Napoleon Must Die (4 page)

“All the more reason to keep him working,” said Bessieres, enjoying his speculation. “If he flees, then we pursue him.”

Berthier was driven to exclaim, “I don’t understand you! This Vernet is very likely a killer! He has stolen treasure from Napoleon himself. How can we let him roam free? We must confine him. If you will not convene a court-martial, then at least put him in chains.”

“But why should we do that?” asked Desaix. “He will not tell us where the scepter is from a cell.” His youthful features showed sympathy. “He isn’t a monster, is he?”

“A killer,” Berthier insisted.

“Well, you have no proof of this and so are many of my officers,” Napoleon said. “That isn’t reason enough to put him in prison.” He folded his arms and regarded his officers. “There are other places that stand between us and the Orient. We need that man in the field. For the time being, I am willing to extend to him the benefit of the doubt. What of the rest of you?”

Bessieres smiled wryly. “We’re not about to debate that with you.”

Murat cracked a laugh. “No, that we’re not,” he said, and added, “I don’t think we can affix any blame on Vernet, not yet. I think we need more time to search for the scepter. If we find the scepter, then it may be that we will find out what happened to the private. After what happened last night, no one expects us to send anything back to Paris, not for a long time.”

This was aggravating to Berthier, who bit the nail of his index finger off to the quick and sucked it to keep it from bleeding. “I’ll do whatever you wish, General,” he said sullenly. “But I must reiterate that I am certain this Lucien Vernet has stolen the scepter and murdered the marine guard. Who else was capable of the act? If you dismiss Vernet, then the rest of you”—he indicated all the men in the tent except the general—”come under suspicion. I think it is foolish to let him run free.”

“Point taken,” said Napoleon, staring down at the writing table as if there were hidden messages there. “Suppose I send him away from here? He will still be working for our cause, but he will not be able to interfere with the investigation to find the scepter.”

“Where were you planning on sending him?” asked Desaix.

Napoleon thought about it. “What of Jaffa? We need more intelligence on that area before we act. We also need to establish a depot there. Let him do his best for us there.” He looked at his officers. “What do you think?”

“I think it is the best of a bad situation,” said Berthier heavily.

“It serves our purposes with a duality of good,” said Murat. “He continues to advance our cause and our gendarme officer is kept away from any venture where he might cause mischief.”

“I don’t see any reason to object,” Bessieres remarked. “If he sends regular reports, we will be able to keep track of him and gain needed intelligence at the same time.”

Desaix nodded. “In the meantime, what do we do about the scepter?”

“I will decide what course to follow before the day after tomorrow,” Napoleon informed them. “Make yourselves available that evening, if you will.” It was as great a courtesy as Napoleon ever extended to his officers, and they accepted his brusqueness out of habit.

Berthier sighed. “When will you order him to leave for Jaffa?”

“Tomorrow afternoon, I think. That will be time enough,” answered Napoleon. “If we send him away today, he might bolt for it.”

“And his wife?” asked Berthier.

“His wife is with him,” said Napoleon, his memory jogged. “Yes.”

“Does she go with him?” Berthier prompted.

Napoleon pulled at his lower lip, bouncing once on the balls of his feet. “No,” he decided. “She’ll remain here, with most of the other wives. She can make herself useful with the wounded. That will give Vernet a reason to return, and something to bargain with, should it become necessary.” He looked at Berthier. “So. Orders to Vernet for Jaffa. I want them delivered for my signature before dawn. Specify that Madame Vernet is to remain here, and provide some allowance for her, so that Vernet will not assume that she is being punished for our doubts about him. Recompense for assisting Larrey.”

“If you think that’s best,” said Berthier, looking down at his feet.

“It appears so to me,” said Napoleon in a way that brooked no argument.

Desaix watched Napoleon. “Is the missing scepter to be kept secret?”

“For now,” said Napoleon. “Perhaps later we’ll inform a few other officers. Until I decide otherwise, it must remain between us.”

“As you say,” Bessieres said, getting up from where he sat. “If there’s nothing more, I have wounded to visit.”

“Tend to them,” said Napoleon, dismissing him. “The rest of you, be about your duties. Berthier, let me know what transportation we can provide acting Inspector-General Vernet. I will speak with you all shortly.” He took his dispatches, shoved them back into his tunic, and headed for the tent door. “This meeting is over.”

Murat stood for Napoleon as he departed, then looked back toward Berthier. “Tread carefully, Louis. My officers will remain loyal only so long as I am loyal to them as well. If you are mistaken about Vernet it could go badly for you.”

Berthier glowered. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

* * *

“But how long will you be gone?” Victoire stared at her husband, one hand at her throat. The heat of their tent seemed suddenly chill.

“I don’t know,” said Vernet, holding out the orders. “These simply require me to go to Jaffa. I’m to prepare an advanced base, possibly in command.”

“And I am to remain here,” said Victoire, her blue eyes as bright and hard as jewels. “He is very astute.”

“Napoleon?” said Vernet, not following his wife’s thoughts.

“No; Berthier. He has found a way to hold you captive without visible chains. How clever of him.” She rose from her cot, where she’d been mending a tear in one of Vernet’s tunics.

“Why do you single out Berthier?” asked Vernet, letting his attention be diverted from the unwelcome orders he held.

“Who else is behind this? Not Napoleon—if he suspected you, then you would be confined at the moment. The others haven’t the time or the authority to send you to Jaffa. So it must be Berthier; he is the one who has pursued you since the marine private was discovered. And now he is making sure that you will not be able to clear your name.” She made fists of her slender hands. “He would sacrifice you to avoid any unpleasant moment with the general. I will not permit it.”

“You?” In spite of his disappointments, Vernet felt a rush of affection for Victoire. “How can you stop it, if you are correct?”

“I’ll find a way,” said Victoire with purpose. “You may rest assured, Vernet, that I will show you had nothing to do with the death of that private, and that you had no part in that theft they are being so secretive about.”

Vernet paled. “What do you know of a theft?” he whispered, as if saying the words made the crime worse.

“Only what I have been able to piece together. No one has said anything directly, but I know something of the world. This is my surmise: the marine guard was watching Napoleon’s treasure. Why should he be killed, but to reach some of the treasure itself? And why should there be so much care taken, unless there has been theft as well as murder?” Her smile was without humor. “And if it were only murder, you would probably be accused by now. So they are looking for whatever was stolen.”

“I hope that others are not as acute as you, my dear,” said Vernet, his attempt at laughter failing.

“Others are not as motivated as I am,” said Victoire. “I’m determined. I will see to it that your name is cleared, Vernet.”

“You fill me with pride, Victoire,” said Vernet, not knowing what else to say to her. “It succors my heart, your faith in me.” He reached over and stroked the side of her face gently.

“This is not a matter of faith, husband,” said Victoire with asperity. “This is a matter of your career and your future. It won’t do to have suspicions remain. Therefore something must be done, and it appears that I am the only one willing to do it.” She took a tum about the confines of the tent. “I’m going to somehow discover who killed that unfortunate marine, and when I’ve done that, I will recover whatever has been stolen. You may be sure of it. And Berthier can choke on the booty.”

Vernet stopped her, holding her by her shoulders. “Have care, Victoire. You could expose yourself to great danger, and I would not like to think you were at risk for my sake.”

She shook herself free of his hands. “You’re absurd, Vernet. I’d be worth very little if I permitted my husband to suffer when it was within my power to alleviate it.”

“Your concern is great solace,” said Vernet, his arms going around her. “You’re as fierce as a Cossack.”

“My assistance is more to the point,” she declared. She took the orders out of his hand and read them. “Jaffa. Where you can do nothing to prevent Berthier from implicating you more deeply than he has already. Well, he reckons without me.”

Vernet was able to smile genuinely this time. “What a determined creature you are, Madame Vernet.”

She considered this and accepted his compliment. “You are very good to me, Lucien.” She looked into his face as she spoke his name. “Be sure that while you are in Jaffa, I will be busy here. Berthier will not be able to hoodwink me. You will not have to bear this stigma one instant longer than necessary.”

“I believe that,” said Vernet, then added more encouragement, “and if someone like Berthier has had a part in this, his days are surely numbered.”

Victoire stared at him. “You may jest if you like, Vernet, but as you yourself have said, I’m determined.”

“Yes, you are. You’re a very determined woman.” He bent and kissed her lightly. “I am going to miss you, little love. Being away from you will be a greater hardship than all the rest.”

Her face softened. “Then we must hurry. You will need to get your fill of me, and I of you.”

“I will never get my fill of you,” Vernet said with utter conviction.

“Nor I of you,” she said. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t try.”

He tightened his arms around her. “No, it doesn’t,” he said softly, loosening the laces on the back of her gown. Soon his fingers danced down her graceful, arching back. Victoire pulled him closer, her hips swaying gently against him as she raised her lips to meet his.

JEAN DOMINIQUE LARREY
wore
a blood-spattered smock and carried a basin in his left hand when he admitted Victoire Vernet to his quarters. The tent was full of medical instruments, books, and a skeleton hung from one tent pole. Victoire wasn’t sure if the skeleton had come with the army’s chief surgeon or from inside the wrappings of one of the local mummies. As always, even before noon the air in the tent was stifling. “You’re not a very substantial woman,” he observed when he had finished looking her over. “There’s nothing much on your bones.”

“I’m strong enough,” she told him, taking no offense. “I am like a cavalry officer, all sinew.”

From the physician’s expression, he had his doubts. “You’re not the sort who faints, are you?”

“No, I’m not. That is no bravura. I have seen wounds before, and I am no stranger to hospitals. My husband is Major-Inspector Vernet, and I have accompanied him at other times.” She did not admit that they had only been married sixteen months and that the most travel she had undertaken with Vernet until they come to Egypt was a short, rugged holiday in the Alps. It had been two days since Vernet left and she had been unable to relax a moment of the time. This morning she had risen with the resolve to take an active role in defending her husband and assist Larrey with the wounded now arriving from battles from both the east and south. She stood a little straighter. “I do sometimes feel ill from heat, but not from anything you might require I look at.”

“This morning,” said Larrey bluntly, “I had to amputate the arm of a soldier. My greatest fear is that it will become infected. This place breeds infection. It is in the very air and water. Great care must be taken, more than you would in France. In this climate, laudable pus quickly turns pernicious unless an effort is made. Are you prepared to cleanse the wounds and change the dressings for this soldier, or would you rather bandage fingers?”

“Of course I would rather bandage fingers,” said Victoire, and earned herself the first sign of approval from Larrey. “It is better to save fingers, but that is not mine to decide. If I am required to change the dressings or treat laudable pus, then I will do it.”

Larrey nodded. “You may do, but if you do not know the difference between laudable and pernicious pus, then you will endanger lives,” he declared after a brief moment of thought.

“I am aware of that,” said Victoire, trying not to weep with anger at Larrey’s suspicions. “If I have any doubts, I will ask you to inspect the wound.”

“A reasonable precaution,” said Larrey. “I understand your husband has been sent to Jaffa.”

“Yes.” Victoire volunteered no more.

“How long will he be there?’ Larrey inquired.

“I have not been told,” said Victoire truthfully, and once again was favored with approval.

“Just as well. Things never go as anticipated in war.”

He drew up a chair and sat down. “Since it appears that you will be helping us, let me inform you what some of your duties will be.”

Victoire dropped him a slight curtsy before sitting down opposite him. She pulled a small notebook from her reticule and took out a pencil. “I will write them down, if you don’t mind.”

“Not in the least,” said Larrey, this time openly approving. “I must emphasize again the need to guard against flies. These are not like the flies we see in France—oh, no. These are very difficult creatures. First, you must take care of flies. A swarm here is more dense than a storm cloud. They are everywhere in this accursed country, and they are dangerous. Where there are flies there is infection. We have seen that again and again. You’ll have to be most attentive that there are no flies around the wounded men, not merely on their wounds, but elsewhere, especially their eyes.”

As she wrote, Victoire said, “I have some oil of citron. If it would be of help, I will use it on the wounded. Not near the eyes, of course, but there are other ways to use it, such as applying it to a poultice or spreading it in the hair.”

Larrey was startled at this offer. “What possessed you to bring oil of citron with you?”

“I was told that it would prevent mosquito bites,” she said. “I assume it will also discourage flies.”

“Very true,” said Larrey, growing more cordial. “Yes, oil of citron is most useful. We are not well supplied here, but I am promised more carbolic and bandages in the next few days, as soon as the ships in Alexandria harbor are able to land supplies in some safety. The captains still fear Nelson will return.” He cleared his throat. “You will have to be careful of the water. The Nile may do for the crops, but there are leeches and unhealthy animalcules in the water that lead to flux. If you wish water, then treat it with lemon or boil it to kill the animalcules. It is safer then, but never wholly safe. If you bathe in Nile water, treat it with iodine for the same reason. And do not drink it unless it has been boiled, to kill the animalcules. You will avoid more than flux that way, or the flukes that corrupt the liver. There are many creatures that live in the water.”

Victoire wrote quickly. “This must be true of the wounded as well,” she said. “They ought to be kept away from Nile water.”

“More for them than the rest of us. They are already weakened and for that reason the animalcules may well flourish in their blood.” He had set the basin aside. “Many of the wounded suffer from the flux. They must be tended almost constantly, and the work is unpleasant.”

“I am prepared for that,” said Victoire, doing her best to sound unflustered.

“This place has much fever as well as flux, and you will have to watch men with open wounds for any sign of fever. In this heat, fever is especially dangerous, and pernicious fevers are more common than in France.”

“Pernicious fevers,” repeated Victoire, making what she hoped were proper notes. “Flies are not to be tolerated. Nile water is to be treated with iodine. Other than this, I must care for fevers. Is that right thus far?” She held out her notebook.

“There is the question of serpents,” said Larrey at his most daunting.

“Asps, I have been told,” said Victoire, maintaining her composure. “They are deadly.”

“Yes, they are,” said Larrey. “And so are the scorpions. Both the asps and the scorpions like hidden places. You are not to put your hand into any place you cannot see. We had a young corporal killed last week for putting his hand on an asp under his bed. I don’t want anything of that sort from those helping me. Is that clear?”

“It is clear,” said Victoire. “You can want this no more than I do.”

Larrey glared. “I suppose it is a beginning.”

“No doubt you will think of other strictures in time.” Her eyes wrinkled at the comers. “You have only to offer your assignment to me, Larrey, and I’ll undertake to do my poor best on your behalf.”

“My behalf, it is? It is Napoleon’s behalf, not anyone else’s.” He lifted the flap that opened onto another length of tent. “Do you have any estimates prepared regarding our casualties?” It was a casual challenge, one intended to put her into her place.

“A few,” said Victoire, “based upon a few of the most recent conflicts. There have been five moderately severely wounded to each one dead or hopeless, but that reckoned without cannon. Therefore it is my assumption that the recent engagement will show an increase of fatalities. Desaix says that a siege would be worse yet.”

“There’s good sense in what you tell me,” agreed Larrey, his attention arrested at last. “You appreciate the military realities. A remarkable feat, Madame. I offer you my felicitations. Which I will extend to your husband as soon as possible. I wish there was a way to guess how many casualties there will be. We know one thing, the further the battles are from here, the less wounded will make it back.” Victoire couldn’t tell if the surgeon was being scientific, or really didn’t feel the implications of what he was saying. Larrey studied the long rows of cots. “We try to keep these tents on the eastern side of the larger tents, and thereby reduce some of the heat.” There was a helpless tone in the doctor’s voice. The air in the tent was even hotter than the midday heat and there was a distinct smell of putrefaction.

“A sensible decision,” said Victoire, unaware that she was saying anything offensive.

* * *

The Pasha’s visitation to the French camp secured the attention of all the men who were not actively busy elsewhere. Even Victoire decided to devote several pages to it in her usual letter to Vernet.

This is the Pasha who agreed to surrender. He is a fat man with many chins and he rides in a sort of carriage. He came with an escort of ten Mamelukes. They looked nervous, and most likely fought against us in that battle by the Pyramids. The guards were followed by treasure carriers, who brought a chest of silver and some elaborately carved chairs inlaid with gold trim.

Behind this lot were the ladies of his hareem, heavily veiled and covered in clothing that must have been stifling in the heat. They were guarded by some striking men in loose shirts and tight trousers. Larrey said these were eunuchs, a most disgusting concept. I cannot see any Frenchman subjecting himself to such treatment. Since no men were allowed near them, I was asked to bring these ladies water and cloths to cool themselves. One spoke some Greek and we were able to converse. She translated for the others. Many were quite intelligent, even witty. Their stories of being kept in isolated rooms, purdah, it is called, were most awful. They only get out on such state occasions as this. I think their master (I cannot think of that man as being a husband to them all) hoped to impress us with the size of his hareem.

What appears to be the main function of this procession, after all the display and compliments, was a gift offered to Napoleon by the Pasha himself. The gift was a Mameluke soldier. You may speculate on the reservations about Roustam-Raza, who has sworn to the Muslim gods to protect and preserve the life of Napoleon Buonaparte for as long as Napoleon stands against his enemies. He is said to be faithful unto death. Only when Napoleon has no enemies or when all his enemies are vanquished is Roustam-Raza released from his vow.

You may imagine, my husband, how Napoleon has been in a quandary about this soldier. To ignore the gift would offend the Pasha mightily, which is contrary to his interests at this time. At the same time, he is reluctant to set the Egyptian to tasks that could be of crucial importance to this campaign. He has stated that he will make his decision about the Mameluke known before the end of the day after tomorrow, and that in the meantime, the Mameluke is to hold himself in readiness, awaiting his orders.

She read over the words and decided that there could be no objection to what she had written since the whole of the camp buzzed with speculation about the Mameluke soldier. If her letter were read, no one could take exception to what she told Vernet, for surely he would have the same news from others. She signed it with great affection and scrawled her name.

When she had sealed the letter and addressed it, she went in search of the courier who would take letters to Jaffa. Messengers left regularly for Jaffa to deliver Napoleon’s most recent instructions, and to keep him abreast of the developments there. She brought a few extra coins to ensure her letter’s safe delivery.

“Seems a shame, leaving a pretty little wife like you alone while your husband camps outside the walls of Jaffa,” said the courier when Victoire handed him the letter and the money. He was a hussar, the white fur in the lining of his pelisse tan from desert sand and dust. Like all hussars he wore his jacket hanging from one shoulder and sported a large moustache. “What with you coming all this way to be alone and there being so few other women here, er, for you talk with.”

“He has trust in me as I have trust in him,” said Victoire in a tone that left no doubt as to her meaning. “If that is what my husband’s duty demands of me, I’ll do my utmost to serve as best I can.” She glared at the courier, then turned and walked off, her face set.

* * *

Napoleon glared at Berthier, the lamplight striking one side of his face only, leaving the other in deep shadow. “What am I to do with this gift of the Pasha? I cannot return him—that would be an intolerable insult and we’d be fighting again. But he’s a Mameluke. Who knows what this oath to Allah means?” He slapped Berthier’s desk. “I’d like your recommendation, Berthier.”

“If you are truly interested in what I would do with him, it will be my pleasure to tell you.” Berthier sighed and shoved himself to his feet. “If it were for me to decide, I would assign the Mameluke some duty that would occupy him in such a way that we could determine if he is as honorable as the Pasha claims he is.”

“Do you have such a duty in mind?” demanded Napoleon. He spun on his heel at the sound of a horse approaching the tent. “Who are we expecting?”

“I don’t know,” said Berthier warily.

The horse went by the tent and a few seconds later there was a greeting shouted by one of the guards.

“A messenger from Desaix,” said Berthier as the rider shouted out his name.

“What is this about?” Napoleon asked of the canvas. “I have been demanding regular reports for over a week, and they still arrive at these hours. It had better be current news and urgent.”