Текст книги "The Generals"
Автор книги: Simon Scarrow
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Chapter 22
February 1797
‘It seems that the Directory has finally decided to reward our good work, gentlemen.’ Napoleon could not help smiling as he addressed his staff and senior officers. ‘After nearly a year of victories, won by half-starved men with rags on their backs, our masters have finally decided to honour their pledge to send us the reinforcements we need.’
Masséna snorted. ‘Now that we’ve all but driven the Austrians from Italy!’
There was a murmur of bitter assent from the other officers, and Napoleon could well understand it. Only two weeks earlier the Army of Italy had turned back the last attempt by the Austrians to relieve Mantua. In five days of marching and fighting the French had defeated the enemy at Rivoli and La Favorita, destroying three quarters of the Austrian army.The final triumph of the swift campaign was General Wurmser’s surrender of Mantua. Most of the garrison was starving and sick and once he had received news of the spectacular defeat at Rivoli Wurmser had realised that Mantua was doomed. He was accorded the honours of war by Napoleon and allowed to leave the fortress with his sword as a free man.The fall of the Austrian fortress had also marked an end to the incessant plotting between Venice, Naples and the papal states, now that Napoleon was free to turn his attention to his southern flank. In quick succession the Pope and the King of Naples had pledged loyalty to France, and sealed the pledge with thirty million francs. It was no wonder that Masséna and the others treated the news from Paris with such cynicism.
‘Yes.’ Napoleon raised a hand to quiet his fiery subordinate. ‘Their timing is less than perfect, I grant you. But once Bernadotte and Delmas join us with their divisions the Army of Italy will have eighty thousand men on its strength. More than enough for the next, and I hope final, phase of the war against Austria . . .’
He paused, enjoying the keen concentration of his officers as they waited for him to continue. He clicked his fingers and Berthier crossed to the table and unrolled a map of the north of Italy, the Alps and Austria. Once the map was weighted down, Napoleon took up position at the head of the table and tapped his finger on the Austrian capital.
‘Vienna, gentlemen. That is the goal for the coming campaign.The Army of Italy and the Army of the Rhine will be the two prongs of an attack on Austria.The enemy will no longer be able to shuffle men between the two fronts and for the first time we shall outnumber them. I aim to be in Vienna by summer at the latest. And there I shall dictate terms to the Emperor of Austria, while my officers and soldiers take the spoils of war that they have earned.’
There were broad smiles from the assembled officers, and Napoleon turned to Masséna. ‘I imagine that meets with your approval, André?’
Masséna rubbed his hands together. ‘Indeed, sir! I shall loot the place until the Viennese are begging for mercy.’
‘Just as long as you leave a little something for the rest of us.’
The others laughed and Napoleon indulged them for a moment before he tapped the map again. ‘Now to business: the plan for the campaign.’
Once the briefing was over and the field officers had returned to their commands to prepare their men for the months ahead, Napoleon went to Josephine at the house he had commandeered at Montebello. It was a very grand affair, a palace truly fit for the man who ruled the whole expanse of northern Italy, from the border of France across the shores of the Adriatic Sea. Josephine’s entourage had been swelled by a large number of local aristocrats and others seeking the favour of the young French general.As Napoleon rode up the long tree-lined avenue he was struck by the thought that the original coterie of family and friends now had more the appearance of some regal court, with its finely dressed guests served by hundreds of uniformed staff amid the stately halls, corridors and immaculately landscaped gardens of Montebello.
Josephine had gone for a ride with Lieutenant Charles and did not return until dusk. Napoleon was waiting for her in the stables when they returned, two riders emerging from the thin blue light that bathed the withered winter landscape. As Napoleon walked out of the shadows of the stable Josephine was talking in a quiet undertone. The hussar lieutenant caught sight of Napoleon at once, and reining in he snapped a salute at his superior. Josephine slid from her saddle and ran into Napoleon’s arms and they exchanged a kiss. Napoleon released his wife and nodded to the hussar.
‘You may go now, Lieutenant. My wife is quite safe, but I thank you for acting as her protector this afternoon.’
‘My pleasure, sir.’ Lieutenant Charles wheeled his mount, took up the reins of Josephine’s horse, and led it away towards the waiting grooms. Napoleon stared at the man for a moment. He could see why the ladies might warm to the company of the tall, graceful cavalry officer with his finely sculpted features. Quite the Adonis, Napoleon reflected ruefully, suddenly conscious of his own slight frame and dark hair. Had he not been celebrated for his victory over the royalists in Paris he would still be an undistinguished officer of artillery languishing in the ranks of the Army of the Vendée. The kind of man that Josephine would never have married. The knowledge cut him like a knife and his wife sensed the sudden change.
‘What is it?’ she asked in an alarmed tone.‘What’s the matter?’
Napoleon turned away from Hippolyte Charles. ‘It’s nothing.’
‘What’s happened, Napoleon?’ She grasped his shoulders. ‘You’re scaring me.’
‘Really, it’s nothing,’ he lied.‘It’s just that I had hoped to spend more time with you here at Montebello. But there’s to be a new campaign. I’m going away again, possibly for some months.’
‘Is that it?’ She looked relieved. ‘I thought . . . Never mind. Then we must make the most of whatever time you have with me. It’s cold. Come, let’s get inside. I need to slip into some warm clothes.’ Her eyes twinkled as she lowered her voice. ‘Bedclothes, that is.’
‘I don’t know what it is that you see in her,’ Napoleon’s mother muttered as they sat by the fire. The evening meal had just finished and the intimate circle of family and close friends had retired to the library. Outside it had begun to rain, and the crack and hiss of the wood in the large iron grate mixed with the soft drumming of rain on the glass panes of the tall windows overlooking the gardens. Josephine was playing a simple card game with Eugène, Hortense, and several of her friends, and their bright chatter was frequently interrupted by sharp cries of surprise and glee at the turn of a card.The Bonapartes had retired to the chairs arranged around the fireplace and a footman had brought a gleaming silver pot of coffee and fine china cups and set them down on a low table in front of them. Napoleon reached for the pot and poured for his mother, then set the pot down and resumed his seat.
‘Josephine is my wife, Mother. I love her.That should be good enough for you.’
‘Well it isn’t,’ Letizia snapped back, and leaned closer to her son as she continued, ‘I’ve heard the gossip from Paris. She has a reputation, you know.’
‘So? I have a reputation too.’
‘Not the same kind of reputation and you know it. So don’t act the fool.’ Letizia tapped his knee with her fan. ‘She was the lover of Paul Barras before you.’
‘I know. She told me. That was before we met.’
There was an awkward silence before Letizia smiled.‘I’m only thinking of you, my son. It would break my heart if that woman shamed you. If she humiliated you in public.’
‘I see.’ Napoleon smiled bitterly. ‘This is about the family’s honour, isn’t it? That stiff Corsican morality you take such pride in.’>
‘Yes.’
‘But we aren’t in Corsica any more, Mother.’
‘Maybe, but that does not make us any less Corsican.’ She tapped him on the breast. ‘In your heart you know this. Anyway, anyone listening to you speak could hardly fail to be aware of your origins.’>
‘This is beside the point. She is my wife and you will respect her as such. It is my will.’
‘It may be your will,’ Letizia nodded discreetly towards the card players, ‘but do you really know her will? Does she really love you?’
‘She says so.’
‘Of course she would. But look at it from her point of view, Napoleon. She’s some years older than you. Her looks are beginning to fade. She knew that it was only a matter of time before she no longer graced any Paris salon. Then you came along. Young, inexperienced, famous and, more important, unattached.You were her last chance of a good match.’
Napoleon glared at his mother. ‘Enough.You go too far.’
He stood up abruptly, shook his head, and strode out of the room.
The Austrians appointed their most able general to command the forces opposing the Army of Italy. Archduke Charles had enjoyed some notable successes against the Army of the Rhine and now sought to bolster his reputation by humbling the young French general who had caused so much grief to Austrian interests in Italy. Napoleon gave him no time to prepare for the attack. As soon as the passes across the Alps were free of snow he led his men through the mountain ranges and fell upon the enemy in the broad valley through which the River Drave flowed. Nothing could check the Army of Italy in its advance, and it was only with the capture of the city of Klagenfurt that Napoleon halted.
There had been no news of the Army of the Rhine since Napoleon had launched his offensive and the further he advanced into Austria, the longer his lines of communication had become. If the Directory’s strategy was being followed to the letter then the Army of the Rhine should be thrusting deep into Austria from the north.Yet there had been no word from General Moreau, nor any confirmation from Paris that Moreau’s progress was going ahead as planned.As the days passed Napoleon became increasingly anxious about the silence. If Moreau had been thrown back then the Austrians would be able to reinforce Archduke Charles and any reverse that Napoleon suffered so far from his bases in northern Italy could lead to the destruction of the Army of Italy.
‘What are those fools playing at, Berthier?’ Napoleon muttered, hands clasped behind his back as he stared out of the window of Hochosterwitz castle at the distant mountains. ‘It’s nearly a month since I last had news of Moreau. I tell you, the Directors have betrayed us again. Just one last push, by both armies, and we’d have Vienna.’
‘I’ve had a report from Murat, sir. One of our cavalry patrols reached the top of the Semmerling pass. They claim that they could see Vienna in the distance.’
Napoleon shook his head with disdain.‘Wishful thinking. But I know exactly how they feel. One last victory and the war would be over. Only we can’t have that without Moreau. What am I to do?’
Berthier had come to know his commander well enough to realise the question was rhetorical, and he kept his silence as Napoleon continued.
‘We dare not advance without Moreau in support. Yet we cannot remain here and permit the enemy to gather their forces and attack our supply lines . . .’ Napoleon was still for a moment, and then nodded, his decision made. ‘There is only one thing we can do.’
‘Sir?’
‘Offer the Austrians an armistice.’ He turned away from the window. ‘We must buy ourselves some time. But we must not look as if we need the ceasefire. We must be seen to be negotiating from a position of strength. I’ll offer the Austrians a five days’ armistice. Meanwhile we’ll advance and take Leoben. That should put the spur to their thinking. They’ll have to agree to terms then, just to stop us pressing even further into their homeland. Very well, Berthier, send a message to Archduke Charles.’
True to form, the enemy refused to reply at first, but with the fall of Leoben early in April the Austrians accepted the offer, and added that they would not be averse to negotiating a broader treaty. Napoleon delayed his response, still hoping for word that Moreau was closing in from the north. Finally, a messenger arrived from the Directory in Paris. Moreau had not even begun his advance. Worse still, there was news of uprisings in Tyrol and Venice where the people had seized a French ship and slaughtered its crew. Napoleon’s full fury was directed at Moreau, and the Directory who had failed to make Moreau fulfil his part of the plan. It almost felt as if they had conspired against Napoleon, fearful of the public acclaim he would have won for capturing the enemy capital. As it was, he had no choice; he needed peace.
So he assented to the Austrian offer and sent them his terms. Austria was to cede Belgium to France, permit France to occupy the left bank of the Rhine and recognise the Cisalpine republic of Milan, Bologna and Modena. In return France would hand back Venice, Istria and Dalmatia.
For some days there was no reply from the court of the Austrian Emperor, and then on 18 April they sent formal notification that they would sign the preliminary treaty.
Napoleon received the news with far better grace than his chief of staff had anticipated and once they were alone Berthier cleared his throat nervously.
‘What if Paris refuses to endorse the treaty, sir?’
‘They won’t,’ Napoleon replied assuredly.‘France has much to gain from this treaty, and the Directory needs to give the people peace.’
‘Some will say that you have exceeded your authority.’
‘And I will say that the Directory abrogated theirs the moment they failed to see their plan through. I doubt that the people of France, or the army, would stand by and let me be disciplined for bringing a profitable peace.’
‘I suppose not,’ Berthier conceded, surprised at the political turn his commander’s thoughts had taken. This was more than soldierly ambition. But there was an obvious flaw in Napoleon’s peace. Berthier reflected for a moment. Perhaps Napoleon wasn’t as cunning as he had thought.
‘One thing bothers me, sir.’
‘Oh?’
‘This treaty leaves Austria with territory in Italy. It’s hard to believe that there will be no more friction between France and Austria over those lands.’
‘I know.’ Napoleon smiled cynically. ‘My treaty practically guarantees that there will be another war.’ He clenched his fist. ‘And next time, I willseize Vienna.’
Chapter 23
Arthur
Calcutta, February 1797
From the quarterdeck of the Queen Charlotte, anchored half a mile from the shore, the stench of human ordure was overpowering. The sides of the Indiaman were crowded with soldiers curious to have their first sight of the colony. Their excited chatter filled the air and competed with the cries of the beggars swimming in the water around the newly arrived ship. Amongst them, rowing with little regard for the people in the water, were scores of boats offering their services to anyone on board who needed to be transferred to the shore.
On the quarterdeck of the ship stood the paying passengers, equally curious about the new land that lay on either bank of the Hoogley. The river itself was broad and brown and scattered with flotsam, the odd bloated carcass of an animal, and the occasional human. Despite having read as much as he could about India during the six-month voyage round the southern cape, Arthur was shocked by the evident squalor on his first encounter with Calcutta. And he had not even set foot ashore, he reflected grimly. His first instinct was that he should have insisted on a different posting for his regiment. Most of the men of the 33rd Foot had been fed a diet of the most fanciful stories and legends about India. While it was true that a man from even the most humble origins could make a fortune – and a few did – in the employ of the East India Company or in the service of one of the numerous princes who ruled huge swathes of the subcontinent as absolutely as any Caesar, the chances of a man’s surviving the climate and the other risks to health were one in two. Odds that Arthur did not find wholly encouraging, and he was resolved to do his utmost to see that he, and the men of his regiment, looked after their health as diligently as possible.
Six months at sea with little opportunity for exercise had already taken its toll on the fitness of the men of the 33rd, and the poor diet and copious drinking had made many of them stout and red-faced. As soon as he had them on dry land that would have to be remedied, Arthur decided. He turned to beckon to his adjutant, Captain Fitzroy, who was talking animatedly with one of the few female passengers who had been so much the centre of attention in the small closed world of the better class of passenger during the voyage. Fitzroy noticed his superior’s summons on the second attempt. He graciously made his excuses to the lady and hurried across the deck to Arthur. ‘Yes, sir?’
‘I’d be obliged if you secured the services of one of those boatmen. I wish to pay my compliments to the Governor General as soon as possible.’ He indicated the grey granite-like mass of Fort William standing on the eastern shore of the Hoogley. ‘In the meantime, I want our men ashore as quickly as possible.They are to be quartered in the fort.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘And do make sure that you negotiate a good price with the boatman,’ Arthur continued. ‘His Majesty’s funds are not infinite.’
Captain Fitzroy grinned. ‘Yes, sir.’
Arthur lowered his voice.‘I’d be obliged if you did not arrange any commission for yourself in the process.We’re here to improve the lot of these people, and to serve our country, not just ourselves.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Fitzroy’s disappointment was evident in his tone and Arthur rather regretted that there was not a hint of shame there. ‘Very well, Fitzroy. Carry on.’
‘Yes, sir.’ The adjutant saluted and strode off to carry out his orders.
Arthur could not help feeling a surge of irritation over the man’s attitude. He was also worried about the magnitude of the task facing him, given his ambitions for India. Already he had written to Richard and gently suggested that he might put himself forward for the appointment of Governor General of India, and that Henry might be persuaded to join them. India might well be the making of the three brothers, if they could meet the challenges facing them. As far as the East India Company was concerned, their purpose was to make money out of the subcontinent. But now that war was being waged between the powers of Europe, it was vital for Britain’s trade that the Company’s possessions were given military protection. It was already clear that one day the Indian colonies would be run by the Crown, rather than private entrepreneurs, just as it was clear to Arthur that it was in the interests of the peoples of the subcontinent that England put an end to their endless wars and brigandage and bring peace and effective governance to India. That was his great ambition, and one he hoped to share with Richard and Henry if they decided to join him. But he was well aware that there were many obstacles between him and the achievement of his aim.
From the copious background reading Arthur had done, it was clear that corruption was rife amongst the Englishmen who served in the three presidencies that belonged to the East India Company at Calcutta, Madras and Bombay. It was hardly surprising given that they were only answerable to Parliament and the stockholders of the East India Company thousands of miles away in London.Any message sent from India took the best part of a year to elicit a reply from London and that meant that the local officials were left fairly much to their own devices. In such circumstances a culture where bribes were offered and readily accepted thrived in a way it did in no other place in the world. No man was immune from temptation. A King’s officer might earn three hundred pounds a year at home in England. Here in India he might earn as much as ten thousand pounds a year through bribes or ‘gifts’ offered by the native princes and merchants in exchange for lucrative army contracts, or forcefully settling disputes between the patchwork of little states that dotted the continent.
While that remained the case, Arthur reflected, the British presence in India would never amount to much more than a distasteful leeching operation. If it was allowed to continue, then he firmly believed that Britain’s greatest ever opportunity for enrichment and international prestige would be lost. With scrupulous governance, and an ethic of service to the people, India could be the brightest gem in any nation’s crown.
Such had been his thinking on the long voyage out from England. But now that he was here, the raw truth of India made him lose hope. The view of Calcutta from the deck of the Indiaman was as nothing compared to the assault on the senses that greeted Arthur as he stepped out of the small boat on to the roughly constructed quay. Every kind of filth was impacted on the ground and at the entrance to the nearest street lay a dead dog, crushed by a cart so that its entrails had burst from its belly and were now covered in a dark droning cloud of flies.
‘ Salaam, sahib!’ A thin native in a loincloth scurried up and struck his forehead as he bowed to Arthur. Bright white teeth flashed in a smile. ‘I take your bags, sahib.’
‘I don’t have any,’ Arthur replied. ‘They’re on the ship.’
The porter glanced over the English officer for anything else that might need carrying, but Arthur waved him aside.
‘Out of my way, please.’
‘ Acha, sahib!’ The porter bowed and hopped to one side as Arthur started along the quay towards the distant mass of Fort William. The squalor of the rapidly expanding town sprawled back from the banks of the river along filthy thoroughfares that Arthur glanced down as he made his way through the crowd of porters, beggars and merchants. The sounds of their cries, alien and shrill, the strangeness of their clothes and rags and the colour of their skins made Arthur keenly aware of how out of place he must seem. Indeed, as he glanced round, he realised that he was almost the only white man visible on the quay.
At length the quay gave way to a patch of mud at the river’s edge where children were playing in the water, splashing each other in silvery spray that reminded Arthur how hot he was. He wore the uniform in which he had set off from England, made from a heavy wool that might be sensible for this time of year back in Europe but was a positive torment here in Calcutta. He resolved to find himself a good local tailor as soon as possible to have some uniforms cut from a lighter material. It would be good if the men of the 33rd could be similarly dressed, or a hard march and a fight in this climate might well finish them.
Arthur entered Fort William and made his way to the elegant whitewashed headquarters, surrounded by a wide walkway which was raised above the ground and shaded by an overhanging roof. Several officers were sitting on cane chairs round a low table, talking quietly as they drank. Behind them squatted a small figure in a linen robe operating a large canvas screen that fanned the officers as they sat. They stood up as Arthur approached, one or two of them unsteadily, and exchanged a salute with him.
‘Good day, gentlemen. Colonel Arthur Wesley at your service. Is the Governor General at headquarters today?’
‘Yes, sir,’ the senior officer, an India Company major, replied. ‘Sir John is in his office. Do you wish me to show the way?’
Arthur nodded. ‘I’d be obliged. Might I know your name?’
‘Harry Ball, sir.’ He smiled readily.‘A regular, before I took the John Company bounty, and I ain’t looked back since. If you’d follow me?’
He led the way inside the headquarters and Arthur took the chance to examine the man. So this was one of the East India Company officers. At first glance there was only the uniform to distinguish Ball from the officers in His Majesty’s service. Ball seemed to be in his mid-forties, grey hair cropped short above a creased and tanned face. He looked competent enough, Arthur decided, hoping that he was typical of his kind. There were few enough King’s regiments in India as it was. Without the white-officered Company units the lands held by the three presidencies could be swallowed up by any maharaja, nawab or nizam whose greed and ambition got the better of him.
Major Ball led Arthur up a wide flight of steps to the offices on the second floor. The corridors and rooms of the building were airy and spacious and the Europeans who worked there were bent over their desks, cooled by one of the ubiquitous fans worked by the silent figures squatting discreetly at the side of each room. The Governor General’s office was on the corner of the building, looking out over the ramparts to the broad expanse of the river beyond where the Queen Charlottelay peacefully at anchor amid the other shipping. A man dressed in a loose shirt was reading some papers that lay on top of an enormous desk of solid design. His plain coat rested on the back of his chair.
Ball tapped on the doorframe. ‘Sir?’
The Governor General looked up and Arthur saw that he was an older man, in his fifties with a kindly face and keen eyes. He smiled. ‘I assume you are off the ships that arrived this morning.’
‘Yes, sir. Colonel Arthur Wesley. Officer commanding the 33rd Foot.’
‘The 33rd?’ Sir John Shore leaned back and scratched his chin. ‘We were expecting you a bit earlier. By the new year at any rate. Your regiment set sail in June, did it not?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Slow going, Wesley,’ he said in a vaguely irritated tone.
Arthur felt unfairly slighted. It was hardly his fault if the vagaries of wind and sea had delayed the arrival of his regiment. But there was little point in making an issue about it the moment he met his new superior.
‘Yes, sir. I thought so. But I’m sure the captains of the Company ships were doing their best to make the swiftest possible passage.’
‘I suppose so.’ Sir John waved him towards one of the chairs arranged on the far side of his desk. ‘Thank you, Ball. You may go.’
Major Ball nodded and turned away, his footsteps echoing along the corridor as he strode off to rejoin his comrades on the veranda.
‘Good man, that.’ Sir John nodded after him. ‘Knows the country well, and his men even better. Wish there were more officers like him in the Company’s battalions. They have caused me quite a bit of trouble since I was appointed. Some of the blackguards even had the audacity to threaten mutiny last January. Threatened to take charge of India and run it for themselves unless I turned a blind eye to their peculations, and pressed the Company to increase their pay.’ Sir John shrugged the matter aside. ‘Anyway, Colonel Wesley, I expect you didn’t report to me just to hear about the grumbles of our discontented Company officers, eh?’
Arthur smiled. ‘No, sir. But it is as well to garner any information that may be of use later on.’
‘Yes, I believe so. Anyway, I imagine you would like to be briefed on the situation here, before we attend to the more mundane matters concerning the billeting of your men.’
‘I should be grateful for that, sir.’
Sir John nodded. ‘Very well, then. First, you will not be aware of it, but Spain has allied itself with France.We had the news from an overland dispatch that reached Calcutta last week.’
Arthur raised his eyebrows in surprise. The odds against England winning the present war had lengthened considerably.
‘When was the alliance made?’
‘Back in October. And for all we know it has already crumbled. That is the burden of living so far from London, I’m afraid.We are never less than several months behind events taking place in Europe, but we must operate on the basis of the last official dispatch from England.To that end we now find ourselves at war with three out of the four major powers who have influence in the far east, France, Holland and Spain. We are not at war with Portugal. Not yet. Not as far as I am aware, at least. Of course, the biggest threat to English interests in India comes from the French.We saw off the Compagnie des Indes some years back, but since the revolution they have been doing their best to stir up discontent in the subcontinent. That’s one of the reasons for the 33rd’s being sent out here.’
‘Is there trouble brewing?’
‘There’s always trouble on one front or another,’ Sir John replied wearily. ‘The presidency of Calcutta is an area somewhat bigger than England, controlled by perhaps no more than two thousand of our people. If the natives ever took it into their heads to unite and crush us it could be done in an instant.’ He stared at the new arrival.‘I tell you,Wesley, our remit here is a very delicate affair. We rule because we have what the locals call iqbal.’
‘That’s their word for good luck, or good fortune, isn’t it?’
Sir John smiled with surprise and nodded. ‘I’m impressed. Where did you learn that?’
‘I had plenty of time to read about my new posting on the voyage over, sir,’ Arthur explained. ‘I have even made a little progress in one of the local tongues, though of course I will need some further tutoring.’
Sir John laughed. ‘That’s the damnedest thing I ever heard! I doubt that one in a hundred of my staff here can claim more than a few words of Hindoostani.What on earth did you do that for?’
Arthur shrugged. ‘It seemed the sensible thing to do, sir. If a man is to serve to best effect he must be familiar with the geography and people amongst whom he is required to campaign.’>
‘That’s a bloody odd notion,Wesley. But if you think it serves a purpose then stick with it.’
‘I intend to, sir.’
‘Ah . . . where was I?’
‘ Iqbal, sir.You said we ruled here because the locals believed in our good fortune.’
‘Yes, that’s it.That’s the most important thing for you to learn while you are here, Wesley. Whatever else you do, you will be judged by the good fortune that attends you.Therefore it is vital that you suffer no reverses, that you build on a reputation for success. That means that you must plan for every eventuality, consider every detail of your operations so that they progress as if blessed by fate, rather than as a result of tireless staff work.You follow me?’
