'Inside, quickly!' Monsieur Cardin whispered.

As the door closed behind him, Napoleon could see a small candle guttering at the owner's desk at the back of the shop. But there was no sign of the men who had entered before him.

'This way, Lieutenant.' A hand gently pressed him towards the candle. 'I hoped you would come.'

'Only to listen,' Napoleon replied. 'I am interested in new ideas. That's all. I will not become part of a conspiracy.'

'Of course not. What do you take us for? We are only a small group of freethinkers. Any civilised society would tolerate us. But, alas, we are not living in civilised times. So we must debate in private. This way, Lieutenant. Up the stairs.'

His shadowy arm indicated the first few steps in an alcove behind his desk.

'Where does this lead?' Napoleon asked suspiciously.

'My stockroom and office. It's surrounded on three sides by the seamstress business. There's only one window, which is screened so we shall be quite private.'

Napoleon nodded his a.s.sent and climbed the narrow stairs. They turned back on themselves and then there was a door, beneath which ran a strip of light from the room on the other side. The door opened, washing the staircase in light, and a man beckoned to him. Napoleon stepped into the room. It was as Monsieur Cardin described it, a plain storeroom. But it was large and seemed to take up the same floor s.p.a.ce as the library directly below. Piles of books lined the walls. In one corner there was a small printing press, and piles of cut sheet paper were standing ready to be run through the machine. The centre was taken up with two long tables that had been pushed together, around which seats had been arranged. Nearly all the seats had been taken by well-dressed men, and Napoleon took them for lawyers, bankers and the like.

'Welcome, Lieutenant,' said the man who had opened the door and Napoleon turned towards him.

'I know your face.You must have followed me when I left here two days ago.'

'Yes,' he smiled. 'I've been keeping a close eye on you ever since. We had to be sure that you weren't an informer. It didn't seem likely that an agent of the King would be so foolhardy as to wear an army uniform. But we had to be sure.' He thrust out his hand. 'Allow me to introduce myself, Augustin Duman. Please have a seat. The meeting is about to begin.'

Napoleon sat down near to the door. He could not bring himself to trust men who took such pains to meet in secret, and wanted a quick route out of the room if it became necessary to flee. Monsieur Cardin sat to one side of Napoleon and Duman sat on the other. At the head of the table, clearly illuminated by the candlesticks running the length of the two tables, sat a man with similar facial features to Duman. He wore a powdered wig and had an intelligent, if severe, expression. He clenched his fist and thumped the table. 'I'm calling the meeting to order.'

The other men fell silent instantly and turned towards the head of the table. The man in the wig nodded. 'Thank you, citizens.'

He paused and looked towards Napoleon.'And is this our new man, the artillery lieutenant?'

Monsieur Cardin cleared his throat and leaned forward to have a better view of the man sitting at the end. 'Citizen Schiller, the lieutenant is here to listen and observe. He has made no commitment to us.'

'As yet,' Schiller smiled. 'But I'm hoping the force of our arguments will convince him to join us soon.'

Napoleon said nothing and kept still.

'I understand you read my pamphlet?'

'Yes, sir.'

Schiller smiled. 'Here we refer to each other as "citizen". Out there on the streets we are still subjects and have to defer to rank. But here we meet as equals. So Citizen Schiller it is.'

'I was merely being respectful,' Napoleon responded.

'You sounded deferential.There'll be no deference in the new France, Citizen Buona Parte. Deference will not be tolerated. We can't afford to tolerate it, lest it drag us back into the past. Back to the rule of the many by the few. Do you understand?'

'I understand, citizen,' Napoleon nodded. 'But surely there are differences between men, measurable differences. That is the natural order.'

'Agreed. But does that justify the gross inequalities between men, and women, for that matter? If we discount G.o.d for the moment, men made society the way it is. They can just as easily make it another way, a better way.You will concede that at least.'

Napoleon nodded. It was a fair point. But just how easily the people of France could be persuaded to discount G.o.d was less discernible. A more pragmatic issue then occurred to him. 'Supposing the old order collapses. What exactly will replace it?'

Augustin Duman leaned forward and intervened.'Democracy.'

'Democracy? And how will this democracy manifest itself, exactly?'

'As the people desire,' Duman continued, his voice loud with idealism. 'An order will arise from their desires and deliberations. An order that will be agreed on and stand as a shining example to the downtrodden of other countries.'

'I see.' Napoleon kept his tone neutral. 'The common people will be rational and will decide on the best form of government.'

'Exactly.'

Napoleon smiled. 'I don't mean to be indelicate, but have you ever met the common people? It's just that I have doubts about your understanding of what they are like.'

Duman pressed his hand against his breast. 'They are people, just like us.'

'Citizen Duman, they are not like us. They are an ignorant herd in need of leadership. There are wiser heads in this world who must be trusted with sound governance. Enlightened governance. Men like those who sit round this table. You sound like an educated man.'

Duman drew himself up a little as he stared back at Napoleon. 'I am a lawyer.'

Schiller rapped the table with his knuckles. 'Augustin! Citizen Duman. That is enough. The lieutenant has not taken the oath. You will not impart any confidential details about the members of our society. That includes their professions.'

Napoleon sensed another lawyer and as he looked from Schiller to Duman he was struck again by their similarity of appearance and manner.

Schiller turned his gaze back to Napoleon. 'Citizen Buona Parte is right.'

The other men stirred uncomfortably and one started to speak before Schiller raised his hand to silence him.

'He is right, up to a point. The people will require leadership in the early years of the new order. Until they are fully politicised and educated they cannot hope to know what is in their best interest.They will be vulnerable to the rhetoric of those men who are cynical and self-interested. It will be down to men like us to lead them through this difficult and dangerous period.'

'Dangerous?' Napoleon queried. 'In what way?'

'Any change in society, of the magnitude that we envisage, will not come peacefully. We can expect the old regime to fight to hold on to their power and privileges. Blood will be shed.That is the price that must be paid; a harsh, but necessary reality that has to be faced. Wouldn't you agree, Citizen Buona Parte?'

It seemed a realistic enough proposition. 'If there is violence, the question that concerns me is can such a loss of life justify the ends?' Napoleon asked.

'That is a question for philosophers, Citizen Buona Parte. We are concerned with pragmatics.Who will remember the dead fifty years after the establishment of a new order? Their deaths will make possible everlasting prosperity for generation after generation of their heirs. The manifold miseries of our age will perish with them. Is that not a sacrifice worth making?'

'I think that is a question for the people you are calling on to make the sacrifice,' Napoleon replied. 'As for me, I am a soldier, not a civilian. Death is an inevitable part of the profession. A soldier's sacrifice is expected of him.'

Schiller jabbed a finger towards him. 'Which is why you must be ready when the time comes. We will need men like you, who are prepared to kill and be killed to achieve our aims. Of course, the choice of which side you fight on will be yours. Old regime, or new order. I think you are no mindless drone, citizen.You are a thinker as well as a soldier, and once you've considered what I have said there can be only one logical outcome.'

Napoleon shook his head and rose from his seat. 'I'm sorry, Citizen Schiller. I cannot make that choice. Now, I must leave before I hear anything that might endanger you further.'

Duman slowly rose from his seat and eased himself off to the left, and Napoleon suddenly realised he might have taken a step too far. This was not a meeting one could leave without having signed up to the cause. He glanced at Duman, then turned back to Schiller.

'You have my word that I will breathe no word of tonight. My sympathies are not with the government, as you must know. But I can not make the choice you demand of me. I must leave.'

Schiller stared at him for a moment. The atmosphere in the room was thick with tension and Napoleon felt afraid. He should have known better. He should have left Cardin's shop and never returned. It was too late for that now. His life was in the hands of the man at the end of the table. Schiller pursed his lips briefly before he spoke again. 'Very well. I trust you.You may go.'

Napoleon backed away towards the door, watched closely by everyone in the room.As he reached the door and turned to open it he fully expected a pistol shot, or a knife blade to crash home into his spine. But there was nothing, and he took his first step on to the stairs.

'Lieutenant Buona Parte,' Schiller called after him, 'one last thing. Old regime or new order. You will have to make that choice, sooner than you think.'

Napoleon gave a faint nod and turned to descend the stairs, not daring to look back as he heard Duman walk to the door behind him. The door was closed, throwing the narrow staircase into darkness.

When he returned to the Pays Normandie there was a letter under his door. For a second he thought it might be from Annabelle and his mind raced with images of her deserting her man to come to him. Then, as he pushed the door open, he saw that it was an official message. His name was inscribed in a fair round hand and the seal on the back bore the crest of the War Ministry. Napoleon closed the door behind him, took off his coat and hat and sat down at his table. There was just enough light from the night sky filtering through the window to see the candle and his tinderbox. He lit the candle and sat down to break the seal and open the letter. Inside there was a brief formal note from a clerk of the War Ministry.

The War Minister acknowledges receipt of your letter requesting a further extension to your leave. It is his opinion that your presence in Paris is proof of your return to full health, and ability to continue your service with the army of His Most Catholic Majesty. Therefore the request is denied. Furthermore, you are requested and required to return to your regiment at the earliest possible date, and no later than the start of March. Failure to comply with this instruction will imply a desire to cease holding the King's commission and you will be discharged from his service.

I am your obedient servant, J. Corbouton, secretary to the Minister.

's.h.i.t . . .' Napoleon muttered as he set down the letter. There would be no chance to settle the claim for compensation now. Once he returned to duty the army would be certain not to let him take any more leave for years. And with that his family, back home in Corsica, faced the prospect of certain ruin.

Chapter 45.

Ireland, 1788 A fall of snow the night before had given Dublin a clean and fresh appearance, and thick white mantles clung to the pitched roofs of the capital. Almost every house had a fire lit and smoke billowed from thousands of chimneys into the brown haze that covered the city. Arthur pulled up the collar of his greatcoat as he made his way up Eustace Street to the castle. He had rented a room from a bootmaker on Ormonde Quay, ten minutes' walk from the Cork Hill gate into the castle. It was still early enough that not many people were abroad. The snow had not yet turned to slush and crunched softly under his boots.

It was the middle of February and he had been in Dublin for over ten days, spending the first few with old friends of the family while he had found comfortable and affordable accommodation of his own. He was wearing his best uniform and hat to create what he hoped would be a pleasing impression. Arthur was well aware that his tall figure, light brown curls and elegant manner would complement the uniform perfectly.

As Arthur approached the Cork Hill gate a sentry stepped into his path and saluted. 'Good morning, sir. What is your business here?'

'I'm taking up a position as aide-de-camp at the castle.'

'Your name, sir?'

'Lieutenant Arthur Wesley.'

'Very well, sir. If you'd follow me . . .' The sentry turned away and marched through the gate leaving Arthur hurrying to keep up.They pa.s.sed into the Great Courtyard and turned immediately towards the entrance to Bedford Tower.The sentry held the door open for him and then marched back to the gate. A sergeant rose from behind a desk.

'Sir, can I help?'

'I have an appointment to see Captain Wilmott at half-past eight.'

'Captain's not here yet, sir. I'll take you up to his office.You can wait there, sir.'

Arthur followed the sergeant up some stairs and through a door into a long corridor lit by a handful of skylights.There were offices on either side and many bore signs indicating that they belonged to other aides, but only a handful were occupied.

'I thought the court returned to the castle yesterday afternoon.'

'That's right, sir,' the sergeant nodded.'But the vicereine threw a party last night. Went on into the wee hours. I expect many of the young gentlemen are sleeping it off.'

'Including Captain Wilmott?'

The sergeant shrugged. 'I imagine so, sir. The captain likes his Tokay. Here we are, sir.' The sergeant indicated a row of chairs lining the end of the corridor. 'You can sit here. That's the captain's office directly opposite.'

Arthur nodded his thanks and the sergeant strode back down the corridor towards the staircase. Arthur unb.u.t.toned his greatcoat and slipped it off his shoulders before he sat down, placing the coat on the chair next to him.Through the open door in the captain's office he could see through the window inside the fine views across the courtyard to the state apartments on the opposite side. He sat patiently for the first ten minutes, then crossed his legs and adjusted his seat and waited another ten.

After half an hour had pa.s.sed and there was still no sign of Captain Wilmott, Arthur stood up, went back down the corridor and found an occupied office.The room was large and had a high ceiling. Long windows looked out over the roofs of Dublin towards the Liffey. There were two desks in the room and an officer in a red tunic sat behind one of them. Arthur tapped on the doorframe.The officer looked up from his desk where a book lay open.There was nothing else on the desk and, glancing round the office, Arthur saw that, apart from the furniture, there was little sign of paperwork or record books.

'Can I help you?' asked the officer, a lieutenant, like Arthur.

'Look, I'm supposed to have an appointment with Captain Wilmott. Half an hour ago. Do you have any idea where he's got to?'

'Who are you?'

'Arthur Wesley, just been appointed aide-de-camp.'

'Ah, another recruit to the awkward squad.'

'I beg your pardon.'

'The awkward squad. That's what the vicereine calls us - the aides that is. Sorry, I'm being terribly rude. Comes from being a bit hungover.' He stood up and offered his hand to Arthur. 'Buck Whaley's the name.'

'Buck?'

'It's what they call me here,' he smiled.'My real name is simply too hideous to repeat. How do you do?'

'Fine, thanks. Rather better than most of the officers on the staff, I suspect.'

'You heard about last night then?' Whaley laughed out loud, then winced and clapped a hand to his forehead. 'd.a.m.n!'

'Does this sort of thing go on all the time?' asked Arthur.

'You can't imagine. I tell you, Wesley, this place is far more dangerous than being on active service. If the drink doesn't get you then the creditors will. We lost two aides last year.'

'Accidents?' Arthur ventured.

'No.They just drank themselves to death.We lost four aides in accidents.'

'Oh.'