The Fields of Death - Scarrow Simon - Страница 33
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Rapp pursed his lips. ‘Force has its uses in keeping people under control, sire.’
‘I know that. But it is at best an expedient. We must rule their minds and their hearts if we are to rule without living on the whim of maniacs like Staps.’
‘Yes, sire.’
Napoleon stared at the empty chair. He had escaped the knife of an assassin this time, but how many more men like Staps were out there, waiting for their opportunity? If he died now, then that would be an end to any dream of a new dynasty of Bonapartes. The need for an heir was more pressing than ever and Napoleon steeled his heart to do what was necessary the moment he returned to Paris.
‘Sire?’
‘What is it?’
‘What are your orders concerning the prisoner? How long do you want him held?’
‘Held?’ Napoleon frowned. ‘I don’t want him held. Draw up the paperwork for a military court. Have him charged, and convicted, of attempted murder.’
Rapp nodded. ‘Yes, sire. I’ll select the necessary officers in the morning. We can try him straight away.’
‘There’s no need for that. We just need the appearance of a fair trial. Draft the paperwork as soon as you can.’ Napoleon rose from his stool and stretched. ‘Meanwhile, Staps is to be shot. At dawn. Find him an unmarked grave and have the body covered in quicklime. Is that clear?’
‘Yes, sire.’
‘I will not permit Friedrich Staps to become a martyr, or his grave to become a shrine. He is to be obliterated. Erased from history.’
Chapter 12
Fontainebleau, December 1810
‘Her imperial majesty is not happy with the new arrangements,’ Baron Bausset muttered as he escorted Napoleon up the steps to the chateau. A light rain fell from leaden skies and a keen breeze drove it into the faces of the soldiers and household staff who had formed up to greet the emperor. He had returned from Austria shortly before noon, tired and cold after several days in his carriage. He had sent word to Bausset a few weeks before that all the staircases and doors that linked his apartments with those of the Empress were to be sealed up. In view of the coming confrontation, Napoleon had no wish to provide Josephine with any more access to him than possible. He well knew the hold she had over him. Over the next few weeks he must be strong. He must resist her tears and her pleas. For the good of France, he reminded himself.
Bausset cleared his throat as they reached the top of the curved staircase that led to the entrance.‘Sire, the Empress has asked me repeatedly for an explanation for blocking the access between her apartments and yours.’
‘I can imagine,’ Napoleon replied. ‘What have you told her?’
‘I told her that I was only obeying your orders and had not been informed of the reasons behind your instructions.’
‘Good.’
As he entered the hall, Napoleon paused and undid the buttons of his coat and then eased his shoulders as a footman stepped forward and helped slip it from his back. Napoleon removed his hat and thrust it towards the man as he continued addressing Bausset.
‘Does she know I have returned?’
Bausset paused a moment before replying. ‘I received notice of your arrival some two hours ago, sire. As you instructed, the staff were told not to say anything to her imperial majesty.’
‘Some hope,’ Napoleon sniffed. ‘She’s bound to have a few of them in her pocket. Now then, I need some soup, and some coffee. Send them to my office. Has the fire been made up?’
‘Of course, sire.’
‘I sent orders to Paris for despatches to be sent here. I want them brought to me the moment they arrive.’
‘Yes, sire.’
‘Very well, then.’ Napoleon waved Bausset away, but before he could turn towards the wing of the chateau where his office was situated, there was a shrill cry of delight from the top of the staircase in the hall.
‘My darling! My dearest Napoleon!’
He looked up and saw Josephine smiling as she clasped the rail in her hand and leaned slightly forward. Even at this distance Napoleon could see her small stained teeth clearly and could not help making an unflattering contrast with the neat, white smile of Marie Walewska, waiting to be reunited with him in the suite of rooms that had been provided for her at the Tuileries. As soon as he made the comparison Napoleon felt the sickening burden of guilt and betrayal settle on his heart. He felt a flicker of self-loathing, then swiftly upbraided himself. There was no need to blame himself for anything. His duty to his country must come before personal feelings. Josephine would understand that. After all, she had hardly comported herself as the wife of the most powerful man in Europe should do. Her profligacy was a public scandal, and her past affairs had embarrassed him with a shame that still smouldered in his breast. He swallowed nervously and pressed his lips together in a thin, cold expression as he stared back at his wife.
A flicker of concern crossed her face, then Josephine ran down the stairs, her slippered feet pattering lightly on the steps as she descended. Napoleon watched her with a sense of dread and then hardened his heart as he drew himself up and folded his hands behind his back. She hurried across the hall and folded her arms around his shoulders as she kissed him on the cheek.
‘My love, I have missed you,’ she whispered into his ear, and then froze, sensing the unyielding stillness of his body. She drew back with a slight frown and stared into his eyes. ‘My dear, what is the matter with you? Have you no kiss, no embrace for your wife?’
‘Later,’ Napoleon said harshly. ‘I have work to attend to. If I have time, we may talk later. Excuse me.’
Without a kiss, or any other sign of affection, the Emperor turned away and walked towards his suite of offices. He did not falter or look back once, knowing that she would be gazing after him in that forlorn, helpless manner that she knew would melt his heart. When he reached the study, Napoleon ordered the footman standing outside to admit no one, on any pretext, unless they were carrying a bowl of soup. He closed the door firmly behind him and immediately crossed to his desk. A small pile of documents and letters lay on a salver, and with a heavy sigh Napoleon tried to banish all thought of Josephine from his mind as he slumped into his chair and began to deal with the correspondence.
Breaking the seal of the first document, he opened it out and glanced over the contents. It was from a senior treasury official requesting an interview to discuss the looming monetary crisis. Napoleon was aware that France’s coffers were running low, but had hoped that the new peace would restore the flow of taxes and other revenue. However, the treasury reported that the economy was suffering from the trade embargo with England, which was affecting the whole continent. That, coupled with the costs of maintaining the armies in Spain, was bleeding France dry. Napoleon penned a few hurried comments on the document and moved on to the next, a reply from his brother, King Louis of Holland, to his request for Dutch reinforcements to be sent to Spain. Louis claimed to be fearful that his subjects might rise in revolt if he attempted to send troops to the aid of King Joseph. To add to his grievances, he claimed that he could not enforce the embargo on English trade for the same reasons.
‘Fool,’ Napoleon muttered as he scribbled a terse response at the bottom of his brother’s letter. ‘Does he not understand that unless we break England, no Bonaparte is safe on his throne?’
The next letter contained a politely worded request that the Emperor might be kind enough to settle the debt owed by Josephine to a Parisian dressmaker. Napoleon’s eyes widened at the sum she owed. Over ten thousand francs. He glared at the letter, then thrust it to one side.
There was a soft click as the door opened and a servant entered the room bearing a tray with a small steaming bowl, some bread, a small decanter of watered wine and a glass.
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