Read Online Napoleon Must Die by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro, Bill Fawcett - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Chelsea Quinn Yarbro, Bill Fawcett
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her with respect. Frenchwomen expect it.”
“You French are very foolish about women. It is not necessary that you respect them, only that you turn them to good purpose. But it is the teaching of your faith that softens you.” He made a gesture to show that he did not object to the weakness of French Christians. “The Prophet defended his mother. Is this Madame Vernet a mother of sons?”
“No,” said Berthier awkwardly. He saw disapproval in Roustam-Raza’s eyes and did his best to explain. “They haven’t been married long.”
“If she has many sons, she will be a rose among women,” said Roustam-Raza with approval. “Her husband will be fortunate.”
“Yes, I suppose he will, but not on his army pay,” said Berthier, smiling a little at his own feeble witticism.
Light steps approached the tent and Berthier heard Eugene callout from his desk just outside the tent, “Who is coming?”
“Madame Vernet,” said Victoire. “I believe Berthier is expecting me. He sent me a note—”
“Yes,” said Eugene, and came at once to the entrance of Berthier’s tent. “Madame Vernet is—”
“Send her in, Eugene,” he told his secretary, adding to Roustam-Raza, “It is polite to stand when she is present.”
“A foolish thing to do,” said Roustam-Raza, staying where he was.
Victoire entered the tent in a direct way, all but marching up to Berthier. “You wished to speak with me?” she asked without any of the courtesies Berthier might have expected of her. There was a smear of blood on her muslin skirt and the sleeve of her light pelisse was tom in two places; her pale hair was disordered.
“Yes, Madame Vernet, I did.” He glanced at Roustam-Raza, who reclined on the rough rugs that made up the floor of the tent. “It seems I must ... ask a favor of you.”
“Of me?” repeated Victoire incredulously.
“Yes,” said Berthier, coloring a little. “I have need of your ... assistance.” He indicated the Mameluke. “You know of the Pasha’s gift to Napoleon?”
“I saw the ceremony,” said Victoire carefully. She could not imagine what Berthier was up to this time.
“Roustam-Raza is not ... familiar with the customs and conduct in our camp, or the lives of Frenchman. I need someone to instruct him so that he will not disgrace Napoleon. Every officer is much too busy, nor have many been to a school to learn such things. You are said to be the best educated of the officers’ wives, and so I have come to you.” He gave a diplomatic cough. “If you would be willing?”
“To teach this man?” she inquired, looking down at Roustam-Raza. “Why do you want him taught? And what do you want him taught?”
“There are many things he must learn,” said Berthier ambiguously. “I don’t know what is most urgent. If you will make a point of observing him, you will decide for yourself what the man must know.” His smile was wide and insincere.
Victoire was not fooled. “In other words, you expect to get two services for the price of one.” She saw the startled look in Berthier’s eyes. “You will have me under guard and the guard will benefit.” She put her hands on her hips. “I suppose it is useless to protest.”
“It isn’t wise,” said Berthier. “But you must do as you think best.”
“Of course,” said Victoire sarcastically. “And if I do not choose what you wish me to do, it will go badly for me and for my husband. Is that a fair assessment, would you say?”
“Fair,” Berthier allowed.
Victoire looked at Roustam-Raza again. “Do you speak any French?” she asked him, speaking very slowly and carefully.
“I have been taught French,” Roustam-Raza answered at once. His accent was rough but he clearly was comfortable with the language.
“That’s an advantage.” She considered him, saying to him in passable Greek, “And do you understand this?”
“Moderately well,” answered Roustam-Raza in Greek. This was not surprising, as most of the trade brought
“You French are very foolish about women. It is not necessary that you respect them, only that you turn them to good purpose. But it is the teaching of your faith that softens you.” He made a gesture to show that he did not object to the weakness of French Christians. “The Prophet defended his mother. Is this Madame Vernet a mother of sons?”
“No,” said Berthier awkwardly. He saw disapproval in Roustam-Raza’s eyes and did his best to explain. “They haven’t been married long.”
“If she has many sons, she will be a rose among women,” said Roustam-Raza with approval. “Her husband will be fortunate.”
“Yes, I suppose he will, but not on his army pay,” said Berthier, smiling a little at his own feeble witticism.
Light steps approached the tent and Berthier heard Eugene callout from his desk just outside the tent, “Who is coming?”
“Madame Vernet,” said Victoire. “I believe Berthier is expecting me. He sent me a note—”
“Yes,” said Eugene, and came at once to the entrance of Berthier’s tent. “Madame Vernet is—”
“Send her in, Eugene,” he told his secretary, adding to Roustam-Raza, “It is polite to stand when she is present.”
“A foolish thing to do,” said Roustam-Raza, staying where he was.
Victoire entered the tent in a direct way, all but marching up to Berthier. “You wished to speak with me?” she asked without any of the courtesies Berthier might have expected of her. There was a smear of blood on her muslin skirt and the sleeve of her light pelisse was tom in two places; her pale hair was disordered.
“Yes, Madame Vernet, I did.” He glanced at Roustam-Raza, who reclined on the rough rugs that made up the floor of the tent. “It seems I must ... ask a favor of you.”
“Of me?” repeated Victoire incredulously.
“Yes,” said Berthier, coloring a little. “I have need of your ... assistance.” He indicated the Mameluke. “You know of the Pasha’s gift to Napoleon?”
“I saw the ceremony,” said Victoire carefully. She could not imagine what Berthier was up to this time.
“Roustam-Raza is not ... familiar with the customs and conduct in our camp, or the lives of Frenchman. I need someone to instruct him so that he will not disgrace Napoleon. Every officer is much too busy, nor have many been to a school to learn such things. You are said to be the best educated of the officers’ wives, and so I have come to you.” He gave a diplomatic cough. “If you would be willing?”
“To teach this man?” she inquired, looking down at Roustam-Raza. “Why do you want him taught? And what do you want him taught?”
“There are many things he must learn,” said Berthier ambiguously. “I don’t know what is most urgent. If you will make a point of observing him, you will decide for yourself what the man must know.” His smile was wide and insincere.
Victoire was not fooled. “In other words, you expect to get two services for the price of one.” She saw the startled look in Berthier’s eyes. “You will have me under guard and the guard will benefit.” She put her hands on her hips. “I suppose it is useless to protest.”
“It isn’t wise,” said Berthier. “But you must do as you think best.”
“Of course,” said Victoire sarcastically. “And if I do not choose what you wish me to do, it will go badly for me and for my husband. Is that a fair assessment, would you say?”
“Fair,” Berthier allowed.
Victoire looked at Roustam-Raza again. “Do you speak any French?” she asked him, speaking very slowly and carefully.
“I have been taught French,” Roustam-Raza answered at once. His accent was rough but he clearly was comfortable with the language.
“That’s an advantage.” She considered him, saying to him in passable Greek, “And do you understand this?”
“Moderately well,” answered Roustam-Raza in Greek. This was not surprising, as most of the trade brought
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