-legged, marching into the
fire.
'The French reached the crossings first – only a battalion, with
some guns, sent ahead of their main body to cut us off. But they
were digging earthworks, and of course they could have been
reinforced at any moment. Count Balcke-Horneswerden ordered
the infantry to attack. They had to cross the open ground down
to the banks, wade the river and climb the far side, with the
enemy's cannon firing all the time. Some of the men lost their
nerve and tried to shelter under the far bank. Albrecht rode into
the water to encourage them. That was when he was struck – by
canister, I think . . .'
Now she stirred.
'Canister?'
'A case of musket-balls, about so big.' He made a round with
his hands. 'It is fired from cannon at close range, to kill many
people at once . . .'
She was looking at his fingers, measuring their circle with her
eye. He could see she was trying to imagine the weight of the
shot. She was picturing how they might smash into a man's body.
He saw her bite her lip.
'You said – his servant also died,' she said.
'I am sorry. Yes.'
'We will have to tell his family how.'
'It was shot from the same battery. He was trying to reach your
brother.'
'Then – my brother was still alive?'
'The men he was rallying pulled him to the bank. They were
able to bring him in when the enemy position was overrun. But
– the surgeons could not help him.'
There was no point in trying to explain the dilemmas of the
surgeons, working into the night on whomever they thought
they might save while more and more shattered men were laid
around them.
'Was he in much pain?'
(Don't lie. It will hurt her worse if you lie, and she sees it.)
'I fear he must have been. But it would not have been
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