The members of his retinue nodded their agreement with little conviction and darted nervous glances after the French.
Outside, Napoleon gestured to Fouche to follow him and marched to his private study, head down and hands clasped behind his back to hide his thunderous mood from those he passed by. Once the door was closed behind them Napoleon gave vent to his temper.
‘Just who does that fat bastard think he is?’
Fouche coolly raised his eyebrows. ‘I rather assumed he thinks himself to be the King of Spain, sire.’
‘That arrogant fool? You heard him, Fouche. He means to throw his lot in with the British the moment the last of our soldiers quits Spain.’
‘He did not say that precisely, sire.’
‘It was clear enough to me.We cannot afford to let him stay on the throne. There is no question of it. Ferdinand must be persuaded, or forced, to renounce the crown.’
‘Even if he is, sire, I do not see how Charles can remain in power without our protection, and then we will share the hatred of his people in full measure.’
‘No. Neither of them is fit to be King,’ Napoleon reflected. ‘And I dare say neither of them will be willing to abandon their claim to the crown.This is going to require some deft handling.’
Charles and Marie-Louise arrived two days later. Their carriage and retinue had been escorted from the border by a regiment of Napoleon’s finest cavalry. Entire villages and towns turned out to watch the cavalcade pass and wave to Charles and his wife as though they were still the King and Queen of Spain. Their arrival at Bayonne was greeted with a deep boom at regular intervals as the artillery of the Imperial Guard welcomed them with a sixty-gun salute. The carriage rumbled down streets lined with guardsmen standing at attention, before finally turning into the courtyard where Napoleon and his two regal brothers were waiting.
The carriage ground to a halt and steps were hastily set in place as a footman opened the door. Charles heaved himself awkwardly out on to the steps, with the support of the footman. He was a large man, and Napoleon could instantly see where the son had got his appetite from. Charles smiled at his host with a kindly expression and then turned as his wife descended from the carriage. She was every bit as ugly as Napoleon had feared and combined severely masculine features with a furrowed brow that betrayed a fiery temper.
Napoleon descended all but the last step of the chateau and bowed. ‘I trust the journey was comfortable.’
‘Oh?’ Charles raised his eyebrows and then thought a moment before nodding. ‘Comfortable, well, yes. I suppose it was.’
His wife snorted with derision.‘It was a long journey on rough roads and I’m heartily glad it’s over! Still, it is better than living under house arrest.’ She fixed her beady eyes on Napoleon. ‘We were living in a virtual prison. Can you imagine that? It seems we have raised a treacherous viper in the bosom of our family. Once this is over, we’ll banish him for life, at the very least,’ she added in an ominous tone.‘And then we will see to all his supporters.’
Napoleon bowed graciously before her. ‘You must be the radiant Marie-Louise.Your beauty does not do justice to the reports I have had of you, madam.’
Marie-Louise stared at him with narrowed eyes as she wondered if she was being mocked, but Napoleon kept his expression neutral, even as Charles looked at him in surprise. Napoleon bent low, took her hand and kissed it. On cue, there was a ripple of applause from his officers and Marie-Louise beamed delightedly.
‘It seems we are amongst friends, Charles, my dear.’
‘Friends? Oh, good.’ He smiled and beamed happily.‘I have so missed having friends.’
‘If you would come with me.’ Napoleon gestured up the steps.‘I have arranged a modest reception for you.’
Inside the chateau’s ballroom a table laden with delicacies and decanters of the finest wines stood at one end. A large crowd of dignitaries and officers in their finest uniforms parted to permit the Emperor and his guests to enter the centre of the room. The small retinue of the former King and Queen of Spain followed and assumed a haughty air in front of the curious gaze of their hosts. Napoleon clapped his hands together to attract attention.When every eye was on him, he quietly cleared his throat and addressed the crowd.
‘All France welcomes Charles and Marie-Louise of the house of Bourbon. It is our fervent wish that we may be able to help Spain overcome the division and dissent that has plagued her in recent months. But for now, we will celebrate your arrival and help you to forget the rigours of the journey that brought you to Bayonne.’
From a gallery, hidden by a great tapestry, a small orchestra struck up the Spanish national anthem and Napoleon began to introduce his senior officers and officials to Charles and his wife.
Later, when night had fallen outside and all the guests had long since departed from the ballroom, Napoleon met Charles and Fouche in a small private sitting room with doors and windows that overlooked the geometrically perfect flowerbeds of the chateau’s garden. His sister Caroline, together with the wives of some of the generals, had led Marie-Louise off to a picturesque orangery in the grounds to be entertained by an opera singer from Paris, while Napoleon dealt with Charles alone.
‘I must say, it is most good of you to step in to sort this ghastly business out,’ Charles began affably. ‘You’re not quite the tyrant that some of your enemies make you out to be.’
‘Really? That is good to know.’ Napoleon smiled warmly. ‘It is a shame that there are those who mistake my motives. But who can blame them, with all the lies that are spread by British agents?’
Charles frowned. ‘I have to confess that my own son was easily misled by such devils. Truly, the British will stop at nothing to undermine every royal house in Europe.’
‘Sadly, you are right,’ Napoleon said solemnly. ‘And the Spanish Bourbons are no exception.Why, when I spoke to your son, he was little more than a mouthpiece for Britain, and damned your alliance with France as the work of a fool and a madman.’
Charles’s eyes narrowed. ‘He said that? Of me?’
