The Iberian Flame

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Not forty miles from Paris, the Chateau de Fontainebleau lay in pompous repose. Before the Revolution its richly ornamented rooms had echoed to the pampered and carefree gaiety of the court of King Louis XVI. Now, a solemn and purposeful mood prevailed under its new occupant, Emperor Napoleon Bonaparte.

The palace was ancient and vast, set among magnificent gardens and fountains. A pale stone edifice, it was filled to breath-taking resplendence with loot seized from every conquered nation. A matchless display of pomp and imperial might, it also served as a receiving place for the procession of defeated kings, wavering allies and helpless supplicants, who made their way to the centre of power of the civilised world.

Sitting stiffly in the gilded and sculpted Salon de Reception, Eugenio Izquierdo was not immune to its overpowering effect. An envoy of the King of Spain, His Catholic Majesty Carlos IV, he was a loyal and valuable ally who could count on respect and honour. Yet he quaked to think that in a short while he would be called into the Grand Council Chamber to stand before the Emperor himself.

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