‘I will not,’ the old man said, querulously. ‘Is that you, Murat? Is that you?’ He peered at Laurence's face, touched his coat, and evidently satisfied, nodded. ‘You are not Napoleon, you are Murat. Are you here to kill me? Give me your arm,’ he said, abruptly peremptory, and taking a grip on Laurence's arm, leaned on him heavily. He had fixed his gaze on the chapel, and started determinedly to limp on towards it. ‘They all mean to kill me,’ he told Laurence, confidentially. ‘They are in there talking of it now. My son is with them.’ He sounded neither indignant nor afraid, rather as though he were sharing a piece of interesting gossip.

Laurence looked back at the tower and then at the old man again, at his profile; then recognition came. ‘Sire,’ Laurence said, low and wretchedly, ‘may I not help you inside? You ought not to be out in this weather.’ He pulled the ties of his own cloak, and shrugging it off managed to put it over the King's shoulders.

‘I will go to Windsor,’ the King said. ‘Napoleon is not there. Why may I not go to Windsor?’ He continued his unsteady progress towards the chapel, and Laurence had no choice but to pace him or let him go alone. ‘He is in London, he is in London. He is not in Windsor. I need not go to Halifax. It would be cowardly to go. Do you want me to go to Halifax?’ he demanded. ‘My son wants me to go. He wishes me to die on the ocean.’

‘I would wish to see you safe, Sire,’ Laurence said, ‘as I am sure would he.’

‘I will not go,’ the King said. ‘I will die in England.

’ The door was flung open again. Frightened servants hurried out with cloak and umbrella to hold over him, and coax him back within. They gave Laurence no more than a glance, and he stepped back to let them work. The King's voice rose in protest over their insistent hands, and then died away again into muttering confusion as he let himself be drawn gradually back inside.

‘Poor old fellow,’ the sergeant said, coming close to peer after them, for a glimpse inside the tower. ‘Gone out of his head, I suppose. Who was he?’

Laurence stood in the courtyard behind the closing door, rain running down his sleeves and his face said aloud, ‘O God, I wish I had not done it.’

PART III

Chapter Thirteen

Temeraire pulled close around himself, his tail coiled snugly around his body, and tried without much success to sleep. There were a great many things he did not want to think about, but so long as he continued awake, they clamoured for his attention.