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you!’
    â€˜Shut up, idiot!’ bellowed Antoine Léchelle, grabbing Dubois by his shirt.
    â€˜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.
    â€˜Roland! You’ve just hit your father’s friend!’ exclaimed Antony.
    â€˜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.
    â€˜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.
    â€˜Put him in there. He’ll be just as comfortable there as in my house until you can take him back to Bretanges.’

8
THE SHEEP BARN
    Mazerat the woodcutter and Bouteaudon the miller guarded the entrance to the tiny barn where they had taken Alain, for want of a better option. The mayor’s nephew, the baker, stood with them, pitchfork in hand. Inside it was dimly lit, and Alain was lying on a pile of straw, which reeked of sheep’s urine. A solitary ray of light slipped under the door, illuminating the barn and the hooves of three rams and a ewe, which all stood staring at Alain.
    His appearance was grotesque. His tortured body burnt with pain. Breathing had become mechanical. The outlook was bleak. Feverishly, Alain muttered meaningless words, softly repeating his mother’s name. The villagers continued to clamour outside. It is surprising how quickly people canlose their heads. Alain lay panting on the floor. With the three men barring the door and Antony and Dubois at his side, he started to think he might still get away alive. 
    ‘We’ll do all we can to save you,’ said Antony, reassuring him. ‘But it’s not easy with a cowardly mayor and faced with these madmen.’
    ‘Thank you, thank you …’
    Antony’s patient words and actions were worthy of a saint.
    ‘Oh, Monsieur de Monéys, those men!’ gasped Dubois, as he turned Alain’s face gently towards him.
    ‘I look a fright, don’t I?’
    Dubois placed a ripe fig on Alain’s lips and he sucked on it gingerly. Outside, the mob chanted, ‘Pruss-ian! Prussian !’ It was becoming increasingly difficult for Mazerat and his men to block the entrance. Antony and Dubois decided to help them and slipped out, closing the door behind them.
    ‘Have you all gone mad? When did you ever see a Prussian in Hautefaye?!’ they yelled.
    ‘He wanted to go to war despite being exempted!’ shouted Bouteaudon. ‘You all proclaim “Long live France!” but how many of you would do the same? Leave him alone and go and fight the Prussians where they really are – in Lorraine! That would be much braver than here at the fair where you’re five hundred against your one neighbour!’
    ‘Shut him up!’ shrieked Mazière. ‘Bring out the Prussian!’
    Roumaillac and a handful of cronies had clambered onto the barn roof, pulled off some tiles and were relieving themselves! Piarrouty was shitting on Alain from above and hurling abuse. Alain was the victim of these people ’sinner monster, visible in their contorted faces. He lay there his heart close to breaking, as they pissed and shat on him. Thankfully his few defenders – like gentle lights in the mist – were protecting him, despite his gruesome appearance. Alain recognised Bernard Mathieu’s voice yelling at the vile men on the roof.
    ‘You’re vandalising my building. Get down!’ he shouted,