Montholon shook his handsome head. 'No. I am told there has been much debate. The bastards cannot agree ...'

'What of the Tsar?' Lejeune pressed.

'He consents. Absolutely' Montholon replied.

But Lejeune's caution had communicated itself to Duroc. 'He's a damned weathercock. Let us hope he doesn't change his mind.'

Montholon shook his head again. 'No; apparently Talleyrand's stratagem was too seductive.'

'He'd be a damned fool not to consent,' remarked Marbet, 'and your sister had this from Talleyrand himself, eh?'

'Yes,' Montholon nodded, 'the source is impeccable.'

Duroc snorted derisively. 'The source is peccant, you mean ...'

Montholon's eyes flashed and his hand moved to his sword hilt. 'You've no right...!'

'Gentlemen, please!' Lejeune snapped and rose smartly, extinguishing the quarrel. 'I will not tolerate such childish behaviour.'

'Well, Montholon's news settles matters,' added Marbet, recalling them to their duty.

The officers sighed, their strained features relaxed and Marbet ordered Delaborde to refill all their glasses, then turned to Lejeune.

'And your ships, my Admiral... ?'

'Are ready. They can sail the instant they receive word.'

'And the Azores ... ?'

'The Azores?' repeated Lejeune, a gleam of satisfaction lighting his curiously dark eyes, 'They are perfect!'

Marbet snatched up his glass: 'To the new enterprise!'

'Damnation to the English!'

'Long live the Emperor!'

CHAPTER 1

The Company of Kings

 24 April 1814

A pretty sight, sir.'

Captain Nathaniel Drinkwater lowered the glass and looked at the suave young lieutenant resplendent in the blue, white and gilt of full dress, his left fist hitched affectedly on the hilt of his hanger.