'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.
'Do you know who that man is?' He pointed.
'That's Robespierre. Maximilien Robespierre himself.'
Napoleon's surprise quickly gave way to fear as the full details of that night flooded back into his memory. He had turned down Robespierre's offer to join them. At the time he had dismissed them as a lunatic fringe organisation. Now Robespierre and his followers ruled the capital. Robespierre kept his gaze fixed straight ahead and strode stiffly past Napoleon without even seeing him.
As the deputies swept through the petitioners Napoleon pushed forward until he stood directly in the path of his man. Saliceti had accepted several petitions since quitting the hall and held them in a bundle against his chest.
'Citizen Saliceti?'
Saliceti looked up sharply at the sound of the Corsican accent. He eyed Napoleon warily and nodded. 'Who are you, citizen?'
Napoleon bowed his head. 'Lieutenant Buona Parte at your service. I need to talk to you. I need your help.'
'Buona Parte?' Saliceti looked amused. 'I've heard all about you, my boy.And yes, you really do need my help. Come with me, and while you're at it you can make yourself useful. Carry these.' He thrust the petitions at Napoleon and strode on, leaving the artillery officer struggling to hold all the envelopes and sheaths of paper and keep up with the deputy.
A little later they were sitting in Saliceti's office, a small, dingy room in a building opposite the riding school. Saliceti sat slumped in a heavily upholstered chair and stared at Napoleon.
'You've made an appalling mess of things, Lieutenant. I read a copy of Paoli's report on that affair in Ajaccio.The original report is at the Ministry of War. They've taken a very dim view of your actions and have referred the matter to the Ministry of Justice.'
'Am I to be charged then?'
'Oh, yes! They want a full court martial. It seems they'll settle for nothing less than your head.Yours and that fat fool Quenza's. What the hell did you expect? Your actions are nothing less than treasonous.'
Napoleon felt sick. Was this how all his dreams, all his ambitions, were to end? A quick trial and a quiet execution? He should have taken his mother's advice to go into hiding after all.
'I expect you want me to see what I can do to quash these charges,' Saliceti continued. 'Corsican to Corsican, eh? Even though you Buona Partes have always held me in contempt for wanting to bind us to France, eh?'
'That is true,' Napoleon admitted miserably.
'I see.' Saliceti was silent for a moment, then continued quietly, 'Of course, if I do help you, I shall want a favour in return.'
Napoleon found it difficult to see how a lowly artillery lieutenant could possibly be of service to one of the leading figures of the revolution, but he nodded his assent all the same.'I'll do what I can.'
'Good. Now tell me, since you have just come from Corsica, what the hell is Paoli up to?'
'Paoli? What do you mean, citizen?'
'I'm hearing reports that the man is running the island like a virtual dictator. He's making all the key appointments. He controls most of the National Guard units – Ajaccio's being the honourable exception, thanks to your efforts. I've also heard that he's been talking to English agents. Seems that he might just as easily lead Corsica into the arms of the English as join the revolution.'
'No. He just wants what all true Coriscans want.'
'And what do we want, Buona Parte?'
Napoleon shrugged. 'Freedom.'
'Freedom. And what exactly does this freedom consist of?'
'Independence. A chance to rule ourselves.'
'We're too small to be independent. Corsica is fated to be part of the inventory of one kingdom, or another. The only question worth asking is which kingdom you prefer. Either Corsica becomes part of the revolution and has its share of democracy, or it becomes the personal property of Paoli and his friends, until he hands it over to England.'