Authors: Simon Scarrow
Fire and Sword (4 page)
Napoleon sighed as he nodded down at the letters piled on the tray. ‘Most of these are from suppliers to the imperial household. Aside from the silk, they mention shoes, hats, dresses, horses, furniture, wine, cakes . . . In every case they respectfully state that the account has yet to be settled.’
‘They had better be respectful, the little ingrates.’ Josephine sniffed. ‘After I have gone to the effort of appointing them to supply the imperial household with their wares.You’d think they would be sensible of the honour I do them.’
They still have to be paid,’ Napoleon admonished her. ‘They are not charities.And you must not continue like this. I could equip an infantry brigade on what you spend on petty indulgences each month. It has got to stop, before this profligacy damages our reputation.’
‘How can it? That little weevil Fouché controls all the news that gets into the papers. He’s hardly going to permit the publication of any gossip that undermines his master.’
‘Gossip is spread by tongues just as easily as it is through the newspapers, ’ Napoleon countered wearily. ‘And I will not have people grumbling about you not paying your debts.’
‘Well, it’s your own fault,’ Josephine said petulantly. ‘If you would give me enough to make ends meet you would not have to deal with those petty misers and their petulant complaints.’
‘A good wife knows how to live within her budget.’
‘What’s that?’ Josephine sneered. ‘Another pithy bit of Corsican wisdom from your mother?’
‘I warned you before.You will respect my mother. Especially while she is under my roof.’
It had been over a month since Letizia Bonaparte had joined the imperial household, having recovered from her illness.
‘That’s another thing,’ Josephine added. ‘How long is she staying?’
‘As long as she wishes.’
‘Of course.’ Josephine chuckled humourlessly. ‘She makes herself at home here, and spends the days finding fault with almost everything I say or do. She despises me, and I know she drips poison about me into your ear at every opportunity.’
‘Enough!’ Napoleon snapped as he flung the correspondence at his wife.The tray struck the platter of pastries and the fine porcelain and its contents tumbled from the table to shatter on the floor. Josephine jumped back in her seat, eyes wide with fright. There were still crumbs on her lips as she swallowed nervously, staring at her husband. Napoleon rose up, stepped towards her and leaned in close, stabbing a finger to emphasise his words.
‘You will not speak in that manner again, do you hear me?’
‘Yes, husband.’ Her voice trembled. ‘As you wish.’
‘That’s right.’ He nodded.‘As I wish.You will be polite and respectful to my mother, and the rest of my family, whatever they may say to you. In spite of everything, deep inside I am still a Corsican, and my family matters to me more than you can ever know. Understand?’
Josephine nodded, clutching both hands to her breast.The tears were already welling up in her eyes as she watched her husband fearfully. For a moment Napoleon glared back; then he let out a deep sigh and reached down and gently took her hands in his.
‘I am sorry. My temper is not what it was. I have much on my mind. I have little patience for the small details that every husband must attend to. Forgive me.’ He lowered his head and kissed her fingers.
Josephine nodded, and her chest heaved a little as she strove to control her tears. ‘It’s my fault. I know I should show her more respect, but . . . she hates me. As do all your family. They have always hated me. I can’t bear it.’
‘Hush.’ Napoleon cupped her cheek in his hand. ‘No one hates you. They’re Corsicans with Corsican morals.’ Napoleon’s mind momentarily flicked to his sister Pauline and the scandalous manner in which she conducted herself. Her numerous affairs were public knowledge. But she had always been promiscuous. Napoleon winced at the memory of catching her with a grenadier behind a screen in his map room during his first campaign in Italy, nine years ago. He shook his head. ‘Most of them, at least. Anyway, you will not have to endure my family for much longer.’
‘Oh?’
Napoleon smiled. ‘We’re leaving France for two, perhaps three, months.’
‘Leaving France?’ Josephine responded warily.‘Not another campaign?’
‘Not unless Britain has decided to invade Italy.’
‘Italy!’ Josephine’s expression lightened at once as she recalled the days of Napoleon’s first army command, the almost regal court at the palace at Montebello where her days had been carefree and she had been surrounded by the brightest minds and most vivacious personalities of the Italian kingdoms. ‘When do we leave?’
‘Within the month.’ Napoleon smiled. ‘Just be sure not to order any new clothes for the journey that you can’t afford.’
‘Swine!’ Josephine swatted him on the shoulder, then her expression became serious for a moment. She wrapped her arms round his neck and drew him down on to the chair and kissed him full on the mouth. Her pulse quickened and then his hands were on the straps that fastened her bodice.
‘It will be like last time,’ she breathed. ‘No, better than last time we were together in Italy. I swear it.’
Napoleon softly grazed his lips down the arc of her neck towards the soft mound of her breast, and out of the corner of his eye he saw from the clock ticking above the fire that there would be time to make love before dressing for dinner with his family.
Usually Napoleon regarded eating as a necessary evil and ate swiftly before returning to his work. But not tonight. Around the table sat his wife, his brothers Joseph and Lucien, his sisters Caroline and Pauline, and at the far end of the table his mother, Letizia.When the main course was served and the servants had retreated from the room and quietly closed the doors behind them, Caroline cleared her throat.
‘I hear you are to visit Italy.’
Josephine started a little at the statement and glanced hurriedly at Napoleon, who forced himself to keep his surprise in check as he asked, ‘Where did you hear that?’
‘From my husband. Joachim had it from his chief of staff.’
‘Really?’ Napoleon raised an eyebrow. Marshal Joachim Murat was the Emperor’s most talented cavalry commander, but like most of his kind he was inclined to swagger about and be indiscreet. If he had heard the news of the pending tour of Italy, then there was every chance that it was the talk of half the salons in Paris.
He nodded at his sister. ‘Very well then, since the secret is out, yes, it is true. I intend to make a tour of our territories in Italy.’
‘Is it also true that you are to be crowned King of Italy?’
That could only have come from Talleyrand, Napoleon realised at once. But why would he spread knowledge of Napoleon’s plans? Perhaps to forewarn any would-be assassins? The thought was no sooner in his head than Napoleon forced himself to dismiss it. Since the bloody attempt on his life four years earlier he had been inclined to see threats everywhere, but he realised he could not run his life effectively if he lived in a state of fear.
‘It is true, Caroline.’
At the other end of the table his mother laughed humourlessly. ‘Another coronation? Do you collect crowns, my son?’
Napoleon laughed, and the others followed suit for a moment, finally clearing the air of some of the tension that had hung over the dinner table since the meal had begun.
‘I am prepared to collect crowns when it is expedient to do so, Mother. However, it would be unseemly to overindulge in such acquisitions.’
‘Especially for one who was such an ardent Jacobin not so many years ago,’ Lucien added quietly.
Napoleon turned to his younger brother with a weary expression. Lucien had always been the most radical of his siblings, dangerously so.
Lucien sipped his wine and continued. ‘Do you remember, brother, when we overthrew the Directory and you became First Consul?’
‘I do.’
‘And do you recall that I drew my sword and swore an oath that if ever you betrayed France and became a tyrant I would plunge that blade into your heart myself ?’
‘I remember it.’
‘Now you are Emperor, and about to take another crown.’ He raised his glass in mock salute. ‘That makes rather a mockery of my oath, wouldn’t you say?’
‘It would, if I had become a tyrant,’ Napoleon replied evenly.‘But the people voted for me to become Emperor, and that makes me the embodiment of their will. In that case, I am no tyrant, and your honour is intact.’
‘A lawyer would find no problem with that form of words,’ Lucien conceded. ‘But my oath is honoured in the letter rather than the spirit.’
‘As you will, Lucien. But times have changed. The revolution was descending into chaos before we ended the Directory. Since then France has had order.’
‘True, but we have traded order for freedom.’
‘That may be, but do you really think it matters to the vast majority of the people? They need employment.They need bread, and more than anything they need a sense of stability. All of which it is my intention to provide. It all depends on what you mean by freedom, Lucien.’ Napoleon paused as his mind enlarged on the idea. ‘For you, and me, and those who frequent the salons, it is an ideal, and like all ideals it is a luxury. The only freedom that matters to the common people is the freedom from suffering.’
Lucien frowned, shook his head and stared down at the food on his gilt-edged plate.‘If men are not to aspire to ideals, Napoleon, then what distinguishes us from common beasts?’
‘There is always a place for ideals, and for those men who will discuss them and advance their cause. But such men are scarce and must be nurtured and raised up to privileged positions.’
‘In other words they must become aristocrats. It would seem that you are advocating a return to the evils of the Bourbons’ regime.’
Napoleon shrugged. ‘As long as a man has talent I won’t hold his background against him, even if he is a stuck-up prick like Talleyrand.’
Joseph laughed, and after glancing round at the shocked expressions on the faces of the women, Napoleon joined in.
Even Lucien smiled at the remark. ‘You have the measure of that man, brother.’
They raised their glasses to each other and took another draught of wine.
Letizia cleared her throat. ‘Of course, it is very fine that you provide such rewards for talented men, but how can you ensure that they will remain loyal to the new order? Can you trust men who would be so easily dazzled by the baubles you offer them?’
‘Of course, Mother. What greater spur to loyalty is there than the prospect of reward for good service?’
‘Family,’ she replied at once.‘There is no greater bond of loyalty than blood.’
Napoleon nodded. ‘And that is why I must elevate my family and friends to high positions in France, and in time place them amongst the ruling houses of the European powers, and perhaps on thrones of their own.’
‘You cannot be serious.’ Joseph chuckled. ‘You would make me a king?’
‘One day perhaps, and sooner than you might think.’
‘Preposterous!’ Joseph shook his head. ‘I was not born to be a king, any more than Lucien here, or Louis or Jérôme.’
‘I disagree,’ Napoleon replied. ‘Any one of my brothers is worth ten tsars, or any ruler placed on a throne by right of birth. Why, one only needs to look to Britain to see the proof of that. King George is insane, and his heir is an irresponsible libertine. Are there not a hundred, a thousand, better men in Britain with the ability to rule? So, when the time comes, I will make kings of you all.’
‘Whether we wish it or not?’ asked Lucien.
‘I need allies I can trust. As Mother says, what better bond is there than blood? Are you with me?’
Lucien thought for a moment, and shrugged. ‘You are my brother. Of course I am with you. As long as you are no tyrant.’
‘And you, Joseph?’
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