You can cool yer 'eels 'ere for a bit while we 'ave our midday grub; then we'll take you fer a little walk dahn to the Arsenal.'
'Why am I being taken there?' Roger asked anxiously. 'Is part of it used as a military prison?'
The Sergeant gave a throaty chuckle. 'Not likely, chum, We're takin' you there ter be shot,"
Chapter 24
Half an Hour to Live
Roger had known the answer before he asked the question. For a few moments he had tried to persuade himself that he was being transferred to a different prison and had clutched, as at a straw, at the thought that, spies being a matter for the military, he was only being removed from the custody of the civil authorities. But convicted spies were shot. And he had been convicted. There were no convenient walls in the Doge's Palace, or the solid block of the Leads, against which a man might be shot out of sight of the public; whereas, in the many acres covered by the great Arsenal, there were plenty. Instinct had told him what to expect immediately the Provost-Marshal had given the order for him to be taken there.
In the past ten years he had had a dozen narrow escapes and a wonderful run for his money; but now the game was up. It was the normal end to anyone who plied his trade long enough and he had taken the pitcher to the well once too often. Yet it was a bitter pill that his downfall had been brought about through his private vendetta against Malderini. Death at the hands of a firing squad would at least have been more acceptable as the penalty of failure in some worthwhile coup planned in the service of his country and Mr. Pitt.
It galled him terribly to think that Malderini had outwitted him, and he wondered if he could have played his cards better. Perhaps, after all, the Municipality would have released him after a few weeks, had he had the fortitude to endure misery and uncertainty for a while in the Leads. He might at least have held his hand for a month before taking the step by which he had burnt his boats. But on second thoughts, he felt again that the dice had been loaded against such a hope. Malderini had known that he was in the Leads and would have spared no pains or bribes to have had him kept there.
Again, he might have addressed his letter to General Buonaparte instead of to the French Charge d'Affaires. But, if he had, would it ever have reached that immensely busy, and new great, man? He thought it very unlikely. No, for once the stars had been against him in his knowing no one in Venice who could vouch for him as the Citizen Breuc, and the damnable cunning of Malderini had prevented him being given the benefit of the doubt.
For three-quarters of an hour he sat on a three-legged stool in the cell, striving to regard his situation philosophically: then the Sergeant and two soldiers returned for him. One of the soldiers had a length of cord and with it proceeded to tie his arms behind his back, while the Sergeant remarked:
'Don't want you tryin' no tricks on us while we take our little walk along the Plagegio Schiavonio. Lots of people about ter day, an' it wouldn't do us no good with our officer if we was to let you make a bolt for it among that crowd."
When his arms had been tied, there was enough cord over for each of the soldiers to take a long loose end and they attached these to their belts, so that if he did take to his heels he would only drag them after him.
'Here we go,' said the Sergeant. 'Nice day for a stroll, though a bit 'ot out in the sunshine.' Then he led the way from the cell with his men bringing Roger along between them.
It was just on midday and outside the sun was blazing down; but that fact passed unnoticed by Roger as they came out of the great gateway of the palace. The Piazza was packed with people and he was able to advance only because a broad lane was being kept clear from the gateway down to the landing steps on the Grand Canal. Soldiers posted every few feet on both sides were having difficulty in keeping back the solid masses of men, women and children.
'Speshul fer you,' remarked the grimly jovial Sergeant. 'Turned out the guard, they 'ave, an' done yer proper.'
Roger, looking twice his age, his hair a mop, his beard uncombed, his soiled and torn Arab garments flapping about him, was far from presenting the type of spectacle calculated to bring tears to the eyes of onlookers; and from the crowd he received as many jeers as looks of pity. But he walked forward with a firm step, and, on lifting his chin, noticed that flags were flying from every point of vantage. He had naturally not taken the Sergeant seriously, and Villetard’s having said that the delay in his arriving at the court had been owing to arranging 'the festivities', he assumed that one of the new Republican holidays perhaps a Feast to the Goddess of Reason was being celebrated.
Twenty feet from the gateway, the lane through the crowd made a curve, then ran straight on between the two lofty columns, one topped by a figure of St. Mark and the other by the Winged Lion of Venice, to the quay-side. As Roger rounded the bend, he saw that a little crowd of richly dressed officials was standing at the top of the steps, and that a great gilded barge had just drawn up to them. Everyone was now craning their necks in that direction but at that moment an officer caught sight of Roger's party. Waving his drawn sword, he shouted angrily to the Sergeant to get off the route. Hastily, and greatly to the annoyance of some members of the crowd, Roger was bundled sideways into its front rank; for, instead of thrusting through it the Sergeant said to his men, with a grin:
Timed it nicely, didn't I, boys? Couldn't 'ave a better view, not if we was the Directors themselves awearin' their plumes an' cocked 'ats.'
In spite of the tumultuous agitation that seethed in Roger's mind, instinct impelled him to ask, 'What's happening? What is all the excitement about?'
'It's the Little Corporal's Missus,' the Sergeant told him. “E”s sent 'er 'ere on a visit.'
That meant nothing to Roger, and he remained silent for a minute; then, a vague interest aroused again, he enquired, 'Who is the Little Corporal?'
'Well; of all the ignorance!' exclaimed the Sergeant. 'You must 'ave been dead six months already not ter know that. It's our name for 'op-o'-me-thumb-the little General. We give 'im "is stripes fer the way he led us to all our victories.'
Instantly Roger became as stiff as a ramrod. Next moment he saw her. The group of officials forty yards away had parted Carrying a great bouquet of flowers, La belle Creole, as she was called-Josephine, widow of the Vicomte de Beauharnais and now Madame Buonaparte was still nodding to right and left, acknowledging their homage. Then she began to walk forward, and the crowd burst into cheers.
Like a cannonball with a double charge of powder behind it. Roger launched himself towards her. Taken completely by surprise, the two soldiers were dragged after him. At the top of his lungs, he yelled:
'Madame Buonaparte! It is I Citizen Breuc. Help! Help! They are going to shoot me! Help!'
The cheers ceased abruptly. Every face was turned towards him. He had already covered half the distance that separated him from Josephine before the soldiers, tugging on the cords that bound his arms, brought him to a halt. She, too, had halted. She gave him a look of compassion, but shook her head. She was the kindest of women and spent half her life interceding with her normally ruthless husband to secure mercy for enemies upon whom he was about to vent his wrath; and more often than not saving them from imprisonment or death. But this was Venice, and the matter evidently one in which she felt she had no right to interfere.
Roger's guards were handicapped by their muskets, but several of the soldiers who had been lining the route came to their assistance. One of them hit him a savage blow on the side of the head. It temporarily silenced and half stunned him, and he was hauled back through the crowd into its fringes. Bowing to right and left, Josephine walked on. The people began to cheer again. Somewhere in the distance a salute of guns was still booming out. A band in the Piazza struck up the Marseillaise.