Evil in a Mask (54 page)

It was an arbitrary pronouncement that ignored any pretence of maintaining justice. But in the lands the French had conquered they rode roughshod over every law. Feeling slightly
guilty, but also a shade contemptuous, Roger watched the old Chief Justice submissively walk with bowed head from the palatial salon in which the resplendent Junot gave audience.

On June 20th, the Court met and, cowed by fear, gave the decision required of them. As Lisala's petition could hardly be challenged, they would almost certainly have done so in any case; but her right to dispose of her father's estate as she wished had been granted to her many months sooner than it otherwise would have been.

After the case had been heard, Roger accompanied Lisala back to the de Pombal mansion. Over a dinner
à deux
that evening, he said to her, ‘Now, my love, that your business has been formally settled, I suggest that during the next few days you give detailed instructions to your steward about how you desire your property and revenues to be handled. Then I will devise a means by which we can return to England.'

‘No,' she replied sharply. ‘Why should we? I now see the Duchess almost every day, and she has been sweet to me. I find, too, that the French officers are much more amusing than your stodgy friends in London. We have ample money; the ground has now been made ready for us to announce our engagement, we will then go through another marriage ceremony and you can move in here and live with me, instead of our putting up any longer with making love at odd hours and infrequent intervals.'

An argument ensued. Having accomplished his mission, Roger was most averse to remaining in Portugal. More than ever he was anxious to settle down in the comfortable home that for so long he had been unable to occupy.

For three days they continued to bicker over the question. Then, on the morning of June 24th, an officer arrived at Roger's inn with a message that His Excellency the General-Duke desired to see him upon an urgent matter.

Going to the palace, Roger found his not very intelligent but normally cheerful friend looking far from happy. Having greeted him awkwardly, Junot said:

‘
Mon vieux
, I am greatly distressed because I fear that, unwittingly, I have brought misfortune upon you. In a recent
letter to the Emperor. I happened to mention that you had recently returned from Brazil, where you had captured a beautiful young heiress, and were here in Lisbon. From him, only a few hours since, I received a despatch. He has ordered me to send you to him in Madrid under close arrest.'

Since his return to Lisbon at the beginning of the month, Roger had not given a thought to Napoleon. His mind had been occupied by, in turn, the importance of getting his intelligence on the situation in Spain to Canning, Lisala's affairs, and his desire to persuade her to return to England.

For several years past, his mind had seesawed between the desire to be done for good with courts and camps, and settle down to a safe, pleasant life at home; then, after a period, the restless urge to play again a part in great affairs. Sickened by the terrible crossing of the Atlantic, which had been forced upon him, and the dreary discomfort of existence in Rio, the fortnight he had recently spent in England had made residing there permanently seem more than ever attractive. Only Lisala's insistence on claiming her fortune had persuaded him to contemplate returning to Portugal and Canning's appeal to his patriotsm finally decided him to do so. But he had had no intention of remaining there a day longer than was necessary, much less of re-entering the service of the Emperor. Now, once more, he had become involved, and most dangerously, with Napoleon.

Giving a resigned shrug, he said to Junot, ‘Since our master has ordered you to send me to Madrid, I must obviously submit. But why he should require my presence there—and under arrest—I cannot think.'

Junot shrugged. ‘Surely the explanation is not far to seek. Having learned that you are once more in Europe, he resents the fact that you should have dallied here in Lisbon, instead of reporting at once to him. I can only say again how sorry I am that I should inadvertently have brought this about, by a
mention that, at a reception I gave not long since, you and your beautiful wife were among the guests.'

‘That was understandable enough. But what of her? Can she accompany me on the journey, and will you give me a day or so in order that she may have time to prepare herself for it?'

‘I would I could; but I dare not. She can follow you, of course. But the order is marked “immediate”. And you know our master well enough to be sure that he will tolerate no delay. While I send to your inn for your belongings, you can write her a note explaining your sudden departure; but you must set off within the hour.'

Putting as good a face as he could on the matter, Roger sat down and penned a letter to Lisala.

They had never spoken of her having murdered her father and he had, as far as possible, put it out of his mind. Recognising that, when thwarted, rage could temporarily rob her of all control, he told himself that she had not intended to kill the Marquis, but struck out in blind fury, concerned at that moment only with saving him, her lover.

Since leaving Brazil, apart from occasional outbursts brought on by her determination to get her own way, they had been happy together. Her beauty had continued to have a mesmerising effect upon him and, owing to their circumstances during the past three months, her demands that he should make love to her had been no greater than he had been happy to meet.

In consequence, his letter expressed genuine distress at being parted from her and an assurance, about which he was very far from confident, that they would soon be re-united. However, thinking it wiser to await the outcome of his interview with the Emperor, he did not suggest that she should at” once follow him to Madrid. Instead, he told her that, should any trouble arise, she could rely on the friendship of Junot and his Duchess, as the General had already promised that they would take every care of her.

Shortly before midday, the Captain of Hussars who had brought Roger Junot's message that morning, came in to report
that a coach was now loaded with baggage and provisions and ready to set out. Junot said that the Captain was to act as escort; so Roger formally surrendered his sword to him and took leave of his old friend. Ten minutes later, the coach was jolting over the cobbles, on its way to Madrid.

The Captain was a pleasant young man and, knowing Roger's high reputation with the Army, did all he could to make the journey agreeable. But for Roger it entailed four days of gnawing anxiety. He had always previously succeeded in producing to Napoleon plausible reasons for his long absence from headquarters. But the present case was going to be exceptionally difficult to explain away.

He thought it certain that General Gardane would have reported his departure from Isfahan on a project of his own invention—that he would proceed to Goa, the Portuguese settlement in India, and there assess its vulnerability to a surprise attack by the French. But he had never been to Goa and, if he had, he could not possibly have reached Lisbon until several weeks after Don Joao's fleet had sailed for Brazil. How, then, was he going to account for having been in one of the ships and carried off in her, owing to a storm?

Napoleon was extraordinarily indulgent to old friends and, even when his Secret Police reported that one of his early comrades-in-arms was conspiring against him, would do no more than transfer the offender to some distant command, where he was deprived of any opportunity to make mischief. But in matters of discipline he was adamant. Those who disobeyed his orders did so at their dire peril. He had reduced at least one General to the ranks, and other victims of his displeasure had found their prospects of advancement blighted for good after interviews during which he had vented his wrath upon them.

Roger was no longer concerned for his career in the French Army; but, the nearer they came to Madrid, the more he feared that, for having deliberately ignored the Emperor's instructions, he might shortly find himself serving a sentence in a fortress.

On June 29th, they drove into the Spanish capital. At the
Royal Palace, the young Captain handed Roger over to the Provost Marshal, and obtained a receipt for him. The Provost asked him for his parole. Knowing that an attempt to escape would be to admit guilt, he gave it willingly. He was then taken to a not unpleasant room on the third floor and left there.

Presently, in deference to his rank, a soldier servant was sent to bring up his meals and attend to his other requirements. During the three days that followed, no-one else entered his room, and he was left to brood in considerable apprehension on what the future held in store for him.

It was early in the evening of the fourth day that two officers arrived, to escort him to the Presence. As he tidied himself up, his heart began to beat a little faster, from the frightening knowledge that, within the next half-hour he would, unless he played his cards supremely well, find himself stripped of his uniform and being taken off to a cell.

Placing himself between his escorts, he was marched downstairs, to the lofty main floor of the building. The guards at a pair of tall double doors came smartly to attention. An equerry rapped sharply on the doors with a silver-headed wand, waited a moment, then threw them open.

They gave on to a huge, white and gold salon, at the far end of which Napoleon was pacing slowly up and down. Abruptly coming to a halt, he turned and with a gruff word, dismissed Roger's escort. As the two officers fell back, Roger continued to advance, his eyes fixed on the Emperor.

He was, as usual, dressed in the white breeches and green tunic of the Guides. Since Roger had last seen him, he had put on weight and now had a small, but definite, paunch. His face was very pale, and his smooth forehead seemed to bulge more than ever under dark hair which had thinned a little and was brushed sideways. The two most striking things about him were the breadth of his head, with its powerful, forward-thrusting jaw, and his fine eyes, which were now glowering with anger. The expression of those eyes showed that he was in one of his blackest moods.

Within a few feet of a broad, satinwood desk littered with
papers and maps, Roger halted and bowed three times. Napoleon snarled at him:

‘What have you to say for yourself?'

‘A great deal, Sire,' Roger replied quietly, ‘having, as ever, been most diligent in your service.'

‘You lie! Instead of carrying out my orders, you have been gallivanting across half the world, pursuing some woman.'

Roger knew that, if he allowed himself to be bullied, within a matter of minutes he would be dismissed and finished. Permitting himself a slight smile, he said, ‘Do not we all at times? That is, men who are men, like Your Majesty and me. I trust the Countess Walewska is in good health; or has she … er, been replaced by …'

‘Silence! I have not had you brought here to talk of bedfellows, but to demand an explanation of your flagrant disobedience.'

‘Then talk of bedfellows we must, Sire. What goes on in the beds you frequent is known only to Fouché, but …'

‘That rogue!'

‘Why, yes.' Roger proceeded to develop the red herring. ‘'Tis common knowledge that it is reported to him every time you use a chamber pot.'

‘Who in hell's name told you that?'

‘Oh, er … a charming lady who later pleasured me with her embraces.'

‘Her name? Who was this spying whore?'

Roger shook his head. ‘How can you ask such a thing? Your Majesty and I are men of honour. We do not kiss and tell. Suffice it that she took me only because she was overwrought with distress at having been abandoned by you, Sire.'

Slightly mollified, the Emperor snapped, ‘That Fouché should spy upon my private life is intolerable.'

‘You are unfair, Sire. He does so only for your protection, and no monarch could have a more competent Chief of Police.'

‘He is as cunning a rascal as ever drew breath, and useful in such matters as dealing with these eternally rebellious Chouans. But I long since took the Ministry of Police from him and gave it to General Savary.'

‘Of that I was aware; but Fouché still concerns himself for Your Majesty's safety. Savary, I am told, showed great ability in luring Prince Ferdinand across the border to you in Bayoane.'

‘He did indeed; and it was no easy task. That great blockhead, Murat, got on his high horse and declared that, as a soldier, it was beneath him to soil his hands with such a business; and the Spanish people did their utmost to prevent the Prince from leaving Madrid. But Savary beguiled him with a promise that we would let him have the throne and, on the last stage of the journey, when he endeavoured to break away, virtually kidnapped him.'

For a moment Napoleon paused, then he went on reminiscently. ‘What scenes took place when I did have them all at Bayonne. That imbecile old King, his ugly, lecherous Queen, poor Godoy with his handsome face a mass of scars, and that cowardly young swine of a Prince. They near tore one another to pieces. But I made them all dance to my tune, then packed them off to Talleyrand at his château of Valençay.'

As Roger listened, his spirits rose. It was like old times for the Emperor to be talking to him in such a familiar strain. But he was counting his chickens before they were hatched. With a sudden change of mood, Napoleon glowered at him and said:

‘But we are not here to talk of such matters. Enough of police and women.'

‘Forgive me, Sire,' Roger put in quickly, ‘but a woman is the cause of your displeasure with me. I was about to say that you take women to bed only as a relaxation; whereas I have frequently gone to bed with one in order to learn secrets that are of value to you.'

‘And what have you learned in this case?'

‘Alas, Sire; nothing of any importance. But, had fortune favoured me, I might have done, and I may yet.'