Текст книги "Fire and Sword"
Автор книги: Simon Scarrow
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Текущая страница: 2 (всего у книги 44 страниц)
‘Yes, sire,’ Talleyrand replied softly, through clenched teeth. ‘I understand perfectly.’
Napoleon stared intently at his foreign minister for a moment and then suddenly smiled and waved his hands dismissively. ‘Come now! That is that. Let us not talk of philosophies any longer, but of practicalities. At the present I no more desire war than you do. But one must guard against eventualities.’
‘Of course, sire.’
‘Then we must induce our friends, the Austrians, to believe that there is no advantage to be gained from waging war against us.We have driven them from Italy’s domains. Now is the time to let them know that France is the new and permanent master of the kingdoms of Italy.’
‘Sire?’
‘I want you to make arrangements for another coronation.’ Napoleon tilted his head back. ‘No later than the end of spring, I shall be crowned King of Italy. And we shall extend all the benefits of our civil code and governance to the natives of that land. In short, we shall make Frenchmen of them as soon as possible, so that they will never again have to endure being ruled by Austria.’
‘King of Italy?’ Talleyrand mused. ‘That is your will, sire?’
‘It is. See to it that preparations are begun at once.’
‘Yes, sire.’
‘You may go now,Talleyrand. I have finished my business in Paris for a few days. If you need me, I shall be at Malmaison with the Empress and my family.’
‘Yes, sire.’ Talleyrand paused. ‘And the other matter, sire?’
‘Other matter?’
‘The question of opening negotiations with Britain?’
‘There will be no negotiations. Britain wants war, and war she shall have.’
Talleyrand nodded sadly and left the room, limping on his deformed leg. Once the door had closed behind the foreign minister, Napoleon’s expression hardened. Much as he valued his diplomatic skills, he did not trust Talleyrand. The smooth charm and faintly mocking tone of his voice left Napoleon feeling bitter and angry, a sentiment the Emperor was obliged to conceal as much as possible in order to retain the foreign minister’s services. All the same, he decided that he would have the man watched more closely by Fouché’s spies. While Napoleon had little doubt that Talleyrand was a patriot, that sense of patriotism was tied to a very particular notion of France’s best interests, one that did not conform to Napoleon’s plans for the empire.
One thing was certain, however. Britain must be destroyed. Thanks to the improvident twenty miles of sea that separated France from the cliffs of Dover, there was only one way to crush the enemy: the British navy must be swept from the Channel so that Napoleon could lead the Grand Army in an invasion of Britain and dictate peace terms in London itself.
Chapter 3
‘Well, why shouldn’t I have ten new pairs of shoes?’ Josephine frowned as she poured herself a fresh cup of coffee and then hesitated over a plate of pastries until her fingers alighted on a slender length of biscuit drizzled with honey. Holding it delicately between forefinger and thumb she raised it to her lips and took a bite, chewing for a moment before she continued. ‘After all, I am the Empress, and it would not reflect well on you if I were seen in public in some threadbare sackcloth and a battered pair of clogs. Besides, you can afford it.’
They were alone in the private sitting room overlooking the gardens at the rear of the château. Outside, dusk was settling over the countryside and it was chilly enough to warrant the fire that glowed in the grate, occasionally emitting a sudden crack or hiss from the latest log to be tossed on to the embers. Napoleon was flicking through a tray of correspondence that was resting on his lap. He tapped another letter.
‘And here’s another. From a supplier of curtains in Lyons . . . Five bales of silk.’ Napoleon’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Five bales of silk! Good God, do you know what he has charged you for that?’
Josephine shrugged.
Napoleon sighed as he nodded down at the letters piled on the tray. ‘Most of these are from suppliers to the imperial household. Aside from the silk, they mention shoes, hats, dresses, horses, furniture, wine, cakes . . . In every case they respectfully state that the account has yet to be settled.’
‘They had better be respectful, the little ingrates.’ Josephine sniffed. ‘After I have gone to the effort of appointing them to supply the imperial household with their wares.You’d think they would be sensible of the honour I do them.’
They still have to be paid,’ Napoleon admonished her. ‘They are not charities.And you must not continue like this. I could equip an infantry brigade on what you spend on petty indulgences each month. It has got to stop, before this profligacy damages our reputation.’
‘How can it? That little weevil Fouché controls all the news that gets into the papers. He’s hardly going to permit the publication of any gossip that undermines his master.’
‘Gossip is spread by tongues just as easily as it is through the newspapers, ’ Napoleon countered wearily. ‘And I will not have people grumbling about you not paying your debts.’
‘Well, it’s your own fault,’ Josephine said petulantly. ‘If you would give me enough to make ends meet you would not have to deal with those petty misers and their petulant complaints.’
‘A good wife knows how to live within her budget.’
‘What’s that?’ Josephine sneered. ‘Another pithy bit of Corsican wisdom from your mother?’
‘I warned you before.You will respect my mother. Especially while she is under my roof.’
It had been over a month since Letizia Bonaparte had joined the imperial household, having recovered from her illness.
‘That’s another thing,’ Josephine added. ‘How long is she staying?’
‘As long as she wishes.’
‘Of course.’ Josephine chuckled humourlessly. ‘She makes herself at home here, and spends the days finding fault with almost everything I say or do. She despises me, and I know she drips poison about me into your ear at every opportunity.’
‘Enough!’ Napoleon snapped as he flung the correspondence at his wife.The tray struck the platter of pastries and the fine porcelain and its contents tumbled from the table to shatter on the floor. Josephine jumped back in her seat, eyes wide with fright. There were still crumbs on her lips as she swallowed nervously, staring at her husband. Napoleon rose up, stepped towards her and leaned in close, stabbing a finger to emphasise his words.
‘You will not speak in that manner again, do you hear me?’
‘Yes, husband.’ Her voice trembled. ‘As you wish.’
‘That’s right.’ He nodded.‘As I wish.You will be polite and respectful to my mother, and the rest of my family, whatever they may say to you. In spite of everything, deep inside I am still a Corsican, and my family matters to me more than you can ever know. Understand?’
Josephine nodded, clutching both hands to her breast.The tears were already welling up in her eyes as she watched her husband fearfully. For a moment Napoleon glared back; then he let out a deep sigh and reached down and gently took her hands in his.
‘I am sorry. My temper is not what it was. I have much on my mind. I have little patience for the small details that every husband must attend to. Forgive me.’ He lowered his head and kissed her fingers.
Josephine nodded, and her chest heaved a little as she strove to control her tears. ‘It’s my fault. I know I should show her more respect, but . . . she hates me. As do all your family. They have always hated me. I can’t bear it.’
‘Hush.’ Napoleon cupped her cheek in his hand. ‘No one hates you. They’re Corsicans with Corsican morals.’ Napoleon’s mind momentarily flicked to his sister Pauline and the scandalous manner in which she conducted herself. Her numerous affairs were public knowledge. But she had always been promiscuous. Napoleon winced at the memory of catching her with a grenadier behind a screen in his map room during his first campaign in Italy, nine years ago. He shook his head. ‘Most of them, at least. Anyway, you will not have to endure my family for much longer.’
‘Oh?’
Napoleon smiled. ‘We’re leaving France for two, perhaps three, months.’
‘Leaving France?’ Josephine responded warily.‘Not another campaign?’
‘Not unless Britain has decided to invade Italy.’
‘Italy!’ Josephine’s expression lightened at once as she recalled the days of Napoleon’s first army command, the almost regal court at the palace at Montebello where her days had been carefree and she had been surrounded by the brightest minds and most vivacious personalities of the Italian kingdoms. ‘When do we leave?’
‘Within the month.’ Napoleon smiled. ‘Just be sure not to order any new clothes for the journey that you can’t afford.’
‘Swine!’ Josephine swatted him on the shoulder, then her expression became serious for a moment. She wrapped her arms round his neck and drew him down on to the chair and kissed him full on the mouth. Her pulse quickened and then his hands were on the straps that fastened her bodice.
‘It will be like last time,’ she breathed. ‘No, better than last time we were together in Italy. I swear it.’
Napoleon softly grazed his lips down the arc of her neck towards the soft mound of her breast, and out of the corner of his eye he saw from the clock ticking above the fire that there would be time to make love before dressing for dinner with his family.
Usually Napoleon regarded eating as a necessary evil and ate swiftly before returning to his work. But not tonight. Around the table sat his wife, his brothers Joseph and Lucien, his sisters Caroline and Pauline, and at the far end of the table his mother, Letizia.When the main course was served and the servants had retreated from the room and quietly closed the doors behind them, Caroline cleared her throat.
‘I hear you are to visit Italy.’
Josephine started a little at the statement and glanced hurriedly at Napoleon, who forced himself to keep his surprise in check as he asked, ‘Where did you hear that?’
‘From my husband. Joachim had it from his chief of staff.’
‘Really?’ Napoleon raised an eyebrow. Marshal Joachim Murat was the Emperor’s most talented cavalry commander, but like most of his kind he was inclined to swagger about and be indiscreet. If he had heard the news of the pending tour of Italy, then there was every chance that it was the talk of half the salons in Paris.
He nodded at his sister. ‘Very well then, since the secret is out, yes, it is true. I intend to make a tour of our territories in Italy.’
‘Is it also true that you are to be crowned King of Italy?’
That could only have come from Talleyrand, Napoleon realised at once. But why would he spread knowledge of Napoleon’s plans? Perhaps to forewarn any would-be assassins? The thought was no sooner in his head than Napoleon forced himself to dismiss it. Since the bloody attempt on his life four years earlier he had been inclined to see threats everywhere, but he realised he could not run his life effectively if he lived in a state of fear.
‘It is true, Caroline.’
At the other end of the table his mother laughed humourlessly. ‘Another coronation? Do you collect crowns, my son?’
Napoleon laughed, and the others followed suit for a moment, finally clearing the air of some of the tension that had hung over the dinner table since the meal had begun.
‘I am prepared to collect crowns when it is expedient to do so, Mother. However, it would be unseemly to overindulge in such acquisitions.’
‘Especially for one who was such an ardent Jacobin not so many years ago,’ Lucien added quietly.
Napoleon turned to his younger brother with a weary expression. Lucien had always been the most radical of his siblings, dangerously so.
Lucien sipped his wine and continued. ‘Do you remember, brother, when we overthrew the Directory and you became First Consul?’
‘I do.’
‘And do you recall that I drew my sword and swore an oath that if ever you betrayed France and became a tyrant I would plunge that blade into your heart myself ?’
‘I remember it.’
‘Now you are Emperor, and about to take another crown.’ He raised his glass in mock salute. ‘That makes rather a mockery of my oath, wouldn’t you say?’
‘It would, if I had become a tyrant,’ Napoleon replied evenly.‘But the people voted for me to become Emperor, and that makes me the embodiment of their will. In that case, I am no tyrant, and your honour is intact.’
‘A lawyer would find no problem with that form of words,’ Lucien conceded. ‘But my oath is honoured in the letter rather than the spirit.’
‘As you will, Lucien. But times have changed. The revolution was descending into chaos before we ended the Directory. Since then France has had order.’
‘True, but we have traded order for freedom.’
‘That may be, but do you really think it matters to the vast majority of the people? They need employment.They need bread, and more than anything they need a sense of stability. All of which it is my intention to provide. It all depends on what you mean by freedom, Lucien.’ Napoleon paused as his mind enlarged on the idea. ‘For you, and me, and those who frequent the salons, it is an ideal, and like all ideals it is a luxury. The only freedom that matters to the common people is the freedom from suffering.’
Lucien frowned, shook his head and stared down at the food on his gilt-edged plate.‘If men are not to aspire to ideals, Napoleon, then what distinguishes us from common beasts?’
‘There is always a place for ideals, and for those men who will discuss them and advance their cause. But such men are scarce and must be nurtured and raised up to privileged positions.’
‘In other words they must become aristocrats. It would seem that you are advocating a return to the evils of the Bourbons’ regime.’
Napoleon shrugged. ‘As long as a man has talent I won’t hold his background against him, even if he is a stuck-up prick like Talleyrand.’
Joseph laughed, and after glancing round at the shocked expressions on the faces of the women, Napoleon joined in.
Even Lucien smiled at the remark. ‘You have the measure of that man, brother.’
They raised their glasses to each other and took another draught of wine.
Letizia cleared her throat. ‘Of course, it is very fine that you provide such rewards for talented men, but how can you ensure that they will remain loyal to the new order? Can you trust men who would be so easily dazzled by the baubles you offer them?’
‘Of course, Mother. What greater spur to loyalty is there than the prospect of reward for good service?’
‘Family,’ she replied at once.‘There is no greater bond of loyalty than blood.’
Napoleon nodded. ‘And that is why I must elevate my family and friends to high positions in France, and in time place them amongst the ruling houses of the European powers, and perhaps on thrones of their own.’
‘You cannot be serious.’ Joseph chuckled. ‘You would make me a king?’
‘One day perhaps, and sooner than you might think.’
‘Preposterous!’ Joseph shook his head. ‘I was not born to be a king, any more than Lucien here, or Louis or Jérôme.’
‘I disagree,’ Napoleon replied. ‘Any one of my brothers is worth ten tsars, or any ruler placed on a throne by right of birth. Why, one only needs to look to Britain to see the proof of that. King George is insane, and his heir is an irresponsible libertine. Are there not a hundred, a thousand, better men in Britain with the ability to rule? So, when the time comes, I will make kings of you all.’
‘Whether we wish it or not?’ asked Lucien.
‘I need allies I can trust. As Mother says, what better bond is there than blood? Are you with me?’
Lucien thought for a moment, and shrugged. ‘You are my brother. Of course I am with you. As long as you are no tyrant.’
‘And you, Joseph?’
His older brother grinned and raised his glass. ‘To the bitter end.’
‘The only end I recognise is everlasting glory.’
‘Everlasting?’ Letizia pursed her lips and darted a glance at Josephine. ‘That will only happen if you produce a successor.Without an heir the whole thing falls apart.’
‘There will be an heir,’ Napoleon said firmly. ‘It’s just a matter of time.’
‘Time is very much the issue,’ his mother said. ‘You have been married for over ten years now. Josephine, remind me. How old are you?’
The Empress winced but did not reply as Letizia leaned towards her and tapped her finger on the table. ‘Forty-two, I seem to recall. Am I right?’
Josephine nodded.
‘Well, forgive me, my dear, but isn’t that a little late for child-bearing? ’
Napoleon rushed to his wife’s defence. ‘Older women have given birth to healthy children, Mother. There’s still time.’
Josephine stared at him across the table and said flatly,‘Older women? Thank you.’
‘You must have an heir,’ Letizia insisted.
‘And I will. Josephine has borne two healthy children—’
‘That was a long time ago.’
‘And she will produce more.’
‘When?’ Letizia asked sharply.
‘When the time is right, Mother.’
‘And if she doesn’t?’
‘She will,’ Napoleon countered fiercely, although he knew in his heart that there was little chance of it.
‘She has to, if she is to justify being the wife of the Emperor of France.’
‘That is enough!’ Josephine banged her hand down on the table, startling the others into silence. ‘I will not be spoken of in this manner. Do you understand? I will not. Tell her, Napoleon.’
Napoleon stared back at her, then glanced towards his mother.
Josephine’s lips quivered. ‘I will not take this! What right does she have to speak to me in this manner?’
‘What right?’ Letizia drew her thin frame up in her chair. ‘The right conferred on me by bringing thirteen children into this world, eight of whom have survived. Not just two.’
Josephine glared at her bitterly, then stood up abruptly. ‘Damn you! Damn all you Corsicans!’
She turned and strode towards the door as tears choked her chest. She flung the door open and slammed it behind her. There was a shocked silence, broken by the sound of her footsteps retreating up the corridor.
Caroline glanced round the table and muttered, ‘I always said she wasn’t good enough for Napoleon.’
‘Silence!’ Napoleon snapped at her. ‘You don’t know what you are talking about, you little fool. Is your memory so short? When we arrived in France we were fugitives with no home, no money, no influence. Josephine was the wife of a count, the confidante of the most powerful politicians in the capital, and men lost their hearts to her.Yet she chose mefor her husband.When I could barely afford the uniform on my back and I was living in a run-down slum. Do you have any idea what that means to me? I adored her. I still do,’ he added quickly. ‘With Josephine I can be myself. When I am surrounded by lesser men and lickspittles, only Josephine offers me honesty and understanding. I owe her my loyalty. And my love. So don’t you dare try to come between us.’
Caroline shrugged. ‘That’s all very well, but in return she owes you an heir, Napoleon. Where is your child?’
Napoleon’s expression darkened, but before he could respond his mother cut in.
‘Does it matter? That woman is clearly too old for child-bearing. There is only one solution to the problem and the sooner you face up to that the better, my son.’
Napoleon shook his head. ‘I will not do it. I will not.’
‘Not now, perhaps. But regardless of your feelings for her, you have an obligation to your people. There must be an imperial successor.’ Letizia wagged a finger at him. ‘Sooner or later, you must provide France with an heir to the throne. Especially if you go off to war again and place yourself in danger.’
‘Danger?’ Napoleon laughed. ‘Mother, have you not heard? I lead a charmed life.’
‘Your luck will not last for ever.’
‘Why not?’
Letizia shrugged.‘No man’s luck ever does. I’ve lived long enough to know that. And so you must have an heir.’
‘There will be time enough for that.’ Napoleon emptied his glass and pushed his chair away from the table, signifying that the meal was at an end.‘But first there is the small matter of crushing Britain, once and for all.’
Chapter 4
Arthur
London, September 1805
For Sir Arthur Wellesley the sight of London was welcome and familiar after six months at sea on the voyage from India. It had been almost nine years since he had last set foot in the capital and he could not help rising from his seat and leaning out of the window as the coach clattered to the top of a gentle hill from where there was a fine view of London’s sprawling houses, and glimpses of the gleaming Thames and a forest of masts from the shipping that brought raw materials and luxuries to Britain and carried her manufactured goods across the world.
Now, thanks to his efforts and those of his brother Richard, Britain’s wealth and power was enhanced by the vast swathe of Indian territories they had won. While Richard had served as Governor General, Arthur had won his spurs in the army, rising from the rank of colonel to that of major-general at the head of an army that had won a string of great victories. Finally, his achievements had been rewarded with a knighthood and he returned to Britain a man of experience, wealth and influence.
At thirty-six, he felt that he was at the height of his powers, and could serve his country well in its titanic struggle with France.When he had left Britain the enemy had been a revolutionary republic. Now France was an empire, ruled by the tyrant Bonaparte. With much time on his hands over the last six months, Arthur had read every newspaper that the ship had picked up in ports along the way and had followed the progress of Bonaparte from strength to strength. It was a staggering tale of success, Arthur admitted grudgingly. The man was clearly a phenomenal force of nature to have achieved so much so swiftly. It was a pity that Bonaparte’s qualities as general and statesman were not moderated by any desire for peace with his neighbouring kingdoms. At the end of the present war, Bonaparte would be master of the world, or France would be humbled. It was Britain’s duty, as Arthur saw it, to bring about that defeat, however long it took, however many millions of pounds it cost, and however many lives it claimed.
The first chills of autumn were some weeks off yet and so the sky above the city was only covered with a faint haze of sickly yellow smoke. Once winter set in, Arthur recalled, there would be a perpetual smear across the sky on still days as the smoke from tens of thousands of fires wrapped itself over London. For a moment he fondly recalled the fresh breezes that had accompanied his recent sea journey.The ship had docked in Portsmouth only two days earlier and he had not yet lost his sea legs. Each time he stepped down from the coach the ground felt strangely unsteady beneath his feet, as if he still stood on a wooden deck that rose and fell with monotonous regularity for days on end. There had been a few weeks of wild weather as the Indiaman had fought its way round the Southern Cape in rough seas, but for most of the voyage he had been able to rest and recover from the strains of several years of hard soldiering in India.
The sight of the city lightened his sober mood, and he smiled at the prospect of being reunited with his family and looking up scores of former friends. More important still, Arthur was keen to discover how things stood between him and Kitty, the young love he had left behind in Ireland.The infrequent communications between them over the last ten years were a poor basis from which to judge the true nature of her feelings towards him. And what would he make of her? Ten years might well have wrought a significant change in Kitty’s character, not to mention her looks. But it was not her looks that had first won his heart, Arthur reminded himself. It was that quirky vivaciousness of hers that set her apart from all the wide-eyed, demure and ultimately dull debutantes who decorated the social circle of Dublin Castle. If it remained undimmed, her personality would suit him admirably.The question was, how should Arthur proceed in the matter of winning her hand?
He had tried once before, some months prior to leaving for India, when he had asked her older brother, Tom, for permission to marry her. As a mere major, with little prospect of winning a fortune, and every prospect of a premature death, Arthur had had little to offer but love.To a practical man like Tom such an emotion was neither attractive nor desirable. And so he had refused Arthur’s request, despite the fact that Kitty had already given her heart to the young officer. In a last attempt to hold her affections Arthur had written a letter stating that his feelings for her would not change, and if he returned with rank and riches and she was still unwed, his offer of marriage would stand.
The coach began to follow the road down a gentle slope and the view of London was lost behind a line of trees, so Arthur eased himself back on to his seat opposite the considerable bulk of the other passenger travelling to London.The man was wearing a dark coat with a white lace stock woven with an intricate design.They had exchanged a bare formal greeting at the start of the journey and few words since. Mr Thomas Jardine had announced that he was a banker and had clearly never heard of the young major-general when Arthur had offered his name in return. Mr Jardine had bought a newspaper at the last stop. Now he folded it up and set it down on the leather seat beside him.
Arthur gestured towards the newspaper. ‘May I?’
‘Of course, sir. Be my guest.’
‘Thank you.’
Arthur picked up the newspaper and opened it out on his lap. One of the most prominent articles dealt with the preparations for battle by Britain’s naval hero, Admiral Lord Nelson. Arthur was already familiar with the most notable of the man’s exploits, namely his crushing victory over the French at Aboukir Bay, on the coast of Egypt. But Nelson was promising to eclipse even that with one of the largest fleets that the Royal Navy had ever amassed. Even now the warships were gathering at Portsmouth, loading shot, powder and supplies for a great test of arms against the combined navies of France and Spain.
Mr Jardine stirred. ‘Quite the man, eh?’
Arthur looked up, lowering the newspaper on to his lap. ‘Sir?’
‘Nelson. Britain’s best chance of humbling the frogs. Once he’s given them a sound thrashing, that’ll be the end of any talk of an invasion.’
‘Yes, I suppose so.’
‘Damned lucky thing we have the Royal Navy standing between us and Monsieur Bonaparte. If not for it, we’d all be forced to parler frog and eat the damned things before the year was out.’
‘Yes, we are indeed fortunate to have Nelson and the Navy.’ Arthur smiled. ‘But one should not forget the part played by the army in defending Britain.’
‘Of course.’ Jardine nodded, his cheeks wobbling.‘Though I dare say that even you would admit that our, er, valiant redcoats have had little chance to distinguish themselves in this war.’
Arthur’s smile faded. ‘I can assure you, sir, that the army has played its part as much as the Navy.’
‘Oh, come now, I meant no offence. I merely desired to point out that the burden of the war has largely fallen on the shoulders of our jack tars.You cannot deny it, sir.’
‘Can’t I?’ Arthur thought back to his first campaign in the lowlands. Half of his men had died from want of food and the bitter cold of a terrible winter. Then there had been India, and the long marches through searing heat before taking on armies vastly superior in size and beating them. He fixed his eyes on the other man and cleared his throat. ‘I am sure that if you were in full possession of the facts, you would not judge the contribution of the army so harshly.’
Jardine shook his head briefly. ‘I am not being harsh. Forgive me if I appear to be. I merely point to the record of both services. On the seas our sailors have completely mastered the enemy, whereas our soldiers are no match for the French and have failed to secure the least foothold on the continent. Instead of taking the fight directly to the enemy they are merely nibbling away at his colonies, far from the heart of the struggle.’
‘It is hardly the fault of the soldiers if the government chooses to deploy them in such a fashion,’ Arthur protested.
‘Precisely, sir.Take yourself.’ Jardine gestured towards Arthur’s tanned face. ‘From your colour, I assume that you have been on service in the tropics, or some such?’
‘I have just returned from India.’
‘And what did you do there of any importance to this country?’
Arthur took a deep breath.The question was startling in terms of the breadth of the answer he could provide, but Jardine continued before he had a chance to begin.
‘I warrant that you and your men spent most of the time chasing the natives off the property of the East India Company.’
‘We achieved more than that, sir. It is thanks to the efforts of the army that Britain now rules over lands many times the size and population of the British Isles.’
‘India is a mere detail of our struggle against France,’ Jardine countered dismissively. ‘Besides, you were fighting savages, not proper civilised armies. How could you possibly lose in such an unequal contest?’
Arthur leaned back with a weary expression. The man was clearly ignorant of the campaigns that had been fought across the heart of the subcontinent over the last decade. He knew nothing of the bloody assault on the Sultan of Mysore’s fortress capital of Seringapatam. Nothing of the desperate march across the face of the vast Mahratta army at Assaye to attack their flank and defeat them. Nothing of the bold advance against the cannon and massed ranks of the enemy at Argaum. Nothing of the long months of bitter skirmishes with the bandit columns led by the bloodthirsty Dhoondiah Waugh. Clearly, the exploits of Arthur and his men had been overlooked back home in Britain. Almost as if they were a forgotten army led by a forgotten general. He sighed.
‘I can assure you that the troops I was honoured to command in India faced enemies every bit as dangerous as the French. When the time comes for our soldiers to face Bonaparte in pitched battle, they will be more than a match for him and his men.’
‘Of course, sir. Of course.’ Jardine nodded placatingly. ‘I am sure that you know your business. But from the point of view of the well-informed layman, such as myself, it would appear that our best hope of defeating the French lies in the Royal Navy.’
