‘His Highness Prince Eugene charged you with a confidential mission during the Russian campaign. That you know. What you perhaps don’t know is how he characterised you afterwards. Eulogies and encomiums!’
He brandished a sheet of paper and read from it.
‘You are, and I quote, “an admirable man”—’
He had to break off as Talleyrand snorted with laughter. The Prince de Bénévent had long ceased believing that men could be admirable ...
‘You succeeded brilliantly in your mission, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera. In view of all this praise and of your experience, Monsieur de Talleyrand and I consider that you are the man we need.’ Margont was a confirmed republican. At a time when Paris was
threatened, he wanted to play his part in protecting the capital, not to be ‘the man we need’, whatever mission Joseph was about to reveal.
The latter settled back in his chair and stared at Margont.
‘Yesterday evening, Colonel Berle was assassinated at home, here in Paris. We have reason to believe that the crime was committed by one or more royalists—’
‘But perhaps we’re barking up the wrong tree,’ Talleyrand suddenly interrupted.
‘Berle was a military genius, and although now sixty, he had agreed to be pressed back into service because of the situation we are facing. He was one of the officers I had asked to consider the best ways of defending Paris. We are preparing for the worst, as a precaution, even though, of course, the enemy will never succeed in reaching Paris!’
‘But they already have, Your Excellency—’ objected Margont.
‘What insolence! Yet another revolutionary who believes in freedom of expression! And he dares to call me “Your Excellency”
instead of “Your Majesty”! I am King of Spain!’
Imperial Spain barely existed any more; it was reduced to Barcelona and part of Catalonia. Joseph was the only one to think his crown still meant anything. Margont made an effort to rein himself in. His candour and his love of the witty retort had already got him into trouble in the past. But the terms ‘Your Highness’ or ‘Your Majesty’ stuck in his throat. His expression was impassive but inside he was boiling. They should have started reinforcing the capital’s defences months ago! But not a single entrenchment had been built and not a single ditch dug! No one had drawn up instructions in case of an attack! Such inaction was criminal. Was Joseph afraid of worrying people? Did he think that ostrich tactics would work? The lieutenant-general paused a moment, hesitating to entrust Margont with the inquiry. Then he launched in.
‘The file we have on you, Lieutenant-Colonel, dwells at length on your revolutionary ardour. But so much the better. Nothing like a republican to hunt down a royalist. The victim was tortured. No doubt his tormentor was trying to force information from him. I don’t know whether poor Berle talked ... He was writing a proposal for me to transform the mound at Montmartre into an impregnable redoubt guarded by large-calibre cannons to protect the approaches to Paris ... He was also working on plans for entrenchments to guard the residential areas of the city and on what to do about the bridges: how to fortify them, and equip them with landing stages ...’
Margont was shaken. Montmartre, the bridges ... Of course it was necessary to do all that to protect Parisians. But he found it disturbing to think of the places he loved covered with retrenchments and artillery.
The murderer left behind a royalist emblem. A white rosette with a medallion in the middle decorated with a fleur-de-lis in the shape of an arrowhead crossed with a sword. It was pinned to the colonel’s shirt. The murderer also stole some documents. Fortunately, most of them were coded, as I had instructed. Our theory is that a small group of royalists is planning to try to disrupt the defence of Paris.’
Royalist plotters! Everyone was talking about them as if there were tens of thousands of them, when in fact there could have been only a few thousand scattered amongst several different organisations. Since the catastrophic imperial defeats in 1812 and 1813 they had regained credibility and energy. They were stirring up as much trouble as possible, fearing that Napoleon would come to a compromise with the Allies and hold on to his imperial crown. They advocated all-out war against the Emperor and some of them favoured extreme methods: murder and uprising.
‘We think the murderer left the emblem to create a climate of fear. Our enemies within are only a handful - they want to appear more numerous and dangerous than they really are. We won’t play their game! I demand that every detail of the crime remain secret. Neither you nor the servant who discovered the colonel’s body must divulge that aspect of the affair. As for the police, they won’t even know about it. It so happens that we have an advantage and you are going to exploit it for us.’
Joseph let the last few words sink in.
The murderer thinks he can hide in the anonymity of the myriad monarchist organisations: the Knights of the Faith, the Congregation, the Aa, the Societies of the Sacred Heart... But he underestimates the reach of our police services. We have an informer in one of their groups, the Swords of the King. Charles de Varencourt is the son of a noble Norman family. A committed royalist, but with an Achilles heel: he’s an inveterate gambler, and so he’s always short of money. A few weeks ago he began to sell us information.’
Margont, who was an idealist, had no time for that kind of person. ‘I see ...’ he said. ‘When he runs out of money he betrays his companions.’
‘Exactly. We haven’t arrested them yet for three reasons. First, in this kind of operation we must avoid haste. The longer we wait the more information we’ll gather, and the more members of the group well be able to identify. We haven’t yet managed to find out where the members live. Secondly, the plotters can’t agree on what action to take, so they don’t represent any immediate danger.
And thirdly, thanks to them, we will be able to hook a much larger fish, Count Boris Kevlokine. But more about him later. In the meantime Charles de Varencourt has been providing us with information. Some of the plotters plan to wage a murderous campaign against the key members of the team charged with defending Paris.’
Although Joseph tried to hide it, his voice trembled. He was afraid. Did he think that he might be targeted? Margont abstained from assuring him that he was perfectly safe since his enemies would have no interest in eliminating such a hopeless incompetent. In any case, the security of the top brass was assured. Joseph cleared his throat and tried once more to master himself, which only served to make his anxiety more obvious.
‘Colonel Berle was on the list of people they plan to assassinate. I had taken steps to protect the people on the list, discreetly so as not to make it obvious to our enemies that we knew what they were up to. But I have to admit we hadn’t seen this coming. Even in the Swords of the King there aren’t many royalists willing to commit to murder in this way. Murder as a tactic is under discussion but hasn’t been agreed. Some members would like to foment a popular uprising by printing posters; others want to raise arms; and some are just planning to wait until everything is sorted out whilst looking as if they’re taking action ... The group had gathered information about potential victims — names, addresses, places of work, regular routes, interests, friends and family, the number of armed guards each had. Colonel Berle’s murderer would have known all these things. At the time of the murder there were fifteen people in the house! There were sentries, his private secretary, two valets, three household servants, the cook, the kitchen maid, the coachman ... So the man must have got in through a window and made his way through the house, in spite of all the comings and goings, to the study on the second floor. That proves he knew the habits of his victim. And the symbol he left behind is the secret emblem of the Swords of the King.’
Margont thought of Paris. Could a few crimes like that really put the defence of the capital in jeopardy? Unfortunately, yes. And
what about Talleyrand? The Prince de Bénévent had not said a word, although he was paying close attention to what Margont and Joseph were saying, and to their demeanour. Margont was curious to hear what he would have to say.
‘So, Lieutenant-Colonel, what do you conclude from what I have just told you?’ demanded Joseph.
‘Nothing, Your Excellency.’
The lieutenant-general raised his eyes to the ceiling, then let his head fall back. He studied the ceiling with its elegant oval stucco and enormous chandelier whose candles barely illuminated the wintry gloom. But his attitude was unconvincing. Joseph seemed to have struck a pose, like an actor trying to intimidate an audience that was not delivering the correct response. He was a bit-part player who had been made a king because he was the Emperor’s brother. But instead of becoming a Henry V he was nothing but a mediocre King Lear, responsible in part for his own difficulties. He rose.
‘I demand a response, Lieutenant-Colonel.’ ‘Perhaps one of the members of the group decided unilaterally to put into operation the plan to destabilise the Empire by committing murder. By leaving the emblem, apart from making it clear that the Empire’s enemies are here in the heart of Paris, he hoped to draw the other conspirators into the plan whether they liked it or not. He was setting in train a process: the crime would force you to step up your efforts against the Swords of the King, which would alarm them and push them to commit increasingly violent acts.’
Joseph was delighted and the smile he gave Margont was supposed to be a reward.
‘That’s what we think too.’
‘Or else ...’
The lieutenant-general raised his eyebrows. He had not anticipated an ‘or else’.
‘We also have to entertain the frightening possibility that our informant is the perpetrator,’ continued Margont. ‘The crime increases the value of what he has to sell. I’m sure you will have increased
his pay after this.’
Talleyrand tapped his cane on the ground - his way of applauding. He began to speak and his voice was full of warmth, making Margont feel he was someone important.
‘Monsieur Lieutenant-Colonel Margont, do your utmost to arrest the murderer. Help Paris and defend your ideals!’
Talleyrand’s wily reputation was well merited. While Joseph persisted in believing that Margont would obey him simply because he was Joseph I, Talleyrand had immediately hit the nail on the head. His few words were like a finger pointing at the wound in Margont’s soul. The coming days would be crucial. If Napoleon were defeated, France would have to endure an occupation by the powers allied against it. And they all had either monarchs or emperors. The gains of the Revolution, the Republic and the Empire would all be crushed like cockroaches under the boots of the incoming monarchs.
There is a third possibility: that the perpetrator is someone close to the colonel,’ Margont stated, ‘and he’s trying to throw the investigators off the scent.’
Joseph shook his head. ‘Our informant was categorical: the Swords of the King have an obsessive fear of spies. They distrust everyone and everything. They protect their secrets. So only the members of their committee know what their emblem is - and Savary, the Minister of Civilian Police, and I. No, it’s clear that one or several of them were responsible for the crime.’
Margont was interested in the way that Joseph disposed the pieces on the chessboard - Napoleon, the Grande Armée much reduced yet still redoubtable, Louis XVIII, the royalists, the numerous pawns formed by the Allied armies, an assassinated colonel, one or more murderers, an untrustworthy spy, Paris ... But where did he hope to place Margont?
‘It seems to me that the civilian police would be more than capable of conducting this inquiry,’ he commented circumspectly.
‘And they will do, Lieutenant-Colonel. Whilst you - you will become a member of the Swords of the King.’
‘What?’ yelled Margont. ‘You want me dead? I refuse to—’
‘You will refuse nothing! The decision is already taken.’
‘But I would never succeed! I could never pass myself off as an aristocrat, and as soon as I slipped up, I would be—’
‘On the contrary! You are precisely the man for this mission. You spent several years of your childhood in the Abbey of Saint-Guilhem-le-Désert, because your uncle, against your will, wanted you to become a monk. Draw on that experience! The same thing happened to many of the younger sons of the aristocracy, whose fathers wished to leave all their inheritance to their oldest sons. You read and write well, you know Latin ... You are going to pass yourself off as Chevalier Quentin de Langes. The Langes family did actually exist — we haven’t chosen a name at random. They were part of the nobility of Languedoc and were all massacred during the Revolution. You can read their story in the documents we will furnish you with. So if the Swords of the King send someone to investigate your past, they will find evidence of the family: a name here or there, a castle burnt down with no remains ... And by the time they’ve travelled the three hundred leagues there and back ... You’re an officer, are you not? Tens of thousands of aristocrats who emigrated have come back to France to take advantage of the amnesties generously accorded by the Emperor. And a good many of them have chosen military careers. So you won’t have many lies to add to your own history to make yourself into a believable royalist, and the less you lie, the more credible you will be.’
‘I’ll be unmasked and you’ll find my body floating in the Seine. You already have an informer...’