The Emperor's Revenge (Oregon Files 11)

François Robeaud had served for many years as Napoleon’s duplicate, appearing at events when the emperor chose not to and allowing Napoleon to stay out of harm’s way when he feared an assassination attempt. His existence had been known only to a select few, and it had taken years for Delacroix to track him down in debtors’ prison, where Robeaud had been incarcerated ever since his benefactor had been captured by the English.

“Who are you?” Napoleon demanded, turning to Delacroix, who saluted smartly. His heart pounded at meeting the military mastermind who had conquered a continent.

“Lieutenant Pierre Delacroix, Your Majesty. I served under Commodore Maistral aboard the Neptune during the Battle of Trafalgar.” The Neptune was one of the few ships to escape the decisive naval engagement that made Lord Nelson a hero to the British.

Napoleon narrowed his eyes at the mention of one of his country’s worst defeats. “What is the meaning of this intrusion?”

“I mean to spirit you away from this island, Your Majesty. I have a fleet of eighty warships waiting for your command back in France.”

“Then why did you not attack the island to free me?”

“Because the officers will follow only your orders. They will not risk fighting the Royal Navy unless they know you’ve been liberated.”

He stared at Robeaud. “And Monsieur Robeaud? Why bring him to this godforsaken island?”

Delacroix nodded at Robeaud, who took a flask from his cloak. He unscrewed the cap, looked at the opening for a few long seconds, and downed its contents.

Delacroix took the flask and tucked it in his coat. “Not only did Robeaud volunteer to take your place, he agreed to swallow that arsenic in return for money to settle his family’s debts. He will be dead in a matter of days, but his family will be well off for the rest of their lives. The physicians that the English recently sent to take your personal doctor’s place do not know you well enough to recognize an impostor.”

Napoleon slowly nodded in appreciation of Delacroix’s tactical acumen. “Very good, Lieutenant. I see that you learned well from my example. If the British knew I had escaped, the squadron of ships guarding St. Helena would chase us down before we got thirty miles out to sea.”

“Exactly, Your Majesty. Now we must go.”

“Go where? How are we to escape?”

“I have a submarine waiting at Black Point.”

Napoleon’s eyes widened. “You mean Fulton’s strange vessel actually works?”

“Come with me and I’ll show you.”

Robeaud donned the nightclothes and got into bed while Napoleon dressed in one of the military uniforms that the British had allowed him to keep.

“I insist on retreating with the honor of a soldier,” he said. Napoleon picked up a book by the bedside. He tore several pages from it, tucked them in his tunic, and replaced the book. The cover read L’Odyssée, with Greek letters below the title. Homer’s Odyssey.

When Delacroix gave him a puzzled look, Napoleon said, “The pages have sentimental value to me.”

They snuck out of the estate the same way Delacroix and Robeaud had entered. Napoleon was in poorer health than his replacement, so the journey back to the coast took longer. They reached the cliff top with only a couple of hours until sunrise.

Delacroix tossed one end of the rope over the side so that the submarine crew could catch it, then readied the bosun’s chair. When Napoleon saw how he was to be lowered to the water, he initially refused. Delacroix reminded him that the bosun’s chair was the way officers were hoisted onto naval vessels while they were at sea, which quelled the emperor’s objections.

He took a seat in the chair while Delacroix stood on the operator’s board behind him and held on to the rope to steady them. When Delacroix signaled with three quick tugs on the rope, the crewmen below started playing the rope out that wrapped around the pulley at the top of the cliff. Napoleon sat erect, trying to retain as much dignity as possible in such an awkward position.

With only an hour remaining before dawn, Napoleon and Delacroix alighted on the deck of the submarine. The crewmen hauled the rest of the rope down as they stared with mouths agape at the legendary leader. When the rope was reeled in, all that would remain of their escape would be the inconspicuous bolt and pulley at the cliff top.

They shoved away from the cliff and retrieved the cork fenders. They would sail as far from the coast as they could before daylight and then submerge.

“Congratulations on your success, Lieutenant,” Napoleon said. “You will be highly decorated for this daring raid. Now, when we rendezvous with our frigate, I expect we will make straight for our fleet to—”

Delacroix shook his head. “There is no fleet.”

The statement was met with a look of disbelief. “No fleet? But you told me we had eighty ships at our disposal.”

“I said that so you would come with me willingly. This is a secret mission. No one must know you’ve escaped. Ever.”

“You expect me to skulk away like a thief in the night, leaving an impostor in my place? No! How am I to retake my rightful position as emperor? I must announce my illustrious return to power. I refuse to flee my prison like some common criminal.”

“You no longer have any choice in the matter.”