Текст книги "The Generals"

Автор книги: Simon Scarrow

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Chapter 5

‘How many men do you have under your command?’ Napoleon asked.

‘Five thousand,’ Barras replied. ‘Although a thousand of those are volunteers and have no weapons and another five hundred are reservists. They don’t have weapons either.’

‘So, three and a half thousand muskets against twenty thousand.’ Napoleon shook his head. ‘Not good odds. Not unless we can restore the balance some other way.What about cannon? How many pieces do you have?’

‘None.’ Barras shrugged. ‘This is the seat of government, not a bloody arsenal.’

‘Then we’ll have to find some guns and bring them here.’ Napoleon turned to Junot and snapped an order. ‘There are cannon at the artillery park at Neuilly. Find some men – two companies should do – and bring back ten light pieces. We only need them to fire grapeshot.’

‘It’s too late for that,’ Barras cut in. ‘A royalist column is already on its way there.’

‘Then we must beat them to it!’ Napoleon’s eyes flashed angrily. ‘Unless you want to surrender the palace to them right now, citizen.’

‘Of course not!’ Barras drew himself up and placed a hand on his chest. ‘I have dedicated my life to defending the republic.’

Napoleon drew a deep breath before he continued. ‘We are not in the debating chamber now, citizen. We need actions not words. Better still, we need those guns.’

Carteaux jabbed a finger at him and sneered. ‘And just how do you think we can get them? We’re not at Toulon now, boy.You can’t just pull the guns out of thin air. We’ve already done all we can.’

‘So we sit on our arses and wait for them to come for us, eh?’ Napoleon mocked him.

Carteaux jumped up from his chair and strode towards Napoleon, towering over him. He spoke through clenched teeth. ‘Your Jacobin masters are not here to protect you now. I put up with your insolence far too long before. Now it’s time we settled this.’

‘Gentlemen!’ Barras shouted.‘That’s enough.We have enough enemies out there without making more in here. Sit down, Carteaux.’

The old general glared at Napoleon for a moment before he returned to his chair. There was a tense silence while tempers cooled a little and Napoleon realised that not one of the other officers had spoken since he had entered the office. Clearly the fight had already been knocked out of them. Someone needed to take charge of the palace’s defences. They needed a plan if they were to stand any chance of beating General Danican and his rebels.

His thoughts were interrupted by the harsh clatter of heavy boots and he turned towards the sound as a cavalry officer swaggered into the office. He was a tall man with broad shoulders, long curly hair and bearded cheeks. Approaching the table he glanced round.

‘Who is in command here?’

‘I am,’ Barras replied.

‘No, I mean who is really in command?’

Napoleon took a step forward and cleared his voice. ‘Citizen Barras has been charged by the assembly to defend the palace. But I have assumed command.’ He turned to the other officers. ‘Unless there are any objections?’

There was no reply, not even from Carteaux who stared fixedly at his long boots. Napleon nodded. ‘Very well then. And who might you be?’

‘Major Joachim Murat, of the hussars. I came as soon as I got word that the royalist scum were up to no good. I have brought two squadrons of my men with me.’

Napoleon’s eyes lit up. ‘Cavalry! Your men are ready to ride?’

‘Well, yes.’ Major Murat was taken aback. ‘But we’ve only just got here.’

‘There’s no time to discuss this, Major.You must do exactly as I say. Do you know the artillery park at Neuilly?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Good. Take your men and ride there immediately.You must stop for nothing. Cut down anyone who gets in your way. Citizen Barras will write an order while you are gone to cover that. When you get there find me some guns – four-pounders – and plenty of powder and ammunition, particularly case shot. Then bring it straight back here. Have you got that?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Then go at once, Murat. The fate of France rests on your shoulders today. Remember that.’

‘Yes, sir.’ With a scrape of his boots Murat stood to attention and saluted Napoleon. Then he turned and strode from the room.

‘Murat!’

‘Sir?’

‘Run, don’t walk.’

Napoleon turned back to Barras. ‘Citizen, if you would permit me, I would like to walk round the defences and see to the best disposition of our men.’

‘Of course.’ Barras nodded. ‘Whatever you think best.’

‘Once that’s done, these officers will be assigned to the key points we are defending.They will need to hold them at all costs.’ Napoleon turned to address them all. ‘It is as I said to Major Murat.The fate of France is in our hands. Our hands, gentlemen. We must not fail. And we must not let our men think there is any doubt in our minds that we will beat the royalists. Do you understand me? Our men will look to us in the coming hours. Do not fail them. Show no fear and accept no dissent. Is that clear?’

The other officers nodded their agreement and Napoleon clapped his hands. ‘Good. That’s settled. Come, Junot. We have work to do.’

As they strode out of the room, Junot leaned towards his friend and muttered, ‘Did you see their faces? You made them look like scared rabbits. Now they’re eating out of your hand.’

Napoleon shrugged.‘They just needed someone to give them an order. Now I just hope they’ll do their duty.’

The two of them made a thorough inspection of the defences of the Tuileries and Napoleon gave orders for the boarding up of the lowest windows and doors and the barricading of all but a few of the smaller entrances. Nearly all of the men looked nervous and he could understand their fear at the overwhelming odds they faced. But he did his best to inspire them, telling them again and again of the significance of the next few days, and that when it was over they would have stories to tell their grandchildren and make them proud to be the bearers of an honoured family name. He also saw to it that the stores of powder and musket balls in the magazine were distributed to each strong-point, together with food and water to last each several days. Every time he glanced out into the streets surrounding the palace, Napoleon could see more and more of the royalists around the Tuileries as they prepared for the coming attack. But, other than the cautious figures moving behind cover, the streets were empty and silent.

Napoleon returned to Barras’ office at noon and quickly assigned the officers to their positions. Even those senior to him in rank readily nodded their assent and hurried off to their posts. As the last of them left, Napoleon turned to Barras and saw that behind the earlier bluster of a politician the man was anxious, fearful even, and seemed resigned to defeat.

‘Don’t worry, citizen. We’re in a strong position and the men are prepared to fight. When Danican makes his move in the morning he’ll get far more than he bargained for. If we can cut down his men quickly enough, then they’ll break and run for it.’

‘And if they don’t?’

‘Then we will just have to defend the palace room by room.’

‘I see.’ Barras gave him a searching look.‘And are you prepared to die for the republic, Brigadier Bonaparte?’

‘I am,’ he replied firmly, then smiled. ‘In any case, it makes no difference if I am willing to die for the republic or not. Our lives are in the hands of fate now. But I have to admit, I am intrigued to know what the outcome will be, once this fight is settled.’

‘Intrigued?’ Barras laughed. ‘Good God, man! You’re a cool one. And if we’re both still alive at the end of it, then I will make sure that the nation knows your name.’

As the afternoon wore on, the royalists began to be more bold. Individual men crept closer to the Tuileries through the gardens, or climbed to the upper floors of neighbouring buildings, and took pot shots at any faces they saw at the palace windows.When the sun started to sink towards the distant rooflines Napoleon was squinting out across the gardens as Junot muttered, ‘Doesn’t look as if Murat managed to reach the guns. Danican’s men must have got there first.’

‘You’d better pray that they didn’t. Otherwise they’ll pound the Tuileries into rubble. In any case, you’re being unfair to Murat.’

‘Really, sir? I thought he looked like a typical cavalryman. Spoiling for a fight. All mouth and no mind.’

‘Right now, perhaps that makes Murat the best man for the job. He’s—’

Napoleon was interrupted by the crackle of gunfire from the far end of the Tuileries gardens. Through the trees lining the central avenue he glimpsed figures running to each side. Moments later a handful of mounted men charged down the avenue, brandishing the silvery curves of their sabres. Behind them came the guns, each limbered up and drawn by teams of horses. At the rear came the main body of Murat’s cavalry. They halted halfway down the avenue to discharge their pistols and carbines as the braver souls amongst the royalists rose up to take a shot.

Napoleon turned to Junot. ‘There, I was right about him. Come on!’

In the safety of the courtyard Murat had dismounted and was waiting by one of the guns he had snatched from under the noses of the rebels. As Napoleon and Junot approached he slapped the breech of the cannon with his leather gauntlets.

‘Here are the cannon you requested.’

Napoleon laughed and grasped Murat’s hand. ‘Well done! Now we have them!’

‘Was there any trouble?’ Junot asked.

‘Trouble? Oh, nothing much.’ Murat shrugged indifferently. ‘The other side almost beat us to it. There must have been three companies of militia. But they scattered at the first sign of a blade.’

Napoleon’s gaze fell to the bloody gash on Murat’s thigh, and he noticed that several of the other riders were injured as well. Clearly, there had been more to it than Murat had implied, but Napoleon had been in the army long enough to know that the best of the cavalry were inclined to such studied understatement. He turned to inspect the guns. Eight of them, all light pieces as he had ordered.

‘Major, have your men position two of the guns on the terrace to cover the gardens and have the others taken to the courtyard at the front of the palace. I’ll site each one personally.’

‘Yes, sir.’

Before Murat turned away, Napoleon grasped his shoulder. ‘That was a fine piece of work, Major.When this is over, you can be sure that everyone will know of Joachim Murat’s role in the defeat of the traitors.’

‘Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.’ Murat could not contain a boyish smile. Then he saluted and turned to stride off and carry out his orders.

Night had fallen as the last of the cannon was eased into position behind the barricades at the main gateway leading out on to the Carrousel. The sky was thick with clouds and the air was cold and clammy, and as the first chill flecks of rain began to fall Napoleon gave orders for the powder kegs to be covered with waxed canvas. It was vital that the guns have dry powder ready for the next morning. Without artillery support the thinly spread government forces would not stand a chance.

Light glowed round the edges of the shutters of the royal suite where Barras had settled in for the night with his closest political associates, but Napoleon did not begrudge the man his creature comforts. It was better that Barras kept away from the men protecting the palace, in case he felt tempted to give any orders. A grenadier had found Napoleon a sword and another man lent Napoleon his greatcoat. At midnight, as the drizzle turned into steady, freezing rain, Napoleon settled with his back to the wheel of a gun carriage and pulled the thick woollen folds of the garment tightly about his shoulders. He willed himself not to sleep, in case the royalists attempted an attack under cover of the foul weather. But there was no sound other than the steady hiss as rain struck the cobbles in a shimmering film of tiny explosions.

The rain continued through the night and into the dawn as the men on watch duty stared into the gloom, tense and alert for any sign of attack. As the thin milky light spread across the Carrousel and revealed a handful of the royalists still sheltering behind their wagons, Napoleon roused Junot, who had fallen asleep an hour or so earlier, and told him to pass the word along the line to stand to. Sodden, shivering forms of men rose up stiffly behind the barricades and reached for their muskets. Their ears strained to pick up any sound of the approach of the royalist assault columns. But the streets were still as dawn gave way to dull daylight hemmed in beneath a thick blanket of dark rain clouds.

Junot returned from his errand and crouched down beside Napoleon.

‘There’s little sign of any movement around the palace, sir. Seems that Barras’s information wasn’t accurate.’

‘Maybe not.’ Napoleon scratched his chin and glanced up at the sky as the rain cleared away. For a moment a single shaft of light angled across the Carrousel from a fleeting gap in the clouds, and then it was gone. He smiled. ‘Perhaps the rain has doused their spirits a little. After all, most of them are just part of the mob. Even the militia have little field experience. On a day like this, it’ll be as much as they can bear to stick their noses outside the door.’

The morning wore on, and the defenders waited for the royalist attack with increasing impatience.Then, just before noon, the sound of drums drifted across the Carrousel.The men around Napoleon raised their muskets and levelled the muzzles on the barricades as they waited for the first of the rebels to appear.The beating of the drums gradually increased in volume and now they could hear the sounds of cheering, rising and falling in waves. Before the noise was loud enough to drown out his orders Napoleon rose up and cupped his hands to his mouth.

‘No man will fire until the order is given! If blood is to be shed today, then let it be the fault of the royalists!’

There was a puff from behind the nearest wagon in the Carrousel and Napoleon ducked as a ball whined past his head.

‘Well.’ Junot grinned. ‘That’s the culpability issue settled. We can start killing the bastards as soon as we like.’

‘Only when I give the order!’ Napoleon snapped irritably, and was at once angry with himself for letting his nervous exhaustion reveal itself. He turned and called down the line. ‘Gun crews! Stand to! Load with canister!’

The canvas covers were whipped back immediately as the gunners opened ammunition cases and took out the charges. As soon as they had been rammed home the packs of lead balls secured in tin containers were thrust down the muzzles up against the charge and the crews stood by their weapons.

The sound of the drums and the cheers of the approaching royalists echoed round the buildings facing on to the Carrousel, and then one of the men close by Napoleon thrust out his arm.

‘Here they come!’

Chapter 6

The royalists spilled out of the avenue leading from the Rue Saint-Honoré and flowed into the Carrousel. At the head of the mob came a white-coated officer in a gaudy feathered hat. He was clutching a standard from which the sodden Bourbon colours hung limply. Behind him were a score of drummer boys, beating out a deafening rhythm. The men following them made no attempt at holding a formation as they strode boldly across the square towards the palace. The blue-coated militiamen were armed with muskets, as were many more of the royalist volunteers. The rest of the mob were armed with staves, axes, clubs and knives.Their cheering reached a climax now that their enemies were in sight.

Napoleon stood up and drew his sword, raising it high above his head. ‘Prepare to fire!’

On either side the muskets came up, thumbed back to full cock, and the defenders squinted down the long length of their barrels towards the dense mass of rebels advancing towards them. The royalists made no attempt to stand in line and fire a volley. All along the front of the crowd there was a constant stabbing of flames and puffs of smoke as they fired freely. There was no chance to reload as those behind pressed the first rank on.

‘Hold your fire!’ Napoleon bellowed, keeping his arm erect. On either side musket balls whipped through the air, or splintered the wooden material in the barricade with sudden loud crashes. Close by, a young grenadier’s head snapped back in a welter of blood that spattered across Napoleon’s cheek as the body tumbled back on to the cobbles.

‘Hold steady!’ Junot shouted from nearby.

The crowd surged forward, the white-coated officer waving the banner from side to side to try to loosen its waterlogged folds and inspire his men.They were now close enough for Napoleon to see that he was an older man with a powdered wig beneath his bicorn hat.

When they were a scant fifty paces from the palace gate, Napoleon swept his sword arm down and roared out the command. ‘OPEN FIRE!’

As the muskets spurted flame and smoke in a rolling volley the gun crews lowered their portfires on to the firing tubes and the cannon roared out, belching fire and great plumes of acrid smoke as they discharged a torrent of grapeshot into the mob. At once the infantry and the gun crews hurried to reload their weapons.

For a moment all sight of the rebels was lost in a thick bank of rolling gunpowder smoke. Then as the breeze dispersed it Napoleon could see the terrible impact of that first volley. The four cannon had cleared great lanes into the mob and left scores of dead and injured sprawled on the ground, and all along the front of the crowd many more of the rebels had been struck down by musket fire. Only one of the drummers was still beating his instrument. The others, like most of the crowd, stood aghast at the devastation around them. The cheering had died in their throats and they stopped dead. As the cries and screams of the wounded filled the air the spell was broken and the white-coated officer thrust his banner above his head.

‘Charge! For France and the monarchy!’

He broke into a run, and the braver souls in the crowd surged forward after him, heading straight towards the barricaded gate, and Napoleon beyond. The two officers’ eyes met for an instant and then Napoleon turned to give a fresh order to his men. ‘Fire at will!’

The defenders fired on the crowd in a long, rolling crackle of shots that echoed back from the surrounding buildings and then the cannon boomed out again, dashing swaths of men to the ground. Miraculously the royalist officer still lived, and he paused at the barricade to plant his banner before he drew his sword and swept it overhead to rally his nearest men.

‘Come on! One charge and the palace is ours!’

Junot calmly drew and cocked his pistol, stepped up to the barricade, thrust the weapon towards the man’s chest, and fired. The royalist fell back, a livid red stain spreading across his white coat. His sword clattered to the ground as the standard slipped and fell into Junot’s grasp. At once he snatched it and threw it on to the ground a short distance behind the barricade.

‘First blood to us, and one colour already taken,’ he called out to Napoleon.

But Napoleon’s attention was fixed on the enemy. He was standing with the nearest cannon directing the crew to aim to the left, where a section of the mob, having managed to escape the earlier blasts of grapeshot, was edging towards the barricade.The sergeant in charge of the gun stepped back and fired the weapon. The concussion from the blast punched into Napoleon’s ears as the cone of deadly lead shot cut the leading ranks to bloody shreds. All the time the infantry on either side of Napoleon loaded and fired their muskets into the mob at point-blank range, cutting the rebels down. Slowly, the mob stopped moving forward. A few amongst them still had the presence of mind to fire back, and some of them just waved their weapons and screamed with fury or tried to sound defiant as they cried their royalist slogans. But already scores of them were falling back, wide-eyed with horror at the slaughter and terrified of sharing the fate of the dead and mangled littering the cobbles of the Carrousel. The panic spread through the crowd like a wind rippling across a field of wheat and then they were all in retreat, more falling all the time as Napoleon’s men continued to fire after them.

He waited until only a handful of the rebels were left, huddled down behind the wagons in the square, before he gave the order to cease fire.The last patches of smoke cleared and revealed to the defenders the full scale of the destruction they had caused. The ground in front of the palace was covered with the still forms of the dead and the writhing bodies of the injured. Blood pooled around them, and lay splashed over clothes and flesh. Thin cries of agony and low moans rose from the carnage.

‘Good God, what have we done?’ muttered one of the gunners.

‘Our duty,’ Napoleon responded curtly.‘And when they come back for more we must do it all over again. And again, until we break their will to continue this treachery. Now then, reload the cannon and stand by.’

The gunner nodded, still dazed by the awful scene stretching across the square, but carried out his orders as efficiently as if he were on an exercise. Napoleon rose up and called out to the rest of his command.

‘Reload!’

The sound of ramrods rattling in the musket barrels briefly interrupted the cries of the injured and then all was still once more along the barricade in front of the palace. A quick glance either side showed that only five of his men were down, with a handful of wounded who were being helped inside the palace to the dressing station in the grand entrance hall. Napoleon quietly summoned Junot.

‘Go to Barras.Tell him that we’ve repulsed the first attack. My guess is they’ll try one of the other strongpoints next. Barras is to send runners to the other commanders to let them know we’ve beaten off the first attack. That should help to stiffen their resolve.’

Junot ran across the courtyard and disappeared into the palace, and Napoleon settled down to wait for the enemy to make their next move. The royalists wasted little time, and half an hour later there was a sudden burst of musket fire from the direction of the Riding School, punctuated by the dull blasts of cannon. For a moment the soldiers around Napoleon turned to face the noise with anxious expressions. The sounds of the assault soon faded away with a last crash of cannon fire that told them the defenders still held their position.

A few moments later Junot came hurrying back to Napoleon.

‘They’re coming back this way! Up the Rue Saint-Honoré.’

Napoleon thought for a moment, pulling at his ear lobe. The royalists had been driven back twice already, and much of the fight must have been beaten out of them. Very well, this attack must be the last. This was the decisive moment, and when they broke they had to be pursued without mercy so that the rebellion would be utterly crushed.

Napoleon snapped an order to Junot. ‘Find Major Murat. I want him and his men mounted and ready in the courtyard, out of sight of the barricades.They are to wait there for my order to move. Once they have the order they are to clear the Carrousel and pursue the enemy as far as they can. They are to take no prisoners and show no mercy to those traitors. Make sure he understands it. I want that mob out there to be in no doubt about the cost of defying the government.’

‘Yes, sir.’ Junot nodded, then ventured a question.‘And what if we don’t hold them back? What are the major’s orders then?’

Napoleon shook his head. ‘It won’t come to that . . . But, if it does, then Murat is to cover our withdrawal to the palace, and then look to his own survival.’

‘Very well, sir.’ Junot saluted and ran off, leaving Napoleon staring out across the barricade. It was possible that they might not beat off another attack, Napoleon considered briefly, then he shook his head irritably. No.There was no question of defeat. Junot was a fool to even think it.

The sound of the royalists marching back along the Rue Saint-Honoré grew louder and then the head of the column entered the Carrousel again. It was clear that someone had taken charge of the attackers this time, as a line of militia men formed across the square and, at the command, advanced steadily towards the palace. The rest of the mob spilled into the space behind the front line and cheered them on. Napoleon drew a deep breath.

‘One last effort, lads! Make every shot count.Aim true and kill as many of the bastards as possible! Long live the republic!’

Some of the soldiers echoed his call before turning to face the enemy with intent expressions. The militia battalion reached the edge of the zone carpeted with bodies and discarded weapons and slowed down as they stepped over their fallen comrades. They halted fifty paces from the barricades and then their commander bellowed the order to prepare their weapons. The cocks clicked back, and the weapons came up at the order to present.

‘Keep down!’ Napoleon called out.

The defenders ducked behind the barricade.The order to fire was instantly drowned out by the crash of the volley and smoke immediately obliterated the militia as their musket balls rapped home against the barricade or whirred overhead. A sharp cry sounded to Napoleon’s right but he ignored it and rose up to give his orders.

‘Make ready! Open fire!’

Once again the muskets and cannon crashed out into the square, and so thick was the bank of smoke this time that the effect of the volley was not visible. As his men reloaded their weapons Napoleon heard the militia commander give the order to charge. Most of the defenders fired blindly into the smoke, until vague shapes flitted into sight and then burst through the smoke right in front of the barricade. Five or six men appeared directly before the cannon beside Napoleon and drew up wide-eyed at the sight of the muzzle gaping before them. An instant later the portfire touched the fuse and the men were shredded into bloody ribbons by the grapeshot.

The militia appeared all along the barricade, bayonets thrusting towards the defenders as the government troops rose up and defended themselves, using their bayonets or wielding their muskets like clubs. Napleon’s sword was in his hand and his heart beat wildly as he stepped up to the barricade. To his left a grenadier was locked in a duel with a stocky man in a black cap, their bayonets scraping as each tested the other’s strength.With a snarl the militiaman thrust the other’s weapon aside and made to thrust his point home. Napoleon slashed his sword down on to the barrel and the point thudded harmlessly into a meal bag, tearing the material open instantly.The grenadier swung his butt up, smashing it into the militiaman’s face, and he collapsed with a grunt. The grenadier grinned and nodded his thanks to Napoleon before turning to face the next attacker.

For a moment Napoleon found that he had no one to engage. He glanced to both sides and saw that, even though his men were holding the line, the rest of the mob were piling into the rear of the militia battalion and soon the sheer weight of numbers must overwhelm the defenders.

Junot appeared beside him. ‘Hot work.’

‘Where’s Murat?’

‘He’s entering the courtyard, over there.’ Junot gestured with his arm.

‘Then tell him to charge now. Now, or the fight is lost!’

When Junot had gone, Napoleon stepped back from the line and filled his lungs.‘Grenadiers! Gunners! Fall back to the palace! Fall back!’

His men obeyed at once, as best as they could. Some ran back from the barricade, others retreated with their weapons levelled, ready to fight off their pursuers. In the thick smoke along the fighting line the militia did not immediately realise what was happening and there was a moment’s delay before a triumphant cheer swept through their ranks and they began to clamber over the rough barricade and charged after the government troops. Napoleon raced at the head of his men, making for the stairs that led up to the main entrance. He sprinted to the top and turned round to face his soldiers.

‘Form up here! Quickly, damn you!’

The men turned and hurriedly shuffled into several ranks, bayonets lowered to receive the royalists streaming across the courtyard. More and more of them filled the open space, anxious to butcher the men who had caused them such grievous losses earlier on. But they never made it as far as the stairs. The sound of horses’ hooves clattering across the courtyard stopped them in their tracks, the cries of triumph dying in their throats as they turned to see a line of hussars sweeping towards them, long curved blades resting on the riders’ shoulders as they picked up more speed. At their head rode Murat, tall and imposing in his saddle. A short distance from the fringe of the loose mob he raised his sword into the air, then arced it down and leaned forward as he spurred his mount on.

The royalists turned and fled for their lives, throwing down their weapons as they ran, fighting with their comrades to get away from the dreadful fate carving its way through their ranks. From the stairs the defenders jeered their enemy. True to their orders Murat’s men showed no mercy as they hacked and slashed at the men running before them, cutting them down in droves. Then they reached the line of the barricade and the slowly dissipating powdersmoke, leapt their mounts over the barrels and meal bags, and were swallowed up in the haze. And the sounds of the pursuit drifted away from the palace, across the square and back up the avenues running between the Rue Saint-Honoré and the River Seine.

Napoleon was suddenly aware of how cold and tired he felt and his sword hand trembled as it struggled to retain its hold on the hilt. As he sheathed the blade there was a clatter of footsteps behind him and Napoleon turned to see Paul Barras hurrying down the steps towards him, arms stretched as he smiled widely.

‘Bonaparte! My dear Bonaparte! You’ve done it! They’re running like the treacherous cowards they are. Murat will cut them down like vermin.’ He reached Napoleon and flung his arms round his shoulders. ‘France is saved. Thanks to you. All thanks to you.’