Bowing first to Murat, he let the Marshal leave the room. Limping out after him, he paused at the door to turn to Laurence and say, in a clear voice, ‘Allow me to express again the thanks of His Imperial Majesty's government, Monsieur Laurence. And to once again assure you that Emperor has not forgotten her debt of gratitude.’

The graceful words cut him worse than knives. His pain was incidental, of that Laurence was bitterly sure. Talleyrand had aimed the remark at ministers, to discredit any report Laurence might have brought. ‘Your government, Monsieur,’ Laurence said, ‘owes me nothing. I did not act for their sake.’

Talleyrand only smiled gently and half-bowed again before he left the room.

‘By God, the impudence,’ Wellesley said savagely, scarcely waiting until the door had shut, and in no low voice. ‘That arrogant pig— Son of an innkeeper and a whore, and married to another; that, to be king of Britain—’

‘They have made no such suggestion,’ Lord Eldon began. He was Lord Chancellor, having risen to the peerage as a notable lawyer, and thence to the Tory government for his steadfast opposition to Catholic emancipation.

‘Do you imagine that upstart parvenu's circle being content with mealy-mouthed governorship?’ Wellesley said. ‘Give him six months, and it will be King Murat, as soon as he has taken the Army and the Navy to pieces.’

‘No, the terms are unacceptable,’ Perceval said, without great conviction. ‘But these are only a beginning position—’

‘They are an insult from first to last,’ Wellesley said, ‘and ought to be rejected out of hand.’

‘One of his proposals, at least,’ another minister interjected, ‘gentlemen, I beg we consider its merits, and may I urge that a swift decision be taken to Their Majesties in Halifax, with all haste and all necessary considerations for their security?’

‘Defeatist nonsense,’ Wellesley snapped. ‘Bonaparte is not coming anywhere near Scotland before spring, no matter what we do.’

‘Our scouts have reported his soldiers all over the north of England.’

‘Foraging,’ Wellesley said, ‘in small parties. We have two dozen outposts and garrisoned castles between London and Edinburgh, and he cannot march his army past them.’

‘Surely the risk ought not to be run. Bonaparte went from Berlin to Warsaw on the eve of winter—’

‘Because half the garrison commanders threw up their arms and surrendered at nothing more than a fanfare at their gates. I have more faith in our officers than that.’

‘The King is not a young man,’ Perceval said, breaking into the increasing heat of Wellesley's exchange with the minister, ‘nor in the best of health—’

‘No one proposes that he should expose himself upon the battlefield,’ Wellesley said, ‘but he can still address the troops.’

Perceval paused, and heavily, quietly said, ‘The King is not well.’

No one spoke for a moment, then someone said to Wellesley. ‘If the Prince of Wales stays, or Prince William, and the King goes?’