In an Adventure With Napoleon (14 page)

But despite the Captain’s protestations several of the islanders and even a couple of the more easily swayed
pirates were already trudging away, muttering things under their breath.

‘Now, look here,’ said the Pirate Captain, waving uselessly after them. ‘I wouldn’t have a clue how to begin to impregnate a giant squid. My zoological knowledge is famously ropey.’ His words floated away with the crowds across the beach.

‘What unfortunate timing,’ said Napoleon, giving the Pirate Captain a consoling squeeze on his bicep. ‘And I was really hoping this election would be settled on the issues, rather than what are frankly irrelevant character flaws. But you know what the public’s appetite for scandal is like.’ He doffed his hat and skipped off down the beach. ‘Anyhow, good luck at tomorrow’s debate, Captain,’ he called over his shoulder. ‘May the best man win.’

‘It’s character assassination!’ exclaimed the Pirate Captain, back at his Campaign HQ. He angrily flung a rosette across the room and knocked one of his flying ducks off the wall in the process. ‘It’s a sad day for democracy when this kind of thing replaces mature debate on what really matters, like who has the best hair and other things like that.’

‘The opinion polls certainly don’t look good, Captain,’ said the pirate with a scarf, studying a chart.

‘Is there any way you could sugar-coat it for me?’ asked the Captain. ‘You know I’m not very good at dealing with things I don’t want to hear.’

‘Well, the good news is that when asked “do you think the Pirate Captain has nice eyes” you score very highly, right across all demographic groups. And the response is also overwhelmingly positive that “Yes, the Pirate Captain does have a certain indefinable élan.” But I’m afraid Napoleon is ahead of you when it comes to “the person we would most trust when left alone with our teenage daughters”. And of the population’s two lunatics I’m afraid both think they’re Napoleon rather than you.’

‘That’s a blow,’ said the Captain, rubbing his chin. ‘I’m normally very popular amongst the lunatic constituency.’

‘And unfortunately with the debate tomorrow, there’s not much time for this squid scandal to blow over.’ The pirates all looked at their shoes in a bit of a funk.

‘You can’t just let him get away with it!’ exploded Jennifer. ‘I know we’re bee-keepers now and we’re all about quiet reflection and solitude and all that rot, but that doesn’t mean we have to lose all our vim and pep.’

‘I still have plenty of pep,’ said the Pirate Captain defensively. ‘I’m just not going to stoop to that cove’s devious level. We’re going take a different, more direct approach.’

‘Are we going to run him through?’ asked the pirate in green hopefully.

‘Let’s feed him to the sharks!’ said the pirate with gout. He bit his cutlass to look extra fearsome.

‘Slice his gizzard!’ said the albino pirate.

‘I’d like to see the colour of his innards!’ said the pirate who liked kittens and sunsets.

There was quite a lot of excited roaring and the suggestions for revenge on Napoleon became more robust and bloodthirsty.

‘Better than that, lads,’ said the Pirate Captain. ‘Get the dressing-up box.’

apoleon’s bedroom was tastefully decorated with lots of paintings of the great man himself. There was one of him standing on a pile of dead Spaniards with two women in chain-mail bikinis clinging adoringly on to his shoulders. Another showed him standing on top of a pile of dead Russians with two women in fur bikinis and Cossack hats clinging adoringly on to his legs. The paintings went on in pretty much this same vein right around the room. But at the moment it was difficult to appreciate the artwork, because it was night and the lights were out. Everything was still and silent, except for Napoleon’s snores and a faint scratching sound from outside. Gradually, the window inched open and a host of shadowy figures crept inside the room.

‘Shh …’ said the shadowy figure with the stentorian nose.
²³
‘Don’t make a sound until everyone is in position.’

The last two shadowy figures closed the window behind them and opened the curtains to let the moonlight in, while a third tip-toed over to Napoleon. He placed a pale hand on his shoulder and shook it gently. Napoleon opened his left eye.

‘Why,’ said Napoleon, ‘is there an ant with a scarf standing over my bed? Is this a new trend for burglars? Dressing as anthropomorphic insects?’

The ant with a scarf composed himself. ‘You are dreaming, Napoleon. I am an ant with a scarf who walks like a man, which is so surreal that it could only be part of a dream.’ He paused and waggled his abdomen. ‘Now, hold my ant hand and I will take you on an amazing fantasy ride that will astound you and also provide useful advice on your waking life. Come!’ The ant with a scarf took Napoleon’s hand, and made some whooshing noises to imply movement.

‘Where are you taking me? Are we going to fly through the sky or something?’ asked Napoleon.

‘Um, no,’ said the ant with a scarf. ‘This dream will happen entirely in your bedroom.’

The Pirate Captain had once told the crew that if you ever found yourself having a two-way conversation with a piece of furniture or dancing a waltz with a man made out of spaghetti, then the chances were it was a dream, because that sort of thing very rarely happens in real life.
²⁴
The way to be
really
certain that you were dreaming was to look out for food that you had eaten the previous evening playing an active part in what was going on. Sure enough, in this dream there followed a sequence of bizarre imagery, no doubt loaded with symbolism and the kind of food one would expect a Frenchman to eat before bed, especially if you had been through his bins earlier that evening. Half a dozen hens chased some croissants around the room, a baguette did a little dance, and then a couple of snails waved their eye stalks around and sang a song about guts without much enthusiasm.

‘Tell me, ant, does this dream go anywhere?’ said Napoleon. ‘It seems a little directionless.’

‘It’s definitely dream-like though?’ said the ant with a scarf.

‘Oh yes. Very confusing and unlikely,’ said Napoleon.

‘Good. Now, Napoleon, you shall encounter the first of three famous generals. They’re all
very
keen to meet you and want to pass on some valuable advice. So, without any further ado, he’s come all the way from Ancient Greece, he conquered most of the known world
and he died from drinking too much … let’s have a big hand for
Alexander the Great!’

A small troop of Greek soldiers shuffled out of Napoleon’s wardrobe and had lots of fun bashing their swords together and banging shields in a pretend fight. In their enthusiasm, they may have used more nautical expressions than you would expect from a bunch of Greek hoplites, but the effect was certainly dramatic. Eventually the soldiers parted to reveal Alexander the Great who, presumably because of twisted dream logic, looked a lot like a Victorian lady dragged up as a man, complete with toga, helmet and a pencil-thin moustache that later generations would identify with David Niven.

‘Hail, Napoleon!’ said Alexander the Great in a voice rather higher than Napoleon expected. ‘I am Alexander the Great, scourge of the Persians. For my whole life I fought many battles, conquering all before me and riding my horse about.’

‘Bucephalus,’ said Napoleon.

‘I beg your pardon?’ said Alexander the Great.

‘Bucephalus – your horse. That was his name.’

‘Was it?’ said Alexander the Great. He slapped his thigh and gave Napoleon a dazzling grin. ‘How exciting! It must have been great to ride about across the world and conquer things. But yes, Napoleon, I remember now, and he was a lovely horse, very keen on sugar lumps.’

Alexander the Great strode back and forth across the room while a couple of Greek soldiers unfurled a map
of the Ancient World. ‘Observe, Napoleon – the world of my day. Do you recall the siege of Termessos?’

Napoleon sat up in bed. ‘I do! It’s one of my favourite battles! It was a masterpiece of strategy, because even though you lost, you understood the …’

‘Excuse me, it’s my story,’ interrupted Alexander the Great. ‘Yes, I marched my armies to the city and surrounded it. We besieged its walls, but soon I realised that Termessos was impregnable. There was no way I could win and if it had been a
man
rather than a city, it would have been the
better man
in this instance. So I effectively surrendered to the better man.’

‘You
could
put it like that,’ said Napoleon doubtfully.

‘I do,’ said Alexander, ‘and by conceding this battle, I went on to win many more and got my name in all the history books, so ultimately it was a good thing. If I had wasted my time on fighting a hopeless lost cause I might not be here to tell you this today. Heed these words! And on that note, here’s your second visitor from the past.’

Alexander opened the wardrobe and waved another figure forward. This general was preceded by a small crowd of scruffy-looking men whooping and riding brooms as if they were horses.

‘Make way, my Mongol hordes! Make way for your captain, the terrible Genghis Khan!’ Genghis Khan rode through the Mongols on his broom, knocked over a vase and did a little pantomime where he pretended his horse was out of control. For some reason, Genghis Khan wore
a ten-gallon hat and had a long thin moustache sprouting from on top of another moustache. He also had a magnificent beard and a pleasant, open face which looked quite sleepy, as if Genghis Khan would normally be in bed at this time of night.

‘Yee ha!’ said Genghis Khan. He threw his cowboy hat into the air and shot it with a pistol. ‘Howdy, pardner. I’m Genghis Khan. Way back in the olden days, I pillaged my way across Asia, Europe and I think India as well. My horsemen rode across the prairies, causing trouble and making mayhem.’

‘Of course, Genghis,’ said Napoleon. ‘I know all about it. I’ve spent years studying your campaigns. You were my specialist subject at General Academy.’

‘Then you will know my greatest mistake, Napoleon Bonaparte. The mistake that cost me my life and my reputation, leaving me as nothing more than an academic footnote of interest only to boring history students who don’t get invited to parties. Yes, if I could live my life again I would be a good deal less stubborn. I never retreated and that, alas, was my downfall.’

‘Never retreated? Yes, you did, Genghis. That was the whole point of being a Mongol, you’d attack people and then dash off on horses, then come back and fight a bit more and then ride off again. You
invented
that kind of fighting.’

Genghis Khan played with the ends of his moustache and thought for a moment. ‘Is that what they’re telling
you in the future? Aarrr. That’ll be because history is written by the victor, whereas I was the loser on account of my inability to retreat. And look at me now, you scurvy knave – I’m dead! Remember this. Remember. REMEMBER!’

With that Genghis Khan galloped back into the wardrobe. Napoleon yawned, and glanced at his bedside clock. ‘Who’s the third general, ant with a scarf? Ideally I’d like to meet Boudicca or Sun Tzu. Is that possible?’