months at most.’
‘It is true that your men are more than a match for the Mamelukes,’ the sheikh agreed. ‘But I fear you will find that our land and our climate will be your real enemy.Yours is not the first European army to be defeated by the sun and the sand. You march in the shadow of the crusaders, and perhaps you will share their fate. It is possible that Allah has deemed these worthless lands to be the domain of less civilised peoples.’
‘We are here to stay,’ Napoleon replied firmly. ‘Desaix will defeat Murad Bey and the people of Egypt will embrace the opportunities that France extends to them.’
‘And for those who don’t accept those opportunities?’
Napoleon’s expression hardened. ‘There will be no place for such men in the new order.’
‘I see.’ The sheikh nodded thoughtfully. ‘It occurs to me that should you drive Murad Bey out of Egypt, what is to stop him raiding us from neighbouring lands?’
‘There will be no safe haven for him, or any who resist the changes here in Egypt. If the need arises I will lead my army across the Sinai and up into Palestine and Syria.’
‘And on to Constantinople, perhaps?’
‘No. Even now, the French foreign minister, Monsieur Talleyrand, is concluding a treaty with the Sultan. Our two empires will soon become allies.’
‘If Allah wills it, though the Sultan might well regard the presence of French troops in Egypt, let alone Syria, with some concern, General. But, as you say, the French are a peace-loving people. I am sure the Sultan will see you for what you really are. Now, if you will permit me, I will take my leave. It has been a fine day, and a long day, and I am tired.’ The sheikh rose to his feet, and Napoleon and his officers quickly followed suit. There was a formal exchange of statements of friendship before the sheikh left the hall, followed by the other local men of influence, and the French officers were left to themselves.
Berthier muttered, ‘That seemed to go well enough, sir. I didn’t get any sense they would cause us any trouble.’
‘It hardly matters if they do,’ Napoleon replied casually. ‘What could they achieve against muskets and cannon? No, they’ll soon see that any thought of resistance is futile, and once we begin to bring some order and efficiency to the public affairs of Egypt they’ll be only too pleased that we took control of their land.’
Junot puffed out his cheeks. ‘Well, let’s hope so, sir. But I can’t help thinking that opposition to France might just give them a cause to rally round.’
Napoleon laughed. ‘Come now! They are a backward people, long accustomed to bowing before a constant flow of foreign overlords.They will bow to France just as readily. Gentlemen, I’ve had quite enough ceremony and polite behaviour today. It’s time to celebrate like soldiers!’
The mess servants cleared away the remains of the banquet and brought out the wine and brandy that had been landed from the ships safely anchored in Aboukir Bay and brought up the Nile to Cairo. With the warmth of the eastern night and several rounds of toasts, Napoleon and most of his officers were soon quite drunk. And why not, he thought. The campaign was as good as over. Only the remnants of Murad Bey’s army needed to be tracked down and crushed and Egypt would be the latest conquest to adorn the map of the French empire.
As the night drew on, the conversation became more reflective as the officers began to remind themselves of all the comforts that had been denied to them since coming ashore.
Berthier raised his glass. ‘A good bath, clean sheets and a woman to take your mind off soldiering. That’s my toast.’
The other officers chorused their agreement.Then they grew quiet as their commander held up his glass. ‘Gentlemen, to French women. They have no peer when it comes to beauty, grace and wit.And they make love with a passion that makes men their slaves.’
As his companions roared their approval and clashed their glasses together Napoleon felt his heart ache with longing for Josephine. His hand fumbled for the minature that hung round his neck and he stared at the image, gently caressing it with his thumb. The artist had captured her lively spirit in the eyes that seemed to glint mischievously as he stared at them. However, he knew that if he indulged in such reflection for too long he was in danger of becoming melancholy, so he forced himself to smile and raise his glass again.
‘To our lovers, to our wives and to my beautiful, adoring wife Josephine.’
Again the officers cheered and drank. Junot refilled his cup, and blearily turned to some nearby officers and said, too loudly, ‘To our wives, whoever they adore!’
Some of the officers exchanged embarrassed looks while others heedlessly drank to Junot’s toast. Junot turned to Napoleon with a broad smile, and froze. Napoleon was looking at him with an angry expression.
‘What did you say?’
‘Sir?’
‘Just now. What did you say?’
‘To our wives . . .’ Junot mumbled. ‘Whoever they adore.’
‘And what exactly do you mean by that?’
‘Nothing, sir. It was a joke. Nothing more.’
‘A joke?’ Napoleon sat his glass down with a sharp rap. He felt light headed and his mind concentrated with difficulty. Slowly the conversation of the other officers died away as they turned towards their general with curious faces. Napoleon stepped up to Junot and stabbed a finger into his chest. ‘Are you insulting my wife, Junot? You dishonour her. How dare you say that about her?’ The fond affection of a moment earlier had gone. In its place was an injured drunken pride, and Napoleon clenched his fist and thrust it behind his back where it could not be so readily used. ‘Say it again, if you dare.’
Junot shook his head as the blood drained from his face. ‘Sir, I wasn’t thinking. I meant no offence.’
‘No offence!’ Napoleon spat. ‘You imply my wife is being unfaithful, and you say that you mean no offence.’
‘I’m sorry, sir.’ Junot attempted to stand stiffly to attention. ‘I beg you to accept my apology.’
‘No. I will not.You slander the woman I love, who loves me, and you think a mere apology will suffice? I think not, Junot. I think that you should leave me. Leave my staff. Leave my army and take yourself home. I will not have you near me.’ Suddenly, his temper snapped and his clenched fist swept out, and he punched Junot hard in the face.
Everyone stood quite still, shocked by the confrontation and the sound of the impact that echoed back from the walls. Napoleon was drawing his arm back to hit him again when Berthier intervened, thrusting Junot aside and standing between him and Napoleon.
‘Sir! That’s enough!’
Napoleon glared at him, wide eyed. ‘You dare to come between me and this foul-mouthed brute? I’ll break you with him. You and anyone who dishonours my wife with such lies. Anyone who can think that of Josephine.’
‘Then you will have to find a replacement for every man at headquarters,’ Berthier said desperately.
‘What?’ Napoleon felt a sick feeling well up in his stomach. ‘What are you saying? What are you saying about my wife?’
Berthier’s face twisted into a pained expression and for a moment words failed him.Then he swallowed and spoke.‘Sir . . . she has a lover.’
‘A lover?’
‘Yes.’
Napoleon thought he was going to be sick, and bit down, clamping his lips together. His first instinct was to reject the idea, but then doubts rushed in to fill his mind like winter shadows. ‘Who, then? Who is this lover? Tell me!’
‘His name is Hippolyte Charles.’
‘Charles? The cavalry officer who came with her to Italy?’
Berthier nodded.
Napoleon’s mind instantly leaped back to those times where he had encountered Josephine in the young officer’s company, and his heart felt as if it was locked in a cold vice. Doubt edged towards certainty and he looked round the hall at the other officers. ‘Who else knows?’
Berthier shifted uncomfortably. ‘It is known to most of Paris, sir. Has been for several months.’
‘Months . . .’ Napoleon lowered his head. All hope was fading, and in its place a tide of rage and, worse,
