Flashman's Waterloo

by Robert Brightwell

  The sight of the British embassy when we finally reached Paris only heightened my expectations. It was a magnificent mansion with familiar red-coated guards at the front and spacious grounds to the rear. While Louisa took the carriages off to one of the more fashionable hotels, I entered the embassy and was soon climbing a sweeping staircase towards Wellington. From now on thinks I, my only exertions are likely to be bowing, hat raising and ordering flunkeys to fetch me things.

  Chapter 5

  “I want you to join the French army.” Wellington said the words in the same casual tone he had just used to offer me a scone and for a moment they did not register at all. When they did, though, I choked on my half-swallowed mouthful of food, while my hand twitched allowing my saucer to slip from my fingers and shatter on the floor around my feet.

  “What?” was all I managed to gasp. Surely I had misheard, but there was no mistaking the smug look on our ambassador’s face as he took delight in surprising me with his proposal. I had met him just fifteen minutes previously, which had been spent pleasantly enough discussing old times and catching up on news. Then without any prior warning, he dumbfounded me with that demand. The astonishment must have surely shown in my face as he started to explain.

  “You are the perfect man for the job; you have disguised yourself among the French before. That is the reason I wanted you on my staff.”

  “But…but… Why?” I stammered still trying to take in this shocking turn of events.

  “Oh you cannot have failed to notice on your way here that good King Louis is not exactly popular. Many of the royalists are frustrated with him because he is not helping them get their estates back. Meanwhile, everybody else is suspicious of him because they are worried he might give in to pressure from the royalists and try to do precisely that. Some agitators are even talking about a return of feudal rights.”

  “You surely do not think that there will be another revolution, do you?” I asked. I had a sudden image of myself in a tumbril cart with a load of bewigged and powdered courtiers being dragged to a new guillotine in front of a howling mob. I nearly brought my scone back up at the thought and hastily put my plate down before that joined the shattered crockery at my feet.

  “No, no, I don’t think there will be any storming of the barricades again anytime soon,” soothed Wellington, who was oblivious to my rising sense of panic. “But there are rumours of a coup being planned to replace Louis with his royal cousin the Duc d’Orleans.” He gave a slight sniff of contempt as though he considered Orleans a very inferior candidate for monarch before continuing. “He is of royal blood but his father, the old duke, was a supporter of the Revolution, so he would be more acceptable to the republicans.” Wellington gave a snort of disgust before adding, “Not that his support did the old duke any good, he was guillotined with the rest.”

  “But I thought that we supported Louis on the throne. He is the legitimate monarch. Surely we want him to stay?”

  “Of course we want Louis to stay. He was the next in line for the throne and from the British point of view,” Wellington grinned wolfishly, “he is completely useless. His rule will ensure that France remains weak and pliable. But Orleans has also made it known that he would be a friend to Britain. If the French people united behind him then there is no appetite in London to go to war again to keep Louis on the throne.”

  “What about our allies?” I asked. “Surely they have a view as well.”

  “The Russians suggested Orleans as king in the first place and Prussia will go along with it. The Austrians wanted Bonaparte’s son as king but that was because the lad is also the Austrian emperor’s grandson, but no one else will go along with that.”

  “But I still do not understand what this has to do with me joining the French army.”

  “It is simple; the coup cannot happen without the support of the French army. Everyone is either trying to judge which side will come out on top or attempting to keep favour with both sides. They tell us whatever they think we want to hear. I need someone I can trust to mix amongst their officers and tell me what people are really thinking. We will lose face if we are still supporting Louis when he is overthrown. But the British government does not want to abandon the legitimate monarch unless it really has to.”

  For a moment I was relieved to hear that he had nothing more dangerous planned than my loafing around the officers’ mess listening to gossip. I had half feared that he expected me to fight my way into the palace and kidnap Orleans to get him out of the way. But then I realised that there was still a huge range of practical obstacles to Wellington’s plan. “But I can’t just go up to a recruiting office and ask to be let into the army. They’re laying off soldiers like everyone else. I would also need to be an officer, and a senior one at that, to be in a position to hear what side their generals are planning to support.”

  “Oh don’t worry about that.” Wellington airily brushed my objection aside. “I have some oily little official in the French War Ministry who is keen to show on which side his bread is buttered. He will add you to the army lists as an officer.”

  Good God he is serious, I thought, and I felt a familiar tightening around my chest as the fear began to grow. For the more I thought about this ridiculous proposal the more dangerous it seemed. If some strange officer had turned up in Wellington’s headquarters in the peninsula and started asking questions, he would soon stand out like a goose in a bear pit. Men who were planning to overthrow a king would be on their guard and doubly cautious. If they had the slightest suspicion that I was a traitor, then it would not be long before the body of an unknown French officer was dropped into the Seine with a livid slash across his throat. How in heaven’s name, I wondered, was I staring down the muzzle of death again when I was just minutes into my new diplomatic career in a time of peace? Then, perhaps because I had been out of the army for a few months and had relaxed too much during the intervening period, I blurted out what I really thought about the scheme.

  “But dammit I could get killed.”

  I watched as Wellington’s eyes widened in surprise. In the fraction of the second that it took me to realise that I had actually given this opinion aloud, I experienced a new moment of horror. It was unthinkable for an officer on Wellington’s staff to admit he was a coward. But it was too late now. I cast desperately for something to add that would help me retrieve the situation. “I have my wife and son with me. I let them come because I thought this would be a safe posting. Now you talk of me joining the ranks of our enemies and heaven knows where that could end.”

  The cold bastard just smiled at me in response. He had so successfully suppressed any feelings of fear himself in battle, that I doubt he felt the sensation at all any more. I am certain that it did not cross his mind for a moment that I might be afraid. He had seen me emerge apparently relaxed from far tougher assignments. Instead, he assumed that my concern was for my family. “Do not worry, Thomas,” he said making his rare use of my first name. I will make sure that Louisa and your son come to no harm.” As you can imagine, I did not find that at all assuring. I did not want the lascivious devil anywhere near Louisa if I could help it. My suspicion of the way his mind was working was confirmed by his next statement. “Of course we cannot have you appearing at any official functions as a British officer with your family while you are also masquerading as a French officer elsewhere. The risk of discovery would be too great. But I would be honoured to act as escort to your good lady if circumstance allows.”

  I’ll bet you would, I thought. Land Flashy in the soup again to leave the way for you to have a clear run at the poor fool’s wife. Doubtless he had heard of her affair with Lamb and fancied his chances at another successful seduction. The way he had been ploughing his way through Napoleon’s mistresses and the crème de la crème of French society beauties, it was a wonder he had the energy. He certainly did not waste time on a lengthy courtship. Rumour had it that he favoured a swift frontal assault, an escalade up their stockings and if he had n
ot hauled down their colours by the end of the evening, he soon moved on to another fortress which looked more likely to breach. Well my family might be ‘safe’ from physical if not moral harm, but the same certainly could not be said for me. I cast around for another excuse to get me out of this hellish situation, but the duke was already countering my next objection before I had uttered a word.

  “Now if you are worried that you might find yourself in the ranks of men opposing British interests, then fear not. We will have you out long before that happens. You won’t have to face your old comrades on the field of battle.” It was more my new comrades down a dark alley that I was worried about, but Wellington continued blithely on. “No, I just need you to judge if the army will support a coup and when the coup is likely to happen. Then the British government will need to decide whether to continue to support our fat friend or change horses to the Orleans mount.” He stood and came around the table indicating that our interview was coming to an end. “As you can see it is a vitally important role you will play and I cannot think of a safer pair of hands to place my trust in.”

  ‘Christ, here we go again,’ I thought as he grasped my hand and even patted me on the shoulder in a comradely fashion. I wondered if I could somehow arrange an army posting in some far-flung barracks, well out of the way of the plotting, but once again the cunning peer was ahead of me.

  “Make an appointment to see the undersecretary at the War Ministry tomorrow,” he told me. “That is the cove who is trying to curry favour with us and I will let him know you are coming. He will make sure that you are ideally placed to hear what is happening.”

  A few minutes later and I was back out on the street in front of the embassy cursing my confounded luck. I could have shrieked at the heavens in frustration. I had only been back from Canada a few weeks and now here I was again with mortal danger breathing down the back of my neck like an amorous mistress. I cursed Wellington for his ridiculous confidence in my skill and his inability to see me for the coward that I was. I damned Louisa for talking me into this trip and I swore against the useless fat French king. They all seem to have conspired together to ruin my life once more.

  I was in a foul mood when I got back to my hotel and told Louisa of my new appointment. To my annoyance, she saw at once the great responsibility on my shoulders and the trust that Wellington had placed in me.

  “But Thomas you will be advising the government on one of the most important issues of the day. If things go well you are bound to be given honours and recognition, it is an excellent start to your diplomatic career.”

  “That is if I survive it,” I muttered.

  “Oh, of course, you will. This is nothing to what you have done before.”

  It was then that I realised that Louisa was as much fooled by my reputation as anyone else. There was no one that I could share my true feelings with, and I don’t think I ever felt more alone than at that moment. I could hardly bawl out my real thoughts on the matter, not with Thomas junior looking up at me from across the room. Instead I suggested we go out, I had a sudden urge to get very drunk, but Louisa would not hear of it.

  “No, you cannot be seen out with us now, you don’t know who we might meet that could come across you again when you are in disguise.”

  Thus instead of even just one night enjoying the delights of Paris with my family, I found myself trapped in our rooms with a plate of cold meats and a bottle of brandy for company. So much for the diplomatic life!

  Chapter 6

  The next day I found myself trudging morosely through the streets of Paris in an inconspicuous brown suit of clothes to the French War Ministry. I had awoken that morning thick-headed from the brandy, but feeling more resilient about my new orders. I had to join the French army, but I would do all I could to stay anonymous within its ranks. If I did not draw attention to myself then there should be no danger. As long as those blasted frogs got on with their coup without delay, well I could be home by Christmas and it would take wild horses to drag me out of the country after that! In the meantime, I would just feed Wellington lines about private meetings with sentries guarding every entrance or conspirators stopping their conversations whenever I walked by. That would give him the impression that I was diligently digging for intrigue. The British government would have to make their own choice on which royal horse to back without my help.

  To make sure that I did not slip up with any silly mistake, I read some briefing papers that Wellington had ordered sent round to my hotel. I also pored over several back copies of the Moniteur news sheet for more timely gossip, as that was the sort of thing that would be talked about in the mess. I was astonished to discover that virtually all of Napoleon’s old generals and marshals were now loyally serving the new king. While their emperor might have brought them up through the ranks to unimaginable riches and honours, these commanders had not hesitated to drop him like a hot brick when it was clear he would have to abdicate. The war minister was none other than Marshal Soult, the man whose French army had nearly trapped us at Talavera and who had fought a long campaign with Wellington across Spain.

  I found the ministry building without difficulty as I had been there once before nearly three years ago. It had been when that incompetent fool Grant and I had been hiding out in Paris. I had been arrested, ironically enough, while disguised as a French army officer. If you have read my previous memoirs, you will know that some treacherous swine called Henri Clarke, who was the war minister then, had tried to use me as an informer on a plot to overthrow Napoleon. Instead of stopping the plotters, Clarke had intended to use the half-baked scheme to round on his enemies in government.

  Well, the ministry looked a little different from those days. Instead of the tricolour flag flying from the flagpole at the top of the building, it was now the white royalist flag. The sentries on either side of the gate also now sported white cockades in their shako helmets rather than the old red, white and blue ones that they had all worn in the old days. But they showed no interest in me as I strolled nonchalantly between them and into the courtyard beyond. There I found a full company of grenadier guardsmen, in their blue uniforms, drawn up in four ruler-straight ranks. They were huge fellows, their height exaggerated by tall bearskin helmets. Judging from the bushy grey moustaches that adorned most of them, I suspected that they were probably from the Old Guard, the elite veterans drawn from the Imperial Guard. They were all staring fixedly to their front while ahead of them a young man barely out of his teens, wearing a white coat, harangued them about presenting arms to all members of the royal family.

  “It really won’t do,” he insisted. “The Duchess of Angoulême was ignored twice yesterday. All those of the royal blood must be properly saluted.”

  At first I thought the young man was some eager courtier but then I realised that he had a sword at his hip and an epaulette on his shoulder and that his white coat was a royalist officer’s uniform. He finished his tirade by drawing his sword and with an unusual flourish of the blade he shouted, “Vive le Roi!” and stared expectantly at his men for a response. I thought back to all those times I had seen men like these shout their loyalty to their emperor. The roar of, Vive l’Empereur! from their marching columns had always sent a shiver of fear down my spine. It was clear that many of them were struggling with this new allegiance. There was a moment’s hesitation and then around half of them shouted, no, snarled would be a more accurate description, “Vive le Roi,” in return. You could almost smell the hostility in the air as the old soldiers glared with barely disguised contempt at the young man capering before them. I think he must have sensed it too, for he had the good sense to march swiftly away before he tried their patience further.

  If he was their company commander then I would not have bet a single farthing on him surviving his first engagement with an enemy. For if there was ever an officer who was destined to get a ball in the back from one of his own men, it was that young man. I gave a wry grin of amusement before I rapidly remembered that I was
about to become an officer in this army myself. I walked past their ranks as I headed to the main entrance to the ministry. I glanced back at them as I passed and even in this city courtyard they were an intimidating sight. There was an implacable confidence to them as though whatever madness the world indulged in, they would do what they thought was right anyway. If they were former members of Napoleon’s Old Guard I knew that these specially selected veterans had never retreated or been beaten in battle. The emperor had often kept them in reserve, which led to them being cynically called ‘the immortals’ by other more expendable parts of the army. But at a key moment in a battle when he released them, they never let him down. Well, judging from their faces that morning, I had a strong suspicion that the Duchess of Angoulême was still going to be ignored.

  Once inside the ministry I announced myself at the desk as a visitor for the undersecretary and prepared for a wait. Pen-pushing clerks invariably like to make you stand around to show their own importance. I wandered over to a noticeboard which the last time I had been here had carried a ‘Wanted’ notice for Grant and myself. This time most of the board was covered with announcements about the disbanding of regiments. Where units were being retained they were also being renamed. I remember the former first regiment of cuirassiers were now the Cuirassiers du Roi, while the third regiment now carried the title of the Dauphin, the heir to the throne. If there was a tenth regiment it was probably now named for the royal pot washer. Heaven help them if they try to rename the soldiers outside for the Duchess of Angoulême, I thought. I saw a few more young officers in the royalist white coats, but most were in the traditional blue and judging from scars and decorations, they were the more experienced men. I had just found an interesting notice detailing the different ranks of royalty and nobility and which ones should have arms presented to and which should be merely saluted when I sensed someone standing at my side.