Napoleon Must Die by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro, Bill Fawcett
Authors: Chelsea Quinn Yarbro, Bill Fawcett
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treasure carriers, who brought a chest of silver and some elaborately carved chairs inlaid with gold trim.
Behind this lot were the ladies of his hareem, heavily veiled and covered in clothing that must have been stifling in the heat. They were guarded by some striking men in loose shirts and tight trousers. Larrey said these were eunuchs, a most disgusting concept. I cannot see any Frenchman subjecting himself to such treatment. Since no men were allowed near them, I was asked to bring these ladies water and cloths to cool themselves. One spoke some Greek and we were able to converse. She translated for the others. Many were quite intelligent, even witty. Their stories of being kept in isolated rooms, purdah, it is called, were most awful. They only get out on such state occasions as this. I think their master (I cannot think of that man as being a husband to them all) hoped to impress us with the size of his hareem.
What appears to be the main function of this procession, after all the display and compliments, was a gift offered to Napoleon by the Pasha himself. The gift was a Mameluke soldier. You may speculate on the reservations about Roustam-Raza, who has sworn to the Muslim gods to protect and preserve the life of Napoleon Buonaparte for as long as Napoleon stands against his enemies. He is said to be faithful unto death. Only when Napoleon has no enemies or when all his enemies are vanquished is Roustam-Raza released from his vow.
You may imagine, my husband, how Napoleon has been in a quandary about this soldier. To ignore the gift would offend the Pasha mightily, which is contrary to his interests at this time. At the same time, he is reluctant to set the Egyptian to tasks that could be of crucial importance to this campaign. He has stated that he will make his decision about the Mameluke known before the end of the day after tomorrow, and that in the meantime, the Mameluke is to hold himself in readiness, awaiting his orders.
She read over the words and decided that there could be no objection to what she had written since the whole of the camp buzzed with speculation about the Mameluke soldier. If her letter were read, no one could take exception to what she told Vernet, for surely he would have the same news from others. She signed it with great affection and scrawled her name.
When she had sealed the letter and addressed it, she went in search of the courier who would take letters to Jaffa. Messengers left regularly for Jaffa to deliver Napoleon’s most recent instructions, and to keep him abreast of the developments there. She brought a few extra coins to ensure her letter’s safe delivery.
“Seems a shame, leaving a pretty little wife like you alone while your husband camps outside the walls of Jaffa,” said the courier when Victoire handed him the letter and the money. He was a hussar, the white fur in the lining of his pelisse tan from desert sand and dust. Like all hussars he wore his jacket hanging from one shoulder and sported a large moustache. “What with you coming all this way to be alone and there being so few other women here, er, for you talk with.”
“He has trust in me as I have trust in him,” said Victoire in a tone that left no doubt as to her meaning. “If that is what my husband’s duty demands of me, I’ll do my utmost to serve as best I can.” She glared at the courier, then turned and walked off, her face set.
* * *
Napoleon glared at Berthier, the lamplight striking one side of his face only, leaving the other in deep shadow. “What am I to do with this gift of the Pasha? I cannot return him—that would be an intolerable insult and we’d be fighting again. But he’s a Mameluke. Who knows what this oath to Allah means?” He slapped Berthier’s desk. “I’d like your recommendation, Berthier.”
“If you are truly interested in what I would do with him, it will be my pleasure to tell you.” Berthier sighed and shoved himself to his feet. “If it were for
Behind this lot were the ladies of his hareem, heavily veiled and covered in clothing that must have been stifling in the heat. They were guarded by some striking men in loose shirts and tight trousers. Larrey said these were eunuchs, a most disgusting concept. I cannot see any Frenchman subjecting himself to such treatment. Since no men were allowed near them, I was asked to bring these ladies water and cloths to cool themselves. One spoke some Greek and we were able to converse. She translated for the others. Many were quite intelligent, even witty. Their stories of being kept in isolated rooms, purdah, it is called, were most awful. They only get out on such state occasions as this. I think their master (I cannot think of that man as being a husband to them all) hoped to impress us with the size of his hareem.
What appears to be the main function of this procession, after all the display and compliments, was a gift offered to Napoleon by the Pasha himself. The gift was a Mameluke soldier. You may speculate on the reservations about Roustam-Raza, who has sworn to the Muslim gods to protect and preserve the life of Napoleon Buonaparte for as long as Napoleon stands against his enemies. He is said to be faithful unto death. Only when Napoleon has no enemies or when all his enemies are vanquished is Roustam-Raza released from his vow.
You may imagine, my husband, how Napoleon has been in a quandary about this soldier. To ignore the gift would offend the Pasha mightily, which is contrary to his interests at this time. At the same time, he is reluctant to set the Egyptian to tasks that could be of crucial importance to this campaign. He has stated that he will make his decision about the Mameluke known before the end of the day after tomorrow, and that in the meantime, the Mameluke is to hold himself in readiness, awaiting his orders.
She read over the words and decided that there could be no objection to what she had written since the whole of the camp buzzed with speculation about the Mameluke soldier. If her letter were read, no one could take exception to what she told Vernet, for surely he would have the same news from others. She signed it with great affection and scrawled her name.
When she had sealed the letter and addressed it, she went in search of the courier who would take letters to Jaffa. Messengers left regularly for Jaffa to deliver Napoleon’s most recent instructions, and to keep him abreast of the developments there. She brought a few extra coins to ensure her letter’s safe delivery.
“Seems a shame, leaving a pretty little wife like you alone while your husband camps outside the walls of Jaffa,” said the courier when Victoire handed him the letter and the money. He was a hussar, the white fur in the lining of his pelisse tan from desert sand and dust. Like all hussars he wore his jacket hanging from one shoulder and sported a large moustache. “What with you coming all this way to be alone and there being so few other women here, er, for you talk with.”
“He has trust in me as I have trust in him,” said Victoire in a tone that left no doubt as to her meaning. “If that is what my husband’s duty demands of me, I’ll do my utmost to serve as best I can.” She glared at the courier, then turned and walked off, her face set.
* * *
Napoleon glared at Berthier, the lamplight striking one side of his face only, leaving the other in deep shadow. “What am I to do with this gift of the Pasha? I cannot return him—that would be an intolerable insult and we’d be fighting again. But he’s a Mameluke. Who knows what this oath to Allah means?” He slapped Berthier’s desk. “I’d like your recommendation, Berthier.”
“If you are truly interested in what I would do with him, it will be my pleasure to tell you.” Berthier sighed and shoved himself to his feet. “If it were for
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