The Rape Of Venice

Chapter 28

In the Trap

For a moment Roger's mind went blank with sheer horror at the thought of the position in which he had landed Boneparte and himself; then it began to work with a speed at which it had rarely worked before. Somehow, he must get them both out of this terrible mess; but how? And he had only seconds in which to think. If Boneparte were given his way, they would be seven on the island, including Crozier and the three sailors. As the conspirators would expect to have to overcome a guard, they would be many more than that. The little Corsican was brave as a lion and would not submit tamely to being kidnapped. He would put up a desperate fight, so the odds were they would all get killed or seriously wounded.

There seemed only two ways to prevent that: either by stopping the conspirators from carrying out their plan, or by stopping Boneparte going to the island. For a second Roger wondered if he could get a message through to Villetard, telling him that there had been a hitch and that he must send Malderini off on a wild-​goose chase by giving him the name of some island other than Portillo. But it was already past seven. It would take the best part of an hour for a messenger to get to Venice and Malderini was to be given the place of Boneparte's rendezvous within the next half-​hour; so he would be on his way to Portillo before the message reached Villetard.

Then Boneparte must be stopped. But how could he be unless he was told the truth? If he was, would he accept the situation, agree to take the escort and see the matter through? No, he would not, because it would have to be disclosed to him that his intention to spend the night at the casino with a lovely woman had got out; otherwise the conspirators would not know about it. And he had been insistent that there should be no scandal. His only means of scotching it would be to dine with the officers in the mess at Mestre and spend the night there.

With lightning speed, Roger assessed the results of confessing the truth. An end to his prospects of revenging himself on Malderini; the poor Princess Sirisha left, after all, in her evil husband's clutches; himself clapped into a fortress for a term of years; and all chance gone of using the conspiracy, as he had hoped to do, as a pawn for England in the great game of international statecraft.

It was this last, more than anything else that made him suddenly decide to take a final gamble. He had taken so many to bring his plans up to their present state; why not one more? Boneparte was already walking towards the steps. Junot took a pace forward to follow and see him off. Roger grabbed him by the arm, pulled him back, and whispered:

'One moment!'

'What is it?' Junot said, testily. 'You seem in a great state today.'

'I've reason to be. I've no time to explain; but you must take charge of the escort and come after us.'

'Sacre bleu! Disobey his orders! Is it likely?'

'You love him, do you not?'

'Of course. If I had nine lives, like a cat, I'd give them all for him.'

'Very well then. Tonight his life may be in danger.'

Junot's hand jumped to his sword hilt. 'If anyone dares…'

'Listen!' Roger cut him short. 'I have only a moment. We are going to the island of Portillo. You must follow with…'

'How can I? It's still light enough to see several hundred yards. If he turns his head he'll catch sight of us. I'll be ordered back, and he'll have my hide off me into the bargain.'

'Breuc!' The angry cry came from Boneparte, who had just stepped into the barge. 'Breuc! Stop gossiping with Junot. What the devil d'you mean by keeping me waiting?'

'Give us a quarter of an hour's start,' Roger gasped. 'It will be near dark by then. Portillo. Come in on the garden side. I'll be waiting for you.'

Turning away from Junot he ran across the quay, down the steps and jumped into the barge.

That Boneparte happened to be in one of his black moods made the journey even more of an ordeal for Roger. When the

Corsican was talkative whoever was with him had to drive their wits hard to keep up with his agile mind, but now he sat with his arms folded and his chin down on his chest, obviously plunged in gloomy thoughts; so Roger's mind was free to roam over a score of unpleasant possibilities.

That Junot would follow them he had no doubt; but how long would he delay before doing so? Malderini and his friends would leave Venice at about eight so should arrive at Portillo by nine, or perhaps even a little before that. But it was a good mile farther to Portillo from Mestre than it was from Venice; so Junot could not be expected before half-​past eight, as the barges with the troops in were more cumbersome and slower than the Embassy barge. Half an hour should be margin enough, but none too much in which to make sound dispositions to receive the conspirators.

On that score he now felt fairly safe. The thing that really worried him was the possibility that Malderini had decided to put the rescue of his wife before all else and had got to the island before them. If he had, and had managed to trick, hypnotise, or overcome Bouvard and his men, the love-​nest would now be empty. What Boneparte would have to say about that in his present ill-​humour passed beyond imagination.

There was, too, another and even more frightening possibility. Malderini might have brought the whole body of conspirators to Portillo with him. If so they could easily have overpowered the guard and would still be there, in ambush, lying in wait for Boneparte.

That thought made Roger close his eyes and bite his lip. It was not that he felt the same deep affection for the little Corsican as did Junot and several other people among the entourage; it was a matter of his personal honour. The fact that Boneparte's death might well prove to the advantage of England in the long ran had no bearing on the matter. Had Roger met him on a battlefield, he would have killed him without hesitation, but, as things stood, this brilliant mercurial wisp of a man had befriended and trusted him; so to deliberately lead him into a trap was a shameful thing to do.

Yet Roger could not escape the fact that that was exactly what he might be doing. The knowledge forced him to consider again if he ought not to confess to the tangled web he had spun and have the barge turned back to Mestre. Had his personal concerns alone been in the balance, he would now have accepted defeat and done so; but there was one matter outside them, and it was that which constrained him to remain silent.

Junot had said that now the snow had come it was too late in the year for Boneparte to have any hope of launching another successful campaign, and that he was anxious to conclude a peace as soon as possible; but the Emperor of Austria still insisted on being given Venice. Tonight, there was just a chance that the Corsican might be persuaded to abandon his self chosen role of protector of the city. To manoeuvre him into doing that, Roger believed, would, in the long run, be just as much a victory for England as one gained in battle. This was not simply a personal issue; he was, in fact, facing the French General-​in-​Chief on a battlefield. So the battle must go on.

There were no stars or moon; heavy thunder clouds rolled low overhead, blotting out the sky. By the time they picked up Portillo, darkness had fallen, and they were within a few hundred yards of the island before the denser blackness of its tall cypresses showed its position. His hopes mingled with misgivings, Roger sent out a hail. To his immense relief it was Bouvard who replied to it.

The barge drew in to the steps. Boneparte sprang lightly ashore and Roger after him. Bouvard was unable to suppress an exclamation of surprise as he recognised the General-​in-​Chief; then he reported all well. Boneparte asked him his name and how many men he had there. When he had replied he was told to collect his two men, get in the barge with them and return with it to Mestre.

Roger would have given a great deal to retain the sailors and the barge's crew, as their departure would leave only himself, Crozier and the orderly sergeant on the island with Boneparte but he felt that any attempt to intervene would be useless, and the thought that Junot must by now be well on the way to Portillo made him considerably easier in his mind; so he remained silent while his companion, with his harsh Italian-​accented French, adjured the men in the barge to preserve silence about having brought him to the island and gave an order that the barge was to return for him at seven o'clock in the morning.

While he was addressing the sailors, Roger had a quick word with the orderly sergeant, telling him to remain there on the steps and challenge any boat that might approach loudly enough to be heard in the casino; then he accompanied Bonaparte up to it. On entering the salon they found Sirisha sitting on a sofa looking at an album of water colours. Putting it aside she stood up.

Bowing deeply to her, he returned to Boneparte and said, 'Mon General, this is Her Highness Princess Sirisha of Bahna." Turning back to her, he added, 'Your Highness, permit me to present Citizen Napoleon Boneparte, General-​in-​Chief of the Army of Italy and the most renowned soldier of modern times.'

Sirisha smiled, made a slight inclination of her head and extended her hand. Boneparte returned her smile, bowed, took her hand, kissed it, then led her back to the sofa, sat down beside her and began to talk with lively animation. Within a few minutes he had become a different man from the ill-​tempered little autocrat who had stepped out of the barge.

Roger gave a discreet cough and said, 'When you wish for supper, you have only to call for it,' bowed again, and slipped out of the salon into the kitchen. Crozier was there with everything arranged on his two-​tier wheeled table; cups of jellied ' consommé\ a cold lobster, breast of duck spread with foie gras and garnished with cherries, a cannon made out of pressed marron, half concealed by a smoke cloud of spun sugar, slices of pineapple in Kirsch, late fresh peaches, champagne, Chateau Yquem and old cognac.

After nodding approval of it, Roger glanced at the clock. The hands stood at twenty minutes to nine. He checked it with his turnip watch and, to his consternation, found it right. They must have left Mestre later than he had thought. But Junot should be arriving soon. Cramming his hat on his head, he went out of the back door into the garden. It was now fully dark, and as he made his way across it, he could make out the pieces of statuary only just in time to avoid walking into them. A hundred paces brought him to the far shore of the islet at the back of the casino. For some five minutes he stood there peering out over the inky water, looking in vain for signs of Junot.

There came a sudden sharp pit-​a-​pat on his hat and shoulders. It had begun to rain. A long roll of distant thunder seemed to run round the great lagoon. The heavy drops fell faster. Another minute and it was sheeting down. All that could previously have been seen of the darkened landscape was blotted out. Even the tops of the cypress were now engulfed in an impenetrable blackness.

With a furious curse, already half drenched, Roger swung about and ran for the house. It looked now as if Fate had led him on only to crush him more certainly at the finish. Finding Sirisha still there, safe and sound, had for the past quarter of an hour led him into a fool's paradise. But the game was not yet played out. In this torrential downpour all the odds were against the French coxswain of Junot's barges finding the island. Yet those of the conspirators might. From boyhood onward, every Venetian fished these waters or traversed them on picnics.

As he staggered through the deluge, he ran slap into a small fountain, tripped on its rim, bashed his shoulder against the figure in its centre and fell sprawling in its basin. Blaspheming, he picked himself up only to find that he had lost his sense of direction. Next moment a vivid streak of lightning gave it to him again. The thunder rumbled, nearer now. The rain came sheeting down as though poured out of some gigantic cistern.

Groping his way forward, he reached the back of the casino. Along it ran a three-​foot wide iron canopy with a scalloped edge. Under it, now protected from the cloudburst, he fought to regain his breath. After a moment he saw, within a yard of him, a chink of light. It was coming from a window behind which the curtains had not been completely drawn. His stockinged feet squelched in his shoes as he took a pace sideways, bent down and peered through the inch-​wide opening.

He found that he was looking into the salon. By twisting his head a little he could see Boneparte and Sirisha. They were still seated side by side on the sofa, but now had napkins and plates on a low table and had started supper. The Corsican’s face had an expression that Roger had rarely seen on it. His over-​wide, incredibly forceful jaw was relaxed, his sensitive mouth was curved in a charming smile, and his big grey eyes were alight with laughter as he waved his fork in the air, evidently demonstrating one of the thrilling stories that he so much enjoyed telling. That the Princess no longer felt the least constraint with him was obvious. As Roger watched, she suddenly threw her head back and very faintly he caught the sound of her delighted laughter.

Roger groaned. What could have been more fortunate than that they should like one another. But they, too, were floating like bubbles in a paradise of fools. Junot should have arrived with the troops a good twenty minutes ago. The fact that he had not showed conclusively that in the storm he must be hopelessly lost. The conspirators were far more likely to find their way through it and land on the island at any moment. It was, too, more probable than not that they would erupt onto the scene without warning. The orderly sergeant had been ordered to stay on guard, so he would not disobey; but he had not been warned to expect an enemy, so he might have taken shelter in the kitchen and be keeping watch through its window. If so, owing to the rain, it was unlikely that he would see anyone approaching until they had actually landed.

Every few moments the lightning made terrifying zigzags, rending the sky and throwing everything up in a flash of blinding brilliance. The thunder no longer rolled but crashed in a series of ear-​splitting detonations, as though the heavens were cannonading the earth in an attempt to destroy it. Roger, soaked to the skin, continued to peer between the chink in the curtains. Boneparte was feeding Sirisha with tid-​bits of lobster from his fork, when the thing that Roger was dreading happened.

His range of vision did not include the door of the salon, so he did not see it burst open. He saw Boneparte suddenly start, drop his fork, spring to his feet and snatch up the light sword that he had thrown down on a nearby chair; then the room was full of angry shouting people. Unchallenged owing to the downpour, the conspirators had landed on the island and forced their way into the casino. Roger's hand instinctively went to his own sword hilt. If Boneparte meant to fight, the least he could do, having led him into this trap, was to go to his aid. Yet if he did, what hope would the two of them have against the score or more Venetians? It was not muscle but wits that were needed if there was to be any chance of saving the situation. Junot could not be far off. Surely there was some way in which he could be brought to the rescue?

Boneparte had drawn his sword and stood behind the supper table, ready to defend himself. Packed close together, the Venetians enclosed him in a semi-​circle. They were a mixed lot. A few were wearing the rich brocaded coats and powdered wigs that the Venetian nobles still went about in as a gesture of contempt for the 'new order'; but most of them looked like prosperous bourgeois, and two wore fishermen's jerseys. A tall man with high cheekbones and thick lips, in the centre of the group, appeared to be haranguing Boneparte. That would be the lawyer Ottoboni. Roger could not see Malderini, so assumed that, according to plan, he was keeping well in the background.

Frantically Roger racked his wits for a way to signal Junot. He had a pistol in his belt so could have fired it, but dismissed the idea at once. With the thunder and the storm h would never be heard at any distance. The storm seemed to be easing slightly. There had been no flash of lightning for several minutes. He wondered now that Junot had not picked up the island by the light of the flashes. Perhaps he had, but lost it again and gone past it in the darkness. It would be easy to miss such a small piece of land when one could hardly see one's hand before one's face.

Light! The inspiration struck Roger's mind like a comet, following his thought of flashes. Turning, he raced along the covered way to the kitchen window. It had no blind and one glance through it told him all he wanted to know. It was occupied only by Crozier who, bent almost double, was peering through the keyhole of the door into the salon. Roger thanked all his gods at finding that he was pitted against amateurs. In a coup such as this, men who knew their work would have surrounded the house before breaking in, then made certain of securing any servants and all the doorways to the place. But Crozier's still being free, showed that the fools had all crowded into the salon.

Quickly now, he slipped through the back door into the kitchen. Crozier came upright with a jerk, turned a frightened face to him and gasped:

'The General! What are we to do? Oh, what are we to do?'

Roger stepped past him, shot the bolt on the salon door, and answered in a low voice, 'Fire! I want to make a fire. Oil, paper, sugar, get me anything you can that will light wood quickly.'

As he spoke, he ran to the stove. Three large kettles of water and a coffee pot were simmering on it. Below them the wood fire glowed red. Grabbing an iron bucket from under the sink, he seized a pair of tongs, fished out some large lumps of burning wood and dropped them into it. Crozier had collected on the table a canister of lamp oil, a bottle of brandy and two bundles of faggots.

'Do them up in the table-​cloth and take them to the wood shed,' Roger ordered. Then he wrapped a towel round his hand to prevent it being scorched, picked up the bucket and hurried out after the steward. When they reached the wood shed, he scattered the faggots at the foot of the big pile of logs, threw the oil over them, poured the brandy onto the table-​cloth and added it to the pile. Then he waved Crozier back and from the open doorway pitched the glowing embers from the bucket onto the oil-​soaked faggots. There was a sudden spurt of flame and in a moment the whole heap was on fire.

'Keep it going,' he cried to Crozier. 'Fetch from the kitchen anything that will burn. Make as big a blaze as you can.'

Turning, he ran back along the covered way to the salon window. To light the bonfire which he hoped would show the position of the island to Junot, even through the teeming rain, had taken only five minutes. He found the scene in the salon scarcely changed. Boneparte was still standing behind the table, sword in hand, but Ottoboni was now holding up a long scroll of parchment and evidently reading from it the conditions guaranteeing the restoration and independence of the Serene Republic that they meant to force him to sign,

Roger felt certain that he would refuse. They would get his signature only by carrying him off and starving him until he gave it. That sent another flash of inspiration darting through Roger's mind. The boats! If he could kill the guard they must have left on them, and turn them adrift, the conspirators would have no means of leaving Fortillo. They would be caught there with their prisoner. Junot must find the island soon, then the situation would be saved.

Running to the other end of the casino, Roger crept round the boat-​shed and peered out at the wharf. Once more he thanked his gods that he had to deal with amateurs. The fools had not even left a guard on their boats.

It was still raining hard but not so heavily. Darting out from his hiding place, he raced across the wharf. As he did so he caught sight of a figure seated, head in hands. It was the orderly sergeant. In spite of the storm he had not left his post, but in the darkness must have been taken by surprise, knocked on the head and left for dead.

Seizing him by the arm, Roger dragged him to his feet and shouted in his ear, 'Pull yourself together. Help me untie the boats.'

There were three barges tied to the tall striped mooring posts. The rain had saturated their painters making them stiff and the knots difficult to undo. The sergeant, still half-​dazed, fumbled with one while Roger wrenched at another, but he had burnt his left hand badly on the bottom of the pail when he had tipped out the burning wood from it. His scorched fingers made the job painful and more difficult.

At last he got it free, and pushed the barge off with his foot, but after it had drifted a yard it came to rest in the tideless water. Hurrying over to the sergeant, he helped him free the second barge, then he cried:

'Get in it. Push off, then find the boat-​hook and pull the barge I've freed well clear of the steps.' The man stumbled in, grasped an oar, lifted it with an effort and thrust the barge out.

Four swift paces brought Roger to the post to which the third barge was moored. At least he now had light to see by. The whole woodshed was roaring up in flames, making a splendid beacon and lighting up the whole front of the casino with a lurid glare. With his burnt hand paining him abominably he strove to undo the painter.

Suddenly there was a shout behind him. Swinging round, he saw that the conspirators were crowding out from the main door of the casino. Two of them had Boneparte by the arms and were dragging him along between them. By now the sergeant had managed to get the two barges well away from the wharf. But there remained the third and the knot of its painter still held fast.

At the sight of their boats being cast adrift a yell of anger went up from the conspirators. Three of them drew their swords and came running at Roger. He had just time to swing his cloak and twist it twice round his left arm, then he whipped out his own blade and threw himself on guard. It was as well that he was one of the finest swordsmen in Europe, or he would have been dead within the next two minutes.

Individually his attackers were no match for him, but there were three of them and others were coming up behind. Only two factors favoured his survival against such odds for even a brief space. He had his back to the edge of the wharf, so they could not get round to attack him in the rear and, whereas they were armed with rapiers, his sword was a much heavier double-​edged army weapon.

The first three lunged at him almost simultaneously. With one harsh, clashing stroke he swept their three blades aside, brought up his own and, curving it back high, flicked its point across the face of the man on his right. It slit his nose through the bridge. He gave a screech of agony. It gushed blood and he fell back out of the fight.

The other two lunged again. The middle man was very tall. Roger caught his thrust from below, forced his blade high up in the air, sprang forward and kicked him in the groin. With an awful groan he went over backwards. It was Roger's forward move that had saved him from the man on the left. His thrust missed Roger's heart and passed beneath his arm, piercing his clothes and taking the skin off his ribs. Turning upon him, Roger lunged but, still slightly off-​balance from his kick, missed. His blade passed over the man's shoulder. Both stepped back, but now two other men came dashing into the fray.

One, a big man in a woollen jersey, wielding a long curved knife, slipped on the spilt blood from the nose of the man Roger had slashed. His mouth flew open in a curse, his head jerked back and his feet flew up. His left boot struck Roger low down on the right thigh, causing him to stagger sideways. That saved him from death by the lunge of the other newcomer. Instead of the sword point entering his body it barely pinked his right shoulder.

His blade was still engaged with that of the survivor of the first three. With a violent twist of the wrist he slid his blade under that of his opponent. It pierced his heart. His sword fell from his hand and clattered on the wet stones. His face contorted in a spasm and he collapsed.

1Some thirty feet away, Boneparte was still struggling with his captors. 'Well done, Bruec!' he shouted. 'Well done! You, shall have a diamond in your sword-​hilt for everyone of these traitors you can kill.'

Roger bared his teeth in a sardonic grin, for it looked at the moment as if gold nails in his coffin would be a more appropriate tribute. The man whose nose he had slit was coming at him with a maniacal glare in his eyes; the one whose sword had pinked his shoulder had drawn back his weapon for another lunge, and the man in the jersey was on his feet again waiting with his curved knife for a chance to run in; but yet another newcomer with a drawn sword had pushed him aside to get space enough to join in the attack.

For two terrible minutes the four thin shafts of steel clanged and slithered, rasping on one another for a second then flickering like writhing snakes in the light of the flames as they swept in swift arcs from head high, down to knee level and back. With three blades against him, Roger dare not use his skill in feints or tricks as he would have in a duel; neither could he give back, and he had no room to use swift footwork to his advantage. It was all he could do to parry the lunges and keep his opponents off by making sudden jabs at the eyes of one or other of them every few moments.

Stooping suddenly, the man on the right ducked down, got past Roger's guard with a low thrust and pierced his left leg half-​way up the thigh. Before the blade could be withdrawn, Roger's had entered the man's throat. He fell, gurgling horribly. But the man in the jersey sheathed his knife and, snatching up the fallen man's sword, took his place.

The pace of the swordplay to keep three men at bay was so furious that Roger was tiring now. His sword arm felt as heavy as lead, his wrist was aching; so, too, was his burnt hand. So far none of his wounds had been serious and in the heat of the conflict he hardly felt them; but he was losing blood from three places. Sweat was pouring from him and mingling with the rain that still pattered on his face.

The odds were still three to one against him and he knew that he could not keep it up much longer. Yet every moment that he could remain on his feet meant just a shade better chance that the kidnappers would not get away with their captive. From the first he had realised that they might do so by getting out of the boat-​house one of the boats belonging to the casino, but in the excitement none of them had yet thought of that. And if they did, its caulking might have become so dry from long disuse, that it would prove unserviceable. He could only pray that that would be so if the idea occurred to any of them, and in the meantime continue to defend the one boat by which they could be certain of carrying Boneparte off if only they could get him into it.

Desperately he fought on, cutting, thrusting, slashing, always threatening the eyes of his attackers, and using his left arm wrapped in its sodden cloak as a buckler to parry the thrusts that came at him from that side.

Suddenly he saw an opening. His sword point darted forward ripping open the cheek of the man in front of him. With a loud cry his victim reeled sideways, cannoning into the man in the jersey and knocking his blade aside. Next second Roger had driven his blade through the jersey into the man's stomach. The third man, now aghast at finding himself alone against so terrible an antagonist, sprang away. Hastily, he and his companion with the slit cheek retreated several yards to join two others who had been standing in the background with their swords drawn but irresolute expressions on their faces.

For a moment Roger stood there gasping and panting, the bodies of the men he had slain or injured in a ring before him, the point of his sword dripping blood on the ground. In the glare of the flames his face looked like a death-​mask, lit by the hard, glinting, jewelled eyes of an idol. His heart was beating furiously. Borne up on a sudden wave of triumph he rasped out. defiantly:

'Come on, you bastards! Come and get your gizzards slit!'

Had they accepted his challenge, he was so exhausted that he could hardly again have lifted his sword arm; but his daring in making it saved him. Believing that he still had plenty of fight left in him, none of them had the courage to renew the attack. Instead, with the wounded who were still on their feet, and the still less warlike who were crowded round Boneparte, they broke into a heated argument upon what they should do next.

Their querulous dispute ended as quickly as it had begun. Like angels' music in Roger's ears, there suddenly came shouts of 'Vive la Republic! Vive Boneparte! Vive Boneparte!' and a surge of men swept round the corner of the casino.

The beacon made by the blazing wood shed had brought Andoche Junot to Portillo and he had arrived on the garden side. A magnificent figure, his sword held high, the flames glittering on the gold of his pelisse, the future Due d'Abrantes came hurtling across the wharf to the rescue of his future Emperor, and after him streamed the picked men of the Hundred and Thirty-​first.

The Venetians scattered like chaff before the wind; the soldiers pursued and seized them. Boneparte was left standing alone. Suddenly he strode forward, put his arms behind his back, confronted Roger, and said:

'Colonel Breuc, your sword-​play was magnificent. You shall be mentioned in an order to the Army. But I require explanations. I do not understand how these people could have known that I was here. Tell Junot to have all those who can walk brought into the salon.'

Turning away abruptly, he stalked back to the casino and disappeared through its doorway.

Ten minutes later his order had been obeyed. The conspirators had been rounded up and herded inside. Boneparte again stood behind the supper table. Sirisha, pale but composed, was seated to one side of him on the sofa. Roger and Junot stood on the other. On entering the room Roger had looked quickly about for Malderini, and spotted him standing in a corner near the door to the kitchen. The sides of the room, all but that adjacent to the bedroom, were now lined with troops; so, knowing that Malderini could not get away for the moment, Roger took no special action.

The noise of shuffling, low moans from the wounded, and apprehensive murmurs, filled the room. Boneparte called sharply for silence, then turned to Roger and asked, 'How did these conspirators know that I was here? You were insistent that I should take an escort, and must have told Junot to follow us. You must have known there would be an attempt to kidnap me. What have you to say?'

Now had come the awful moment that Roger had known all along he would have to face. He replied boldly, 'Mon General, I am entirely to blame. I learned from Villetard that in Venice a conspiracy was being hatched against French interests. When the Peace had been signed and the bulk of our troops withdrawn from Italy, the conspirators intended to launch a coup d'etat to overthrow the new pro-​French Government and re-​establish the Serenissima. I decided that the best means of averting such a menace to the interests of France in Italy was to induce the conspirators to show their hand prematurely, then crush them.'

'You mean that, with this in mind, you used me to bait a trap?'

'I confess it. Had you not upset my plans at the last moment by refusing to take an escort, you would have been in no danger. Even then, had it not been for the storm, Colonel Junot would have arrived on Portillo before the conspirators and saved you from the indignities to which you have been subjected.'

'Your arrogance is almost unbelievable.' Boneparte struck the table with his fist. 'Risk or no risk, that one of my aides-​de-​camp should have dared to use his General-​in-​Chief like a piece of cheese for these miserable mice robs me of words with which to blast you.'

Without flinching, Roger faced the blazing anger in the Corsican's eyes. Sadly he shook his head. 'Mon General, you do me a great injustice. It was not merely to trap these miserable people that I hatched this plot. You have mentioned to me many times that the people of Venice love and honour you; that they are grateful to you for the freedom you brought them; that they are to be relied on when you are gone back to France to maintain an independent City State, governed on the principles of Liberty, Equality, Fraternity. It may have been presumptuous of me, but I wished you to see for yourself how ill-​founded was your belief. Look at them! There are not only noble ex-​Senators here. There are also men of the robe, bourgeoisie, and even members of the proletariat. They are representative of Venice. For France and yourself they have only hatred. My object was to unmask them before you.'

With a quick gesture Boneparte waved Roger aside and began to walk up and down, his hands clasped behind him. Six paces forward, six paces back. For a full two minutes he strode back and forth, deep in thought. Suddenly he halted facing Roger, and cried:

'You are right! They attempted to force me to sign a document re-​creating the Serenissima with a Doge and all their other outworn trappings. They threatened to carry me off and starve me into ordering the withdrawal of our garrison.' Singing round upon the Venetians he stormed at them:

'You are a miserable, cowardly people, unfit for liberty. You no longer have land or water of your own. I will take all your ships, despoil your arsenal, remove all your cannon and wreck your bank. Then I will hand you over to the Austrians.

A wail went up. The Venetians fell upon their knees shouting cries and pleas. 'No! No! Anything but that! Have mercy on us. We will do whatever you wish. Anything. Anything. We will be loyal to France. We swear it!'

'Silence!' he snapped. 'You are incapable of loyalty! I have delayed signing a peace only for your sakes, but I'll delay no longer. The Emperor wants your city; he shall have it. You would make slaves of one another. Very well then; you shall all become the slaves of Austria.'

Roger's heart warmed within him. Whatever might happen now he had cleared the big fence. He had preserved Venice from domination by France. In any future combination of the Powers against her, it would prove a valuable bulwark. By patient intrigue, coupled with audacity, he had once more struck a mighty blow for England.

To Boneparte he said, 'Mon General, you should know that there is one man here more treacherous than all the rest. He joined this conspiracy only to make use of it for his own ends. He has kept in touch with Villetard with the object of betraying his friends to us when the time was ripe and claiming as his reward that you should make him First Magistrate of Venice. Any man so despicable deserves death. He is my personal enemy, and I ask from you the right to execute him,'

Malderini had taken no part in the fighting or in seizing Boneparte. He had watched the coup develop with great satisfaction and, when Junot had arrived with the troops, remained undisturbed. He had been expecting events to take exactly that course and that, when the other conspirators were arrested and led away, Villetard would appear to present him to Boneparte and praise the part he had played. Then, on seeing Roger enter the salon, he had suddenly been seized with fear that even if his enemy's presence there were pure chance, it might bring about the wrecking of all his plans. Since, he had been watching the proceedings with mounting dismay and apprehension.

Now, as Roger denounced him, he turned, dived between two soldiers, seized the door-​knob of the kitchen door and strove to open it. But it was still bolted on the other side. The two soldiers grabbed him by the shoulders and swung him round.

Pointing at him, Roger cried, 'That is the arch-​traitor Bring him here!'

Malderini was thrust forward through the murmuring crowd until he was only a yard from Boneparte. His sagging, old-​woman's face was grey with terror, but with a great effort he pulled himself together and cried:

'General, you must hear me. This accusation is false. It is made by a man who bears me a grudge because, believing him to be an English spy, 1 had him imprisoned in the Leads. But that is not all. As a man you owe me some consideration. What will be said of you if you condemn to death a man whose wife you have stolen?'

'You must be mad,' Boneparte snapped. 'I do not know your wife.'

With a bitter, high-​pitched laugh, Malderini pointed at Sirisha. 'Not know her! Why, there she sits. She was brought here for your pleasure. On our entering this room, we surprised you having supper with her.'

Boneparte jerked his head round and fixed his eyes on Roger. 'Is this true? Have you made use of a political situation to get the best of this man in some private quarrel you have with him?'

'Yes,' Roger admitted. The Princess is his wife; but it was only by bringing her here I could make quite certain that he would come here with the others. If I had not, he might have betrayed their intention while himself remaining in Venice.'

'No, no!' Malderini cried. 'You are right, General, He has abused your confidence to pursue a private feud. And he has dragged your name in the mud to do it. All Venice knows that for the past few days you have been paying visits in secret to the city, and…'

'What nonsense is this?' Boneparte burst out. 'I have never been near the place.'

A sudden murmur arose from the Venetians. 'Oh, oh!' 'We are at your mercy; why deny it?' 'That you have been in the city is common knowledge.'

'Yes,' Malderini hurried on. 'And my enemy must have pointed out my wife to you. It is said everywhere that you had displayed an interest in her. Then, this morning, he abducted her in broad daylight to bring her here.'

'Breuc! What have you to say?' The Corsican's words cracked like pistol shots.

'I do not deny it,' Roger replied tersely. 'Rumours that you were in Venice had to be put round to induce the conspirators to plan this attempt to kidnap you. I abducted his wife with the help of a boat-​load of French sailors to blaze the trail more surely. Only by so doing could I make certain of luring him here tonight.'

Malderini gave a sudden chuckle. 'See, General, where this fool's personal thirst for revenge has landed you. We cannot stop you throwing us all into Leads, but what will Venice say? What will the world say? No one will believe that we came here to kidnap you. They will believe that I came here with my friends to rescue my wife from dishonour. They will say that you are a mean, unscrupulous tyrant. That you abused your power to have my wife abducted. That when discovered and reproached, instead of restoring her to me, you were so furious at being actually caught out in your evil design that you decided to do your best to silence us. In the hope of doing so you falsely accused us of this plot, so that you could send us all to prison. And that, to give credence to a serious plot having existed, you have gone to the length of punishing all Venice by throwing her to the Austrians.'

The Venetians had hung breathlessly upon his words, and now, seeing a hope of escaping the penalty for their night's work, they cried: 'Yes, yes!' 'He is right!' 'Everyone will believe that we came here to rescue her.' 'They'll hold your name infamous.' They'll say you gave us to the Austrians to cover up a plot that never existed.' 'Italy has hailed you as the new Caesar; tomorrow you'll be known as another Heilogabolus.'

Boneparte's pale face had gone chalk-​white. Once more he turned to Roger, and snarled, 'You got me into this! Get me out or I'll have you chained for life to an oar in a galley!'

Epilogue

'And then?' exclaimed Georgina, eagerly. 'And then?'

Roger had paused in his story to refill her goblet and his own with champagne. Giving a light shrug, he replied, 'Why, m'dear, being much averse to spending the rest of my life as a galley slave, I was under the necessity of persuading him that he need have no fears for his reputation.'

'Wretch that you are to tantalise me so!' She stamped a small foot. 'Unless you had somehow escaped the Corsican's wrath you would not be here. But how? By what trickery? Tell me this moment.'

The 'here' that Georgina referred to was her boudoir in the Berkeley Square mansion that, as the mother of the young Earl of St. Ermins, she occupied when in London. It was mid-​December, very cold and snowing outside; but in the small boudoir, with a good log fire flickering on the ceiling, and the silk-​covered walls patterned with Chinese junks, pheasants and pagodas, it was warm and cosy. Instead of having supper served in the chilly dining-​room, they had had it sent up there, and now sat at their ease on a deep sofa before the fire.

Roger had arrived in London from the Continent only the day before. After the desperate stand he had made against the Venetian conspirators on Portillo, he had been laid up for a fortnight with his wounds. Meanwhile, on October 17th, Boneparte had signed with Austria the famous peace of Campo Formio.

Later, before he went on to Rastadt to ratify it, Roger had made his wounds the excuse for asking for long leave, stating that he proposed to convalesce in the winter sunshine at his little chateau near St. Raphael. The General-​in-​Chief, having no immediate use for him, had granted it but stipulated that he should report again by the end of January, as by then the Directory would have decided whether he should be given an army for the invasion of England or be allowed to follow his own inclination of leading a French army to conquest in the glamorous East; and in either case he felt that Roger would be valuable to him. Roger had then gone to the South of France, and spent a month there building himself up locally as one of the new post-​revolution landed proprietors and an aide-​decamp to the now world-​famous conqueror of Italy.

Early in December, Boneparte had returned to Paris to receive formal thanks for his amazing victories. The Directory feared him but had to do him honour. To the public he was a national hero and amidst delirious scenes of welcome they acclaimed him as another Caesar. Roger ostensibly left St. Raphael to participate in the triumph of his Chief, but, in fact, he journeyed quietly to Brittany and, through one of his old connections there, had himself landed by smugglers only two nights before in a quiet Sussex cove.

That morning he had spent an hour with Mr. Pitt, reporting his own activities and giving his views on probable French intentions for the furtherance of their war against Britain, now the sole champion remaining in arms against the mighty power that, as a result of the Revolution, was spreading communism and atheism across Europe.

The Prime Minister had been plunged in even greater gloom than when Roger had last seen him. During Roger's absence, Britain had suffered one of the most terrible financial crises in her history, and had survived it only owing to Mr. Pitt's ability and the patriotism with which her monied classes had supported the new loans. The financial situation was still a cause for grave anxiety and the signing by the Austrians of the Peace of Campo Formio had been an appalling blow. As a would be upholder of the Old Order in Europe, Mr. Pitt was naturally much distressed by the total elimination of the Serene Republic, but Roger had quoted Boneparte's own words to him about the Venetians: 'This miserable, cowardly people unfit for liberty.' And he had had to agree that Roger had done well to get them handed over to the Austrians, rather than to leave the wealthy and populous city as a pawn in the possession of the French.

Georgina too had been distressed at the sad fate of Venice, and had appreciated the significance of its value in a possible renewal of the Coalition against France only when Roger had explained it to her that evening. She at once agreed the soundness of the policy he had adopted, but reproached him for having sacrificed to gain his ends the little group of Venetians who had had the courage to enter on a conspiracy aimed at freeing their city from the French.

At that he laughed, and now he told her now, in one move, he had saved both them and Boneparte's reputation.

'You will remember,' he said, 'how, that afternoon, I had made an effigy of Boneparte, and left it hidden under some garden chairs? When the Corsican threatened me with the galleys, I sent Crozier to get it and displayed it to them all. The mask was the conventional Venetian long-​nosed hideous affair, but, apart from that, the effigy was a good one. In size and appearance it was Boneparte's double, and would certainly have been taken for him had it been seen propped up in a sitting position at anything over a few yards' distance. I then obtained his permission to make my explanation to him in the form of an address to the conspirators, and this is what I said to them:

' "You have been led to believe that, for some days past, General Boneparte has been living incognito in Venice. The fact is that he has never entered your city. He left the mainland only this evening, and has been resident for the past week at his Headquarters, which are a good day's travel distant from Venice. This can be proved beyond all shadow of doubt. The rumours about his presence in the city are due to people having glimpsed this effigy of him in the cabin of a gondola as it was taken up and down the Grand Canal.

'Why, you may ask, did we display this effigy? The answer is that we knew that a group of reactionaries was conspiring to overthrow the new Republican regime. The effigy enabled us to bait the trap which has brought you out into the open; and the rumours about General Boneparte's interest in Signor Malderini's wife, followed by her kidnapping, were a part of the same successful plot. That ensured that this arch-​traitor would come here with you. Now you have shown your hand you are at the General's mercy.

"Yet, you are right that a stigma might attach to him for the part played by his effigy. That, we cannot permit; and the remedy is to make public to all Venice the manner in which you have been fooled. Given his permission, I propose that you shall all be lodged in the Leads, but, every evening during the next fortnight, you will be paraded for an hour round the

Piazza of St. Mark, in chains, and carrying in your midst the effigy of the General, which you so skilfully and bravely kidnapped."'

'Oh,' murmured Georgina. Oh, Roger, what a truly marvellous idea for making those poor wretches appear ridiculous. Did the Corsican see the humour of it?'

Roger laughed. 'Yes, and the sense. He is shrewd enough to realise that making martyrs of people only strengthens their cause, whereas ridicule can kill it. He agreed at once to my suggestion that the final touch of contempt could be put upon the whole movement by restoring the conspirators to liberty after having been exposed to the mockery of the crowd for fourteen nights.'

'Well done, my dear! It is greatly to your credit that you saved them from the miserable fate which otherwise would have been theirs. I wonder, though, at this clever piece of trickery having saved yourself. The production of the effigy could kill the rumours that the Corsican had been in Venice, but not that he had been supping with the Princess Sirisha on Portillo; for the conspirators had seen him there with their own eyes, and when released could swear to it.'

"They were warned that a mention of his presence on Portillo traced to any of them would cost the babbler his life but we had a protection far better than that. Had they sworn until they were blue in the face to having seen him, who would have believed them? It would have been thought only a belated attempt to bluff people into thinking that the conspiracy had, after all, nearly succeeded. No. Had Boneparte refused to let me handle matters my way, a scandal could not have been avoided. But I had promised him that there should be no scandal and provided the means to carry out my promise. He had to admit that. Moreover, my having revealed the true feeling of the Venetians towards France had saved him from making, in his view, a false step by giving them their independence. Last, but not least, although my plot had threatened to go awry, it had not done so in the end, because.1 had thrown my life into the scales to prevent him being kidnapped before Junot arrived; and, harsh disciplinarian though he is, anyone can win his pardon for a fault if they show courage on his behalf.'

'What of that poor Princess?' Georgina asked. 'How did she come out of this?'

'When the prisoners were taken off I went with them, so that 1 could have my wounds looked to as soon as possible in Venice. Boneparte resumed his interrupted supper with Sirisha, while Junot, with a handful of men, remained to guard him and convey him back to Mestre in the morning.'

Georgina raised one of her beautifully arched eyebrows. 'Did you ever hear, er… if the party was a success?'

'It depends what you mean by a success,' Roger smiled. Both of them told me afterwards that they had found the other most interesting, but what form their interest in one another took it was not for me to enquire. However, the Princess is now revelling in her freedom, and she is very rich. Venice has only unpleasant associations for her, so she plans to leave it; and, as she liked England, it is possible that she may come here to live. If so, perhaps one day she may confide in you whether Boneparte is as irresistible as a lover as he is a general.'

'You imply that Malderini is dead.'

'He is. Boneparte gave him to me.' Roger's face suddenly became grim. 'I had him taken outside and seated on a stone bench in the garden. I took out the thin plaited rope of Clarissa's hair from under my shirt, and showed it to him. Then I went behind him and threw a loop of it round his neck. As I drew it tight, his cries were silenced. For a few minutes his feet mad a horrid drumming on the stone paving while I twisted the rope tighter and tighter, then held it fast. Afterwards I had his body thrown into the lagoon.'

For the space of a few heartbeats they were silent. Then, to distract Roger's thoughts from the awful duty he had fulfilled, Georgina said, 'Since poor Clarissa has been dead nine months, and you have kept your oath, maybe you now feel both free and inclined to savour again a woman's caresses?'

'Why, yes.' He turned to smile at her, then put an arm about her shoulders and drew her to him. 'And it's just as well that I went direct to Venice instead of returning first to England; for I vow the sight of your sweet lips and eyes would have sadly tempted me to break my oath.'

'Dear Roger. But wait one moment!' She threw up a hand as he bent his head to kiss her. 'There remains a point on which I wonder the Corsican did not call you to account. He stipulated that he'd have nought to do with the Princess should it mean that he could be accused afterwards of stealing her from her husband. Yet that is what happened. Malderini denounced him as a seducer before both his fellow Venetians and Junot's soldiers; I'd not have thought Boneparte a man to let that pass.' 'Nor did he; and that last fence could have queered my pitch when I as good as had the whole game in my hands. When I asked him to give me Malderini, he refused. Mark you; it was not that he has scruples about married women. His stipulation was only a precaution against being accused of misusing his power for such an end should anything have got out; and I had already convinced him that the production of the effigy would dispose of the rumours that he had left the mainland. But he snapped at me that, as it was I who had led him unwittingly to wrong Malderini, 1 should not benefit by his capture, and the he should suffer no worse punishment than his co-​conspirators.' 'How, then, did you get over that?'

'I reminded him that when I had offered to arrange for him to sup tete-​a-​tete with the Princess, I had guaranteed that her doing so should give her husband no grounds for complaint.' 'But it had, and he did complain, most bitterly.' 'True'; Roger smiled. 'But he had no grounds for doing so. Can you not guess the answer to this riddle? I began to suspect it in India; Sirisha confirmed my suspicions when I got into the Malderini Palace as an Arab perfume seller. My reply to Boneparte was to step up to Malderini. Keeping my eyes lowered, 1 seized his coat and shirt, close up to the neck with both hands, and tore them apart with all my strength. He struggled wildly but the two soldiers who had brought him forward held his arms. Wrenching and tearing, in less than a minute I had him near naked to the waist, revealing two great ugly sagging witch's breasts. Of the two Malderini twins who had gone to India ten years before, it was the sister who had murderer her brother and taken his identity. The evil creature who had forced upon me this nightmare vendetta was a woman!'