THE GENERALS

by Simon Scarrow

  ‘I will do my best.’ Napoleon yawned, his weariness creeping up on him like a soft warm shroud. ‘I will find a post for Eugène on my staff. As for your friends, I will make them feel welcome. While the campaign against Austria lasts we can create our own social life here in Italy.You’ll be treated like a princess, I promise.

  And I’ll have my family join us. My mother, sisters and brothers.’ He smiled fondly. ‘To have all those I love close to me. I’ve not known that since I was a child. Not since I was sent away to school.’

  Josephine shifted next to him, and he sensed a slight stiffening of her body.

  ‘What’s the matter, my love?’

  There was a pause before Josephine replied.‘Your family is the matter.They’ve made little secret of their dislike for me, especially your mother and sisters. It seems that they don’t consider me worthy to be your wife. As if I was some common slut.’

  ‘That’s the Corsican blood. They tend to see the rest of the world as somehow beneath them.’

  ‘But not you?’

  ‘My future is tied to that of France. Paoli and his henchmen threw us out of Corsica. I owe Corsica nothing. But my family still feel as if they belong to the island, particularly the women, and Mother most of all.You must try to ignore them, Josephine. All that matters is how I feel about you. You married me, not them.’

  ‘I married into your family,’ Josephine responded. ‘That’s how they see it. And for that they treat me like a trespasser, or a poacher.’

  ‘A poacher,’ Napoleon mused sleepily. ‘Then I must be your game.’

  ‘Oh, you!’ She punched him playfully, then leaned over to kiss him on the lips, and rested her head on his shoulder as he drifted off to sleep.

  Josephine’s entourage was everything Napoleon had feared. A string of brightly dressed women, all big mouths and small talk - some of the smallest talk he had ever encountered. They proved to be an unwelcome distraction for his staff officers and senior generals, who found every excuse to visit the army’s headquarters and stay long after the briefings and meetings were over. In addition to her female coterie a number of young men had travelled to Milan with her. Some were on official business: art specialists sent to select the finest works of art to be shipped to Paris under the terms of various treaties that had been imposed by France; scientists and topographers to select various papers and maps from the most prestigious academies of Italy; and a handful of officers in glittering uniforms that had never been near a battlefield, or a field of any kind, Napoleon mused. There was one in particular who caught his eye. A tall, fair lieutenant of hussars who seemed to follow Josephine everywhere, carrying her pug, Fortuné, tucked under his arm.

  ‘Who is he?’ Napoleon nodded towards the hussar as they walked with a small crowd of guests around the ornate gardens of the mansion he had chosen for his quarters.

  Josephine turned to look in the direction her husband had indicated and smiled. ‘That’s Hippolyte Charles. Rather elegant, don’t you think? Quite a catch for my salon in Paris. The ladies adore him.’

  ‘Why is he not on active service?’

  ‘He’s incompetent as a cavalry officer, by all accounts - despite being what one might describe as a fine mount in other ways. Anyway, he has a private fortune, very few duties, and a desire to see how well my husband and his army are performing. So I invited him along. You don’t mind? He’s devoted to my dog.’

  ‘No, of course not, my dear,’ Napoleon replied evenly, though he could think of better uses to which he might put a cavalry officer than looking after a lap dog. On the other hand, anyone who kept that wretched pug away from him should be considered a blessing, he reflected, recalling a nasty bite that Fortuné had once inflicted on him when the little beast had refused to give up his space on Josephine’s bed to him. Napoleon frowned at the memory. ‘Would you like me to find a place for him on my staff ?’

  Josephine shrugged. ‘If you like. But I warn you, the man has air for brains. I can’t think that he would be of any value to you.’

  ‘Perhaps not, but if it would please you?’

  ‘You’re very kind.’ Josephine smiled. ‘But I think a man of his intellectual pedigree is best suited to serving as my dog groom.’

  Napoleon laughed. ‘Very well. I cannot think of a man I’d rather wish Fortuné on.’

  Josephine turned and swatted him on the shoulder with her fan. ‘What is wrong with my darling dog?’

  Napoleon glanced at the pug, which promptly bared its teeth at him. ‘Let’s just say his bite is worse than his bark.’

  The time that Napoleon could spare for Josephine was as precious to him as any treasure, especially since the Austrians were intent on relieving the fortress at Mantua. Towards the end of July a new offensive was launched from the Tyrol under an old veteran, General Wurmser. Napoleon was roused from the bed he shared with Josephine in the early hours, and for several days he hardly left his saddle as the French army was driven back by the enemy advancing in three columns. For his men, so used to advancing, being forced on to the defensive was an unfamiliar and dispiriting experience. So dangerous was the situation that Napoleon was forced to summon Serurier from Mantua, with orders to spike all the siege guns that had just been laboriously positioned to bombard the fortress. With all his men concentrated into a single force, Napoleon fell on each enemy column in turn and defeated them all. The routes down which the Austrians retreated were choked with bodies, abandoned cannon and wagons. Muskets and other equipment had been cast aside as they fled, and all that remained were the stragglers and the wounded, sitting amid the wreckage of their proud army as they waited to be taken prisoner.

  Even so, before falling back with his battered army Wurmser had managed to reinforce and resupply Mantua and now, to Napoleon’s intense frustration, the fortress would be able to hold out for several more months. Serurier’s men, who returned to the siege, rapidly began to succumb to the unhealthy conditions in the surrounding marshes and by August over fifteen thousand of his men were on the sick list. Every large building in the country around Mantua was packed with suffering soldiers, racked by fever and hunger, while outside the lines of the graves lengthened day by day. There was no question of an assault on the fortress. The best that could be done was to blockade the garrison and hope to starve them out.

  ‘It’s impossible!’ he raged at Berthier one evening in August, after reading the latest dispatches from his masters in Paris. ‘They might have abandoned that absurd plan to split the army, but how can we defeat Austria when the Directory starves us of reinforcements? Now it seems they want us to launch an attack on Naples. With what?’ He threw the letter aside with a look of bitter contempt. ‘I have barely enough men to hold the line against Wurmser. Do they think I can conjure soldiers out of thin air?’

  Berthier waited a moment for his general to calm down, and then spoke quietly. ‘You must write to them, sir.’

  ‘Another letter?’ Napoelon shook his head. ‘What use would it serve?’

  ‘We have to keep trying, sir. Tell them that they must make peace with Naples. It is the price of victory against Austria. Once Wurmser is defeated there will be plenty of time to turn on Naples. But if we fight on two fronts now, we’ll surely be defeated.’

  Napoleon stabbed a finger towards the discarded letter. ‘You think they don’t know that? What’s worse is that it seems they are intent on breaking the armistice with Rome. Already our agents tell me the Pope is negotiating with Naples and Venice to form a coalition against us. I tell you, Berthier, it’s almost as if the Directory is hell bent on sabotaging all that I have achieved here in Italy.’

  ‘It wouldn’t be the first time that you suspected them of undermining you,’ Berthier said quietly.

  ‘Undermining me?’ Napoleon laughed. ‘Hardly that. They’re betraying me. Me and every single soldier of the Army of Italy. And why do they do it? Do they imagine I have designs on their power? What cause have I given them to suspect that?’ He paused, rose f
rom his chair and crossed to the window to stare down into the garden. Josephine and her coterie were sitting listening to a string quartet. As usual Hippolyte Charles was at her side with Fortuné curled up on his lap. Napoleon frowned. He dearly longed to be as close to Josephine, yet the pressures of his command seemed to demand his attention to the exclusion of almost everything else. He turned back to his chief of staff wearily.

  ‘I’ll write to Barras. I’ll tell him that unless we make peace in Italy, then it is only a question of time before the army collapses under assault from Austria and the papal allies. We need time to rest our men. Time for those who are ill to recover. If the Directory refuses to negotiate for peace, then I will resign from command of the Army of Italy.’

  ‘Resign?’ Berthier shook his head.‘You can’t do that, sir. Without you, the army would still be wasting away in Piedmont.You must convince the Directors to come to terms with our enemies.’

  ‘You and I know that,’ Napoleon replied bitterly. ‘But we don’t make policy. That is the job of men who live far from the consequences of their decisions. That’s what it means to be a politician. Sometimes I wonder if a nation at war can afford to be ruled by politicians.’ He smiled quickly. ‘Not a wise thought for a soldier to speak aloud, eh, Berthier?’

  ‘That may be true, sir, but it’s a thought that has occurred to most soldiers at some time or other.’

  ‘Then it’s just as well that our Austrian and Italian friends are keeping us occupied.’ Napoleon waved Berthier towards the small writing desk in the corner. ‘I’ll send two letters. One to Paris, and one to Wurmser.’

  ‘General Wurmser?’

  Napoleon nodded. ‘If we can’t depend on our own government to make peace then let’s see if we can make the enemy see sense. I’ll ask them for terms for the surrender of Mantua and an armistice.’

  ‘Do you really think they will accept, sir?’

  ‘I don’t know. All I can do is put it to them while we wait for a reply from Paris.We’ll just have to wait and see if anyone comes to their senses.’

  There was no response from the Austrians and Napoleon could understand why. Despite having been defeated in the recent campaign they could draw on more men for the next attempt. At the same time their diplomacy with the Italian states hostile to France was bearing fruit. The King of Naples marched north at the head of his army to join Wurmser. Napoleon immediately sent a message to the King warning him that Naples would share the fate of Pavia if he advanced any further north than Rome, and for a while at least the Neapolitans halted, no doubt waiting to see how the French fared against the Austrian army, which was preparing to launch yet another attack. From the Directory came mere words of encouragement and a plea for Napoleon to retain his command.

  Encouragement did not win battles, he fumed, and he dispatched another letter promising the Directory to squeeze further money out of the Italians, if he was sent thirty thousand more men. Otherwise, Napoleon might not be able to defeat the next Austrian army sent against him.Then, late in October, came the news he was dreading. A new Austrian commander had been appointed, General Alvinzi, and he had already advanced as far as the Piave river.While Napoleon gathered his men to counter the latest attack the Austrians drove into the first line of defence, at Corona, and forced Masséna to retreat.As early winter set in with cold rain and bitter winds the French troops continued to give ground, pressed by the Austrian vanguard.

  Outnumbered almost two to one Napoleon finally saw a slim chance of snatching back the initiative in November.

  ‘The enemy think they have us beaten,’ he told his senior commanders in his headquarters tent. Overhead rain drummed steadily on the canvas, forcing him to raise his voice to ensure that everyone heard his words and no misunderstandings would occur. ‘So, we will indulge them.Tomorrow we will continue the retreat towards Verona. As soon as night falls we will march back, round their advance units, and strike them in the rear, at Villanova. If we can destroy their baggage train and supplies Alvinzi will be forced to abandon his attack on Verona. I’ll be taking Masséna’s and Augereau’s divisions. Masséna will cross the Adige near Ronco, then march north to attack the enemy flank. Meanwhile the main attack will come from Augereau’s division.’

  ‘Where will I cross the river?’ General Augereau asked.

  Napoleon turned to the map frame that had been erected at the head of the table. He ran his finger down the line of the river until it came to a bridge over the Alpone - a tributary of the Adige.

  ‘Here, at Arcola.’ Napoleon turned to Augereau. ‘We have to secure the crossing or there will be no chance of surprising the Austrians. Arcola is the key. If we win the coming battle, gentlemen, then we win the campaign. If we lose, then the Army of Italy will be smashed and scattered and our men will be at the mercy of every Italian peasant with a grievance. It all depends on this battle.’ He turned back to the map. ‘It all depends on the crossing at Arcola.’

  Chapter 21

  The Bridge at Arcola

  The crackle of muskets sounded flat through the dawn mist that had risen from the marshy land beside the Alpone river. Napoleon swore under his breath and urged his horse forward, breaking into a gallop as he passed beside the long narrow column of infantry and cannon marching down the track towards the crossing. Behind him rode a small group of staff officers: Major Muiron, Captain Marmont and Napoleon’s brother Louis. Napoleon had given strict orders that there would be no firing until the first units had crossed the river at Arcola. The noise intensified as he approached. It could mean only one thing.The Austrians had recognised the threat and had posted some men at Arcola to guard the crossing. The question was, how many?

  Up ahead, where the track rose a little above the surrounding landscape, the mist had thinned and Napoleon could see that the head of the column had halted and the leading units were deploying to either side of the track. As he reached General Augereau and his staff, Napoleon reined in.

  ‘What’s happening?’ he snapped at Augereau.

  ‘My skirmishers ran into some enemy outposts, sir,’ Augereau explained, and then grinned. ‘There was a brief exchange of fire and they ran like rabbits.’

  ‘Where are they now?’

  ‘The enemy?’

  ‘Your skirmishers!’

  Augereau frowned. ‘They’ve taken up a position in a redoubt they captured, while they wait for the main body to come up.’

  ‘What the hell are they doing there?’ Napoleon shouted. ‘Get them moving. At once! Before the Austrians decide to make a stand on the far side.You keep after them,Augereau, do you hear? Drive them across the river. Don’t stop for anything and don’t let the enemy rest. If word gets back that the main weight of our attack is here then they’ll have the chance to turn and meet us. Get your men forward, Augereau, now!’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ Augereau saluted and turned to bellow an order for his leading grenadier companies to prepare to advance on the crossing.While the attack column was forming up Napoleon saw a mill to one side of the track and rode over to it. He dismounted and entered the building. Even though there were still sacks of grain lining the walls the place was deserted, its owner having fled at the first sight of the French soldiers. There was a ladder leading up to the flour storage floor and, stuffing his telescope in a pocket, Napoleon clambered up. Like many of the older buildings in the area the mill had a fortified tower built on to the corner, and Napoleon pushed open the heavy studded door and climbed the steps up to the crenellated observation platform. There was a fine view of the ground towards Arcola. As the morning light strengthened and the first rays of the sun warmed the air, the mist had started to lift, enough to reveal an expanse of flat ground that narrowed as it reached the bridge. A short distance from the mill he could see the fascines of the small fortification that Augereau’s skirmishers had taken. Just visible amid the threads of mist several figures in white uniforms were running across the bridge. Behind them chased the French skirmishers, eagerly closing for the kill. The
n, when they were halfway across the bridge, scores of muzzle flashes flickered on the far side of the river and several of the skirmishers fell.The rest hesitated, until more of them here struck down by enemy fire, and then they melted back to the near bank.

  Napoleon felt his heart sink as he saw more Austrian troops on the far bank, in amongst the buildings of the village. He snapped out the brass tube of the telescope and squinted to make out the enemy force in more detail. The houses and low walls closest to the bridge were lined with soldiers. Hundreds of them. Worse still, he could make out two artillery pieces, either side of the bridge, trained on the crossing and no doubt loaded with grapeshot. Further examination revealed a still more worrying factor.The far bank of the river bowed slightly around the bridge so that the defenders would be able to pour fire on to it from either flank as well as from the end. Below the bridge the surface of the river was just visible, glassy and grey, between stretches of reeds and mud on either bank.

  ‘Shit,’ Napoleon muttered, and snapped his telescope shut before climbing down to rejoin Augereau as the latter was giving orders to one of his officers. Napoleon recognised Colonel Lannes.