The Cardinal was becoming bored with this unsubtle Frenchman. “If this Pierre Ducos is in the kingdom, General, then he has caused us no trouble, and I see no reason why I should help betray him to your master.”

Which was the moment when General Calvet played the Emperor’s card, and played it very well. He feigned a look of astonishment. “Betray, your Eminence? We don’t seek Major Ducos for any reason other than to offer him employment! Though, in truth, we do know that the English seek Major Ducos, and are even sending men here to do him harm. Why they should wish that, I cannot tell, but on my master’s life, it is true. The Englishmen may already be here!” Calvet doubted whether Sharpe had yet reached Naples, for Monsieur Roland had moved with an exemplary speed, but Calvet knew it would not be long before the Riflemen did arrive in the city.

There was a long silence after Calvet had spoken of the English involvement. The Cardinal might despise the fallen Napoleon, but he disliked the rampantly victorious English far more. He was forced to shelter their Mediterranean fleet and flatter their heretic ambassador, but the Cardinal feared their territorial ambitions. Their troops had taken Malta, and thrown the French from Egypt, and where else would the Redcoats choose to land on the Mediterranean’s shores? Even now, as the Cardinal and the General spoke, there were no less than six British warships in the harbour at Naples. Their fleet used the harbour as if it was their own, and though they claimed they were only present to deter the scum of the Barbary Coast, the Cardinal nevertheless feared the English, though he would not betray those fears to General Calvet. “The English have never expressed any interest in this man,” the Cardinal said instead, though in a much milder tone.

“Nor will they, your Eminence. They are insolent enough to believe they can ignore you. Nevertheless, on my honour, I do assure you that a party of Englishmen is either in your kingdom or on their way here.” Calvet was certainly not going to reveal that there would only be three Englishmen and that, far from being on official business, they were themselves fugitives.

“The Emperor has sent you to kill these Englishmen?” The Cardinal was beginning to wonder whether this bluff Frenchman might not, after all, be of some use to him.

“I am only here to dissuade them, your Eminence. I am not here to use violence, for the Emperor has no wish to disturb the peace of your happy kingdom.”

“But you are a man accustomed to death, General?”

“It’s my only trade.” Calvet could not resist the boast. “I learned it against the Austrians, who are easily killed, then perfected it against the Russians, who die very hard indeed.” Calvet had finished the war as a General of Brigade, but had begun it as a common soldier. Calvet, indeed, was one of Napoleon’s beloved mongrels; a veteran brawler and gutter-fighter who had risen from the ranks because of his ability to ram men into battle. He was not clever, but he was lucky, and he was as tough as a battered musket. In campaign after campaign Calvet had savaged the Emperor’s enemies. He had even brought an intact brigade out of Russia because his men feared the peasant General more than they feared the Cossacks or the Muscovite winter. Indeed, Calvet had only known one personal defeat, and that was when his brigade tried to drive Sharpe’s force of Riflemen and Marines from the Teste de Buch fort. It was Calvet’s memory of that defeat which gave his present pursuit of the Riflemen a special piquancy.

The Cardinal ignored the belligerence. “How will I recognize these Englishmen?”

Calvet had met both Sharpe and Frederickson once, and he had glimpsed Sharpe amidst the smoke of the Toulouse battlefield. He was not certain he would recognize either man again, but Monsieur Roland had also provided a full description of both Rifle officers. Calvet was too canny to give away the small advantage of those descriptions straightaway. “Details of their appearance are being sent to me, your Eminence.”

The Cardinal allowed Calvet the point. “And what do the English plan to do here, General?”

Calvet shrugged. “To kill Major Ducos, but why, I cannot say. Who can explain the spleen of the English?”

Who indeed? the Cardinal thought, or who could not see through the clumsy lies of a French General? Yet, amidst the deception, the Cardinal could perceive a very real profit for himself and the kingdom. Clearly the English were after the Count Poniatowski’s strongbox, as was the Emperor of Elba, but so, too, was the Cardinal. His spies in the Villa Lupighi had reported that Ducos and his men were planning to leave the kingdom at the end of the year and when they left, the strongbox would leave too. There would be no more lavish bribes from the Villa Lupighi and no more extortionate rents. The golden goose would fly north, but in the arrival of General Calvet the Cardinal saw a heaven-sent way of preventing that flight. He smiled on the General. “Help us find the meddling English, General, and perhaps we might then discover that there is, indeed, a Pierre Ducos hiding in the kingdom.”

Calvet hesitated. “And what happens when I do find them?”

“You shall bring them here, and we shall see whether a spell of Neapolitan prison life satisfies their curiosity.”

“And afterwards,” Calvet insisted, “you will direct me to Major Ducos?”

“Yes.” The Cardinal spoke as though to an importunate child. “I promise you that.” He sketched a vague blessing, then watched the short squat Frenchman leave. “Do you think,” the Cardinal asked when the door was closed, “that he believed me?” Father Lippi, the long-nosed priest, shrugged to suggest he could not answer the question. The gesture irritated the Cardinal. “Do you believe the Frenchman’s story then?”

“No, your Eminence.”

“You’re not entirely a fool. So advise me.”

Father Lippi, whose whole career depended on the Cardinal’s favour, shrugged. “The Count Poniatowski is a valuable contributor to your Eminence’s treasury.”

“So?”

Lippi rubbed long thin hands together as he nervously thought the matter through. “So, your Eminence, the Count Poniatowski should be warned of his enemies. He will doubtless be grateful.”

The Cardinal laughed. “You must learn cleverness, Father Lippi. The future strength of Mother Church does not always rest upon doing the obvious. What do you think will happen when General Calvet discovers these Englishmen?”

“He will hand them into our custody?”

“Of course he will not!” The Cardinal was irritated by Lippi’s stupidity. “The General is a man of war, not of diplomacy. He was not sent here to make peace, but to fight, and when he does find these English, if they exist, he’ll endeavour to discover whether they know how to find Pierre Ducos. And if they do know, and tell him, then Calvet will abandon his promise to hand the Englishmen into our custody, but will attack the villa himself. His master is after money, Lippi, money! And when Calvet does attack the villa, what then?”

Father Lippi frowned. “There will be bloodshed.”

“Precisely, and it will be our duty to arrest the malefactors and impound the evidence of their misdeeds. And if, by chance, the Count is killed by these criminals? Why, then, we shall be forced to give his fortune into the safekeeping of the church.” By which the Cardinal meant his own treasury, but it was almost the same thing. “And if, by chance, this General Calvet fails to capture the Count Poniatowski, then we shall still arrest him for affray, which will please the Count and doubtless provoke the gratitude you mentioned. Either way, Father Lippi, the church will be the richer.”

Lippi bowed in acknowledgement of the Cardinal’s subtlety. “And the English? How do we find them?”

“By helping the General, of course. He will give us their description, but we shall still let him deal with them.” There would be the most pompous and threatening protests from London if Naples was to kill Englishmen, so it was better to let the foolish General Calvet run that risk. The Cardinal smiled. “And once Calvet has dealt with the English, our forces will deal with General Calvet.”