‘And would you enforce such tolerance?’ the sheikh asked wryly.
‘Indeed.’ Napoleon nodded, and his feather tipped forward again. With a grimace he quickly reached up and savagely plucked it out of the turban and tossed it on to the divan behind him.
The band suddenly struck up as the doors to the kitchens opened and a long line of servants emerged carrying platters of delicacies and exotic fruits. As the French officers and their guests began to eat, Captain Conté’s crew finally lit the fire underneath his balloon-launching platform. The flames flickered into life and the timber crackled merrily. At first nothing seemed to be happening and then, as Napoleon watched, the balloon envelope rippled and began to fill, with painstaking slowness. After a while he lost interest in the display and idly glanced round the faces of those sitting at the tables set for the French.
In amongst them were a handful of women, and almost at once Napoleon’s gaze fell upon a slim figure with fine tresses of auburn hair. She sat at the side of a handsome young lieutenant who frequently glanced at her in open adoration. It was easy to see why, Napoleon reflected. She was the most beautiful woman he had seen since leaving France. Since he last saw Josephine, he reflected bitterly, reopening the still fresh wound in his heart.
He lowered his plate and turned to Junot.‘Who is that woman over there?’
Junot followed the direction indicated by Napoleon and smiled. ‘Ah! That is the delightful Pauline Fourès.’
‘I don’t recall seeing her before. Is that man her husband?’
‘Yes, Lieutenant Fourès, one of our cavalry officers. A bit of a firebrand by all accounts. I’m not surprised you haven’t noticed his wife before, sir. She disguised herself as a hussar to accompany her husband on the campaign. She only revealed her true identity after the battle outside Cairo.’
‘Good God!’ Napoleon shook his head in wonder. ‘How could she have managed it? To have survived all that and kept her secret . . .She sounds interesting. I should like to meet her.Would you see to it, Junot? Supper, tonight at my mansion.’
‘Yes, sir. An invitation to Madame Fourès, and the good lieutenant as well?’
‘No. I think I would rather hear her story without any distraction.’
‘I understand, sir. I’ll see to it.’
‘Good.’ Napoleon looked at her for a moment longer and then turned his attention back to his meal. He was aroused at the prospect of meeting the woman, and at the same time felt a vague sense of shame at pulling rank over her husband, and the prospect of being unfaithful to Josephine, in spirit at least. Then his heart hardened. Let Josephine hear of this. Let her suffer the injury he had endured at her hands. As for Lieutenant Fourès? Napoleon shrugged. Perhaps it was time for Fourès to share his general’s knowledge of the perfidy of women.
The sheikh coughed softly. ‘I beg your pardon, General, but how long does this balloon of yours take before it makes its ascent?’
‘What?’ Napoleon shook off his thoughts of Josephine and Pauline Fourès. He looked across the square. Captain Conté was desperately piling more fuel on to the fire. Above it the material of the balloon had barely risen and resembled nothing so much as the flaccid, wrinkled breast of an old woman. Napoleon granted the captain a few minutes’ grace, then discreetly gestured to Junot to come closer.
‘Sir?’
‘Have a word with Conté. Nothing too harsh, you understand, but tell him he’d better get that thing up in the air before he makes complete fools of us.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Junot eased himself up from his divan, strolled across the courtyard and beckoned to the hapless Captain Conté, who emerged from under the platform with his face glistening with sweat and streaked with grime. He listened to Junot for a moment, looked past him towards Napoleon, and shrugged his shoulders helplessly.
‘Is there a problem, General?’
Napoleon turned to the sheikh.‘Not at all. Demonstrations of such complexity take time, that’s all.’
‘It’s just that your captain doesn’t seem very happy. Does he really know what he’s doing?’
‘Who? Captain Conté?’ Napoleon was hurt by the accusation and impulsively rushed to defend the reputation of his officer.‘Captain Conté has one of the most brilliant minds in the French army. That’s why I personally selected him for this campaign.’>
‘Really?’
‘Yes,’ Napoleon said irritably. ‘The man is a genius. He invented the pencil, you know.’
‘The pencil.’The sheikh nodded slowly. ‘Then, truly, he is not a man to be underestimated.’
Napoleon could not take the humiliation any more. He rose, and made an excuse that he had work to attend to and was sorry but the demonstration would have to wait for another day.
‘I quite understand, General,’ the sheikh responded with a kindly expression. ‘Perhaps when Allah is more willing to permit men to behave like birds.’
‘Yes, quite.’
As soon as the last of the sheikhs and imams had departed Napoleon tore off the turban and hurled it to the ground. ‘So much for appeasing their sensibilities! The smug bastards. Laughing up their sleeves at us!’ He whirled round and stabbed a finger at Conté.‘It’s your fault! You and that worthless balloon of yours! Take it down. Get rid of it. Get it out of my sight before I have it cut to pieces and wipe my arse on it.’
‘Sir!’ Captain Conté tried to explain. ‘It was the day’s heat. I could not make my balloon more buoyant than the surrounding air. It works best in cooler climates.’
‘Really?’ Napoleon snapped. ‘Cooler climates? Then you’d better pack it up and fuck off back to France with it, Captain.’
‘Sir! I . . .Yes, sir.’
Napoleon glared at him a moment, then turned round to look for Junot. ‘Junot! Over here! At once, man!’
Junot ran across the courtyard and stood stiffly to attention before his general. ‘Yes, sir?’
‘That other business. Concerning Madame Fourès. See to it now, please.’
‘Tonight, sir?’
‘Tonight. I need something to take my mind off this disaster.’ A smile flickered across Napoleon’s face. ‘I think that she will prove a most diverting companion.’
The door closed behind the woman as Junot left the room and for a moment Napoleon watched her from his seat on the balcony outside. Pauline Fourès was wearing a sheer silk gown that hid little of her fine figure in the wan glow of the oil lamps burning in a bracket hanging from the ceiling. For a moment she simply stared round the room; then she darted across to a small side table and helped herself to a piece of baklava. Napoleon could not help chuckling and she froze at once.
‘Who’s there? General?’
Napoleon rose and entered the room.
‘Madame Fourès, a pleasure.’ He bowed and kissed her hand. ‘Thank you for coming to see me.’
‘How could I refuse?’ She smiled, and her full lips parted to reveal perfect teeth. ‘Colonel Junot was most insistent. And, after all, you are the most powerful man in Egypt.Your word is law.’
‘It is. Please sit down.’ He gestured to the two chairs beside the side table. ‘Since you have started on the delicacies, feel free to continue.’
‘Ah . . .’ She laughed. ‘Now I am ashamed.’
They sat and Napoleon poured them each a glass of wine, and they picked at the baklava as he asked her to tell the story of her adventures since the expedition had left France. When she had finished Napoleon reflected for a moment before he spoke.
‘I envy a man who inspires such devotion in his wife.’
Pauline stared back at him. ‘I love my husband, General, but I loathed life as an officer’s wife back in France. I have not sacrificed anything to follow him. In truth I escaped the drudgery of eking out a life in a rented room while waiting for him to return. There has to be more to life than that. There has to be adventure.’