of August 29. “Besides, I haven’t forgotten you saved my life.” Napoleon had turned thirty-six two weeks before, more than eight months after his coronation.
“I haven’t, either,” I said, ignoring his insults and exhausted but vaguely hopeful at my reprieve. I’d caught Napoleon in a charitable mood. He was actually energized by the need to abandon his invasion plans and break camp. And why not? He’d been waiting for three tedious years for a chance to land a blow at his archenemy across La Manche, and his navy had delivered only frustration. Now he could fight a land war against the Austrians, the kind of scuffle he was comfortable with. “I only tried to blow up your fleet because I’m worried about my family.”
“Réal has briefed me about their escape, and how you put them in peril with your clumsy attempt to sabotage my coronation. Thanks to our double agent Catherine Marceau, we manipulated you instead of you manipulating us. Did you really think such a harebrained scheme could befuddle all of Europe?”
“We were led astray by bad advice from all sides. Say, do you know a fellow named Palatine, an elderly gentleman who scuttles about the catacombs?”
He didn’t bother to answer. Great men become accustomed to listening mostly to themselves. “Still, your temerity proved useful. My self-crowning became the talk of Europe. I’ve commissioned a painting of the dramatic moment. Maybe I’ll have David draw you in.”
“Looking resolute, I hope.”
“Surprised by my mastery. The painting is about me, not you.”
The fields around Boulogne were liquid with movement. The vast military camp was being dismantled, wagons loaded, arms slung, and regiment after regiment was tramping east. The terrifying threat of invasion was over! Villeneuve was hiding in the Spanish port of Cadiz, and the white cliffs of Dover remained as remote as the moon. Yet English ships dared not come closer, having been stung by the resolute French defense the night before. I’d hoped for peace, and here was stalemate. “Since I’ve failed so conveniently, would it be possible for you to send me in search of my family?”
“No. You can hunt for your relatives when my nation has secured a favorable cease-fire. I need a truce with Britain while I fight the Austrians, so I’m making you my special envoy. Our navies are disengaged, Nelson is reported to be sick, Villeneuve has betrayed my every plan, and no naval resolution is possible or necessary. You can save countless lives by telling England that my ambition to invade is over. Nelson can stand down. The game is a draw.”
Only over for the expedient moment, of course, and England would regard any truce as tantamount to a defeat. My mission was thus hopeless, and surely Napoleon must know this. So why was he sending me back to England? To buy time to keep his combined fleet of French and Spanish ships safe from British attack until the Austrian adventure was over. I was hardly worth a bullet to shoot, and even if I tangled only a few diplomatic threads, I might keep the naval contest in confusion until winter made a major showdown unlikely. So I’d use Napoleon as he was using me. I’d deliver any message he wanted and, rather than wait for a reply, demand passage to Venice from the English as reward for my heroic torpedo attack. I would squeeze everything I could from these scoundrels, and this time stay out of the line of fire and keep my money tucked under a mattress.
I am adept at making stern resolutions.
“Agreed,” I said, “but my investments have hit a rough patch. A diplomatic fee would let me better entertain key officials in London to press your case.”
“Always you are asking for money.”
“Your robes cost a hundred times what I need, and I did inadvertently make your coronation something of a triumph. I hope the Crown of Thorns has been put somewhere safe, by the way.”
He was a hard man with a budget. “No purse until you achieve a peace I desire. Then maybe France will vote you a medal.”
“I’d rather have some coins.”
“Ask your rich English friends!”
“Perhaps Pasques would care to accompany me?” I’d like to drag the rascal back to England and have him thrown into the Tower.
“The policeman has rehabilitated himself. He shrewdly led you on, all the while reporting to Réal.”
“Pasques is shrewd?” The possibility had never occurred to me. “Is there no one in France who can be trusted?”