Текст книги "The Fields of Death"

Автор книги: Simon Scarrow

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Rapp and the sergeants rose to their feet as their Emperor crossed the room towards them, his footsteps echoing off the cold flagstones.

‘Well? What have you got from him?’

‘Not much, sire.’ Rapp pursed his lips. ‘My boys had to work him over before we began to loosen his tongue.’

‘So I can see.’

‘He says his name is Friedrich Staps. He’s from Saxony.’

‘Who sent him to kill me?’

Rapp shrugged. ‘He says he was acting by himself.’

‘A likely story!’ Napoleon snorted. ‘Someone sent him. Someone who was too cowardly to face me in person. This boy must have had accomplices. I must have their names.’

‘He denied there was anyone else, sire.’

‘Then he’s lying.’

‘I don’t think so, sire. He was questioned for over eight hours. If he was trying to hide anything he would have said something by now that would have given the truth away.’ Rapp paused and regarded the youth frankly. ‘He stuck to his story through it all. He says he acted alone.’

‘I see,’ Napoleon mused. ‘What else did he say?’

‘He is a clerk in a trading company. He believes in a greater union of the German states, and he accuses you of standing in the way of the destiny of the German people.’

‘What about his family? Did he confess any links to the Prussian court?’

‘Hardly, sire. Staps says that his father is a parson.’

‘Then he did a bad job of teaching his son the ten commandments.’ Napoleon stood in front of the youth and shook his head slowly. ‘Whatever happened to “Thou shalt not kill”, eh?’

Staps swallowed the blood in his mouth and raised his head to look squarely at the French Emperor. ‘You tell me, sire. After all, I have attempted to kill one man. You have killed tens of thousands.’

Napoleon was silent for a moment. ‘That is different. That is war. What you tried to do was murder.’

‘That’s a matter of perspective,’ Staps replied.

‘Really?’ Napoleon smiled faintly. His curiosity was aroused by the young Saxon. He turned to Rapp. ‘Is he securely bound?’

‘Yes, sire. I checked his bonds myself.’

‘Then I want your men to wait outside. You stay.’

‘Yes, sire.’

The sergeants picked up their jackets and bowed their heads before marching across the room to the door of the storeroom. Napoleon waited until the door had closed behind them and then took one of the stools and dragged it round and sat directly in front of Staps. General Rapp stood to one side, behind the prisoner, ready to intervene should he try anything, even tightly bound as he was.

Napoleon stretched his shoulders, easing the strain, and then leaned forward, resting his elbows on his thighs and clasping his fingers together. ‘Young man, surely you can see that what you attempted was evil. Not only evil, but irrational. You could not hope to escape.’

‘I was not concerned by that,’ Staps replied, licking his lips and wincing at the pain this provoked.‘I merely wanted to kill you. Nothing else mattered.’

‘That is absurd,’ Napoleon countered.‘You were prepared to commit suicide?’

‘I am still alive.’

‘For now. But not for much longer.’ Napoleon tilted his head slightly to get a better view of Staps’s eyes. ‘You must know that you face execution for what you tried to do.’

Staps shrugged. ‘Of course. I expect nothing less.’

‘Then why do it? Suicide is not the act of a sane man.’

‘I beg to disagree, sire.’ Staps eased himself up, straightening his back so he could face the Emperor squarely. ‘I did not happen upon this course of action by chance. I am not inspired by madness. I believe that the German people must be freed from the shackles imposed on them by you. I considered how best this might be achieved. Clearly one man alone cannot take on an empire and win. However, one man might take on an emperor alone, and vanquish him.’

‘And if you had murdered me, do you think that would have won you freedom for your people?’ Napoleon shook his head. ‘If I had been killed, France would still hold sway over your German states.’

Staps smiled. ‘It seems to me that France is a monster with but one head. Remove that and the beast is beaten.’

‘You flatter me.’

‘No. I see things clearly enough, sire. You are a great man. Like all tyrants. That is why killing you would have changed everything.’

‘But you did not kill me. Nothing has changed, and you have wasted your life without purpose.’

‘Perhaps. But there is a chance that my death might inspire others.’

‘Inspire them to suicidal attacks?’ Napoleon laughed drily. ‘What makes you think that I have not learned from today’s attempt? In future it will be impossible for a man like you to get close to me.’

‘Impossible?’ Staps pursed his swollen lips. ‘Not impossible. Only more difficult. In time, another man . . .’ he paused and smiled faintly, ‘or woman will get close enough to you to make another attempt, and succeed where I failed. The odds are against you in the long run, sire. Surely you must see that?’

‘Supposing it is not a question of odds, but of fate,’ Napoleon countered. ‘Some men are chosen by fate for greatness, and fate alone decides when their time is over.’

‘If you believe that, then what need have you of bodyguards? I suspect that you have no wish to put it to the test.’ Staps looked at the Emperor shrewdly. ‘There’s something else that worries you, sire.’

‘Oh?’

‘The fear that stalks all great men. You believe in your greatness, and the thought that a man of no consequence, such as I, could put an end to your life is an effrontery to your sense of that greatness.’

Napoleon stared at him fixedly for a moment, and Staps stared back, unblinking. After a moment Napoleon smiled and patted the young man on the knee. ‘There’s some truth in what you say. Yet now it is you who diminish yourself.’

‘Me?’

‘My dear Staps, you are no common man. What you did took great courage. I recognise that. Surely such dedication to your cause must be most uncommon amongst your kind.’

Staps narrowed his eyes momentarily. ‘My kind?’

‘Those who believe as you do. The comrades who share your beliefs and work with you to oppose me.’

Staps shook his head wearily. ‘I told your interrogators, there is no one else. What I did, I did alone.’

‘But you say you did it for all Germans?’

‘One man may act for the benefit of all.’

‘But surely it is arrogant for you to assume you know what is of benefit to all? That is if you are speaking the truth about acting alone.’

‘It is no more arrogant for me to assume that than for you to assume that you rule for the benefit of your subjects, and all those who live under the sway of France. Who is to say that one man knows better than another, be he an emperor or a humble clerk?’

Rapp stirred at the last remark and bunched his fists as he took a step towards the prisoner. Napoleon glanced at him and waved him away, then leaned back and thought for a moment.

‘If I accept that you did act alone, now that you have been apprehended the threat to me has ended. Provided that I do not make a martyr of you.’

Staps looked at Napoleon curiously. ‘You would let me live?’

‘I could,’ Napoleon replied. ‘Provided that you made a public apology for your act.’

‘An apology?’

‘You would have to admit that what you did was wrong. An act of temporary madness perhaps. And now you have seen things more clearly you realise that your action was foolhardy and without just cause. If you would say that in public then I would spare your life and have you returned to your home to live out your life in peace.’

Staps laughed, then winced and coughed, spraying flecks of blood across Napoleon’s breeches. A minute passed before the pain subsided enough for him to speak again. ‘And you would make an example of me. Living proof of your magnanimity.’

‘Why not? That’s what it is,’ Napoleon replied tersely. ‘I offer you life.’

‘You offer me shame, sire. You offer me the coward’s way out. I would rather die.’

‘Then you are a fool indeed. Where is the logic in choosing death over life?’

‘I did not act from logic, sire, but principle. Where is the value of principle if a man refuses to place his faith in it, come what may?’

Napoleon raised his hands. ‘Enough!’ He paused and took a deep breath before he continued in as calm a tone as he could manage.‘Staps, I must tell you that you have impressed me. You have as much courage as the bravest of my soldiers. I do not want to put an end to a life with as much promise as yours. It would be a waste. All I require is an apology. Here and now. I will not even ask for you to make it in public. Then you can return to your home.’

‘Sire, I am honour bound to tell you that I cannot return home. Not while you live. I do not want your pardon. I only regret having failed in my attempt to kill you.’

‘Then you leave me no choice,’ Napoleon replied in frustration. ‘I must have you executed. But know this, it is by your will that you shall die. If you truly desire death, then death you shall have.’

Staps leaned forward with an earnest expression and a fierce light burned in his eyes. ‘Sire, you must believe that I want to live. I want to live, and find love, and marry and have children, and die in peaceful old age. As do other men. I can assure you I choose death as a last resort.’

‘Then choose life instead, you young fool! I offer it to you, here and now. What more would you have of me?’

Staps leaned back in his chair and was silent a moment before he continued in a flat tone. ‘I will choose life, if you promise to free the German states. If you swear, by all that is holy to you, to end your wars in Europe.’ Staps raised his chin. ‘If you agree to that, then I will accept your pardon.’

Napoleon’s jaw sagged for an instant before he recovered from the young man’s hubris. ‘You will accept my pardon? Well, that’s uncommonly generous of you, I must say.’ He turned to Rapp and asked rhetorically, ‘Did you hear that?’

‘I heard, sire. Obviously my lads have failed to beat the spirit out of him. Let me try to teach him some manners, sire.’

‘What is the point? He is mad. Quite mad.’

Staps shook his head. ‘Not mad, sire. What other reasonable course of action is left to a man when he is opposed by such might as you command? I have committed my life to ending yours. Nothing will change that.’

Napoleon sat back and stroked his cheek wearily. He could not help admiring the strength of the young man’s convictions, however much he disagreed with them. The youth was attractive and obviously thoughtful and intelligent. Not so intelligent, however, that he could be swayed by Napoleon’s offer to spare him. It was a tragedy that the qualities that most recommended him were the very ones that now condemned him. Napoleon sighed.

‘Very well, take him away. Have him put in a secure cell and kept under watch. Make sure that he is made comfortable and fed well.’

Rapp looked surprised for an instant before he shrugged and stepped forward to haul the youth to his feet. Grasping him by the arm, the French officer marched him to the door, opened it and thrust him into the hands of the waiting sergeants. When the orders had been given he shut the door and returned to his Emperor, who was staring at the blood-spattered paving slabs under the chair that Staps had been sitting on. At length he looked up at the general.

‘Do you believe him?’

‘Sire?’

‘That he was acting alone?’

‘I don’t know, sire. He says he was.’

Napoleon thought for a moment.‘I cannot believe it. There are other conspirators . . . there must be. Staps is the product of all those secret societies that I am told infest the German states. Men like him are under the influence of religious zealots and political schemers. They make young men into assassins and fill their heads with false ideologies. But how can we fight against false ideas? They cannot be destroyed by cannon balls.’

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.

‘Here, on the desk.’ Napoleon tapped the gleaming wooden surface to his right. The servant crossed the room and carefully lowered the tray before bowing his head and backing away. Napoleon finished his notes and set the pen down. The pleasant odour of onion soup curled into his nostrils, and he eased the tray across the desk in front of him. Outside the rain rattled against the window panes in an irregular rhythm as the wind moaned over the chateau. Taking up the spoon he began to sip carefully, his mind soon moving back to the most pressing of the issues weighing on his mind – the matter of how to break the news to Josephine.

A week later Napoleon ate alone with his wife. The last of the dinner service had been cleared away, with most of the food lying untouched on the fine chinaware. At length a steward served them coffee and then retired from the small salon where the Emperor and Empress had taken their supper. It was bitterly cold outside and night had long since closed over the chateau. Hardly a word had been spoken over the meal, beyond mere pleasantries. Napoleon’s stomach was too knotted with anxiety to allow him to eat and he had had to force himself to eat a few mouthfuls of chicken before poking at the rest of the meal and finally laying aside his cutlery and clicking his fingers for the servants to clear the table.

‘It will soon be Christmas,’ Josephine observed at length.

‘Yes.’

Josephine raised her cup and sipped carefully. ‘Nothing has been arranged.’

‘No.’

‘Well, don’t you think we should organise an event of some kind? A celebration?’

Napoleon looked at her, feeling sick at the imminence of his betrayal. ‘There will be nothing for us to celebrate.’

‘What?’ Josephine lowered her cup slightly. ‘Why do you say that? What is wrong, my love? You have been so cold with me from the moment you returned.’

‘I . . . I have something to tell you.’ Napoleon swallowed nervously and found that he could not continue. Josephine saw the pained look in his face and began to rise from her chair to come and comfort him. ‘Sit down,’ he ordered. Then, aware of the harshness of his tone, he forced himself to soften his voice. ‘Please, sit, my love.’

After a moment, she did as she was told and stared back at him. ‘What is it? Tell me.’

There was no longer any means of avoiding the moment and Napoleon took a calming breath before he spoke. ‘I must divorce you.’

‘What?’

‘I have to divorce you. I must have an heir. So I must find a new wife.’

She stared at him and then laughed nervously. ‘You are joking. That’s it. You are teasing me.’

‘No. It’s true.’ Napoleon felt the relief begin to flow through his body now that he could finally explain the situation. ‘This is not about you and me, it is about France. I love you, I always have. But we must be brave and put the needs of our people before our own.’ He watched her dumbstruck expression closely. ‘Do you understand?’

Josephine shook her head faintly, her lips trembling. ‘No . . . No . . .’

‘I wish, with every fibre in my body, that we could avoid this situation,’ Napoleon continued gently. ‘But it has to be done.’

Josephine clenched her fists. ‘Don’t. Please don’t.’

‘I have to. If we are to be divorced then we cannot be together. It would be unseemly.’

‘Don’t do this, my darling.’ Her voice quavered. ‘I beg you.’

‘It has already been done. The senate ratified the decree earlier today. I will announce it in Paris tomorrow, and we will both sign the formal agreement before the imperial court. It is best for it all to be done as swiftly as possible.’ Napoleon smiled. ‘To ease our suffering, you understand.’

‘NO! NO! NO!’ Josephine screamed, sweeping her arm out across the table, knocking her coffee cup and saucer flying towards the fireplace, where it exploded into fragments with a sharp crash. She rose to her feet and lurched round the table towards him, then stopped and stared at him, eyes wild.

‘NO!’ She suddenly raised her fist and Napoleon instinctively flinched. Instead of striking him, she struck her breast, hard, again and again.

‘Don’t do that!’ Napoleon stretched a hand towards her.‘Please don’t, my love.’

A sob racked her body, and then her legs gave way and she fell on to the thick rug underneath the table and curled up on the floor as she screamed and wept. Napoleon stared at her for a moment, knowing that he must not weaken this time. Her tears had undone his anger many times in the past, and caused him to change his mind. But not this time, he told himself. He pushed his chair back and stood over her.

‘Get up, Josephine. Stop crying.’

She shook her head and continued sobbing, adding a grief-stricken shriek every now and then as Napoleon stared at her, helpless as pity and irritation vied to control his thoughts. Behind him the door opened and there was a footman, holding a lamp, and beside him stood Baron Bausset.

‘Sire? I heard cries. Is anything the matter?’

Napoleon gestured towards Josephine. ‘What do you think? Come here, I need your help.’

‘Yes, sire.’

As Bausset hurried across to the table, Josephine reached out and grasped Napoleon’s leg. ‘Help me up,’ she muttered. ‘I don’t want to be seen like this.’

He leaned down and grasped her shoulder, slipping the other hand round her waist as he eased her on to her feet. Her eyes were puffy and red, her cheeks streaked with tears, and her bottom lip trembled. Napoleon felt a terrible guilt burning in his veins and a compulsion to hold her in his arms. Then Bausset arrived at his side and the spell was broken.

‘Here, you help the Empress.’ Napoleon tried to pull himself free but Josephine clung to his arm desperately.

‘Don’t leave me!’

‘I’m not leaving you. I’ll help you to your apartments.’

Her eyes glittered for an instant. ‘Yes. That would be kind of you.’

She eased her grip and Napoleon slipped free, taking a quick pace back. ‘Here, Bausset, you hold the Empress. Tightly, don’t let her fall. I’ll light the way.’

Bausset quickly stepped in and took his place. Josephine forced a smile and thanked the imperial official frostily as her husband carefully took a candle from the holder on the table. Cupping his spare hand round the flame to shield it from any draught, he led the way to the door. With Bausset supporting the Empress, the small party made their way to a small rear staircase and began climbing the steps to Josephine’s apartments on the floor above. As they reached the top step she suddenly went limp in Bausset’s arms and started weeping again.

‘Don’t do it, Napoleon. For pity’s sake don’t divorce me.’

Napoleon turned round. ‘Quiet!’ he hissed. ‘Bausset, for God’s sake, keep a firm grip on her.’

With Bausset half carrying and half dragging Josephine, the three of them made their way down the corridor to the door of her sleeping chamber. Napoleon opened the door and stood to one side, holding the candle high.

‘Get her over there on the bed. Quickly.’

Bausset did as he was ordered and gently laid the Empress down on her silken quilt, before retiring towards his master.

Napoleon felt a sudden burning on his wrist. ‘Shit!’ He snatched the candle down to brush away the molten wax with his spare hand and the little flame flickered wildly.

‘Don’t leave me!’ Josephine rose up on her elbow, her other hand stretched out towards him.

‘Out!’ Napoleon ordered Bausset. ‘Now.’

The two men hurried into the corridor and Napoleon shut the door firmly behind them, cutting off a fresh bout of tears and cries of anguish. He puffed his cheeks with relief before he looked at Bausset. ‘Stay here. The Empress is distraught and needs to rest. She is not to be permitted to leave her apartments until I say. She may receive visitors if she desires, but it would be . . . inappropriate for her to encounter me in the present circumstances, you understand.’

‘Yes, sire. I will see to it.’

‘Good.’ Napoleon patted him on the shoulder and then turned back towards the staircase, being careful not to let the wax drip on to his hand again. Once he was out of earshot of Bausset he shook his head. He felt worn out. His heart was leaden and yet he was grateful for the sense of release and relief that washed over him. He sniffed wryly to himself.

‘That went well, then.’

Chapter 13

The members of the imperial court entered the throne room of the Tuileries palace in silence. They filed to their assigned places and waited for the sombre ceremony to begin. The previous night had been bitterly cold and the roofs of the capital gleamed under a coating of frost, while jagged crystals of ice had formed in the corners of each pane of glass in the throne room. The sky was a leaden grey, adding to the gloom of the mood of those assembled to await the arrival of the Emperor.

At length, some hour or so after the members of the court had gathered in the chamber, the tramp of soldiers’ boots in the corridor outside announced the arrival of the Emperor and his bodyguards. The doors of the room opened with a light creak and Napoleon entered. He strode across to the elaborately carved gold leaf and velvet cushioned throne positioned on a raised dais. The throne of the Empress had been removed the previous evening and carried off to a storeroom. When he had taken his seat there was a short pause before more footsteps announced the arrival of the Empress. Josephine wore a simple dark blue gown, as if she was going to a funeral, Napoleon reflected. She crossed the room and stood a short distance in front of the dais, facing him. He could see that she had been crying again, and her skin seemed even more pale than usual.

Napoleon cleared his throat and looked round the chamber at the members of his family, his ministers, the members of the senate, scores of his marshals and generals, and representatives from the church. Josephine was the only woman in the room.

‘My lords, I have summoned you here to bear witness to a sad, but necessary, day in our lives. For reasons of state, I am compelled to end my marriage to the Empress Josephine. The senate has ratified the required decree and today both I and my wife will sign the civil register acknowledging the end of our marriage.’ He paused, not daring to look at her, and fixed his gaze on a ceiling moulding near the top of the opposite wall. Despite all his intentions to keep the formalities brief and without emotion, he could feel his throat constricting painfully. He coughed.

‘Before the decree is signed, I wish it to be known that I impute no fault, nor lack of love, to the Empress; nor do I mean her any disfavour. The only fault that has brought us to this unfortunate decision lies in the failure of nature to provide us with an heir to succeed me to the imperial throne.’