Napoleon Must Die

by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro

  Then Victoire could see a lone figure waiting on a horse at the junction of the main road with the track leading up to the Pyramids. Even at this distance, she was aware that it was the marine guard, and that he carried a pistol in his belt, though she could not yet see it.

  Where was Napoleon? Victoire scanned the road again, and finally made out a horse and rider coming down the narrow trail. They were more than halfway down from the plateau, and descending at a good pace.

  Victoire cursed herself for not insisting on a weapon. The worst she could do was run her horse into the marine guard’s, assuming the fellow could be taken by surprise by the action. Considering how nervous he must be, more likely he would shoot her as she approached. Though that might warn Napoleon as well. The general might even think the marine was protecting him from her. She urged the mare back into the trot and considered throwing the water-skin at Fellisse, the marine officer, when she got close enough. But she was not certain she would be able to hit him squarely, and that would not be enough. She had to stop the marine guard or warn Napoleon of danger.

  This last goaded her to action. She struck off the road, cutting through the fine sand toward the road where Napoleon rode, hoping to cut him off before he came into range of the marine guard’s pistol. If Napoleon saw her coming, he might realize something was wrong, she decided, and pressed the mare harder.

  She was nearing the trail when the marine guard became aware of her, and shouted something. He rose in his stirrups, then put his horse into a canter, set on chasing her down.

  On the trail, Napoleon reined in.

  Victoire forced her mare into a gallop, holding her together with firm hands as they raced over the sand.

  And then there was another horse coming up fast, aimed right for the marine guard’s mount. Victoire recognized Vernet, and her dread began to lift as she hurtled toward Napoleon.

  Napoleon kicked his horse to a slow trot, as fast as he dared on the steep, slippery trail.

  Vernet managed to cut Lieutenant Fellisse off, swinging his horse around to block the trail.

  Victoire reined in, and shouted to Napoleon, “He’s armed.”

  Vernet, paralleling him now, urged his horse ahead just as the marine aimed his pistol. At the next instant there came a shot as Fellisse made one desperate attempt to kill Napoleon. “Liberty! Equality! Fraternity!” the lieutenant shouted before wheeling his horse and heading at a flat-out run back toward the French camp.

  Vernet lurched in the saddle and bellowed in pain as the ball intended for Napoleon struck his upper arm. He had been so close to the discharging pistol that the cloth in his jacket smoldered.

  Victoire pulled her mare around and rode to her husband’s side as the marine guard became a speck in a distant dust cloud.

  “The ball went through,” Vernet said through clenched teeth. “It isn’t too bad.”

  Despite the countless wounds Victoire had dressed and tended without turning a hair, she now felt queasy and a trifle faint at the sight of Vernet’s injury. “I ... I’ll bind it for you,” she said, tasting bile at the back of her mouth. She set about tearing her petticoat while her mare sobbed for breath.

  A short time later Napoleon came up to them. “That was either very reckless or very brave, madame,” he said to Victoire. “And you, Vernet—to take a ball for me. Quite an impressive act.”

  “It is my duty,” said Vernet as Victoire busied herself in wrapping lengths of petticoat cotton around his injury.

  ROUSTAM-RAZA ARRIVED in camp an hour after Napoleon returned with Lucien and Victoire Vernet; he led an exhausted horse with an unconscious man bowed, tied, over the saddle. Streaks of blood ran down the gelding’s dappled flanks.

  Victoire was the first to look up as he approached. “You caught him,” she cried out in relief.

  “Of course,” said Roustam-Raza, and drew in his horse to dismount. “I should have gone to the Pyramids with Napoleon,” he said to her as she came nearer. “He was in danger because I wasn’t there.”

  “But you couldn’t have known,” said Victoire reasonably. “And you may never see your brothers again.”

  The camp was returning to full activity after the midday nap, an activity made more hectic by the preparations for departure that night. In the bustle of activity, Roustam-Raza was unharried. He looked at Fellisse and spat. “I should have been with Napoleon, not my brothers; I have sworn to guard and protect him,” Roustam-Raza said stubbornly. “I must never compromise my oath again.”

  Vernet, the sleeve cut off his uniform and his arm impressively bandaged, said, “You could have helped us catch the rascal sooner, before he could fire.”

  “He is caught now,” said Roustam-Raza, his voice very hard. “That is some consolation.”

  “Not to him, I’d wager,” said Vernet. Now that the worst of his pain was over and the desperation of their acts had passed, he was. strangely euphoric, as if all this had happened elsewhere, and was made of the stuff of legends. “Not that he doesn’t deserve—”

  “He deserves worse than I can give him,” said Roustam-Raza, adding, “He talked. It took a little time, but he talked. Murat has the record of what he said. He’s taken it to Napoleon.”

  Victoire, recalling the Englishman at the villa near Alexandria, felt slightly faint as Roustam-Raza said this. She made herself look at Fellisse long enough to make a quick assessment of his condition.

  The Mameluke noticed her glance. “This man was a traitor. He’s alive for a little while yet. He won’t last much longer. Waste nothing on him. He has lost his honor.

  “Oh, yes, he’s alive to breathe; but there is no skin on the palms of his hands, or his fingers.” He paid no attention to her shocked expression. “He was determined to resist, and so I had to use stern measures.” The Mameluke looked at her. “He tried to kill Napoleon and he wounded your husband, and would have killed him if his aim had been better. He would surely have killed you, and his men tried more than once. He slaughtered the marine guard and he is responsible for the death of Lirylah, because he ordered Hazlett to follow the two of you. He deliberately implicated your husband in treason. How can you balk at returning to him a little of the pain he has given to others?”

  “It ... it isn’t ...” She was going to tell him that the French didn’t do such things, but that would be less than the truth. Not very many years ago France was an abattoir.

  “I must report to Napoleon, now that Murat has delivered our account of the questioning. And it would be best to find a guard for Fellisse. He may regain consciousness before he dies.” He patted the neck of his horse. “And the animals need water. I’ll send a groom.”

  “Yes,” said Victoire, with the odd sensation that Roustam-Raza was leaving her on guard with Fellisse. She glanced at the traitor but could not look at him for very long; she had worked with the wounded and knew what approaching death was like.

  Vernet, watching from the stack of their belongings, now hastily stored in trunks and cases, said, “I’ll guard him if you want to find Larrey.”

  She shrugged. “I suppose I ought to. But I don’t suppose—”

  “No,” said Vernet, cutting her off. “I don’t suppose, either.”

  Two privates emerged from their tent, a large trunk between them. “Is this the biggest?”

  “I think so,” said Vernet, not trusting himself to be certain. The aftermath of his pain left him unable to concentrate for very long. Often he found he had to lean on Victoire in order to stay upright.

  “Yes,” confirmed Victoire. “That and the clothespresses are the largest, and the rest are as you see.”

  One of the privates sighed. “It will take another two hours before it is all stowed aboard. The ships will leave in three. You’re cutting it very fine.”

  Vernet answered for them both. “We weren’t aware we were going until a short while ago. Napoleon just i
nformed us a few hours ago that there was space available and requested that we prepare to leave at once.”

  “Well, the ships sail on the night tide. You’d better make certain that all your gear is packed. Otherwise it will be left behind.” This second private was rangier than the first, and had a roving eye.

  “My wife will inspect the tent to be sure everything is packed,” said Vernet, making this minor observation a warning. “Rest assured.”

  The privates lugged the trunk in the direction of the staging area.

  Victoire saw a groom approaching and her gloom lifted. She held out the reins of both horses to the groom, saying, “Give them water, and then find out what Napoleon wants done with that ... offal.”

  The groom paid no heed to her outburst. He patted the neck of Roustam-Raza’s horse, then ran a critical hand over Fellisse’s, paying no attention to the man bound to the saddle. The word that the marine was the thief and also a failed assassin was all over camp. “It’s a bad business, punishing horses like this. I’ll do what I can for him, but he might have lost his wind.”

  “Do what you can,” said Victoire, and stepped back to allow the groom to lead the horses away.

  Vernet got unsteadily to his feet. “I’d better find another pelisse. This one is ruined. Napoleon might not be a stickler for dress, but a missing sleeve is more than he’ll tolerate in proper dress.” He wandered into the tent, looking for the clothes case where his second uniform was stored.

  “I have it,” said Victoire, coming after him. “I took it out for you earlier, once Larrey cut the sleeve.” She helped him out of his ruined pelisse, then gingerly eased his arms into his second one. As she fastened the lacings up the front, she went on, “The dress uniform is in the case. It will be in our cabin aboard ship, in case you need it. You can order new ones when we get home.” It was strange to say these things, and the words felt unwieldy in her mouth. All at once it was an effort not to cry.

  “Come now, Victoire,” said Vernet as she pushed her fair head against the braid of his pelisse. He put his good arm around her and held her close. “We’re through it now, my love; it’s behind us.”

  “That’s why I’m crying, you idiot.” She sniffed, then wiped her eyes. “I never fail when there is trouble. It is afterward that I’m useless.” Her gruff apology brought a smile to his mouth.

  “Better after than during,” he said, and kissed her forehead.

  She glared at him. “If you are teasing me, I’II—”

  “I’m telling you the truth,” he protested. “Word of honor.”

  “Oh.” She relented. “I should’ve warned you: I’m impossible when the worst is over.”

  “And unstoppable while it is going on,” Vernet confirmed. “I must count myself a fortunate man. Most wives, from what I have seen, run counter to you.”

  She decided that he had given her a compliment; when she smiled, tears welled in her eyes again and she dashed them away in exasperation. “I’m truly not such a ninny as I appear.”

  “No one has ever said you are,” Vernet told her softly. “Except you.”

  * * *

  Murat was not much taller than Napoleon, although this was only noticeable when the two men stood close together, as they did now. The ruddy glow of sunset flooded the staging area, casting long shadows from the few remaining trunks and cases, and turned the faces of both men into brilliant masks.

  “I’ve read the report,” said Napoleon. “Enlightening. So it was you and Desaix they wanted to compromise, with the intent I would not deploy my troops widely for fear of mutiny.” He watched Murat closely. “A good thing Fellisse didn’t know about your night patrols, or there could have been just such a mistake made.”

  “It was Vernet’s bad luck to be the one who could not account for his time,” Murat added.

  “Fellisse must have expected the supplies to be brought ashore that night, with the activity to cover his crimes. Did he reveal anything about it?” Napoleon asked. “There was nothing in your report.”

  “He didn’t say, and there were other, more pressing questions we had to ask. Roustam-Raza didn’t think Fellisse would resist as long as he did. I thank God we learned so much,” said Murat, deliberately keeping his voice low. “Treachery on that scale—”

  “I should have anticipated it,” said Napoleon, with a quick, admonitory glance at Murat from his dissimilar eyes. “Those ambitious, greedy, venal cowards who clutter the seats of power in Paris—”

  “I’ve been telling myself the same thing, that I ought to have realized the enormity of the treason,” said Murat. “But how could I? Or anyone?” His face was bleak. “If I had suspected the truth, matters would have gone differently. As it was, I underestimated the gravity—”

  “I’m fortunate that Vernet is not a vengeful man,” Napoleon interrupted him. “He would have good reason to leave my service after what he has been through. He’s a capable officer and would prove useful to those engaged in international trade.”

  “Vernet isn’t that sort; he won’t leave the gendarmes,” said Murat. “More to the point, his wife would not advise it.”

  “A formidable woman, you tell me.” Napoleon waited for an answer.

  “Yes,” said Murat, his tone measured. “Yes, she is formidable in her way. But more than that, she is knowledgeable.”

  “Ah?” said Napoleon. “Why do you remark on that?”

  “Because she thinks. It makes her quite ... quite unpredictable.” Murat still did not smile readily, but amusement brightened his brown eyes. “After courage, she is certainly Vernet’s most valuable asset. And all your soldiers have courage.”

  “Interesting,” said Napoleon, rubbing his lower lip with his forefinger. “Well, I suppose it would be best to promote him, then, or something of the sort. I want such men around me. There are so few I can trust.” He sighed. “I want to have a staff meeting tomorrow morning. Tell Vernet he’s to be there, will you?” He started away from Murat, then stopped a moment. “Berthier’s cooled down. I don’t think he’ll set himself against, um, Gendarme Colonel Vernet again. Or Madame Vernet, for that matter.”

  Murat nodded. “Was that his idea or yours?”

  Napoleon only chuckled as he resumed his steady, rapid stride.

  * * *

  In the brisk wind the La Carrière leaned on a tight reach in choppy seas. The crew went about their routine work with zest—whether it was because Napoleon was aboard or because they were at last leaving Egypt, no one stated—as the morning wore on.

  The main cabin of the ship was crowded as Napoleon’s officers gathered for their staff meeting. Berthier, sitting on Napoleon’s immediate right, carried Eugene’s portable desk, a pen with a fresh-trimmed nib held at the ready.

  “I am certain you are all aware of the attempt that was made on my life yesterday,” said Napoleon without preamble. “That attempt was thwarted by Colonel Vernet, one of the Gendarme officers who came to guard our supply lines. General Murat and my Mameluke, Roustam-Raza, apprehended the would-be assassin and questioned him. It seems this man was in the hire of my enemies. Not the English, but someone in Paris. Further, he must have been more than a mere marine officer. He showed too much initiative in taking the scepter.

  “This Fellisse, if that was his real name, hired some renegade Englishmen to do his filthy bidding. They are the ones to whom he passed the scepter. It seems that his plan was to plant the symbol and then have the Pasha find that it had been ‘miraculously’ restored as a sign that they were to throw off the foreign oppressors, us. We very nearly had to face a full-scale revolt by millions of Egyptians. If it weren’t for Murat and Roustam-Raza’s fine work, we would certainly have been trapped between the two forces at the battle near Akoubir fort.

  “So we have thwarted the plot here. The scepter is safely in my cabin. The assassin’s bullet was taken by Vernet. It will take the
English time to rally their forces and retake that forsaken country. Unless luck deserts us, we will be back in France within two weeks. Thus we leave one set of hazards in Egypt for another set in Paris.”

  Berthier cleared his throat. “Each of you will be asked to report any attempts to suborn you or your staff by anyone holding power in Paris. We will be using only trusted men in the future. Those who are proven in their loyalty must work twice as hard until we are in an unassailable position. We, once betrayed, have no choice.

  “Each man in this room is trusted. Look about you, remember who is here. Should anyone else try to suborn you, contact Vernet here. He has bled to save Napoleon and will watch for further conspiracies in the future. He has many assets, some you would not expect.”

  The newly promoted Gendarme colonel nodded at the compliment, meeting the aide’s smile.

  Napoleon heard him out with occasional nods. “Yes. We must end this blight before it ruins all we have worked to achieve, for our tasks have just begun. I have determined that there is no choice but for us to seek power in Paris. I, we, or my family can never be safe so long as those who currently rule in Paris are in a position to do us harm.”

  The short, simply dressed general looked around the room. His voice grew louder, riveting every man’s attention. “France is being poisoned from within. When we should be carrying the Revolution to the rest of Europe, we bicker and waste our resources. Europe has struggled too long under the heels of monarchs. Wasted too many of her best men in fruitless wars. I see a day when all the world lives without war, each man enjoying the benefits of liberty, fraternity, and equality.”

  Napoleon had begun pacing. The other officers in the room sat, barely breathing, watching him pass by and waiting for his next words.