Young bloods - Scarrow Simon - Страница 87

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The debacle in Ajaccio might well cost him his career in the army. It might even cost him his life, and Napoleon wondered if he should have run off and hidden in the Corsican maquis as his mother had advised. He could easily have survived for years living up in the mountains far beyond the reach of the law. But his every instinct revolted against the idea. Here in Paris, far from the scene of the crime, his word could be just as effective as that of those who sought his prosecution.

When he had arrived in Marseilles, Napoleon had received notification that it might be some months before his case was dealt with, thanks to the outbreak of war. That gave him a little time to try to exert some influence over the outcome. And the best place to start would be to petition the foremost deputy from Corsica, Antoine Saliceti. According to the posters on the street corners, Saliceti was to speak in favour of a proposal to disband the King's household guards the next day.

Accordingly, the morning after his arrival, Napoleon woke early and polished his boots. He combed out his hair and tied it back neatly before putting on his uniform.

A short walk down the street brought Napoleon to the wide thoroughfare of the Rue Saint-Honore where he joined the crowd that was heading towards the Tuileries to watch the debates of the National Assembly. Some of them had come to petition the deputies, others simply wished to be part of the mob outside the palace where the King and his family were virtually being held prisoners. Still more were taking fruit, wine and newspapers to sell to the crowd. Among the last group were traders selling revolutionary cockades, patriotic red bonnets and carved chunks of stone purporting to be from the remains of the Bastille. Although many of the people seemed high-spirited enough Napoleon sensed a tension running through them like an over-tightened violin string; waiting to snap the instant it was put under any strain. He walked with the crowd as far as the Palais-Royal and then turned off the boulevard and headed down towards the Place du Carousel. The opposite side of the square was filled with a crowd of people shouting abuse through the iron railings that ran along the front of the royal quarters of the Tuileries Palace. On the far side of the railings stood a thin line of red-coated Swiss Guards, their black bearskin hats making them seem tall and formidable as they watched the mob. Napoleon skirted round them and hurried to the riding school where the National Assembly was housed. He was anxious to arrive in good time so that he could observe Saliceti and see what kind of man he was before approaching him for help.

As he turned the corner and strode down the Terrasse des Feuillants, Napoleon was confronted by a large crowd at the entrance to the National Assembly. Scores of men from the National Guard formed a cordon and cleared a path for deputies and their officials as they made their way in for the morning session. A small side entrance provided access to the public galleries, and Napoleon shoved through the crowd towards the sergeant in charge of admission.

'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.

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