The land between the two sides, apparently unpeopled, seethed with secret armies. All the ruined houses, fought over a thousand times, had patrols from both armies hiding inside. I could sense our snipers nestled in rifts and crevices. Thus, at once I saw the hunter and the prey, the reckless foragers and the snipers stalking them. Beyond the palisade, the battered city walls, and beyond them the outline of the city, with dozens of bell towers pointing upward like needles. And beneath it all, our Mediterranean, ever indifferent to the agonies of men. The city put me in mind of a moribund body, which, though going into its death pangs, continually formed new patches of scar tissue.
There is something irremissable about the contact of a noose against one’s neck. My final thoughts, little as I like to admit it, were empty, emotionless technicalities. Costa needs to alter his range, I thought. A number of soldiers heaved on the wooden contraption. I felt my feet lift off the platform.
The beauty of this world is hidden from us until the moment we feel disconnected from it. In my final vision of things, all was well, beauteous, in order. There was even orderliness to the destruction of the ramparts, the breaches perfect, like silk cocoons. Infinity resides in every instant, every instant is in itself abundant. How wrong ever to think otherwise! My final thought was: How lovely a siege is. Then, as I was deprived of air, delirium overcame me.
I heard a noise. This: “Wake up. That’s an order.”
I opened my eyes.
It was Jimmy. He peered at me from very close up. I could even smell the perfume on his wig.
There before me, the Jimmy I knew: he and his conceited self-satisfaction, his little courtier laugh, proud as a peacock. He had a small retinue. Seeing me wake, he turned to them in triumph, twirling his hand affectedly, as if to say: See? I did it. He’s back to life.
Forgive the digression. I was in a hospital tent for Bourbon officers. Thick bandages swaddled my neck. Most of the beds were empty, but we weren’t alone. At the far end, on a rickety field bed, there was a Spanish captain going through death pangs, his wounds too atrocious to be hidden with bandages. He exhaled a musical-sounding death rattle. Jimmy paid him not the slightest attention. He ordered his retinue to leave.
“You’re a lucky bird,” he said when it was just the two of us and the dying man. “I show up, come to inspect the position, and there I see you, dangling from the scaffold with your cock erect. Another second and even I wouldn’t have been able to save you. Can you speak?”
I shook my head.
“Little wonder. Much longer and the noose would have pulled your head clean off your body. Was it Verboom’s doing?”
I nodded. Removing his gloves and placing them on the table next to us, Jimmy shook his head in mock astonishment. “Well, well. You two been getting on that well?”
I responded with a bras d’honneur, though a not very energetic one, given my state. Jimmy’s face clouded over in thought. He sat down beside me on the bed. A few breaths. Then he patted the inside of my calf. “I’ve got a lot of work to do. While you recover, I’ll decide whether I ought to enlist you or put you back up on that scaffold. Now sleep.”
On my third day of confinement in the field hospital, they came to get me. Jimmy had installed himself in a place called Mas Guinardó, a large country house situated within the Bourbon cordon. Some English mercenaries, doubtless Jimmy’s own domestic staff, took me there, and they tossed me into the house like a fish into a barrel.
Jimmy wasn’t there; my only company, a couple of servants. A strange, ambiguous state to be in: guest and prisoner. I had no orders, nor could I give any, so I simply roamed the premises. The study was overflowing with a clutter of documents and papers. And, on the table in there, a missive from Little Philip.
Let a cat loose in your house, and it’s going to have a sniff around. Jimmy knew that, so I felt sure he’d left the letter knowing I’d read it. It contained the directives for the final attack.
Sure, as I am, of Barcelona’s imminent surrender, I have adjudged it convenient to communicate to you my intentions with regards the matter. As it stands, there can be no doubt, the rebels wage war upon us. Any grace afforded them will be out of the piousness and compassion of my heart, and thus, should they, repenting of their errors, beg for our mercy before the trench is embarked upon, you will not cede it them immediately, but then listen to what they have to say. You will make them aware of the seriousness of their rebellion and how undeserving they are of our mercy. You will make them believe they have hope, by offering to intercede with me on their behalf, and by saying that you will ask for their lives to be spared, though that is the only grace you will ask, and only for the high command. If they fail to understand this and allow the trench to be begun, in that case you will not listen to any offer of capitulation except one of outright surrender. If they continue to resist, and it should come to the final assault, in that case they will no longer be deserving, as I’m sure you see, of the slightest compassion, and must accept the final severities of war. Whichever Spanish officers make it into the city shall then be their masters.
Mother of God. If this was the fate they had planned for the officers, what would they do with the rest of the inhabitants?
Jimmy came in unannounced, so utterly aloof that he didn’t even deign to reprimand me for snooping.
“All right,” he said, “I’ll keep this brief. I’m busy.”
Always the same impatient movements, even when he was relaxing. He grabbed an apple from a tray, took a seat in a padded armchair, and began chewing the apple. In private, he had the manners of a child, one leg dangling over the arm of the chair, tipping his head back as he ate.
“You’re being paid a pittance by the rebels,” he went on. “So you aren’t fighting on their side for the money. Nor out of ambition, given how obvious it is that the battle’s lost. Tell me: Is there someone inside the city you’re being loyal to?”
“Yes,” I said. My voice sounded like something being scraped against chalk. But at least it had come back.
“Man or woman?” he asked.
“A child.”
He tossed the apple behind him. “Dear God, a child. Every time we meet, you’ve developed some new perversion.”
“And a woman, and an old man, and a dwarf,” I said seriously, somewhat ferociously.
“A dwarf — I don’t think I can imagine. .” Then, changing tone, he said: “This is what you get for deserting me. If you’d stayed with me after Almansa, you wouldn’t be in this pickle. First I honor you and give you the chance to accompany me, which you reject, and now I save your life. Any chance of a thank-you?”
“No,” I said.
“Going to help me crush the rebel scum?”
“No.”
He laughed. “I like this, knowing your position. Now I can start my Attack Trench. Let’s go back to the beginning. I’ve done my homework. It seems that in Tortosa, you were the only engineer to act like one. I knew it the moment I laid eyes on you. ‘This lad’s mind,’ I said, ‘is worth as much attention as his lovely legs.’ I can make double use of you.” He laughed at his own joke before adding: “Going to ask to serve under me again?”
I said nothing.
“Good, wonderful, we’re making progress,” he said. “People who don’t know their worth, I tend to get for cheap.” He stood and began pacing the room, hands clasped behind his back. He began speaking quickly. “The child, the woman, the old man. I’ll promise to get them out of this condemned city alive. Oh, and the dwarf too, let’s not forget him. Their kind are wonderfully useful — they don’t even have to get on their knees in order to suck you. Plus ten thousand pounds. What am I saying? Five thousand and be grateful. Annually and for life, that is, naturally. And some title or other. And a house, why not? From what I’ve seen, this country has been so ravaged, there will be empty mansions and seigneuries aplenty.” He sat down in another armchair, his chin on his hand. He regarded me as if I were some strange insect. “Although. . come to think of it, I’m going to increase the offer. This mansion, I’ll give it to you, but it won’t be your primary abode. You’ll install your woman there, the dwarf, the whole coterie. You’ll visit from time to time. A bit of rumpy-pumpy with her, everyone’s happy, and you can go back to your real home.” Then he adopted a vague tone, as though what he was saying now was of no importance. He’d known from the beginning what he was going to say, of course. “I’ve had word from Bazoches. They say Jeanne Vauban isn’t all that happy. You know her, do you not? I think so. Her husband has succumbed to insanity once more.” He let out a cruel laugh. “He now thinks the philosopher’s stone is hidden up his wife’s cunt; tried taking it out with a royal scalpel. You know, that long hooked implement the surgeons use to remove anal tumors? Thank the Lord the servants stopped him in time! He’s been locked up. The marriage is on its way to being annulled.” He smacked his lips. “So sad! A woman that beautiful, so alone in the world!” Then he turned serious again. “It’s my belief that you would be a good candidate for turning the castle at Bazoches into an academy for engineers. I also have a hunch you’d be welcomed as the man to run it.”