“Bear with me, General Berthier. Whoever took the scepter was able to contact the Englishman Hazlett, either directly or indirectly. This meant that the thief had to be in a position of power, or be the tool of someone very high, or he would not have been able to search out Hazlett without discovery, let alone send the man so far up the Nile for the purpose of concealing the scepter. And Hazlett was willing to do it, instead of stealing the scepter for himself. From that I’ve concluded that he was aware of the man in Paris ordering the venture, and was convinced that he must be obeyed.” It was very difficult not to pace as she spoke. “If Hazlett had succeeded in concealing the scepter so that it could be found later on.. by those who had reason to know where to look, then the political importance of the scepter becomes greater than its material worth. You will allow that a scepter of solid gold is worth a great deal.”
“I will allow that,” said Berthier, not quite so stiffly as before.
“Therefore, I had to conclude that the theft was political and not motivated by simple greed. If greed were the only issue, the scepter would’ve been out of the country and in the hands of anyone with sufficient money to pay for it.” She went very carefully now. “Roustam-Raza holds the scepter in high respect. Speak to him about it if you doubt what I tell you. For the Egyptians it is a symbol of the link from the ancient kings to the Pashas. Therefore if the thief was Muslim, there would have been no reason to employ the Englishman. The scepter would have been returned to the Pasha and that would have been the end of it. So I must conclude the thief intended to use the scepter against Napoleon, otherwise why go to so much trouble?”
Now Berthier appeared a bit more interested. “You have some sense in your supposition.”
Victoire was too caught up in what she was saying to be distracted by this near-compliment. “If the theft of the scepter was part of an attempt to compromise or discredit Napoleon, and the thief known to the guard, then it followed that the actions of the thief were part of a larger plot. The actions of the thief were much too complicated to be accidental or the whim of the moment. Hazlett had been paid and expected to earn more. That means that the murder and theft were not isolated, but part of a larger scheme.” She took a deep breath. “I saw a dispatch that was signed by Tallyrand, or someone who wanted to implicate him. In it he states that there are those close to Napoleon who are committed to bring him down.”
“I read your report on the dispatch,” said Berthier.
“With everything else I had found out, how could I not believe that you had a role to play in this conspiracy? Vernet was not part of a plot—for if he were, I would know it.”
“That I am coming to believe,” said Berthier, looking once toward Larrey, then back at Victoire.
“Murat was not the conspirator, or he would not have gone up the Nile with me, searching for the scepter. And as we’ve agreed, he was not in camp at the time of the murder. Desaix is loyalty itself, and his life is the army. He does not strive for advancement beyond what he has, nor for political position. If he were part of a conspiracy, it would be one within the army, not one centered in the Directoire. Therefore Desaix is not the man implicated. Lavallette was out of touch when the dispatches were being sent. He could not have received them, and had he received them, he could not have acted upon them. Therefore Lavallette is not implicated. Who does that leave?”
“I take your point.” Berthier coughed once. “Very well. I concede that you had some reason to assume I was part of the conspiracy. But so long as you are making accusations, who else is there who might have done this? You have accounted for everyone.”
“Yes, that’s what I thought for some time. If you were not guilty, then who could have done it? Everyone was accounted for. That assumption was my greatest error. In fact, there is one man left. Something I just realized a few hours ago.” She took great satisfaction in answering Berthier’s puzzled frown. “The officer in charge of the marine guard.”
Berthier stared at her. “What?”
“The marine officer. The man who was with you when the treasure was secured, the one who explained what the schedule of the guards was. We tend to discount those who do the actual work, and so not even Vernet thought of him.” She saw that Larrey was also giving her his full attention. “Think, General Berthier. The guards who stood their watches over the treasure would recognize him, probably more readily than they would recognize any of the generals. He would have the means of finding the Englishman Hazlett, and if he was the agent of someone in Paris, he would have money enough to corrupt half the country, and go about it unnoticed.” She played her last card now. “And Vernet told me that the marine guard who was killed was tied up, the knots were so strong that the ropes had to be cut to free the body.”
“Sailor’s knots?” said Berthier, and did not wait for an answer. “Yes. That would be it.”
“If you are not the conspirator who murdered the marine guard and stole the scepter, then that marine lieutenant has to be.” She wanted to shake Berthier, to force him to endorse her deductions.
Berthier frowned, but this time it was not directed at Victoire. He stammered a bit when he spoke. “I ... I must find out what has become of th ... that marine. I remember seeing him in camp after the disaster in the bay, so he must have survived.” He looked at Victoire. “You’re very persuasive, Madame Vernet. It may be that you have stumbled on the solution to the whole thing.”
At another time Victoire would have protested Berthier’s choice of words, but she was too relieved to cavil now. “Find out who that man is, and where he is assigned. Most of the remaining naval personnel were assigned to the merchants or frigates that survived. If he is near Napoleon—”
“Yes. You have followed my thoughts.” He rose and bowed to Larrey. “I did not suppose when I accepted your invitation that I would be in your debt for listening to Madame Vernet, but I am.” Then he turned to Victoire. “If what you have told me is as accurate as you make it appear, you will have my thanks in spite of all you have done, Madame Vernet.”
“Then I am more than satisfied,” said Victoire, not quite honestly.
“I will leave you.” Berthier went to the door of the tent. “And in the morning, first thing, I will expect you to present yourself at my quarters, Madame Vernet.”
This puzzled her, but she said, “It will be my pleasure, General Berthier.”
“We’ll want to consult you before we question this marine.” With that as a parting shot, Berthier was gone.
Larrey watched Victoire for a short while. “Quite an impressive display,” he said to her. “I didn’t realize you had such skill in reasoning.”
“It was part of my education,” said Victoire.
“You appear to have turned your education to your advantage,” said Larrey.
She could think of nothing to say in response. She took refuge in good manners. “No matter how this ends, I am in your debt for what you did tonight.”
“Let us pray that you are right about the guard, and that he can be found before the first ship leaves.” Larrey indicated the door. “Your husband can take pride in you tonight.”
Victoire answered slowly. “That would be premature, I fear. Until the marine lieutenant is apprehended, danger remains.”
* * *
Dawn was an hour away, but Berthier was dressed and shaved, watching as two corporals prepared his belongings for loading on the waiting ship. At his feet were two large leather cases he would not permit the soldiers to touch: they contained the shrine he kept to his beloved Giovanna.
Eugene, pale and drawn, stood at Berthier’s side, his portable desk ready. “It appears that Madame Vernet may be right,” he said, handing two sheets of paper to his superior. “The search was worth it.”
“Armand Fellisse. He’s from Provence. Formerly attached to the L’Orient at the last minute. No one alive remembers why. Papers show that he was assigne
d to guard Napoleon aboard ship after Malta.” Eugene’s expression grew more somber. “Here is his appointment.” He handed over another sheet of paper.
Berthier read it, filled with a combination of horror and gratitude. “Appointed by Tallyrand. That’s Tallyrand’s signature,” he said as he handed it back to Eugene. “There’s no doubt about it. He is not someone’s dupe, but at the center of it. If only it can be proved.”
“It is a personal appointment, too,” said Eugene.
“Never mind,” said Berthier, motioning to Eugene to close his desk. “I believe you.” He smiled. “As I am coming to believe Madame Vernet. I thought she had ventured too far and assumed too much, but with all this, I can’t deny that she is now in the right.”
“She is a very persuasive woman,” said Eugene.
“Probably because she is intelligent.” He moved aside so that the two corporals could haul off two of his trunks. “I hope Vernet knows what he has. She will be a better ally than the patronage of half the Directors in Paris. And if ever he plays her false, she will make his life the inner circle of hell.”
“Jealous women—” began Eugene only to be cut off.
“She isn’t jealous, not the way most women are. Hers is not the loyalty of lapdogs but of tigers. She is like a good officer, ready to tolerate many things if they do not compromise the campaign. But dishonor the regiment, or put the gain of a moment ahead of the goals of the—” He broke off as the flap of his tent lifted and Victoire Vernet presented herself.
“You asked me to be here, General Berthier,” she said cordially, giving no sign that she had overheard anything he said.
“Yes. I am pleased to see you, Madame Vernet. Eugene has been busy during the night, and it appears that your deductions are correct. The marine lieutenant, Fellisse, may be the man we are seeking.” Berthier hesitated. “If we can find him. And we must find him very soon.”
“Oh?” said Victoire, coming into the tent. “Why do you say that?”
“Because he has been appointed to guard Napoleon while he is aboard ship. If everything you have told me is accurate, then we are delivering Napoleon into the hands of his greatest enemies.” Berthier shook his head. “I have sent him word, but my messenger hasn’t returned yet. There is such confusion, and ...” He lifted his hand to show his frustration.
Victoire understood the problem at once. “Vernet will be delighted to help you,” she said at once. “He has never faltered in his loyalty to Napoleon. Let him demonstrate that now.”
Berthier regarded her, then shrugged. “If I say no, you will probably set him on the task in any case, won’t you?”
“It’s likely,” she admitted. “It is more likely that with or without my suggestion he would do it himself.”
At last Berthier gave in. “All right. I can’t interrupt the preparations for departure to search for the man personally. I don’t want to see him alerted by pursuit. And if I send men after him now, he would be warned and might flee or try something desperate. So. You will have your chance, Madame Vernet, you and your husband. Fellisse will not be expecting you, and will pay no notice. Find Napoleon and warn him about this Fellisse. Your husband might recognize the man, though it is a year since he saw him.” He looked at his cot where open cases stood, waiting for the last of his books, maps, and clothes.
“We will do what we can, General Berthier, and will send you word when there is anything to report.” She dropped him a curtsy and hurried out of the tent, making way through the busy pre-dawn bustle of the camp to their tent.
Vernet was rubbing wool fat into his boots, taking extra care where the leather was starting to crack. Other than his boots, he was in uniform and ready for muster. He looked up at her. “Well? What did he have to say?”
“He said there is a marine who may be intending to harm Napoleon,” she answered, barely able to conceal her excitement. “And he’s given us permission to stop him.”
* * *
The staging area was full of small carts, stacks of trunks and cases, and men busily loading these things aboard the boats ferrying them out to the Murion and La Carrière.
Searching through the chaos, the first man Victoire recognized was Joachim Murat, who had just arrived to deliver his trunks to the sailors. He glanced at Victoire, then looked away. “I was sorry to hear that you would not be coming with us, madame,” he said formally.
“Under the circumstances, it is to be expected,” she answered, adding, “Vernet and I are looking for Napoleon. Have you seen him?”
“Not this morning. Have you tried Madame Foures’s tent?” His tone continued to be distant.
“Yes, but neither of them are there,” she answered at once. “He is not taking breakfast and I am running out of ideas where to look for him.”
“What does Roustam-Raza say?” asked Murat.
“I haven’t found him, either,” she answered. “That’s the one thing that relieves me—if Roustam-Raza is with him, Napoleon is protected.” She cocked her head to the side and regarded Murat. “Are you well?”
“Perfectly well, Madame,” he said as if speaking to a stranger. “I trust you, too, are well, Madame Vernet?”
“Not just at present,” she said with asperity, wanting to throttle Murat for his infuriating remoteness. “And time is very short for action. I fear that an assassin is going to make an attempt on Napoleon’s life. That’s why I want to find him.”
“An assassin?” asked Murat. “What assassin?”
“The same one who killed the marine guard last year,” she said. “The one who stole the scepter. The one who caused all else to happen. He is still at liberty, and therefore Napoleon is in danger.”
Murat’s brown eyes were hooded but there was light in them now, and anger. “Are you certain of that? That it is the same man?”
“Certain enough to be searching for Napoleon with Berthier’s blessing,” she said. “If you have any suggestions where I might find him, I would be grateful for them. As would my husband. He is with Desaix at present.”
A little of the animation Murat had shown six months ago stirred in him. “If I am not mistaken, he will be on his way back from the Pyramids. He said last night that he wanted to see them once more before he left Egypt. They fascinate him, the Pyramids, and the Sphinx.”
“Ah,” said Victoire. “And is he alone?” she asked urgently.
“Probably. He is sad having to abandon for a time his dreams for the Orient. But there will be an escort waiting for him at the river, including Roustam-Raza, He would have to be returning now. The morning is already too hot for riding very far.”
“But if he is there, how can I reach him? I haven’t the right to order a courier, if one could be found, and ...” She flung her hands in the air. “The assassin will strike when he can do so with impunity. And what better place than near the Pyramids? It would serve his purposes very well to have Napoleon a victim of Egypt.” Her eyes opened wide as one more hideous thought occurred to her. “The assassin might intend to cast blame on Roustam-Raza. He has already tried to implicate Vernet and Berthier.” She stared at Murat. “Who is with Napoleon?”
“I’m not sure. Probably his marine guard.” Murat stared at her. “What is it, Madame Vernet?”
“The marine guard.” She felt cold in the heat. “And Roustam-Raza?”
“He is making his farewells. This is his land. He may even have family here. He has never said. He is supposed to meet Napoleon when he returns from the Pyramids.” Murat grasped her fear. “The marine guard! He was there as well.” He signalled to one of his men. “You. Grossante. Keep watch on these things for me. And you. Donerien. Carry a message to Inspector-General Vernet. You’ll find him with Desaix.” He glanced at Victoire. “You join your husband. I know where to find Roustam-Raza, and I’ll attend to it at once.”
Donerien saluted. “What message, General Murat?”<
br />
“Tell him to meet his wife at the foot of the road to the Pyramids. As quickly as possible.” Murat motioned him off, and said to Victoire. “Let’s go get a horse for you. You’ll have to push the beast, but there’s no help for it.” He started away from the staging area back to where the horses were stabled.
Victoire strode along as fast as she could, holding her skirts higher than propriety allowed. “Will it take you long to bring Roustam-Raza?”
“No. I must reach him, but he will come at once when he knows the reason.” He increased his pace so that Victoire had to break into a slow run beside him. “Was this your work, Madame?”
“If you mean did I piece it together, yes. But there are many others who could have done so,” she said.
“After Napoleon was murdered,” said Murat grimly, the darkness that held him still possessing him. “When it would do no good.”
* * *
The mare was flagging but Victoire spurred her on, forcing her to an extended trot that covered the ground handily; sweat darkened her coat and foam rose on her neck and flanks. Victoire felt the weight of the sun and knew that the mare would not be able to stand much more.
Ahead on the plateau the Pyramids sat, seeming small because of the distance, and the fine ribbon of road leading down from the tremendous monuments appeared to be empty. Victoire shaded her eyes, but the glare was too fierce and she could not see clearly enough. She glanced backward, but there was too much dust from her mare’s hooves for her to be certain that anyone was behind her. What would she do if she arrived alone? Warn Napoleon perhaps. He was a soldier and said to be brave. At least he could then fight for his life. If the marine didn’t kill her as she approached. She offered a brief, fervent prayer that Murat’s man had reached Vernet quickly.
She was near enough to the junction now that she pulled her mare in and gave her some respite from the hard pace. At a fast walk the mare’s panting was more apparent, and Victoire patted the water-skin she had brought with her, knowing that the mare would need it all as soon as she was cool enough to drink safely.
Napoleon Must Die Page 24