Текст книги "Young bloods"

Автор книги: Simon Scarrow

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'Lucky man. That'll mean an extra two shillings a day. And a new regiment.' Braithwaite crumpled his napkin. 'Confound it, man! That'll mean having to find another ensign for the 73rd.You might have told me about this before.'

Arthur raised the letter. 'Sir, this is the first I knew about it. My brother has arranged it.'

'Your brother? Can't have bloody relatives making a man's career for him. Does he do this sort of thing often?'

'You can't imagine,' Arthur smiled wearily.

'Still, eh? Ireland. Dublin Castle is where you'll be. But, of course, I was forgetting.' Braithwaite thrust his fork in Arthur's direction. 'You're from Ireland. An Irishman. I imagine it'll be just like going home, eh?'

Arthur stiffened. 'Sir, being born in Ireland no more makes me an Irishman than being born in a barn makes one a horse.' Then he smiled. 'But it is a home of sorts.'

Back to Ireland. It was over eight years since he had left. His mind filled with memories, flashes of images of Dangan, Dr Buckleby, his father awkwardly swiping at a shuttlecock in the great hall… So long ago, it seemed. When he returned to the island, it would be as a very different person from the boy who had left it so reluctantly all those years ago.

Chapter 36

France, 1786

The cannon trials at the arsenal at Nantes proved to be an interesting diversion for Napoleon. Nearly every other country in Europe was equipped with heavier calibre guns. One of the generals at the Ministry of War had decided that the army needed to investigate the possibility of re-equipping the artillery to match the wider standard. Of course, such an undertaking was expensive and a number of foundries had been asked to submit cannon for testing. For nearly two weeks Napoleon and over a hundred other officers of various ranks from across the army observed the submitted weapons being put through their paces.

The sampled weapons performed well enough, particularly a gun designed to be drawn by a team of horses for swift deployment on the battlefield. Napoleon was immediately intrigued by the possibilities of such a weapon. Even though the artillery officers were impressed by the weapons on offer, the cavalry and infantry officers were not. Any programme to replace the existing weapons would be bound to result in less expenditure on the other elements of the army.With no agreement possible, the trials were concluded and everyone returned to his unit.

Napoleon quickly grew accustomed to life in the garrison town of Valence. The daily round of duties became less onerous as he became more efficient in his dealings with the men and equipment.When he was off duty, the lack of any private income was a constant source of frustration. He simply could not afford to spend every evening drinking with Alexander and the other officers. This became something of a contentious issue between them, particularly following the promotion of an officer in another battalion. The man in question had no obvious military talent, but made up for it with an unparalleled pedigree that saw him rise to the rank of lieutenant colonel at an indecently young age.

'That's how it is,' Alexander shrugged, as they sat in the officers' mess of the regimental headquarters. 'There's no point in getting angry and bitter about it.'

'Why not?' Napoleon snapped back. 'It's absurd. And it's wrong.'

'Wrong?'

'Yes.' Napoleon leaned forward in his chair. 'And this is not about jealousy, before you throw that into the argument. It's about simple justice and – more importantly – it's about what's good for the army.'

'Really? Would Lieutenant Buona Parte care to explain why his judgement is superior to that of all the generals and ministers of His Majesty?'

Some of the officers in the mess were looking round at them and Napoleon was tempted to end the discussion there and then. But some devil within prompted him to continue, 'Mark my words, Alexander. This cannot be allowed to go on. And not just in the army. One day the aristocrats will have to renounce all their advantages and give other Frenchmen a chance to prove themselves.'

'And if they don't?'

'Then their powers will have to be taken from them.'

'Really?' Alexander laughed. 'Who by? The peasants? The factory owners? Or will it all come down to one Corsican with a particular zeal for reform, I wonder.'

Napoleon forced himself not to respond to the slight and returned to his original point. 'All I am saying is that the current situation is intolerable. It can't, and won't, continue. You have as much chance to read the news from Paris as I have. The people have had enough. All that matters for us is to decide which side we are on.'

'Side?' Alexander laughed.'You make it sound like this is going to lead to war.'

'It might.'

'In which case, which side will you take, Napoleon?'

It was a good question, and now that it had been asked Napoleon was not sure.True, his sympathies were with the people who aimed to modernise France; through them the dream of an independent Corsica might one day come true. On the other hand, he had sworn an oath to the King of France and saw that any fundamental change in the way France was governed might descend into chaos – or worse, the civil war that Alexander alluded to.

'Well, Napoleon?'

He shifted in his chair. 'I don't know. I'd have to wait and see what was at stake before I took sides.'

Alexander laughed again, and this time some of the other officers joined in.

'The regimental hothead has wilted!' someone called out, and the laughter intensified while a few others jeered. Napoleon flushed angrily. A year ago, he would have flown at them with clenched fists, but such behaviour was not tolerated in adult company. Besides, the risks of such a confrontation were far higher now. If he caused enough offence it was possible that one of the other officers might call him out. Napoleon was realistic enough to know that his chances of winning a duel by sword or pistol were not good. So he bit back on his anger, rose from his chair and thrust out his hand to Alexander.

'I have to go. I have work to do. I bid you good night, Alexander.'

His friend stared back at him for a moment before he stood and shook his hand. 'Good night, Buona Parte.'

The other officers fell silent as he strode through the mess towards the door. Napoleon felt their gaze fix on him like needles and had to resist the urge to walk even faster.Then he was out of the room, and descending the steps into the hall of the building, then out into the cool evening air. Behind him the sound of voices in the mess slowly rose to its former level as he made his way back to his room at the house of Mademoiselle Bou, who had inherited her late husband's home.

Much of Napoleon's spare time was spent reading. Histories were his favourite passion, but more recently he had become interested in political theory and philosophy. Rousseau's works appeared on his shelves alongside the works of Pliny, Tacitus and Herodotus. There was even room for some books on English history, and Napoleon was fascinated by the way in which the English parliament had secured its ascendancy over the throne. If it could be done in an intellectually backward nation like England, then why not France? When Napoleon was not reading he penned essays on artillery tactics, ripostes to Plato and, once he had discovered a copy of Boswell's history of Corsica, he began to plan his own history of the island.

He wrote quickly, in his spidery scrawl, well into the night by the light of a single candle, which was all he could afford. Occasionally he was disturbed by the raucous cries of the drinkers at the Cafe Corde next door, and felt pangs of anger and despair whenever he recognised the voices of the other young officers of the regiment.

Chapter 37

The months passed with a slowness that Napoleon found unbearable and he went about his monotonous duties with a growing sense of frustration, until the morning he was woken by a pounding on his door. He sat up, blinking the sleep away as he struggled to clear his mind. It was still dark outside the window. 'What the hell's going on?'

'Lieutenant Buona Parte?' a voice called from the other side of the door.

'Come in!'

The door opened to reveal one of the gunners from his company. The man bowed his head apologetically.

'What do you want?' Napoleon yawned.

'Urgent message, sir.'

'What is it?'

'The colonel wants all the officers of our battalion at headquarters as soon as possible, sir.'

Napoleon swung his legs over the side of the bed and reached for his clothes. 'Tell him I'm on my way.'

Out in the street the dark figures of men in uniform hurried through the dim pre-dawn light, making for the regiment's headquarters. Napoleon wondered if this was some elaborate exercise to see how quickly the regiment could be made ready to march. As he reached the barracks and walked quickly through the gates he saw, by the light of dozens of torches mounted on wall brackets, that the men of his battalion were already gathering their marching kit and forming up in their companies on the parade ground. Lights glowed in the windows of the headquarters building and he quickened his pace as he approached the steps leading up to the entrance. Inside the mess, the other officers were sitting or standing around the room. Spotting Alexander leaning against a wall, Napoleon threaded his way through the crowd towards him.

'What's happening?'

Alexander shrugged. 'No idea. Just got the summons to headquarters. '

'Where's the colonel?'

'Haven't seen him. I just hope this is a drill. There's a certain bed I want to get back to before someone else slips into my place.'

A commotion at one end of the room drew their attention and a sergeant major stepped into the room and bellowed, 'Commanding officer present!'

The rumble and scrape of chairs died away as the colonel stepped through the door and strode briskly to the end of the room, where he turned to face his officers. He cleared his throat and began the briefing.

'The battalion is moving out at once. Serious rioting broke out three days ago in Lyons. It seems that it began in the silk workers' district over a pay dispute. They burned the factory, then moved on and broke into a wine warehouse. Before the local authorities could take control of the situation the rioting had spread right across the city.There seems to be a hard core of radicals who claim to be in charge of the mob.They have occupied the town hall and have started to issue proclamations calling for a more general rising of the poor in the surrounding countryside. So the mayor has called in the army.The 34th regiment of infantry is already on its way from St-Etienne. We're to join them in a supporting role. We won't need the cannon. Just the sight of our uniforms and a few muskets should bring those troublemakers to their senses.Any questions?'

Napoleon glanced round at the other officers before he raised his hand.

'Yes, Lieutenant?'

'Sir, if these people don't come to their senses, or if we are attacked, what force are we permitted to use? What are the rules, if engaged?'

The colonel nodded. 'Good question. If you find yourselves in a situation that endangers your troops you have permission to use the bayonet. If that fails you may fire live rounds. Obviously, you must be the judge of the appropriate level of response. You can knock a few heads together if they hurl abuse, but if they hurl anything else they're fair game.' He turned his gaze away from Napoleon and surveyed his officers briefly. 'Gentlemen, there seems to be a tide of dissent rising up across France. The servile classes have been kept in check for many centuries. We cannot afford to let the situation in Lyons set a precedent.When order is restored I want people across the land to be aware of the swift and thorough manner that such disturbances are dealt with. Do I make myself clear?'

The battalion left Valence as dawn was breaking. Captain Des Mazis came out of headquarters to bid his brother farewell, and to exact a promise from Napoleon to look after him. Then the column marched from the barracks in silence, since the colonel did not want to risk attracting attention to their departure. If word of the purpose of their mission leaked out on to the streets ofValence, it was possible that there were enough radical hotheads in the city to follow the example of the rioters in Lyons.

It took three days to march up the Rhone valley to Lyons, and as they approached the line of the city walls the men of the Regiment de la Fere could see thin trails of smoky haze drifting up from several locations inside the city.They were met at the city gate by a captain of the 34th, who looked tired and was pleased to see the reinforcements as he presented himself to the colonel.

'Sir, your men are to deploy immediately. My regiment is clearing the streets on the other side of the Saone, but there's been trouble on this bank.There's a mob sacking the merchant district. The mayor wants you to deal with it.'

'Very well,' the colonel acknowledged. 'My compliments to the mayor. Tell him we'll move against the mob immediately.'

The captain saluted and turned away to hurry back to his regiment.The colonel called his officers forward to give his orders as the rest of the men set down their packs and prepared for action, carefully loading their muskets. There was no time for a detailed plan and the colonel simply told his officers to go in hard against any of the townspeople who dared to oppose them.

With bayonets fixed, the men of the La Fere regiment marched into the town. The street ahead of them was almost deserted. Only a few individuals dared to venture out of their homes, and they scuttled back inside at the sound of the nailed boots tramping down the cobbled streets. Napoleon glimpsed faces at windows snatching glances at the soldiers as the column passed by. As they reached the wealthier neighbourhood down by the river, the houses became grander and more impressive, and from some distance ahead came the sound of many people shouting in anger. Napoleon instinctively reached for the handle of his sword and was aware that his throat had gone quite dry.

Then the column emerged from the houses into a large square with a small park at the centre. The windows of every building that faced on to the square were shattered and most of the doors had been beaten in. Hundreds of people were cheerfully carrying off furniture, crockery, pans and bundles of clothing. Here and there a few of the braver, or more foolish, of the householders were struggling to retrieve their property, only to be beaten to the ground by the mob. The body of an overweight man in fine clothes hung from the branch of a tree in the centre of the park. As the mob became aware of the arrival of the soldiers they melted back towards the far end of the square. The colonel deployed his men in a line facing the crowd and took up position behind the centre company. A tense silence filled the air, until the colonel's blade rasped from its scabbard and he thrust the tip towards the mob.

'Advance!'

As the line tramped forward the spell was broken and a chorus of enraged shouts rose up from the dense mass of the townspeople. Napoleon, marching at the end of his company, gritted his teeth and drew his sword. As the soldiers advanced, they trampled over the spoils that had been left in the street. Amongst the ruined clothes and broken furniture lay a handful of bodies and many injured, but Napoleon could not stop to help them. A man sitting on a battered chest glanced up as the soldiers edged round him. His face was bruised and there were scratches across his cheek from where one of the rioters had gouged him. He stared blankly at Napoleon for an instant and then the line of soldiers had passed on.

Something clattered close by and Napoleon saw a chunk of stone rebound from the cobbles before it glanced off his boot. Then more missiles were flying as the soldiers came within range of the mob. Cobblestones, bottles and pieces of wood arced through the air. A small jar shattered against the face of a man close to Napoleon and with a cry of pain the soldier drew up, grounding his musket and clutching his spare hand to his face as blood coursed from a large tear across his forehead. As the soldiers closed in on the mob the shouting rose to a terrible din and more missiles found their targets, knocking some of the soldiers down and leaving small gaps in the line, which were quickly filled by men in the following ranks.

'Halt!' the colonel bellowed. 'Halt!'

The line drew up as the order was swiftly relayed. The mob jeered and continued bombarding the soldiers.

'Advance muskets!'

The tips of the bayonets swept down towards the mob and the rioters suddenly realised the danger they were in.Those closest to the soldiers edged away, pushing back into the crowd.

'Prepare to fire!'

The soldiers raised the muskets and stared straight down the barrels at the faces of the crowd in front of them. There was a deathly hush for an instant, broken by the terrified wail of a woman somewhere just in front of Napoleon.

'Fire!'

The volley exploded from the muzzles in a dense swirl of smoke and myriad stabs of flame. Napoleon flinched as the roar of hundreds of muskets rang in his ears and echoed back off the buildings lining the square. The colonel did not wait to see the effects of the volley but immediately cried the order to charge and his men lowered their weapons and ran forward through the bank of smoke. The volley had been fired at point-blank range into a dense mass of humanity and scarcely a shot had missed. Bodies lay crumpled and writhing along the edge of the crowd – men, women and children. But there was no time to reflect on the carnage as Napoleon and his men scrambled over the dead and injured and plunged into the crowd. All thought of defiance had been swept away by the volley and the people ran for their lives, pushing each other aside and trampling over the fallen. The soldiers thrust their bayonets into the mob with total abandon, cutting down scores of the rioters as they tried to escape. Napoleon slowly stepped over the bodies, sword raised, ready to defend himself. He was still in the grip of the first flush of horror at the carnage surrounding him and could only look on as the other soldiers continued their slaughter.

It did not last long, and within minutes the mob had fled, leaving the square to the men of Napoleon's regiment, and the dead and dying of the Lyons mob.The soldiers stood amongst the bodies, wide-eyed with excitement, as the blood dripped from their bayonets. A sergeant, standing near to Napoleon shook his head, as if to clear it of a red mist, and stared at the tangle of limbs and splashes of blood at his feet.

'My God,' he muttered. 'My God, what have we done?'

The disorder was over the moment word of what had happened spread through the streets of Lyons. The mayor imposed a strict curfew on the working-class districts while parties of troops searched house to house looking for ringleaders They had the names, since there was always someone willing to sell out his neighbours for a small reward, and so order was restored to the city.

Only when the mayor was satisfied that the lesson had been learned did he permit the battalion to return to Valence.The men were glad to quit the place and breathed more easily once they had passed out of the city gates and left the unhappy people of Lyons far behind. Napoleon was aware of a subdued mood in his company that lasted throughout the march back to Valence, and even after they had returned to the comfortably familiar surroundings of the barracks. As soon as the men were settled, Napoleon hurried back to his quarters.

There was a letter waiting for him, the address penned with his mother's familiar uneven handwriting. He held the letter in his hands a moment before tearing it open and reading the contents.

The next day Napoleon asked the colonel for a leave of absence. He told him about the letter and explained that since the death of his father the family's finances had suffered greatly. His family needed him urgently.

'How long has it been since you were last home, Lieutenant?'

'Over seven years, sir.'

The colonel looked at the officer and realised that he had been no more than a child at the time. So many years away from his home. Away from his family. He had not seen the sisters and brothers that had been born after he had left Corsica as a child. The colonel was human enough to guess at the personal consequences of such a long absence and immediately gave his permission.

'I'll give you until March next year. Will that suffice?'

'That's very generous, sir. Thank you.'

'Be sure to make the most of it, Buona Parte. After that business in Lyons I rather fear that our services are going to be required far more often in the years to come.'

'Yes, sir.'

'When will you go?'

'As soon as possible, sir, if I may.'

'I don't see why not. There's a new probationer joining the battalion tomorrow. He can take up your position.You can leave as soon as you wish.You might as well go and pack.'

Back at his lodgings, Napoleon surveyed the meagre possessions that he had accrued in the years he had spent in France.There was his uniform, some spare clothes, most of which were threadbare; two pairs of boots, one second-hand pair of dancing shoes and his graduation sword from the Royal Military School of Paris. Over on the bookshelves were the only things he really prized: scores of technical volumes, histories, scientific studies, and philosophical tracts, none of which he could bear to be parted with. So they went into his trunk first, and filled it to capacity so that all the other possessions had to be squeezed into a small valise.

There were several barges preparing to head down the Rhone towards Marseilles and he booked passage on the first to leave. As the crew eased the vessel away from the wharf and into the current Napoleon climbed up on to the cabin roof and sat down. He stared back at Valence as it receded into the distance, and felt a peculiar hollowness inside. He would be returning to the regiment in a few months' time. But he had the strange feeling that he was leaving something behind for good. He was leaving behind the years that had turned him from a boy into a man. He was going home, and yet nothing there would be the same as the memory of it he had carried in his mind all this time.

And there was some other sentiment plaguing him. He tried to pin it down as the barge followed the course of the river towards the distant sea. At last he grasped it, the source of his profound melancholy. The truth of it, he realised, was that he felt himself to be defined by negatives. He was neither the boy he once was nor the man he desired to be, he was neither French nor Corsican, he was neither aristocrat nor worker.The world had yet to find a place for him. Until then, he would try to find some comfort in the arms of his family, at his home in Corsica.