The Doctor found himself in a large, bare room, brilliantly lit by a huge chandelier. Its walls were lined with maps, and more maps were piled high on wooden tables. Napoleon led the Doctor over to the largest map. It showed a long stretch of the French coastline the stretch that looked out over the English Channel.
Napoleon snatched up a pointer. 'My army, Doctor. The Grand Army that is to invade England. From Alprech Point to Cap Gris-Nez. Five Army corps! A hundred and fifty thousand infantry, ninety thousand cavalry, massed parks of artillery.
Four camps, Ambleteuse, Wimereux, Outreau, Le Portel.
Here, in the centre, my headquarters at Boulogne. Harbours all along the coast crammed with flat-bottomed barges to ferry the army across!' Napoleon stepped back, looking triumphantly at the Doctor. 'What do you say to that, hey?'
'One would say that the English are doomed, sire once your army reaches the shore of England.'
Napoleon scowled. 'I know, I know. Getting them there, that's the problem. We must have command of the Channel, and the accursed English Navy stand in our way. What if I were to tell you that the problem is well on the way to being solved?'
'Then the English are doomed indeed.'
Napoleon moved to another, larger-scale map. 'The English fleet has been lured away to the West Indies. The English have only four line-of-battle ships four! to guard the length of their precious Channel.'
The Doctor nodded, his mind racing. Why was Napoleon telling him all this? It was no great secret, of course. You cannot conceal an army of over two hundred thousand men massed along a coastline, and the plan to invade England had been public knowledge for some time. But there was something else, some other factor.
Gently he pointed out the weakness in Napoleon's plan.
'Should the English fleet return, before the invasion...'
'They cannot! Admiral Villeneuve has defeated their Admiral Calder at Finisterre. His fleet is moving north, thirty-three thirty-three French and Spanish warships! The English will be outnumbered and cut off, and the Channel will be ours!' French and Spanish warships! The English will be outnumbered and cut off, and the Channel will be ours!'
' If If Admiral Villeneuve is victorious when he encounters the English fleet,' murmured the Doctor provocatively. Admiral Villeneuve is victorious when he encounters the English fleet,' murmured the Doctor provocatively.
' If! If! If! If! If! If! ' shouted Napoleon. 'His force is vastly superior to that of the English. Why should he not be victorious?' ' shouted Napoleon. 'His force is vastly superior to that of the English. Why should he not be victorious?'
Because Nelson will defeat him at Trafalgar, thought the Doctor. In Napoleon's terms he did know the future, some of it at least. The intended future. Yet Napoleon seemed convinced things would be different. What was making him so confident?
'Why indeed,' said the Doctor, allowing more provocative scepticism to creep into his voice. 'But warfare is always uncertain, as no one knows better than you, sire. Sadly, the Navy of France has not always repeated at sea the magnificent successes of her soldiers on land...Villeneuve is no Nelson.'
'Nelson will be dead!' shouted Napoleon. 'His ship will be sunk before the battle, his fleet will be demoralised and defeated, and England will be mine!'
'It seems Your Majesty has an ability denied to me,' said the Doctor. Deliberately he used the tone of someone who humours the unbalanced and deluded. 'He can foresee the future!'
Napoleon glared at him, clearly torn between his instinct for discretion and the desire to boast. Finally he was unable to resist speaking out. 'I have a secret weapon, Doctor. One that makes victory certain.'
'Indeed?' said the Doctor, in tones of polite boredom.
Napoleon was silent for a moment. He seemed to be pondering some decision. 'You say you are a scientist, Doctor?'
'Well, I dabble a little, you know. I have studied the mechanical and physical sciences as well as the spiritual.'
Napoleon thought for a moment. 'You shall give me your opinion of my secret weapon.'
'I should be honoured,' said the Doctor, who had been angling for this all along. 'If Your Majesty could show me plans, designs...'
'I can do better. The weapon is being demonstrated for me very soon, at Boulogne. You shall come with me, Doctor, and see for yourself!'
'Your Majesty is too kind. If you are sure it would not be an imposition...'
'Not at all. Captain Charles will arrange the details.'
He led the Doctor from the map room, closed and locked the door behind him and raised his voice. 'Captain Charles!'
The aide reappeared and Napoleon said, 'Escort the Doctor back to the Grand Salon. He will be accompanying us to Boulogne, make arrangements.'
'Very good sire.'
'Now if you will forgive me, Doctor, I have work to do as always. A republic doesn't run itself, you know.'
No, thought the Doctor. You run it, from top to bottom. And very well, too. Out loud he said, 'Then I mustn't impose on Your Majesty's time any further.'
'I hope your charming companion hasn't been too bored in your absence.'
'Captain Charles was good enough to place her in the charge of your foreign minister.'
Napoleon laughed. 'Then she won't be bored. Seduced, possibly, but definitely not bored. Talleyrand is the finest conversationalist in Europe.' Napoleon's face darkened. 'He's also a shit in silk stockings, always scheming and plotting.
Told him so to his face once. Still, not a bad fellow in his way.'
Napoleon returned to his desk and plunged into his paperwork. The Doctor bowed and turned away.
As he headed for the door Napoleon looked up and called, 'Oh, Doctor!'
The Doctor stopped and turned round. 'Your Majesty?'
'Don't make any plans to leave Paris in the immediate future, will you?'
'And why not?'
'Because I say so,' said Napoleon revealing, almost for the first time, the ruthless dictator beneath the genial host. 'I haven't quite made up my mind about you, Doctor. I'd like to have you close at hand until I do.'
'Until the little chap who followed me home completes his enquiries?'
'Quite so, Doctor.'
Napoleon returned to his papers, and the Doctor bowed and withdrew.
Chapter Sixteen.
Fulton's Submersible
Serena was listening to a string of mildly scandalous Court gossip from Talleyrand, fending off the gentle but persistent enquiries that came between the anecdotes, and wishing desperately that the Doctor would return before she ran out of polite evasions.
For the moment at least, she could relax. Talleyrand was recounting the story of the affair between the Empress Josephine and Captain Charles whose first name, it appeared, was Hippolyte.
'Young Hippolyte was only a lieutenant at the time,' said Talleyrand. 'I think that stung, rather.'
'The Emperor would have preferred her to take a lover of higher rank?' asked Serena.
'He wasn't yet an emperor remember, not even a consul.
He was just a general, away fighting in Italy. Still, I think he'd have preferred someone more senior. A marshal at least!'
Talleyrand smiled. 'To make matters worse, Hippolyte and Josephine were in business together, selling substandard supplies to General Bonaparte's own troops at a fat profit! Of course, it all came out eventually, the swindle and the affair.'
Serena couldn't help being intrigued. 'How?'
'Josephine travelled to Italy to see her Bonaparte, and actually had the cheek to take Hippolyte with her.
Unfortunately for her, Napoleon's brother, Joseph, travelled in the same coach with them and he soon spotted what was going on. As soon as they got to Italy he told Napoleon the rest of the Bonaparte family have always hated Josephine.'
'What happened then?' asked Serena. By now she was resigned to hearing the whole story.
'Bonaparte confronted Josephine, there was a terrible tearful scene and she denied everything, said it was all malicious gossip. Said his family had always been jealous of her perfectly true, of course. And Bonaparte believed her, at least for a time.'
'Why only for a time?'
'Soon after that, General Bonaparte left for Egypt and the affair started up again. Somehow the Bonaparte family got conclusive proof and sent it to Napoleon. He came back from Egypt, breathing fire and threatening divorce. Josephine rushed to meet him in Paris, hoping to pull off the same trick twice I suppose.'
'And what happened?'
'Napoleon reached Paris before her and when she got to their house she found he'd locked himself in an upstairs room. She hammered on the door, and begged and screamed and wept all night and eventually he let her in.'
'So they were reconciled?'
'After a fashion. He forgave her, but he never really trusted her again. But he still needed her. Josephine is well connected you see, socially and politically. She made an ideal hostess for him while he was on the way up. She had a lot to do with him becoming First Consul. So when he became Emperor, he decided she ought to share in his success.'
'A happy ending, then?'
'Not really. These days there are fresh rumours about divorce.'
'But why?' protested Serena. 'If they survived all that...'
Despite his flippancy, there was real compassion in Talleyrand's voice. 'Josephine can't have any more children.
And the one thing an emperor needs is an heir.'
Serena saw a tall, keen-looking man with a curved beak of a nose and a shock of wild brown hair approaching their alcove. Talleyrand saw him too and raised an eyebrow. 'Can I assist you, Monsieur Fulton?' he said dismissively.
The man bowed stiffly. 'Forgive the interruption, Foreign Minister. I just wondered if you were coming to my demonstration tomorrow.' There was a pronounced American twang in his voice.
Talleyrand shuddered. 'Me? Spend hours standing on a windy beach with salt corroding my lungs, waiting for some event which will probably never take place? I think not, Monsieur Fulton.'
'It will be well worth seeing,' said the man with nervous eagerness. 'It could revolutionise naval warfare.'
'My dear Monsieur Fulton, I am a diplomat. Our aim is to avoid warfare wherever possible.'
'You really should come. The Emperor is taking a great interest.'
'Our beloved Emperor is prone to enthusiasms,' said Talleyrand. 'I am not. Now, if you will forgive me?'
Fulton's eyes flashed angrily, but he bowed his head and withdrew.
Talleyrand turned to Serena. 'I do apologise, my dear.
Forgive me for not introducing you but he really is the most boring fellow.'
'I thought you were rather unkind to him.'
'Nonsense, I treated him with far more courtesy than he deserves. Nasty, grimy engineer fellows with their bangs and flashes and stinks. No wonder war is no longer an occupation for gentlemen.'
'Who is he?'
'Fulton? He's an American. Some kind of itinerant inventor. A protege of our Countess Malika, I believe. He's pestering her now.'
Serena looked across the salon, less crowded by now, and saw Fulton deep in conversation with the Countess. She looked angry with him, and angrier still when she flashed a quick glance at Serena.