Текст книги "Fire and Sword"

Автор книги: Simon Scarrow

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Текущая страница: 42 (всего у книги 44 страниц)

‘I have enough evidence to send him to the guillotine.’

Josephine was silent for a moment before she spoke again. ‘And will you?’

‘I don’t know. He may yet be of some use to me, and I doubt the royal courts of Europe would thank me for extinguishing one of their brightest lights. But that is no reason to spare him, especially if there is any more to his treachery than I have already discovered.The difficulty is that Talleyrand and Fouché are my creatures. I raised them up. If I tear them down, that is to publicly admit that my initial judgement of their loyalty was flawed. That would be embarrassing. I will have to think about the matter before I decide their fate.’

The meeting of the Emperor’s council of advisers took place, as scheduled, on the following Sunday in the Tuileries. Napoleon had ordered Talleyrand to give up the office of Grand Chamberlain two days earlier, and the ministers who gathered in the Emperor’s private audience chamber sensed that there was something in the wind. Napoleon stood at the window with his back to the room, hands clasped behind him. For a minute or so there was complete silence and stillness as the ministers and advisers glanced warily at each other. Only Talleyrand seemed imperturbable, sitting close to the fireplace and gazing serenely into the hearth.

It was gloomy outside and Napoleon had a clear view of his guests reflected in the window. He had prepared for this meeting, to ensure that it had the appropriate impact on his subordinates. Taking a deep breath and clearing his throat, he turned round and strode back across the chamber to address them.

‘Gentlemen, I had summoned you to discuss the growing threat from Austria, but first there is another matter that needs to be settled. A grave matter concerning the loyalty of two of my most important ministers.’ He paused, deliberately avoiding the eyes of Fouché and Talleyrand. ‘Two men who owe everything to me yet now seem determined to stir up public opinion against their Emperor. Well, they should be careful before they play with the sentiments of the people. Those who dabble in revolution are holding a wolf by the ears, and they are fools if they think that they would not be swept away in the first days of any popular uprising.’

Lucien rose to his feet, on cue. ‘Sire, who are these traitors?’

‘My chief of police, Fouché, and the former Grand Chamberlain, Talleyrand.’

There was an excited murmur amongst those assembled, while Fouché squirmed in his seat and glanced round desperately to gauge the balance of sympathy amongst the other ministers. Talleyrand simply stirred in his chair and turned to face Napoleon directly, his features devoid of surprise, fear or indeed any emotion.

Napoleon raised a hand to command silence from the council.When their tongues had stilled he continued, ‘I have been handed clear evidence of their plot against me. Reports of their movements, whom they have met, letters they have exchanged with other plotters, most notably Marshal Murat, whom they have invited to take my throne once I have been removed.’

Napoleon at last turned to Talleyrand, his face twisting slightly into a cold sneer of contempt. His finger stabbed out as he raised his voice. ‘You, Talleyrand, are a traitor and a coward.You believe in nothing but yourself. For that you have deceived us all and betrayed your country. You have taken the coin of our enemies and sold your soul to them. Is there nothing you would not sell for your own personal gain? You have failed me, failed your people and failed yourself.You are contemptible. Even as you have enjoyed all the honours I have lavished on you, you have been attacking my achievements in Spain, lying to the people of Paris about what has been happening there.’ He glared at Talleyrand. ‘Well? What have you to say for yourself, you miserable cur?’

Talleyrand returned his gaze steadily and did not utter a word. Napoleon felt a genuine rage well up inside him at the man’s insouciance. ‘You heinous little cripple! You faithless husband! For all your pretensions you are nothing more than a pile of shit in silk stockings! You hear me? You turd! I ought to have you shot like that scum the Duke of Enghien. Shot, or hanged, or guillotined, and then have your body thrown to the crows.That is the least punishment you deserve. You and any other man who commits treason against his Emperor.’

As Napoleon shouted at his former foreign minister, the other members of the council were cringing in their seats, none more so than Fouché, who had slumped down and swallowed nervously throughout the tirade. Napoleon drew some comfort from that. As he had hoped, by turning the main weight of his rage against Talleyrand he had scared the others, and left Fouché in no doubt over the fate that might await him if he was ever again suspected of plotting against his Emperor.

With a last glare of contempt at Talleyrand, Napoleon abruptly turned and marched out of the audience chamber, slamming the door behind him so that the jarring crash made his advisers jump in their chairs.

‘Do you think it has worked?’ Napoleon asked Lucien two weeks later as they sat in the same room, on either side of the fire. Outside, rain lashed down on Paris so that the tiled roofs gleamed like fish scales.

‘As well as it could,’ Lucien conceded. ‘Talleyrand has not made any more comments about your policy in Spain, or any form of criticism. The same goes for Fouché, who has even refused to be seen in the same room as Talleyrand for fear of being associated with him. People are being very careful about what they say in public at the moment. I think you can rest easy.’

‘Good.’

‘The thing is, I still don’t see why you don’t at least have them quietly sent into exile. They are dangerous men and should not go unpunished.’

Napoleon pressed his lips together briefly. ‘It is enough for them to know that I am aware of their treachery, and that I can have them shot or thrown in prison at the click of my fingers. Besides, they serve as an example to the wider public that nothing escapes the Emperor’s eye.’

Lucien was quiet for a moment before he spoke again. ‘I still think you should have disposed of them. In time they are sure to be amongst your bitterest enemies.’

‘Perhaps. In time.When that happens I will deal with it. At present I cannot bring myself to destroy them.’ Napoleon looked up at his brother with a wistful smile. ‘Call it a sentimental streak, but Talleyrand, Fouché and I have shared much over the years. Our fates are bound together, for better or worse.’

‘Forgive me, brother, but that is madness. You cannot afford to indulge yourself in such obligations.You are the Emperor of France. If you fall then France will be crushed by her enemies.You are not free to place some misguided sense of mercy above the nation’s interests.’

‘Nevertheless, I will,’ Napoleon replied firmly, and then frowned.‘No more of this, Lucien. There are other matters to attend to. Far more important matters. There is no longer any doubt that Austria means to make war against us. Our ambassador reports that the court of Emperor Francis is openly hostile. Our agents suggest that the Austrian army numbers well over three hundred thousand men. It seems that they have not forgotten, or forgiven, the shame they incurred at Austerlitz. They mean to have their revenge and crush me utterly.’ He shook his head sadly. ‘The thing is, they have never been in a better position to do it. I have one hundred and twenty thousand men on the Rhine. If we scour the garrisons in the German states and in France we might raise another eighty thousand. We are also short of officers, although we might make the numbers up by recalling those who have retired, or promoting sergeants.’ He sighed wearily. ‘The truth is that time is against us.’

‘Time is always against us,’ said Lucien. ‘All that a man can do is acquit himself as well as he may, and not waste the smallest span of his life bemoaning the fact.’

‘You are right, of course. If Austria wants war, then she shall have it.’ Napoleon closed his eyes and after a moment he continued quietly,‘The greatest challenge I will ever face lies before me, Lucien. I had hoped that we might have subdued Europe by now, but that is not the case. The Tsar is building his strength, and each report from Moscow reveals that he is slipping further away from me. I have little doubt that Russia will seek again to humble us before too long. If there is a war with Austria we can be sure that Russia will join with our enemy.’ Napoleon paused to contemplate the prospect. ‘That will be war on a new scale. War such as no man has ever seen. And when it comes, I will lead the Grand Army to Moscow itself, if I have to, and burn the city to the ground.’

He turned to Lucien and smiled. ‘The best is yet to come, my brother. The battle of the hosts, from which France will emerge triumphant, and the name Napoleon will be carved into the very bedrock of history.’

Chapter 55

Arthur

Lisbon, April 1809

‘It appears that all of Lisbon has turned out to greet you, sir.’The captain of the frigate grinned as he gestured towards the crowd crammed along the quay. The waiting Portuguese were waving brightly coloured streamers and the national flag and their cheers carried clearly across the waters of the river Tagus.

‘So it seems.’ Arthur could not help smiling. Evidently the Portuguese had put the bitter experience of the Cintra armistice behind them. That was good. He had feared wasting valuable time rebuilding trust between Britain and her ally, but if this greeting was representative of the people’s allegiance then Arthur would be able to put his plans into effect as swiftly as possible. Throughout the short voyage from Southampton he had been busy in the stern cabin the frigate’s captain had let him use. It had been a hurried departure from Britain. His staff officers had been carefully selected; the latest books on conditions in the Peninsula had been purchased. His private stores for the campaign had been ordered and packed in trunks and sent down to the embarkation port. Then there had been a final round of social visits to make, as well as settling his family and political affairs.

Arthur had resigned as Chief Secretary of Ireland with some small measure of regret over unfulfilled ambitions to improve the lot of the common people. He had also given up his seat in Parliament. Henceforth, he would dedicate himself to his duties as a soldier, with a private resolve not to quit his new command until the French generals and marshals in the Peninsula had been humbled, or he himself had been killed in the process. He did not speak of this resolve to Kitty when he had informed her that he was off to war again.

Their parting had been emotional. This time it was likely that Arthur’s duties would keep him away from home for years rather than months. Kitty had not been able to hold back her tears at the prospect and clung to him on the morning of his departure from their home in Phoenix Park. Once Kitty had overseen the packing of their possessions she would move to the house in London to await his return.

As he gazed at the sprawling tiled roofs of the Portuguese capital Arthur could not help wondering at the scale of the task he had set himself. If all went well, it would be a long time before there could be any prospect of returning to Kitty and he felt pricked by guilt at the satisfaction the reflection afforded. But he brushed the thought aside as the frigate dropped anchor and the crew lowered the launch over the side to convey the new commander of the British army ashore.

Escorted by a company of men from one of the regiments that had newly arrived from Britain, Arthur made his way through the crowd towards the reception committee of local dignitaries waiting on a small stage in a large public square decorated with ribbons and flags. He was relieved to see Major-General Beresford amongst them. Beresford had served under him at Vimeiro, and had, thanks to his command of Portuguese, remained in Portugal to train soldiers recruited from the local populace. The two officers exchanged a salute before Arthur grasped the other man’s hand.

‘Good to see you again, Beresford.’

‘And you, sir.’

‘I understand that you have been promoted in my absence.A marshal of Portugal, no less.’

‘The rank serves its purpose,’ Beresford replied self-consciously. ‘At least the locals respect it. Makes my job of training them that much easier. Besides, I shan’t be the only Englishman with such a fine rank bestowed on him.’ Beresford turned to the local dignitaries and exchanged a few brief words with a small dapper man in a fine dress coat with a bright red sash across his shoulder.

‘This is the High Chamberlain of the Royal Court, sir. The senior official left behind after the government fled to Brazil.’

Arthur bowed to the chamberlain and at once the man burst into speech, talking so rapidly that Beresford could not keep up and struggled to follow the man’s address. At the end the chamberlain turned and clicked his fingers at one of his officials and the man stepped forward with an ornate case.The chamberlain took the case and opened it carefully to reveal a jewelled star on a purple ribbon, together with a gilded baton. He offered the case to Arthur with a deep bow.

‘What’s this?’ Arthur asked Beresford.

‘The acting head of the Portuguese government confers upon you the rank of marshal-general of the allied forces in Portugal.’

‘And the rest of the speech?’

‘Usual flummery, sir. And a nice bit about how you are going to crush the French armies in Portugal and Spain before you finally defeat the French Emperor himself.’

‘Ah, well, yes,’ Arthur responded awkwardly. ‘Please convey my humble appreciation for the honour the chamberlain does me.Tell him that I give my word that the French aggressors will rue the day that they ever dared to wage war on the people of Portugal.’

Beresford translated, speaking loud enough for his words to be clearly audible to the element of the crowd closest to the stage. As he finished the crowd erupted in a great cheer and Arthur turned towards them and raised his hat to acknowledge their acclaim. When he had finished, he crammed his bicorn back on his head, this time front to back to indicate that he was on active service. He turned to Beresford.

‘Better cut this as short as we can. There are matters to discuss, not to mention the usual formalities.’ Before Arthur could assume command of the army he would have to present his authorisation to the current commander, General Cradock. It would be an altogether more formal affair than the occasion when Burrard had superseded Arthur on the battlefield of Vimeiro. It suddenly struck him that the worm had finally turned.This was the first time he had enjoyed the fruits of seniority.

‘Yes, of course.’ Beresford nodded. ‘I will take you to the army’s headquarters at once, sir.’

Arthur expressed his thanks, waved and bowed his head to the crowd once more, and then left the stage. With his escort in attendance, he followed Beresford through the crowd out of the square and along a street into the heart of Lisbon. As they walked, Arthur recalled his first impressions of the city from the previous year. He was surprised again by the squalor of many of its thoroughfares, where human urine and ordure mixed with that of dogs and other animals, since the inhabitants still slung the contents of their slop buckets into the streets from overlooking windows. As they progressed Arthur could not resist glancing up warily from time to time.

General Cradock’s headquarters were situated in a large mansion overlooking the harbour. The position was elevated enough to ensure that a cooling breeze flowed through the house most of the year, and even though it was still only April the breeze was welcome, especially as it helped to dissipate the less pleasant odours of the city.

General Cradock and his staff were waiting in a large reception room overlooking the garden courtyard. After a formal announcement in front of these witnesses, Cradock surrendered his command. As soon as the brief ceremony was over Cradock relaxed and led Arthur down to the garden, where a small banquet had been prepared for the gathering of officers. As the others ate amid a hubbub of conversation, Arthur led Cradock to one side so that they might talk in confidence.

‘What is the latest intelligence on the enemy?’

Cradock raised his eyebrows briefly as he composed his response. ‘You have picked a hard time to take charge,Wellesley. Marshal Victor is at Mérida, not far from the Portuguese border. He defeated a Spanish army in March so we can’t expect much help on that front for a while. Meanwhile, Marshal Soult still occupies Oporto and is awaiting reinforcements before renewing his attempt to conquer the rest of Portugal. It is most likely that Ney will march to join him the moment the rebels in Galicia have been subdued.’

‘That may take rather longer than Ney might think,’ Arthur responded thoughtfully, recalling the latest intelligence he had read on board the frigate. ‘It seems that the Spanish who have banded together to fight the French are proliferating right across the country. Which makes my task easier. The more enemy troops they can tie down, the better our chances of picking off the French armies one at a time.’

Cradock looked surprised. ‘Good God, you can’t be serious. They outnumber you at least ten to one.’

Arthur smiled. ‘Which is precisely why I must face them one at a time. Our soldiers are more than a match for the enemy. I proved that at Vimeiro. We can, and will, prevail.’

‘I hope so,’ Cradock said wearily.‘This war has gone on long enough. Perhaps it is time to tackle the bull by the horns.’ He scrutinised Arthur for a moment and then added,‘And perhaps it is time for a new kind of general. I wish you good fortune, sir.’

Having despatched a small column to watch for any advance by Marshal Victor, Arthur left ten thousand men to defend Lisbon and set off to join the main body of his army.At the start of May he reached his forces camped in and around the town of Coimbra, five days’ march from Oporto. A guard of honour greeted the new commander and his staff when they arrived, and after a brief inspection of the well-turned-out troops Arthur summoned all the senior officers to the army headquarters, a religious school on the outskirts of the town. The surrounding hills were covered in the greens of spring, and dotted with bright flowers and blossom on the trees. Despite a cooling breeze the air was hot, and inside the school’s lecture theatre the British and Portuguese officers sat in sweltering temperatures, talking quietly as they waited for their new commander to arrive.

Outside the hall, Arthur paused to compose himself.The formalities of assuming command were now over. In a moment he would be addressing his officers and informing them of his plans for the immediate future. More immediate than many of them suspected,Arthur mused with a faint smile. It was vital that he struck the right note with his subordinates. After the fiasco at Cintra and the stalemate between the allied and French armies that had dragged on over the intervening months, he needed to inspire them with a new sense of purpose. All his plans for the future depended upon a high state of morale, an effective organisation of the army and confident leadership. He drew a deep breath, and entered the lecture theatre.

At once the officers quickly rose to their feet and stood stiffly to attention as Arthur crossed the stage and moved behind the lectern. He drew a small slip of paper from his jacket and set it down in front of him.

He looked up and round the theatre at the faces of senior officers: generals and colonels, mostly in red tunics, with a handful of blue-coated artillery men and engineers, and a few brown Portuguese uniforms, clustered about Beresford who would translate for his subordinates. There were many familiar faces here, men he had served alongside during his previous ill-fated campaign in the Peninsula. Men who had respected him and shared his frustration at the failure to capitalise on the success of Vimeiro.

‘Be seated, gentlemen.’ Arthur waited until they were settled and there was silence. ‘The time has come to take the war to the enemy. For too long the French army has enjoyed a reputation for invincibility. The nations of Europe have come to believe in this, to the detriment of their ambition to frustrate Bonaparte. It is time for us to explode the myth of French superiority at arms. Therefore, it is my intention to have our army ready to attack Oporto in no more than ten days’ time.’

The audience stirred and there was some excited muttering which Arthur indulged for a moment before continuing.

‘From intelligence provided by a French deserter, I understand that Marshal Soult’s army matches our own in size, almost man for man. It is my firm conviction that the coming battle will prove to everyone’s satisfaction that we have the better men. Everyone’s satisfaction save Bonaparte’s, of course.’

The officers chuckled politely, yet their eyes glinted with eager anticipation, Arthur noted.

‘Before we advance to meet the enemy, there is much to be done. Ammunition and equipment to be issued, artillery and supply trains to be assembled and loaded and final letters sent home. But there is more. From the moment I was appointed to this command I have been considering ways to improve the effectiveness of the army, and there are to be significant changes in the way we operate, gentlemen. One thing I have learned from the French is that there are advantages to operating in bigger formations than a brigade.Therefore, I am reorganising our brigades into autonomous divisions, each of which will contain five brigades. And, in order to distribute the best qualities across each division, a battalion of our Portuguese allies will be allocated to every British brigade. There will be no stronger or weaker elements in our battle line, gentlemen. Furthermore, having witnessed the effectiveness of riflemen at Vimeiro, I have decided that each brigade will have its own company of riflemen to stiffen the skirmish line.’

He paused to let his audience grasp the import of what he had said. It was a radical innovation and he knew that some of the older officers would be resistant to such changes, and some would even consider it unpatriotic to learn lessons from the enemy, no matter how valuable. Be that as it may, Arthur was convinced of the value of his decisions.When the allied army went up against the French in future, the fire of the skirmish line would be even more deadly, and there would be no doubts about the performance of each of the new divisions as the Portuguese battalions would be steadied by the example of the redcoats on either side of them.

‘You will have your orders concerning this reorganisation before the end of the day. I have already chosen the commanders for the new divisions and they will be informed after this meeting. Gentlemen, by the time we face Marshal Soult, I want this army to operate as if we had always marched and fought in divisions. Now then, time is short. I will not waste it on florid appeals to patriotism and duty.We are here to beat the French and that is an end to it. Any questions?’

There was a pause before one of the cavalry officers rose to his feet.

‘Yes?’

‘What are your intentions should we beat Soult at Oporto? Where will the army march then?’

‘After we have Portugal, it is my intention to seek permission to enter Spain.’ Arthur paused. ‘But, gentlemen, beyond Spain there is no mystery surrounding our final destination, though we may not attain it for many years.That destination I can reveal willingly enough.’

He paused and glanced round at the sea of expectant faces before he smiled. ‘Paris.’

Five days after Arthur had arrived in Coimbra the allied army began its march north towards Oporto. The soldiers stepped out cheerfully, despite the hard going along dusty tracks beneath a hot sun. Many of them had been at Vimeiro and had told the rest that they had nothing to worry about with ‘Old Nosey’ in command. Arthur was pleased with their mood and keen to get them into contact with the enemy whilst it lasted. An army may march on its stomach, he reflected, but it fed on victory just as surely. The allied army descended from the hills of Coimbra and crossed the rolling country towards the coast where Oporto lay two miles from the Atlantic Ocean, on the bank of the river Douro.

On the eleventh, the vanguard of the army clashed with the first French outposts, and after a day of skirmishing the enemy were forced to abandon the south bank of the river and retreat into Oporto. It was evening before Arthur and his staff arrived in the sprawl of buildings that formed the small township of Vila Nova on the south bank. As light troops and riflemen pressed through the winding streets towards the ancient bridge that crossed the river, Arthur made his way to a convent that overlooked the city on the far bank. Emerging on to the terrace of the convent, the British officers had a fine view across the Douro.

To the left, a quarter of a mile upstream, a pontoon bridge constructed by the French engineers stretched across the river. The enemy still held a strongly fortified position around the end of the bridge on the south bank. Puffs of musket smoke pricked out along the palisade and from loopholes in the nearest buildings as the French rearguard and the British skirmishers fought it out. On the other side of the bridge the city of Oporto rose up from the banks of the river.To the left of the bridge the bank was lower, but to the right the bank gave way to rocky cliffs that tumbled down towards the water. The French had taken the precaution of moving every boat that could be found on to the northern bank and placing them under guard.

It was clear to Arthur that the bridge had to be taken if he was to get his army across the Douro and liberate the city. It would be a bloody business, as the enemy was bound to cover the crossing with every cannon that could be spared. He had little doubt that the crossing could be forced, but at what cost?

Turning to survey the southern bank he saw that the hills behind the convent were high enough to overlook Oporto. Arthur summoned one of his staff officers.

‘Somerset, pass the word to the artillery train. I want three batteries of six-pounders placed up there. They can provide counter battery fire when we attempt to force the bridge tomorrow.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘And have some of the howitzers brought forward as well, in case we have to deal with any enemy formations out in the open.’

Somerset saluted and ran off to do his general’s bidding. Arthur turned to inspect the enemy’s positions again as dusk began to settle over the land. As the light faded his eyes briefly passed over a large structure close to the river at the foot of the towering cliffs opposite. Some kind of convent or seminary, he guessed.There was no sign of life within, as if the building had been abandoned. Arthur’s keen eyes searched the south bank as far up and downriver as he could, but there was no sign of a single boat on his side of the Douro.

As night fell, the struggle around the French bridgehead on the south bank died away until there was peace and quiet from that sector, broken occasionally when the men on either side called out to each other, offering items in trade, or simply ribald insults. Arthur had taken over the Serra convent to act as his field headquarters and had a desk set up on the terrace where he snatched a quick supper before settling down to read the evening reports, and then, shortly after midnight, draft his plans for the assault on the pontoon bridge. He had finished his notes and was in the act of handing them over to Somerset to have them copied up in a neat hand when there was a sudden brilliant flash from the direction of the river, then another, and at once a concussive blast that shook the terrace to its foundations.

‘What the hell?’ Somerset hurried across to the edge of the terrace, and Arthur rose to follow him. Small fires and flames flickered from the remains of the bridge and were gradually snuffed out as the pontoons sank into the current. By the light of the stars and a dim crescent moon Arthur could see enough to know that the bridge had been utterly destroyed. Only fragments remained, attached to each bank.The rest had been blown to pieces, or was already drifting away down the river towards the ocean.

Arthur stared at the scene a moment longer before he returned to his desk and picked up the plans he had made for the taking of the bridge. He held the sheaf of paper and slowly ripped it in half. Somerset joined him.

‘What now, sir?’

‘What now?’ Arthur shook his head. ‘Unless we find another way to cross the river, our campaign will have been frustrated almost as soon as it has begun.’