HS02 - Days of Atonement (5 page)

Her face was close to mine, our noses almost touching. She seemed so cool and calculating, as if some scheme had formed in her mind. Pulling the mantle from off her shoulders, she twirled it around and held it out to me.

‘You wouldn’t wish to be seen like that,’ she said.

I was wearing her lemon-coloured dressing gown, the first thing that had come to hand in the dark. Whatever was about to happen, Helena had decided that I must face it with the dignity befitting a true Prussian. She thrust the mantle into my hands, stretching out to remove the feminine garment from my shoulders.

‘Lotte, run upstairs. Anders will sleep, but the other two will wake. I will hold the candle, Hanno. You remove the bar and open the door.’

I shifted the wooden bar, slid the well-oiled bolt, and pulled back the door with such rapidity that it seemed to stop the soldiers in their tracks. All three took a step backwards, eyes wide, mouths open. The squaddies pointed their muskets, but did not shoot.

Cold air rushed into the hallway.

‘Are you looking for me?’ I asked, surprised by the firmness of my voice.

The officer’s eyes flashed. He had recognised me.

‘I know you,’ Helena said. ‘We met last week at dinner.’

‘Lieutenant Mutiez,
madame
. Seventh dragoons,’ the officer said in heavily accented German, touching the peak of his cap.

I took a deep breath, and held his gaze. Nothing induced me to relax my guard. These foreigners were dangerous. More dangerous, now that the door was open wide.

‘Le papier, vite!’
he urged, turning to one of the privates. His eyes dropped to the paper in his hand: ‘Procurator Stiffeniis . . .’

Helena gasped out loud.

This was how the military behaved when instructed to take up a man who was destined to disappear. The time was right, the hour before dawn, when human resistance is at its lowest ebb. The physical and mental capacities of the condemned man were reduced to a minimum by terror, and the unexpected interruption of sleep.

‘Yes?’ I prompted him.

‘You must come with me, sir,’ Lieutenant Mutiez responded.

‘God save us!’ Lotte cried from the top of the stairs, her shrill voice echoing in the hallway.

‘What do you want with my husband?’ Helena demanded, stepping in front of me, facing them with a ridiculous show of bravery. ‘Has the victorious French army nothing better to do?’

I placed one hand on my wife’s shoulder, and told her roughly to be quiet. My other hand reached down and grabbed her wrist, holding her back. Fear or frustration seemed to have taken possession of her senses. If Helena insisted on spitting venom in their faces, those men might slit every throat in the house. No one would punish them for it.

‘Lieutenant Mutiez,’ I said quickly, ‘what brings you here? If some false charge has been brought against me, knowing what it is, I’ll be better able to defend my name.’

‘Herr Stiffeniis,’ Mutiez replied, his voice softer than before, ‘it is cold out here, very cold. For the sake of these ladies and yourself, sir, allow us to step inside.’

I stepped back two paces.

The Frenchmen advanced to the same degree. To my surprise, Mutiez removed his hat, an expression of relief, or something similar, stamped clearly on his face.

‘This is for you, sir,’ he said, holding up the paper. ‘See for yourself, it is an order.’

I took it from him, glanced at the contents. There was very little written
there. My name, my address, and another address that I did not recognise. No mention was made of an arrest.

‘You must come with me,’ he repeated. ‘I have my instructions, sir.’

‘For what reason?’

Helena snatched the note from my hand.

‘I’m going with him!’ she cried as she tried to make sense of it.

Lieutenant Mutiez turned on her quickly. ‘Do you have children?’ he asked, his mouth moving energetically as he forced his tongue around the foreign words.

Helena stared at him, then nodded.

‘It would not be wise,’ he added, glancing at Lotte, who was halfway down the stairs, ‘to leave them alone in the house with just this person to protect them.’

‘Why not?’ Helena demanded.

He did not reply, but turned to me. ‘Be quick, sir. Get dressed to face the cold. It’s a night for wolves . . .’

‘The only wolves in Lotingen wear uniforms like yours!’ Helena hissed.

I held my breath. This insult must be the final straw.

Instead, a smile began to form itself on the lips of Lieutenant Mutiez.

‘Believe me,
madame
,’ he said with a polite, ironic bow, ‘I would rather be in my own warm bed. And in my own home town. We have no wolves, and the winter is warmer in Arles. The sooner we leave,’ he added more gently, ‘the quicker the business will be done.’

‘Helena, would you help me find my clothes?’ I said to break this deadlock.

Then I turned to Lotte. ‘Please, show these gentlemen into the day-room.’

As the intruders made their way into the parlour, Helena and I returned upstairs. Tight-lipped and nervous, my wife made haste to lay out my clothes. I rinsed my hands and my face with cold water from the ewer. One thought was racing through my mind. I ought to hold her, kiss her, assure her of my love. The sight of little Anders sleeping in his cot on the far side of the bed, the knowledge that Manni and Süzi were safe in the next room, brought a lump to my throat. I longed to hold them all. But even that small comfort was denied me. Helena would interpret such a gesture as a final farewell.

She handed me my shirt, my heaviest trousers, a thick woollen over-vest, knee-length boots, seal-skin jacket, and woollen cape.

And not a single word was said.

I left the house, believing that I would never see her and the children again.

 4 

I
F
B
ONAPARTE BROUGHT
anything new to Prussia, it was fear. That night I prepared myself for a good dose of it.

A black carriage was waiting out in the lane, the horses giving off clouds of steam, as if they had been driven hard. Mutiez followed me down the path, urging me to climb aboard. He jumped up and took his place on the bench without saying a word to explain himself. The privates were obliged to brave the cold outside: one at the front, driving the pair of horses, the other standing guard behind.

As the vehicle pulled away, I noted the direction that it took.

We began ominously, driving towards town. The road was icy, and the horses would not be rushed, despite frequent cracking of the whip. Whenever the vehicle approached a bend in the road, met a rise, or followed a dip, the animals would slow down of their own accord, much to the anger and irritation of Lieutenant Mutiez, who rapped fitfully on the wooden roof, urging the soldiers and the horses on, shouting,
‘Vite! Vite!’
as if it were the only phrase he knew.

Soon, we would be passing through the market square, taking a left turn after the cathedral, aiming for the high tower of Bitternau, the medieval stronghold where the French authorities had installed themselves. All the dangerous prisoners were held in the dungeons, which was where the interrogations took place. I was convinced that Mutiez had played a more courteous role than the situation required, in the hope that I would offer no resistance. His tense silence was clear proof of the cowardly trick that had been played on me. And he seemed studiously to avoid catching my eye. No doubt, when we reached our destination, I would be arraigned, then thrown into a prison cell. Physical torture was a possibility, though I was not so frightened at the prospect as I ought to have been. I was more concerned about the safety of my wife and children. How would they survive without me?

Suddenly, I was thrown hard against the coachwork as the vehicle swung
left onto the Pieniezno highway and began to race southwards into the countryside, leaving Bitternau fortress and Lotingen behind.

What did this change of direction signify?

Did they intend to murder me without a trial?

We had not gone a mile when the horses drew to a slithering halt. Lieutenant Mutiez threw open the door, kicking down the folding step. He jumped out, then turned back to face me.

‘They are waiting,’ he announced.

I climbed down in the violet penumbra of the dawn.

The coach had stopped in the open countryside. Armed soldiers were milling around in the half-light, each with a long musket and his bayonet fixed. They seemed to be protecting two more black carriages which were parked hard up against a stand of trees, where a narrow lane disappeared into the wood.

Something had happened. Or was about to happen.

‘You must enter that carriage,
monsieur
,’ Mutiez ordered, pointing to the vehicle on the left.

The fear was physical, debilitating.

I wanted, more than anything else, to relieve the weight pressing down on my bladder. I had been abducted for reasons unknown; now I was to be interrogated in an unmarked coach on an isolated country road.

The blinds of the vehicle were down. Even in stronger light it would have been impossible to see the occupants. The French soldiers clustering around seemed tense, wary. It made a harsh contrast with their usual air of contemptuous unconcern. They held their firearms as if they meant to use them. As I mustered my courage and took my first step, all eyes turned towards me. Some of the men shook their bayonets in the direction of the waiting carriage. Lieutenant Mutiez growled something angrily in French that I did not comprehend, then suddenly darted ahead and pulled open the carriage door.

‘Procurator Stiffeniis is here,’ he announced.

I paused for an instant, then quickly stepped up into the coach.

‘What in heaven . . .’

I did not finish. Mutiez pushed me hard in the small of the back. ‘Get in, sir. There’s no time to lose.’ Climbing in behind me, he slammed the door, and sat down on the bench-seat at my side.

‘Good morning,
monsieur.
I don’t suppose you thought we’d meet so soon?’

Lavedrine’s voice was drained of the ironic good humour that had marked him out at the autumn feast. His intense gaze, and the concentrated faces of Count Dittersdorf and Lieutenant Mutiez, suggested something very serious.

Dittersdorf was the first to speak, his face set, avoiding eye contact, as if to suggest that I should keep my own counsel, and listen without interrupting.

‘What I have to say is intended for the ears of Colonel Lavedrine as much as for your own, Hanno. You have both been summoned here for a precise purpose. He arrived five minutes ago. Like you, he knows nothing of the circumstances. There is a house at the end of the lane’—Count Dittersdorf pointed quickly over his shoulder with his gloved thumb. ‘A crime has been committed there tonight, a most peculiar and, I do not hesitate to call it, a most
horrific
crime. Lieutenant Mutiez was informed of the fact at two o’clock this morning. He hurried here at once, and, seeing the immensity and the gravity of the event, he had the good sense to touch nothing and seal the house. He then notified the French authorities. General Giroux realised at once that the cooperation of the Prussian authorities was essential. At that point, I was advised of the situation, and I sent for Colonel Lavedrine, whose name had been put forward by the French general staff as a suitable person to lead the investigation. Then, appreciating the complexity of the question, Colonel Lavedrine decided that you should be brought in to assist him. He is a criminologist of recognised ability; you are an experienced magistrate with intimate knowledge of the local situation. You will work together to throw light on what has happened. Do I make myself clear?’

I was certain of one thing alone. Dittersdorf found himself in an impossible position. Though District Governor of the North Marches in name, he could do not a thing without the approval of the French. Indeed, it appeared to me, in this instance, he had been told exactly what to do. The needs of Lieutenant Mutiez and Colonel Lavedrine,
criminologist,
were overriding. Count Dittersdorf was authorised to smooth the way for them. Jena had robbed every Prussian of the freedom to decide. He, and I, had orders to follow, and those orders were French.