by Iain Gale
‘Monsieur Choiseul, it is all my pleasure. My great pleasure.’
Choiseul spoke. ‘Captain Williams, allow me to introduce Colonel Harrison, late of the 4th Maryland Light Horse, one of our esteemed American allies in the war against oppression.’
Keane clenched his teeth at the expression and contrived to appear as revolutionary as he could. ‘Colonel Harrison. It is my pleasure to meet you. James Williams, Légion Irlandaise.’
‘Why, sir, it’s a great honour to meet anyone who fights for the Irish Legion. My God, how is your dear commander? I saw him last a year ago. Is he still as well as he was then?’
It was Keane’s worst nightmare brought to life.
‘Colonel Lawless is as good as he ever was, sir.’
‘You know, it is quite natural that we should be allies with France against our common enemy, your ancient enemy the English. By God, we may have won our freedom, but they are still our oppressors.’
Keane summoned up in his memory everything he could about the native Irish, with whom he had very little in common. He thought back to his teens and to the 1798 rebellion that had driven the country apart; to the bitterness he had seen and experienced in those times – men, women and children put to the sword and, more hideously, to the pike. Now, he thought, now is the time to pour it out. My God, he prayed, let me for once appear to be a patriotic Irishman! And then he began.
‘I have so much admiration for you, colonel. What you managed in 1776, our French friends managed in ’89 and surely we ourselves might manage soon enough. You have forged an entire new nation out of your revolution. These noble Frenchmen have to thank the emperor for what he has done for them. And we Irishmen are just biding our time. Our colours are tied firmly to those of the emperor and we fight in the green of our homeland for the better good of France, knowing that in time it will be for our own good.’
Keane was rather pleased with his impromptu oration, and to judge by the Frenchman’s nodding, smiling face, it seemed to have paid off with Choiseul.
Harrison replied, ‘So you are aware that my country is now at war with England?’
‘Of course, colonel, how could I not be? It has been my greatest hope. Perhaps we might manage to recruit a new battalion of the Irish Legion to fight with yourselves. There are after all so many Irishmen in your country.’
Harrison nodded. ‘That is not a false hope, captain. In fact it is something about which I have already hinted to our president.’
Choiseul looked enraptured. ‘You have?’
‘Why certainly. It makes perfect sense. Perhaps you would lead the contingent yourself, captain?’
‘Perhaps, colonel. That would be a great honour. Of course I would have to be appointed by my colonel.’
‘Naturally I would clear it with Colonel Lawless. In fact I’m intending to travel to Holland to see him when I have finished in Paris. Who knows – you and I might visit him together.’
‘That sounds an excellent idea, colonel. And I could then plead the case for an American battalion.’
Harrison clapped him on the back. ‘Capital. It’s a superb notion, captain. Shall we talk again soon? Perhaps we might meet tomorrow?’
‘With pleasure, colonel.’
Keane smiled at Harrison. He would go along with the American and get from him whatever information he might have. But he would come up with an excuse at the last minute not to travel to Holland with him and prayed that his own business in Paris would be concluded long before Harrison had the chance to see Lawless and in doing so learn the truth of his identity.
Choiseul clapped Keane on the shoulders. ‘This is excellent news. I think that I need to introduce Captain Williams here to the ex-commissioner, our host. Now where did I see him? Excuse us, colonel.’
He gently manoeuvred Keane away from Harrison and as soon as they were out of earshot began to speak.
‘I think it is a splendid plan, an Irish Legion for the Americas. But I also think that you might be more useful to the empire here in Paris, and I suspect that Monsieur Fouché might agree.’
*
They found Fouché at the buffet table, eating a plate of small chocolate patisseries. He was not at all as Keane had imagined him from Macpherson’s description. His face was pale in the extreme with a long nose which seemed out of proportion with the rest of his features and a thin mouth whose pallid pink lips seemed to have been painted on in a strip. He had thick eyebrows and brown eyes and his high forehead was framed by thinning dark brown hair cut in a fashionable fringe and finished with a pair of wide sideburns. He wore a black coat with a black velvet collar, a white waistcoat and high white stock which reached up to his chin. Seeing Choiseul he smiled and his gaze moved to Keane. He stopped and, as his eyes became fixed on Keane’s, put down the plate and the small pastry fork with great care. He moved closer to Keane, so close that Keane could smell him. Cologne mixed with sweat.
Keane was aware that Harrison had not left them and was looking on from close to where they stood. Not moving his eyes from Keane’s, Fouché spoke. ‘Good evening. It must be Captain Williams, is it not?’
He spoke slowly, in a cultivated Parisian accent. Keane was alarmed by his directness, but hardly surprised.
‘Yes, sir, and may I thank you for your hospitality this evening.’
‘It’s nothing, nothing at all, and I was delighted to welcome a member of such an illustrious regiment as your own.’
The words were said without a hint of irony, yet instantly Keane was put on his guard. ‘You are too kind, sir.’
Fouché smiled at Keane, his upper lip curling in a fashion that gave no hint of his true feelings.
‘To tell you the truth, I am only too pleased that we were able to meet this evening. I suspect that you and I might have something in common, Captain Williams.’
Keane blanched. Could he know? This man was surely the most enigmatic fellow he had ever met. Macpherson’s warning had been right. He simply could not read him. How had Fouché, if he had done so, guessed at his business? How could he know he was not just simple Captain Williams of the legion but Captain Williams the spy or, worse still, Captain Keane, the escaped British spy?
‘We trust no one.’
Keane’s heart started again. So perhaps he did not know. Had not guessed. What then?
Fouché continued, still staring at Keane. ‘My lieutenant, the Baron de Choiseul, tells me that you are remarkably astute, Captain Williams.’ Again the last two words were said with effect, as if challenging Keane to contradict his own name.
‘I couldn’t comment on that, monsieur.’
‘He is an excellent judge of character.’
‘Then I am honoured by his remark.’
‘You are not a frequent visitor to the capital, captain?’
‘I have been engaged in Spain, sir.’
‘Although your regiment is in Holland?’
‘Yes, sir. I was on special business for Marshal Marmont.’
‘Special business? How very exciting for you. The marshal must think very highly of you. Are you at liberty to tell me what business exactly?’
‘I am not, sir.’
‘As you will. And what now? What now is your business?’
‘I am bound for Holland, sir. To rejoin the regiment.’
‘Ah, the good Colonel Lawless. What a man, captain. What a man. I do not think your regiment is part of the emperor’s invasion force?’
It was a question, but said with a raised eyebrow that was again loaded with meaning.
‘No, sir. We are not to have that honour.’
‘You may be more fortunate than you know, captain. What do you know of the great enterprise?’
Keane took a chance. ‘Only that the emperor’s mind is set on Russia.’
Fouché looked at him and again the eyebrow rose. ‘Very astute, capta
in. It is a presumption in the streets of the city. But few have the detail.’
It was a tease and Keane knew it. A challenge to somehow obtain the detail. And then what? he wondered.
Fouché smiled, wiped the chocolate from his lips and walked off with a nod of goodbye.
Keane, left momentarily alone once more, was considering what he should do next when the American colonel wandered up to him. ‘Well, what did you make of Monsieur Fouché? He’s quite a character, isn’t he?’
‘Yes, quite a character.’ Keane smiled. ‘You seem to know him very well.’
‘Oh, I do, captain, I do. I like to think that I know everyone in this city. It is, you might say, my reason for being here. Fouché’s information system is extensive. Better than anything the world has ever seen before. He has all kinds of information on all kinds of people. A file on Napoleon himself, they say, as well as the expected files on spies, dissidents, writers, ministers and generals. It was extremely foolish of the emperor to dismiss him.’
Keane realized in a moment to whom he had been talking. This man, Harrison, was no mere American colonel, nor any mere spy for Fouché. He was the eyes and ears of the American nation. The key spy in France working for the US president.
‘Monsieur Fouché was telling me all about the invasion.’
Harrison looked at him. ‘Really? Telling you?’
‘Yes, the sheer scale of the thing is extraordinary. Don’t you agree?’
‘Well, of course it’s a pity that he’s not using it to attack England. That would have been opportune for us. But at the same time an invasion of Russia on such a scale can only divert allied resources and that will put a great strain on England.’
‘Tell me more about your war. I fully intend to follow up our idea.’
Harrison warmed to him. ‘Well, you know it’s all about the Canadian territories. The British still think they have a claim, and we simply have to show them that things have changed. They can’t just walk into us. We are a supreme nation.’
‘Of course, it’s very refreshing. And even more so when we know that the emperor is launching his great offensive against the tsar.’
Harrison was in full flow now. ‘Oh yes. I have enough intelligence on that to show my bosses in Washington. 700,000 men. Just as Fouché must have told you. What an army! Frenchmen, Poles, Austrians, Italians, Saxons, Prussians, Bavarians, Swiss and God knows what else. Hundreds of thousands of horses and thousands of cannon. Are my chiefs going to be impressed! Napoleon intends to subjugate Russia. And when he does, what will we have?’
He was jubilant now. ‘My God, man, we shall have the greatest alliance the world has ever seen. The empire of Napoleon Bonaparte and the United States of America. What an alliance. What power. Together we will crush Russia and Britain. Between us we will rule the world.’
‘What a thought, colonel. What a vision.’
Harrison stared at him and in his eyes Keane saw the light of madness.
‘Is it not, my friend? I would kill every one of those English dogs. All of them. If I had one now before me, I would tear him with my bare hands.’
Keane nodded. ‘They deserve nothing more, colonel. I would do the same myself. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have seen an acquaintance on the other side of the room. I trust that our paths shall cross again, colonel.’
‘Oh, I’m certain of it, captain. Most certain. Good day.’
*
Keane went back across to the buffet. A servant walked up to him and handed him a full glass of champagne. Keane took it. He had lost count of how many he had drunk, but he still felt quite in command of his senses. He was proud of his ‘hard head’. His capacity to take alcohol had saved his life a number of times in the trickiest of circumstances and he was certain that it would do so again.
He knew though when he was tired and now he was aware that he was mentally quite exhausted. Yet something in him remained dissatisfied. The adrenalin of the evening had given him an appetite and it was not one that was to be slaked with cheap champagne and chocolate gateaux.
Keane wandered across to where the acrobat had been performing and noticed that she was no longer there. Turning to one of the servants, he asked where she had gone and was directed towards the ante-rooms behind the salon. He walked down the row of mirrors and turned into the adjoining corridor, not quite sure what he might find. The place was full of the paraphernalia that it took to make such an evening work. Trays and trolleys, plates and dishes were stacked together as servants and chefs and footmen bustled around the corridor, attempting to make sense of it all. Keane peered through the chaos and at the end of the hall saw a glimpse of spangled clothing. He hurried on towards it and within a few moments was in another area of the palais.
It did not take long to find the little acrobat. She was prettier than he remembered. Her blonde hair cascaded around her shoulders and those sparkling green eyes that had held him in their gaze now fixed him again and he saw in them a glint of recognition and a complete understanding. Keane had been driven to her by a need for company, a need for companionship and a need for something else. A need in both cases fuelled by fear and brought to a head by danger. A sensation which he had not known for some months. He had known when he had first seen her that this was where he would find it and it was clear that she too had noticed him and had somehow sensed that need and knew that she shared it.
It was a short walk from the palais to her home, a tiny room above a café in the market area of Les Halles. Hardly any words were spoken. He did not even ask her name. But everything was understood.
*
Keane left the little room in the morning an hour after dawn, kissing the girl on the forehead as she slept, and took his time in walking back through the waking streets. Les Halles market was stirring into life and the meat porters who had been up half the night smiled over their glasses of wine at the Irish officer as he walked past.
The road towards Macpherson’s house was an easy stroll and Keane knocked hurriedly and repeatedly at the door which was eventually answered by Macpherson’s daughter. ‘Let me in. Where’s your father?’
‘In the study, I think, captain. He’s hardly awake.’
Keane pushed past her and found the old Scotsman.
‘Extraordinary news. Extraordinary. Where are the others?’
Archer, awakened by the noise, joined them. They found Silver in his room, a half-empty bottle of brandy beside his bed.
Keane stood over him. ‘Silver, sober up, for Christ’s sake. You’re riding out today.’
Silver looked up at him.
Keane looked to Archer. ‘You know him. Get some water over him. Feed him coffee and make bloody sure he’s in a fit state to travel today. He has to take a message back to Spain, to Wellington.’
Keane left the room with Macpherson and the two of them sat down in the old man’s study.
‘May I ask, captain, what all this is about at so early an hour?’
‘You may, sir, and with some justification. I had the most extraordinary conversation last night with an American in the pay of Fouché. A Colonel Harrison.’
Macpherson nodded. ‘Yes, I know him. A cavalryman.’
‘He confirmed that Bonaparte has gone to invade Russia.’
‘That we know, captain.’
‘But do you know the size of his army? And its extent? 700,000 men, sir. Of all the nationalities in his empire. In particular he confirms that Napoleon’s army will invade Russia and not England. And that’s just the start. According to Harrison, the Americans are making, perhaps have already made, a treaty with the French to bring down British Imperial interests. It’s fantastic stuff.
‘I have to get the news to Wellington. It’s all he needs to go on the offensive and invade Spain in the knowledge that no reinforcements will be coming from France. Can you have a fast horse saddled? Silver will ride out
with the message. And he’ll need an escort.’
Macpherson nodded. ‘Yes, I can find four good men. Royalists. Completely trustworthy.’
‘Four men? Is that enough?’
‘This is not Spain, captain. Four men will be quite sufficient in France.’
*
Keane smiled but inside he was tired. Last night had been a most extraordinary evening, quite apart from his liaison with the dancer. He had confirmed Napoleon’s intentions and learned of his international strategy. He had made the acquaintance not only of the notorious Fouché and his right-hand man but of the key American spy in Paris. For any espionage agent it would have ranked as a major gain. But something rankled within Keane. Silver was about to set out for Spain carrying the vital news which Wellington had been so desperate to get. But Keane wished that it might have been himself who would be making that journey. He knew though, more than ever now, that he could not do any such thing. His place was here, in Paris, masterminding the whole affair and taking the royalist rebellion through to its conclusion. It was the staff officer’s lot, writ large. The life of the spy. The man behind the lines. How he longed to be rid of it and to rejoin the army and once again to lead a company into action. But for now such things were to be only the stuff of his dreams.
10
Later that morning, having slept for three hours and feeling as rested as might be hoped, Keane found Macpherson sitting again at the kitchen table.
The old man smiled at Keane as he entered. ‘You are feeling better now? You seemed exhausted, captain.’
‘It was a very busy evening.’
‘Yes, of course. And you did well to learn so much. I trust that the rest of Monsieur Fouché’s soirée was to your liking?’
Keane smiled. ‘It was fascinating. Highly entertaining. Your agent is extremely adroit.’
‘Yes, Jadot is an asset.’
‘He managed to get me to Choiseul and then to Fouché himself. He is as you described him. All of that, and more so.’ Keane paused for a moment and drummed his fingers on the table before speaking again.
‘I’m not convinced that he quite believes in me yet. I had to lie to Harrison to get the information on the invasion. If they compare notes on me they might put it together. At all costs I can’t afford to look scared now. I have to brazen it out. I need to go in from the front and convince him that I really am something more than just a captain of foot. That I’m the real thing. A spy. Perhaps even a double agent that he can turn. That would make him very happy.’
