Young Bloods (50 page)

‘Excuse me!’ Napoleon pushed past a heavily made-up woman who was screeching at the top of her voice that she had been promised a seat by one of her clients amongst the deputies.

The sergeant shook his head. ‘Sorry, lady, I don’t care who you’re screwing. All the free seats have gone. Now unless you have a pass there’s nothing I can do.’

‘Pass? I don’t need a pass, you moron.’ She prodded him in the chest with the tip of her parasol. ‘Let me through!’

The sergeant batted the parasol aside and lunged at her with both hands.The woman fell back into the crowd with a shriek of panic and rage while everyone around her burst into laughter. Napoleon took advantage of the moment and thrust himself in front of the sergeant.

‘Excuse me, I need to get by.’

‘Not so fast, citizen!’The sergeant held up a hand and stared at Napoleon. ‘Your pass?’

For a moment Napoleon frowned, and was sorely tempted to give the sergeant a stern dressing-down for his insubordinate manner. But there was something in the other man’s eyes that indicated that he would take little notice of Napoleon’s status as an officer so Napoleon swallowed his anger and made to explain himself. ‘I don’t have a pass.’

‘You don’t get in then, citizen.’

‘I need to see Citizen Saliceti, Sergeant. I’m here to support him.’

‘Saliceti, eh?’The sergeant lowered his voice.‘Are you from the Jacobin Club?’ Napoleon nodded.

‘Then where’s your cockade? Where’s your red bonnet? You don’t look like a Jacobin to me.’

‘Trust me, I’m Jacobin to the core.’

The sergeant narrowed his eyes fractionally and stared hard at Napoleon. Then he relented and jerked a thumb over his shoulder. ‘All right, citizen.You can go in.’

Napoleon nodded his thanks and squeezed past. Once he was inside he made his way up to the banks of seating that overlooked the debating floor. Most of the benches were already filled, and supporters of the various factions clustered together, ready to cheer on their deputies when the time came. Napoleon eventually found a seat close to the balcony and he leaned forward to observe the deputies taking up their places below. Halfway along the length of the building the president and his officials were clustered around the Speaker’s rostrum, preparing themselves for the day’s business.

It was easy to identify most of the various factions as they sat on the ranks of seats lining the wide concourse running down the middle of the hall. The King’s party were the most affluently dressed and elegantly mannered and sat to the right of the Speaker. Opposite the president the Girondists, the moderate republicans, took the lower benches and the more extreme deputies sat high up on the rearmost benches to indicate their disdain.To the left of the president sat the Jacobins, many sporting the red bonnets that proclaimed their militant patriotism. Somewhere amongst them would be Saliceti.

Once a few items of housekeeping had been dealt with the president announced the proposal to disband the royal household’s bodyguard. At once the deputies and the people in the public galleries gave their full attention to proceedings. The president called on Saliceti to speak and a tall, pale-looking man quickly rose to his feet and strode across to the rostrum. At once he launched into a loud and, to Napoleon’s mind, cheap and rhetorical attack on the King’s failure to prosecute the war with vigour. Was the cause of this failure more sinister than it seemed, asked Saliceti. If the King’s supporters harboured any ambitions to crush the Assembly then the household troops were a ready tool with which to carry out the deed.Those seated around Napoleon grumbled ominously in response, while the public in the gallery at the far end cried out in protest at Saliceti’s remarks.

‘Royalists!’ someone spat close by Napoleon. ‘The scum should be wiped out!’

‘Patience,’ said another. ‘Their time’s coming.’

As soon as Saliceti had finished speaking Napoleon made his way to the deputies’ entrance to the debating chamber. Scores of men and women were waiting for the chance to present petitions to their representatives and Napoleon forced his way to the front. More cries of protest and bursts of angry shouting came from the debating chamber, increasing in frequency until it sounded as if a riot was breaking out inside. Almost lost in the cacophony were the president’s calls for order, silence and for members to return to their seats. Eventually, he had to suspend the session.The doors swung open and the deputies came streaming out. Napoleon nudged the man standing next to him.

‘Does this happen often?’

‘All the time,’ the man grumbled. ‘It’s a wonder any decisions are made at all.’

Napoleon snorted with derision and then kept his eyes fixed on the doorway, watching intently until at last Saliceti came out, thronged by members from his party who were loudly congratulating him on his performance. All except one: a sour-faced man in powdered wig. Napoleon recognised the face at once and placed him in an instant: the man from the secret meeting above the bookshop, two years earlier. Citizen Schiller, he had named himself. Napoleon turned again to the man standing next to him.

‘Do you know who that man is?’ He pointed.

‘That’s Robespierre. Maximilien Robespierre himself.’

Napoleon’s surprise quickly gave way to fear as the full details of that night flooded back into his memory. He had turned down Robespierre’s offer to join them. At the time he had dismissed them as a lunatic fringe organisation. Now Robespierre and his followers ruled the capital. Robespierre kept his gaze fixed straight ahead and strode stiffly past Napoleon without even seeing him.

As the deputies swept through the petitioners Napoleon pushed forward until he stood directly in the path of his man. Saliceti had accepted several petitions since quitting the hall and held them in a bundle against his chest.

‘Citizen Saliceti?’

Saliceti looked up sharply at the sound of the Corsican accent. He eyed Napoleon warily and nodded. ‘Who are you, citizen?’

Napoleon bowed his head. ‘Lieutenant Buona Parte at your service. I need to talk to you. I need your help.’

‘Buona Parte?’ Saliceti looked amused. ‘I’ve heard all about you, my boy.And yes, you really do need my help. Come with me, and while you’re at it you can make yourself useful. Carry these.’ He thrust the petitions at Napoleon and strode on, leaving the artillery officer struggling to hold all the envelopes and sheaths of paper and keep up with the deputy.

A little later they were sitting in Saliceti’s office, a small, dingy room in a building opposite the riding school. Saliceti sat slumped in a heavily upholstered chair and stared at Napoleon.

‘You’ve made an appalling mess of things, Lieutenant. I read a copy of Paoli’s report on that affair in Ajaccio.The original report is at the Ministry of War. They’ve taken a very dim view of your actions and have referred the matter to the Ministry of Justice.’

‘Am I to be charged then?’

‘Oh, yes! They want a full court martial. It seems they’ll settle for nothing less than your head.Yours and that fat fool Quenza’s. What the hell did you expect? Your actions are nothing less than treasonous.’

Napoleon felt sick. Was this how all his dreams, all his ambitions, were to end? A quick trial and a quiet execution? He should have taken his mother’s advice to go into hiding after all.

‘I expect you want me to see what I can do to quash these charges,’ Saliceti continued. ‘Corsican to Corsican, eh? Even though you Buona Partes have always held me in contempt for wanting to bind us to France, eh?’

‘That is true,’ Napoleon admitted miserably.

‘I see.’ Saliceti was silent for a moment, then continued quietly, ‘Of course, if I do help you, I shall want a favour in return.’

Napoleon found it difficult to see how a lowly artillery lieutenant could possibly be of service to one of the leading figures of the revolution, but he nodded his assent all the same.‘I’ll do what I can.’

‘Good. Now tell me, since you have just come from Corsica, what the hell is Paoli up to?’

‘Paoli? What do you mean, citizen?’

‘I’m hearing reports that the man is running the island like a virtual dictator. He’s making all the key appointments. He controls most of the National Guard units - Ajaccio’s being the honourable exception, thanks to your efforts. I’ve also heard that he’s been talking to English agents. Seems that he might just as easily lead Corsica into the arms of the English as join the revolution.’

‘No. He just wants what all true Coriscans want.’

‘And what do we want, Buona Parte?’

Napoleon shrugged. ‘Freedom.’

‘Freedom. And what exactly does this freedom consist of ?’

‘Independence. A chance to rule ourselves.’

‘We’re too small to be independent. Corsica is fated to be part of the inventory of one kingdom, or another. The only question worth asking is which kingdom you prefer. Either Corsica becomes part of the revolution and has its share of democracy, or it becomes the personal property of Paoli and his friends, until he hands it over to England.’

‘There is another way,’ Napoleon insisted. ‘An independent Corsica, that embraces the values of the revolution.’

‘I suppose that was the thinking behind your attempt to establish a commune in Ajaccio?’

‘Yes,’ Napoleon admitted. ‘Paoli wouldn’t have it, so I decided to go ahead by myself.’

‘Good God! Is there no end to your ambition, Lieutenant?’ Saliceti’s dark eyes twinkled in amusement. ‘Still, I imagine you have the measure of our friend Paoli by now. He’s a dangerous schemer. We’ll need to keep a close eye on him.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Nothing, at the moment.’ Saliceti sat himself up, reached for some paper and took up his pen. ‘I’ll see what I can do for you, Lieutenant Buona Parte. Now I must ask you to leave. I have to return to the Assembly shortly. Leave your address with my clerk and I’ll be in touch with you when I have any news.’

Napoleon rose from his chair and went to the door. He paused.‘Do you really think you can help me escape the charges?’

‘Well, if I can’t then nobody can.’

Chapter 62

One afternoon towards the end of June, Napoleon was lying on his bed underneath the open window staring up into a clear blue sky, when he became aware of the sound of a crowd some distance off. At first he ignored it, but the sound grew in volume and even though it was impossible to make out any distinct cries or chants, there was no mistaking the anger that filled the hearts of those in the crowd. Rising from his bed, Napoleon reached for his hat, descended the staircase and left the house. Outside there were people in the street, drawn, like him, towards the source of the noise, and as they all headed towards the heart of the city the noise grew in volume and passion until it was deafening as he approached the Rue Saint-Honoré. The route ahead of him was filled with a dense crowd as far as the eye could see - thousands of men and women armed with hatchets, swords, wooden stakes and some muskets, marching towards the royal apartments of the Tuileries.

Napoleon grasped the arm of a young woman at the rear of the crowd. ‘Citizen, what’s going on?’

She glanced at his uniform and gave him an unfriendly look before she replied. ‘There’s a petition for the King. To tell the bastard to approve the Assembly’s decree to penalise those priests who won’t swear allegiance to the constitution. He wouldn’t listen to the deputies, but he’s going to listen to us - or there’ll be trouble.’

‘Trouble?’

She did not elaborate, but pulled away from Napoleon, surged forward into the crowd and took up the chant of the revolutionary song, ‘
Ça Ira
’ that was echoing back off the buildings lining the boulevard. With a growing sense of excitement and curiosity Napoleon quickened his pace to keep up with the crowd.

The mob poured out of the boulevard and spilled into the Place du Carousel. The chant was deafening now, but Napoleon could not see what was happening over towards the royal apartments of the Tuileries. He hurried to a building on one side of the square and climbed up on to a window sill for a better view. The foremost ranks of the crowd had fastened ropes to the iron bars of the gates and with a rhythmic roar they now strained on the ropes, aiming to tear the gates down.There was a cheer as one of the great gates began to buckle. Napoleon saw that an officer was hurriedly marching the Swiss Guards back to the barracks on the far side of the courtyard. A handful remained to close up the doors of the central pavilion that provided access to the vast staircase inside the entrance hall.

Napoleon muttered his disapproval. While he could understand that no one in the palace wanted to provoke the mob, the crowd had to be dispersed before it gained access to the courtyard. But it was already too late. There was a wrenching crash as the gate was pulled from its hinges and toppled into the square. A huge roar of triumph filled the air and the crowd surged through the gap, across the courtyard towards the palace. When they reached the doors at the top of the steps leading up from the courtyard, they battered at the timbers with axes and hammers.To no avail. The doors were solid and had been reinforced in recent months to guard against such an assault.

Suddenly there were several puffs of smoke and then the flat crack of musket fire. On the second and third floors of the palace, windows shattered, showering those nearest in the mob with shards of glass; victims of their foolhardy companions with firearms.The shooting continued for nearly a quarter of an hour, shattering every window and pockmarking the façade of the palace. Then a white sheet fluttered at one of the windows and the shooting gradually stopped. A figure appeared on one of the balconies and gestured down to the crowd. Those closest to the palace roared out a reply, and moments later the doors of the palace opened and the mob began to surge inside.

Was this it, Napoleon wondered: the moment when the Bourbon dynasty fell, torn to pieces by the Paris mob? He felt a great sense of regret and disgust well up inside him at the thought that France now belonged to these animals. It was too horrible to contemplate, but a morbid fascination kept him standing there on the window sill, straining his eyes towards the distant entrance to the palace. Shortly afterwards he saw the tall doors open behind a balcony overlooking the courtyard and several figures shuffled out into the full view of the mob. There was a cheer. In amongst the figures stood a man and woman in powdered wigs.The King and Queen, Napoleon realised, his blood going cold with dread. But it was soon clear they were not in mortal danger. A man stepped up beside Louis and placed a red bonnet on his head. The crowd cheered and Louis made no effort to remove it. Instead he raised a glass, made some kind of toast and then took a swig as the crowd cheered again.