THE GENERALS

by Simon Scarrow

  Behind them Pavia lay under its shroud of smoke, still and quiet as a ghost town. Napoleon drew rein and stared at the scene, feeling cold and tired. For a moment he yearned for a different life, or at least a period of respite away from the monstrous deeds that he had been compelled to carry out. Then he turned his horse away from the town and trotted forward to take up his place at the head of the column.

  Chapter 19

  As soon as he reached the army headquarters in the bishop’s mansion in Brescia Napoleon dictated a letter for circulation to every town and city lying between his army and the border with France. There were to be no more uprisings. If any French soldiers were killed then the nearest town or village would be burned to the ground and any men caught under arms would be shot. Bourrienne took down his words in silence, and once his commander had finished he rose from his seat and left the room with a curt bow. Napoleon propped his head on his hands and stared at the far wall as the punitive attack on Pavia came back to him.The execution of civilians was not a new refinement, merely an inevitable feature of war. Bourrienne’s distaste for the measures that Napoleon had felt forced to carry out in Pavia was misplaced, Napoleon reassured himself.

  He raised his head and pulled over a fresh sheet of paper. He opened an inkwell, dipped his pen and wrote the opening words of a new letter, words that he had written a hundred times before, but which still gave him a small thrill when he saw them in his own hand on the page.

  Dear Josephine.

  He still marvelled that she had consented to be his wife, and the familiar longing to lie in her arms once again fired the passion in his veins. He readied his pen, wanting to burst into the flow of impassioned words that poured from him in a torrent whenever he wrote to Josephine. But tonight the words did not come. His mind was too weary and too occupied with the demands made upon him as commander of the Army of Italy. Napoleon sat for a moment, pen poised, wanting to unburden himself of all the concerns that weighed down on him. The Directory’s criminal neglect of his soldiers; uniforms in tatters, boots worn to shreds and bellies frequently empty, and the men were still owed several months’ pay. Then there was the need to close with the Austrian army and destroy them, but Napoleon was constantly frustrated by the enemy’s refusal to stand and fight. And Napoleon still had to deal with the prospect of dividing his army with Kellermann. If Barras and the other Directors stood by their decision then Napoleon would be removed from the public’s gaze. The Army of Italy would certainly lose the initiative in the war against Austria as the two generals struggled to co-ordinate their separate, weaker forces against an enemy who already outnumbered them even before a wave of fresh troops was added to its strength. He desperately wanted to confide all this to Josephine, and yet he dared not. All of his soldier’s troubles would surely seem arcane and dull to someone who moved in the most exclusive circles in Paris. He feared she would find him boring.The only words which he felt confident of pleasing her with were words of love.

  Josephine.

  She was truly the first woman he had loved. To be sure, there had been women before her.Those who had satisfied his physical yearnings, or had been objects for his youthful veneration when, like all young men, he had desperately needed to practise his love, and be loved in turn by someone whose affection was not bound to him by family ties.With Josephine he had learned to enjoy the pleasures of the flesh without shame or embarrassment. So it had been easy to surrender to the flood of feelings: passion, loneliness, hope, anticipation and sometimes even jealousy when he received a rare letter from her in which she expressed even the slightest affection for another man. And from such feelings the words formed readily, written down as fast as his pen could manage, raw and intense.

  But tonight he felt too tired, too drained, and the usual phrases of an ardent lover seemed stale and insufficient. It was no longer enough to commit his emotions to paper. He needed Josephine here and now. Dipping his pen in the inkwell, Napoleon wrote a terse note, asking why he had not heard from her for several days. If she truly loved him, he wrote, then she would do all in her power to be at his side without delay, and he expected that of her. He signed it with a formal expression of affection and then folded the paper and sealed it, tossing it on to the other correspondence to be sent to Paris in the morning.

  Napoleon rose early the next day to read the latest intelligence reports. The Austrians had established a new line of defence stretching southwards from Lake Garda to the fortress town of Mantua. As ever, the key to driving the Austrians from Italy was taking Mantua, but to do that the fortress had to be cut off from the rest of the Austrian army. At the morning conference Napoleon outlined his plan.

  ‘We must take Mantua before the end of the year. Once we have Mantua, Austria is finished this side of the Alps,’ he began. ‘Accordingly, we will have to force a crossing of the Mincio river and drive Beaulieu north, away from Mantua, which will be besieged by Serurier.’

  Berthier raised his eyebrows.

  ‘Do you object to my plan, Berthier?’ Napoleon asked curtly.

  ‘No, General, it’s sound enough, provided we can get across the river. Where do you intend to cross?’

  ‘At Valeggio.’

  ‘But that’s in the centre of Beaulieu’s line. He’ll be able to strike at us from either flank, even if we do manage to force a crossing.’>

  ‘That’s why we must stretch his lines of defence to breaking point,’ Napoleon smiled. ‘Augereau is to take his division up the west shore of Lake Garda. He’s to make a great show of it so that Beaulieu is fully aware of his movements. Beaulieu will recognise the threat to his supply lines and will be forced to shift his weight north to counter the threat. As soon as he does that we will cross the river.’

  ‘And what if he doesn’t take the bait, sir?’ asked Berthier.

  ‘Then Augereau’s division will march east and cut Beaulieu’s supply lines. Either way he has to react and move forces to his right flank. Then we cross the Mincio.’

  ‘That still leaves Mantua, sir,’ Junot pointed out. ‘We don’t have any siege artillery with the army. That means we will have to starve them out.’

  ‘More than likely,’ Napoleon conceded. ‘But if the Directory won’t provide us with siege guns we’ll have to find some from another source. I gather that the armies of the papal states have a more than adequate supply of heavy guns. I am certain that His Holiness will be happy to part with them, and provide us with a decent settlement, in exchange for peace with France.’

  ‘Blackmail,’ Berthier muttered. ‘How can we be sure it will work? What if the Pope decides to go to war? And if the King of Naples sides with him then we’ll be caught between them and the Austrians. Not a good position to be in, sir.’

  ‘No more dangerous than being caught between an old man and a weakling,’ Napoleon replied. ‘Trust me. The Pope is a realist. Even with God at his side he knows that victory generally goes to the bigger battalions. He will give us what we want.’

  ‘And if he doesn’t?’

  ‘Then God have mercy on him, because I won’t.’

  Once the Army of Italy was in position between the Austrian army and the fortress at Mantua Napoleon turned his attention to the latter as Italy basked in the hot summer sunshine. As the French troops laid siege to the fortress Napoleon and his staff observed the proceedings from the top of a watchtower on a Venetian banker’s mansion. It was a sultry day and the climb up the narrow flight of steps had left them hot and sweating under their uniforms. From the decorative battlements of the tower the officers could see the outer works of Mantua and examine the defences through their telescopes. Napoleon watched the French advance guard marching along one of the dykes that radiated from the fortress town. Mantua had been constructed in the middle of three lakes on its northern side.To the south it was protected by a great sprawl of marshes. The five dykes were the only means of approach and these were protected by great bastions. Behind their ditches and ramparts hundreds of cannon commanded the roads that
ran along the dykes.

  Napoleon lowered his telescope and snapped it shut.

  ‘Not an easy task, I think.’ He turned round, eyes searching out General Serurier. ‘This job is for you, Serurier. There’s no chance of taking the place by a direct assault. Not until the defences are battered down. And that can’t happen until we secure the siege artillery.Your orders are to contain the Austrians. Nothing more. At least not until I can reinforce you. Are you clear on that?’

  Serurier nodded. ‘Yes, General. When might I expect to have the guns and the men?’

  ‘Now that we have come to terms with the Pope, they will be on their way to us any day.’

  Napoleon smiled at the thought. His representative, Saliceti, had made a fine job of the negotiations. All political prisoners, many of whom sympathised with the French republic, were to be released. The ports of the papal states were to be closed to the enemies of France and the Pope had been persuaded to offer France a settlement of over fifteen million francs in coin, as well as another five million in supplies. When news of the terms reached Paris the Directors would surely abandon their foolhardy notion of dividing the command of the Army of Italy, Napoleon reflected cynically. Money did not just talk, it positively shouted, and would be far more eloquent and forceful an advocate for Napoleon’s cause than any argument he might raise by himself.

  Of more immediate importance, the papal armies had given up enough heavy guns to provide a siege train with more than sufficient firepower to flatten the defences of Mantua. Even now, Junot was in Rome organising the drivers and draught animals necessary to haul the guns north to Mantua. When they were in position it should only be a matter of time before the French army pounded their way in, or the Austrian garrison was starved into surrender.

  ‘Serurier, you have your orders. Establish your lines carefully. Let no one enter or leave Mantua.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Gentlemen, once Mantua falls, we will turn our full strength against the Austrians and drive them back across the Alps. You may pass that on to every officer and man in the army.Tell them their general gives his word that all their efforts will be rewarded before the year is out.’

  The staff began to disperse, some continuing to survey the defences whilst others made for the staircase, passing a sergeant who had climbed the winding stairs, and stood aside deferentially as the officers squeezed past him. He strode across to Napoleon, hot and puffing.

  ‘Message for you, sir. From Milan.’

  Napoleon took the letter and broke the seal. General Despinois was pleased to inform the commander of the Army of Italy that the Austrian garrison in the citadel had finally surrendered. French troops now commanded the guns that governed the city of Milan.There was no question of any further uprising by the Milanese. Napoleon nodded with satisfaction before his eyes skimmed down to the last, brief, paragraph.

  I am pleased to inform you that your wife, her children and her entourage arrived in Milan the day of the surrender. They have been found good accommodation and Madame Bonaparte begs me to tell you that her heart will break unless you come to her in Milan without delay.

  Napoleon read the words again, and again, and each time it was as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. At last he lowered the note and turned to Berthier, eyes glittering with excitement.

  ‘Have my horse and escort readied. I ride to Milan at once!’

  Chapter 20

  She arched her back and thrust against him as Napoleon groaned, his body shuddering as he climaxed. He pressed against her and held himself there until the moment had passed.Then he slumped forward on to Josephine with a gasp, his heart pounding and his breath swift and ragged from his exertions. She gently placed her arm round his clammy shoulder and kissed the top of his head.

  ‘Worth waiting for?’ she whispered, giving him a squeeze.

  ‘What?’ he murmured dozily, still awash with the warm bliss of their lovemaking. ‘What did you say?’

  ‘Was it worth waiting for? I just wondered, after all those letters you wrote to me. Quite the passionate husband - on paper. I just wondered if you felt the same here in the flesh.’

  Napoleon eased himself up on an elbow and gazed down at her, grinning. ‘What do you think? There hasn’t been a day when I haven’t imagined this moment. To be back together, making love, just like that. I feel whole again.’ His expression became serious. ‘Josephine, you are all the world to me.There is no other who moves me as you do. I love every inch of you.’ His hand cupped her breast and he nuzzled her nipple, savouring the sensation of its budlike hardness against his lips.

  ‘Oh, I’m sure you say that to all your women!’

  He rolled off her, and frowned. ‘There aren’t any other women. I swear on my life.’

  ‘Of course not.’ She cupped his cheek in her hand and gave him a quick kiss. ‘But I wouldn’t really blame you if there were.

  From what I understand of soldiers it is all part of your way of life. A wife at home and more than one kind of conquest when you are on campaign. And your campaign has been so successful, my darling.You are the toast of Paris.’

  Napoleon ignored the flattering remark. ‘I swear there has been no other.’

  ‘If you say so.’ She shrugged.‘All I am saying is that I wouldn’t mind if there had been, as far as this is concerned.’ She reached down and gave his penis a gentle tweak.‘Just as long as your heart is mine.’>

  ‘My heart, body and soul . . .’ Napoleon whispered, and then a dark thought rose into his consciousness and he was seized by a sense of uncertainty and fear. ‘And have you been faithful to me, Josephine?’

  There was a brief pause before she replied. ‘Of course I have. What do you take me for? One of your cheap army tarts?’

  ‘Be serious with me. Tell me the truth.’

  ‘I am telling you the truth.’

  ‘On your life, swear it.’

  ‘I will not swear it, Napoleon. You either trust me or you don’t. What difference would swearing on my life make? I’m telling you, I have been faithful. That should be enough for you, if you really love me, as you say you do.’

  Napoleon stared at her a moment longer, looking deep into her eyes for the slightest hint of betrayal, and then he rolled on to his back and shut his eyes.

  ‘If I thought that you were unfaithful, Josephine, it would break my heart. I could not go on. I could not live knowing that another man has lain with you, like this. That another man has . . .’ He could not say the words. Just the bare thought of it made his stomach clench into a knot. He tried to shake the feeling off by forcing himself to think of something else.

  ‘Why did you stay in Paris for so long? I thought we had agreed that you would follow me as soon as possible.’

  ‘I have come to you as soon as I was able,’ Josephine replied evenly. ‘But I had to sort out my travelling chests, and make sure that the house was left in good order for our return. Then I was ill for some weeks. Too ill to travel, at least.’ She fumbled for his hand and squeezed it. ‘I had hoped that I was with child, but nothing came of it. It was just a chill. But I hope we will be blessed one day, even though I will not remain in my childbearing years for ever. Besides,’ her tone took on a lighter note,‘I am sure that I would have been an unwelcome distraction for the only general who seems to be winning any battles for France.’

  ‘A distraction, yes. But not an unwelcome one.’

  ‘A distraction all the same.’ She laughed. ‘I doubt France would ever forgive me if I caused your concentration to slip from the task of beating the Austrians. And forgive me for saying this, but I am not terribly interested in military matters. I am only really at home in society, and would rather share that world with you than a humble campaign tent and the rough company of your soldiers.’

  ‘This is hardly a humble campaign tent.’ Napoleon gestured round the room, a fine bedchamber in one of the best houses in Milan. It was far larger and more gracious than the bedroom they had shared in the
brief period between their marriage and his departure to take up command of the Army of Italy. ‘I can keep you far more comfortably here in Italy than in Paris.You would not want for anything.’

  ‘Apart from all my friends.’

  ‘I am sure you will make new friends here,’ Napoleon said quietly. ‘Besides, is being with your friends preferable to being with your husband?’

  ‘Of course not! But you cannot expect me to so easily give up my home, my friends, everything that was part of my life long before you appeared. As it is, I have brought some of my friends with me. And Hortense and Eugène, I hope you will try to become a good father to them. They need one.’