The Fields of Death - Scarrow Simon (читаем книги онлайн бесплатно txt) 📗

Arthur watched the next company march past before he replied. ‘I hope you are right.’

‘Of course I am. The Corsican Tyrant is no longer a danger to Europe. I understand that he is busying himself on Elba with improving the lot of his new subjects. But then I am sure you are better informed of his activities than I am.’

‘Our resident sends regular reports of Bonaparte’s activities,’ Arthur admitted. As part of the treaty which had provided for the French Emperor’s exile the British government had appointed a resident on Elba, Colonel Campbell, to keep a close watch on Bonaparte and keep track of those who visited him on the island, mostly former admirers and those curious to see the great man in his gilded cage. As a matter of course his former commanders were barred from speaking to him, but there was no preventing third parties from carrying messages.

‘What does your resident say in his reports?’

‘That Bonaparte reads the newspapers avidly, and is engrossed in writing his memoirs, and that he abides by the terms of the treaty. He presents no threat to the peace of Europe, as you say.’

‘Perhaps,’ the French aristocrat mused. ‘All the same, it was a shame that he was not put to death. Then we might have finally quashed Bonapartist sentiment in France.’

‘If he had been put to death, I fear the streets of Paris would have run with blood as his supporters and yours tore each other’s throats out.’

The Duke of Angoulкme glanced coldly at Arthur.‘Sometimes blood is the price of peace and security.’

‘And sometimes it does not have to be,’ Arthur replied firmly. ‘More than enough blood has already been shed.’

The Frenchman turned back to watch the soldiers with a dismissive grunt. After a moment Arthur reached up and adjusted his stock to keep as much of the drizzle from his neck as possible.

While the review continued his mind turned to the wider situation in Paris. He had taken up his position as ambassador nearly three months earlier, and at first he had been gratified by his reception into Paris society. The British government had purchased the mansion of Pauline Bonaparte to serve as an embassy and the accommodation was as comfortable as anything Arthur could have wished for; it had pleased Kitty too when she joined him in October. Since his arrival Arthur had been welcomed into the Parisian salons, and Madame de Staлl had proved a useful ally in assisting him to promote his government’s case for the abolition of the French slave trade. He had even met many of the marshals and generals who had once served Bonaparte and was pleased by the cordial, and often friendly, mood which had accompanied their discussions of their experiences during the recently ended war.

But as the weeks passed and Arthur came to better know the general mood of the French capital, he began to grow concerned. The Bourbons might well be back in power, but the public enthusiasm for the return of peace and the restoration of the monarchy had swiftly given way to discontent. On several occasions Arthur had witnessed small gatherings of men in cafйs toasting their former Emperor. Then, only the day before the review of the royal bodyguard, stones had been thrown through the windows of the embassy.

Nor was the news from Vienna any more encouraging. Castlereagh’s coded despatches revealed that a formal alliance between Russia, Prussia and Austria was still a very real danger. Both he and Talleyrand were striving to draw Austria away from the others in order to maintain an equilibrium in Europe. Otherwise, a new war might be unavoidable.

The Duke of Angoulкme leaned towards him. ‘Time for the finale, my dear Wellington. Look there.’

He pointed across the courtyard to where the bodyguard was forming a line, two deep, facing the review stand. The Frenchman glanced at Arthur and smiled.‘Now for a small piece of theatre. Shall we see how the audience reacts?’ He gestured subtly to the officers and artistocrats and their wives watching the review on the platform behind. Across the parade ground the colonel in charge had drawn his sword and now bellowed the order to make ready to fire. Up came the muskets.

There was an anxious murmur from behind Arthur and he glanced round and saw that the Duke of Angoulкme’s party were stirring uneasily, forgetting the discomfort caused by standing in the cold and damp. The Duke laughed lightly as he spoke softly to Arthur. ‘Nothing to worry about. They’re firing blank rounds. I thought it would be entertaining to give our guests some idea what it might be like to be on the receiving end of a volley.’

‘Really?’ Arthur replied flatly. ‘I can assure you that there is a world of difference between mere smoke and noise, and the actuality.’

The Duke shrugged, and fixed his attention on the line of soldiers as they aimed their muskets across the parade ground towards the reviewing platform. The colonel barked an order and an instant later fire and smoke burst out, obscuring the line of soldiers, an instant before the deafening crash echoed off the walls of the palace. Arthur sensed rather than heard the faint whip through the air, almost lost in the din of the volley. A sharp crack came from behind and he turned quickly. Two panes of glass in the windows of the palace had shattered, just above the heads of the audience, and in line with Arthur and the Duke. Some of the guests turned to look and gasped in alarm, instinctively edging towards the steps at either side of the platform. Others gazed up, aghast, and then turned anxiously back towards the soldiers. The colonel was continuing to give orders, oblivious of those on the platform, and the bodyguards shouldered their muskets and began to march away, through an arch, as they returned to barracks.

Arthur turned back to the Duke of Angoulкme who stood rigidly, hands clenched into fists at his sides. ‘Treason,’ he muttered.‘Treason. I’ll have the culprits found and shot with their own weapons.’

His jaw was trembling as he finished speaking, whether from fear or rage Arthur could not tell. Arthur shook his head. ‘I don’t think there’s much hope of finding the men responsible. Even if anyone knew which men took the shots, the chances are that they will close ranks and keep their mouths shut.’

‘Then they’re all in on it,’ the Duke continued. ‘Traitors all. I’ll flog the truth out of them.’

‘You do that, and they will turn on you,’ Arthur warned him. ‘By all means find the culprits, but do it quietly, and do it later. For now you must act as if nothing had happened.’ He indicated the guests. ‘Or you will alarm them.’

‘Yes. Yes, of course.’ The Duke nodded as he fought to steady his nerves. He cleared his throat and forced a smile as he waved towards the doors leading into the palace. ‘My friends, now that the review is complete, refreshments await within!’

With Arthur at his side, he led the way down the steps and across the gravel towards the doors, which were hurriedly opened by footmen. Behind them the rest of the audience followed, muttering in muted tones as some of them took a last glance across the courtyard in case the soldiers returned.

‘Not a word to my wife about this, do you understand?’ Arthur said to Somerset as he related the attempt on his life later that afternoon back at the embassy.

‘Of course, your grace. But are you certain you were the target?’

‘There were two shots fired; there could have been more.’ Arthur recalled the scene briefly as he stood, several paces back from the window of his office, and looked down into the boulevard where a steady stream of Parisians trudged past in the rain. He continued grimly, ‘The shots were aimed at me, and the Duke. I have no doubt of it. They intended assassination. And it’s not the first time that England’s enemies have contemplated the act.’

Somerset nodded. There had been other reports of such plots from local agents, in the pay of the embassy. These had been passed on to London, and the Prime Minister, Lord Liverpool, had informed Arthur that they were reconsidering his appointment as ambassador.