Текст книги "The Generals"

Автор книги: Simon Scarrow

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‘My lord, it seems to me that Malta is not the real issue of substance here. Perhaps your country feels that France poses some kind of threat to the interests of England. If you might try to explain your grievances in more detail then we might yet progress to a better understanding.’

Whitworth considered the idea and nodded. ‘Very well, sir. But be aware that, even though I know the mind of my political masters, I do not speak for them. What passes between us here is no more than an informal exchange of views. Agreed?’

Talleyrand turned to Napoleon with a questioning look.‘That is agreeable, citizen?’

Napoleon nodded, still frowning at the ambassador. ‘Go on.’

Whitworth cleared his throat and began. ‘Despite the treaty, England is concerned that France is not resolved to make peace. We need to trade with Europe, yet we find that the First Consul seems determined to place every obstacle he can in the way of English commerce with the Continent. Then there is our concern over the territorial ambitions of France. In recent months you have annexed Piedmont, Elba, Holland and Parma. We wonder what lands will be gathered into your arms next. Especially since you seem determined to reduce the number of German principalities and draw them into the sphere of French influence. And what of your wider interests?’ He stared directly at Napoleon as he spoke. ‘Our ambassador in Spain has noted how you have resorted to the most undiplomatic threats in order to get the Spanish to return your territory of Louisiana in the Americas. As we speak, a large French army is busy putting down a slave revolt in San Domingo. Surely you must undestand our anxiety over so strong a force in a region where we have far fewer troops? From our side of the Channel, it seems that France is merely using the peace to prepare the ground for war. Put yourself in our position and you must surely agree that our concerns appear to be well warranted.’

‘I understand that well enough.’ Talleyrand nodded. ‘But I assure you, France relishes the current peace, and is merely settling outstanding affairs in order that she can enjoy the benefits of the growing harmony between the interests of our nations.’

‘What harmony?’ Whitworth shook his head. ‘Whatever harmony remains is withering, not growing.’

‘Then it is urgent that we do all we can, as swiftly as possible, to repair the situation. So tell us, what would His Majesty’s government ask of France in order to ease the tension between us?’

Napoleon watched Whitworth carefully as the Englishman collected his thoughts and responded. ‘Open the ports of Europe to our ships and our merchants. Settle your revolt in San Domingo and bring your army home. And return those lands you have annexed to their former owners.’

‘He asks for the moon!’ Napoleon protested to Talleyrand, then rounded on the ambassador. ‘And if we gave in to those demands, would you return the favour? Would you abandon Malta? Would you stop sheltering the émigrés who spill their bile into the foul pamphlets that appear on our streets? Oh, don’t think I don’t know who is funding their lies.The same source of money that buys arms for the Vendée rebels, and no doubt provided the means for those bastards who tried to assassinate me. You shelter them in the Channel Islands, and it’s your ships that land them on our shores to spread their mischief. Is England prepared to accept that France is no longer the land of the Bourbons? Is England prepared to recognise that France is at last a free nation?’

‘A free nation?’ Whitworth smiled mockingly. ‘A free nation, under Bonaparte. What exactly is the difference between an absolute monarch and a First Consul for life?’

‘The difference is that Iwas elected by the people.’ Napoleon raised his chin. ‘I embody their will.’

‘Really? And who is to say that His Majesty does not embody the will of our people?’

‘Then why don’t you ask them?’ Napoleon smiled coldly. ‘Why don’t you ask your people? Unless you are afraid of what they might say.’

Whitworth stared at him in silence for a moment before replying. ‘The common people are not in possession of the knowledge or the will to act in their own interest. Until they are, their social superiors will determine their best interests, and those of England as a whole.’

Napoleon shook his head. These aristos were all alike, from one side of Europe to the other. Arrogant, greedy and desperate to hang on to the power handed to them by their ancestors.They would fight to the last breath rather than permit a man like Napoleon, with all his natural advantages of intellect and ambition, to remake their archaic nations into more efficient and fair societies.

Talleyrand looked from one to the other with a growing sense of despair. There was no shred of reconciliation between them, and his heart felt heavy at the inevitable fate awaiting the peoples of France and England. There was nothing more he could do to try to bridge the gap this day. He would have to wait until the immediate tension had bled out, and then try again.

He stood up. ‘Gentlemen, we have spoken enough.The other guests will fear there is something amiss unless we return to the party. For their sakes, I beg you, we must behave with cordial affection, while peace still has a chance.’

He gestured towards the distant gathering of guests, clustered around Josephine on the lawn. Napoleon bowed his head curtly towards the ambassador and left the arbour, striding back across the neatly cut grass. Whitworth stared after him, and muttered, ‘I rather fear that man may prove to be as much your problem as he is ours.’

Then he set off at a far more leisurely pace, as if he was idly admiring the features of the garden as he ambled back towards the other guests. Talleyrand was still for a moment, his eyes fixed on Napoleon as he contemplated the last words of the ambassador.

The year ended with no sign that the English were willing to quit Malta. In January Napoleon decided to increase pressure on them and gave orders for the preparation of an expedition to the last remaining French territory in India at Pondicherry. There might still be a slender chance of winning back some ground from the Earl of Mornington and his brother, Arthur Wellesley.

The public delight over the previous year’s peace treaty was daily turning into fear of the outbreak of a new war and Napoleon felt compelled to address the senate and the assemblies of the tribunes and deputies on the matter of the relations between France and England.

Standing before them on the podium, as the dull grey light of a winter’s day filtered through the windows, Napoleon sensed their anxiety and need for reassurance. He set out the grievances of France and stressed the danger of England’s continued support for those who sought to destabilise the consulate and undermine all the benefits that Napoleon and his government had brought to the people. At the end, as grey clouds thickened over Paris and ushers began to light the candles inside the hall, Napoleon concluded his address.

‘You all know me best as a soldier, and yet I tell you there is no greater ambition in my heart than that France may enjoy everlasting peace and prosperity.There could be no greater gift to this nation of ours than a generation that has never known the ravages of war in its lifetime. But what value is such peace if the honour of our nation is debased by the pernicious propaganda and provocations of England?’ He paused and turned his gaze on Lord Whitworth sitting in the visitors’ gallery, so that no member of the audience could be in any doubt where his final remarks were aimed. ‘It is the tragedy of England that her houses of Parliament are riven by two factions. On the one side there is a peace party, dedicated to the benefits and rewards of a universal peace. On the other side is the war party, comprising mean and bellicose spirits in whose hearts there resides an implacable hatred of France. If the war party seizes control in the coming months then the blood of countless innocents will be on their hands. If there is war, then history will judge that the cause of it will be England, not France. And if there is war, then I give my word that France will prevail and our armies will utterly humble those who have forced us to take up arms.’

The applause was muted and solemn, as Napoleon had anticipated. This was no rallying call for an attack, but a grim warning that France must be ready to fight an enemy who seemed utterly relentless. As he acknowledged the clapping that echoed round the chamber Napoleon saw Whitworth rise from his seat. Their eyes met and Whitworth shook his head with regret before he turned and climbed the steps towards the exit.

It did not take long for reports of Napoleon’s address to reach London and the King quickly made his own appearance before Parliament. King George tersely rejected Napoleon’s warning, and authorised the calling up of the militia and the expansion of the Royal Navy to place it on a war footing. Napoleon responded by issuing orders for the massing of an army of over a hundred thousand men on the Channel coast. In April Talleyrand concluded negotiations with representatives of the American government for the sale of the vast swath of land in North America that formed the Louisiana territory.The price was sixty million francs. Never had land been sold so cheaply, but then again, Napoleon reasoned, never had France needed money so badly.

At the end of the month Lord Whitworth formally requested an audience with the First Consul.They met in the Luxembourg Palace. There was little attempt to exchange more than perfunctory courtesies before the English ambassador proffered a document to Napoleon. Talleyrand stood to one side, hiding his despair behind his customary mask of detachment.

‘What is this?’ Napoleon demanded.

‘A message from Prime Minister Addington, on behalf of His Majesty. He considers that the presence of so large an army on the coast directly opposite Britain constitutes a direct threat.The Prime Minister therefore requires that the army is to disband. Failure to accede to this request will be considered a hostile act.’

Napoleon took the sealed letter and laid it on his desk before he replied. ‘Might I ask how France is to interpret His Majesty’s rapid enlargement of the Royal Navy? It seems that a new ship of the line appears off our coasts almost every day. If I disband my army, will he disband his ships?’

Lord Whitworth ignored the question and gestured towards the letter. ‘I am instructed to wait until the eighth of May for your response. If you refuse to comply, then I am to leave Paris and return to London.’

Napoleon felt his heart quicken. ‘Then you will declare war on France.’

‘I did not say that, sir.’Whitworth drew himself up so that he looked down on Napoleon as imperiously as possible.‘As all men know, England desires nothing more than peace.’

Napoleon felt some last measure of restraint snap inside him as he stared back at the haughty English aristocrat. He slammed his fist down, making the letter jump. ‘Respect the treaty then! Leave Malta at once!’

For a moment, they glared at each other.Then the ambassador bowed his head and backed a few steps away.‘I shall return to the embassy. I will await your reply. Until the eighth.’

Once he had gone,Talleyrand turned to Napoleon and asked, ‘Will you disband the army?’

‘No.’>

‘Then it’s war.’

‘So it seems,’ Napoleon replied evenly. ‘Though we shall give England the ignominy of declaring it.’

‘Do you think they will?’

‘I am certain of it.’

‘Then God help us all.’

Lord Whitworth waited in Paris until the appointed day and then, having received no response from Napoleon, left Paris with his meagre household in a small convoy of carriages. Four days later he boarded a ship at Calais and set sail for England. In Parliament the Tories, urged on by the revitalised fanaticism of William Pitt, proposed a motion to declare war on France.

One morning, late in May, Napoleon was at breakfast with Josephine when a footman entered the room and approached the table carrying a sealed message. Napoleon broke the wafer, unfolded the single sheet and read the hurriedly scribbled message. He set it down with a frown and stared fixedly at the window for a moment before Josephine gave a light cough.

‘What is it, my dear? That letter.’

‘Hmmm?’ Napoleon turned to her, as if he was unsure of her words for a moment. Then he glanced at the paper. ‘Oh . . . It’s from Talleyrand. He received an official dispatch from London this afternoon. The English declared war on France on the sixteenth.’

‘War?’ There was a protracted pause before Josephine continued, ‘How long do you think it will last, this time?’

Napoleon considered the question briefly. ‘I’ve no idea. All I do know is that this time there can be no peace until England, or France, is utterly crushed. We have exhausted any other possibilities.As the saying goes, it will be a fight to the bitter end.’ He stared at the letter. It seemed an age since the last time he had gone to war.Then it had seemed glorious and he had revelled in it. But now? Napoleon felt the weary weight of his heart as he contemplated the coming conflict. There would never be a war like it. Two great powers, one dominating the land, the other master of the oceans, locked in a struggle that would embrace Europe and spread its dark wings to the far corners of the world. It would be a war on a scale that no one had ever seen before.

Chapter 66

Arthur

Poona, August 1803

Arthur laid down his razor and began to rinse the remains of the soap from his face.When he had patted away the last drops he laid down his towel and stared into the mirror. At thirty-four years of age his body still had the trim athleticism of a man ten years younger. That was down to the hard exercise that he took every day, the same regimen he insisted on for his men. Even so it had taken many months to recover from his illness, and there was grey hair at his temples. He shook his head sadly at the toll India had taken on his body.To be fair, these lands had given him the chance to develop his ideas about the best methods for waging war. If he had remained in Europe, then he would never have had independent commands on the scale of the forces he had wielded in India.

His promotion to Major General had come through the previous year and now he was leading an army of nearly twenty-five thousand regular troops and sepoys. Some months earlier, as the British had anticipated, war had broken out between the Mahratta states and the Peshwa, Bajee Rao, had come to the Governor General begging aid to help restore him to power in Poona. Richard had made good use of the opportunity to draw up an advantageous treaty before authorising Arthur to take command of the army that would place Bajee Rao back on his throne. The Governor General had learned from his embarrassment over the affair with General Baird and had first offered the command to General Stuart. But Stuart had gracefully declined and stated that Arthur should be in command since he had equipped, organised and trained the finest army ever assembled in India. Those were the very words, Arthur recalled. His professionalism and ability had been recognised and there was no longer any grudging resentment, nor the muttered accusation of nepotism, to besmirch his reputation.

So he had led his army north from Mysore and entered Poona early in May, and returned Bajee Rao to his palace. Far from being a useful ally, Bajee Rao was detested by his people and his kingdom was destitute and disintegrating. Despite being restored to his throne by the English, the Peshwa had at once begun to plot with Scindia to oust his rescuers. Such was the man’s ineptitude in the arts of deceit that Arthur had come to hear of the plot almost at once and had remained in Poona to discourage Bajee Rao from any attempt to renege on his treaty with the Governor General. At the same time, attempts to negotiate treaties with Scindia and Holkar were proving difficult. Reports from Arthur’s network of agents had revealed that Scindia was trying to forge alliances with other Mahratta chiefs to wage war on the British. Meanwhile Holkar had declared war on the Nizam and had invaded the lands of Hyderabad, claiming that the Nizam owed him money. As a result Arthur had been obliged to divide his command and send Colonel Stevenson to protect Hyderabad with ten thousand soldiers.

Arthur had other problems. The men and horses he had brought with him from southern India were used to a diet of rice, yet the Mahrattas fed their beasts on jowarry– a coarse grain that was not suitable for the men in Arthur’s army. So his supply lines ran all the way back to Mysore. That was bad enough, but worse still was that many of the contractors had made off with much of his rice supply. That difficulty could be resolved by hiring new contractors, but in the meantime the army had advanced slowly from Poona to threaten Scindia’s fortress at Ahmadnagar.The monsoons had turned the tracks into glutinous mud that meant the army could progress no more than three miles a day. Arthur had left his men briefly to collect more bullocks and ensure that the situation in Poona was stable. The peace between France and England had changed the strategic situation in India overnight. Under the terms of the Treaty of Amiens the government in London had agreed to return Pondicherry to the French. Already a number of French soldiers had turned up in India, looking for employment under the local rajas and warlords. Hot on their heels had come a steady flow of French merchants eager to compete with the trade of the East India Company. Just when it seemed that the influence of France had been driven from the subcontinent, the French were back in play.

Arthur took a last glance at his image in the mirror. How much longer would his constitution hold out, he wondered? He had endured the strain of several years of campaigning in this unforgiving climate, and the odds against his returning home to England in good health were lengthening all the time. Besides, there was always the memory of Kitty at the back of his mind, and he yearned to return to her. The last letter he had received from her was some months ago. She said her heart was still his, and that she had successfully fended off the suitors her older brother had attempted to foist on her.That was small comfort to Arthur while he was on the far side of the world. He was familiar enough with Dublin society to know that the Viceroy would have a plentiful stock of dashing young staff officers to catch the eyes of the local dignitaries’ daughters, and that included Kitty.

‘Damn,’ he muttered in frustration and reached for his shirt, thrusting his head through the collar and hurriedly fastening the buttons. His servant had laid out the rest of his uniform on a chest beside the basin, and with a last moment to savour the cool loose fit of the shirt Arthur wearily began to dress. He made his way to the veranda of the residency where Barry Close had just sat down for breakfast. Even though Close had only recently been transferred from Mysore, he had made useful connections with the most powerful men in Poona.

‘Good morning, sir.’ Close nodded. ‘Dare say you had a better night’s sleep than you’ve had in a while, eh?’

‘More comfortable, at least.’ Arthur beckoned to one of Close’s stewards. ‘Lamb chops, if you please.’

The steward bowed. ‘ Acha, sahib.’

Once the man was out of earshot Arthur lowered his voice. ‘Any further developments with the Peshwa?’

‘Only that he is as treacherous as ever. My informants at the palace say there is a regular exchange of messages with Scindia and Holkar. I had a word with him last night about it. I mentioned that it was somewhat unseemly for a man beholden to our side to be in communication with his former enemies.’

‘He didn’t deny it then?’

‘Of course he did, sir. But you know Bajee Rao – the man is a compulsively bad liar. He insists that any communication he has with the other side simply demands that they bow to his authority once more. He swore, by all his gods, that he remains a steadfast and loyal ally of Britain.’

‘It’s conceivable he might be telling the truth,’ Arthur mused wistfully.

‘Only to the same extent that porcine aviation is conceivable,’ replied Close.‘The Peshwa is a black-hearted knave, motivated at any moment by what he fears most.’

‘Well, yes. Quite.’ Arthur stared across the compound towards the main gate of Poona and the distant domes of the Peshwa’s palace, gleaming in the rays of the early morning sun. ‘Well, we must do what we can to discourage him from playing both sides. I think it’s time that you let him know that if there should be any more of this underhand opposition, I shall be obliged to take possession of the country solely in the name of the Company.’

Close stared at him.‘Would you carry that threat through, sir?’

‘I would. I am empowered to act in the name of the Governor General, and I will not shirk from doing anything necessary to bring peace and order to the Mahrattas.You must make sure that he is convinced of that.’

‘Well, I’ll do my best, sir.’

‘I’m sure you will. In the meantime, we’ll continue our efforts to remove Holkar from the Nizam’s territory and get him and Scindia to disband their armies and accept the authority of the Peshwa.’

‘That’s a tall order, sir.’

‘I understand that, but we hold Poona, we have the Peshwa and have set a precedent for decisive action when it is required.’ Arthur leaned forward and poured himself some tea. ‘If they’re sensible, then they’ll meet our demands sooner or later.’

‘And if they don’t?’

‘Then there will be war, and my army and I will hunt them down and destroy them.’

The resident ran a hand slowly over his thinning hair. ‘The latest reports say that Scindia has over forty thousand men, and eighty guns. And the Raja of Berar is marching to join him with another twenty-five thousand men and forty guns.’

‘I read the reports too, you know,’ Arthur said testily. ‘Our army is more than a match for them.’

‘I’m sure you are right, sir.’

The door to the kitchen opened as the steward returned with a platter of lamb chops and strode towards them. Arthur glanced at the man before addressing his final comment to Close on the matter.‘I am right, as I will prove to you, and the whole of India, before the year is out.’

As Arthur ate the conversation turned to more light-hearted matters and the news that the Peshwa was planning to hold a tiger hunt later in the month.Arthur was minded to attend, given the slow progress of negotiations with Scindia and Holkar, and they fell to discussing the merits of various firearms. As breakfast ended and Arthur dabbed his lips with a napkin, a small party of horsemen came trotting up the road leading towards the city gate. They were covered in dust from several days of hard riding and were only recognisable as Europeans by the cut of their clothes and uniforms. A squadron of dragoons and a handful of civilians. As they turned off the road and made towards the entrance of the compound Arthur and Close sat up and scrutinised them more closely.

‘Who the devil are they, d’you suppose?’ Close grumbled. ‘Bound to be the bearers of bad news.’

There was a brief silence before Arthur nodded. ‘You can count on it. The man riding alongside the troop commander is my brother Henry.’

‘So it is. By God, you have fine eyesight, sir.’

‘Not really.’ Arthur smiled. ‘Only a select few men in India have a nose like that.’

Henry left his escort as they entered the compound and continued towards the residency as the troopers dismounted from the exhausted horses and led them to the troughs by the line of tie rails beside the entrance. Arthur got up and descended from the veranda, waving a greeting to his brother.

‘Henry! What brings you here?’

‘Charming greeting, I must say.After such an arduous journey, and not having seen you for so long, I’d have expected something better.’ Henry reined in and slid down from the saddle. A servant darted out from the side of the house and took the reins as he stretched his back and rubbed his seat. He nodded to the servant. ‘Have him watered, fed and groomed.’

Arthur raised his eyebrows. ‘You’re not staying?’

‘Only long enough to brief you. Then I’ll carry your reply back to Richard.’

‘Brief me? Why, what’s happened?’

Henry gestured to the table where Close was still seated, and they exchanged a brief wave.‘Let me take some refreshment first. I swear I have half the dust of India lining my throat. We’ve ridden directly from Madras, only stopping to rest when the nags were on the verge of collapse. Not a pleasant experience.’

Arthur smiled at his brother’s affected insouciance before replying in kind. ‘I beg your pardon, how inhospitable of me. Do please be my guest.’ He gestured to the table and they climbed the steps to join Close. While Arthur ordered the steward to bring a jug of pressed juices, Henry beat some of the dust from his coat and eased himself into one of the cane chairs.

‘So.’ Arthur turned to him. ‘Tell me. What brings you here?’

‘It’s the French.You know that Richard has been holding off their claims for their colony at Pondicherry to be returned to them.’

‘I had heard about it.’

‘The situation has changed. A French frigate arrived to reclaim the colony on the fifteenth of June. Over two hundred men landed and took possession of the fort. They say that a powerful squadron of warships is sailing to join them, together with a general and a division of French soldiers.’

‘Most awkward. Who else knows about this?’

‘Richard sent me as soon as he found out, but you can be sure that word will have reached most of our Mahratta friends by now.’

‘Which means they will be making speedy efforts to contact the French and come to some arrangement to inconvenience our interests.’

‘To put it mildly.’ Henry leaned forward and his tone became serious. ‘We can’t delay the inevitable a moment longer. Richard wants you to move against Scindia at once. He’s already given orders to General Lake to advance into the land between Jumna and the Ganges. Everything turns on a decisive defeat of the Mahrattas. Then we can enforce British influence across the breadth of the subcontinent.’

‘You have to admire our brother’s ambition,’Arthur responded drily. ‘The situation is rather more complicated here in the field. My army is stuck in mud and my supplies are tenuous.’

‘Now is not the best time to start a new campaign,’ said Close.

‘There never is a best time,’ said Henry. ‘Anyway, those are his instructions.’

Arthur raised an eyebrow. ‘Instructions, or orders?’

‘Richard gave you his full authority to act in this matter. He has every confidence that you will make the right decision.’

‘I see,’ Arthur replied coldly. If the campaign failed, Richard would be absolved of blame. Of course, if it succeeded then he would claim the credit for his grand strategic vision. Besides that, Arthur sensed that his loyalty to his brother was being tested.The expansion of British interests in India had cost a fortune, and the government in London and the directors of the Company would be certain to call the Governor General to account in the near future. It would be natural for Richard to want to know how far he could depend on his brother’s support. Yet Arthur deeply resented the ploy.

He let out a weary breath. ‘Very well, tell him that I will destroy Scindia’s army.’

The monsoon rains continued to slow the army’s march as Arthur led his forces towards the fortress of Ahmadnagar. Mud sucked down the wheels of his guns and the drivers of the artillery trains whipped their bullocks on as soldiers, often knee deep in mud themselves, braced their shoulders against the spokes and strained to shove the guns and the limbers back on to firmer ground. Even that had its hazards as the rain, and lighter deposits of mud, made the ground slippery and the men had to avoid the slithering motions of the bullock-drawn vehicles while struggling to remain on their feet and trudge on towards Ahmadnagar.

As soon as Henry had left Poona to carry Arthur’s response back to Calcutta, a message was sent to Scindia declaring that he bore responsibility for the coming conflict thanks to his unwillingness to negotiate. Scindia’s reply blamed the British in turn, saying that their pre-conditions had made any meaningful negotiations impossible. Scindia’s message ended with a rallying cry for every native of the subcontinent to rise up and throw off the British yoke. It was a hollow ambition, since the inhabitants of lands already under British rule realised they had more to lose than to gain by rebelling. But Arthur knew that the real audience of Scindia’s call to arms was the French. If they could supply enough advisers and arms, then the Mahratta armies might yet overthrow the British.

Four days’ march brought the British army to Scindia’s fortress at Ahmadnagar. Arthur, and a small escort, rode ahead to examine the enemy’s defences. At first light that morning the rain had finally stopped. By the time they found a small hill close enough to give a good view of the walls the sky had cleared and the rising sun was quickly warming the lush landscape, causing steam to rise up in a faint haze. Before them lay the pettah– a small walled town – and to one side the fortress itself. Ahmadnagar was circular with massive walls of solid stone with formidable-looking towers at regular intervals. A deep ditch, filled with water, surrounded the fortifications. Arthur flicked back his drenched cape and reached for his telescope. Around him, the staff officers followed suit as the escorting dragoons allowed their mounts to wander a short distance off to graze.

‘The scouts say that between the pettahand the fortress there is a garrison of a thousand Mahratta troops, and another thousand Arab mercenaries, under the command of French officers,’Arthur commented as he scanned the walls of the pettahclosely. ‘Looks like the usual combination of brick, mud and masonry surrounding the town.’ He squinted as he focused on a party of enemy soldiers watching them from one of the towers. ‘About twenty feet high, I should say.’