Napoleon Must Die (5 page)

“Desaix would inform you himself if there were serious trouble brewing,” said Berthier as he ran his hand through his curly hair. “And I would insist on presenting it to you, whatever the hour.”

“For that, you have my gratitude,” said Napoleon, his manner distracted. “This land is robbing many of our soldiers of their purpose. The heat draws away their strength and they are mesmerized by this place. They suppose that riches are hidden in the sand and they do not attend to their duties. We need to take action. Only when they are in the field again will these soldiers remember they’re Frenchmen and not brigands.”

“You are thinking of the scepter,” said Berthier heavily.

“What progress have you made?” Napoleon asked, making no attempt to deny his interest. “I do not want to believe that your staff cannot do the work you assign.”

Berthier moved a few of the papers on his desk. “What troubles me is that there has been no effort to move the scepter.”

“You are assuming that Vernet has it?” Napoleon inquired. “Are you still as certain as you were before?”

“Who else am I to suspect? Your officers knew of the treasure and only a few of them were party to—” Berthier bit his thumbnail. “I don’t want to speak against anyone, but the circumstances show that if any of them are likely, Vernet is the most likely.”

“I won’t dispute that,” said Napoleon. “That’s why he’s in Jaffa. The thought of him betraying my trust is disturbing.” He folded his arms. “You are not supposing that he has taken the scepter with him, are you?”

“No,” Berthier said reluctantly. “That doesn’t seem possible.”

“There we agree,” Napoleon declared. “So you continue to suspect that his wife has the scepter, that she is hiding it at her husband’s orders. Is that a fair assumption.”

“Yes,” said Berthier. He glanced toward the door of the tent as shouts rang in the distance. “They are learning to be away from home.”

“You mean that they are learning to be on campaign,” Napoleon corrected. “We have to season these troops quickly. I don’t want to be distracted with trouble like Vernet. Nor can I have my officers stop trusting each other. Find some way to guard his wife without being too obvious.”

“She’s working with Larrey. He tells me she is very good with the wounded. She’s also been tending to some of the women, the ones who are suffering from the heat.” He fiddled with his papers again.

“It’s good to know she isn’t one of those who wilt,” said Napoleon. “There are too many languishing wives with us. It is why I forbade them on the convoy.” He put his hands on his side of Berthier’s desk. “Now listen to me. I want this matter solved and I want no fuss about it.”

Berthier nodded. “And the Mameluke?”

“Put him to work, something that will occupy him but will not give him access to anything too important. I don’t want him running back to the Pasha with our plans in his powder horn.” He paced in the confined tent, which only seemed to add to his tautness. “But I’m not satisfied. If this fellow is not truly my man, I have to know it. We must test him without disgracing him. I leave it to you to find the way to do that.”

“I’ll do everything I can,” said Berthier with feeling.

“He speaks French, so I’ve been told,” said Napoleon as an afterthought. “Do not be too open in your conversation with him. It would not be the first time a man spied with just his ears.”

“I will be careful,” said Berthier.

“I know you will,” said Napoleon with a persuasive smile. “That is why I trust you with this task.” He looked over the papers Berthier had spread out. “Not that you haven’t enough to do.”

Berthier paused before he responded. “You have only to give me work, General, and I will do it to the best of my ability. I believe in your greatness.”

“And in the greatness of France,” added Napoleon at once.

“Of course,” said Berthier hastily, and stared down at the papers once more.

* * *

Everything about Roustam-Raza was foreign—the way he dressed, the way he moved, his accent, his attitude, his smell. He had braced his feet apart as if expecting to repel invaders as he stood where Napoleon had stood the night before. “I am told to follow your orders,” he said, watching Berthier with hot eyes. It was mid-afternoon and he had just risen from his midday nap.

“So I was informed,” said Berthier, acutely uncomfortable in the Mameluke’s presence. The man refused to sit and towered over the aide-de-camp. “I’ve been told to find necessary work for you. And after much thought I have decided on what you are to do.” He swabbed his handkerchief across his brow and told himself it was only the heat in his tent that made him sweat.

“I am ready,” said Roustam-Raza, thumping his hand to his chest. The bright red material of his loosely worn shirt was left moist where it had been pressed against his chest. “I have been told by Napoleon to obey your orders as if they were his own.”

Berthier coughed and then nibbled at the cuticle of his middle finger. “As his aide-de-camp I am obliged to act in his best interests. This is an instance when he and I are in accord.” He made himself sit straighter. “There is a person you are to watch. I will introduce you to her shortly, and I expect—”

“A woman?” burst out Roustam-Raza before Berthier finished. “You wish me to guard a woman?”

“Yes,” said Berthier stonily.

“This is Napoleon’s woman,” said Roustam-Raza hopefully, doing his best to salvage some honor from this unthinkable disgrace.

“No,” said Berthier, dashing Roustam-Raza’s hopes. “She is the wife of one of his officers.”

Roustam-Raza drew himself up and spat. “I am not a eunuch in the hareem, that I must watch an errant wife.”

Berthier realized he had made an error with the Mameluke and looked for some method to repair any damage he may have done. “It is very necessary that she be watched. It is possible that her husband has stolen”—he broke off before speaking of the scepter—“something of great value from Napoleon.”

“I will watch the husband,” stated Roustam-Raza.

“The husband is far away, where he can do no harm. His wife remains here. We suspect that her husband put the ... the valuable thing into her hands. We must discover what has become of it.” Berthier wanted to sound stern but was afraid that he lacked the authority Roustam-Raza required.

“I will hunt for the valuable thing,” he decided aloud. “I will bring it to Napoleon to show my devotion.”

“You’ll show your devotion better by watching this woman.” He raised his hands in warning. “She’s not to suspect you.”

“Women are not clever enough to suspect me, or any man,” Roustam-Raza said, dismissing the possibility. Finally the Mameluke chose to sit in the chair he had been offered earlier. Even sitting he seemed alert and ominous to Berthier, who was relieved he had found a reason to keep the warrior away from the general.

Berthier shook his head. “This is a clever woman, more like a promising boy than a woman. She has learning and wit. You’re not to underestimate her.”

“No woman is clever,” Roustam-Raza informed Berthier. “But her husband may be, and if she is obedient, she will be hard to defeat.” He fondled the hilt of the long dagger in his belt. “If she is stubborn, I will do what must be done to persuade her.”

“No,” said Berthier emphatically. “There’s to be nothing of that sort. You are to watch her, to see what action she undertakes and to stop her from moving the valuable thing beyond our reach.”

“I will consider what you tell me,” said Roustam-Raza, his tone not very promising. “Who is this clever woman?”

“She is the wife of Gendarme Major, Inspector Lucien Vernet.” He studied the back of his hand, frowning at the nails. “He is acting Inspector-General.”

“Gendarme officer,” said Roustam-Raza with the manner of someone given a plate of rotten meat. “Such men should not betray.”

“Yes. Precisely.” Berthier sighed. “His wife, Madame Vernet, must be watched. She is not to be permitted to assist her husband.”

“It is fitting for a woman to assist her husband,” said Roustam-Raza with sudden stubbornness. “There are a few things women must do; they must be mothers and they must obey the will of their fathers and husbands. Anything else is unnatural.”

“Very true,” said Berthier, and for an instant thought only of his own fruitless love of a married aristocratic woman whose name he dared not speak aloud for fear of compromising her. “But women are such ... whimsical creatures.”

“Exactly why it is necessary they obey men,” said Roustam-Raza, satisfied that he and Berthier understood one another. “I will not do anything that will lead a woman away from her tasks. I will do nothing to incite her to set aside the will of her husband. But anything short of that I will do.” He regarded Berthier ferociously. “I will permit no danger to Napoleon. I have sworn this.”

“So you have, so you have.” He rose. “She is coming here when she is through tending the wounded. She ought to be here shortly.”

“Tending the wounded is worthy,” said Roustam-Raza, “so long as she is not in blood herself. A woman in blood will cause men to bleed as well.”

Berthier colored. “I know nothing about that,” he said stiffly.

“It would be wise to learn.” Roustam-Raza touched the weapons he carried, a wickedly curved sword and two well-oiled pistols of English make, and nodded. “What will her husband say when he learns of this?”

“He won’t learn of it. And even if he does, he’ll say nothing,” said Berthier with certainty. “He is in enough trouble as it is.”

“A wise man does not behave in any way that will cause others to question his character,” Roustam-Raza declared. “How is it that this man can be under suspicion and have advanced so far, and with a silly wife?”

“She isn’t silly; I’ve warned you about that. He cannot account for his time when the ... object was taken. We all stood there together and only we knew of it. The others have someone to vouch for them. Other than just a wife.” Berthier fingered the back of his chair. “And of all of them, he has the least money and the poorest expectations. His father-in-law left his daughter an independence but it is not enough to support a military officer.”

“So he is nothing more than a thief,” said Roustam-Raza contemptuously. “He is not deserving of his advancement.”

“If he is the thief, you are correct,” said Berthier. “But until I am certain that he took the object, I will not act against him, nor encourage anyone else to.” He gave Roustam-Raza a long, hard stare. “If you alert them, you will share the burden of their guilt.”

“Of course,” said Roustam-Raza. “That is correct.” He sank down onto the floor of the tent, his legs crossing as he made himself comfortable.

Berthier did his best to contain his misgivings. “You must treat her with respect. Frenchwomen expect it.”

“You French are very foolish about women. It is not necessary that you respect them, only that you turn them to good purpose. But it is the teaching of your faith that softens you.” He made a gesture to show that he did not object to the weakness of French Christians. “The Prophet defended his mother. Is this Madame Vernet a mother of sons?”

“No,” said Berthier awkwardly. He saw disapproval in Roustam-Raza’s eyes and did his best to explain. “They haven’t been married long.”

“If she has many sons, she will be a rose among women,” said Roustam-Raza with approval. “Her husband will be fortunate.”

“Yes, I suppose he will, but not on his army pay,” said Berthier, smiling a little at his own feeble witticism.

Light steps approached the tent and Berthier heard Eugene callout from his desk just outside the tent, “Who is coming?”

“Madame Vernet,” said Victoire. “I believe Berthier is expecting me. He sent me a note—”

“Yes,” said Eugene, and came at once to the entrance of Berthier’s tent. “Madame Vernet is—”

“Send her in, Eugene,” he told his secretary, adding to Roustam-Raza, “It is polite to stand when she is present.”

“A foolish thing to do,” said Roustam-Raza, staying where he was.

Victoire entered the tent in a direct way, all but marching up to Berthier. “You wished to speak with me?” she asked without any of the courtesies Berthier might have expected of her. There was a smear of blood on her muslin skirt and the sleeve of her light pelisse was tom in two places; her pale hair was disordered.

“Yes, Madame Vernet, I did.” He glanced at Roustam-Raza, who reclined on the rough rugs that made up the floor of the tent. “It seems I must ... ask a favor of you.”

“Of me?” repeated Victoire incredulously.

“Yes,” said Berthier, coloring a little. “I have need of your ... assistance.” He indicated the Mameluke. “You know of the Pasha’s gift to Napoleon?”

“I saw the ceremony,” said Victoire carefully. She could not imagine what Berthier was up to this time.

“Roustam-Raza is not ... familiar with the customs and conduct in our camp, or the lives of Frenchman. I need someone to instruct him so that he will not disgrace Napoleon. Every officer is much too busy, nor have many been to a school to learn such things. You are said to be the best educated of the officers’ wives, and so I have come to you.” He gave a diplomatic cough. “If you would be willing?”

“To teach this man?” she inquired, looking down at Roustam-Raza. “Why do you want him taught? And what do you want him taught?”

“There are many things he must learn,” said Berthier ambiguously. “I don’t know what is most urgent. If you will make a point of observing him, you will decide for yourself what the man must know.” His smile was wide and insincere.

Victoire was not fooled. “In other words, you expect to get two services for the price of one.” She saw the startled look in Berthier’s eyes. “You will have me under guard and the guard will benefit.” She put her hands on her hips. “I suppose it is useless to protest.”

“It isn’t wise,” said Berthier. “But you must do as you think best.”

“Of course,” said Victoire sarcastically. “And if I do not choose what you wish me to do, it will go badly for me and for my husband. Is that a fair assessment, would you say?”

“Fair,” Berthier allowed.

Victoire looked at Roustam-Raza again. “Do you speak any French?” she asked him, speaking very slowly and carefully.