THE GENERALS

by Simon Scarrow

  Napoleon fixed him with an even stare.‘I understand, citizen.’

  ‘Then, good day to you.’ Carnot quickly reached for his pen and pulled another requisition off the pile.

  Napoleon turned and strode to the door, then paused and looked back.‘Before I take up my new command, there are a few personal matters I need to attend to. I have not had any leave for over a year. I would appreciate some time to get my affairs in order, citizen.’

  ‘How long?’

  Napoleon pursed his lips for a moment. ‘A month. Perhaps two.’

  ‘Two months, then. No more. I’ll have my secretary inform the Committee.’

  ‘Very well.Thank you, citizen.’ Napoleon bowed his head and stepped out of the office, closing the door loudly behind him.

  Carnot winced and muttered, ‘Damn the man . . . Just who the hell does he think he is?’

  Chapter 2

  ‘I’ve sold my carriage,’ Napoleon said as he poured more wine into the cups of his two friends.They were sitting in one of the bars on the Palais-Royal.The thoroughfare was beginning to fill with those who were looking for their evening’s entertainment.

  Marmont and Junot exchanged a look before Junot took a healthy swig from his cup and set it down softly. ‘What did you get for it, sir?’

  ‘Three thousand francs.’

  Marmont pursed his lips. ‘That’s a fair enough price.’

  Napoleon shook his head. ‘I was paid in assignats.’

  ‘Ah . . . That’s not so good.’

  ‘No,’ Napoleon agreed. ‘But there’s no helping it. I need the money. I haven’t been paid a sou since we left Marseilles and the owner of the hotel won’t wait much longer for the rent. At least we’ll have a roof over our heads and wine in our cups for a few weeks yet. So drink up, but not too fast, eh, Junot?’

  The other men smiled but there was a lingering expression of guilt on Junot’s face as he stared into the dregs of his cup. He glanced up. ‘Sir, it’s not right that you should have to pay for us. My family has a little money. I could ask—’

  ‘That’s enough, Junot.You are on my staff. Part of my military family. It is only right that I should pay for us all. What kind of commanding officer would I be if I didn’t take care of such things?’

  ‘A richer one,’ Marmont cut in with a bleary smile. He reached over and patted Napoleon’s shoulder. ‘Cheer up. Something will come up.There’s a war on.They need us. Our time will come. In the meantime let’s hope Carnot lets your leave run a while longer yet.’

  ‘Yes, I hope so.’

  Napoleon reflected that it had been over a month since the Minister of War had granted him leave. Fortunately for him, Carnot’s attention had been diverted from military matters for much of that time. A new constitution was being debated in the chamber of deputies and every political faction was fighting to have its views enshrined in the document. While the debate preoccupied Carnot, Napoleon had been pleading his case with the officials at the Ministry of War to find him another command. But time was running out. Unless the military situation changed, he would be forced to leave Paris and join the thankless fight against the rebels in the Vendée. And possibly very soon. That morning he had received a message from the Ministry, summoning him to a meeting the following day.

  Napoleon raised his glass and took another sip of the cheap wine, then gazed for a moment at the surrounding scene.

  Now that the days of the Great Terror were over the capital had quickly recovered much of its gaiety. The wealthier citizens no longer dressed down when they walked abroad for fear of being singled out as aristocrats. Ostentatious carriages had reappeared on the streets and those ladies who could afford it paraded their fashions openly. The cheaper theatres once again played comedies and sketches that dared to poke fun at the more tolerant, or ridiculous, members of the national assembly, though as yet those who sat on the Committee for Public Safety were studiously overlooked by Parisian playwrights. Every day, it seemed, a new newspaper appeared on the streets, taking an increasingly critical line on those who ruled the republic. Every social ill was laid at the door of the government: inflation, the failure of the harvest, the black market, the apparent political anarchy and the poor management of the war. Some newspapers even dared to argue for the restoration of the monarchy and there had been angry confrontations between rival crowds of republicans and monarchists on the streets. Even though the high temperatures of summer had dissipated, the mood in Paris was heated and strained, like the air before the breaking of a storm, and Napoleon, like everyone else, was filled with a sense of foreboding.With good reason. He drained his glass and muttered, ‘I am to present myself at the Ministry at noon tomorrow. I was informed this morning.’

  ‘Why?’ asked Junot.

  ‘I don’t know, but I fear my leave is about to come to an abrupt end.’ Napoleon shrugged. ‘So I might as well as make the most of this evening. Come on. Let’s be off. I’ve heard that there are some new girls at Madame Marcelle’s place.’

  The Palais-Royal was lit from one end to the other by the orange glow of lanterns. Madame Marcelle’s establishment was in the far corner, and as the three officers threaded their way through the evening throng of friends, families, lovers, hawkers and all manner of street entertainers, Napoleon noticed a crowd gathered round a man speaking from a large wine cask outside a café. He was screened from his audience by four men carrying long staves. As Napoleon drew closer he could hear the first words of the speaker, strident against the good-humoured tone of the wider crowd.

  ‘Citizens! You are in grave danger - your complacency threatens to kill you! Do you not know that even as you stand there, the Bourbon agents are plotting to overthrow the revolution? It is they who are behind the price rises and food shortages. They are the ones who are trying to undermine the new constitution. Trying to steal the liberty that we have taken into our own hands.’The speaker raised his fists. ‘All that we have fought for. All that those gallant martyrs of the Bastille died for - all, ALL will be torn from us and we will be as slaves again. Is that what you wish?’

  ‘No!’ called a resonant voice. Napoleon sensed the theatrical tone of the cry, and he smiled. A supporter planted in the crowd. ‘No! Never!’ the voice cried out again, and others joined in.

  The speaker nodded and raised a palm to quieten them before he continued. ‘You are good patriots.That I can tell at once. Not like those Bourbon scum who would sell their souls to foreign powers and their mercenary hordes. They are traitors!’

  ‘Damned liar!’ a shrill voice called out. ‘Royalists are not traitors. We seek to free France of the tyranny of the godless!’

  Napoleon paused, straining his neck and rising on his toes as he tried to see over the heads of the crowd towards the protester. He saw a tall thin man standing on a pediment at the far side of the crowd. As soon as he had spoken he turned and gestured towards the colonnade. At once a swarm of men emerged from the shadows of the tall columns. Each wore a scarf across his face and carried a wooden club.

  A woman screamed. Her cry was taken up and the people surged as one away from the onrushing men.

  ‘Death to the murderers of the King!’ the voice shrilled out. ‘For God and monarchy!’

  He jumped down from the pediment and joined his followers as they charged into the terrified crowd, swinging their clubs at victims without any regard for age or gender. Suddenly a dense mass of bodies surged against Napoleon, thrusting him back against his companions. Junot grabbed hold of his arm and held him up while Marmont stepped forward with a roar and brandished his fists, daring any of the panicked crowd to come any closer to them. As the bodies flowed past on either side and the evening air filled with cries of fear, pain and anger Napoleon growled, ‘Come on! We’ll teach those royalists a lesson.’

  ‘What?’ Junot turned to him in surprise. ‘Are you mad? They’ll cut us down in no time.’

  ‘He’s right.’ Marmont eased himself back towards his friends. ‘Three against twenty o
r more. What can we do?’

  ‘Three right now,’ Napoleon conceded, his voice betraying his nervous excitement. ‘But once we fight back, so will others. Come on!’

  He thrust his way past Marmont and pushed through the people streaming away from their attackers.Then, over the heads of those at the back of the crowd, he saw the raised clubs and scarved faces of the men beating a path through to the original speaker and his guards. Napoleon paused, fists bunched and heart pounding, not for the first time uncertain about the wisdom of what he was doing.Then he saw on the ground the prone figure of an old man, sprawled on his face, blood gushing from his scalp on to the cobbles. Beside him lay a crutch. Napoleon snatched it up, instinctively grasping it as if it were a musket, armpad clutched to his side and the base held out like a muzzle. His confidence returned and he stepped forward again, swerving round a woman clutching a young boy to her breast, long skirts flowing as she fled. A short distance behind her was the first of the royalists. Above the scarf he wore to conceal his features, his wide excited eyes turned and fixed on Napoleon, widening still further with surprise. He hesistated for an instant before he began to raise his club, and Napoleon swept forward, throwing all the weight of his slight figure behind the crutch as he rammed the base into the man’s chest, and hissed ‘Bastard!’ through clenched teeth.

  The blow drove the man back with an explosive grunt and his head struck the ground as he tumbled, knocking him cold.

  ‘Marmont! Take his club!’

  Now that two of them were armed, they made for the next target, a short distance off in the gathering gloom. Napoleon feinted at him and as the man moved to block the blow Marmont charged forward and felled him with a vicious strike to the head. As Junot seized the man’s weapon Napoleon turned to shout over his shoulder.

  ‘Citizens! Citizens, hear me! Are you cowards or patriots?’

  A few faces turned to look and Napoleon seized the moment, charging towards the middle of the body of men fighting their way towards the meeting’s speaker. He filled his lungs and shouted, ‘Death to tyranny!’

  Marmont and Junot raced after him, adding their cries to his. An instant later they were amongst the royalists, slashing out with their clubs. Since they were soldiers and more accustomed to the madness of battle, and the need to strike hard and fast, they had an advantage over the casual bullies who had been expecting an unarmed crowd and not this fierce counter-attack. Napoleon thrust out again with his crutch, and struck a man’s shoulder.The blow was not disabling and the man at once swung his club at Napoleon’s head. Napoleon snatched the crutch back and up into the path of the club and there was a sharp crack, the force of the blow jarring his hands. Marmont abruptly swung his boot into the man’s crotch, hard enough to lift the royalist off his feet, and the man tumbled back with a deep groan and rolled on the ground vomiting. Marmont hissed at Napoleon, ‘Hold the other bloody end, you fool! Use it like a club.’

  As he reversed his hold Napoleon heard the speaker shout out to his bodyguards. ‘Help those men! Help them!’

  Napoleon, Marmont and Junot stood back to back in a loose triangle, swinging their makeshift weapons at the men about them, trying to keep them at a distance. Marmont growled, ‘Come on then, you bastards! If you have the stomach for it.’

  ‘Girondin scum!’ someone shouted back.

  ‘Girondin? Girondin!’ Marmont roared. ‘I’m a Jacobin, you bastard! And you’re dead!’

  He hurled himself into their midst, knocking two of the royalists to the ground, and then he was laying about him in great sweeping arcs with his club, shattering bones, battering muscles into nerveless jelly and driving the breath from his enemies with his blows.

  Junot edged closer to Napoleon. ‘They really shouldn’t have called him a Girondin. I almost feel sorry for them.’

  ‘No time for that,’ Napoleon replied.Taking a deep breath he moved off in Marmont’s wake. The speaker and his bodyguards joined the fight and as the royalists were forced to stop and defend themselves the crowd stopped fleeing. Some edged towards the fight and then the first of them walked, then ran, back to the melee. ‘Death to tyrants!’ he called out, then again, his voice strengthening. Others joined in, emboldened by his confidence.

  Napoleon glanced back and felt his heart lift. ‘Citizens! Help us!’

  Some heeded his call, and charged into the fight, throwing themselves on to the royalists. But some were struck down by the royalists’ clubs and brutally beaten to the ground. Edging round a crumpled body, Napoleon raised the crutch and looked for another opponent. But in the growing darkness, the civilians around him all looked the same, until he saw a face half hidden by a scarf, and at once smashed his crutch down on the man’s head. The blow never landed. Suddenly the dusk exploded in a blinding flash of light and Napoleon reeled back. He shook his head, trying to disperse the fading white flashes that obscured his sight.

  ‘Run for it!’ a voice shouted. ‘Royalists! On me!’

  Several figures turned and bolted, running back for the dark shadows beneath the colonnade. The crowd pursued them for a moment and then gave up, jeering and shouting insults after the defeated enemy. Even though he was aware of a searing pain high on his forehead Napoleon felt awash with elation. Finding Marmont, he gave his friend a hearty slap on the back.

  ‘Auguste Marmont, I swear you are half man, half wild animal.’

  ‘Bastards had it coming to them,’ Marmont muttered.‘Call me a Girondin, would they?’Then he caught sight of the dark smear streaming down Napoleon’s temple. ‘Sir, you’re bleeding.’

  Napoleon drew out his handkerchief and clasped it to his head with a wince.Then he looked down at the crutch still in his hands, and turned to find its owner. The old man was sitting up, nursing a tear in his scalp.

  ‘My thanks, citizen.’ Napoleon helped the man up and returned his crutch to him.

  The man nodded his gratitude.‘Just wish I’d been able to help you out, sir.’

  ‘You made your contribution.’ Napoleon smiled and patted the crutch. ‘Which is more than can be said for most of the people here tonight.’

  Junot emerged from the gloom, a thin-faced man at his side, whom Napoleon recognised as the speaker who had been addressing the meeting before it had been broken up. He approached the three officers, glanced over them and turned to Marmont.

  ‘I must thank you, and your friends, sir.’

  Marmont looked embarrassed, and nodded towards Napoleon. ‘Don’t thank me. Our brigadier led us into the fight. I just followed.’

  The speaker stared at Napoleon more closely with his hooded eyes and Napoleon sensed that he was not impressed by what he saw. ‘Brigadier?’ He recovered from his surprise and proffered his hand. ‘Joseph Fouché at your service.’

  Napoleon took the hand and felt the man’s cold skin. He nodded. ‘Brigadier Napoleon Bonaparte, at yours.’

  ‘Well, it seems I must thank you for saving my skin. Though not without some cost to yourself.’

  ‘A scratch,’ Napoleon replied. ‘We were glad to help you. I’ll not let any royalists drive our people off the streets. Not whilst I live.’

  ‘I see.’ Fouché’s lips flickered into a thin smile. ‘I like your spirit. The republic needs more men like you. Especially now. Paris seems to be infested by nests of royalist sympathisers. It is time that good men recognised the growing threat and stood up to them. Before it’s too late.’

  Napoleon laughed. ‘Come now, they were no more than a gang of thugs. A rabble.’

  ‘You think so? Then look here.’ Fouché squatted down over one of the men who had attacked the crowd, now lying senseless on the cobblestones. Fouché pulled the scarf away from his face, and then flicked open the dark coat. Underneath it the man was wearing a smartly tailored jacket and waistcoat. Fouché stood up.

  ‘A common thug? I think not. He’s an aristo.’ Fouché swung his foot into the side of the man’s head. ‘An aristo and a traitor. And there are many more like him out there, scheming
and plotting to place a Bourbon back on the throne. Mark my words, Brigadier Bonaparte, we have to watch our backs.The revolution is not quite as safe as our government would like us to think.’ He smiled. ‘Now I must go. I have another speech to make, in the Place Vendôme.’ Fouché suddenly looked tired and anxious. ‘The people have to be convinced to vote for the new constitution. If it fails to win their support then all is lost . . .Anyway, I hope we meet again, sir.’

  Napoleon nodded faintly, not relishing the prospect.

  As Fouché and his bodyguards strode away towards the Rue Saint-Honoré Napoleon glanced round at the people in the Palais-Royal. Now that the excitement was over, most were drifting back to their earlier entertainments. Only a small proportion of them had come to Fouché’s aid. As for the rest, Napoleon could not say where their loyalties lay. Perhaps Fouché was right, Napoleon conceded. Perhaps the situation in Paris was more dangerous than he had supposed.