the cow that drowned in the Nizonne marshes. I also said I would help the farmer at Lac Noir re-roof his barn. It was hit by lightning in last week’s storm and I want to try and find a carpenter in Hautefaye who’ll be able to start working on it as soon as possible. I was thinking of Pierre Brut, that roofer from Fayemarteau. It’s urgent and I’ll have to make the necessary arrangements before I leave for Lorraine.’
Alain paused at the edge of the meadow to listen to the hornets buzzing and the cicadas chirring. A pretty little lark broke into song and then flew from its perch on a dry bush.
‘My head’s spinning,’ said his mother, who was feeling unwell. Already suffering from poor health, she was badly affected by her son’s enlistment.
‘It’s the heat, Mother.’
‘What does the paper say, my boy? Does it mention Prussia? Did we beat them at Reichshoffen and Forbach? I don’t have my glasses.’
Alain picked up the Dordogne Echo, which was lying beside his father’s plate. His father was looking at it but said nothing.
‘Is this really today’s paper?’ he asked. ‘Tuesday 16 August 1870. Ah yes, this is it.’
Shocked by the headlines, he decided only to read out a small column from the bottom of the front page:
‘The drought continues unabated and the situation is going from bad to worse. Larger towns are already rationing water and, in some areas, citizens are to receive no more than eight pints per person per day. In areas that have no large springs or streams, people are travelling long distances to the nearest river or are having to pay for water.’
‘It is rather hot,’ agreed his mother.
‘Why don’t you go and play the piano in the drawing room after lunch? You’ll feel cooler in there.’
Pascal brought over Alain’s fine chestnut horse and held out the reins to him. As Alain mounted, his mother advised him to return before nightfall.
‘Mother, I’m almost thirty! And Hautefaye is only two miles away. I’ll just go there, say hello to a few people and come straight back. See you later.’
2
THE ROAD TO THE FAIR
Alain’s thoughts wandered as he travelled along, dreaming, carefree, and revelling happily in his surroundings. His horse’s mane rose and fell in gentle waves as they trotted along. Vine-covered slopes bordered the dusty, well-worn track, and the sun was striving to sweeten and swell the grapes. The oppressive heat had even silenced the cicadas. Alain’s eyelids drooped and he began to daydream.
He opened his eyes again and saw a stream of traders, labourers and artisans ahead of him on the dirt track. They resembled a flock of geese as they converged on the fair, some on foot, and others riding donkeys, or driving carts. Alain squeezed past on the right, overtaking two farmers from Mainzac.
‘Good day, Étienne Campot. How are you, Jean?’ he said, greeting them.
‘Good day to you, Monsieur de Monéys,’ said the Campot brothers, doffing their caps in their usual polite manner. Étienne must have been around the same age as Alain. Jean was about twenty, with a mane of unruly hair. The elder of the two was leading a large horse.
‘Whoa, Jupiter!’
‘Why are you bringing your fine dray horse to the fair, lads?’
‘We’re hoping to sell him to the army. They don’t have enough horses and the army suppliers sometimes come to fairs to buy mounts for the Lorraine front.’
‘So both of our horses will face the Prussians then, Étienne! I have offered to take my chestnut with me when I enlist, and afterwards I’ll leave him to the army.’
‘You’re going to war, Monsieur de Monéys? What about your gammy leg?’ asked Jean, surprised. ‘Weren’t you able to swap your unlucky number?’
‘The Besse boy offered to take my place, but I refused. In three days’ time I’ll be off to fight for my country.’
‘Where will you be stationed?’
‘I’m still awaiting my marching orders. Did you get lucky numbers?’
‘Yes,
Alain paused at the edge of the meadow to listen to the hornets buzzing and the cicadas chirring. A pretty little lark broke into song and then flew from its perch on a dry bush.
‘My head’s spinning,’ said his mother, who was feeling unwell. Already suffering from poor health, she was badly affected by her son’s enlistment.
‘It’s the heat, Mother.’
‘What does the paper say, my boy? Does it mention Prussia? Did we beat them at Reichshoffen and Forbach? I don’t have my glasses.’
Alain picked up the Dordogne Echo, which was lying beside his father’s plate. His father was looking at it but said nothing.
‘Is this really today’s paper?’ he asked. ‘Tuesday 16 August 1870. Ah yes, this is it.’
Shocked by the headlines, he decided only to read out a small column from the bottom of the front page:
‘The drought continues unabated and the situation is going from bad to worse. Larger towns are already rationing water and, in some areas, citizens are to receive no more than eight pints per person per day. In areas that have no large springs or streams, people are travelling long distances to the nearest river or are having to pay for water.’
‘It is rather hot,’ agreed his mother.
‘Why don’t you go and play the piano in the drawing room after lunch? You’ll feel cooler in there.’
Pascal brought over Alain’s fine chestnut horse and held out the reins to him. As Alain mounted, his mother advised him to return before nightfall.
‘Mother, I’m almost thirty! And Hautefaye is only two miles away. I’ll just go there, say hello to a few people and come straight back. See you later.’
2
THE ROAD TO THE FAIR
Alain’s thoughts wandered as he travelled along, dreaming, carefree, and revelling happily in his surroundings. His horse’s mane rose and fell in gentle waves as they trotted along. Vine-covered slopes bordered the dusty, well-worn track, and the sun was striving to sweeten and swell the grapes. The oppressive heat had even silenced the cicadas. Alain’s eyelids drooped and he began to daydream.
He opened his eyes again and saw a stream of traders, labourers and artisans ahead of him on the dirt track. They resembled a flock of geese as they converged on the fair, some on foot, and others riding donkeys, or driving carts. Alain squeezed past on the right, overtaking two farmers from Mainzac.
‘Good day, Étienne Campot. How are you, Jean?’ he said, greeting them.
‘Good day to you, Monsieur de Monéys,’ said the Campot brothers, doffing their caps in their usual polite manner. Étienne must have been around the same age as Alain. Jean was about twenty, with a mane of unruly hair. The elder of the two was leading a large horse.
‘Whoa, Jupiter!’
‘Why are you bringing your fine dray horse to the fair, lads?’
‘We’re hoping to sell him to the army. They don’t have enough horses and the army suppliers sometimes come to fairs to buy mounts for the Lorraine front.’
‘So both of our horses will face the Prussians then, Étienne! I have offered to take my chestnut with me when I enlist, and afterwards I’ll leave him to the army.’
‘You’re going to war, Monsieur de Monéys? What about your gammy leg?’ asked Jean, surprised. ‘Weren’t you able to swap your unlucky number?’
‘The Besse boy offered to take my place, but I refused. In three days’ time I’ll be off to fight for my country.’
‘Where will you be stationed?’
‘I’m still awaiting my marching orders. Did you get lucky numbers?’
‘Yes,
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