Young bloods

'Do you know who that man is?' He pointed.

'That's Robespierre. Maximilien Robespierre himself.'

Napoleon's surprise quickly gave way to fear as the full details of that night flooded back into his memory. He had turned down Robespierre's offer to join them. At the time he had dismissed them as a lunatic fringe organisation. Now Robespierre and his followers ruled the capital. Robespierre kept his gaze fixed straight ahead and strode stiffly past Napoleon without even seeing him.

As the deputies swept through the petitioners Napoleon pushed forward until he stood directly in the path of his man. Saliceti had accepted several petitions since quitting the hall and held them in a bundle against his chest.

'Citizen Saliceti?'

Saliceti looked up sharply at the sound of the Corsican accent. He eyed Napoleon warily and nodded. 'Who are you, citizen?'

Napoleon bowed his head. 'Lieutenant Buona Parte at your service. I need to talk to you. I need your help.'

'Buona Parte?' Saliceti looked amused. 'I've heard all about you, my boy.And yes, you really do need my help. Come with me, and while you're at it you can make yourself useful. Carry these.' He thrust the petitions at Napoleon and strode on, leaving the artillery officer struggling to hold all the envelopes and sheaths of paper and keep up with the deputy.

A little later they were sitting in Saliceti's office, a small, dingy room in a building opposite the riding school. Saliceti sat slumped in a heavily upholstered chair and stared at Napoleon.

'You've made an appalling mess of things, Lieutenant. I read a copy of Paoli's report on that affair in Ajaccio.The original report is at the Ministry of War. They've taken a very dim view of your actions and have referred the matter to the Ministry of Justice.'

'Am I to be charged then?'

'Oh, yes! They want a full court martial. It seems they'll settle for nothing less than your head.Yours and that fat fool Quenza's. What the hell did you expect? Your actions are nothing less than treasonous.'

Napoleon felt sick. Was this how all his dreams, all his ambitions, were to end? A quick trial and a quiet execution? He should have taken his mother's advice to go into hiding after all.

'I expect you want me to see what I can do to quash these charges,' Saliceti continued. 'Corsican to Corsican, eh? Even though you Buona Partes have always held me in contempt for wanting to bind us to France, eh?'

'That is true,' Napoleon admitted miserably.

'I see.' Saliceti was silent for a moment, then continued quietly, 'Of course, if I do help you, I shall want a favour in return.'

Napoleon found it difficult to see how a lowly artillery lieutenant could possibly be of service to one of the leading figures of the revolution, but he nodded his assent all the same.'I'll do what I can.'

'Good. Now tell me, since you have just come from Corsica, what the hell is Paoli up to?'

'Paoli? What do you mean, citizen?'

'I'm hearing reports that the man is ru

'No. He just wants what all true Coriscans want.'

'And what do we want, Buona Parte?'

Napoleon shrugged. 'Freedom.'

'Freedom. And what exactly does this freedom consist of?'

'Independence. A chance to rule ourselves.'

'We're too small to be independent. Corsica is fated to be part of the inventory of one kingdom, or another. The only question worth asking is which kingdom you prefer. Either Corsica becomes part of the revolution and has its share of democracy, or it becomes the personal property of Paoli and his friends, until he hands it over to England.'

'There is another way,' Napoleon insisted. 'An independent Corsica, that embraces the values of the revolution.'

'I suppose that was the thinking behind your attempt to establish a commune in Ajaccio?'

'Yes,' Napoleon admitted. 'Paoli wouldn't have it, so I decided to go ahead by myself.'

'Good God! Is there no end to your ambition, Lieutenant?' Saliceti's dark eyes twinkled in amusement. 'Still, I imagine you have the measure of our friend Paoli by now. He's a dangerous schemer. We'll need to keep a close eye on him.'

'What do you mean?'

'Nothing, at the moment.' Saliceti sat himself up, reached for some paper and took up his pen. 'I'll see what I can do for you, Lieutenant Buona Parte. Now I must ask you to leave. I have to return to the Assembly shortly. Leave your address with my clerk and I'll be in touch with you when I have any news.'

Napoleon rose from his chair and went to the door. He paused.'Do you really think you can help me escape the charges?'

'Well, if I can't then nobody can.'

Chapter 62

One afternoon towards the end of June, Napoleon was lying on his bed underneath the open window staring up into a clear blue sky, when he became aware of the sound of a crowd some distance off. At first he ignored it, but the sound grew in volume and even though it was impossible to make out any distinct cries or chants, there was no mistaking the anger that filled the hearts of those in the crowd. Rising from his bed, Napoleon reached for his hat, descended the staircase and left the house. Outside there were people in the street, drawn, like him, towards the source of the noise, and as they all headed towards the heart of the city the noise grew in volume and passion until it was deafening as he approached the Rue Saint-Honore. The route ahead of him was filled with a dense crowd as far as the eye could see – thousands of men and women armed with hatchets, swords, wooden stakes and some muskets, marching towards the royal apartments of the Tuileries.

Napoleon grasped the arm of a young woman at the rear of the crowd. 'Citizen, what's going on?'

She glanced at his uniform and gave him an unfriendly look before she replied. 'There's a petition for the King. To tell the bastard to approve the Assembly's decree to penalise those priests who won't swear allegiance to the constitution. He wouldn't listen to the deputies, but he's going to listen to us – or there'll be trouble.'

'Trouble?'

She did not elaborate, but pulled away from Napoleon, surged forward into the crowd and took up the chant of the revolutionary song, 'Ca Ira' that was echoing back off the buildings lining the boulevard. With a growing sense of excitement and curiosity Napoleon quickened his pace to keep up with the crowd.

The mob poured out of the boulevard and spilled into the Place du Carousel. The chant was deafening now, but Napoleon could not see what was happening over towards the royal apartments of the Tuileries. He hurried to a building on one side of the square and climbed up on to a window sill for a better view. The foremost ranks of the crowd had fastened ropes to the iron bars of the gates and with a rhythmic roar they now strained on the ropes, aiming to tear the gates down.There was a cheer as one of the great gates began to buckle. Napoleon saw that an officer was hurriedly marching the Swiss Guards back to the barracks on the far side of the courtyard. A handful remained to close up the doors of the central pavilion that provided access to the vast staircase inside the entrance hall.

Napoleon muttered his disapproval. While he could understand that no one in the palace wanted to provoke the mob, the crowd had to be dispersed before it gained access to the courtyard. But it was already too late. There was a wrenching crash as the gate was pulled from its hinges and toppled into the square. A huge roar of triumph filled the air and the crowd surged through the gap, across the courtyard towards the palace. When they reached the doors at the top of the steps leading up from the courtyard, they battered at the timbers with axes and hammers.To no avail. The doors were solid and had been reinforced in recent months to guard against such an assault.