Napoleon shook his head. ‘I was paid in assignats.’
‘Ah . . . That’s not so good.’
‘No,’ Napoleon agreed. ‘But there’s no helping it. I need the money. I haven’t been paid a sou since we left Marseilles and the owner of the hotel won’t wait much longer for the rent. At least we’ll have a roof over our heads and wine in our cups for a few weeks yet. So drink up, but not too fast, eh, Junot?’
The other men smiled but there was a lingering expression of guilt on Junot’s face as he stared into the dregs of his cup. He glanced up. ‘Sir, it’s not right that you should have to pay for us. My family has a little money. I could ask—’
‘That’s enough, Junot.You are on my staff. Part of my military family. It is only right that I should pay for us all. What kind of commanding officer would I be if I didn’t take care of such things?’
‘A richer one,’ Marmont cut in with a bleary smile. He reached over and patted Napoleon’s shoulder. ‘Cheer up. Something will come up.There’s a war on.They need us. Our time will come. In the meantime let’s hope Carnot lets your leave run a while longer yet.’
‘Yes, I hope so.’
Napoleon reflected that it had been over a month since the Minister of War had granted him leave. Fortunately for him, Carnot’s attention had been diverted from military matters for much of that time. A new constitution was being debated in the chamber of deputies and every political faction was fighting to have its views enshrined in the document. While the debate preoccupied Carnot, Napoleon had been pleading his case with the officials at the Ministry of War to find him another command. But time was running out. Unless the military situation changed, he would be forced to leave Paris and join the thankless fight against the rebels in the Vendée. And possibly very soon. That morning he had received a message from the Ministry, summoning him to a meeting the following day.
Napoleon raised his glass and took another sip of the cheap wine, then gazed for a moment at the surrounding scene.
Now that the days of the Great Terror were over the capital had quickly recovered much of its gaiety. The wealthier citizens no longer dressed down when they walked abroad for fear of being singled out as aristocrats. Ostentatious carriages had reappeared on the streets and those ladies who could afford it paraded their fashions openly. The cheaper theatres once again played comedies and sketches that dared to poke fun at the more tolerant, or ridiculous, members of the national assembly, though as yet those who sat on the Committee for Public Safety were studiously overlooked by Parisian playwrights. Every day, it seemed, a new newspaper appeared on the streets, taking an increasingly critical line on those who ruled the republic. Every social ill was laid at the door of the government: inflation, the failure of the harvest, the black market, the apparent political anarchy and the poor management of the war. Some newspapers even dared to argue for the restoration of the monarchy and there had been angry confrontations between rival crowds of republicans and monarchists on the streets. Even though the high temperatures of summer had dissipated, the mood in Paris was heated and strained, like the air before the breaking of a storm, and Napoleon, like everyone else, was filled with a sense of foreboding.With good reason. He drained his glass and muttered, ‘I am to present myself at the Ministry at noon tomorrow. I was informed this morning.’
‘Why?’ asked Junot.
‘I don’t know, but I fear my leave is about to come to an abrupt end.’ Napoleon shrugged. ‘So I might as well as make the most of this evening. Come on. Let’s be off. I’ve heard that there are some new girls at Madame Marcelle’s place.’
The Palais-Royal was lit from one end to the other by the orange glow of lanterns. Madame Marcelle’s establishment was in the far corner, and as the three officers threaded their way through the evening throng of friends, families, lovers, hawkers and all manner of street entertainers, Napoleon noticed a crowd gathered round a man speaking from a large wine cask outside a café. He was screened from his audience by four men carrying long staves. As Napoleon drew closer he could hear the first words of the speaker, strident against the good-humoured tone of the wider crowd.
‘Citizens! You are in grave danger - your complacency threatens to kill you! Do you not know that even as you stand there, the Bourbon agents are plotting to overthrow the revolution? It is they who are behind the price rises and food shortages. They are the ones who are trying to undermine the new constitution. Trying to steal the liberty that we have taken into our own hands.’The speaker raised his fists. ‘All that we have fought for. All that those gallant martyrs of the Bastille died for - all, ALL will be torn from us and we will be as slaves again. Is that what you wish?’
‘No!’ called a resonant voice. Napoleon sensed the theatrical tone of the cry, and he smiled. A supporter planted in the crowd. ‘No! Never!’ the voice cried out again, and others joined in.
The speaker nodded and raised a palm to quieten them before he continued. ‘You are good patriots.That I can tell at once. Not like those Bourbon scum who would sell their souls to foreign powers and their mercenary hordes. They are traitors!’
‘Damned liar!’ a shrill voice called out. ‘Royalists are not traitors. We seek to free France of the tyranny of the godless!’
Napoleon paused, straining his neck and rising on his toes as he tried to see over the heads of the crowd towards the protester. He saw a tall thin man standing on a pediment at the far side of the crowd. As soon as he had spoken he turned and gestured towards the colonnade. At once a swarm of men emerged from the shadows of the tall columns. Each wore a scarf across his face and carried a wooden club.
A woman screamed. Her cry was taken up and the people surged as one away from the onrushing men.
‘Death to the murderers of the King!’ the voice shrilled out. ‘For God and monarchy!’
He jumped down from the pediment and joined his followers as they charged into the terrified crowd, swinging their clubs at victims without any regard for age or gender. Suddenly a dense mass of bodies surged against Napoleon, thrusting him back against his companions. Junot grabbed hold of his arm and held him up while Marmont stepped forward with a roar and brandished his fists, daring any of the panicked crowd to come any closer to them. As the bodies flowed past on either side and the evening air filled with cries of fear, pain and anger Napoleon growled, ‘Come on! We’ll teach those royalists a lesson.’
‘What?’ Junot turned to him in surprise. ‘Are you mad? They’ll cut us down in no time.’
‘He’s right.’ Marmont eased himself back towards his friends. ‘Three against twenty or more. What can we do?’
‘Three right now,’ Napoleon conceded, his voice betraying his nervous excitement. ‘But once we fight back, so will others. Come on!’
He thrust his way past Marmont and pushed through the people streaming away from their attackers.Then, over the heads of those at the back of the crowd, he saw the raised clubs and scarved faces of the men beating a path through to the original speaker and his guards. Napoleon paused, fists bunched and heart pounding, not for the first time uncertain about the wisdom of what he was doing.Then he saw on the ground the prone figure of an old man, sprawled on his face, blood gushing from his scalp on to the cobbles. Beside him lay a crutch. Napoleon snatched it up, instinctively grasping it as if it were a musket, armpad clutched to his side and the base held out like a muzzle. His confidence returned and he stepped forward again, swerving round a woman clutching a young boy to her breast, long skirts flowing as she fled. A short distance behind her was the first of the royalists. Above the scarf he wore to conceal his features, his wide excited eyes turned and fixed on Napoleon, widening still further with surprise. He hesistated for an instant before he began to raise his club, and Napoleon swept forward, throwing all the weight of his slight figure behind the crutch as he rammed the base into the man’s chest, and hissed ‘Bastard!’ through clenched teeth.