Robert Lionel, page 5
Grafton felt a fleeting pang of regret after he had fired the energy bolt at the French guards. He felt that he had taken an unfair advantage of the day and generation, that he had no more right to fight them with the weapons of his own technology than a man could in fairness fight a child.
It was like a heavyweight taking on the smallest of light-
weights. It was like a mechanized armored unit cutting through a trench full of light infantry. It was unchivalrous, somehow. And yet he had had no option. He crouched in the darkness among the trees, trying to decide on his next move. He knew no one. He knew little of the terrain. He was uncertain about the politics of the time, and how the combatants were ranged. He felt in every sense of the word that he was a stranger in a strange land. All his survival data, the information which his subconscious had carefully picked up from the moment of his birth, was geared to life in the 24th century. It was not geared to the vastly different problem. of life in the early 19th century, and yet, as he stowed the hand blaster carefully back in his belt, he knew perfectly well that there were many aspects of his own generation and his own environment that would be an advantage to him here. He wondered just how much of his superior technological skill he would be able to employ in the struggle for existence. He drew a small phosphorescent torch from his trouser pocket and glanced at the charge meter on the hilt of the blaster. The weapon ought to be all right for several weeks at least. He was glad then, in a way, for the superior technical skill that his century possessed in the arts of war weapon manufacture. He thought of the great weapon shops of Eurasia, the pride of Rajak's government; the favorite toys of the san-guinary dictator. The principle of the power blaster was comparatively simple; the heavy shielded butt contained a chemico-atomic element mixture, which had latent within it the power to reach a point just below critical mass and remain at that point till released. Having been fired, the charge slowly built up again, so that, providing the weapon was not used too often in quick succession, it would last for a very considerable period. The energy released by the action and inter-action of the elements concerned was transmuted into an electrical power charge, coupled with an additional thermal devastation. Anything that got anywhere within range of a Eurasian hand blaster was not usually ranked as a particularly good insurance Mike Grafton put both blaster and torch away again, and set off carefully through the darkness; he had decided that in view of the attention which Ie douanier and his men were paying, it would not be a bad idea to put as much distance as possible between them. . . .
It occurred to him that Bathurst's suspicions about both the inn-keeper and his staff were-probably well justified. It now looked to Grafton as though the rather lecherous hostler had sold him out for the sake of the watch, not wanting to provide a free month's board as his side of the bargain. He still had the remains of the thousand guilders, however, and was glad he had at least that much.
However, he missed the watch, and with a stubborn determination that was typical of the man, he decided that when an opportunity presented itself he would relieve the inn-keeper of his ill-gotten gains.
Had he been an historian, he would probably have noted the extent of the underdeveloped woodland in the vicinity of early 19th century Perleburg. However, not being an historian, he was glad, as a practical man is glad that it provided him with adequate cover.
It had not occurred to him until then just how tired he was. He realized that it was going to take -all his will-power to keep his eyes open for very much longer. He plunged deeper into the scrubby undergrowth beneath the trees till he came to a secluded place where he thought he would be safe till the moming. He remembered the Indian proverb, "The hunted man sleeps with one eye open," and it was with every sense on the verge of consciousness that Mike Grafton slept that night.
Light and troubled though his sleep was, he did manage to sleep. -But he was 'troubled by many strange weird dreams. From out of the midst of one of these dreams he saw the misty features of a strong, dark-haired Corsican face; a face that was moody, yet flas.hed with a look of keen intelligence. . . . Mike Grafton heard a voice.
"I am Napoleon Bonaparte," said the voice from the misty countenance. "Not a drop of French blood flows through these veins, for all that I am the master of France and Europe." The lips parted into a thin enigmatical smile. "I am scarcely even a Frenchman by birth, for my native town, Ajaccio, is situated in the island of Corsica, and Corsica itself was only handed over to France by the Republic of Genoa in 1768, just one short year before I was born, on August 15, 1769. They tell me that I am a typical Corsican, that I am moody, exacting, yet brave and constant. They say what they will, but I am master of France and of Europe. That in itself is a strange thing. For years my most intense emotion was hatred of France, hatred of the oppressor of my native land. This feeling was strong within me when I went to the French Military School at Brienne. I was only a boy of nine then, and at fifteen .I began Service in the French army as a second lieutenant of artillery-until the time of the French Revolution. I spent much of my time in Corsica on leave, during the early period of that Revolutioo, and I studied the great French philosopher Rousseau, and at last, after I had read enough of him, I accepted his new political doctrines. For I knew that they were right. First, being a strong - Irian with strong views, I came into conflict with the Monarchist faction on that little island, and with my family I was forced to escape to France in 1793. I remember that summer well. . . .." His eyes regarded Grafton coldly in the dream, and Mike tossed restlessly. . . . "In that same year at Toulon., I showed them what my energy and genius could do, I showed them the power of my ambition. It was I, Napoleon, who directed the artillery at the siege of that rebellious French city. It was I who brought about its downfall. . . but Fate was against me." His proud, brooding face floated above Grafton's. The eyes looked upward as though to the inscrutable heavens, "Fate was against me," whispered this dream of Napoleon again:
"It was Robespierre and the Jacobeans with whom I had established friendly relations. It was on those I placed my bet. But they fled from power. I had staked a dying horse.
. . . In 1795 I was back in Paris, deprived of my command without money, under suspicion by reason of my Jacobean connections. But that was the last year of misfortune. In September, with only a whiff grape shot to help me, I defended the Republican government against a Royalist uprising in Paris . . . and the Directory rewarded me by
making me the Commander of the French army in Italy, against the Austrians and their allies. In the meantime,"
the eyes grew misty, "I had fallen in love with a young widow, Josephine de Beauharnais." There was a long pause, and the ghostly face floated in front of Mike Grafton's closed eyes. . . . "The Italian campaign showed my full military genius, and it stirred my great ambition to life again. In 1796 I defeated the Sardinian troops five times in eleven days. I threatened Turin and compelled peace.
Then I turned eastwards against the Austrians, and I had advanced to within eighty miles of Vienna when they offered peace. In 1797, by the Treaty of Campo Formio, France was given Belgium, which was then called the Austrian Netherlands, and accepted the Rhine as a frontier between the Republic and the Sisalpine Republic which I had established in northern Italy. By way of compensation to the Austrians, I gave them most of the territories of the old Venetian Republic which I had destroyed. . . ." As the recital went on, Mike Grafton had been getting more and more restless, tossing and turnmg like a man in a fever. . . . "Next the government sent me with a large army to Egypt, and there on the banks of the Nile I hoped to strike a blow at France's most powerful enemy, England, by opening a route to India. I seized Alexandria and, at the Battle of the Pyramids, fought near Cairo on 17th July 1798. I defeated the Egyptian ar-my-" the great powerful jaw closed like a steel trap; the lips trembled for an instant, "-but my fleet was destroyed by the British in the Battle of the Nile at Abukir Bay, and I was cut off from my reinforcements. . . . But what of it? I succeeded in evading the British frigates, and I landed in France on October 9th, 1799. When I returned, I found the government had been discredited, so I joined in the plot, which in November, 1799, overthrew the old Regime and set up in its place a government called the Consul, with myself, Napoleon Bonaparte, as the first of its three Consuls. In 1802 I became First Consul for life. Now I grasped political power and became master of France. MyoId ambition was realized. But new ones were already forming. . . . In a mind as brilliant as mine there must always be progress, always ambition-ambition that never ends. True, I had failed to build up an eastern Empire; now I aspired to restore the western empire of Charlemagne. At the Battle of Meringo in 1800 I defeated the Austrians, and by the Treaty of Amiens in 1802, I ob-tained peace with Britain. But even in peace I continued to carry out my ambitious plans. In the fourteen months before the conflict began anew, I became Prt:sident of the Italian Republic. I annexed Piedmont, Parma, and the Island of Elba. I planned the partition of Turkey, and the foundation of a Colonial empire which was ,to include America, Egypt, India and Australia; the other European powers felt compelled to renew the conflict against me.
But still victory smiled upon me, Napoleon the Great. . . .
At the Battle of Austerlitz, on December 2nd, 1805, I defeated both the Austrians and the Russians. I dealt the Prussians a crushing blow at Jena on October 14th, 1806, and by the Battle of Friedland fought against the Russians on June 14; 1807, I brought most of Europe to my feet; only one obstacle barred my way to complete mastery of
western Europe, and that obstacle was Britain. . . . In 1805 I planned to invade Britain and reduce it to submis-sion, but my favorable moment has not yet come. For in the Battle of Trafalgar in 1805, the English Navy destroyed both my own and the Spanish fleet. . . . When I think back to the momenm of the height of my greatness, I think of all that I have done for these great lands of mine.
. . . Look what I have done for the Roman Catholic Church which had been repressed in the Revolution. I re-established it by an agreement with the Pope, the Concord Act of 1801. The old confused legal system was swept away, too, and I founded a new system, the code Napoleon. Step by step I built up my own position. In 1804 I secured a popular vote, sanctioning the change from the Consulate to an Empire, with the title Emperor of the French, and the right of handing down the throne to my descendants. In 1809 I said farewell, divorced poor Josephine and married Marie Louise, the eighteen-year-old daughter of the Austrian Emperor. I thus allied myself with one of the oldest royal families of Europe. . . . I set myself to the work of reorganizing Europe. The Sisalpine Republic was now changed to a monarchy, and I myself was crowned King of Italy. And do you know what the English Prime Minister Pitt said after the battle of Austerlitz? 'You can roll up the map of Europe; there will be no need for it for ten years to come.' And I have had Europe at my feet ever since. My stepson Eugene was made Viceroy of Italy. My brother Louis received the kingdom of Holland, Joseph became King of Spain, and General Murat, my brother-in-law, succeeded to the va-cant Napoleon throne. The shadowy Holy Roman Empire I dissolved in 1806. Now the high point so far in my career, following the Peace of Tilsit, in 1807, was on a raft on the River Niemen, when the Czar, Alexander of Russia, was won over to my plans. Alexander and I are to divide Europe between us; in return, he will aid me in my Continental system. The object of my system is to close Europe to British goods, and so destroy Britain's trade Every state in Europe except Turkey and Portugal will be forced into my oommercial system. But there is one small dark cloud on my horizon. The patriotic fire is being lit in Spain. For a few short months ago the British sent troops to help the Spaniards, and the Peninsula War has begun A few inches at a time, our forces are being pushed back beyond the Pyrenees, but we shall subdue the Spaniards again, of that I have no doubt. Austria has renew the struggle, I crushed her at the Battle of Wagram in July only a few short months ago, but I have my doubts about Alexander of Russia. I fear that he will desert my system It may be necessary for war between us. It is difficult to tell." The ghostly face of the great Imperator faded away into a green translucent mist, and as it faded Mike Grafton awoke. . . awoke in a strange sweat of terror.Indeed of vanishing away into the depths beyond memory, the dream stayed clear and vivid in his mind. He recalled every word that the ghostly voice of the Emperor had said and he knew from what little history he could remember that it must all be true. But whence had the voice come?
Why had this strange dream singled rum out as he lay in the leafy comer of the forest? It was, he decided, prac-
tically inexplicable. As he lay in the leafy darkness, thinking over this strange ethereal visitation, he began to wonder whether or not he had just the rudiment of an explanation, the embryo, the germ of an idea forming at the back of his consciousness. It occurred to rum that his mind, although he was just an average citizen, must be five hundred years ahead biologically, in the natural evolutionary process; must be half a millenium in advance of the minds around him. He had that addition of sensitivity which they had not. He had intellectual power which was above theirs, and he probably had greater depths of mental sensitivity than had been vouchsafed to them. He thought of the tension and of the conflicts that were taking place around rum at this particular time; he thought of the anxiety that must be in all the minds around him, the anxiety concerning Napoleon, concerning the great Emperor's history, the great Emperor's future.
He thought of the great minds of Europe, some that loved and some that hated Napoleon Bonaparte. He thought of the great mind of Bonaparte himself, brooding on the future and the past, considering how his subject must feel, considering how they would react to his every wrum, to his every word, to his every order. . . . And as he pondered on these things, he realized that in all probability, nearly every mind in France and in Europe, in Germany, in Perleberg, must be thinking to a greater or lesser degree, consciously or subconsciously, of Napoleon. And that Napoleon himself must be thinking of his people, so that to a sensitive mind the whole atmosphere was alive with thoughts of Napoleon. And because his mind, from the 24th century, was sufficiently sensitive to pick up that concentration of thought forms, he had received a concentration of this conglomeration of mental images. It accounted for the dream; the dream was the condensed reception by his subconscious of all the loose drifting thoughts that floated through the continental ether, the thoughts that appertained to the great dictator.
It. struck him as a rather odd coincidence that, although separated by five hundred years, there was a certain similarity between the two worlds, in which he found himself an unwitting and an unwilling subject. He had not asked to be born into the Eurasian "Utopia" of Rajak the Magnificent. He had never asked to be one tiny cog in a vast sociological machine. He had not asked to have within him that vital spark of freedom, which detested dictatorship and struggled for liberty. These things had come upon him unasked, as night and day come upon a man . . .
as hunger and thirst, tiredness and wakefulness. . . as dreams themselves come upon a man. He thought of all the events in his own life that had come upon him in the same way, as he had been dragged relentlessly down the one-way street of existence. . . which we call the time track. This had lasted for the first thirty years of his life, and then, with cataclysmic suddenness, his own particular time track had dissolved, and now he had no time track at all. Everything that he knew and understood and comprehended; everything to which his survival data was geared had suddenly. been taken away from him as completely as if it had never been, and here he was back in the weird, in-comprehensible past. His mind was a confused jumble of
thought as he lay sheltered among the leaves. . . .
He cocked his head on one side, listening intently.
There was noise. . . a noise which he dreaded instinctively. The noise of footsteps. Someone was approaching. Grafton peered through the foliage, unable to penetrate its leafy opacity. His every sense was alert. His nerves screamed a silent warning in the body's own internal language. There was danger in the darkness, dreadful, intangible danger. He realized as he crouched there in the thicket that the whole hypothesis of fear consisted of the question "What if?"
What if there were an invisible enemy, sneaking stealthily closer? What if some fiend, graced with nocturnal vision, were poised to strike him down at that very second?
What if a musket was even now leveled at his unprotected chest? What if? A thousand ghastly probabilities, each more terrible than its predecessor, loomed above him like multiplicities of the sword of Damocles. Suddenly a voice broke the tension of the whispering forest.
"Grafton, Grafton, can you hear me? Don't shoot; I'm a friend."
"Is this some sort of trick?" answered Grafton suspiciously. . . .
The first thing that Ben knew was that he had dropped his precious package and he swore quietly, with the refined manners of a first-class English gentleman, po-litely, Under his breath. At all costs he did not want that particular package to fall into the hands of the French
-or any of Napoleon's other minioos, come to that . . .
Of course, it contained nothing incriminating, nothing which would be of value to an alien government All the same, he would like to have gotten it to the coast All thoughts of the coast were receding from his mind as he found himself in this uncanny grey mist Hm first thought was that he was the victim of some diabolical trap-the fiendish invention of the Count d'Entraigues, or the douaniers. Napoleon's scientists, perchance, had stumbled on some devilish new invention that could suck a man off the face of the earth and cast him into heaven alone knew what ghastly package. Just for a second he could still hear his horses; and he was also aware that there was a man somewhere near him, perhaps the scientist in charge of this horrible machine. He had no means of knowing, and yet the man looked as frightened as he himself felt. He was wearing a strange dark tunic, unlike any clothing that the young diplomat had seen anywhere before. It crossed his mind for a moment that perhaps Napoleon had secret allies, some hidden race that the Emperor bad discovered in North Africa. . . . Yet the men's skin was not dark.
