Chapter 72: The Rulers (2) "That was a good meal. Like always, food at home tastes best."
After finishing his meal and wiping his mouth, Napoleon looked at his mother, Letizia, and spoke.
But for some reason, Letizia was staring at her son in silence, eyes full of unease.
"…If you stare that hard, I'm gonna end up with a hole punched clean through me. Hahaha."
"…Napoleon. Do you truly have to meet Paoli?"
At Letizia's worried words, Napoleon closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them and answered.
"…I probably do have to meet him."
Letizia kept looking at Napoleon as she spoke.
"That Paoli… he's probably still holding what happened with your father in his heart. No matter how I think about it, I can't bring myself to believe it's right for you to go to that man."
"That's exactly why I have to go."
"…"
Napoleon lowered his head, took a deep breath in and out once, then looked at his mother again and spoke.
"Among the people here in Corsica, there isn't anyone who thinks badly of Teacher Paoli, is there? Even I don't think Teacher Paoli is a bad person, so what would everyone else be like—what's there to even say."
Independence hero Paoli.
A fighter who devoted nearly sixty years of his life to Corsica's independence.
As far as Napoleon knew, there was no Corsican who hated him.
"To put it bluntly, if Teacher Paoli brought in a deer and said it was a horse, half of Corsica would nod along."
Napoleon continued.
"Of course, people in Corsica like our Bonaparte family too, but compared to Teacher Paoli, we're definitely the second choice, aren't we."
Now Napoleon raised the corners of his mouth in a grin as he spoke to Letizia.
"The fact that I came back to Corsica is going to reach Teacher Paoli's ears soon anyway. If I try to lie low here, all I'll do is make Teacher Paoli suspicious for no reason. He won't take it well."
"Even so… as your mother, I can't just sit still when I'm worried about you."
Despite Letizia's trembling voice, Napoleon laughed loudly and spoke.
"Don't worry. No matter how much Teacher Paoli hates us Bonapartes, he can't really go so far as to kill a French army captain, can he. At worst, it'll just be threats."
In the end, persuaded by Napoleon, Letizia spoke as if she couldn't stop him no matter what.
"…Whew. Fine. Do what you want, Napoleon."
"Haha. Then I'll be going."
Napoleon laughed easily, put on the tricorn hat he'd set aside beside the table, and left the house.
Corsica, near Ajaccio Port.
A strong man standing guard in front of the manor where Teacher Paoli was hiding saw a French-uniformed officer walking toward him from far away, hands clasped behind his back. The guard quietly wrapped his left hand around the dagger in his back pocket and spoke.
"Hold it. You there, soldier—what brings you all the way here?!"
But despite the guard's sharp words, the officer kept walking without a care.
Just as the guard decided to pull the dagger out, the officer spoke in perfect Corsican dialect, took off his tricorn hat, and greeted him.
"Haha. Hello."
"…Mister Napoleone?"
The officer put his tricorn back on and said cheerfully,
"Yes, I'm Napoleone Buonaparte. I got leave, so I came back to Corsica after a long time."
"…Then why are you here?"
"Haha. As a Corsican, how could I just sit still when Teacher Paoli has returned? I came to at least pay my respects."
Seeing Napoleon speak with a grin, the guard bit his lip for a moment, then spoke.
"…Please wait just a bit."
"Of course."
The guard turned and went inside the manor, then after a while opened the door again, came out, and told Napoleon,
"All right. You can come in now."
"Haha. Thank you."
Standing at the door, Napoleon took a few deep breaths, then opened it and entered the manor.
"Teacher Paoli?"
At Napoleon's words, the sixty-year-old old man slowly opened his mouth.
"Yes. I'm Paoli. And who are you, young man?"
Napoleon removed his hat, bowed his head, and said,
"Yes, sir. I'm Napoleone Buonaparte."
The old man stared at Napoleon for a moment, then let out an "Ah," and spoke.
"…Buonaparte? Ah! You're the son of that fellow Carlo I'd only ever heard about. It's an honor to meet you."
Taking the old man's outstretched hand, Napoleon bowed his head again as he answered.
"No, sir. The honor is mine, meeting you, Teacher Paoli."
The old man smiled, then turned his head and spoke to the strong men around him.
"Gentlemen—seeing Corsica's fine young men grow up like this, doesn't it feel like the day we gain independence isn't far off?"
"Hahaha! Teacher Paoli is right!"
"Of course! Absolutely!"
The old man looked back at Napoleon and continued.
"Napoleone. Do you have anything to do tomorrow? If not, how about we share a meal together?"
"If that's what you say, sir, I'd be glad to."
At Napoleon's nod and grin, the old man tapped the armrest of his chair and replied.
"Hoho. Just like a man in the military—bold and decisive. Good. Let's meet tomorrow, then."
"Yes! Then I'll be going now, sir."
"Teacher Paoli. If we've escaped Genoa, who was exploiting Corsica, then isn't that enough already?!"
"What? Carlo—do you even know what you're saying?!"
"Think calmly! They say the French troops who landed are one hundred thousand! One hundred thousand! If all the Corsicans die, who's going to live in Corsica?! And didn't the French bastards say they won't even take money like Genoa did?! They say all we have to do is acknowledge it as French land!"
"You traitorous bastard!"
Paoli opened his eyes, woke from his thoughts, glared at the door Napoleon had left through, and slowly spoke.
"…So that bastard is Carlo Buonaparte's son—the traitor's son?"
"Yes, that's right. He even went to an officers' academy on the French mainland and got himself rank insignia."
Paoli frowned.
"Tch. Carlo had ability, that one. Looks like his blood went into his brats properly."
At that, one of the strong men stepped closer and asked in a low voice,
"Teacher, what should we do? Should we just… kill him?"
Paoli turned his head and looked at the man who'd spoken with a dumbfounded stare.
"…What? Kill him? Are you insane? You just saw with your own eyes what he was wearing and you still say that? It's a French army officer's uniform—an officer's uniform!"
"…"
Paoli rested one hand on the chair's armrest, tapped it, and continued.
"He's warning us clearly. He's saying we can do whatever we want, but don't touch the Buonaparte family. Otherwise, there'd be no reason for him to show up dressed so neatly in uniform."
"…I'm sorry, Teacher. I didn't think it through."
Next to the man apologizing, another young man stepped forward and asked Paoli,
"Teacher, then what will you do with that Napoleone bastard?"
Paoli pressed his fingers together for a long time, scanned the room, and spoke again.
"He said he came down on leave. That's certain, yes?"
"Yes, Teacher. He said it clearly with his own mouth."
"Then tell Napoleone to take the post of captain of my personal guard."
"…What?"
For those staring blankly, Paoli spoke slowly.
"Men like that—you keep them close and watch them properly. And if he came on leave, then he has a return date, no matter what.
If he returns as scheduled, we can frame it as him betraying Corsica, and drive the Buonaparte family out of Corsica completely. If he doesn't return, his status in the French army gets erased.
And if he refuses the post of captain of my personal guard, the Corsicans' eyes will change the instant they look at him."
Buonaparte. Try getting out of this one.
February 19, 1790.
Vienna, Austria—Holy Roman Empire.
Hofburg Palace.
"Finance Minister. We've arrived in Vienna."
Escort commander Major Davout rode up and spoke to me.
"Understood, Major. Thank you for informing me."
Major Nicolas Davout bowed at my words, then rode back toward the front of the column.
Once there was no one else to overhear, Mathieu let out a sigh and spoke in a faint, sinking voice.
"…Ha… after Versailles Palace wasn't enough, I never thought I'd step onto Austrian soil—palace soil, at that."
"Isn't that because you get to enjoy it thanks to having a capable acquaintance?"
Mathieu glared at me and spoke again.
"…I mean it's fucking awful."
"…Ahem."
Why so aggressive. It's hard enough for most people to even see a palace once, and thanks to me he's seen two—he should be grateful.
"Well… they say you should buy hardship while you're young. Think of it as experience."
"…Where the hell did you pick up that shitty line? And hardship is one thing—being taken as a half-hostage to a potential enemy country is 'hardship' to you?"
"…Because it hurts… it's youth?"
"Shut up. If it hurts, you're a patient. What 'youth.'"
Sob. Where did our kind Mathieu go, and why is only this cranky bastard left?
That evil bastard Orléans must be using black magic to attack Mathieu.
Knock, knock.
Soon, along with the sound of knocking on the carriage door, Grussy poked his face in and called out.
"Guillaume, Mathieu! You can get down now."
I opened the carriage door and stepped down, stretching my arms back wide.
"Wow. How long has it been since I last set foot on the ground?"
Crack.
Crack-crack.
Crunch.
…Crunch? That sounded like something that shouldn't be making noise.
Just then, people who looked high-ranked at a glance walked toward where we'd gotten down.
A square-jawed noble who looked the oldest stepped out as their representative, extended his hand to me, and said,
"His Excellency Guillaume de Toulon, minister of the Finance Minister of the Great Kingdom of France and the Kingdom of Navarre. I, the Duke of Brunswick, on behalf of all subjects of the Holy Roman Empire, sincerely welcome your visit to the Holy Roman Empire."
I took his hand and replied.
"Yes. Thank you for your welcome, Your Grace."
"By rights, we should hold a proper welcoming ceremony to honor the Finance Minister's visit. However, as the Kaiser has recently been unwell, it has been conducted in this simple manner. As a subject of the Holy Roman Empire, I offer my deepest apologies."
"It's fine. It's all right, Your Grace. But… the Kaiser is unwell?"
The duke answered my question with a heavy expression.
"Regrettably, yes."
"Then it can't be helped. Illness doesn't obey a person's will."
"Thank you for your consideration, Your Excellency. It's late today, so please rest in your bedchamber and recover from the journey. Would it suit you to have an audience with the Kaiser tomorrow?"
Today or tomorrow—what difference does it make? Six of one, half a dozen of the other.
I nodded.
"Yes. Understood."
"Then, have a comfortable night."
"And you as well, Your Grace."
Ah, I'm going to wash up for the first time in ages and sleep like a rock in a soft bed.
The next day.
Marie Antoinette's eldest brother.
Kaiser Joseph II of the Holy Roman Empire died.
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