Текст книги "The Generals"

Автор книги: Simon Scarrow

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THE GENERALS

SIMON SCARROW

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www.headline.co.uk

Copyright © 2007 Simon Scarrow

Simon Scarrow worked for many years as a college lecturer. His lifelong fascination with history was fuelled by the historical fiction of Bernard Cornwell, Patrick O’Brian and C.S. Forester. Now, he tells the incredible story of his greatest heroes. His highly acclaimed Eagle series, featuring two centurions of the Roman armies in Europe in the first century AD, is also available from Headline. Simon Scarrow lives in Norfolk. For more information on Simon Scarrow and his novels, visit www.scarrow.co.uk

For Pat and Mick

Thanks for the good craic over the years

Chapter 1

Napoleon

Paris, 1795

It was a hot day early in August and the heat lay across the tiled roofs of Paris like a blanket, smothering the still air with the odours of the city: sewage, smoke and sweat. In his office at the corner of the Tuileries Palace, Lazare Carnot sat at a large desk piled with paperwork arranged in labelled trays. Each tray’s contents had been prioritised by his staff, so that Citizen Carnot – as he styled himself – could expedite the most pressing documents concerning the French armies struggling to defend the infant Republic. Ever since the execution of King Louis the enemies of France had regarded her as a monstrous aberration. Monarchs and aristocrats across Europe would not rest easy until the revolution had been mercilessly crushed and the Bourbons returned to the throne. So war raged across the continent as great armies clashed beneath the standards of Austria and the tricolour flags of France. And it was Carnot’s duty to see that his countrymen were organised and supplied to achieve the victories that would guarantee the survival of the ideals of the revolution.

The armies were ever hungry for more recruits, more uniforms, boots, gunpowder, muskets, cannon, remounts for the cavalry and the minutiae of military equipment that was necessary for an army to march and fight. Every day Carnot had to cope with the urgent demands of the generals, meeting their needs as best he could from the finite resources available. There were shortages of everything the armies needed, most of all money. The treasury was all but empty and the National Assembly had been forced to issue paper currency – assignats – that were openly traded at a fraction of their face value. Carnot smiled grimly at the thought as he initialled a requisition for artillery uniforms from a textile mill at Lyons. At least it cost the government nothing to print yet more assignats to pay for the uniforms. If the mill-owner made a loss trading them on that was his own affair. Carnot reached for his pen, dipped it in the inkwell and signed his name with a flourish: Citizen Carnot, on behalf of the Committee of Public Safety.

An ironic name for a committee, he reflected, given that its members had been responsible for the deaths of thousands of their fellow citizens in order to safeguard the principles of liberty, equality and fraternity.The Committee ruthlessly suppressed any symptom of dissent inside France even as it directed the war against external enemies. Yet membership of the Committee carried its own danger, as Robespierre and his hardcore Jacobin followers had discovered, and paid for it with their heads. Carnot sighed as he slipped the signed requisition into the out tray.

Unless the fortunes of war changed and the political situation in France stabilised, then the revolution would fail, and all that had been gained, and all that might be gained, for the common people would be lost. Then the retribution of the monarchists, the aristocrats and the church would be even more terrible than the very worst of the excesses of the early years of the revolution.

Carnot leaned back in his chair and tugged at the collar of his shirt. The heat had made his skin feel prickly and a trickle of perspiration ran down his back. Even though he wore a dark coat over his shirt there was no question of removing it. Carnot was a soldier of the old school and discomfort had always been part of the profession.

A soft knock at the door broke his concentration and he sat up stiffly as he responded. ‘Yes?’

The door opened and through the gap Carnot could see to the far end of the much larger office outside. His staff sat on stools behind their desks in neatly regimented rows. Carnot’s secretary was a thin man with cropped grey hair, who had worked in the War Office since he left school and still served his new masters with the deference he had learned under the old regime. He stepped into Carnot’s office and creased into a bow.

‘Sir, Brigadier Bonaparte has arrived.’

‘Bonaparte?’ Carnot frowned.‘Does he have an appointment?’

‘So he says, citizen.’

‘Does he now?’ Carnot could not help smiling. Though he had never met the young brigadier, he had dealt with a steady stream of correspondence with the man ever since Napoleon Bonaparte had taken command of the artillery outside Toulon nearly two years ago. The quality of Brigadier Bonaparte’s mind shone through the operational plans he had drafted for the Army of the Alps and the Army of Italy. So, too, did his impatience and his insistence on having his way. For a moment Carnot was tempted to make the officer wait. After all, his time was precious and Bonaparte had not made an appointment to see him through the proper channels. Perhaps the young pup should be reminded of his place in the grand scheme of things, Carnot mused. Then he relented, partly from a desire to see if the man matched the mental image Carnot had constructed from Bonaparte’s voluminous correspondence.

‘Very well.’ He shrugged. ‘Please show the brigadier in.’

‘Yes, citizen,’ the secretary replied and automatically bowed again on his way out, closing the door quietly behind him. Carnot had time to scan another requisition and was dashing off his signature when he heard the door open again and the scrape and creak of boots on the floorboards.

The secretary coughed. ‘Brigadier Bonaparte, sir.’

‘Very well,’ Carnot replied without looking up.‘You may leave us.’

As the door closed Carnot read back over the document he had just signed and nodded with satisfaction before he slipped it across the desk into the out tray. Then he raised his head.

On the other side of the desk stood a slight figure, short and thin with dark hair that fell to his collar. The fringe was cut severely across the top of his pale head in a straight line.The grey eyes gleamed and darted round the office, seeming to take in every detail before they settled on Carnot. The young officer’s nose was fine and narrow and his lips reposed in a faint pout, then parted in an impulsive smile before he forced his features into an impassive expression and stiffened to attention.

Carnot stared at the brigadier, rueing the fact that so many young men had achieved such rapid advancement through the ranks in the space of a few years. Many officers had fled the country during the revolution and Robespierre had culled the ranks of those that remained. Inevitably, a shortage of officers had arisen and promotion was thrust upon any man who demonstrated raw courage, or the least indication of a sound military brain. Brigadier Bonaparte was one of the few who possessed both.

‘Welcome, Bonaparte. I’ve been wanting to meet you for some time.’

‘Thank you, citizen.’

The voice was soft, and agreeable to Carnot’s ear, and he relaxed his face into a smile. ‘I had not expected you to arrive in Paris so soon. How long have you been here?’

‘We arrived last night, citizen.’

‘We?’

‘My staff officers and I. Captain Marmont and Lieutenant Junot.’

‘I see. And you have found comfortable quarters?’

The brigadier tilted his head to one side and shrugged.‘I have taken some rooms in a hotel in the Latin quarter. It’s cheap, but comfortable enough. I might find something more suitable,’ Bonaparte paused to add emphasis to the words that followed, ‘once I am returned to full pay, citizen.’

Carnot shifted in his chair as he recalled the circumstances of the brigadier’s reduction in pay. Bonaparte had been a protégé of the Robespierre brothers and when they had fallen many of their followers had been executed. Others, like Napoleon’s fellow Corsican, Antoine Saliceti, had gone into hiding. Others, like Napoleon Bonaparte, who openly espoused Jacobin politics, had been proscribed. Trumped-up charges of corruption and selling information to foreign powers had been enough to see Bonaparte sent to prison for several days. Even though the charges had been dismissed, Bonaparte had been only provisionally released on half-pay to continue his service in the army. No wonder the brigadier sounded bitter, Carnot reflected.

‘I assure you, I am doing what I can to restore your rights.’ Carnot opened out his hands.‘It’s the least France can do for one of its most promising young officers.’

If he expected a modest expression of gratitude at the remark, he was instantly disappointed. Napoleon simply nodded.

‘Yes, citizen . . . the very least. I have given good service to France, and I have been loyal to the revolution, and it is still my ambition to serve both as well as I can.’

‘France and the revolution are one and the same, Bonaparte.’

Napoleon gestured towards the window. ‘You might say that, citizen, but there are plenty of voices on the streets that do not. I must have passed a score of royalist notices plastered across the walls as I walked here. Not to mention a man selling royalist pamphlets, not a hundred paces from the entrance to the Tuileries. I doubt he would consider that France and the revolution are the same thing.’

‘Then he is a fool.’

Napoleon’s eyebrows rose. ‘I wonder how many more fools are out there, citizen?’

‘Enough to provide encouragement for the enemies of the republic,’ Carnot admitted. ‘Which is why they must be crushed without mercy. It is the duty of every officer in the French army to assist in the process, distasteful as that no doubt seems to you. Do you find such a duty distasteful, Bonaparte?’

‘I do. As you will know from my letter.’

‘Ah, yes, I recall. It seems that you do not wish to take up your post with the Army of the West.’

‘I am certain that my talents could be put to better use in other armies, citizen.There is no glory to be had in fighting one’s countrymen, no matter how misguided their politics. What chance have they got against professional soldiers? They will be slaughtered like innocents.Yes, I find that distasteful.’

Carnot leaned forward and lowered his voice. ‘For a bunch of innocents they are raising merry hell in the Vendée.Attacking our patrols, burning supply depots and poisoning the hearts and minds of simple peasants and workers. And who do you think is backing them? England, that’s who. English ships land spies and troublemakers on our coasts almost every day, their pockets loaded with English gold. Do not delude yourself, Bonaparte. The war we fight inside France is every bit as vital as the war we wage against foreign enemies. Perhaps it is more important. Unless we win the battle for France it does not matter what happens on the plains of Italy, or along the banks of the Rhine. If we lose the battle for control of our country then all is lost.’ He leaned back in his chair and forced a smile. ‘So you can understand why the Committee wants to appoint its best officers to the army facing the most difficult task.’

Napoleon looked faintly amused. ‘I wonder how much this posting has to do with my ability, citizen.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I am an artillery officer. My speciality is the movement and disposition of cannon. Find me a fortification to lay siege to, or the massed ranks of an army to shatter with my batteries. I can do that as well as any other artillery officer in the service. What use would I be to the Army of the West? Unless they want me to bombard every barn in the Vendée, or fire grapeshot at shadows flitting along the edges of woods.’

‘You will not be required to command artillery, as you already know.You have been appointed to an infantry brigade.’

‘Precisely, citizen. You make my point for me. I am a gunner. I should be placed in command of cannon, not cannon fodder.’

‘You have demonstrated other talents,’ Carnot replied tersely. ‘I’ve read the reports of your work at Toulon.You lead from the front. That’s the kind of inspiration our men need in taking on the rebel scum in the Vendée. Also, you know how to organise. Most of all, you are single-minded and perhaps ruthless. That’s why you are needed in the Army of the West.’

Napoleon was silent for a moment before he replied. ‘Even if that is true, I can conceive of another reason why the Committee wants to send me to the Vendée.’

‘Oh?’ Carnot stared back at him and said acidly, ‘Do please explain yourself.’

‘It would appear that my loyalty is still doubted. At a time when good artillery officers are desperately needed in the other armies, why else would the Committee send me to fight Frenchmen, except to prove that I have no common purpose with the rebels?’

‘The Committee has its reasons, and it is not obliged to share them with you, Bonaparte. You have your orders. You are a soldier; it is not your place to question orders. So you will join the Army of the West as soon as possible. That is the end of the matter.’

‘I see.’ Napoleon nodded. ‘Unless the Committee has cause to reconsider its decision.’

‘It won’t.’ Carnot raised his hands and folded the palms together beneath his chin.‘There’s nothing more to be said. Now, if you don’t mind, I have work to do.’

Napoleon was still for a moment before he replied. ‘Of course, citizen. I will take my leave.’

Carnot’s shoulders relaxed a moment as the tension eased slightly. He had feared that the brigadier would prove more obdurate than this, and felt that he ought to offer some last word of encouragement. ‘If you serve us as well in the Vendée as you served us at Toulon, then I’m sure you will find that the next posting will be more agreeable, more . . . glorious.’

Napoleon fixed him with an even stare.‘I understand, citizen.’

‘Then, good day to you.’ Carnot quickly reached for his pen and pulled another requisition off the pile.

Napoleon turned and strode to the door, then paused and looked back.‘Before I take up my new command, there are a few personal matters I need to attend to. I have not had any leave for over a year. I would appreciate some time to get my affairs in order, citizen.’

‘How long?’

Napoleon pursed his lips for a moment. ‘A month. Perhaps two.’

‘Two months, then. No more. I’ll have my secretary inform the Committee.’

‘Very well.Thank you, citizen.’ Napoleon bowed his head and stepped out of the office, closing the door loudly behind him.

Carnot winced and muttered, ‘Damn the man . . . Just who the hell does he think he is?’

Chapter 2

‘I’ve sold my carriage,’ Napoleon said as he poured more wine into the cups of his two friends.They were sitting in one of the bars on the Palais-Royal.The thoroughfare was beginning to fill with those who were looking for their evening’s entertainment.

Marmont and Junot exchanged a look before Junot took a healthy swig from his cup and set it down softly. ‘What did you get for it, sir?’

‘Three thousand francs.’

Marmont pursed his lips. ‘That’s a fair enough price.’

Napoleon shook his head. ‘I was paid in assignats.’

‘Ah . . . That’s not so good.’

‘No,’ Napoleon agreed. ‘But there’s no helping it. I need the money. I haven’t been paid a sou since we left Marseilles and the owner of the hotel won’t wait much longer for the rent. At least we’ll have a roof over our heads and wine in our cups for a few weeks yet. So drink up, but not too fast, eh, Junot?’

The other men smiled but there was a lingering expression of guilt on Junot’s face as he stared into the dregs of his cup. He glanced up. ‘Sir, it’s not right that you should have to pay for us. My family has a little money. I could ask—’

‘That’s enough, Junot.You are on my staff. Part of my military family. It is only right that I should pay for us all. What kind of commanding officer would I be if I didn’t take care of such things?’

‘A richer one,’ Marmont cut in with a bleary smile. He reached over and patted Napoleon’s shoulder. ‘Cheer up. Something will come up.There’s a war on.They need us. Our time will come. In the meantime let’s hope Carnot lets your leave run a while longer yet.’

‘Yes, I hope so.’

Napoleon reflected that it had been over a month since the Minister of War had granted him leave. Fortunately for him, Carnot’s attention had been diverted from military matters for much of that time. A new constitution was being debated in the chamber of deputies and every political faction was fighting to have its views enshrined in the document. While the debate preoccupied Carnot, Napoleon had been pleading his case with the officials at the Ministry of War to find him another command. But time was running out. Unless the military situation changed, he would be forced to leave Paris and join the thankless fight against the rebels in the Vendée. And possibly very soon. That morning he had received a message from the Ministry, summoning him to a meeting the following day.

Napoleon raised his glass and took another sip of the cheap wine, then gazed for a moment at the surrounding scene.

Now that the days of the Great Terror were over the capital had quickly recovered much of its gaiety. The wealthier citizens no longer dressed down when they walked abroad for fear of being singled out as aristocrats. Ostentatious carriages had reappeared on the streets and those ladies who could afford it paraded their fashions openly. The cheaper theatres once again played comedies and sketches that dared to poke fun at the more tolerant, or ridiculous, members of the national assembly, though as yet those who sat on the Committee for Public Safety were studiously overlooked by Parisian playwrights. Every day, it seemed, a new newspaper appeared on the streets, taking an increasingly critical line on those who ruled the republic. Every social ill was laid at the door of the government: inflation, the failure of the harvest, the black market, the apparent political anarchy and the poor management of the war. Some newspapers even dared to argue for the restoration of the monarchy and there had been angry confrontations between rival crowds of republicans and monarchists on the streets. Even though the high temperatures of summer had dissipated, the mood in Paris was heated and strained, like the air before the breaking of a storm, and Napoleon, like everyone else, was filled with a sense of foreboding.With good reason. He drained his glass and muttered, ‘I am to present myself at the Ministry at noon tomorrow. I was informed this morning.’

‘Why?’ asked Junot.

‘I don’t know, but I fear my leave is about to come to an abrupt end.’ Napoleon shrugged. ‘So I might as well as make the most of this evening. Come on. Let’s be off. I’ve heard that there are some new girls at Madame Marcelle’s place.’

The Palais-Royal was lit from one end to the other by the orange glow of lanterns. Madame Marcelle’s establishment was in the far corner, and as the three officers threaded their way through the evening throng of friends, families, lovers, hawkers and all manner of street entertainers, Napoleon noticed a crowd gathered round a man speaking from a large wine cask outside a café. He was screened from his audience by four men carrying long staves. As Napoleon drew closer he could hear the first words of the speaker, strident against the good-humoured tone of the wider crowd.

‘Citizens! You are in grave danger – your complacency threatens to kill you! Do you not know that even as you stand there, the Bourbon agents are plotting to overthrow the revolution? It is they who are behind the price rises and food shortages. They are the ones who are trying to undermine the new constitution. Trying to steal the liberty that we have taken into our own hands.’The speaker raised his fists. ‘All that we have fought for. All that those gallant martyrs of the Bastille died for – all, ALL will be torn from us and we will be as slaves again. Is that what you wish?’

‘No!’ called a resonant voice. Napoleon sensed the theatrical tone of the cry, and he smiled. A supporter planted in the crowd. ‘No! Never!’ the voice cried out again, and others joined in.

The speaker nodded and raised a palm to quieten them before he continued. ‘You are good patriots.That I can tell at once. Not like those Bourbon scum who would sell their souls to foreign powers and their mercenary hordes. They are traitors!’

‘Damned liar!’ a shrill voice called out. ‘Royalists are not traitors. We seek to free France of the tyranny of the godless!’

Napoleon paused, straining his neck and rising on his toes as he tried to see over the heads of the crowd towards the protester. He saw a tall thin man standing on a pediment at the far side of the crowd. As soon as he had spoken he turned and gestured towards the colonnade. At once a swarm of men emerged from the shadows of the tall columns. Each wore a scarf across his face and carried a wooden club.

A woman screamed. Her cry was taken up and the people surged as one away from the onrushing men.

‘Death to the murderers of the King!’ the voice shrilled out. ‘For God and monarchy!’

He jumped down from the pediment and joined his followers as they charged into the terrified crowd, swinging their clubs at victims without any regard for age or gender. Suddenly a dense mass of bodies surged against Napoleon, thrusting him back against his companions. Junot grabbed hold of his arm and held him up while Marmont stepped forward with a roar and brandished his fists, daring any of the panicked crowd to come any closer to them. As the bodies flowed past on either side and the evening air filled with cries of fear, pain and anger Napoleon growled, ‘Come on! We’ll teach those royalists a lesson.’

‘What?’ Junot turned to him in surprise. ‘Are you mad? They’ll cut us down in no time.’

‘He’s right.’ Marmont eased himself back towards his friends. ‘Three against twenty or more. What can we do?’

‘Three right now,’ Napoleon conceded, his voice betraying his nervous excitement. ‘But once we fight back, so will others. Come on!’

He thrust his way past Marmont and pushed through the people streaming away from their attackers.Then, over the heads of those at the back of the crowd, he saw the raised clubs and scarved faces of the men beating a path through to the original speaker and his guards. Napoleon paused, fists bunched and heart pounding, not for the first time uncertain about the wisdom of what he was doing.Then he saw on the ground the prone figure of an old man, sprawled on his face, blood gushing from his scalp on to the cobbles. Beside him lay a crutch. Napoleon snatched it up, instinctively grasping it as if it were a musket, armpad clutched to his side and the base held out like a muzzle. His confidence returned and he stepped forward again, swerving round a woman clutching a young boy to her breast, long skirts flowing as she fled. A short distance behind her was the first of the royalists. Above the scarf he wore to conceal his features, his wide excited eyes turned and fixed on Napoleon, widening still further with surprise. He hesistated for an instant before he began to raise his club, and Napoleon swept forward, throwing all the weight of his slight figure behind the crutch as he rammed the base into the man’s chest, and hissed ‘Bastard!’ through clenched teeth.

The blow drove the man back with an explosive grunt and his head struck the ground as he tumbled, knocking him cold.

‘Marmont! Take his club!’

Now that two of them were armed, they made for the next target, a short distance off in the gathering gloom. Napoleon feinted at him and as the man moved to block the blow Marmont charged forward and felled him with a vicious strike to the head. As Junot seized the man’s weapon Napoleon turned to shout over his shoulder.

‘Citizens! Citizens, hear me! Are you cowards or patriots?’

A few faces turned to look and Napoleon seized the moment, charging towards the middle of the body of men fighting their way towards the meeting’s speaker. He filled his lungs and shouted, ‘Death to tyranny!’

Marmont and Junot raced after him, adding their cries to his. An instant later they were amongst the royalists, slashing out with their clubs. Since they were soldiers and more accustomed to the madness of battle, and the need to strike hard and fast, they had an advantage over the casual bullies who had been expecting an unarmed crowd and not this fierce counter-attack. Napoleon thrust out again with his crutch, and struck a man’s shoulder.The blow was not disabling and the man at once swung his club at Napoleon’s head. Napoleon snatched the crutch back and up into the path of the club and there was a sharp crack, the force of the blow jarring his hands. Marmont abruptly swung his boot into the man’s crotch, hard enough to lift the royalist off his feet, and the man tumbled back with a deep groan and rolled on the ground vomiting. Marmont hissed at Napoleon, ‘Hold the other bloody end, you fool! Use it like a club.’

As he reversed his hold Napoleon heard the speaker shout out to his bodyguards. ‘Help those men! Help them!’

Napoleon, Marmont and Junot stood back to back in a loose triangle, swinging their makeshift weapons at the men about them, trying to keep them at a distance. Marmont growled, ‘Come on then, you bastards! If you have the stomach for it.’

‘Girondin scum!’ someone shouted back.

‘Girondin? Girondin!’ Marmont roared. ‘I’m a Jacobin, you bastard! And you’re dead!’

He hurled himself into their midst, knocking two of the royalists to the ground, and then he was laying about him in great sweeping arcs with his club, shattering bones, battering muscles into nerveless jelly and driving the breath from his enemies with his blows.

Junot edged closer to Napoleon. ‘They really shouldn’t have called him a Girondin. I almost feel sorry for them.’

‘No time for that,’ Napoleon replied.Taking a deep breath he moved off in Marmont’s wake. The speaker and his bodyguards joined the fight and as the royalists were forced to stop and defend themselves the crowd stopped fleeing. Some edged towards the fight and then the first of them walked, then ran, back to the melee. ‘Death to tyrants!’ he called out, then again, his voice strengthening. Others joined in, emboldened by his confidence.

Napoleon glanced back and felt his heart lift. ‘Citizens! Help us!’

Some heeded his call, and charged into the fight, throwing themselves on to the royalists. But some were struck down by the royalists’ clubs and brutally beaten to the ground. Edging round a crumpled body, Napoleon raised the crutch and looked for another opponent. But in the growing darkness, the civilians around him all looked the same, until he saw a face half hidden by a scarf, and at once smashed his crutch down on the man’s head. The blow never landed. Suddenly the dusk exploded in a blinding flash of light and Napoleon reeled back. He shook his head, trying to disperse the fading white flashes that obscured his sight.

‘Run for it!’ a voice shouted. ‘Royalists! On me!’

Several figures turned and bolted, running back for the dark shadows beneath the colonnade. The crowd pursued them for a moment and then gave up, jeering and shouting insults after the defeated enemy. Even though he was aware of a searing pain high on his forehead Napoleon felt awash with elation. Finding Marmont, he gave his friend a hearty slap on the back.

‘Auguste Marmont, I swear you are half man, half wild animal.’

‘Bastards had it coming to them,’ Marmont muttered.‘Call me a Girondin, would they?’Then he caught sight of the dark smear streaming down Napoleon’s temple. ‘Sir, you’re bleeding.’

Napoleon drew out his handkerchief and clasped it to his head with a wince.Then he looked down at the crutch still in his hands, and turned to find its owner. The old man was sitting up, nursing a tear in his scalp.

‘My thanks, citizen.’ Napoleon helped the man up and returned his crutch to him.

The man nodded his gratitude.‘Just wish I’d been able to help you out, sir.’

‘You made your contribution.’ Napoleon smiled and patted the crutch. ‘Which is more than can be said for most of the people here tonight.’

Junot emerged from the gloom, a thin-faced man at his side, whom Napoleon recognised as the speaker who had been addressing the meeting before it had been broken up. He approached the three officers, glanced over them and turned to Marmont.

‘I must thank you, and your friends, sir.’

Marmont looked embarrassed, and nodded towards Napoleon. ‘Don’t thank me. Our brigadier led us into the fight. I just followed.’

The speaker stared at Napoleon more closely with his hooded eyes and Napoleon sensed that he was not impressed by what he saw. ‘Brigadier?’ He recovered from his surprise and proffered his hand. ‘Joseph Fouché at your service.’

Napoleon took the hand and felt the man’s cold skin. He nodded. ‘Brigadier Napoleon Bonaparte, at yours.’

‘Well, it seems I must thank you for saving my skin. Though not without some cost to yourself.’

‘A scratch,’ Napoleon replied. ‘We were glad to help you. I’ll not let any royalists drive our people off the streets. Not whilst I live.’

‘I see.’ Fouché’s lips flickered into a thin smile. ‘I like your spirit. The republic needs more men like you. Especially now. Paris seems to be infested by nests of royalist sympathisers. It is time that good men recognised the growing threat and stood up to them. Before it’s too late.’

Napoleon laughed. ‘Come now, they were no more than a gang of thugs. A rabble.’

‘You think so? Then look here.’ Fouché squatted down over one of the men who had attacked the crowd, now lying senseless on the cobblestones. Fouché pulled the scarf away from his face, and then flicked open the dark coat. Underneath it the man was wearing a smartly tailored jacket and waistcoat. Fouché stood up.