Evil in a Mask (63 page)

On getting out of the cart, he saw that he was in the middle of a great camp, and that the vehicle had pulled up before a marquee. Outside, a soldier of a Highland regiment stood on guard, and he called his Sergeant. The Sergeant evidently suspected that this stranger, arriving in the middle of the night, might have been sent to harm his General. But Roger's mother had been Scottish, and in his youth he had imbibed something of her accent. Using it again now, he allayed the Sergeant's suspicions, and the man took Roger into the marquee, where an A.D.C. was dozing. Again there occurred an infuriating delay while Roger stressed the extreme urgency of his business. At length the A.D.C. consented to rouse his General; and, a few minutes later, Sir John emerged from an inner division of the marquee.

To him Roger said quickly, ‘Sir, you will not recall me, but we met once before. It was while Mr. Pitt was out of office and commanding two battalions of Fencibles at Walmer. You came over from Hythe to give a talk on the new tactics you have invented, by which infantry should advance in open order, each man trained to fight independently, instead of offering a good target to enemy guns by going forward in massed formation.'

The General nodded. ‘I remember the occasion and vaguely recall your face. What brings you here?'

Roger produced the despatch for Soult. ‘Time does not now permit, Sir, for me to give you particulars of how it is that I am one of the Emperor's
aides-de-camp
. But I was charged to deliver this despatch with all speed. It instructs Marshal Soult to stand on the defensive should you attack him. Meanwhile the Emperor will already be giving orders
for his main army to advance into the country to your south, and so encircle you.'

‘That is bad news, indeed!' Sir John exclaimed. ‘I have been delayed by a fool of a Spanish General telling me that the mountain roads were impassable for my artillery, which proved quite untrue when I crossed them with my main body; but I had already sent the guns round by a long detour. They reached me only a few days ago, and it was not until then that I was able to make contact with General Baird. But now, with twenty-seven thousand men, I had good hopes of routing Soult and cutting Napoleon's communications with France.'

‘Alas, Sir,' Roger shook his head, ‘that is now out of the question. Within a week, the Emperor will have at the least one hundred thousand troops massed against you.'

‘I must retreat at once then, and by forced marches escape the trap. Given good fortune, I may yet get my army back to Corunna in time to embark them in our ships and take them off to fight another day. Entrust me, please, with your name, Sir, that I may report confidentially to Mr. Canning or Lord Castlereagh this great service you have rendered me.'

‘I am known to both, and am the son of the late Admiral Sir Christopher Brook. But I pray you, let that knowledge go no further.'

‘Ah! Now I recall meeting you at Walmer. But, Mr. Brook, you look sadly worn. You must have refreshment and rest. I'll see to it.'

‘Nay, I thank you, Sir.' Roger shook his head. ‘Do I delay overmuch in getting this despatch to Soult, I'll be finished with Napoleon. I must return at once to Tondesillas with all possible speed.'

Sir John had a gig which he used on occasions. By the time Roger had drunk a glass of wine and munched a hastily-made sandwich, it was brought round. Having wrung his hand, the General saw him off. An hour later, he reached the vedette. The Captain of Hussars had had Roger's horse watered and fed. It was quickly saddled up, and Roger was off again.

By the time he reached the outskirts of Tondesillas, the late winter dawn was breaking. Behind a barn he changed back
into his uniform. Skirting the town by byways, he came out on the road to Valladolid. The last twenty miles were agony. He was half-frozen, saddle-sore and incredibly tired. Half a mile outside the city, he turned into a bridle path, dismounted, removed his valise from the back of the saddle and gave his mount a sharp cut on the rump with his riding switch, causing the animal to bolt. Rallying his last reserves of strength, Roger walked into the town, to arrive at Marshal Soul's headquarters just before ten o'clock.

The grey-haired Marshal, whom Roger had met on many occasions, received him immediately he was announced. Roger had worked it out that, even had he ridden with less speed from Madrid, he should still have reached Valladolid in the early hours of the morning; so he had several hours to account for. Leaning heavily on a chairback, he told Soult that, after passing through Tondesillas, he had been shot at from behind a hedge; his horse had thrown him and bolted, and he was lucky to have escaped with his life, as he had rolled into a ditch where, in the darkness, his assailants had failed to find and murder him. He had not dared to leave the ditch for a considerable time, then had had to walk the rest of the way to Valladolid.

Such occurrences had become so frequent in Spain that the Marshal did not even think of questioning his statement; but ripped open the despatch, read it, shouted for his staff to give them urgent orders, then sent Roger off to bed.

Dead to the world, he slept through the day, roused in the evening, only to take a glass of wine and eat a wing of chicken which a friend of his on Soult's staff brought up to him, then slept again. On the 21st, he set off back to Madrid, but his thighs were still sore so he took the journey in leisurely fashion, not arriving until the 24th.

To his surprise, he learned that the Emperor had left Madrid for Paris in great haste on the evening of the previous day, so he must have passed along the road through Valladolid while Roger was sleeping. Between the 19th and the 23rd, Napoleon had placed Ney in command of the army despatched to outflank Sir John Moore, and for the past four days had
been constantly sending couriers after him to insist that he press on in spite of a blizzard which was rendering the mountains of Galicia almost impassable. In view of the frenzied excitement the Emperor had displayed at this chance to destroy the British, his sudden departure was more than ever a mystery. But Roger learned the reason from Lavelette, one of his fellow A.D.C.s.

Undoubtedly, after the Emperor, Talleyrand and Fouché were the two most powerful men in France. Both had made immense fortunes, but their backgrounds and personalities were as different as it was possible for them to be.

The two men loathed and had constantly opposed each other. Napoleon had always secretly feared the intellect and influence of both; so it suited him admirably that his two principal lieutenants in directing the affairs of France should be irreconcilable.

It now emerged that the Emperor had learned that these erstwhile enemies, who never attended the same function if they could avoid each other, had been seen arm-in-arm at a reception given by Madame de Remusat. Still more formidable, Napoleon's stepson, Eugene de Beauharnais, Viceroy of Italy, had intercepted a letter from Talleyrand to Murat, informing the King of Naples that relays of horses were being stationed across France to bring him to Paris with the utmost speed in case of a certain eventuality.

Roger instantly saw the implications. He already knew that Talleyrand was secretly working to bring about the Emperor's downfall. Evidently Fouché now also realised that Napoleon's ceaseless wars were bleeding France to death, so his rule must be ended. They had decided to stage a
coup d'etat
while the Emperor had his hands full in Spain.

But why put Murat on the throne? Because, even if Joseph had been prepared to accept it, the French people would not have him, or any of the other Bonaparte brothers, as their Emperor. On the other hand, Murat, the handsome, dashing Cavalry leader, hero of a score of battles, was immensely popular and, pushed on by his boundlessly ambitious wife, Caroline, would not scruple to supplant his brother-in-law. Moreover,
such a vain and stupid blockhead was just the sort of figurehead who would give no trouble, so enable Talleyrand and Fouché between them to rule France.

As they discussed the matter, Roger found that Lavalette had reached the same conclusion. He had been left behind to see to certain matters which Napoleon had had no time to settle, but had now completed them. So, on the following morning the two A.D.C.s left Madrid together, speculating on whether, when they reached Paris, they would find that the two great conspirators had been arrested, or that Napoleon was deposed and the capital in a turmoil.

They arrived at the Palace of St. Cloud on January 7th. Everything there was proceeding as smoothly as usual in this new year of 1809, and discreet enquiries soon informed them that both Talleyrand and Fouché were still at liberty. After reporting to the Emperor, Roger went to his wife's apartment.

Lisala was lying on a day-bed, reading. Throwing her book aside, she jumped to her feet and cried, ‘So there you are! I thought the Emperor might have left you in Spain for good. I am delighted to see you.'

Roger had been absent for some six weeks, but during that time his sentiments towards Lisala had not changed in the least. He had no desire at all to resume relations with her, and was surprised that she should apparently wish him to; so he said quietly:

‘It is polite of you, Madame, to welcome me back; but I have no intention of again succumbing to your blandishments.'

She laughed. ‘You poor fool. Months ago I accepted the fact that we no longer had any use for one another physically. But you are still my husband, and I have been hoping that you would return to fulfil your obligations. The money I brought from Portugal ran out some time ago; and, while the war continues, it is impossible for me to secure more from that source. It is a husband's duty to support his wife, and I need money.'

Turning, she opened the drawer of a bureau, produced a sheaf of bills and handed them to him.

Glancing through them, he saw that she owed milliners and
modistes some eleven thousand francs. During the years he had amassed a considerable fortune, but that lay in England. While on the Continent, he was dependent on his pay as an A.D.C., and honorarium as a Commander of the Legion of Honour. These were handsome; moreover, he lived mainly at the Emperor's expense and, while on campaigns, spent little. Even so, he could not afford to allow her to spend at such a rate. Abruptly he told her that he would settle her debts, but in future she must limit herself to one thousand francs a month, otherwise he would be unable to meet their liabilities.

This new imposition of having to pay for expensive clothes, in order that she could enhance her attraction for other men, was another thorn in his flesh. As he left her, he wondered whether, when he had been with Sir John Moore, he had been foolish not to remain with the British army and so return to England.

Against the sickness he felt at being saddled with Lisala could be set the present intriguing situation. Having for so long been on the inside of the events that had led to the Revolution, the fall of Robespierre, the
Directoire
and the rise to supreme power of Napoleon, he could not bear the thought of not participating in the moves which might result in the Emperor's downfall, now that such powerful influences were scheming to bring it about.

For close on three weeks, no event of importance occurred, although in Court circles rumours were rife. It was said that the slippery Fouché had cleared himself of participation in a conspiracy. There was no evidence whatever against him, except that, during the Emperor's absence, he had openly become friends with Talleyrand. ‘Why not?' he was reported to have argued glibly. ‘Although our ideas and tastes differ in many ways, we both have Your Imperial Majesty's interests at heart. Surely it is for the benefit of your administration that we should have buried the hatchet and endeavoured to reconcile our points of view?'

To refute that Napoleon could find no argument, so Fouché remained Minister of the Interior, working from dawn to
dusk and long into the night, directing his countless army of spies who permeated every country on the Continent.

During these days, apart from a few loyal personal friends, Talleyrand remained isolated. Few of the throngs that had formerly graced his salons were prepared to take the risk, should the Emperor's wrath suddenly descend upon him, of having appeared to be his associates. Roger was shrewd enough to realise that, as they already understood each other, only harm could be done by their publicly displaying their friendship at this juncture; so he simply sent a note to the effect that, if Talleyrand wished to see him, he would be happy to meet him at any time or place.

Meanwhile, Napoleon was obviously hesitating to grasp the nettle. Any lesser man he could have dealt with summarily; but not the Prince de Benevento. He had made the Prince a High Dignitary of the Empire, so that he was equal in status with his own brothers. To strike at him was to strike at one of the props of his own throne. But, on the 28th January, he decided to postpone the issue no longer.

A Council was called at the Tuileries, at which numerous Dignitaries and Ministers were present, Talleyrand among them. After routine business had been discussed, Napoleon detained him, Cambacérès, Lebrun, Decrés and Fouché, but dismissed the others. The Emperor walked up and down, his hands clasped behind his back, gradually working himself up into a fury.

He accused Talleyrand of constantly working against his interests; of having advised him to have executed the Duc d'Enghien; of having persuaded him to go into Spain; of circulating rumours designed to destroy public confidence; of influencing wealthy speculators to depress the funds. Then he charged him with the implications in the letter to Murat.

Talleyrand, who was leaning against the mantelpiece for support, merely raised his eyebrows and shrugged:

‘But, Sire, you were at the war. Your courage is well known. You expose yourself most recklessly. Any day you might be killed. France cannot be allowed to fall into anarchy. We must be prepared for eventualities. None of us would wish to see a
Bourbon again on the throne. The situation could be controlled only by a man popular with the people whom Your Imperial Majesty has raised in his shadow and would continue to pursue his policies. Who more suitable than your sister's husband, whom you have made King of Naples? But only, I repeat, in the terrible eventuality of Your Majesty's being suddenly taken from us.'