Napoleon Must Die (25 page)

Authors: Chelsea Quinn Yarbro,Bill Fawcett

BOOK: Napoleon Must Die

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The short, simply dressed general looked around the room. His voice grew louder, riveting every man’s attention. “France is being poisoned from within. When we should be carrying the Revolution to the rest of Europe, we bicker and waste our resources. Europe has struggled too long under the heels of monarchs. Wasted too many of her best men in fruitless wars. I see a day when all the world lives without war, each man enjoying the benefits of liberty, fraternity, and equality.”

Napoleon had begun pacing. The other officers in the room sat, barely breathing, watching him pass by and waiting for his next words.

“The strength of France is in her army. And we, gentlemen, can make ourselves its masters. Then, safe from the meddling of politicians and bureaucrats, we can turn our efforts outward. Unite Europe in a ‘Pax Napoleon’ that could last a hundred years.” The dark-haired Corsican stopped by his desk, a few feet in front of Lucien Vernet. “Join your fate with mine, gentlemen, and we will unite the world.”

Vernet regarded Napoleon directly. “If that is what you seek, General, then it is our duty to do all that we can to help you achieve it.” The other officers in the room moved toward them to join Vernet in swearing their loyalty to Napoleon and his dream.

* * *

Victoire stood on the afterdeck, her eyes fixed on the spreading wake. Apparently she was preoccupied, for when Murat came up to her, he had to speak her name twice before he claimed her attention.

“You’re sorry to be leaving?” he asked, waving to the south-southeast, where Egypt lay.

“In a sense, yes,” she said, still surprised that he had approached her. “It is a very mysterious place. I never really understood its people.”

“It is a very dangerous place,” Murat corrected her.

She nodded. “I don’t mind leaving the danger, but I hate to lose the mystery.”

“Until it is solved?” he suggested.

“Yes,” she admitted, wondering why he had come to speak with her.

Murat said, “I told Vernet I wanted to have a word with you; I don’t want you to think otherwise.”

“This isn’t a clandestine setting,” she said, thinking of the weeks she had been cut off from the world with Murat, Roustam-Raza, and Lirylah.

He narrowed his eyes at the horizon. “I have it on very good authority that Vernet’s due for a change of duties, to something very important.” He turned to her as she stared at him. “It’s not official yet, but I thought you’d like to know.”

“That’s very kind of you,” she said, keeping her voice level in spite of her urge to cheer. “May I tell him?”

“Leave that to Napoleon,” Murat suggested. He was silent again for a short time. “Roustam-Raza has given Berthier an account of our search for the scepter. He’s also given a copy of it to Vernet. It’s official, not confidential.”

Victoire blinked. “Why official?”

“It’s part of the exoneration of your husband. But it has bearing on you, and—” He stopped, and when he spoke again, his voice was softer. “I’ve been surly, Madame Vernet, and for that I wish to make amends.”

“You lost someone dear to you,” she said. “It was your hurt speaking.”

He looked at her. “No. I’ve permitted myself to believe that, but it isn’t true. I ... I could not bear my guilt. So I thrust it upon you.”

Her face reddened. “Murat, you don’t need to say this to me.”

“Yes, I do,” he countered. “Not for your sensibilities, Victoire; for mine.” He hesitated. “I have been detestable. You would be right to repudiate me. But I pray ... Are we ... Is it possible for us to continue as friends?”

She managed not to laugh. “Yes, Joachim. It’s not only possible, it’s welcome.”

He nodded twice, decisively. “Good. That’s good. What will your husband say?”

“He will no doubt find a pleasant respite from our previous difficulties with Berthier in having a powerful general and hero as an ally,” she said with a wicked grin. Her amusement faded. “You will never find him against you. He knows that without your help I would be dead.”

Again he nodded, this time watching his hands flex on the rail. “Tell him for me that if he ever abuses you, he will answer to me, and damn the propriety.”

Victoire cocked her head to the side. “Unlikely. I think though, perhaps, that last should remain between you and me.”

“You’re probably right,” he concurred. He slapped the rail lightly several times, then said, “Are you looking forward to returning to France?”

“I suppose so,” she said. “It will certainly be calmer.”

He waited, and when she said nothing more, he turned toward her. “But?” he prompted.

She nodded. “Ah, yes. But.”

“Well, what is it? What worries you?” He regarded her with concern. “Is it money? Position? What?”

At last she admitted the one thing that had troubled her since she and Vernet had stepped aboard the
La Carrière.
“Oh, Murat, you’ll think I’m very, very silly.”

“Tell me,” he urged her.

“I’m so afraid I’ll be bored,” she confessed, and wondered why Murat burst out laughing.