Текст книги "The Generals"
Автор книги: Simon Scarrow
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Текущая страница: 39 (всего у книги 45 страниц)
It was becoming clear that the Austrians had no intention of signing a peace treaty and Napoleon had ordered Moreau to mass his forces on the Rhine. If there was no treaty by December Napoleon had resolved to renew the war.Then there was a fresh outbreak of rebellion in the Vendée, led by the royalist Georges Cadoudal. Fouché had given orders that Cadoudal and his followers were to be hanged on the spot if they were captured. Yet they were still at large and plotting to spread their rebellion, and there were even rumours of an attempt to be made on Napoleon’s life.
He pressed his head back into his bolster and yawned.
‘I bore you then?’
He swore under his breath and leaned over her. ‘You are the centre of my world, Josephine, but there are demands made of me from every direction of the compass. What can I do? France depends on me, and I cannot ignore her, even for you. Surely you can see that?’
‘I can see where your priorities lie well enough.’ She turned on her side, away from him, and Napoleon was left looking at the shallow arch of her spine for a moment before he kissed the nape of her neck.
‘As soon as I can, I will spend an evening with you.’
‘When?’
He thought quickly. There was a new production of Haydn’s oratorio The Creationopening in December. He would take her to that, and make a lavish evening of it.There would be a dinner at the Luxembourg, and then the guests would proceed to the Opéra in a convoy of coaches. Napoleon made a mental note of the details and resolved to have Lucien make arrangements for the event first thing in the morning.
Towards the end of November, Napleon’s patience with Austria finally gave out and he gave the order to General Moreau to march towards Vienna. He was eating dinner with Josephine one evening early in December when they were interrupted by Berthier. Napoleon noticed his chief of staff’s excited smile at once.
‘What is it, Berthier?’
‘A great victory, sir. The Austrian army blundered into Moreau’s forces at Hohenlinden and was cut to pieces. They lost over eighteen thousand men.’
‘What is Moreau doing now?’
‘He’s sent two of his generals, Ney and Grouchy, to pursue the Austrians.’
Napoleon recalled the names from the personnel records in the Ministry of War. Both were aggressive commanders who were far more likely to keep the pressure on the enemy than Moreau. He nodded with satisfaction, before turning his gaze back to Berthier. ‘I want a full report on the battle as soon as possible. Make sure that Lucien gets a copy, and that he gets an announcement into the papers for tomorrow. If all goes well, the war will be over before Christmas. That will give the people more than enough cause to celebrate.’
‘Yes, sir. Will that be all?’
‘No.’ Napoleon’s eyes glittered as a new thought struck him. ‘Tell Moreau that if he can force an armistice on the Austrians, it is to be signed on Christmas Day.That will be a fine story for the newspapers. And the day before, we shall attend the Opéra.’ He grinned at Josephine. ‘That will give the people of Paris a Christmas to remember for years to come.’
The carriages set off from the courtyard of the Luxembourg Palace shortly after six in the evening. The First Consul’s carriage led the procession. Those that followed carried friends, including Josephine’s son and daughter, Eugène and Hortense. A cold night had closed in over the capital and a mantle of freezing fog lay across the tiled roofs. Even so, the streets were crowded along the route to the opera house. Details of the procession had been published several days before and the people had turned out in their thousands to catch sight of the First Consul and his wife. Many had already been drinking and the streets echoed to the sound of singing and cheers. Torches had been lit along the route and cast a rosy glow in the fog that added to the gaiety of the scene. A squadron of dragoons rode ahead of the carriages, the breastplates of the riders gleaming, and the horses’ coats shining as they snorted plumes of breath into the night air.
Napoleon was wearing the scarlet coat of the First Consul, heavily patterned with gold braid. He smiled as he waved to the crowds. He felt happier than he had in many years. Earlier in the day he had received news that the Austrians had asked for an armistice, and guaranteed to sign peace preliminaries as soon as possible. They could hardly do otherwise with Moreau’s army poised to take Vienna. At long last, peace in Europe was in his grasp. And then England would be on her own. Napoleon’s celebratory mood, and that of the people of Paris, were as one. He reached a hand across to Josephine and entwined his gloved fingers about hers. She turned to him, and even though she wore a thick fur coat he felt her hand tremble.
‘Cold?’
‘No.’ She smiled. ‘Excited. And proud. So very proud of you.’
The carriage suddenly lurched as it turned into the Rue Saint-Nicaise, pressing them together, and they laughed in surprise, and Napoleon darted his head towards Josephine and kissed her lightly on the lips.
‘I love you,’ he said softly. ‘This night more than ever.’
‘And I love you.’ She kissed him back and squeezed his hand. ‘I just wish Eugène and Hortense could have shared the carriage with us.’
‘I’m sure they are happy enough where they are. Besides, if they were with us, I rather fear that everyone’s gaze would be drawn to them. They certainly have their mother’s fine looks.’
Josephine shook her head, but smiled all the same at the compliment. Then her eyes lit up as she glanced at something over Napoleon’s shoulder. ‘Oh! Look there!’
He turned and saw that two small children had climbed on top of a large barrel resting on a wagon, parked at the side of the street. Between them they held up a tricolour flag with his name embroidered on it. Napoleon waved at them and they shouted with delight and waved back frantically. Just before they passed out of sight he glimpsed a glittering spark below them in the wagon. Then the carriage jolted as it passed by and the children and the wagon were gone.
Josephine chuckled. ‘It seems your public loves you.’Then she noticed the faint frown in his brow. ‘What? What is it?’
Napoleon shook his head. ‘I’m not sure.’
He leaned out of the window and stared back towards the wagon at an angle. The children were still waving. He shrugged and settled back against the seat cushion. Josephine was still staring at him and he forced himself to laugh. ‘It’s nothing. Really.’
Outside in the street the world dissolved into a brilliant flash of white, then orange, and an instant later there was a deafening roar, and the carriage was slammed forward as if a giant fist had struck the rear. Napoleon and Josephine were hurled against the seats opposite, amid a shower of broken glass. For a moment Napoleon could hear nothing, and his head felt as if it was stuffed with wool.The light from the torches outside had gone and thick black smoke smothered the street. He shook off the glass and groped towards Josephine, his heart beating in panic and dread. He felt her body, and as she stirred a wave of relief swept through him. His ears filled with a dull roaring sound that slowly resolved into specific noises: the shrill whinny of an injured horse; screams and moans and the shouts of people frantically calling out for their friends and family.
‘Napoleon?’ Josephine’s voice sounded slightly muffled as she pulled herself up on to a seat and held his face in her hands. He saw that her cheek was bleeding from a cut. She spoke again, and he heard her more clearly this time as his hearing recovered. ‘Are you all right?’
‘I’m fine . . . I think.’ Napoleon glanced over his body and flexed his limbs.There was no pain and no blood.Then he turned to the shattered window on his side of the carriage. ‘An explosion. A bomb.’
At once he recalled the convoy of carriages behind them and pushed down the handle of the door. It swung open and Napoleon scrambled down into the street and stared back along the convoy. The cart and barrel on which the two children had stood to greet Napoleon had vanished.The street was filled with the bodies of people and horses and the shattered remains of carriages. Every window as far as Napoleon could see had been shattered and the buildings immediately around the point of the explosion had collapsed. An officer from the Consular Guard ran up and took his arm.
‘Sir! Get back in the carriage.We have to get you out of here!’
‘Leave me alone.’ Napoleon gestured towards the blackened figures stirring amid the carnage. ‘Help those people!’
The officer stared at him briefly and then nodded, turning to his men. ‘Follow me!’
‘My God . . .’ Josephine mumbled.
Napoleon looked round and saw that she had followed him down from the carriage. She stared past him, and then thrust her gloved hand to her mouth as her eyes widened in terror. ‘My children! My children . . . My Eugène. Hortense. Where are they?’
She brushed past him and ran back towards what was left of the following coaches and Napoleon went after her, his heart heavy with dread. Only a miracle could have spared those caught in the full blast of the explosion.
Chapter 63
Napoleon followed Josephine as she went from the remains of one carriage to the next, picking her way over rubble, fragments of wood, shattered limbs, and the carcasses of horses. Some of the bystanders and men of the Consular Guard had found some torches from further up the street and moved over the scene in their search for the survivors.
‘Mother!’ a voice cried out and Josephine snapped towards it.
‘Eugène! Is that you?’
A shape waved to them in the gloom. ‘Yes, over here.’
Napoleon and Josephine clambered across a pile of rubble from one of the collapsed buildings and found that the carriages towards the rear of the convoy were still intact. The horses and driver of Eugène’s carriage had all been killed by flying masonry and splinters from the carriage ahead of them.The door hung on one bent hinge and Eugène beckoned to them desperately. ‘In here. Quickly.’
When they reached the carriage Napoleon and Josephine looked inside and saw Eugène cradling his sister in his arms. There was a livid streak of blood down the silk material of her dress and she looked up with a dazed expression at her mother and stepfather.
‘Oh, God.’ Josephine’s voice caught in a choke before she continued, ‘She’s hurt. Out of my way!’ She hauled herself into the carriage and pushed Eugène to one side as her hands traced the flow of blood up to the torn flesh of the girl’s wrist. A jet of blood arced into the carriage and splashed on Josephine’s cheek.
‘Get some pressure on the wound!’ Napoleon snapped as he squeezed in beside his wife. ‘Eugène. Find a doctor. At once.’
‘Where?’
‘Just do it!’
Eugène stumbled away and Napoleon hurriedly unwound the fine scarf from round his neck and began to tie it round the injury, as tightly as he could. Hortense gasped at the pain and Josephine glanced furiously at her husband.
‘I have to stop the flow of blood,’ he explained gently. ‘It’s her only chance.’
But even as he spoke the blood continued to well up through the material.
‘Mama, I’m cold.’ Hortense’s eyes fluttered. ‘So cold.’
Her body began trembling violently and Josephine grasped her chin. ‘Oh, God, please, no. Not Hortense. Please God.’ She shook her daughter. ‘Hortense . . .’
The girl moaned faintly in her throat and her whole body was shaking.
Josephine glanced up. ‘She needs help.’
‘Eugène is finding someone.’
‘Mother . . .’ Hortense’s voice was little more than a murmur. ‘I’m cold. Hold me.’
Josephine drew her daughter in close to her, nuzzling her soft hair as she stroked Hortense’s cheek. ‘My baby . . . My baby.’The first tears glistened in Josephine’s eyes, and rolled down her cheeks, smearing her make-up. Napoleon tied off the dressing and held the girl’s cold hand. Josephine was rocking her daughter gently in her arms, as if the girl was an infant. She continued to whisper endearments and comforting noises until Eugène returned.
‘I’ve cleared a path for your carriage, and sent word for a doctor to go to the palace at once.’
‘Good boy.’ Napoleon patted his stepson on the arm.‘Now we must get your mother and sister away from here.’ Napoleon eased Josephine away from her daughter, who had passed out. Slipping his hands under the girl’s shoulders, Napoleon turned to Eugène. ‘Here. Give me a hand.’
The study was lit by the fire alone, and Napoleon sat in a chair staring into the flames as the wood hissed and crackled. He was still smeared with smoke and black smudges, and his formal coat was unbuttoned and hung open. He held a large glass of brandy in his hands. As he gazed into the wavering orange glare at the heart of the fire he saw the explosion, and its terrible aftermath, playing out in his mind, almost as if it was happening again.
After he had helped carry Hortense back to his carriage and settled Josephine in beside her with her son, Napoleon ordered his driver to return to the Luxembourg Palace at once. Then he turned back to the scene of the attack and helped the men of the Consular Guard to pick through the wreckage looking for any more survivors. It was as bad as any battlefield Napoleon had ever seen; so many of the casualties were women and children. Those closest to the explosion had been blasted to pieces. Fouché had rushed to the site, anxiously searching for his master, and his expression was a picture of relief as he seized Napoleon by the arm.
‘Thank God! There are already rumours that you had been killed.’
Napoleon glanced round the devastated street. ‘I was lucky.’
‘No.’ Fouché shook his head. ‘France was lucky. We have to move fast, to quash the rumours. The people have to know that you are unharmed, before anyone tries to take advantage of the situation. Come, sir.’ He gently pulled Napoleon towards the end of the street.
‘Where are we going?’ Napoleon muttered.
‘To the Opéra.’
Napoleon stopped dead, and pulled himself free of Fouché’s grasp. ‘The Opéra? After what’s happened? Are you mad?’
‘We have to show your face in public, sir,’ Fouché insisted. ‘The Opéra is as good a place as any. And it’s nearby. Come on, sir. There’s no time to waste.’
They collected some of the Consular Guards as they went and by the time they reached the steps leading up to the main entrance an anxious crowd had spilled out from their seats to try to find out more details of the explosion. The Guards cleared a path through the crowd and Napoleon mounted the steps and turned at the top. At once there was a sound, as if the whole crowd shared a sigh of relief, and then excited muttering broke out before a lone voice cried. ‘ Vive Napoleon!’
The cry was quickly taken up and echoed off the tall façade of the Opéra. Napoleon raised his hand and waved to the crowd in response to their open affection and relief that he had been unharmed. The cheering continued, minute after minute, until Fouché touched his shoulder and spoke loudly into his ear. ‘I have commandeered a carriage for you, just round the corner. You’ll be taken back to the palace and your wife.’
Napoleon nodded mutely, then lowered his arm and followed Fouché down the steps and along the front of the Opéra to the corner. The carriage was just past the turning and guarded by several of Fouché’s mounted policemen.
‘You can trust them,’ Fouché said, noticing Napoleon’s expression. ‘You’ll be safe with my men.’
He helped Napoleon up into the cab.‘I’ll join you once I have given the orders to begin a hunt for the people behind the attack.’
Napoleon nodded and shut the door. At once the carriage lurched into motion and rattled over the cobbled street as the mounted policemen cleared a path through the crowd, warily looking about them for any sign of further danger to the First Consul.
At his private apartments, Napoleon went immediately to find his wife. She was in her private sitting room, with her son, her physician and some of her closest friends. Her face was streaked with tears as she watched the doctor tend to Hortense’s wound. Napoleon stared at them for a moment, before the doctor noticed him and called out softly, ‘She will be fine, sir. She’s lost a lot of blood, but she is a strong girl.’
Napoleon nodded his gratitude and then quietly slipped away to his study. He felt guilty. The bomb was meant for him, not Josephine’s daughter, and she would not have been injured if he had not become the First Consul, or if he had not decided to arrange the trip to the Opéra. Reaching his study, he ordered a servant to light the fire, and then he poured himself a drink and sat down to wait for Fouché.
Shortly after midnight, the door to the study clicked open and Napoleon glanced up as the Minister of the Interior entered the room. He nodded towards a chair on the other side of the fire and Fouché sat down.
Napoleon cleared his throat. ‘What was the butcher’s bill?’
‘Over fifty casualties so far, half of them dead.’ Fouché paused a moment before he changed the subject. ‘But you’re alive and unhurt, and that’s the main thing. I’ve primed the newpaper editors with the story I want to run tomorrow. I’ve told them it’s the work of royalist and Jacobin agents.’
Napoleon sniffed faintly. ‘An unlikely combination.’
‘Maybe, but this outrage may provide the excuse we need to crack down on both parties. I’ve given orders to start rounding up all those we suspect of being their ringleaders. Someone will know something about the plot. It’s just a matter of asking the questions in the appropriate manner.’
‘You’re talking about torture.’
‘Torture? Not the word to use, I think.We’ll call it something like coercive interrogation, to help keep the newspapers on our side.We might possibly discover who was behind the plot, but we are sure to uncover a great many pieces of useful information while we are at it.’ His eyes glinted at the prospect, before he assumed a more sombre expression and leaned forward towards the First Consul. ‘I heard the news about your stepdaughter a short while ago. I am told she will recover. That must be a comfort to know.’
‘I don’t want comforting words,’ Napoleon replied quietly. ‘I want you to find the men behind this. I don’t care what it takes. I don’t care how many people get hurt to produce information about the bastards who tried to kill me. Find them, Fouché. Find them and bring them to justice.They will pay for this with their heads.’
The Minister of the Interior’s network of agents and informers scoured the streets, cafés and salons of the capital and within weeks they had uncovered the identities of the two men who had improvised the explosive device. They were quickly arrested and taken before Fouché and his interrogators, who knew every refinement of the art of extracting information. Fouché reported to Napoleon that the men were working for Cadoudal, and had no connection with the Jacobins. Nevertheless, that fact would be suppressed in order to justify the arrest and exile of hundreds of political opponents that had taken place in the weeks immediately after the explosion.The two men had broken down under the relentless pressure of Fouché’s interrogators and had implicated a number of leading royalists in the plot, including many émigrés. Once they had given up all they knew, the men were summarily tried, sentenced to death and shot before dawn in the courtyard of Fouché’s ministry.
It came as no surprise to Napoleon to learn that the attack had been planned in England, and paid for with English gold. His heart hardened towards the most resolute and ruthless enemy of the revolution.That the English government had resorted to such underhand terrorist methods was a clear sign to Napoleon of the lengths they were prepared to go to defeat France.
There was little time to nurse his grievance, however. Once again the Austrians were using delaying tactics at the Lunéville negotiations and, when the peace preliminaries had still not been signed by the end of January, Napoleon sent a curt warning that unless they were signed at once the French armies would resume their march on Vienna. The Austrians hurriedly recanted, agreed to French terms and signed the Treaty of Lunéville early in February. A month later a treaty was signed with the King of Naples which closed the ports of his kingdom to English ships. William Pitt’s coalition had failed and in March he was forced from office. England had at last run out of allies. Napoleon drew cold comfort from the fall of his adversary. France dominated Europe and could afford to wait until the English were humbled enough to beg for peace. Meanwhile, he continued to work every hour that he could to change France for ever, so that there could never be a return to the gross inequalities of the years before the revolution.
Corruption by government officials was exposed and punished. Ministers were constantly called to account for their failures and set new tasks. A system of grain silos was established to safeguard the people against failed harvests, and the newly established Bank of France became the sole source of paper currency, replacing the hated and almost worthless assignats. Mindful of the need to appeal to the patriotic spirit of the people Napoleon made plans for laying down new streets and avenues in the capital – to be named after the recent victories of the army, and the victories yet to come. At the same time, the plans had the additional benefit of creating thoroughfares wide enough to be easily commanded by a handful of cannon in the event of any uprising.
The constant stream of new initiatives that poured from the office of the First Consul steadily eclipsed the role of the other branches of the legislature set up by the new constitution, and while the senate broadly approved of Napoleon’s actions the assembly of tribunes resented his abrogation of power. Napoleon knew that the time would soon come when he would be forced to remould the constitution in his favour. Before then he would need to do everything in his power to win the support of the people. The thing they desired above all was peace, and with that achieved on the continent at least, France began to enjoy the benefits of order and prosperity as spring blossomed across the land.
It was then that the situation began to change.
‘The Tsar assassinated?’ Napoleon rose from his chair. ‘When?’
‘Three weeks ago, at the end of March,’ Talleyrand replied. ‘Tsar Paul was killed by a group of his generals and senior members of his own household. Including his son, Alexander, who is now the new ruler.’
Napoleon gave a wry chuckle. ‘I doubt there has ever been a more dangerous family to be born into.’ His expression became more serious. ‘What do we know of this Alexander? What are his intentions towards us?’
‘Our ambassador says that Alexander is keen to mend relations with England. It’s bad timing. Just when I thought we might make an alliance with Russia.’
Napoleon was silent for a moment as he walked over to his window and stared down into the gardens of the palace. ‘Damn those Russians. They will ruin everything for us one day.’
The news added greatly to his concerns over the report that an English army had landed in Egypt. The last hope of any French intervention in India had been crushed by the Governor General and his brother, a more than capable soldier who had done much to turn the military situation to England’s advantage. Then there was the matter of an uprising in the colony of San Domingo, and Spain was unwilling to return Louisiana to France. As long as the enemy controlled the seas, France would be denied ready access to her colonies.The time had come to cut cards with the devil, Napoleon concluded reluctantly. He turned towards his foreign minister.
‘We must have peace with England, as soon as possible. We need time to settle our overseas affairs. Time to build our navy up to strength.’
‘To what purpose?’ Talleyrand asked quietly.
‘So that when the conflict begins again – which it will – we can clear the Channel of enemy warships and land an army in England.’
‘I see.’Talleyrand shrugged.‘So it is not a lasting peace we shall be seeking, then?’
‘There can be no lasting peace with England. Either France prevails or England does. The world is too small for us to share.’
‘What are your instructions, First Consul?’
‘Send an envoy to Prime Minister Addington.Tell him France wants peace. I imagine that the English will be in no mood to turn down such an offer. They have been at war as long as we have.’
Napoleon had gauged the English mind well. The new Prime Minister agreed to begin talks, and as summer wore on the tentative negotiations gradually resolved into the drafting of a preliminary agreement. Napoleon was eager to sign the document, but the English managed to find one excuse after another to delay. By the end of the summer Napoleon had had enough. Just as he had done with Austria, he issued an ultimatum. The agreement was to be signed by October, or France would break off negotiations and renew the war. The English gave in. The document was signed and hostilities ended. In the weeks that followed, the representatives of France and England met at Amiens to settle the final details of the peace treaty.
Finally, at the end of March 1802, when the First Consul and his wife had retired to the château at St-Cloud for a brief rest from his duties, Talleyrand arrived one evening. He was shown into the orangery where Napoleon and Josephine were having tea and cakes beside a small stove.Talleyrand bowed graciously to Josephine before he gave his news to Napoleon.
‘The treaty has been signed.’ He smiled warmly. ‘The English put their seal on it a few days ago.’
‘No last-minute alterations to the terms?’ Napoleon asked in an equally good humour.
‘We have what we asked for. England is to return the colonies they seized from us, as well as those taken from Spain and Holland. The only territories they get to keep will be Trinidad and Ceylon. They’ve also agreed to hand Malta back to the Knights of St John, and Egypt is to be returned to Turkey. In return we are to pull our troops out of Naples and the papal territories.’
Napoleon clapped his hands together and rubbed them happily.‘Wonderful! If only I could see Mr Pitt’s expression now! It could not have been better.’
‘No, the timing is perfect. Next month we’ll have the Concordat with Rome in our hands.There will not be a man in France who won’t be rejoicing.’
‘I can imagine there will be one or two who might not. But this news will bury any arguments about the legitimacy of the new constitution. I have provided order, economic revival and international respect. Who dares to question me now?’
For a moment the foreign minister’s expression registered surprise, then the mask slipped smoothly back into place.‘You are right, of course, Citizen Consul. The nation owes you far more than it can ever repay. But, surely, for the sake of appearances, it is best that the success be seen to be due to the efforts of the consuls, senators, tribunes and deputies collectively?’
‘Why?’ Napoleon responded bluntly. ‘Only a fool would not be able to detect my guiding hand behind all of this. The improvements to France’s fortunes are largely due to my efforts, Talleyrand. I see no harm in letting the people know it.’
‘The harm is that some people – disposed to jealousy and mendacity as they are – will start rumours that it is a sign of your dictatorial ambitions.’
‘Then let them.’ Napoleon dismissed the idea with a curt wave of his hand. ‘The people know that I am no dictator. I do not seek power for myself. I seek only to express the general will of the French people. They understand that.’
Talleyrand’s eyelids flickered. ‘Let us hope so, Citizen Consul. Now, if you will forgive me, I must return to my ministry to ensure that news of the treaty is dispatched to our embassies. I came here because I just wanted to tell you the news in person. Madame Bonaparte.’ He bowed to Josephine again.
Napoleon nodded. ‘My thanks, Talleyrand. For all that you have done.’
‘As you say, citizen, it is we who must thank you, for all that you have achieved.’
He bowed his head, turned, and left the orangery, closing the door gently behind him before he crunched away along the gravel path to the stables.
Josephine stared after him for a moment and then poured herself and her husband another cup of tea. ‘That man sees through you, Napoleon.You must be careful of him.’
‘Careful?’ Napoleon seemed vaguely insulted by the idea. ‘Don’t worry about him. I know exactly what he is. Every inch an aristocrat, but at least he has his country’s interests at heart. I can trust him that far at least.’
Josephine pursed her lips. ‘Perhaps . . .’ She sipped her tea and then continued. ‘This peace. Do you think it will last?’
‘No,’ Napoleon replied bluntly. ‘The English have given up more than they would like, and it has not resolved the issues which caused the war in the first place. In truth this treaty is doomed. But at least there will be a short peace for all Europe to celebrate. That, at least, is a good thing.’
Josephine looked at him steadily. ‘Does that mean that you will have more time to spend with me? It seems, since the attempt on your life, that you have been working harder than ever. It feels as if . . . as if you have been avoiding me for some reason.’
Napoleon stared at her. He saw the hurt look in her eyes and suddenly realised how much he had been taking her for granted. Yet he did not want to assume the mantle of blame. ‘It is not my fault, Josephine. France needs me. I must devote myself to the nation. It is my duty.There is so much to do. So much still to be done.’
She raised a hand to stop him. ‘I know. I know all of that. It’s true. But I am your wife, Napoleon. Is there no obligation to me? What about your duty to me? When Hortense was injured you know whom I had to turn to for comfort? My son. Because my husband was too busy.’
The words were spoken in a cold, harsh tone that wounded him.
