‘There may be more to those old gods and ancient ways than we modern men of science have allowed,’ I said grandly as if I knew what I was talking about. ‘There are still secrets worth recovering, gentlemen. Mysteries yet veiled.’ Then we joined in toasts to martyrs for liberty and finally stood from the ceremony. My vanity satisfied, I looked forward to a night of gaming, dancing, and sexual conquest.
The music began and I wandered, gaping like the American I was, at the splendour of French architecture. Mortefontaine made the fancy houses I’d seen in my homeland seem like stables, and Joseph was sparing no expense – now that his brood had access to the French treasury – at making it even better.
‘Grand, but not entirely different from our new home for our president,’ a voice murmured at my side.
I turned. It was Davie, amiable after those champagne toasts. He was handsome, with thick hair, long muttonchops, and a strong, cleft chin. Being in his mid-forties, he was a good ten years older than me.
‘Really? If they produce this in that swamp between Virginia and Maryland, my nation has come a long way indeed.’
‘The president’s house is actually based on a government building in Ireland – used to be a Masonic temple, I understand – and yes, quite grand for a new nation.’
‘They use a Masonic lodge for the president? And what an extraordinary idea, building a new capital in the middle of nowhere!’
‘It was the fact that it was nowhere – and near Washington’s home – that made political agreement possible. The government is moving into a place that has more stumps than statues, but our capital of Washington, or Columbia, is expected to grow into itself. Our nation has doubled in population since Lexington and Concord, and victory against the Indians has opened the Ohio country.’
‘The French say that they rut like rabbits and we Americans breed like them.’
‘You are a confirmed expatriate, Mr Gage?’
‘More a confirmed admirer of the civilisation that produced this château, Mr Davie. I do not always like the French – I even found myself fighting them, at Acre – but I like their capital, their food, their wines, their women, and, at this scale, their houses.’ I picked up a new novelty from one of the tables, chocolate that had been cleverly hardened into little squares instead of taken as liquid in a cup. Some ingenious Italian had solidified the delicacy and the French made it fashionable. Knowing how quickly fortunes can turn, I pocketed a fistful of them.
Good thing, for they were about to save my life.
CHAPTER TWO
‘You would not consider returning home, then?’ Davie asked me.
‘Frankly, I’d planned to, but then I became embroiled in Napoleon’s recent Italian campaign and these negotiations. The opportunity has not arisen, and perhaps I can do more for my country here in France.’ I’d been seduced by the place, as Franklin and Jefferson had been.
‘Indeed. And yet you’re a Franklin man, are you not? Our new expert on the science of electricity?’
‘I’ve done some experiments.’ Including the harnessing of lightning in a lost city and turning myself into a friction battery to ignite my arch-enemy, but I didn’t add that. Rumours floated, and they served my reputation well enough.
‘The reason I ask is that our delegation has encountered a gentleman from Norway who has a particular curiosity about your expertise. He thinks you may be able to enlighten each other. Would you care to meet him?’
‘Norway?’ I had a vague mental picture of snow, dank forest, and a medieval economy. I knew people lived up there, but it was hard to understand why.
‘Governed by Denmark, but increasingly interested in its own independence after our American example. His extraordinary name is Magnus Bloodhammer – it’s of Viking origin, apparently – and his looks fit his moniker. He’s an eccentric, like you.’
‘I prefer to think of myself as individualistic.’
‘I would say you both are … open-minded. If we find him, I’ll introduce you.’
A modicum of fame requires you to meet people, so I shrugged. But I was in no hurry to make conversation about electricity with a Norwegian (to tell the truth, I always worried about betraying my own considerable ignorance), so I had us stop at the first amusement we came to, a new gambling device called a roulette, or ‘little wheel.’ Paulette was playing there.
The French have taken an English device and improved upon it, adding two colours, more numbers, and a patterned board that offers intriguing betting possibilities. You can wager on anything, from a single number to half the wheel, and play the odds accordingly. It’s been eagerly seized on by a nation enthralled with risk, fate, and destiny since the Terror. I don’t play roulette as much as cards, as there is little skill, but I like the convivial crowding at the tables, men smelling of smoke and cologne, ladies leaning provocatively to give a glimpse of décolletage, and croupiers raking chips as adroitly as fencers. Napoleon frowns on both the wheel and the new female exhibitionism, but he’s smart enough not to prohibit either.
I talked Davie into placing a small bet or two, which he promptly lost. Competitive enough to bet again, and then again, he lost still more. Some men are not born to gamble. I repaid his losses from my own modest winnings, earned by conservative wagers on column and row. Pauline, excitedly leaning across from me, bet more recklessly. She lost money I’m sure she’d been given by her famous brother, but then did win a single number at odds of 35 to 1 and clapped her hands, squeezing her breasts together most enchantingly. She was the loveliest of Napoleon’s siblings, sought after by portraitists and sculptors. There were reports she was posing in the nude.
‘Madame, it seems your skill matches your beauty,’ I congratulated.
She laughed. ‘I have my brother’s luck!’ She wasn’t particularly bright, but she was loyal, the kind who’d stick to Bonaparte long after craftier friends and siblings had deserted him.
‘We Americans could learn from a Venus such as you.’
‘But, Monsieur Gage,’ she returned, her eyelids flashing like a semaphore, ‘I am told you are a man of much experience already.’
I gave a slight bow.
‘You served with my brother in Egypt in the company of savants,’ she went on. ‘Yet found yourself opposed to him at Acre, embroiled with him at 18 Brumaire when he took power, and allied yet again at Marengo. You seem a master of all positions.’
The girl did make herself clear. ‘Like a dance, it’s all in the partner.’
Davie, no doubt seeing banter with the first consul’s married sister as a diplomatic disaster in the making, cleared his throat. ‘I don’t seem to share the luck of you and the lady, Mr Gage.’
‘Ah, but you really do,’ I said generously – and honestly. ‘I’ll tell you the secret of gambling, Davie. You lose eventually as certainly as we all die eventually. The game is about hope, and the mathematics about defeat and death. The trick is to beat the arithmetic for a moment, take your winnings, and run. Very few can do that, because optimism trumps sense. Which is why you should own the wheel, not play it.’
‘Yet you have a reputation as a gambling winner, sir.’
‘Of battles, not the war. I am not a rich man.’
‘But an honest one, it seems. So why do you play?’
‘I can improve my odds by taking advantage of the less practised. More important is the game itself, as Bonaparte himself told me. The play’s the thing.’
‘You are a philosopher!’
‘All of us ponder the mystery of life. Those of us with no answers deal at cards.’
Davie smiled. ‘So perhaps we should adjourn to a table and let us supplement your income by playing pharaon. I suspect you can handle your rustic countrymen. I see Bloodhammer over there, and there’s considerable curiosity about these experiments of yours. Moreover, I understand you’ve experience in the fur trade?’