Margont thought of Paris. Could a few crimes like that really put the defence of the capital in jeopardy? Unfortunately, yes. And

what about Talleyrand? The Prince de Bénévent had not said a word, although he was paying close attention to what Margont and Joseph were saying, and to their demeanour. Margont was curious to hear what he would have to say.

‘So, Lieutenant-Colonel, what do you conclude from what I have just told you?’ demanded Joseph.

‘Nothing, Your Excellency.’

The lieutenant-general raised his eyes to the ceiling, then let his head fall back. He studied the ceiling with its elegant oval stucco and enormous chandelier whose candles barely illuminated the wintry gloom. But his attitude was unconvincing. Joseph seemed to have struck a pose, like an actor trying to intimidate an audience that was not delivering the correct response. He was a bit-part player who had been made a king because he was the Emperor’s brother. But instead of becoming a Henry V he was nothing but a mediocre King Lear, responsible in part for his own difficulties. He rose.

‘I demand a response, Lieutenant-Colonel.’ ‘Perhaps one of the members of the group decided unilaterally to put into operation the plan to destabilise the Empire by committing murder. By leaving the emblem, apart from making it clear that the Empire’s enemies are here in the heart of Paris, he hoped to draw the other conspirators into the plan whether they liked it or not. He was setting in train a process: the crime would force you to step up your efforts against the Swords of the King, which would alarm them and push them to commit increasingly violent acts.’

Joseph was delighted and the smile he gave Margont was supposed to be a reward.

‘That’s what we think too.’

‘Or else ...’

The lieutenant-general raised his eyebrows. He had not anticipated an ‘or else’.

‘We also have to entertain the frightening possibility that our informant is the perpetrator,’ continued Margont. ‘The crime increases the value of what he has to sell. I’m sure you will have increased

his pay after this.’

Talleyrand tapped his cane on the ground - his way of applauding. He began to speak and his voice was full of warmth, making Margont feel he was someone important.

‘Monsieur Lieutenant-Colonel Margont, do your utmost to arrest the murderer. Help Paris and defend your ideals!’

Talleyrand’s wily reputation was well merited. While Joseph persisted in believing that Margont would obey him simply because he was Joseph I, Talleyrand had immediately hit the nail on the head. His few words were like a finger pointing at the wound in Margont’s soul. The coming days would be crucial. If Napoleon were defeated, France would have to endure an occupation by the powers allied against it. And they all had either monarchs or emperors. The gains of the Revolution, the Republic and the Empire would all be crushed like cockroaches under the boots of the incoming monarchs.

There is a third possibility: that the perpetrator is someone close to the colonel,’ Margont stated, ‘and he’s trying to throw the investigators off the scent.’

Joseph shook his head. ‘Our informant was categorical: the Swords of the King have an obsessive fear of spies. They distrust everyone and everything. They protect their secrets. So only the members of their committee know what their emblem is - and Savary, the Minister of Civilian Police, and I. No, it’s clear that one or several of them were responsible for the crime.’

Margont was interested in the way that Joseph disposed the pieces on the chessboard - Napoleon, the Grande Armée much reduced yet still redoubtable, Louis XVIII, the royalists, the numerous pawns formed by the Allied armies, an assassinated colonel, one or more murderers, an untrustworthy spy, Paris ... But where did he hope to place Margont?

‘It seems to me that the civilian police would be more than capable of conducting this inquiry,’ he commented circumspectly.

‘And they will do, Lieutenant-Colonel. Whilst you - you will become a member of the Swords of the King.’

‘What?’ yelled Margont. ‘You want me dead? I refuse to—’

‘You will refuse nothing! The decision is already taken.’

‘But I would never succeed! I could never pass myself off as an aristocrat, and as soon as I slipped up, I would be—’

‘On the contrary! You are precisely the man for this mission. You spent several years of your childhood in the Abbey of Saint-Guilhem-le-Désert, because your uncle, against your will, wanted you to become a monk. Draw on that experience! The same thing happened to many of the younger sons of the aristocracy, whose fathers wished to leave all their inheritance to their oldest sons. You read and write well, you know Latin ... You are going to pass yourself off as Chevalier Quentin de Langes. The Langes family did actually exist — we haven’t chosen a name at random. They were part of the nobility of Languedoc and were all massacred during the Revolution. You can read their story in the documents we will furnish you with. So if the Swords of the King send someone to investigate your past, they will find evidence of the family: a name here or there, a castle burnt down with no remains ... And by the time they’ve travelled the three hundred leagues there and back ... You’re an officer, are you not? Tens of thousands of aristocrats who emigrated have come back to France to take advantage of the amnesties generously accorded by the Emperor. And a good many of them have chosen military careers. So you won’t have many lies to add to your own history to make yourself into a believable royalist, and the less you lie, the more credible you will be.’

‘I’ll be unmasked and you’ll find my body floating in the Seine. You already have an informer...’

‘We have no faith in Varencourt. We need someone loyal. The affair is of the utmost importance, we can’t leave it to a mercenary.’ ‘When he’s lost all your money at the gaming tables, it’s my life he’ll gamble on! He’s already sold his friends; he’ll be able to redeem himself with them by denouncing me, then he’ll sell you the names of the men who have stabbed me to death!’

Joseph raised his voice, gesticulating and red in the face. He looked like a glass of red wine, shaken and spilt by an angry hand. ‘Be quiet! Those are my orders! Do you think anyone here gives a

damn what you think? If you say any more I shall have you sent to be trampled by the Cossacks. Silence!’

There was a jumble of paper, books and other objects on the desk, and Joseph pushed it all towards Margont with both hands.

‘Here is everything you need: Chevalier Quentin de Langés’s biography, an up-to-date passport stating that you returned to France in 1802 to take advantage of the amnesty of 6 Floréal, year 10, a signet ring with the Langes coat of arms - don’t wear it, keep it at home - the key to your lodgings, a little money, fake letters from your former mistress, who lives in Scotland, some works describing Edinburgh, where you lived in destitution, which is what forced you to return, some details of the regiments you served in -the 18th and 84th, which you know well - a list of favourite royalist sayings, a summary of the information supplied to us by Varencourt ... Learn it all by heart, then destroy anything that would give you away.’

‘Your Excellency, why don’t you use our own agents? They are accustomed to these kinds of exploits.’ ‘It’s too risky. Paris has become the meeting point for plotters and traitors. I am under no illusions: because of our difficulties, there are imperial officials and soldiers and dignitaries willing to betray us. I am certain that the names of many of our agents have been divulged to our enemies. We need new blood!’

‘New blood that you are prepared to spill—’

‘That’s enough!’

Talleyrand, on the other hand, seemed to approve. He said jovially, ‘Good! Repartee! I advise you to behave like that with the Swords of the King. Be proud and arrogant. Adopt an aristocratic superciliousness and you will fit right in!’