Chapter 13
The next morning I was awoken by the rattle of wheels on the cobbles outside my window at the inn. Looking out I saw another liveried coach had pulled up, but at least this time the occupant was getting out. The man was dressed in an army uniform that dripped of gold braid. With a powdered wig and an ivory-topped cane instead of a sword, it did not take great powers of deduction to guess that despite his senior rank, he was likely to be one of those royalist officers who had never stepped on a battlefield. I hurriedly dressed and went down the stairs to the parlour, where raised voices indicated that Ney’s meeting with the stranger was not going well.
“How dare you take that tone with me,” Ney was roaring at the aristocrat as I slipped into the room to stand beside Bourmont and Lecourbe, who had got there before me. “I am a peer and marshal of France, the Prince of Moscow and Duke of Elchingen, not your blasted footman.”
“I have no wish to cause you any offence, sir,” replied the stranger in a way that implied he really could not give a damn if he did. “But you will understand that your commanding officer, the Comte d’Artois, is puzzled why you should be gathering all available troops here, on the path expected to be taken by your former commanding officer, when he had anticipated that you to fall back to join him to defend Paris.”
“What exactly are you suggesting, sir?” Ney’s voice was low with fury. The fingers of his right hand clenched into a fist and I saw the newcomer notice and step back a pace.
“I am merely pointing out that some...” and here he waved his hand airily to indicate others rather than himself, “...may consider your actions…err…unusual.”
“They may be unusual in your army, sir, where commanders lose control of their men and then run before the enemy arrives. But in my army, if you want to attack someone you gather soldiers together and put yourself in the path of your enemy.”
“But surely you should inform your commander,” interjected the stranger.
“I did,” Ney shouted. “The comte has no army left; the king is my commander now and I have written to him with details of what I intend. Now, sir, get your aristocratic arse out of my presence.”
The noble spluttered with indignation, but before he could say anything a grinning Lecourbe stepped forward. “Let me guide your aristocratic arse back to your carriage,” he said with a grin before grabbing the man firmly by the arm and steering him out of the room. Lecourbe had been talking on the ride the day before about his days as a revolutionary soldier. It was clear now that he was on the royalist side more due to his hatred of Napoleon than any affection for his king.
“Who was that man?” I asked Bourmont as they left the room.
“The Marquis de Saurans, he is another aide de camp of the Comte d’Artois.”
“He is a bloody fool,” interjected Ney. “Just like the rest of them. They have no idea how to command an army.” He picked up a piece of paper from the table. “This is how you speak to an army: ‘...the eagle with the nation’s colours will fly from village spire to village spire, even to the towers of Notre Dame.’ That is how the king should write to his men. Instead, he sends his brother and fops like that. Men too proud to let me even sit in their carriage. Look at the mess of things they made in Lyon, a city that had been fervently for the king. They have disbanded most of the Imperial Guard and insulted the rest of the army with new regimental names and incompetent officers. Bonaparte shows them how to lead, how to inspire, how to…”
“Sir,” interrupted Bourmont, a stricken look on his face. “You are surely not considering abandoning the king; you have given your oath.”
Ney gave him almost a look of pity. “I have given more oaths to Bonaparte in my time, but you need not worry. He will never forgive me for forcing him to abdicate. He would probably rather take my head than my hand. Now leave me, gentlemen, I would like some time alone.”
It was a Sunday morning as I remember, but there was no rest for us that day. Bourmont, Lecourbe and I were busy sending orders to hurry troops and supplies, organising ammunition and gathering artillery. If we could have trusted our own men it would have been an ideal time for me to slip away as I rode between various depots and encampments. Unfortunately we could not and Bourmont had already organised the few men he did have faith in to patrol the outskirts and the roads to stop deserters. He also decided it was necessary to give us an escort of loyal royalists for our own protection, given the increasingly truculent mood of the men.
While I wanted to escape to Paris and then to England, I reluctantly had to accept it was necessary to bide my time for a while. One of our couriers had been roughed up by some Bonaparte-supporting soldiers on the road to Paris. He had been forced to use the flat of his sword to escape. The roads would not be safe for anyone heading north when many soldiers were heading south to join their emperor. Bonaparte was still several days away, but it was already obvious to me that despite what Ney thought, the men would not fight against their emperor.
It was not just the men; on the Monday Ney ordered the arrest of an officer who had called out Vive l’Empereur! at one of the cafés. Other officers were reporting increased agitation amongst their commands with soldiers refusing to obey orders, the tricolour being displayed and Bonaparte’s proclamations being widely circulated. One of the patrols brought in a dozen soldiers they had intercepted trying to desert to the emperor and their commander showed me a handful of the tricolour cockades that the men had kept in their packs from the old days. I tutted in sympathy with him, but kept one of the cockades all the same. I told the officer I would show it to Ney, but I put it in my pocket to use when it came necessary to change loyalties myself.
By Monday evening it was obvious to all but the most fervent royalist that the situation at least in Lons-le-Saunier was lost. Reports were coming in that Bonaparte now had fourteen thousand men whereas we had six thousand at most and nearly all of those would be reluctant to fight, particularly against such overwhelming odds. Then we received a message from the nearby town of Bourg to say that the 76th Infantry stationed there, who had been ordered to join Ney, had instead displayed their old colours and marched off to join Napoleon. The mood was now getting ugly in the town and that evening a young officer was brought to the inn. He was one of the trusted royalists and had been badly beaten by soldiers. He was covered in blood and likely to lose the sight of one eye.
The marshal grew more morose and unsure what to do. Bourmont and Lecourbe suggested that they should take the few remaining loyal troops and march to Chambery where it was rumoured a Swiss army was coming to help the king. Ney flew up at that, swearing that he would never join a foreign army against France. He stomped up to his room and I almost felt sorry for him, for he had painted himself into a corner. He was sure the emperor would not welcome him back and while he felt a sense of loyalty to the king, he hated most of the courtiers. Now his own command was almost certain to refuse his orders to fight. Tomorrow, I thought, would be the day that things would collapse. Bonaparte would be a day nearer, the men verging on open revolt and the few loyal troops would be more than stretched to keep a lid on things. It would be easy then to divert my escort elsewhere and get away. I would ride north as soon as it was safe – my rank would see me past the checkpoints. I patted the tricolour cockade in my pocket; I would need it once outside of the town and possibly sooner if things turned nasty.
The Golden Apple hotel was busy that night, full of officers and civilians speculating on what might happen next. Thinking it might be my last night of comfort before several days of travel, I ordered wine and food and settled down to talk to Bourmont and two other officers. None of us noticed two men in civilian clothes arrive, who then had a message passed up to Ney’s room. Shortly afterwards they were shown upstairs.
The strangers were not there when Ney summoned me to his chamber just after midnight. But the presence of extra dirty plates and glasses indicated that he had dined with someone. Ney looked agitated and tense, his hair dishevelled. The
bed was disturbed as though he had retired, could not sleep and got up again.
“Moreau,” he said as I entered. “Sit down and join me for a drink.” As I sat he watched me carefully as he filled two glasses. He appeared to be trying to weigh up something in his mind. “The other night, on the ride here,” he said at last, “you asked me if I had any doubts about fighting the emperor. Do you have any doubts?”
Well I might have drunk the best part of a bottle of brandy downstairs that evening, but I was not drunk enough to miss the danger here. Did he suspect my allegiance? I still remembered his threat to run through with his sword any officer who shouted his loyalty to the emperor. Unconsciously my eyes flicked across to where the weapon lay on a chest at the bottom of the bed. “Well, sir,” I said at last, “like you I have served the emperor for many years and in several campaigns, but I have also given an oath of loyalty to the king.”
Ney smiled at my obvious evasion and without a word pushed a paper across the table towards me. I looked at it expecting to find some new order from the king or d’Artois, but instead felt a jolt of shock as I noticed the signature at the bottom of the page. Then, taking a deep breath, I read the note in full.
Mon cousin. My major-general sends you your marching orders. I have no doubt that on receiving news of my arrival at Lyons you have already made your troops resume the tricolour flag. Execute Bertrand’s orders, come and join me at Chalons. I shall receive you as I did on the morrow of the battle of Moscow.
Napoleon
I sat stunned for a moment at the audacity of it. Bonaparte must know that Ney was planning to stop his advance – he probably had far more spies amongst our men than we did amongst his. Perhaps he even knew about the rift between Ney and d’Artois and he surely was aware that most of Ney’s command were reluctant to fight against the man who had led them to so many victories. But you don’t get to be the emperor ruling Europe without knowing how to manage your men. Threats and promises of retribution would not have intimidated Ney. They would only have made him more stubbornly determined to resist. So instead Napoleon appealed to his pride and his love for la gloire, giving him the opportunity to make a fresh start.
God knows what Napoleon had said to Ney after the battle of Moscow, but the reminder of their former campaigns together and the title the emperor subsequently gave Ney had evidently struck home. I looked up at the marshal; he was as excited and confused as a dog with two sticks. Or in this case, a marshal with two batons; one given to him by his king and another from his emperor. On the one hand, he had given his oath and he prided himself on his integrity. But the royalist leaders treated him and his wife with contempt. On the other hand, he had felt trapped before, and this offer gave him an escape. He would be a valued marshal of the empire again, albeit one who some men would never truly trust. “So,” asked Ney impatiently. “What do you think?”
I have often wondered what would have happened if I had called Ney back to his duty to the king. I flatter myself that I could have done it, for while he was brave, he was not a shrewd man. I would just have had to throw some of his earlier phrases back at him and suggest that his name would become a byword for treachery, which it did in due course, for some. That was undoubtedly my duty as a British diplomat, but there were other factors to consider, chief among them preserving the precious skin of yours truly.
For if Ney stayed loyal to the king and word of this offer got out – and who knew what other imperial messengers were passing among the ranks – then life would get deuced dicey for his one staff officer. I remembered all too well the blood-soaked royalist I had seen earlier that day. The army was still certain to go over to the emperor whether Ney was with them or not. A refusal would just mean one less marshal for the emperor to command. Bonaparte may even have sent cavalry patrols to cut roads to stop Ney and other royalist officers escaping if he chose to stay loyal to fat Louis. But if he threw in his lot with the emperor there would be harmony among the ranks of the army and more importantly, safety for your humble obedient.
So it seemed to me that my duty, at least as far as I was concerned, was clear. Looking at his expectant face and taking into account his opening question, it was obvious what he wanted me to say. Bonaparte knew his man well, for if Ney had wanted to be talked into staying loyal to the king he would have sent for Bourmont rather than me. So for an answer I reached into my pocket and without a word, put the tricolour cockade on the table before us.
“I knew it,” said Ney grinning. “We have served too long under the tricolour to turn against it. Some of the others, though, will be harder to convince.”
I gestured to the plates still on the table. “Did his messengers say anything else? What are your orders he mentions?”
“I have a proclamation to read to the troops tomorrow and then we march to Chalon.” A look of concern crossed his face as he added, “They still say that his escape was arranged with the allies. Did you hear any rumours when you were in Paris? I can’t see how he could have escaped Elba without British help.”
I had been puzzling over that one for I knew that the British had an ambassador on the island specifically to keep an eye on Napoleon. He could have been silenced but there was also a British naval squadron cruising around the island as well as royalist French naval patrols. Surely they should have been able to stop the emperor’s escape. That was what they were there for. Had I but known it, the emperor’s ship had passed within hailing distance of a French naval brig, but had convinced them that they were on a trading voyage. Meanwhile, the British ambassador was visiting his lover in Naples.
“I did not hear anything in Paris, only talk of the Duc d’Orleans. But I cannot believe that the British government would deliberately let the emperor escape.”
He gave a deep sigh. “It will be war for certain. But at least this way it will not be Frenchmen fighting Frenchmen in a bloody civil war with foreigners joining the royalists to pillage our country.” He smiled again. “With the emperor, we have the best army there is and we have beaten their alliances before. Who is to say we cannot do so again.”
“Most of the army has been disbanded,” I pointed out.
“True,” agreed Ney, “but the allies have disbanded their armies too. We will be defending the sacred soil of France. Men will come back to their regimental eagles with more passion to defend their homes.”
“I am sure you are right, sir,” I said while privately thanking my stars that I would not be there to see it. For Ney’s unexpected conversion could only be good news, at least for Flashy. There would be no imminent battle and with Ney by Napoleon’s side, I doubted many soldiers would stay with the king. The royalists would be forced to flee again. But Ney was right: no country was in a state of readiness for war. There would be months of negotiation and posturing, leaving plenty of time for me to slip away. If the channel ports were closed I could travel through the Low Countries and reach England that way. Indeed, if I were to witness Ney’s meeting with the emperor, it could still be something to boast about in diplomatic circles when I got home. Then when the shooting finally started I could watch the soldiers march through London to battle, while sitting safely behind a window in the Foreign Office.
I confess I did not give a thought to the poor bastards in red coats who would have to fight again. Many would probably be pleased at the prospect for it meant regiments would be raised again and promotions for those that lived through this new conflict. I had done my share of facing French columns. It was time for someone else to have a go, while I stayed safely out of the way. I must have been grinning at the thought for Ney looked at me and said, “I don’t think I have seen you happier, Colonel. But while us war horses relish the prospect of battle, there will be others who do not. Send Lecourbe and Bourmont to see me in the morning, but it would probably be best if you do not warn them what I am to say.”
Chapter 14
I don’t know what Ney told Bourmont and Lecourbe the next morning, but to my surprise they did not ride str
aight away to Paris to report Ney’s treachery. Bourmont even arranged to have all available troops paraded that morning on the outskirts of town. At eleven Ney appeared in the yard of the Golden Apple in his best uniform and, flanked by his two generals they rode to the assembly. I followed on a few yards behind with the officer of the escort and several other officers who were on Bourmont’s staff. It only took five minutes to get to where the men were formed up but I don’t recall anyone speaking on the way. Bourmont must have told some of his officers, but those who knew what was about to happen were unsure of the real loyalty of those about them.
The troops were arrayed on the Place d’Armes in a hollow square. There were two regiments of infantry and some six squadrons of cavalry, some three thousand men in all. But word had spread of some important happening and the people of the town had come as well in a large crowd that went around two sides of the square. The noise from the gathering increased markedly as we came into view. The clamour was not just from the townspeople; officers and sergeants could be seen going up and down the ranks to still disquiet and in a couple of places I could see men being shoved back into line after they had tried to call out to their comrades. They were in a black mood and if we had been about to order them to march against their emperor, as most seemed to be expecting, then I had little doubt that we would be facing a mutiny. But Ney was unconcerned as he dismounted just outside the square and then, gesturing for us to follow suit, he led us on foot to its middle.
Ney stood still in the centre and slowly looked around at all of the men watching him. There was silence now, everyone waiting to see what would happen next. Ney took a paper from his pocked and then nodded to two drummers in the front rank who both did a drum roll. Then after another interminable pause, Ney slowly drew his sword, resting the blade against his shoulder and began to read. “Officers, non-commissioned officers and soldiers, the cause of the Bourbons is lost for ever…”
Flashman's Waterloo (Adventures of Thomas Flashman Book 6) Page 11
