The Campot brothers dragged Alain to the smithy. Buisson and Mazière kicked him in the shins to hurry him along. Chambort was shouting out orders. The crowd surged forward.
‘Castrate him while you’re at it, the son of a bitch. Then he won’t defile our women,’ bayed Madame Lachaud.
They successfully manoeuvred Alain between the four posts of the frame used to restrain horses. Lying on his back between the wooden bars, his hands and feet bound, Alain shouted feebly, ‘Long live the Emperor!’ Men surrounded him, pressing in. The ordeal was endless. Straps and ropes were tightened, constricting his chest and throat. He choked. He struggled, his legs flailing wildly. Duroulet, a labourer from Javerlhac, pulled off Alain’s brown boots and another man removed his purple silk socks. In the crowd, Lamongie – a stocky farmer with ginger hair – was brandishing a huge pair of pliers. Alain had known him as a boy; they had raided magpies’ nests together.
‘We’ll clip the Prussian’s hooves for him!’ he said.
A puffed-up turkey fled between people’s legs, flapping its wings. Lamongie gripped the lower part of Alain’s big toe with his pincers and pulled as though he were extracting a nail from a wall. He staggered backwards, holding the toe in his pincers. Alain howled. The crowd sniggered. Chambort took Lamongie’s place and held a horseshoe to the sole of Alain’s lame foot. Suddenly, he banged in a nail with a single stroke, shattering his heel. The other twenty-six bones in Alain’s foot seemed to splinter too. The pain rose to his knee, his groin and then tore into his chest, suffocating him. His shoulders tensed and he thought his head would explode. Chambort nailed a second shoe to the other foot. Alain’s head jerked backwards, his eyes rolling. Memories surged into his mind. He felt like a ship being stormed by pirates shouting, ‘Dirty beast!’
His body was weak and weary and his heels throbbed. The noise was deafening. His flesh was turning a ghastly colour. Alain was living a nightmare. The behaviour of his fellow creatures plunged him into despair. Earlier, on his way to the fair and unaware of the horrific fate that awaited him, he had been lost in the most wonderful reverie. Now, even the devil would have cried for mercy on seeing several of Alain’s toes fly from Lamongie’s pliers and hurtle through the air.
The schoolmaster’s wife was pulling faces at the window, sticking out her tongue and slobbering on the grimy glass.
‘Hurry!’ shouted a voice. ‘Hurry, drinks are on the priest! We’ve finished off the cheap communion wine, so now he’s bringing vintage bottles up from the cellar. Everyone’s invited!’
‘First I must finish clipping the Prussian’s hooves,’ said Lamongie.
‘We’ll come back! Come and have a drink. Let him suffer. He won’t go far trussed up like that. Volunteers can keep watch by the door while we wet our whistles. The priest has even opened his house and the church to hold more people. Come sit on the altar and get sozzled!’
The crowd went off, leaving Alain. He heard the door creak behind them. Five men, who must have crept around the outside of the smithy, stole into the room. There they found Alain covered in blood, still tied up, with horseshoes on his feet. He had no toes on his right foot. He was sure they would no longer want him in the army now, even on the Lorraine front. The men who had been keeping watch left to get drunk with the others.
Mazerat and the mayor’s nephew made the most of the guards’ absence. ‘Quick, let’s free him. Those fools haven’t tied him up properly.’
Mazerat opened a penknife and sawed at the knots. Distraught, Antony propped Alain up and supported his bleeding head, cradling him and trying to comfort him, as far as it is possible to comfort a man in such a predicament.
‘Hold firm, Alain! We’ll get you out of here.’
‘Is that you, Pierre?’
‘Yes, it’s me. They’re monsters. They should be locked up.’
‘They know not what they do.’
Bouteaudon crouched down and cupped Alain’s face in his gentle miller’s hands. Miraculously, Alain seemed to be smiling. Dubois took out a handkerchief and dabbed at Alain’s brow, which was covered in sweat and dust. He even wiped the dried blood from Alain’s eyes, so that he could open them again. Alain was finding it difficult to catch his breath, but the presence of his solicitous friends gave him new hope.
‘We must tell my mother that I’ll be back later than expected …’
Antony looked at him sadly. He was a good, simple man and a loyal friend, and it pained him to see Alain being treated this way. Suddenly young Thibassou burst into the smithy. He grabbed a large knife from the workbench and ran off towards the church, shouting, ‘Quick! Quick! They’ve freed the Prussian!’
Mazerat and Bouteaudon slipped their heads under Alain’s armpits to support him.
‘That little bastard! Where can we take Monsieur de Monéys?’ they groaned.
‘To Mousnier’s place,’ suggested Antony. ‘When he had to do some work on the inn, Alain lent him the money he needed interest free. He’ll take him in.’
But they had barely left the smithy, heading for the town centre, when the mob arrived from the vicarage and barred their path.
‘Leave him to us!’ they shouted.
‘This is Alain de Monéys!’ Dubois reminded them. ‘He has never wronged anyone! He’s the only man in these parts who’ll let you gather wood in his forests if you’re short for the winter! And you can run after hares in his meadows without him setting his dogs on you!’
‘Shut up, idiot!’ bellowed Antoine Léchelle, grabbing Dubois by his shirt.
‘Cut off his balls!’ shrieked Madame Lachaud. Arms knocked Alain to his knees just below the mayor’s window, which opened. The son of the Fayemarteau roofer, whom Alain had wanted to hire, whacked him in the face with a stick.
‘Roland! You’ve just hit your father’s friend!’ exclaimed Antony.
‘My father has no Prussian friends! Oh, look, here he is. Tell them, Father!’
His father, drunk on holy wine, raised his iron bar. Alain looked at him and said, ‘Pierre Brut, it’s me, I was hoping you would fix a barn roof …’ But the roofer was deaf and blind to his pleas and hit him with all his strength. Others lashed his back and legs. With horseshoes on his feet and several toes missing, he stumbled and collapsed under the hail of metal blows.
‘See the Prussian dance!’ jeered the mob.
The mayor’s nephew once again implored his uncle to give Alain shelter. From the window, Bernard Mathieu pointed to the sheep barn at the end of the lane.
‘Put him in there. He’ll be just as comfortable there as in my house until you can take him back to Bretanges.’