When the soup course was finished, the table was still wrapped in silence. It was Mr. Fox who first broke the solemn mood. Turning to Lafayette on his right, he asked, “General, why are you not drinking today?”

  Lafayette gave the Englishman a slightly melancholy look and replied hoarsely, “I am sorry. My throat is not in good shape, so a glass of water suits me best today.”

  “That is not like you, my dear Marquis de Lafayette,” joked the Duc d’Orléans, seated to the host’s left. “Only yesterday I heard that, at the Tuileries, you accepted a glass of champagne from our noble Austrian Queen.”

  The Duc deliberately stressed the words “noble” and “Austrian.” Ever since 1789, when Lafayette and other Constitutionalists had tricked him into going to Britain, the Duc d’Orléans had regarded Lafayette as a lifelong enemy.

  Sitting opposite Fox, Earl Gower heard the gunpowder in the air and promptly changed the subject. Turning to André, he said, “I have noticed that Monsieur Fourier has praised you as the true discoverer of the cholera map of Paris, and that you have claimed that boiled water is safer and more hygienic than clear spring water.”

  André set down the knife and fork with which he had been working on his black-pepper beef steak, nodded politely to the host, and smiled, but did not speak. To discuss the science of the future with a roomful of professional politicians would, in his view, be an insult to his intelligence.

  He was about to pick up his cutlery again when another female voice from across the table spoke up: “Sir, would you help me pick up the hairpin I have just dropped under the table?”

  André answered courteously, “It would be my pleasure, madam.” Then he beckoned to the old butler standing by and indicated that he should retrieve the hairpin Mrs Wollstonecraft had dropped and return it to its owner.

  The scene did not go unnoticed, and those at the table were quietly amused. The English woman writer, however, was clearly displeased. Citing a sudden indisposition, she rose and took her leave of the two hosts. Seeing this, Paine had no choice but to accompany her out.

  Once the two writers had gone, the atmosphere in the dining room finally relaxed. Hosts and guests alike fell to with a will and drank freely. Even the touchy Duc d’Orléans dropped his barbed remarks towards André and Lafayette and instead clinked glasses constantly with his good friend Fox, whispering crude jokes not fit to be repeated.

  André once more raised his glass to eye level and examined it by candlelight. The wine inside gleamed like liquid rubies. Then he drained it in a single swallow.

  Taking advantage of a moment when Fox and the Duc d’Orléans were deep in conversation, the British minister leaned towards André and said quietly, “Monsieur André, two days ago, I received instructions from Downing Street to look into certain unusual movements in the port of Le Havre. They say several merchantmen loaded with arms, munitions, and troops are sailing for the Caribbean waters of North America.”

  André’s “virtue of honesty” asserted itself at once. “That is correct,” he said. “Those men and supplies are all bound for the capital of the colony of Saint-Domingue, Cap Fran?ais.” British naval supremacy had been established by the mid-eighteenth century, and André had a deep respect for the British Empire’s leadership over the Atlantic seas.

  “Oh.” The minister fell silent. The intelligence he possessed did not differ from André’s account.

  This, however, was not the true object of Earl Gower’s enquiry. Downing Street wanted its envoy in France to find out what exactly was happening in French Saint-Domingue that required so great a shipment of arms, equipment, and military personnel from the mainland. Spain might nominally possess the largest colonial empire in the Caribbean and throughout the Americas, but it was the powerful British fleet that controlled the Atlantic order.

  André also leaned towards the minister and murmured a few words, which made Earl Gower’s eyes light up.

  Barnave, who had noticed André whispering with the British minister, waited until he had resumed his seat, then leaned over and asked, “Have you told the British everything?”

  André spread his hands in feigned helplessness. “What else can we do? Without the permission of the Royal Navy, our men and supplies cannot reach Cap Fran?ais in safety. Besides, British agents in Cap Fran?ais will soon learn the truth anyway. We might as well take the initiative and tell them to build mutual trust.”

  “I think you have not only talked the British around but actually excited Earl Gower,” Barnave said irritably. “Damn it, what have you promised them this time?”

  In fact, Barnave, Duport, and the Lameth brothers all had substantial political and economic interests in the French Caribbean colonies—especially the latter two, who were themselves major plantation owners there. So when André raised the need to guard against a slave uprising in Saint-Domingue, their cooperation had been reached in an instant.

  André, however, had firmly rejected their proposal that the National Guard should join with the colonial troops and immediately arrest or execute the restless black leaders. He gave two reasons. First, the enemy was hidden while they themselves were exposed, and it was impossible to identify the ringleaders—short of arresting or killing more than a million slaves. Second, once the authorities resorted openly to violent repression, the Society of the Friends of the Blacks would certainly stir up the ultra-left deputies in the Constituent Assembly to mount a propaganda campaign against the slave owners.

  Of course, these reasons were only André’s excuses. In reality, he himself had limited his cooperation with Barnave’s Constitutionalists to the French Caribbean colonies (the Ardennes governorship was merely a political trade-off). He had no wish to become too entangled with the Constitutionalist nobles. He was not yet ready to shed his sacred mantle as a revolutionary.

  André went on frankly, “I suggested to Earl Gower that, in order to dispel unnecessary suspicions on both sides, French Saint-Domingue and the British forces stationed in Jamaica could exchange small military observer missions of no more than twelve men each, regularly sharing information on their military activities so as to maintain peace and stability in the region. If necessary, we can even bring the Spaniards into the arrangement.”

  “Are you not afraid that the British will try to carve up Saint-Domingue for themselves?” Barnave asked.

  André merely smiled and said he was not. Barnave plainly did not understand Britain’s colonial policy: London was no longer intent on grabbing more colonies at any price, but on a global strategic layout with its main focus on the Indian subcontinent. Duport and the Lameth brothers, who were experts in such matters and André’s allies, would explain it to him in due course.

  In another timeline, when French Saint-Domingue was on the verge of being overrun by the slaves, British troops had joined forces with Spain to rush reinforcements to Cap Fran?ais, saving the French colonists and briefly restoring order in the colony. It was the Society of the Friends of the Blacks that stirred up the people of the colony to rise against the coalition forces…

  The dinner lasted until a little after eight o’clock. The remaining item on the programme was a small concert, but André decided to take his leave. Lafayette also left the embassy, and André promptly invited him to share his carriage.

  “André, you are a soldier as well—and a General of the National Guard. When you go out, your means of transport ought to be a horse,” Lafayette admonished him in his hoarse voice as the carriage rocked from side to side.

  André nodded and murmured agreement, while having no intention of taking the advice. To ride through the streets of late eighteenth-century Paris on horseback instead of sitting inside a carriage would, in his view, be to court danger. In both his previous life and his present one, he had never possessed the kind of heroism that scorned death.

  Lafayette was no fool; he could hear the perfunctory tone well enough. He sighed, changed the subject, and asked, “André, do you think I should resign, or stay on in this damned post?”

  André did not even stop to think. “As a friend,” he said bluntly, “my private advice is that you cast off every burden and leave Paris at once. But speaking as a provincial deputy prosecutor, I hope you will stay and preserve the hard-won stability of the city.”

  Lafayette jerked his head up and looked straight at André. “You are sly—very sly,” he said. “Almost no different from Danton. Still, I am grateful for your first piece of advice. Even if you all want a fool named Lafayette to stay in Paris and go on serving as a conscientious gaoler for the Tuileries.”

  Something stirred in André’s heart. In a low, indistinct voice, he said, “In fact, you could follow Cromwell’s example. Even if you do not wish to be Lord Protector, you could still raise the young Louis XVII to the throne.”

  The Marquis de Lafayette seemed to show no reaction to these words. He merely closed his eyes and let himself sway gently with the movement of the carriage. Only when the carriage stopped, and he stepped down did he turn back and say, “That is impossible. I shall always be faithful to my king, to morality and to my own conscience.”

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  “Fool. An absolute fool,” André noted once again in his mind, in a judgment he would never revoke. He also swore that he would never take the initiative to save Lafayette’s political life.

  The carriage rolled on towards the villa on the ?le Saint-Louis. Passing a church on the Rue Saint-Denis, André saw more than one hundred torch-bearing sans-culottes milling about outside. The deafening noise drew his attention. He leaned towards the window and thought he heard cries for help coming from inside the church.

  There was no mistake: they were cries for help, drowned out by wild laughter and the drone of the organ. André needed no further thought to understand that radical crowds were “spontaneously” punishing non-juring clergy. Such scenes had been playing out in Paris for half a year. Since the Catholic Church and the Pope had publicly condemned the Civil Constitution of the Clergy and the Oath Decree, the beatings and humiliations inflicted by the sans-culottes on priests who refused the oath had only grown worse.

  There were simply too many sans-culottes out hunting priests for trouble. Ordinary constables did not dare intervene and, in truth, were powerless to do so. With changes under way in the senior ranks of the police and certain politicians covertly fanning the flames, police stations across Paris had all but given up trying to rescue non-juring clergy.

  “Stop! Stop at once!” André rapped on the carriage wall, then called to Second Lieutenant Dumas, who had ridden up to ask what was wrong. “Take a few men and go into that church. If you see any unfortunate priests, bring them out. If you run into Chaumette, give him my name. And remember—do not resort to force unless there is no alternative.” This was the Lombards district, where, under Marat’s influence, Chaumette ran the local ultra-radical club.

  A few minutes later, amid a chorus of jeers, Dumas and his men came back to the carriage supporting two men dressed in black clerical garb. André saw that both priests were covered in blood from head wounds. One had had his fingers beaten to a bloody pulp and was groaning constantly; the other was in far worse shape, with a visible depression in his left ribcage and already lying unconscious.

  André immediately ordered the coachman to turn the carriage around and drive straight to the home of Father Maury, who was not only a distinguished clergyman but also a highly skilled surgeon. Throughout the episode, the sans-culottes had not laid violent hands on André’s party; they had limited themselves to muttered complaints, apparently feeling that they had not yet completely “finished” with the two non-juring priests.

  As the carriage pulled away, a familiar voice rang out behind it: “Join us, Citizen Deputy Prosecutor!” It was Chaumette, Marat’s devoted disciple, an atheist who loathed Catholicism with a passion.

  Half an hour later, Father Maury’s assistant had just finished bandaging the injured fingers of one victim. As for the other priest, Father Maury examined his injuries in detail and could only give a pained shake of the head. Several fractured ribs had pierced the heart and other vital organs, causing massive internal bleeding. He could die at any moment.

  “Thank you. God will bless you,” Father Maury said to André in a calm but sincere tone. (Father Maury is also known as Father Maurice.)

  André said nothing, merely nodded, and was about to turn and leave. At the door, however, Father Maury called him back, stepped forward, and asked quietly, “André, do you oppose God?”

  André shook his head firmly. Aside from madmen like Marat and Chaumette, almost no one dared deny God outright. Even Robespierre had only given God a new title: the God of Nature.

  Father Maury pressed him, “Do you oppose the Catholic Church?”

  André smiled and again answered in the negative. “I do not recognise the authority of the Roman Curia, but I follow the doctrine of Cardinal Richelieu: render unto God what is God’s, and unto Caesar what is Caesar’s.”

  The priest asked again, “I have heard that Mother Superior Sophia is your benefactress.”

  André replied gravely, “She is more than a benefactress. She is André’s only family.”

  It was as though he were bringing himself to make a major decision. After some hesitation, Father Maury spoke in a pleading tone. “You know that Paris is no longer safe for these priests who refuse the oath. Those who stay at their posts can at least accept martyrdom for the Lord as their duty. But for innocent nuns, the mob’s persecution is even more bloody and cruel, devoid of any humanity. So I hope that…”

  Since 1790, male and female rioters in Paris had been venting their pent-up hatred on those non-juring nuns who were least able to defend themselves. They would storm into convents, drag nuns of all ages out into squares and marketplaces, strip them naked, pelt them with rotten vegetables, and subject them to every form of humiliation. Only a few days earlier, a gang of vicious thugs had surrounded an abandoned church in the northern part of Paris in the middle of the night and gang-raped several nuns who had taken refuge there…

  André understood what Father Maury was asking and nodded at once. “Tomorrow, I will have Chief Inspector Javert contact you. Reims can shelter any clergyman who abides by the law.”

  After the visitors had gone and the injured and the dead had been dealt with, the young assistant came over to ask Father Maury, “Are you not the one who hates that scoundrel most of all? Why have you decided to persuade the nuns to take refuge in Reims?”

  Father Maury replied, “That is true. André is a scoundrel—but a scoundrel who keeps his word. So long as you do not challenge his rule in Reims, he will give the clergy sufficient protection. In Reims, for half a year now, not a single priest or nun has been persecuted for refusing the oath. It is thanks to André’s support that Mother Superior Sophia has been able, in the name of caring for orphans, to take in those sisters and keep them from becoming wanderers.

  “And besides, Fischer, the important sacred vessels that the brothers of Notre-Dame de Paris entrusted to my keeping—you will escort them to Reims and hand them over to Reverend Mother Sophia in person. You are not to come back to Paris. André’s Champagne Composite Brigade is being expanded, and they need many chaplains with experience in surgery…”

  …

  It had been five days since the Rolands arrived in Paris. They had come bearing petitions from the commercial and industrial circles of Lyon to lay charges before the Constituent Assembly, accusing the prosecutor of the Special Fiscal Court, Charles Malo Fran?ois Lameth, of openly violating the law, trampling on sacred human rights and imposing a reign of terror on a city of one hundred and twenty thousand inhabitants…

  On the other side, the Constitutionalists, led by Barnave, could not ask the Assembly simply to reject Lyon’s accusations, but they had at least managed to postpone Roland’s speech in the Assembly chamber by three days.

  With some time still to go before afternoon tea, the Rolands, having taken their midday rest, were sitting in the drawing room chatting with Brissot, Pétion, Robespierre, Buzot, and others. It was “chatting” in name only: their conversation never strayed far from current politics, particularly the great upheaval in Lyon triggered by the prosecutor of the Special Fiscal Court. The Rolands hoped to secure the support of the deputies and of the Paris Commune, while Brissot and his friends were eager to use the affair to undermine the dominance of the Constitutionalist nobles in the national legislature.

  “As representatives of a free nation, we cannot wish to see such disorder continue. Once the National Constituent Assembly agrees to have Prosecutor Lameth the younger return to Paris, Lyon must immediately be restored to calm. There must be no further confrontations with Paris. On this point, I will speak in support in the Assembly,” Robespierre declared. Perhaps because he had only recently recovered from a serious illness, the left-wing deputy managed only two or three sentences before coughing twice in succession.

  Inwardly, “L’Incorruptible” had a deep loathing for the hidden plotters who orchestrated strikes and business shutdowns and had now pushed Lyon to confront Paris. Prosecutor Lameth the younger might have made mistakes, but he was at least raising revenue for the nation and had never, like André, invented countless devices to line his own pockets. Yet, paradoxically, it was the corrupt and overbearing André who seemed the more popular figure—whether in Bordeaux, Reims, or Paris.

  Roland frowned, clearly displeased by Robespierre’s aggressive tone. Sitting quietly beside him, Madame Roland unobtrusively patted her husband’s hand and then smiled as she gave her assent to the deputy’s suggestion. By now, Robespierre was one of the recognised leaders of the left in the Constituent Assembly, and fellow leftists like Pétion and Buzot had to respect the views of the deputy from Arras.

  Brissot smiled, intending to lighten the atmosphere with an anecdote. “Two days ago,” he said, “a friend of mine who trades in champagne in Reims wrote to say that Deputy Prosecutor André in the Marne had ordered the Reims City Hall to force the people to receive vaccination with the cowpox discovered by an English doctor. What is more, they even have to lead a poor little calf to the vaccination site.”

  Buzot picked up the thread at once. “I have heard about it too. They say it has caused an uproar among the people. I am preparing a motion in the Assembly to condemn André’s unlawful violation of human rights.” Clearly, ever since Madame Roland’s return to Paris, Buzot’s old emotional grievances against André had flared up again.

  Before the jealous deputy could launch into further invective, the butler came in to inform the Rolands that a new visitor had arrived: André Franck, the deputy prosecutor of the Marne.

  “Good day, ladies and gentlemen.” André entered the drawing room with a broad smile and greeted them all.

  Madame Roland, taking the place of her somewhat wooden husband, immediately rose to welcome him. “We are truly delighted to see you,” she said, and instructed the butler to have afternoon tea prepared in the small parlour.

  André waved a hand in an easy, offhand manner. “I am only passing by,” he said. “I wanted to convey a message to Monsieur Roland from a friend of mine who has been forced to stay in Lyon.”

  At these words, the atmosphere in the room seemed to crystallise in an instant. Everyone present was a leading figure of the time and had no difficulty understanding exactly which “friend” André meant.

  “Citizen Deputy Prosecutor of the Marne, are you here to defend the corrupt official who has plunged our city into turmoil?” Monsieur Roland sprang to his feet in anger and glared at the uninvited guest.

  André took no offence. He replied calmly, “Please do not misunderstand me. I am merely stating a fact—a fact that is very likely to occur. Once the merchants and industrialists of Lyon have succeeded in driving out the prosecutor of the Special Fiscal Court and his staff, Monsieur Charles Malo Fran?ois Lameth will, on his return to Paris, voluntarily resign his post. At the same time, I will accept a dual appointment from the Palais de Justice and the National Constituent Assembly and resume the office of prosecutor of the Special Fiscal Court. I can promise you, Monsieur Roland, that my first inspection tour will likewise begin in Lyon.”

  “Monsieur Franck, is that a threat?” Madame Roland firmly took her husband’s side, gripping his slightly trembling arm.

  Robespierre, for his part, appeared wholly unconcerned, carefully polishing his green spectacles with a piece of velvet. Brissot shot the Rolands a series of urgent glances, urging them not to lose their temper. Buzot was about to step forward and speak, but Pétion seized his arm and signalled that he should not provoke a direct clash with André.

  André glanced around at their reactions, gave a low chuckle, and went on, “Of course, it is not a threat, my beautiful lady. As I said, I am simply stating a fact that is highly likely to come to pass. Besides, I hear that Le Figaro is actively collecting material on the scandals of many officials in the Lyon City Hall, and that quite a few well-informed people have already submitted very valuable denunciations.”

  The Rolands’ expressions changed at once. Le Figaro’s circulation and influence in Paris were growing by the day, and whatever rumours André chose to concoct in its pages—this being one of his special talents—would be enough to stamp the image of Lyon’s officials as corrupt in the minds of the Parisians and to direct boundless sympathy towards the prosecutor of the Special Fiscal Court, besieged in a distant province.