He had been working through them all morning and just when the mass of detail and analysis began to pall he had encountered a file that arrested his attention, perhaps because Arbuthnot had personally overseen the study carried out on the disaster at Toulon. The officer's name was already known to him from the initial sketchy reports from agents in France, and here it was again. Brigadier Napoleon Buona Parte, or Bonaparte, as he signed himself more recently. As Arbuthnot read on it was clear that the rapidly promoted young man was far more gifted in military arts than the vast majority of his peers. If the war against France continued for several more years then this man Bonaparte would bear watching closely, for he could represent a considerable challenge to British arms. Arbuthnot finished the report and, after a moment's thought, added a comment that the file was to be given priority status. From now on Bonaparte's career would be closely followed by eyes far from his new home in France.
Arbuthnot quickly skimmed back over the biographical details and was about to close the folder when his gaze was arrested by a small detail. Nothing of great consequence, but a coincidence all the same. He reached over for the files he had read earlier on, sorting through those coded for British officers until he found the one he wanted: a slim file, still to be filled out as its subject gathered experience and gained promotion.
'Colonel Arthur Wesley,' Arbuthnot muttered. He flicked the folder open and ran his eyes down the brief notes on the first page. The colonel was one of the few men to emerge from the Flanders debacle with his reputation intact.A good combat record and an officer who clearly looked after his men and had their full confidence. Then Arbuthnot came across the section that had jogged his memory.
'Born in the same year,' he muttered. 'Raised as a provincial aristocrat… father died early… hmm.' He slid the two files towards each other. Bonaparte and Wesley. Two young men with considerable promise. Both of whom were precisely the kind of men that their nations so desperately needed in the epic struggle that was to come. Arbuthnot smiled. If the war dragged on for many years there was every chance that both would be dead before it was over. But if they survived, if they prospered and won the promotion they so evidently deserved, that left the fascinating prospect of what might happen should they ever meet on the battlefield.
