The Fields of Death r-4, page 56
part #4 of Revolution Series
Joseph nodded.
‘Good.’ Napoleon turned to Berthier. ‘I require you to take charge of recruiting soldiers for the campaign, and making sure they are equipped. Do you accept?’
‘Of course, sire,’ Berthier replied quietly. ‘I have never failed in my duty to my country. However . . .’
Napoleon’s brow tensed. ‘However?’
There was a brief pause before Berthier cleared his throat and leaned forward slightly. ‘Sire, I have followed events as best as I can during my convalescence. The war is going badly for France. Two days ago I heard that Ney, Victor and Marmont had been forced to retreat beyond the Meuse.’
‘That is correct,’ Napoleon admitted.‘It was expedient to do so. They are retreating on to their lines of supply, while the enemy is extending theirs with every pace that they advance. I would prefer to have taken the offensive, but strategic exigencies prevent it. So, we lure them into a trap. At present they have divided into three armies, each of which can be defeated, provided that I can keep them apart and deal with each in turn.’
Berthier shut his eyes and shook his head gently before he responded. ‘But, sire, you will suffer attrition with each battle, and the odds of winning become less favourable. Besides, many of the regiments in the army are under strength. To stand any chance of defending France you must find far more men.’
‘Which I am in the process of doing,’ Napoleon replied defiantly. ‘Once King Ferdinand ratifies the peace treaty between Spain and France then tens of thousands more men will be available. And more, as soon as Murat sends reinforcements from Naples. Meanwhile, there are two divisions forming at Lyon. They will march north to reinforce me the moment I call on them.’
‘They are merely boys and invalids, sire. Many of them have still not been issued full uniforms, or muskets. They cannot be considered as front line units.’
‘We are all in the front line, Berthier. Every soul in France has been in the front line from the moment the enemy crossed our border. But rest assured, I will only fight delaying actions until the moment I can attack each of their armies at an advantage.’
‘Even if that means retreating as far as Paris, sire?’
‘Even that,’ Napoleon conceded.
Berthier slumped back in his chair. He sighed. ‘Then we must make ready the capital’s defences, sire. The people need to be prepared for the worst. We must lay in rations to feed the population and the garrison, mount every spare cannon on the walls and in the forts.’
‘No.’ Napoleon shook his head.‘If the people think that Paris will be attacked then it will only result in panic and strengthen the hand of those traitors who seek to bring France low. There will be no attempt to prepare any defences. As far as the people are concerned, they are safe from the enemy. Is that perfectly clear?’
‘Yes, sire,’ Berthier replied patiently. ‘But if, for the sake of argument, the enemy are able to advance far enough to attack Paris, what then?’
‘Then there will be no attempt to abandon the city. The garrison and the people will resist the invader to the last breath, and if necessary we must bury ourselves under its ruins.’
There was silence in the room as Berthier stared at the Emperor, then exchanged brief glances with the others. He cleared his throat. ‘Sire, that is not a strategy. There is no honour, or purpose, in a ruler dragging a civilisation down to destruction. After what happened to Moscow we can be sure that the Tsar would happily destroy Paris in revenge. We cannot risk the capital, or its people, in this way. Either you give the order to prepare Paris for a siege, or, if you decide that it cannot be defended, it must be declared an open city.’
Napoleon stared at his subordinate, momentarily surprised by his boldness. If Berthier, of all people, dared speak to him this way, then his power over his followers was not as firm as he had supposed. It would be best to affect a conciliatory aspect, he concluded.
‘It is possible that the enemy may advance as far as Paris,’ he conceded. ‘It might be prudent to avoid giving battle in the streets, if there is an advantage to be sought from doing otherwise. But you are right, my dear Berthier, it would be better to avoid unnecessary civilian casualties. After all, they pay taxes.’ He chuckled, and the others smiled thinly in response. ‘You have your instructions, gentlemen. I place my complete trust in you to keep order during my absence. Savary, Berthier, you are dismissed.’
The two officers rose from their chairs and left. When they had gone, Napoleon eased himself back with a sigh, and then smiled at his older brother. Joseph returned the smile hesitantly.
‘It is a comfort to me to know I can rely on you, Joseph. I can trust you with my empire while I go to fight the enemies of France. Can I also trust you to take care of my wife and son?’
‘Of course.’
Napoleon scrutinised his brother. ‘We are so unalike, in many ways. You are a man of considered opinion, and of gentleness. I was wrong to impose the crown of Spain upon you. It was too heavy a burden. I see that now. I should have used your talents more wisely.’
‘I have served you as well as I could, whatever you asked of me.’
‘I know. I have always been grateful to you for that.’
‘Even when you have not shown it?’
Napoleon smiled sadly. ‘Even then.’
The injured note in Joseph’s tone was clear and for a moment Napoleon could not look his brother in the eye. Instead he reached for the decanter of wine and poured two glasses, carefully sliding the first across the table towards his brother. ‘Tell me honestly, what do you advise me to do?’
Joseph stared at him for a moment and then shrugged. ‘The war is lost. The allies have offered you terms - generous terms under the circumstances. Why don’t you accept them, while there is still time to keep your throne?’
Napoleon stroked his brow. It was true that some, at least, of his enemies were prepared to discuss peace on fair terms. Both England and Austria had offered to end the war if France accepted the frontiers that she had at the outbreak of the Revolution. Napoleon would be permitted to retain his throne, but would have to renounce his authority over the Confederation of the Rhine, as well as all his lands in Italy. He shook his head.
‘No. If I accepted such a peace the people of France would never forgive me. Besides, the Tsar and the King of Prussia would not accept peace on those terms. They want my head. In any case, you are missing the vital point.’
‘Oh?’
‘The allies are divided into two camps: the interests of England and Austria are inimicable to those of Russia and Prussia. That is why they are keen to offer peace. They need France - they need me - to keep the balance of power in Europe. That is their weakness, which I intend to exploit. Don’t you see, Joseph? If I can keep the war going long enough then the alliance against me must break. They will turn on each other and I shall be saved. Then I can make peace with whom I choose. On my terms.’ He smiled coldly. ‘When I have won, history will judge that I am right.’
Joseph shook his head.‘I fear that you are mistaken. You are chancing everything on the hope, the faint hope, that your enemies will set upon each other before they defeat you. It is madness to take such a risk when they offer you peace.’
The burden of the last months of frantic activity weighed heavily upon Napoleon, and the prospect of a bitter dispute with his brother made him feel weary and heavy-hearted. He sighed. ‘I have made my decision. My plans. I will not change them now. I do not deny they may go awry, but I do not feel that destiny has abandoned me yet. So, brother, I will go to war, and you and the others will govern France in my stead. Can I depend upon you?’
Joseph nodded wearily.
‘Then the matter is settled. Save one final duty I ask of you.’
Joseph’s eyes narrowed. ‘What is it?’
‘It is possible that I may be defeated. That I may even be killed on the field of battle. In either event I could not bear the thought of my son being raised as an Austrian prince. I would rather his throat was cut. Do you understand? Under no circumstances is he, or his mother, to be allowed to fall into enemy hands, alive.’
Joseph could not hide the look of revulsion that instinctively rose up in response to the request. ‘I am not a murderer.’
‘It is not murder. It is mercy that I ask of you. If the worst happens, then spare my son, my flesh and blood, the indignity of denying his true identity. I ask you to promise me this. Swear to me that you will give the order. On your honour.’
‘No!’ Joseph raised his hands. ‘Ask anything of me but that.’
Napoleon glared at him for a while, then slumped back into his chair. ‘Very well. I shall have to ask another. But it pains me that you of all people should deny me this comfort before I go to war.’
‘It pains me that my brother, of all people, should ask me to commit such a monstrous act.’ Joseph stood up abruptly. ‘Now, if you no longer require my presence, sire, I will leave.’
Napoleon stared up at him coldly. ‘Then leave.’
His brother turned and strode towards the door, opening it swiftly and closing it loudly behind him, without once glancing back at Napoleon. The room was silent, save for the low moan of the wind outside as it gusted over the darkened city.
Chapter 49
Arcis-sur-Aube, 20 March 1814
The engineer officer approached Napoleon and Marshal Ney and saluted. ‘The bridge is repaired, sire. The army can cross as soon as you give the command.’
‘Well done, Captain. You and your men have pleased me. Pass on my thanks to them.’
‘Yes, sir.’ The engineer’s pleasure at the compliment shone from his face. He swallowed nervously. ‘And . . . and I’m certain they wish you a swift victory, sire.’
‘That may take somewhat longer to achieve.’ Napoleon smiled thinly. He turned to Ney, instantly banishing the other man from his thoughts. ‘Send Sebastiani and his cavalry across first. They are to press forward and screen the bridgehead. The Guard can cross next.’
Ney bowed his head to acknowledge the order, then replied,‘We still can’t be certain what strength we face to the east, sire. What I wouldn’t give to have Murat and his men with us now. Such fine cavalry . . .’ Ney glanced quickly at his Emperor and the latter’s dark expression instantly stilled his tongue.
‘Then it is a shame for us both that Murat has decided to deny us his good services,’ Napoleon responded bitterly. It was only two weeks before that the news had arrived from Italy. Marshal Murat, the Emperor’s brother-in-law, whom Napoleon had gifted the kingdom of Naples, had defected to the allies. There had been little of the rage that Napoleon might once have given vent to when he first heard of Murat’s’s treachery. Anger had swiftly given way to contempt and disgust. Napoleon fervently hoped that he lived long enough to have his revenge. Not just on Murat, but on the newly recrowned Ferdinand of Spain as well. Despite the treaty he had signed with Napoleon at Valenзay, Ferdinand had failed to keep one of the promises he had made so earnestly and Spain was still at war with France.
Revenge would have to wait, he reflected. That was a luxury he must deny himself, until the invaders had been driven from French soil. The allied armies remained divided, advancing boldly across northern and eastern France, confident in the strength of their numbers. As a consequence he been able to strike at their overextended columns several times since he had taken command of his forces at the end of January. Although the snow, and the subsequent mud, had hampered the movements of both sides, Napoleon held the advantage of support of the French people, who turned out to help heave the guns through the mud, or sabotaged bridges and obstructed roads to delay the enemy wherever they could. If they no longer showed unrestrained joy and loyalty in his presence, then at least he could rely on them to hate and resist the enemy.
At present, Napoleon needed every shred of assistance that could be mustered for his outnumbered soldiers. While he marched with Ney against the Austrians of General Schwarzenberg, Marmont was attempting to hold the approaches to Paris against two Prussian armies. Napoleon was already contemplating the need to abandon the capital to its fate and concentrate all his forces for one bold, massed attack sweeping across the lines of communication of his enemies. It would be a desperate measure, but there was no hope for any other strategy - military or diplomatic - should Paris fall to the enemy. The allies had just announced that they were resolved to agree a single peace with France and there was no longer any question of reverting to the pre-Revolution borders, under the rule of Napoleon. His reign was forfeit, and the allies would dictate their terms to France, if they were victorious.
Napoleon cleared his throat and addressed Ney calmly. ‘Sebastiani’s patrols reported that the main Austrian column is twenty miles to the north. We are facing their rearguard. If we can advance quickly enough to force a battle then we shall overwhelm them. There is nothing for you to be concerned about.’
‘I’m not concerned for myself, sire,’ Ney responded testily, and gestured towards the columns of guardsmen waiting for the order to advance. ‘But we cannot afford to risk the few men we have left to face the enemy.’
‘We will lose some,’ Napoleon shrugged. ‘The trick of it is to make sure that they lose more, far more, than we do.’
‘They can afford to, sire.’
‘Not indefinitely. As long as we are resolved to fight the invader, we have the advantage of interior lines of supply, and a unity of resolve and purpose, something that no alliance ever truly has. So we shall continue to drive a wedge between them, until their alliance shatters.’
‘And if it doesn’t?’
Napoleon forced a smile. ‘Come now, my dear Michel, surely the bravest of the brave has not lost the desire to fight?’
‘Do not doubt my courage, sire. But I am a man of sound judgement too and I question what we are doing here.’ He paused, then shook his head wearily. ‘You should have accepted their offer of peace.’
Napoleon looked at him coldly. ‘It is too late for that. We must do what we can with the tools at hand. Now, order your men to cross the river.’
Ney’s lips compressed and he stared at his Emperor briefly before tugging his reins and spurring his horse over towards the leading formation of Friant’s guardsmen.
Early in the afternoon Napoleon crossed the bridge and re-joined Ney and the Guard as they approached the village of Torcy-le-Grand, nestled in rolling farmland. Ahead of them, dotted across the countryside, rode the cavalry patrols, ever watchful for a sign of the enemy. From the east a distant crackle of small arms carried on the chilly air and Napoleon pointed in the direction of the sound.
‘Have that investigated at once. The enemy is supposed to be in the south.’
‘Yes, sire.’
While Ney sent an order forward to Sebastiani, Napoleon turned his attention to the men of the brigade he was riding alongside. They were soldiers of one of the recently raised units. There was a leavening of veterans, denoted by the chevrons on their sleeves, but most were new recruits, selected from the training camps to join the Imperial Guard directly. The only battle experience they had was the last few weeks of campaigning. A few men raised cheers for the Emperor as his horse trotted by, but most either just glanced at him, or stared at the ground in front of them as they tramped on, bending under the burden of their muskets and backpacks. The strain of forced marches through the cold days and nights of winter was evident in their grim and numbed expressions. These men must endure the hardships of the campaign better than their enemies if they were to win victories and save France, and their Emperor’s throne.
Never had the odds been so heavily weighted against him, Napoleon reflected. And yet he felt the thrill of the conviction that he must somehow win. Sheer force of will had led him to dominate Europe, and he would die rather than bow to lesser men.
The sound of firing increased and Napoleon looked to the east, where a regiment of Sebastiani’s hussars were galloping towards a low ridge in the direction of the guns. Beyond them, silhouetted against the overcast sky, were the vedettes who had fallen back. A twinge of anxiety clenched in the pit of Napoleon’s stomach. There was not supposed to be any threat from the east, according to the intelligence reports. Yet something had caused the cavalry screen to fall back, and Sebastiani to concentrate his cavalry.
With a dull clop of hooves Ney trotted up and reined in. ‘Seems like the patrols missed an enemy column, sire. It’s only to be expected, given how little cavalry we can field.’
‘Don’t make excuses for your officers,’ Napoleon snapped.‘Someone will answer for this incompetence.’
Ney looked at him sourly. ‘Then let it be me, sire. The men are only as good as their commander.’
‘Do not dissemble with me, Ney. Why, if I took your line of argument to its absurd conclusion, then I should be the man ultimately responsible.’
Ney said nothing for a moment, then looked back towards the ridge and spoke quietly.‘Those responsible will always be held to account, one way or another.’
Before Napoleon could reply the sounds of bugles cut through the chilly air. As the last of the French vedettes and patrols trotted back towards the main column the first of the enemy appeared. They wore the plumed helmets of cuirassiers, and the heavy coats that covered their breastplates made them seem large and formidable. Squadron after squadron appeared along the crest, and reined in.
Marshal Ney immediately halted his column and turned them to face the threat as Sebastiani’s cavalry retired to the wings of the line of infantry. The artillery was still stuck in mud on the far side of the river and Napoleon cursed the lost opportunity to give the Austrian horsemen a savage pounding. His bad mood increased as a battery of horse artillery joined the enemy on the ridge, and soon the stubby barrels of howitzers were presented to the Frenchmen.
‘Now we’re in for it,’ Ney muttered, and glanced down the line. ‘I pray that the men hold firm.’
