The Fields of Death r-4, page 63
part #4 of Revolution Series
‘It’s time you announced me,’ Napoleon replied.
Cambronne edged his spurs in and trotted forward towards the waiting soldiers. Their commander lowered his scope and watched the solitary rider approaching. When Cambronne was no more than fifty paces away the other officer cupped a hand to his mouth and called out. ‘Stop there!’
Reining in, Cambronne raised his hat and replied. ‘Comrades! Our Emperor has returned! Join us!’
‘Silence!’ the officer shouted, then ordered his men, ‘Advance your muskets!’
The bayonets angled forward, cold gleaming tips pointing towards Cambronne.
‘What is the meaning of this?’ he barked. ‘How dare you threaten me? What do you think you are doing?’
‘I have orders to prevent you proceeding,’ the officer replied firmly. ‘You will hand over the outlaw behind you, and tell your men to lay down their arms.’
‘I shall do no such thing!’
‘If you do not surrender within ten minutes, I will give the order to open fire.’ The officer pulled out his fob watch and looked down at it.
‘If you fire on the Emperor you will be responsible to all of France!’ Cambronne responded. ‘Come now, we are all Frenchmen.’
He sat in his saddle and waited for a response. Eventually the officer looked up from his watch and spoke. ‘Nine minutes . . .’
With a muttered curse Cambronne turned his mount round and trotted back towards Napoleon. ‘You heard him, sire?’
‘Yes.’
‘Do you think he will give the order?’
Napoleon stared at the line of soldiers for a moment. ‘There’s only one way to find out.’
He dismounted and handed his reins to Cambronne. ‘Stay here. If anything happens to me remember your orders.’
‘Sire, you can’t put yourself in danger. France needs you.’
‘Quiet,’ Napoleon said. He drew a long deep breath and started walking slowly towards the soldiers. As he did so he unbuttoned his coat to reveal the green jacket of a colonel of the Guards. His heart beat quickly as he gazed steadily at the row of bayonets angled towards him. He knew that he was placing his reputation in the balance against the discipline of these soldiers. If he was mistaken then it would be likely that he would be dead within the next few minutes. Although it was spring, he felt cold and had to clench his fists behind his back to stop them trembling. They must not see my fear, he thought fiercely.
He continued to approach them steadily, taking in the details of the expressions of those men closest to him. It was impossible to tell whether they meant him any harm. Behind them, the officer on horseback glared defiantly at Napoleon as he stopped, no more than twenty paces from their bayonets.
‘Soldiers of the Fifth! Do you not recognise me? Am I not your old general?’
His words echoed off the side of the hill and then there was silence until he spoke again. ‘If there is a man amongst you who wants to kill his Emperor . . . then here I am!’ He pulled back his coat and presented his breast to them.
‘Present arms!’ the officer called out, and the men in the front rank raised their muskets.
‘Take aim!
Napoleon pressed his lips together and widened his eyes as he stood his ground and stared into the muzzles of the muskets pointing directly at him.
‘Fire!’
Napoleon felt an instant of icy terror, then the moment was past. There was no crash of a volley, no flame and no smoke. Nothing but a strained silence.
‘Fire, damn you!’ the officer shouted angrily. ‘Obey the order!’
Before the sound of the words had died on his lips, another voice cried out, ‘Long live the Emperor!’
The soldiers lowered their muskets and cheered, almost as one, as they broke ranks and surged towards Napoleon. Some clasped his hand, while others, more awestruck, satisfied themselves with touching his coat. But all cheered his name again and again. Cambronne and his men joined in and ran forward to greet the other men as comrades. Napoleon smiled at those around him and then began to pace forward, the throng parting to let him pass. He stopped before the mounted officer, a young major.
‘What is your name?’
‘Lansard,’ the man replied through gritted teeth. His face flushed with bitter shame over the failure of his authority. He ignored his men as he fixed his eyes on Napoleon. He took the handle of his sword and drew it from its scabbard, and then tossed it on to the ground at Napoleon’s feet. He glanced down at the sword and then gestured to one of the soldiers next to him. ‘Pick that up and hand it back to the Major.’
As the officer reluctantly replaced the blade in its scabbard Napoleon smiled at him. ‘Lansard, you are no more a prisoner than I was. Now, your men are mine, and I ask you, will you join me?’
The officer was silent for a moment, and then nodded curtly. At once there was a fresh burst of cheering and Napoleon had to raise his voice so that Lansard could hear him. ‘You and your men will join my column. Take up position between the Guard and the lancers. Clear?’
‘Yes . . . sire.’ Lansard saluted and Napoleon turned and made his way back towards Cambronne and the Guard.
‘Cambronne!’
‘Sire?’
‘Send one of your officers, together with one of Lansard’s, to Grenoble. They are to tell the people, and any other units they find there, what has happened. Tell them to announce the arrival of their Emperor.’
‘Yes, sire.’ Cambronne smiled with joy and relief.
Napoleon smiled back.‘The crisis has passed, my friend. Once others receive word that this first battalion has come over to us without a shot being fired, then the rest of the army will follow suit. Until this moment I was just an adventurer. Now? Now I am a great prince of Europe once again . . .’
Chapter 55
The Tuileries, Paris, 8 April 1815
Napoleon slowly crumpled up the proclamation of the Congress at Vienna and continued to crush it between his hands. ‘So this is how they would treat me,’ he said in a low voice that the others sitting around the table could hardly hear. ‘They brand me an outlaw.’ He sighed bitterly and tossed the small ball of paper aside. ‘You can be sure this is Talleyrand’s doing. This is his revenge for the indignities I heaped on him over the years. So what if I did? He deserved every slight. Every insult.’
His council of ministers and generals sat in silence. They had been summoned to hear the Emperor read out the allies’ proclamation and discuss the appropriate response. Napoleon looked round at them. There were many familiar faces, recalled to service when Napoleon had returned to Paris. He had been greeted by an hysterical mob who had swept him off his feet and carried him through the streets, into the palace and up into the throne room, abandoned only the day before by King Louis. Napoleon had closed his eyes as they carried him, relishing the feeling of power he had over the affections of so many. Not just the people of Paris. At every stage of his march from the coast, the people had come out to greet him with cheers. The Bourbons had sent soldiers to oppose him, then armies, and in spite of their orders the soldiers had gone over to him. Even Marshal Ney, who had boasted to Louis that he would bring Napoleon to Paris in an iron cage.
Although the people and the army had acclaimed him, and demanded that he take back his throne, the more influential elements of French society had regarded his return with studied caution. The Chamber of Deputies, which had voted to depose him the previous year, hurriedly retracted their decision and welcomed the Emperor back to his capital, beseeching him to maintain the peace of Europe. Much as he would have liked to respond to their about-face with scorn, Napoleon realised that he needed their support. Without their co-operation, and that of officials and lesser assemblies across the nation, it would be almost impossible to build the support his regime needed.
The Emperor re-established his reign with caution. He had answered the calls for peace by sending messages to the other rulers of Europe assuring them of his desire to avoid conflict. He had even issued an edict pronouncing the end of France’s involvement in the slave trade. That at least should have garnered some good opinion in Britain. But his offers of peace had been either ignored or curtly rebuffed. Now the allies had signed a treaty pledging to send over half a million men to defeat Napoleon. They sought to divide the Emperor from his people by claiming that their war was not against France, but only Bonaparte, whom they had pronounced an outlaw.
‘You have all borne witness to my efforts to prevent war,’ Napoleon addressed his council. ‘I offered them my hand in friendship and in return they have spat in my face and offered me, and France, only threats. It is clear to all right-thinking men that Russia, Austria, Prussia and England are the aggressors.’
Marshal Davout, who had accepted the post of Minister of War, spoke up. ‘Sire, they could be playing into our hands by refusing to declare war on France. It places them in a difficult position. If they invade France, then they can hardly avoid uniting the nation behind you, particularly as you have offered them peace. Therefore, they must wait, and hope that you will attack them, and thereby justify their declaration of war against you in person.’
‘That is true.’ Napoleon nodded thoughtfully. ‘And what do you advise me to do?’
‘Bide your time, sire. Make no attempt to provoke military action. At the same time we can build our strength and be ready to defend our borders if the allies become impatient and decided to invade. That is my advice.’
‘I see.’ Napoleon regarded him for a moment, then shook his head. ‘We cannot risk such a strategy, Davout.’
‘Why is that, sire?’
‘At present there are two armies in the low countries, one under Marshal Blьcher, the other led by Wellington. Each commands over a hundred thousand men. Schwarzenberg has another two hundred thousand men poised to cross the Rhine, and another hundred and fifty thousand Russians are marching to join them. They will be in position to invade France by the end of July. And what do we have to face them? Louis left us with no more than two hundred thousand men to guard our frontiers. I have ordered another seventy-five thousand veterans to be recalled to the army, as well as eighty thousand volunteers. Even after they have been trained, we shall still be massively outnumbered. Lack of manpower is not the only problem. We are short of horses, equipment, ammunition.’ He paused. ‘So you see, time is not on our side.’
‘Then what do you propose, sire?’
Napoleon folded his hands together as he contemplated the answer he had already prepared. He knew that it would dispel any chance of portraying France as the victim of aggressors, yet he could conceive of no other course of action.
‘There is only one chance of success, gentlemen. If I give the order for France to mobilise for war today, then by June I can form an army of perhaps a hundred and thirty thousand men on the border with Belgium. That is where the allies’ two weakest armies are positioned. If we can surprise them, before they can concentrate, then I am confident that we can defeat each in turn. If we can annihilate Wellington and his army, then we may force England out of the coalition. Without English gold the other powers will be hard pressed to keep their armies in the field against us.’ Napoleon paused as he saw the uncertainty in the expressions of his subordinates.‘Gentlemen, I assure you that I have fully considered the alternatives. If we wait, and allow the enemy to concentrate all their armies, then we must surely lose. If we attack while our troops are fresh and their morale is high, we can destroy a third of the enemy’s strength at one stroke. The rest will surely hesitate. My aim is to make them offer us peace. That is the limit of my ambition, I assure you. The old days of conquest are over. You have my word on it. We will have peace, but first we must fight for it.’ He looked round the table. ‘Does anyone wish to speak? No? Then I take it we are agreed.’ He paused briefly before continuing, ‘Marshal Davout.’
‘Sire?’
‘I want the order to mobilise our forces issued before the end of the day.’
‘Yes, sire.’
For the rest of the month, and into May, Napoleon worked tirelessly to prepare the country for war. At the same time, he was more mindful than ever before of the need to secure the loyalty of his war-weary people. The repressive measures imposed by the Bourbons were reversed. Political prisoners were set free and those officers who had served the Bourbons were freely pardoned and many offered commands within the reconstituted imperial army. At times this caused friction, especially when hard-line Bonapartist officers were denied promotion in favour of those who had served King Louis. But Napoleon knew that he could take the loyalty of his ardent supporters for granted, while the loyalty of the former Bourbon officers had to be bought. Thereafter they would be watched with suspicion by their subordinates and would be keen to prove their newfound allegiance to Napoleon.
Davout swiftly organised the production and supply of equipment for the rapidly expanding army. Mills and factories turned out thousands of uniforms and tens of thousands of cartridges. New cannon were cast and pinioned to freshly constructed gun carriages. Horses were requisitioned across the country. All the while a steady flow of soldiers marched north towards the Sambre river where they camped across a wide front, waiting for the order to concentrate. Napoleon remained in Paris for as long as possible. He had sent a private message to the Emperor of Austria, begging for the return of his son and his wife. But there was no reply and his heart hardened towards the Austrians, and he vowed that he would avenge this cruel silence.
As he made a show of dealing with his civil obligations, all the time Napoleon’s mind was focused on planning the coming campaign, selecting his officers carefully. Murat’s request to serve under him was brusquely declined. Murat had foolishly declared war on Austria as soon as he heard of Napoleon’s escape from Elba and was defeated shortly thereafter and forced to flee to France. After his earlier treachery Napoleon could not trust him.
His uncertain hold on power meant that he must leave Davout to control Paris in his absence. Berthier would have been his first choice as chief of staff of the new Army of the North, but early in June came news that Berthier was dead. He had fallen from a window of his home in Bamberg, but it was not clear if it was an accident or something more sinister. In his place Napoleon appointed Soult, despite Soult’s protest that he lacked the ability to run the Emperor’s general staff, and was better employed on the battlefield.
On 7 June Napoleon ordered that the frontier with Belgium be closed. As a further security measure no mail or civilian traffic was allowed on to the roads, while the soldiers of the Army of the North began to concentrate on Philippeville less than a day’s march from the border. A week later Napoleon’s carriage and cavalry escort trundled into the small town of Beaumont where the headquarters for the army had been established. The usually quiet streets of the town were filled with soldiers and they jumped to their feet and cheered the instant they were aware that their Emperor had joined them. Napoleon, though exhausted by the preparations for the campaign, forced a smile and waved to them. Even amid the wild celebration his mind was coolly assessing their morale and he was pleased to see that there was no hint of the dull mood of resignation that had characterised the soldiers he had led a year ago. They pressed round the carriage, following it through the streets until it turned into the coachyard of the inn where Soult and his staff were waiting.
The officers had been alerted to his approach and were already lining the short walk to the entrance of the inn. As the carriage rumbled to a halt on the cobbles, Soult strode across the yard and bowed his head while a footman helped the Emperor down.
‘Is everything ready?’ Napoleon asked curtly.
‘Sire, I have the honour to report that the Army of the North awaits your orders.’
‘Very good, Soult.’ Napoleon smiled and patted the marshal on the shoulder.‘Then it only remains to settle the final details of my plans.’ He gestured towards the entrance. ‘Inside.’
The two passed between the lines of staff officers, who bowed their heads as the Emperor passed. Napoleon noticed a few familiar faces, but most were unknown to him.
‘I take it that you had difficulties reassembling my old headquarters staff?’
‘Indeed, sire. Some had accepted service under the Bourbons, others were exiled or had left France. I have gathered the best men that I could find at short notice. They seem capable enough.’
‘Soult.’ Napoleon lowered his voice. ‘The fate of France will be decided in the next few days, a few weeks at the most. I am depending on you, and your staff. You shall not fail me, in any detail, is that clear?’
‘Yes, sire.’
They entered the building and proceeded through a small hall into the dining room. Every table had been pushed together in the centre to provide a map table for Soult and his staff. Small campaign desks and stools had been set up along the walls, and were presently piled with paperwork. There was little sense of the order that Berthier had insisted on, Napoleon reflected as he removed his jacket and slung it over the back of a chair. The weather in the last few days had been warm and the room was sweltering.
‘Open some windows,’ Napoleon ordered as he spread his hands on the table and leaned forward to inspect the main campaign map. While Soult unfastened the latches and thrust the windows open Napoleon took in the details of the Army of the North’s deployment, as well as the forces of Blьcher and Wellington.
‘How accurate is our intelligence on the enemy’s positions?’
Soult joined him at the table. ‘As good as it can be, sire. We have many sympathisers amongst the Belgians and they have been feeding us with regular reports on the enemy. As you can see, their forces are still widely dispersed. I estimate that it will take them a minimum of three days to mass their armies once the order is given.’
Napoleon considered the map for a moment. ‘Let us assume the worst and say a maximum of three days.’ He paused for a moment and then smiled faintly. ‘There is something else that works in our favour. See how their lines of communication are routed in opposite directions: Blьcher’s east towards the Rhine, while Wellington’s stretch to the coast, at Ostende. Let’s play on that. Have a cavalry brigade detached from the army and make a feint towards Wellington’s communications. That should distract him. When we strike, their natural impulse will be to close up on their supply lines, and that will create a weak point at the junction of their armies, here.’ Napoleon reached forward and tapped the map, indicating the road leading from Charleroi on the border straight to Brussels. ‘That is where we must strike, Soult. The Army of the North’s main thrust must be along this road. We shall divide them and crush each in turn.’
