The Last Eagle: Redux
- Thread starter King of Rome
- Start date
MINISTER GODOY
As the music picked up its pace, Manuel de Godoy scanned the crowd for his next target. There was enough make-up and perfume in the small space to open a shop, but he skipped over the painted elderly and too engorged. When he found the pale, auburn-haired woman he knew he had found a winner and immediately made his way over. The officer she was dancing with turned and bowed to Godoy. The prime minister smiled in turn, “Colonel, I believe there is someone to see you outside.”
The officer looked confused, but then slowly turned back to stare at Godoy. He somewhat frowned, but obediently left his partner to go look outside. The minister could tell the officer gave his partner’s hand a squeeze, but it did little to deter his efforts. Godoy took her hand the moment it was dropped, kissed it gently, and motioned to the dancing couples, “I see no need for introductions. Perhaps we should join?”
The woman nodded with a smile on her lips. The thrill of the hunt was upon him.
Barely a moment into their dance, however, Godoy felt a tapping on his shoulder. He grew quite agitated, ready to tell the ignorant officer to look harder. When he turned though he was caught off guard; he was staring at a princess.
“Forget about me so quickly? It is fine, you are not alone.” Charlotte de Bourbon cut in, and before Godoy could protest he already had a new dance partner. He found it odd that he so easily went along with the woman’s prompt. The woman seemed perfectly in her element though, launching into a question, “Why is it that my family has quieted their guns against the usurpers, good minister?”
“Straight to the point I see. An admirable trait in a soldier, madame.” Godoy spun the woman about and half-considered making a break for it mid-twirl. He was getting a sinking feeling, but kept his head high, “Spain is tired. You cannot forget that we have to look outside of Europe when we make decisions. We cannot simply war indiscriminately; the Spain of Phillip II has passed on. I would not expect a… lady of your bearing to understand the intricacies of the King’s duty.”
Charlotte smiled, “The King’s duty? I understand enough to know that many in the court of Madrid think you have taken such a heavy charge upon your own shoulders. That would seem to reflect rather poorly on the King and yourself if that were true.”
The minister almost missed a step.
“And there are also whispers, a tad more malevolent and prevalent, that your rise to power was perhaps too… rapid.”
Godoy suddenly felt a little too crowded. Was it the wine that was now making his head so warm? He felt nauseated, and released the Bourbon’s hand. He grabbed at his collar, and searched through the wigs until he saw the bright lavender coat of his two personal guards. The minister raised his hands and the two men jogged over, pushing the crowd out of the way. “Until next time, madame. I am afraid I do not feel well.” Godoy felt their hands grab him and in a moment he was whisked out of the room.
When he had regained his composure, a vibrant rage replaced his nausea. “Stupid wh-“
“What was that sir? Are you ok?” The attendants helped him take a seat outside the room.
Godoy took a breath and looked to one of them, “Nothing, my friends. Call my carriage.”
GENERAL BONAPARTE
General Bonaparte viewed the sandy arena that was shaping up to be the setting of one of his greatest tests. “In the land of Pharaohs, blood would be spilled once more.” He remarked to himself. The Ottomans were arrayed against him along a ridge line, anchored on their right by the sea and the British ships. They outnumbered him about four to one, and Bonaparte was down his most talented officer (Kleber was busy securing their retreat route to Sinai). His artillery, for the moment, was not even completely assembled behind his own lines.
General Davout, an officer Bonaparte had discovered was consistently intelligent and reliable, strode forward, squinting at the Ottomans, “Chance of success, General?”
Bonaparte turned and eyed each of his officers. Almost all of them had the same, fatigued look in their eyes. He considered his words carefully, and then turned to address them. He allowed for a dramatic pause to pass, and then stated with as much flair as he could muster, “High.”
Smiles were suddenly aplenty.
“What should we do?”
Bonaparte removed his hat and ran a hand through his hair. He instantly regretted it and decided to be sure to wash his hair the moment his was in Cairo. “One of our biggest threats is the British cannon. Can anyone suggest to me how we counter that threat?”
“Good question.” General Reynier said while his eyes were locked on the ships. “They shall tear us apart if we engage on the Turk’s right.”
Bonaparte nodded, “Accurate observation, poor answer to my question.” He strode forward, motioning with his hat, “Their deadliness is the exact reason we shall strike against their right.”
Davout’s brow tightened, “And who shall lead this attack?”
Before Bonaparte could respond though, Reynier was there, “If we strike them there, we lose the day. Why not feint and draw them down so we can reunite with Kleber?”
“Well, then we would surely lose the day.” Bonaparte returned his hat to its dirty perch and pointed to the Ottoman line, “We strike hard and fast at their right, drawing them forward. At the same time we engage their center and left. When they counter-attack, we allow their right to advance, we give less ground to their center, and finally we repulse on the left.”
Davout’s brow loosened, “I see, they will be extended with their backs towards the British.”
“Correct, and as we are pivoting them, we may gather our forces closer together for a final push. We then force them back to the sea, with their rear protecting us from the British cannon. We can fire indiscriminately, the British cannot. Then we let sundown cover our retreat… Oh, and Davout, you shall lead the attack against the right.”
Davout’s brow tightened.
Bonaparte smiled, “Let us remind them what victory looks like.”
*
The day was certainly Bonaparte’s; the British support was useless once the Ottomans were turned, and the Sublime Porte’s army wilted under the French artillery. Davout’s iron resolve had kept the men steady while under fire, and a charge from Murat’s horse had ensured the Ottomans were unable to break from the trap once they realized what was going on.
But to Bonaparte, the victory was hollow. His army was very much intact after the sieges of Acre and Tyre, and now after this battle as well, but he could feel time turning against him. He had envisioned a magnificent Oriental Empire, but it now appeared as that dream could not be fulfilled without more troops from France- which had its’ own problems at the moment.
He looked out among his sleeping men around their campfires and felt a twinge of regret. The plan that was formulating in his head was not going to excite them, but sacrifices had to be made. They were loyal men, and Kleber would have no problem holding down Egypt with them. Bonaparte doubted the Ottomans would raise a new army while Russia was on her doorstep. Yes, he would be leaving the men in capable hands.
The general stood up and looked out to the distant sea. He felt a sudden urge to return home…
X-X
Fo sho. I am unsure as to how I view Godoy though, I know alot of the info on him comes from perhaps very biased sources.
This tl is going great! However I am having trouble knowing what exactly is the difference from this TL to OTL
Thank you sir.
That's my bad, I am trying to keep a balance between subtly and bashing you over the head with butterflies. The difference with the Egyptian Campaign so far is that a more concerned Napoleon sent Desaix more troops to hunt down the Bey- resulting in an earlier defeat and freeing up more troops and officers for the later counter-strike against the Ottomans. Napoleon is able to place Acre under a successful siege, and then continue on to Tyre. There he wins a Pyrrhic victory, and falls back to face the Ottomans in that last post.
wolf_brother
Banned
Sometimes it's important to bash heads. Outlining exact differences in either foot notes or separate posts might be important for a TL so subtle and nuanced as this.
Good point, ya'll are right. I'll start throwing in at the end of each Part a quick summary of changes, until it becomes too far from OTL to even warrant doing it.
DIRECTOR SIEYES
To be called an “Architect of the Revolution” was flattering, but if Abbe Sieyes wanted to cement his great legacy, he would apparently now have to preserve the Revolution. All around him he could see the rot of decadency permeating the upper echelons of the new bureaucracy of the Republic. Like a silent disease, victory and wealth brought down those who had just so shortly ago had been the newly- motivated elite. Barras, once a hero against the tyranny of Robespierre, was little more than a petty, amoral slouch who bled support. His command over the respect and admiration of the French nation had waned, and the only reason Sieyes attached himself to the fat man’s failing system was to ensure the integrity of the Revolution. Barras and his cronies had led the Directory down a road of no return, it seemed. The weakened serpent of Monarchism had been replaced by the lumbering hydra of the Directory.
“Remind me to write that down, Marc. It has a nice ring to it.”
His assistant turned from the desk of papers, “Excuse me, Director?”
Sieyes chuckled and shook his head, “Never mind, I think the hour is affecting me. Go home boy, I know how much of your wife’s ire I must raise by keeping you so late. Go now.”
“Thank you, I will tell Charlotte that you hold her feelings in high regard. Good evening, Director.” The assistant hurriedly dropped his quill and made his way out of the office.
Sieyes nodded and smiled as the boy ran off to his young love. The love they shared was a beautiful thing, that there was no doubt. However the Director would not elevate their corpreal love to the degree with which Sieyes had grown to love the purity of the Revolution. Its’ intellectual base was a part of him, as he soon became a part of it. He had helped raise the Revolution from its’ infancy like a concerned father and had a vested interest in its success. The beauty of freedom, the right of the people of a nation to decide their own fate, and… and…
Power.
He reclined back in the wooden chair, feeling the aged wood bend under his weight, it was a comfortable feeling. Sieyes had never dreamed that this much power would be vested in him. Why, if he wanted to, he could probably overthrow Barras right now… “Wait.” Sieyes excitedly stood up and began to pace around his office.
Why had he not considered this before? The truth and clear path was laid bare before him: France’s enemies may have been humbled, but they were regaining their strength and already marching on her with renewed vigor. The Russians were on the move as well now, the threat was all the more acute. Internally, the threat of radical Jacobinism was on the rise once more in places that had only been recently cleansed of the Terror’s bloodshed. Add the horrifying display of government from Barras’ regime, and the large pool of charismatic military candidates to replace him, and Sieyes had within his grasp the perfect storm to deliver a Coup D’état and usher in a new reign- His reign. He simply had to find the right pliable general and then call in some favors… Sure, the exact details to the new government would have to be worked out, maintaining the Republican façade while secretly concentrating power in Sieyes’ hands, but those could be easily defined later.
The Director sat back down at his desk, and pulled out a blank sheet of paper. A smile spread across the abbe’s face, “To one of my closest confidants, dear General Joubert…”
So before I post the next chapter I want to summarize the butterflies from the chapter two.
Firstly, the effected Napoleon give Desaix a larger force after the revolt in Cairo. Desaix is able to locate Murad Bey far more quickly and capture him. This in turn allows Napoleon to better distribute his soldiers and bring a slightly larger force with him against the Ottoman Empire when he decides to march. He is able to march farther north, and deal a more decisive blow against the Ottomans.
That was all the new stuff, everything else was introduced to show the advancement of time or to introduce a character who has a larger part later.
Firstly, the effected Napoleon give Desaix a larger force after the revolt in Cairo. Desaix is able to locate Murad Bey far more quickly and capture him. This in turn allows Napoleon to better distribute his soldiers and bring a slightly larger force with him against the Ottoman Empire when he decides to march. He is able to march farther north, and deal a more decisive blow against the Ottomans.
That was all the new stuff, everything else was introduced to show the advancement of time or to introduce a character who has a larger part later.
CHAPTER III: Coup D'Etat
LIEUTENANT D’ESTAING
Achille rolled off the girl, nearly falling out of the bed at the same time, “Christ, you charge enough; buy yourself a bigger bed.”
The woman rolled her eyes and got up in response. The lieutenant did not mind her as she walked over to the washing basin. Instead he reached over to her bedside table and picked up the book he had tossed there on the way in. It was an interesting read- supposedly written by some marquis. It was violent, violent to the point it held his interest.
“You’re a soldier. Shouldn’t you be out on there with the others in Germany. You know, ‘fighting for liberty and France?’” She said, exaggerating the last line. The way she looked over her shoulder though showed she had some interest.
D’Estaing lowered the book, and raised his eyebrow, “My dear. There are many different kinds of soldiers; not all man the lines gun in hand. Some ride horses, some dig ditches, some even sit at a desk all day. I, am none of them. My job is to ensure that while all the other soldiers are doing their jobs, that the people of France don’t make their job harder. “
The woman stared, “So you…” She walked over and sat on the corner of the bed.
“Let me tell you a story. In Bretagne, there was a farmer. This was not your average farmer though- his son was killed during the terror. Now, this farmer decides that war is better fought with pens and paper than cannon and bayonet- he gathers up his fellow compatriots and starts a little rebellion. He starts it off by setting fire to an arms depot after raiding it. From there he sets fire to some other government buildings- I am not completely sure of the whole story. So I go in and fix that problem. I burn his village to the ground. Then I burn him. There has not been word of a revolt in the region since.”
“That’s terrible!”
“You’re a prostitute. For some reason your pontification means little to me.”
“I think you should leave now.”
Achille flashed her a toothy grin, and hopped out of the bed.
“Anything for such a dignified lady.”
*
“Lieutenant, there’s word from the south!”
D’Estaing adjusted his belt as he walked out of the brothel, “I hope it’s’ importance matches your excitement.”
“General Bonaparte is back in Paris! Director Sieyes has sent a letter re-calling us.”
The sun broke through the clouds and hit D’Estaing square in the face. He raised his arm up and covered his eyes, “Well now, that is a surprise. Gather the men, we ride for Paris.”
GENERAL BONAPARTE
The air in the carriage was uncomfortable to say the least. Though he was being hailed as the hero of France, General Bonaparte’s baggage car had been recently attacked by brigands. Add that to the mounting anger the young general felt towards his wife, and Berthier probably had good reason to flinch every time Bonaparte got that look in his eye. Bourrienne was far more reserved, though he was decidedly more detached from the conversation.
“I give her everything- everything! My money and devotion was all hers. And how does she repay me? With fidelity and love? No, not my Josephine. Mark my words, I shall divorce that woman the moment we return to Paris. I shall expose her scandal, it shall be public.” Bonaparte’s head began to throb, but he used his anger to push the pain out of his mind.
Berthier sighed, “That is regrettable. Right Bourrienne?”
The secretary, who had been gazing out the window turned and nodded, “Yes, of course.”
The general felt his face grow hot the more he thought about everything. Instead of continuing his diatribe though, his mind was drawn to the book. The Roman Emperor Marcus Aurelius had done a peculiar thing when he had composed his Meditations. He did not intend for them to be published, they were personal instruction to himself. Ever since Arcole, Bonaparte had seen the limits of his own mortality. It had shaken him-true, but he would not give up on himself entirly. His skill and potential were unmatched, but he began to realize that his passion was a double-edged sword. It lead him to great victory yet it had almost brought him low. In Aurelius’ writing, he thought he had found what he surmised was the best key to controlling himself. He had read and re-read the book multiple times now, and had kept a copy of it with him wherever he went. It was in this moment of anger that he tried to call upon the Stoic principles of that Roman Emperor.
Settling, he cleared his throat, “Yes. Well, this letter from the Directory, what do we know about it?”
Bourrienne perked up; perhaps he was not expecting to talk business the closer they drew to Paris and the general’s unfaithful wife. “It is safe to say the obvious meaning implies a great deal. So you are being recalled to Paris to defend France, that is publicly known now. However, there are multiple plots floating around about overthrowing the Directory, and the timing of your recall cannot be wholly invested in the situation of our armies. You know how ineffectual the Directory has proved to be- if something is not done there are growing fears that the Jacobins may have their opening to take over and start another Reign. No one wants that.”
Berthier nodded, “Even leading elements of the Directory wish to overthrow itself. It is rumored that Director Barras is seeking audience with the Count of Provence, for example. The situation is unstable and everyone is expecting some sort of shift. We just do not know who is poised to lead this shift and how many envision themselves as the next rulers of France.”
Bonaparte leaned forward and clasped his hands. “What you both say is true. They want me back to lead an army against our enemies. But someone in the government, perhaps even a Director, wants me in Paris specifically. If I had to guess it would be Director Sieyes, and that he desires me to lead the army against the Directory. I am to be the popular tool of someone bureaucrat to most likely consolidate power and lead a renewed war effort.”
“Are you sure it is Sieyes?”
Bonaparte smiled, “He is the only Director who does not know me well enough.”All three men shared a laugh. “Yes, it must be Sieyes. No matter that, the Directory will be challenged, and we must be ready. The war is going badly and the people are suffering under its’ bloated direction. When we arrive in Paris, I want both of you to stay in contact with our allies. Berthier, make sure Murat and Desaix are ready at any hour that I send for them. Bourrienne, write to Director Sieyes informing him of my arrival, and then get into contact with any family or individual who has money that professes to be my friend. Stay in careful contact with whoever is running the newspapers now. We must be poised to strike at a moment’s notice, rapidity is key. Am I understood?”
Both men nodded.
“Good. We must be prepared, whatever happens.”
*
The fatigued General Bonaparte sat, in an inner room in the house he had purchased, swirling his glass of wine. Word he reached him that Josephine and Hortense had left to meet him when he returned, but his landing at Frejus had confused their plans, and now he had arrived in Paris before them. Not even Aurelius could calm him down at this moment though, and a knock at the door rose drew his anger to its’ zenith. “Come in.” He commanded.
The door opened, and meekly, Hortense de Beauharnais entered.
General Bonaparte’s anger evaporated for the moment, and he rose from his chair with his arms open. The sixteen-year-old girl ran over towards him, embracing her stepfather. He brushed the tears out of her eyes, “Shh, calm yourself child.”
“I missed you so! Mother and I thought you might not return…. Don’t be mad! Please don’t!”
Bonaparte smiled. He held the girl at arm’s length and looked into her eyes. “You are a very pretty girl; crying ruins that. I have brought you some gifts back from the Orient, go to your room for them and I promise that your mother and I shall be civil with one another.”
“Yes, papa. I love you.” He hugged her once more. As she left the room Bonaparte was amazed at the turn-around in her character: when they had first met she had detested him, but now he was the object of her paternal affection. Truly remarkable.
Josephine walked in, the wan smile on her face vanished when she saw her husband’s countenance.
“Come here.”
His wife obeyed. General Bonaparte had no intent of keeping his promise to Hortense.
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SULTAN SELIM III
The letter floated down into the pyre, consumed by the flames. Selim and one of his ministers watched silently as it’s’ ashes floated up into the air of the palace.
“This general. The man certainly values himself highly.”
Selim nodded. He brushed his chin with a feather, but did not respond.
“He writes as if he rules the country. It is interesting how he ties his fate with the fate of his country even though he is devoid of practical power. Though, he has shown this initiative before now. General Kleber still resides in Egypt as a living testament of that.”
“Perhaps more change is coming to the face of Europe.” Selim arose and walked over to a large map of Eurasia, tracing his hand along the giant mass that was Russia. His tone was even, and almost without emotion, “Our thoughts must for a moment transcend all these actors on the stage, and look deeper. France has been an old, albeit sometimes violent, ally. This general thinks himself the next king; I believe it will be so as the country is moving, according to our informers. That being said he has learned his lesson about brash adventures. For now he has no designs on us, whereas our northern friends here most certainly do. Russia shall always hate us, and we them- it is one of the few consistencies in this political world of ours. The English have shown their colors when they abandoned us at the exact moment we stopped advancing their goals. The French have always aided us, and this man will soon see the benefit of continuing tradition if he is truly destined to lead his country. For now we wait, and see how things develop; but do not let our influence in Paris to slip. We must accept their affront to our power, in order to increase our power. Paradoxical, but it is the only way.”
“Forgiveness is the difficult choice, but is now the smart one.”
The Sultan shook his head, “Forgiveness factors in minutely, only on the façade. It is survival which is key to all of this. We have to learn the European Way, and the French have been the only ones willing to assist. Their artillery and officers have attempted to cut out the rot of decadence in our forces, and this is a gesture that none have done before. If we do not keep up we shall be ground into dust by the cogs of time. Their aid is vital to escape such a fate.”
“Eloquent.” Sycophancy was an occupational hazard of a minister.
“And true.” Selim gently touched the Bosphorus. “We have the potential to be great again. A few changes here and there, and the goal is within reach. We cannot do it alone though.”
“Because of the Janissaries?”
Selim winced, but regained his composure quickly. He had years of practice; years of gathering his emotions behind a stone mask. For the good of his people, of course. “There are elements in our society which chain me. But I shall break their binds soon enough.” Both men stopped and stared at the collection of pillows, whereon a Greek slave-woman yawned and turned to eye the Sultan. “…Leave us now.”
“Of course, it would be my pleasure.” The minister bowed and left the chambers. He smiled as he shut the door and heard it lock. Selim thought he could just wave his hand and the power structure would simply collapse under his majestic wishes? The Janissaries will not be done away with so easily…
GENERAL MURAT
Bonaparte had been too cautious. The plan was to scare the deputies out of Paris by the specter of Jacobinism. Instead of just bullying them out, Bonaparte had sent Murat with the fantastic job of inciting seditious behavior to provide tangible evidence for the legislators. Joachim had done as instructed, three directors resigned, and the deputies fled due to the mob. Everything seemed to be in line…
Bonaparte’s plan, however, was self-centered. As the victorious general left Paris trailing the deputies with Desaix’s men, he had assumed the deputies’ departure would cause the crowd to subside. The focus of events was on his person- or so he thought.
Certain Jacobins, however, decided otherwise. Pierre-Antoine Antonelle had come out of his exile to become the figure-head of the latest Paris Uprising, and had raided a supply depot to adequately arm his rebellion. Murat went from inciting the mob, to putting down.
The general gritted his teeth and urged his horse forward a couple of paces. “Cambrere, I can only see smoke from here.”
“Sir, they have thrown up barricades. Our advance has stalled.” His stoic, almost unimpressed tone and expression made Murat crack a smile.
“Please, Cambrere, it is not a big deal.” He said, poking at the man’s indifference, “Why do our guns not knock their barricades over?”
Cambrere sighed, “Sir, General Desaix has our artillery.”
Murat raised an eyebrow, “You don’t say… well then, we must take them from the rear.”
The adjutant managed to keep the same, disinterested look on his face, “We would need highly mobile troops to get around the streets they have blockaded-“
“There’s what, fifty of us? We can do it.” Murat smiled.
Cambrere did not. “Your safety is paramount to the General’s plan. I would advise against it.”
Murat chuckled heartily and turned back to face his men, “Who is with me?”
A cacophony of whoops were raised by the mostly Gascon cavalrymen. Peppered in were some petty insults about the adjutant.
“And with Cambrere?”
Silence.
The dour officer lazily drew his sword, “For the Republic, then.”
*
Joachim’s saber separated the rebel’s shoulder from his neck. His blood sprayed onto the cobblestones, followed shortly after by the man himself. Murat had been restraining himself to only slaughtering those determined to fight and not those wishing to flee, but there was a great deal of confusion.
The tip of a bayonet caught the general’s knee. He roared in anger, bashing the assailant’s head the pommel of his sword, followed swiftly by a sweeping slash that caught the stunned rebel’s neck.
“General Murat! They are falling back!” Though Murat could not see Cambrere, the man’s perpetually monotonous voice was easily distinguishable.
Joachim turned his horse, but a hand grabbed the reigns.
“Your sham of a Republic is dead. The people are with us, with true liberty. You may hold aloft the corruption, but not for longer.” The young rebel- probably a student- was bleeding from a cut above his eye. He was virtually delirious, but seemed intent on instructing Murat about the error of his ways.
The general leaned back and chuckled, taking the reins back. “I am for General Bonaparte, as are the people of France. Order will triumph over your chaos.” He struck the boy and galloped away, “You would go home to spare your life, if you were wise! The Revolution is over!”
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PRESIDENT BONAPARTE
Yelling filled the halls of the Orangerie; that and angry gestures. Pages were running to and fro, grabbing slips of paper from the various members of the council as they tried to organize and counter each other’s maneuvers. The result was a tempest of shouts, whispers, threats, and paper.
“Order, order!” The sound of the gavel and the bell did little to quell the cacophony.
“This is a mockery! You think he acted on his own will? He was a Director for Gods’ sake, I would wager all my property that Barras was acting under the pressure of gun and sword!”
Lucien brought his hands up, “My good sir, Barras signed an official document in the comfort of his home. He has sensed the will of the people of France and acted accordingly. And as to your extensive properties that he helped you attain, you may hold on to them. His resignation is not the point of this meeting-”
A fresh bout of yelling broke out, and Lucien slumped over onto his podium. The meeting was going nowhere fast. Word had reached him that some sort of revolt had broken out in Paris, and he could sense his brother was on edge. The debate seemed to be heading that way in fact.
A loud bang however, caused everyone to pause and look over: the doors had been flung open. Lucien sighed; it seemed on this 19th of Brumaire his brother had had enough.
The general strode in with an entourage of grenadiers. “Gentleman, listen to me! The constitution and basic rights of the Republic are under a grave threat-“
“By you!” Someone yelled, and the voices grew into a tumult. His brother tried in vain to calm the men down, but the protests grew louder. Some of the deputies had even left their seats to get closer. It was then Lucien noticed that a few were getting uncomfortably close.
“Soldiers of France, protect your general!” He thundered, and the struck soldiers broke into action. They were a second too late, as some of the council had grabbed at his brother, and violence broke out. As the grenadiers beat back the council, Lucien thought he saw a knife amongst the crowd. Chaos had truly erupted as his brother was ushered out, and the grenadiers followed, bashing their way through the legislators.
Lucien for a moment panicked. He listened as a proposal to declare his brother an outlaw was loudly proclaimed and supported. Seeing torn scraps of military uniforms on the floor snapped the man out of his trance, however. He slipped away quietly as insults were hurled toward his family.
The air outside was surprisingly fresh and invigorating. Out here, among the soldiers, the council’s acerbic rhetoric meant little. Each step he took towards the military encampment filled him with excitement. The course of History itself seemed to be in his hands. He could feel the tension, the electricity in the air. As he neared, and his brother looked up at him, Lucien knew exactly what he had to do.
Without missing a beat Lucien drew the saber of an idle cavalryman, and hoisted his brother up. He pointed the tip right above his heart and shouted, “Soldiers of France, hear me! I, your President of the Council, swear to you that my brother intends to uphold liberty, equality, and fraternity! There are men in the council who wish to do harm to my brother, and the constitution! For the good of France, restore order!”
Desaix was quick on the uptake, mounting his own horse, and drawing his saber, “You heard him, for the Republic! For General Bonaparte!” The excitement was contagious and evident when the soldiers cheered. It seemed everyman was caught up with the importance of the situation and the impact of their own contribution. Did they feel what he felt? Lucien could only wonder.
Righteous in purpose, the president followed as the soldiers stormed into the Orangerie. At first, some of the council attempted to foolhardily take on the grenadiers. But as the ranks piled in, they were all overwhelmed.
Desaix pivoted in his seat, projecting his voice over the ensuing scuffle, “You are dismissed. For the safety of the Republic, leave!”
*
Lucien sat on the palace steps, watching his brother, Ducos, and Sieyes walk over. Much had changed in the general’s countenance, he was light in step and confident. Sieyes, on the otherhand, seemed very downcast. Lucien rose to greet them, embracing his brother. “And like that, it is over. I salute you, First Consul of France.”
The consul nodded. The look in his eye showed that his attention was elsewhere. He began to ascend the stairs, “There is still much to be done. Sieyes, Lucien, you two must work quickly to give France a new constitution. Law, order, and stability shall reign from here on out. Ducos, return to Paris immediately and spread the word along the way. I want the four corners of the nation to know what has happened by tomorrow eve. Someone get me word of Murat, and get me in contact with General Massena. I trust general Davout has secured the depots I have instructed him to.” His voice conveyed the sense of undeniable power he now commanded.
Lucien and Sieyes both bowed slightly, and turned to leave. Ducos, however, chuckled, “I wonder what they will say of the Revolution now?”
The First Consul turned at the top of the steps, the setting sun above bathed him in a reddish-orange light. All the men at the base of the steps were struck by the aura of the Consul. ‘Blood’ was the word that popped into Lucien’s mind. His brother's next words sent a shiver down his spine, “The Revolution is over. I am the Revolution.”
Thank you kindly.
As a side note, I am trying to update this more frequently. I will also switch up the style at the end of each part.