Flashman's Waterloo (Adventures of Thomas Flashman Book 6)

by Robert Brightwell

  Chapter 12

  We thought we would get an answer to Ney’s enquiry late the next day at the earliest and I was happy to stay in Besançon until then. It was still some hundred miles away from Lyon and for the moment the place was quiet. However, we did not have to wait that long. I had just settled myself into the officers’ mess after my walk around the town, when there was the clatter of steel-shod wheels and hooves in the courtyard outside. I have seen some strange harbingers of doom in my time, from jealous Spanish dwarfs to painted tribal chiefs wearing nothing but a loincloth, but rarely have I seen one so luxuriously appointed. The polished sides of the well-sprung carriage still gleamed under a coating of dust from the journey. You could make out armorial crests painted on the doors while the liveried driver and flunkies sitting on the back box announced that the occupant was a man of status. Any lingering doubt on that point was also assuaged by the escort troop of hussars who gathered a respectful distance away in the corner of the courtyard. At first I thought it must be the Comte d’Artois and wondered what the hell he was doing this far back from the front. But Bourmont told me that the crest belonged to the Duc de Maillé, who was chief of the comte’s household.

  I watched expectantly for his lordship to emerge and Bourmont busied himself arranging refreshments for our noble visitor, but the duke had other ideas. One of the footmen on the back box scrambled down and after taking some instruction through the carriage window, hurried to our headquarters building. So it was that five minutes later a stony-faced Marshal Michel Ney, Prince of Moscow and Duke of Elchingen was seen striding towards the carriage window to attend on the occupant like some tavern pot boy. Bourmont and I followed in his wake, but a gloved hand appearing at the carriage window pointing at Ney and then at the ground by the carriage door showed that only he was required. The marshal gave a barely suppressed growl of fury at this fresh indignity and continued forward. I meanwhile decided that it might be timely to use my rank to interrogate the young captain commanding the escort to find out what the hell was going on.

  The carriage and its escort clattered out of the square a few moments later. If I had been feeling merely disquiet before, then I was now in a growing state of funk for the news from the escort commander was far worse than I had feared. The royalist cause seemed determined to wrestle a catastrophic defeat from the grasp of victory.

  I walked back to where Ney was explaining to Bourmont what he had been told. “He says that the Comte d’Artois has been betrayed and that he has decided to abandon Lyon and fall back on Paris.” Ney gave a bark of laughter before adding, “He had no orders for us and just told me to do what I could to stop Bonaparte’s advance.”

  “But…but…” Poor Bourmont was struggling to comprehend what had happened and given the circumstances you could hardly blame him. “But Lyon is the second biggest city in France,” he exclaimed at last. “The comte must have had more men than the emperor to defend it, not to mention the city walls and the guns on them. For heaven’s sake Bonaparte has no artillery at all. He could have just shut the city gates and waited for reinforcements to lift a siege.”

  “He had to leave,” I interrupted them, “because the good comte had so antagonised both his own soldiers and the people of Lyon, that they were ready to open the gates of the city to the emperor as soon as he appeared.”

  “That cannot be,” protested Bourmont. “Lyon is well known as being a stronghold of the royalist cause.”

  “Well, it is not any more,” I told him. “Posters supporting the royalist cause were being torn down as soon as they were put up, according to the officer commanding the escort. And in their place were proclamations like this.” I held out a paper that the officer had given me. Ney unfolded it and held it so Bourmont could read over his shoulder as well.

  Frenchmen, in my exile your complaints and desires have reached me.

  You have asked for the government of your choice – the only legitimate one.

  I have crossed the sea and I am here to resume my rights, which are yours.

  Victory, swift and triumphant lies before us. The eagle with the nation’s colours

  will fly from village spire to village spire, even to the towers of Notre Dame.

  Napoleon

  “The officer said there were hundreds of proclamations like this around the city,” I told them. “The tricolour was being flown from some of the public buildings and he thought that many of the soldiers sent to defend the town would go over to the emperor.” What I did not add was that the escort commander had sounded almost wistful as he told me this, as though he quite liked the idea of serving Bonaparte himself.

  “My God,” gasped Bourmont. “If he takes Lyon he will have most of the south-east. It will be a civil war then.”

  “The north-east will come out for him too,” mused Ney. “He has always had support there. It would be him in the east and us in the west.” He abruptly shook his head as though coming out of a reverie before continuing more briskly, “No, there is still time to cut off the head of this snake yet. It is just one man; we cannot let him destroy France. I promised the king I would stop him and so I shall.”

  “Are we going to join D’Artois?” asked Bourmont.

  “No, he is the best recruiting sergeant Bonaparte has. We will collect all the loyal troops in the eastern departments; gather them at Lons-le-Saunier. Bonaparte is moving so quickly he does not have scouts. We will fall on his flank. The soldiers who have followed him will think twice about firing on other Frenchman serving their lawful sovereign.”

  I rather thought that soldiers fighting for Ney might think twice about firing on soldiers serving their beloved emperor, but before I could make an objection Bourmont raised a more relevant point. “How many men do you think we can gather? Will we outnumber the emperor’s followers, do you think?”

  Ney gave a grunt of irritation before replying. “I have been studying the troop returns. I think we should be able to gather six thousand men. Bonaparte might have ten thousand by now, but don’t worry I shall settle the accounts with him. We are going to attack the wild beast when and where he least expects it.”

  He looked at us expectantly and while Bourmont was still ashen-faced at the sudden change of events, he managed to stammer “It… it will be an honour to serve with you, sir.”

  They both turned to me, but for a moment I was too stunned to speak. I mean of all the wretched luck. Instead of my moment of history rounding up an exhausted and defeated renegade ruler, I had been pitched straight into the heart of what was about to become a civil war. Not only that, it was plain as a pikestaff that I had ended up on the losing side. For despite what Ney claimed, I could not see many soldiers fighting for him against Bonaparte. Ney commanded the highest respect among the troops as one of Napoleon’s marshals, but at the end of the day, Napoleon was the emperor. To make matters even worse, I was his bloody aide, expected to be at his side in whatever madness he proposed; and he was not known as the ‘bravest of the brave’ for nothing. I had a sudden vision of just the two of us in a cavalry charge against the entire French army and the ground around us boiling in shot and shell. I realised that I was shuddering at the thought.

  “Are you all right, Colonel?” asked Bourmont staring at me curiously.

  “What… ah… yes… I was wondering if we should not involve the allies in this. I mean the Austrians, British and Prussians could all get armies here quickly and they would have no divided loyalties. They could provide a firm backbone to any resistance…” You can guess who I was about to propose as a messenger in this venture. But I saw that I had blundered by suggesting that there was any lack of backbone in the royalist forces.

  “No,” stated Ney firmly. “If foreigners set foot in France it will be time for every Frenchman to declare for Bonaparte.” He smiled at me then and put his hand on my shoulder. “I know you have the best interests of France at heart, as do I, but we Frenchmen have to do this ourselves.”

  I came as near as a toucher the
n to revealing my true identity. Shouting that I was no more French than the Duke of Wellington, who was more Irish than English, but most assuredly not French. However, I was deep in the dark country then and having some people around me who at least thought they were a friend was better than none. I also took comfort in some other news that the commander of the escort had given me. Napoleon had apparently declared that he was determined to regain control of France without spilling a drop of French blood – all the more reason to allow people to think me French. If the worst came to it, I thought, I would just shout Vive l’Empereur! with the rest of them and look to slide out at the first opportunity.

  Having resolved to go on the offensive, Ney was in a fever to start planning his campaign. We spent that evening poring over maps and troop lists, issuing orders and doing everything we could to get all available troops and supplies to Lons-le-Saunier as soon as possible. We were joined that night by another general, a man called Lecourbe. He was a revolutionary veteran who had been dismissed from the army by Bonaparte, suspected of being involved in some plot. He harboured a deep resentment of the emperor and after all the orders had finally been written he sat with Ney drinking brandy and talking of old times.

  “Are you sure the men will follow you?” asked Lecourbe at one point. I pricked my ears up at that for it was a question heavily on my mind too.

  “Of course they will fucking follow me,” growled Ney, the coarse trooper in him more apparent when he was drunk. “I will fire the first shot myself and then they will join me. If just one tries to declare for the emperor, he will have my sword through his body up to the hilt.”

  I went to my room that night more convinced than ever that disaster was in the offing. I would have slipped away that night but Bourmont had told us that as a precaution he had placed sentries he could trust at the gates with orders to stop anyone trying to leave. He was worried about some of his own men trying to join the emperor, while I was thwarted from travelling in exactly the opposite direction. In the morning Ney decided to write to the king to update him on his plans. He did not want to tell d’Artois in case the duke dragged us into some strategy of his own.

  “The men won’t stand for d’Artois, but they will stand for me,” he insisted as he put his seal on the despatch. Naturally I offered my services as courier again, only to be rebuffed once more. “You are my only staff officer,” snapped Ney irritably. “I need you by my side. Find some junior officer to take it.” I did, but I took a moment to add my own letter and got the young officer’s word of honour that he would deliver it personally. My note was to Louisa, telling her to get out of France with my son as soon as possible as resistance in the south was crumbling and civil war looked certain. I had written the note in French and with my French name in case the courier or someone else decided to read it. I did not doubt that if Louisa got the message, she would pass the warning on to the embassy. I just hoped that my postscript that, ‘I would join her as soon as I could,’ would not prove unfounded optimism.

  We left for Lons-le-Saunier that morning, changing horses at Poligny. There Ney was greeted by a local official who sought reassurance that all would be well. Ney repeated to him his promise to the king to bring Bonaparte back to Paris in an iron cage.

  “It would be better if you brought him back dead in a cart,” the man suggested.

  “No, no,” replied Ney laughing. “You don’t know Paris. The Parisians must see him beaten and humiliated. It will be the last act of his tragedy, the denouement of the Napoleon epic.”

  He was in a strange mood on that journey. His eyes gleamed with excitement and despite the odds of any future battle being against him, he seemed in remarkably good humour. It was as though he was relishing the part he thought he would now play in history. He was free of d’Artois and determined to show that he was the better of his former master. He spent most of that journey riding alongside one of the two generals, but at one point he dropped back to ride with me. It was evening then and bitterly cold with a freezing wind whipping our faces, but when I commented on it he just laughed. “I can tell you were not with us in Russia, Colonel, then you would know what cold really is. He talked for a while about the Russian campaign and if anything his stories served to chill my bones even further. But as he harked back to those times with a fond regard, I decided to ask the obvious question.

  “You served alongside the emperor for so long. Do you have no misgivings at all about facing him in battle?”

  “No,” he said without hesitation. He gave me a stern glare before adding, “I looked the emperor in the eye and told him when I could no longer serve him. I might not have royal blood like some, but I am a man of honour and I have given the king my word to deliver the emperor as a captive. I have always done what I think is best for France.” His tone softened. “I don’t think too much about these things, Colonel, if you think too much you will not get anything done. Trust to your instincts and do what you think is right. That is the only way you can look in the mirror and be proud of what you see.” He must have thought that I was having doubts myself and his little speech was intended to allay them. He reached across and slapped me on the back before adding with a grin, “Keep warm, Colonel.” Spurring his horse forward, I thought he would return to riding alongside the two generals in front but instead he rode past them and cantered away at the front of our party alone. He evidently wanted to do some thinking of his own after all.

  It was gone midnight by the time we arrived at Lons-le-Saunier. There was no army barracks there and so we put up at the inn in the centre of the town, a place called The Golden Apple. Soon we were shown into what in an English pub would be called the snug, a small comfortable parlour with a roaring fire. Having thrown off our greatcoats to better feel the heat, we moved towards the small hearth. The two generals initially took the prime positions, leaving a gap between them for the marshal. But Ney insisted that I take the centre space with him to share the warmth. We must have stood in virtual silence in front of that blaze for five minutes, it was bliss. Teeth slowly stopped chattering, muscles ceased shivering and feeling came back to hands and feet. Then the landlord came in with four cups of a hot broth. He stopped short when he saw all the decorations and marks of rank on Ney’s uniform. His eyes darted cautiously between us; he was clearly wondering if we were for the king or for Bonaparte.

  “Beg pardon, sirs, I had no idea that I had so many generals in my humble establishment. Are you heading north or south, gentlemen?”

  “South,” replied Ney firmly. “In the service of the king.”

  “Ah, in that case, gentlemen, would you be interested in meeting a Monsieur Boulouze? He is a merchant who arrived earlier this evening from Lyon. He will have turned in for the evening, but I am sure for you he would arise again.”

  A bleary-eyed Boulouze showed himself a few minutes later. His initial scowl of irritation at having been dragged out of bed by his landlord in the middle of the night to speak to some army officers, transformed instantly when he saw Ney.

  “Marshal Ney, ’pon my soul, it is an honour to meet you, sir. I have seen you several times in Paris and have always been grateful to you for bringing the country peace and prosperity.” He shook Ney warmly by the hand as he added, “I remember well how you persuaded the emp… I mean General Bonaparte to abdicate before. I know we can rely on you to stop this current madness.”

  Despite his fatigue from the ride, Ney grew an inch at the compliment and gestured for the merchant to take a seat. “The landlord tells me you were at Lyon,” he prompted.

  Boulouze settled into the chair, clearly pleased with himself that the great Marshal Ney was interested in his account. “I was there when General Bonaparte arrived, sir, and a few days before. As soon as we heard he had landed the rumours started. There were stories that the king was going to restore estates to their old aristocratic owners and that they would be able to charge new rents on all those living on their lands. People went to the Comte d’Artois to get him to deny it
but he refused. I told those that would listen that if Bonaparte was back it would be war again for certain, that the allies would never let him regain the throne, but many people told me I was wrong. The British navy had allowed him to escape from Elba, they said, he could not have got away otherwise. Then the proclamations started to appear all over the city saying that all the allies supported his return.”

  “Was there any resistance at all?” asked Ney quietly.

  “No sir, the royalists had all fled long before General Bonaparte arrived.” Boulouze looked embarrassed as he added, “The army led the cheering, sir, but the people gave the general a good welcome too. The general reviewed his troops in the central square like the old days and gave speeches. I heard him say that he had the support of Austria and that the empress and his son will come from Vienna.”

  “That is just some of his usual boasting.” Ney tried to sound dismissive but he did not sound convincing.

  “One of my friends heard the general say that they would march on Paris with their hands in their pockets as it was all arranged for them to get there.”

  “Well it is not all arranged,” said Ney more confidently. “I can tell you that for certain. For the king himself has tasked me to stop Bonaparte and that is what I shall do.”

  “So the king is still in Paris?” asked Boulouze, who had clearly heard otherwise.

  “I am sure he is,” replied Ney sounding less confident. “Now, Monsieur Boulouze, I thank you for your information but I should let you return to your bed.” He turned to the rest of us. “You should retire to your rooms too, gentlemen, it has been a long day. We will discuss developments in the morning.” Ney showed no sign of getting up himself, instead stretching his feet out from his chair before the fire. We took our leave and I was the last to go through the door. As I did so I looked back and saw him pulling a paper from his pocket, it was Napoleon’s proclamation I had given him the previous day.