Sighing, he dashed into the Café de Chartres and up the back stairs, past the armed guard to find Randall, who was not his usual smiling self.
In fact, the Englishman looked uncharacteristically sour. Perhaps he had heard word of Christoff’s defection.
“Prick-head? Really?” Randall demanded.
Apparently, he’d only heard the beginning. Malcolm shook his head.
“It was an unintentional error, I assure you. I was trying to say something about him having a good head on his shoulders. But it wouldn’t have mattered. He turned on me at the Halle aux Vins today. I barely escaped without a beating.”
“How many?” Randall demanded.
“Four men. Interestingly, they weren’t joined by a mob of vintners and workers. I don’t think the entire wine market is going to take up arms for Bonaparte.”
Randall shrugged. “They don’t need to. He’s amassed himself quite an army. Our spies tell us everywhere he goes since landing at Golfe-Juan, Boney spouts his poppycock about free elections, reforming the government, peace, prosperity, and more liberty for the citizens of France. He stirs the French people with his discourse, and then they join him. Who can blame them?”
“Vive l’Empereur!”Malcolm quipped and poured himself a glass of burgundy from the bottle in front of him before topping up Randall’s.
“Did you see some jester’s idea of a joke at the Place Vendôme?” Randall asked
Malcolm shook his head.
His associate rolled his eyes. “I kid you not, Branley. A message was hung across the Vendôme column. It read, ‘From Napoleon to Louis XVIII, my dear brother, it is not necessary to send me more troops, I already have enough of them!’”
Malcolm barked out a laugh and slapped the table. “That’s quite clever.”
Randall cracked a crooked smile in agreement.
“Has Louis gone?” Malcolm asked.
“Yes, and the crown jewels, too, if reports are true. The king left at midnight with General Scovell,” Randall said. “They were heading for Calais with hopes of passage to England, and the rest of the royal family with them. Royalists and anyone who doesn’t think they can successfully switch sides have also fled the city.”
“Louis should have gone south instead, days ago,” Malcolm said, “and fought Bonaparte. Perhaps with a king at the head of the army—”
“Unlikely to have done any good,” Randall interrupted. “He was never inspirational that way. If the king had been on the battlefield, he might have got himself killed. If not by Bonaparte, then by one of his fanatical grenadiers. Then what would we do when we are rid of the emperor a second time? Who would we put upon the throne?”
“Bonaparte said he thought beheading the last king was a mistake,” Malcolm reminded him, not believing even Bonaparte would execute a member of the Bourbon royal family.
“It doesn’t matter. Louis had a convenient case of gout, and now he’s fled.”
They heard shouts of“Vive l’Empereur!”
“It would seem Boney has arrived.” Randall spoke calmly, but they both rose to their feet and dashed down the stairs to join the flood of citizens pouring out of every café and shop within hearing distance of the Tuileries Palace a few blocks away.
Racing down the Rue St. Honoré, they pushed their way through the throng of people, expecting to see a hostile army surrounding the palace, instead, only plain carriages met their eyes, along with military officers they both knew only too well.
Colonel Léon-Michel Routier chatted with fellow officers. He looked stunned to see the carriages appear without any escort at the wicket-gate by the river. The citizens already seemed to know what was happening, still chanting “Vive l’Empereur”even before he showed himself.
When Napoleon stepped out of one of the carriages, a great cheer arose. Mayhem ensued, but Malcolm detected not a whit of hostility toward the ruler who’d led them through so many years of war. Instead, men hugged him until he seemed almost suffocated with the loyalty and admiration.
“It’s like magic,” Malcolm said to Randall, not concealing the wonder in his tone. “Eighteen days on French soil, over 560 miles traveled, and without spilling a drop of blood, here he is, back at the palace as though he never left.”
“He’ll be sitting down to the king’s dinner tonight, I’ll wager,” Randall added.
Malcolm couldn’t help taking in the joy of the people around him. His thoughts, some of them doubtful as to their mission, must have shown upon his face. For Randall suddenly grabbed his arm and steered him away.
“Don’t go getting all philosophical on me, Branley. We have a sworn duty, do not forget.”
“I haven’t.” They walked back toward the restaurant. “In a case such as this, however, it’s hard not to give a moment’s consideration as to whether we’re on the wrong side of history. Many would say if he’s the one the people want, then let him rule. Many will say it, no matter how this turns out. The Seventh Coalition might be wise to put down our swords and pistols because no one is trying to fight us.”
