The colonel then strode quickly towards Margont.

‘So, Captain! You are dishevelled and badly shaven. Why do you look like a beaten man?’

‘I apologise, Colonel. But thanks to us the Russian army had a close shave.’

‘When one has wit, one should put it to better use than trying to be clever.’

‘By playing chess, for example?’

Delarse turned round to watch Nakalin, who was being led away by two soldiers. The Russian was walking with his arms folded, as if out for a stroll.

‘What an odd character! I might as well have been playing on my own.’

‘True indeed. It seemed as if everything around him was more interesting than the game: the singing of the birds, the cloud formations, the weather …’

‘He’ll escape.’

‘Worse than that, it’s as if we haven’t even captured him. Colonel, may I enquire how you met him?’

‘He’s a well-known chess player. He was born into the Ukrainian nobility and leads a dilettante life. He does nothing, has no interests, forgets to attend dinners he’s been invited to … He lives only for chess. But what a player he is! He has beaten Tsar Alexander himself, the Emperor of Austria, General Bagration, General Kutuzov … Here’s an amusing anecdote about the latter. That crafty old fox Kutuzov was being given a hard time when he ‘accidentally’ knocked the chessboard on to the floor. He apologised, explaining that the loss of an eye in the war had affected his sense of distance. But to Kutuzov’s chagrin, Nakalin declared that it didn’t matter, picked up all the pieces and put them back exactly as they were. Kutuzov was then beaten soundly by his opponent. How I would have liked to see his face that day! I know all this because I’m a member of several chess clubs. Nakalin has acquired such a reputation that he spends his whole life being invited to various European courts and by keen chess players. His travels are paid for and he goes from palace to stately home – a very nice life. He’s the only person in the world to have defeated as many generals as the Emperor. But in his own field. Unfortunately, his successes are more of a curse than a blessing because it is increasingly difficult to rouse him from the apathy he’s helplessly sinking into. One match is not enough to stimulate him. He needs to play against ten opponents at a time and be literally surrounded by chessboards. Or else play blindfolded, with a friend whispering the other player’s moves in his ear. He cannot do anything except play chess. Not even be a real soldier because he was accepted into the Guard and given a commission only because he beat Grand Duke Constantine Pavlovitch.’

Colonel Delarse’s face clouded over with regret. If only he had managed to beat Nakalin! Then, indirectly, he would have demonstrated his superiority over all the others: the Tsar, Kutuzov, Bagration, Emperor Francis I …

The man was wandering amongst the bodies, the air pungent with gunpowder, burning and blood. Everywhere there were bodies lying on the grass. And yet he felt at ease. It was as if this charnel house had become his true home. He told himself that he was going mad but it was a madness he revelled in.

He thought again about all those years it had taken him to discover his liking for death. One part of him had had to fight night and day against these desires before finally giving in, utterly exhausted. Or perhaps it was because of the war. He had witnessed so much killing … Differences and limits seemed more and more blurred. He felt nothing but confusion.

CHAPTER 16

THE following day Margont was summoned again by Prince Eugène. He had to wait a long time until the comings and goings of generals, aides-de-camp and dispatch riders had ceased. It was like some kind of ball. A constant stream of cavalrymen dressed all in blue and gold came prancing along before merging into the excited throng surrounding the prince. The latter had sought out a shady grove. With his general staff around him, he seemed to be listening to four conversations at once. He had to commit everything to memory, make decisions about it all and ensure that his orders were faithfully carried out. The discussion concerned troop deployments, the enemy’s presumed routes of retreat, tactical possibilities, early estimates of losses, the names of officers who had distinguished themselves or not lived up to expectation … The Emperor, exasperated at seeing the Russians escape his grasp once more, had unleashed his fury on all and sundry and, when the Emperor was angry, his rage made the whole army tremble. The tension on these faces was in sharp contrast to the calm that prevailed on the plains and in the surrounding woods.

Eventually, the prince was able to extricate himself and motioned to Margont to join him. Margont saluted him respectfully, noting that Eugène was under so much pressure that he frequently gave people murderous looks.

‘Captain Margont, I’m glad to know you’ve survived, because your brigade got into serious difficulty.’ But the prince spoke mechanically, as if commenting on the fine weather. ‘Let’s go for a short walk. Be brief and give me good news!’

Having decided not to talk about the four colonels he suspected, Margont was glad not to have to discover how Prince Eugène would have reacted to such bad news.

‘I’ve scarcely made any progress, Your High—’

‘Oh, no! Oh, no!’

The prince did not shout, he yelled. He sat down on a tree stump and motioned to his escort to move away. The grenadiers of the Italian Royal Guard deployed around them. Margont was enjoying the refreshing shade and the tranquil surroundings. Now that the guns had fallen silent, the birds were singing once more. The grove looked like a corner of paradise that had accidentally fallen to earth. The blood rushed to Eugène’s face.

‘A supply system that supplies no one, the desertions, the Cossacks, the Russians whom we constantly lose track of, this gruelling pursuit of the enemy that’s about to resume, and now you! Tell me everything.’

The ‘everything’ in question took less than a minute. The prince folded his arms.

‘Carry on talking. And if you’ve nothing to say, just move your lips. Otherwise that lot will pounce on me.’

Margont followed Eugène’s gaze and noticed a new gathering of messengers and officers waiting patiently or impatiently in the company of General Triaire.

‘Don’t worry about your investigation remaining confidential,’ the prince said at once. ‘Your brigade suffered a humiliating reverse in the Russian counterattack. All those watching our conversation will think that you’re reporting back to me on the conduct of your superiors.’

Now it was Margont’s turn to become annoyed. He was likely to be taken for one of the prince’s spies or an informer. If this rumour spread, he would lose most of his friends and be treated like an outcast by his own regiment. Nevertheless, he took advantage of the opportunity to ask the question that had been troubling him since the start of the investigation.

‘Well, Your Highness, if we have to speak, it might as well be about something interesting. May I know why finding this murderer means so much to you? I know the official reason but I wondered whether there was another.’

Surprisingly, instead of snapping at him, Eugène remained calm.

‘Captain Margont, either you are exasperating or you are very perceptive. In fact, you are both at once. When one is perceptive, one is often exasperating.’

That’s normal, given that we live in a world that operates on lies, Margont added to himself.

Eugène was reticent. He glanced again at the messengers waiting patiently. With a wave of the arm he could summon them to his side and Margont would be swallowed up in the excited throng. Margont decided to press home his advantage.