Napoleon nodded. It was a fair point. But just how easily the people of France could be persuaded to discount God was less discernible. A more pragmatic issue then occurred to him. 'Supposing the old order collapses. What exactly will replace it?'
Augustin Duman leaned forward and intervened.'Democracy.'
'Democracy? And how will this democracy manifest itself, exactly?'
'As the people desire,' Duman continued, his voice loud with idealism. 'An order will arise from their desires and deliberations. An order that will be agreed on and stand as a shining example to the downtrodden of other countries.'
'I see.' Napoleon kept his tone neutral. 'The common people will be rational and will decide on the best form of government.'
'Exactly.'
Napoleon smiled. 'I don't mean to be indelicate, but have you ever met the common people? It's just that I have doubts about your understanding of what they are like.'
Duman pressed his hand against his breast. 'They are people, just like us.'
'Citizen Duman, they are not like us. They are an ignorant herd in need of leadership. There are wiser heads in this world who must be trusted with sound governance. Enlightened governance. Men like those who sit round this table. You sound like an educated man.'
Duman drew himself up a little as he stared back at Napoleon. 'I am a lawyer.'
Schiller rapped the table with his knuckles. 'Augustin! Citizen Duman. That is enough. The lieutenant has not taken the oath. You will not impart any confidential details about the members of our society. That includes their professions.'
Napoleon sensed another lawyer and as he looked from Schiller to Duman he was struck again by their similarity of appearance and manner.
Schiller turned his gaze back to Napoleon. 'Citizen Buona Parte is right.'
The other men stirred uncomfortably and one started to speak before Schiller raised his hand to silence him.
'He is right, up to a point. The people will require leadership in the early years of the new order. Until they are fully politicised and educated they cannot hope to know what is in their best interest.They will be vulnerable to the rhetoric of those men who are cynical and self-interested. It will be down to men like us to lead them through this difficult and dangerous period.'
'Dangerous?' Napoleon queried. 'In what way?'
'Any change in society, of the magnitude that we envisage, will not come peacefully. We can expect the old regime to fight to hold on to their power and privileges. Blood will be shed.That is the price that must be paid; a harsh, but necessary reality that has to be faced. Wouldn't you agree, Citizen Buona Parte?'
It seemed a realistic enough proposition. 'If there is violence, the question that concerns me is can such a loss of life justify the ends?' Napoleon asked.
'That is a question for philosophers, Citizen Buona Parte. We are concerned with pragmatics.Who will remember the dead fifty years after the establishment of a new order? Their deaths will make possible everlasting prosperity for generation after generation of their heirs. The manifold miseries of our age will perish with them. Is that not a sacrifice worth making?'
'I think that is a question for the people you are calling on to make the sacrifice,' Napoleon replied. 'As for me, I am a soldier, not a civilian. Death is an inevitable part of the profession. A soldier's sacrifice is expected of him.'
Schiller jabbed a finger towards him. 'Which is why you must be ready when the time comes. We will need men like you, who are prepared to kill and be killed to achieve our aims. Of course, the choice of which side you fight on will be yours. Old regime, or new order. I think you are no mindless drone, citizen.You are a thinker as well as a soldier, and once you've considered what I have said there can be only one logical outcome.'
Napoleon shook his head and rose from his seat. 'I'm sorry, Citizen Schiller. I cannot make that choice. Now, I must leave before I hear anything that might endanger you further.'
Duman slowly rose from his seat and eased himself off to the left, and Napoleon suddenly realised he might have taken a step too far. This was not a meeting one could leave without having signed up to the cause. He glanced at Duman, then turned back to Schiller.
'You have my word that I will breathe no word of tonight. My sympathies are not with the government, as you must know. But I can not make the choice you demand of me. I must leave.'
Schiller stared at him for a moment. The atmosphere in the room was thick with tension and Napoleon felt afraid. He should have known better. He should have left Cardin's shop and never returned. It was too late for that now. His life was in the hands of the man at the end of the table. Schiller pursed his lips briefly before he spoke again. 'Very well. I trust you.You may go.'
Napoleon backed away towards the door, watched closely by everyone in the room.As he reached the door and turned to open it he fully expected a pistol shot, or a knife blade to crash home into his spine. But there was nothing, and he took his first step on to the stairs.
'Lieutenant Buona Parte,' Schiller called after him, 'one last thing. Old regime or new order. You will have to make that choice, sooner than you think.'
Napoleon gave a faint nod and turned to descend the stairs, not daring to look back as he heard Duman walk to the door behind him. The door was closed, throwing the narrow staircase into darkness.
When he returned to the Pays Normandie there was a letter under his door. For a second he thought it might be from Annabelle and his mind raced with images of her deserting her man to come to him. Then, as he pushed the door open, he saw that it was an official message. His name was inscribed in a fair round hand and the seal on the back bore the crest of the War Ministry. Napoleon closed the door behind him, took off his coat and hat and sat down at his table. There was just enough light from the night sky filtering through the window to see the candle and his tinderbox. He lit the candle and sat down to break the seal and open the letter. Inside there was a brief formal note from a clerk of the War Ministry.
The War Minister acknowledges receipt of your letter requesting a further extension to your leave. It is his opinion that your presence in Paris is proof of your return to full health, and ability to continue your service with the army of His Most Catholic Majesty. Therefore the request is denied. Furthermore, you are requested and required to return to your regiment at the earliest possible date, and no later than the start of March. Failure to comply with this instruction will imply a desire to cease holding the King's commission and you will be discharged from his service.
I am your obedient servant, J. Corbouton, secretary to the Minister.
'Shit…' Napoleon muttered as he set down the letter. There would be no chance to settle the claim for compensation now. Once he returned to duty the army would be certain not to let him take any more leave for years. And with that his family, back home in Corsica, faced the prospect of certain ruin.
Chapter 45
Ireland, 1788
A fall of snow the night before had given Dublin a clean and fresh appearance, and thick white mantles clung to the pitched roofs of the capital. Almost every house had a fire lit and smoke billowed from thousands of chimneys into the brown haze that covered the city. Arthur pulled up the collar of his greatcoat as he made his way up Eustace Street to the castle. He had rented a room from a bootmaker on Ormonde Quay, ten minutes' walk from the Cork Hill gate into the castle. It was still early enough that not many people were abroad. The snow had not yet turned to slush and crunched softly under his boots.
It was the middle of February and he had been in Dublin for over ten days, spending the first few with old friends of the family while he had found comfortable and affordable accommodation of his own. He was wearing his best uniform and hat to create what he hoped would be a pleasing impression. Arthur was well aware that his tall figure, light brown curls and elegant manner would complement the uniform perfectly.