The Barbed Crown: An Ethan Gage Adventure by William Dietrich

Author:William Dietrich
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: General, Fiction
ISBN: 9780062194114
Publisher: Harper
Published: 2013-05-07T00:00:00+00:00

Astiza reluctantly agreed to the inclusion of the comtesse in our plot, since getting close to the crowns of the coronation seemed impossible without Catherine. “She can finally make herself useful,” my wife allowed, “though frankly I don’t rely on her to manage more than a table setting.”

“She’s risked her life to return to France for what she believes in,” I said with more hope than conviction.

“I just don’t want her to risk ours. I don’t trust her.”

“With the Crown of Thorns?”

“With you. But let’s finish what we’ve started and make a home far away.”

“Amen,” and I meant it. Astiza was justified in being suspicious. The French say one escapes temptation by succumbing to it.

And why did Napoleon, who didn’t seem to believe in anything but himself, want the pope’s consecration for a rule the people and Senate had already granted? Because to have Pius VII at the ceremony meant being anointed by God. It would mimic the crowning of Charlemagne. It would grant what Bonaparte craved most, legitimacy. It would reinforce his intention to pass his crown to his heir, should he father one. Thus far, Josephine had been barren since the birth of two children by her first husband. Yet Napoleon, who truly loved her, planned to crown her, too, a glory no French queen had been granted in two hundred years.

The Invalides, which had sufficed for the Legion of Honor, was too small for the coronation. Bonaparte wanted Notre Dame jammed with twenty thousand admirers. His spurs would be golden, his scepter made of unicorn horn, and his ushers would carry silver pikes. No French notable could resist such a show, and by Coronation Day, December 2, 1804, Paris was jammed with two million people—four times its normal population—and prices had soared. A simple meal cost a ridiculous three francs. I was thankful I’d been put on the French payroll, but my purse was still so light that I wondered if Catherine borrowed from it without telling me. I couldn’t ask her because she spent Coronation Eve with the ladies waiting on Josephine, assuring me that the substitution would be made once we were all in the cathedral.

“I’ll meet you at the pavilion entrance at nine that morning very precisely,” Catherine told me before she left our apartment for the last time.

“Which means what time, again?”

“Nine, very precisely.” She’d looked at me as if I were slow-witted.

So we hoped for the best. We’d arrive at Notre Dame as minor dignitaries, our rank with Napoleon gaining us modest tickets. With luck we’d watch chaos play out. Then we’d slip off in a plan I’d devised.

In considering the morrow, I took one other precaution, too.

Like all of Paris, Astiza, Harry, and I slept restlessly the night before the ceremony. The streets were noisy as carnival. Cannons thudded in celebratory salutes. Theaters had been made free and were jammed. Military bands and minstrels marched up and down the avenues, people dancing drunkenly in their wake. So many lanterns, candles, and bonfires were lit that the city glowed orange.

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