After what seemed an excessively long ride, as is always the case when you don’t know where you are going or why, the aide-de-camp stopped his horse not far from a blue and white striped tent. It had a four-sided roof and was big enough to sleep a dozen men. Six soldiers in green coats were guarding it: grenadiers from the Royal Italian Guard, wearing enormous black bearskins, each topped with a red plume; and guards of honour whose gilded helmets had black crests and white plumes. A very eminent person was here.

A moment later, a grenadier called out Margont’s name and the captain entered the tent.

CHAPTER 2

MARGONT found himself face to face with Prince Eugène and immediately stood stiffly to attention. With a wave of the hand the prince invited him to sit. Two chairs, probably commandeered from a nearby farm, had been placed in the centre of the tent. As it was out of the question for a prince to sit on a seat identical to that of one of his subordinates, the guards of honour had used all their inventiveness. One of the chairs, bedecked with an elaborately embroidered cushion, had been arranged on a dais covered with a sumptuous Turkish rug decorated with red, gold and brown arabesques. It was an unconvincing imitation of a throne. The rest of the furniture was simple: a sofa used as a bed, a trunk and a trestle table with a large map of Europe spread out on it. The Empire and its allies covered the entire map with the exception of three countries: Portugal, England, and Russia in all its immensity.

Prince Eugène was thirty-one. His puffy oval face was elongated by his high forehead. His slightly untidy auburn hair detracted somewhat from the formality of his coat, with its collar heavily embroidered in gold, voluminous epaulettes and colourful medals. His uniform could not, however, disguise his youthfulness, and many thought him a man promoted too soon and too far. He was said to be constantly cheerful. That was not true. He scrutinised Margont closely, noting his attractive face, his slightly prominent cheekbones and the scar on his left cheek. This gave him a martial appearance that held a particular appeal for Prussian ladies, as such marks were much appreciated in Berlin. His blue eyes and fair hair gave him a slightly Nordic look, whereas in fact he came from the south-east of France. The prince kicked back the dais with the tip of his boot, grabbed his chair and placed it opposite Margont’s.

‘Hang all this absurd protocol. We’re at war. I shall come straight to the point.’

Splendid, thought Margont.

However, Eugène still hesitated. He tried to sound firm but his face betrayed his anxiety.

‘I need someone for a secret mission of the highest importance. But I know nobody who can carry it out with the necessary speed, panache and discretion. You were recommended to me, hence your presence here. Secrecy is one of the key aspects of this business! If you take on this heavy responsibility and anything leaks out, you will be shot even before a court martial can be convened to sentence you.’

Margont wondered who the person was to whom he owed the pleasure of this summons.

‘If you are successful, you will be promoted to major. You will immediately receive ten years’ pay.’

Margont had visions of himself in a small mansion in Nîmes or Montpellier …

The prince continued, ‘The necessary official explanations will be given but the mission must never be mentioned. Do you accept?’

‘The fact is, Your Highness has not—’

‘Thank you for this resounding and unqualified “yes”. I knew the Empire could count on you. Here is a quick summary of this whole wretched business. Last night in Tresno, a small Polish town near the River Niemen, a woman was murdered in her bedroom. She was called Maria Dorlovna – Polish but of German extraction. Her murder was a terrible butchery. If that were the whole story I wouldn’t even have been informed of it and the military police would now be investigating. The problem is, it is possible that the culprit may be an officer serving in the army corps that I have the honour of commanding.’

Margont responded to the news with an aplomb that both pleased and amazed the prince.

‘Such calmness, Captain. You barely seem surprised. It couldn’t be you, by any chance, could it? That would simplify my life considerably.’

‘Unfortunately, I regret to say that I must disappoint Your Highness.’

‘What impertinence! Well, the person who recommended you did warn me of that displeasing trait of yours. I must confess that it made me hesitate before choosing you.’

Not enough, unfortunately, thought Margont.

‘But I said to myself that a good many of our finest officers were the personification of impertinence. Look at Murat. He charges at the head of his squadrons and sometimes considers himself a one-man vanguard. Then there’s Ney, the great Ney. On the battlefield he’s everywhere at once, always rushing to where the action is fiercest, like a moth drawn to the light. Lasalle, too. He dubbed any hussar who hadn’t died by the age of thirty a wastrel. What’s more, he followed his own precept at Wagram, only a few years late. And don’t all these heroes, and the Empire itself, spring from the greatest and most daring example of impertinence of all: the people of France decreeing a republic? In France, insolence is not a defect, but a badge of honour! That said, it’s like alcohol: it quickly goes to your head and causes blunders, so do not overindulge.’

The prince folded his arms and stared Margont straight in the eye.

‘I suppose your quip was a clever manoeuvre designed to make me choose someone else. It was crafty but it hasn’t worked. Far from discouraging me, you have confirmed me in my decision. So, as I was saying, it would appear that the murderer is one of my officers.’

The prince gave Margont an account of the race across the rooftops and the confrontation between the sentry and the fugitive.

‘The sentry stood to attention? Are you sure of that?’ said Margont with a surprised look.

Eugène stiffened and his brow furrowed. It was clear that he would dearly have liked to say the opposite of what he must.

‘I’m quite certain, thanks to the testimony of another sentry, who was too far away to intervene but who saw the whole scene. The soldier who was stabbed had the rank of sergeant. A sergeant would not suddenly have stood to attention in front of an immediate superior who had just jumped down from a roof, was not wearing regulation uniform and was not on duty. No, given the way he reacted and the speed with which he did so, he must undoubtedly have recognised an officer. At least a captain, or perhaps someone of even higher rank … Now then, Captain Margont, take that look off your face. Anyone would swear that you were no longer listening to me and that you were desperately searching for a way of shirking this task.’

Margont was absent-mindedly tapping the hilt of his sword.

‘For it to be a captain is just about acceptable, Your Highness. But if it is someone of higher rank …’

‘No arrests. Whether it’s a captain or a major – I dare not imagine anyone above that – you will take no initiative. Nothing foolish or it’s the firing squad!’

‘I take Your Highness at his word.’

‘You will draw up a report for me in the greatest secrecy and I will take the necessary steps.’

The prince breathed in slowly, which Margont took to be a ploy intended to give emphasis to what he was about to say.

‘Captain, have you given a moment’s thought to what would happen if the rumour spread that one of our French officers is a maniac who tortures and butchers Polish women? All the regiments would denounce their own captains, majors, colonels … Whole companies would refuse to obey the orders of the man they took to be the murderer. But, even worse, the victim was Polish and of German extraction. You can well imagine the reaction of the tens of thousands of Poles, of Germans from the Confederation of the Rhine, and of Prussians and Austrians taking part in this campaign. Already there’s little love lost between the Prussians, the Austrians and ourselves. It would not take much to inflame people’s passions. There would be disagreements, desertions … If this matter were taken up by agitators, spies and enemies of France, it could shake to the foundations the carefully constructed diplomatic edifice built up by the Emperor.’