Thibault is already dressed when his wife wakes.
He stands at the window, staring out at the darkened roofs of Brussels and the fortified wall beyond. He breathes in deeply, savoring the smell of smoke, the sweet perfume of victory, that still drifts this way from the fields near Waterloo.
“Marc?” A soft voice from the bed.
It is still dark but his movement must have disturbed her for she sits up as if taking a fright.
“Rest, Nicole,” he says. “It is not yet light.”
“You are leaving?” his wife asks. “And so early?”
She turns and lights the candles on her nightstand. A warm smell of paraffin quickly fills the room. Like the rest of the apartment, it is small and sparsely decorated. A house suited to a colonel or a major perhaps, but not to a general of France. That will change.
“The emperor himself commands me to run an errand. A trifling thing and a waste of my time, particularly when there is so much else to do. But it was the emperor who gave the order and I must obey.”
“You are now a general of the Imperial Guard, not a manservant,” she says.
“Not for long,” Thibault says.
There is a pause, then Nicole says, “I do not follow your meaning, my love.”
Thibault turns, leaning across her and brushing loose hair back from her face with his hand.
“Bonaparte is a conqueror, not a ruler,” he says. “He has neither the nature nor the temperament for it. He is an attack dog. The states of Europe will quickly fall under him. But then the new empire will need a leader. A peacetime leader. Perhaps someone like myself.”
“You think you can overthrow the emperor of France?” she asks. The idea excites her and she catches his hand with hers and gently kisses his palm.
“I do not think it, I know it,” Thibault says. “I know it without question. As of yesterday, I am the source of Napoléon’s power. And there are greater things to come. There are secrets deep in the caves of the Sonian Forest that even the emperor does not know about.”
“Does that not make you the most powerful man in all of Europe?” she asks.
“In fact, if not in title.”
“And when do the two combine?” she asks.
“That day is coming,” he says. “But for now I need his brilliance. Let him conquer Europe. He need not know that he conquers it for me.”
“If you imprison him, the people will rally to his cause,” she says.
“Without question.” Thibault nods. “But Napoléon is a relic. An emperor who strides the battlefield with his army like the great conquerors of old. And a battlefield is a dangerous place. A musket shot or a cannonball does not discriminate based on rank or uniform. If Napoléon were to die—heroically—on the battlefield, France would have a martyr, and a legacy that will resound through the centuries.”
“And you?”
“I would have an empire,” Thibault says.
“And I would have you,” she says.
“And all the fineries of the world would be yours,” he says. “But that time is not yet. For now I must continue to play my part, and run this fool’s errand. There is a boy in a village not far from here. Napoléon wants him captured.”
“And you?”
“I would see him killed,” he says.
“Will it take long?” she asks.
“It is but a trifle,” he says. “He will be dead by noon.”