The Generals r-2

by Simon Scarrow

  ‘No . . . Wait.’ Napoleon’s head rose a little higher above the steam swirling off the surface of the water. ‘He’s reviewing a new cavalry formation near Montmartre, is he not?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Then send for him. I will meet him here this evening, with Berthier and Talleyrand. See to it at once.’

  Bourrienne stood up, collected his papers and bowed, greatly relieved to quit the stifling humidity of Napoleon’s bathroom. As he made for the door there was a splash of water from the overfilled bath as Napoleon raised an arm. ‘And send Roustam in. It’s time I was out of here and got dressed.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  Once he was alone again Napoleon raised his hands to his face and relished the sensation of moist warmth against his eyes. He was tired. More tired than he had ever been and more tired than he should permit himself to be, he reflected. In truth, the seemingly endless difficulties facing the government could only begin to be solved if there was peace with England and Austria. But that seemed more unlikely than ever, now that the two powers had curtly rebuffed his offers to talk peace. If only that wretched man William Pitt could put the interests of his people above his personal abhorrence of France there might be peace, Napoleon considered. However, there was little hope of that, and Napoleon resigned himself to the prospect of the English Prime Minister obstinately dragging out the war for years to come, defying France, and Napoleon, from the other side of the Channel. Meanwhile, Austria was the only enemy that France could close with and destroy. So it was against Austria that the full fury of France’s army would be launched.

  ‘Sir, your gown.’

  Napoleon glanced up with a start. Once again his intense preoccupation with policy had driven out all awareness of his surroundings and Roustam had entered the room without his realising. He stared at his Mameluke servant and wondered if this blindness to minions was what happened when a man became a ruler of his nation. If so, it was a dangerous development, and Napoleon had no intention of ending up like Marat. He rose up, shedding water in a steaming cascade, and stepping out of the bath he took the gown that Roustam proffered to him, anxious to get dry and dressed in his uniform so that he would no longer feel naked and vulnerable.

  ‘Would you like breakfast, sir?’

  ‘Yes. No, wait. Is my wife still in bed?’

  ‘I believe so, sir.’

  ‘Then I’ll have breakfast later.You may go.’

  Roustam bowed and backed out of the room. Napoleon rubbed the gown against his flesh as he made for the door that led to his sleeping quarters. First Consul he might be, but his needs were the same as any other young man’s.

  Dinner, like all meals shared with Napoleon, was eaten in a hurry. The First Consul resented spending any more time than was necessary on consuming food, especially when there was important business at hand.The stewards cleared away the plates, dishes, cutlery and glasses and left the four men to themselves, quietly closing the door on the room.

  ‘Well,’ Talleyrand said as he dabbed at his lips with a napkin. ‘The food was good, what little of it I had the chance to taste. So what is the purpose of this meeting, Citizen First Consul? Since I assume we weren’t just invited to enjoy your hospitality.’

  Napoleon made himself smile at the foreign minister’s manner. Talleyrand represented much of what Napoleon despised, and admired, of the ancient regime. His manners were refined to the point of being an art form, and his offhand manner left people in no doubt that he considered them to be beneath him. His dry wit chafed Napoleon’s nerves, and yet if ever there was a man who was destined to deal in the duplicity of diplomacy it was Talleyrand, and therefore Napoleon was grateful that he had accepted the appointment. But he still loathed the man.

  ‘No, indeed. And now that we have eaten it is time to talk.’ Napoleon gestured round the table. ‘It falls to the four of us to decide what direction France is to take in the coming months. What does France need?’

  ‘Peace,’ Talleyrand said at once. ‘Citizen Consul, if you are to cement your hold on France then we must have peace. The people are tired of war. Our navy is in a deplorable state, the army is not much better and the treasury is all but empty. We need to make peace in order to consolidate the gains of the revolution.’

  ‘I have tried to make peace,’ Napoleon said wearily. ‘You know what the English said in their reply to me? “Peace is impossible with a nation that is against all order, religion and morality.” ’ He shook his head. ‘While that is their attitude there can only be war between us, and we can be sure that England will continue to subsidise any nation that stands against us.’

  Talleyrand smiled. ‘It seems that the English are preparing to fight to the last Austrian.’

  ‘Quite,’ Napoleon continued, irritated by the interruption. ‘And while their navy controls the seas then we have to turn our attention towards the Austrians. What realistic chance is there of peace with Austria?’

  Talleyrand was still for a moment, as he considered the question. Then he shrugged. ‘Not much. They are keen to keep the territory they currently occupy in Italy and they wish France to give up the Low Countries. We would only have peace if we consented to both demands.’ He looked closely at Napoleon. ‘Of course, if you are serious about peace, then you could always meet their demands.’

  ‘No!’ Moreau slapped his hand down on the table. ‘That would be an insult to France, and our armies. I would not stand for it, and neither should you.’ He spoke directly to Napoleon. ‘If we conceded so much the people would be outraged. Given their present ill humour, a diplomatic reverse on that scale might trigger another coup.’

  ‘That is possible,’ Talleyrand conceded. ‘And we’d probably end up with yet another general in charge, and be back where we started.’ He paused. ‘I wonder who that general might be, in the unlikely event of a coup.’

  ‘Thank you,Talleyrand,’ Napoleon cut in.‘I think we are agreed. There can be no compromise with Austria, and the war must be ended as swiftly as possible. In which case, it is time to consider the means by which that can be achieved. Berthier, the map.’

  Berthier rose from his chair and crossed to a chest of drawers. He retrieved a large map and returned to the table, where he spread it out between the four men. They gazed down at a detailed rendering of central Europe. Talleyrand’s quick eye immediately picked out the preliminary dispositions of the forces that Berthier had marked out.

  ‘I see now that this meeting was not to seek our advice, but to give us orders, Citizen Consul.’

  A frown flickered across Napleon’s face. ‘While I value the opinions of my . . . colleagues the time for a decision has come. Now then,’ he tapped the map, ‘to business. Despite the recent setbacks in Italy and Germay we are in a good position to end the war decisively, thanks to our occupation of Switzerland.You are all aware that a new army has been gathering around Dijon - the Army of Reserve. In the next few days I will announce that Berthier is to be its commander.’

  Berthier nodded slightly, since he was already aware of his appointment.

  ‘Who is to replace him as Minister of War?’ asked Moreau.

  ‘Carnot.’

  ‘Carnot? I thought he had been disgraced.’

  Talleyrand smiled. ‘Of course. That’s what makes him so suitable for the job. He will be no threat to the new regime, especially if . . .’ Talleyrand turned to look searchingly at Napoleon. ‘I assume that means you will be taking the field against Austria.’

  Moreau shook his head. ‘The new constitution forbids that. The First Consul is prohibited from holding an army command.’

  ‘That’s true,’ Napoleon agreed. ‘I shall simply be accompanying Berthier in an advisory role. The command of the Army of Reserve is his.’

  ‘Or at least that’s how it will be presented to the people of France,’ said Talleyrand. He dipped his head in acknowledgement of Napoleon’s neat circumvention of the new rules.

  ‘It seemed the obvious thing to do,’ Napoleon rep
lied offhandedly. ‘It should be safe enough for me to leave Paris for a few months. The people will be loyal to the new regime for a while yet.’

  ‘I can imagine,’ said Talleyrand. ‘Fouché is busy censoring the newspapers and I hear that soon all theatre owners must have their plays approved by him as well. Meanwhile, your brother Lucien has been hard at work commissioning patriotic songs and monuments to the glorious dead.’

  ‘Your cynicism is misplaced,’ Moreau responded coldly. ‘Whatever you may think, the dead sacrificed their lives for France, which is more than you have done, citizen.’

  Talleyrand shrugged. ‘I have devoted my life to the service of my country. That is my sacrifice.’

  Moreau snorted. ‘What does a civilian know of sacrifice?’

  ‘Did not Danton, Desmoulins and Robespierre know the meaning of sacrifice?’ Talleyrand replied with icy calm.

  ‘Gentlemen!’ Napoleon raised a hand. ‘That’s enough. We do not have time for such petty altercations. Now then, to details. The plan was forwarded to the senior army commanders before Christmas. It was my intention that General Moreau’s Army of the Rhine would deliver the main blow.To achieve this it was to deploy one of its corps to pin the Austrian army in the region of the Black Forest, while the other three corps crossed the Rhine near Schaffhausen, turned the enemy flank and fell on the rear of the Austrian army.’

  ‘It sounds like a viable scheme.’ Talleyrand raised his fine eyebrows. ‘So why the past tense?’

  ‘Because General Moreau has pointed out what he believes are unwarranted risks in the original plan,’ Napoleon replied calmly. ‘If you wouldn’t mind, Moreau?’

  ‘Indeed.’ Moreau stood up and leaned over the map.‘It’s a bold plan, Bonaparte, I grant you that. But it’s too bold. There’s not enough room for three corps to manoeuvre at Schaffhausen. Besides, if the enemy got wind of the plan they could defeat my army in detail.’

  ‘Assuming they could march fast enough,’ added Berthier.

  ‘It is still a significant risk,’ Moreau insisted. ‘With all due respect to Bonaparte’s plan, in my view it would be wiser to advance on a broad front on the north bank of the Rhine. And that is what I shall do,’ Moreau concluded, and resumed his seat.

  ‘Thank you, General.’ Napoleon smiled.‘I’m sure you are wise to be cautious, given that you command by far the largest and best of our field armies. Consequently, I have amended the campaign plans, and now, instead of striking the main blow in Germany, it will fall in Italy instead. Gentlemen, it is my intention that the Army of Reserve will advance into Switzerland, and when it is fully equipped and provisioned - no later than the end of April - it will turn south, cross the Alps and cut across behind the Austrian army of General Melas so that the enemy will be crushed between the forces of Masséna and those of Berthier.’

  ‘Cross the Alps in May?’ Moreau shook his head. ‘It can’t be done. The passes will still be covered in snow and ice. It would be impossible to get the guns over the mountains, and what of the danger of avalanches? It would be the height of folly to attempt it.’

  ‘The Austrians would never expect it,’ Napoleon replied. ‘That is why it must be done. That is why it will be done. And that is why we will defeat them . . . decisively.’

  Moreau was silent for a moment. ‘I can’t approve of this plan.’ ‘I don’t believe anyone asked you to,’ said Talleyrand and Moreau glared at him.

  ‘Yes, well that is the plan in any case.’ Napoleon tapped the map. ‘It will go ahead according to schedule, and I will be requiring you to release Lecourbe’s division to reinforce Berthier the instant we open a route across the Alps.’

  Moreau thought it over. ‘Lecourbe commands one of my best divisions.’

  ‘That is why I need his men.’

  ‘Of course.’ Moreau nodded. ‘I will reinforce Berthier, as you suggest. Now, if you don’t mind, Bonaparte, I must go. I have to leave for my army at first light. I will send you word the moment I begin my campaign.’

  ‘That would be appreciated, General.’

  The small meeting broke up as Talleyrand took his chance to leave with Moreau. Once they had left, Berthier stared at the door that had closed behind them.

  ‘I don’t trust those two.’

  ‘Nor do I,’ Napoleon agreed. ‘But I need them both, and I dare not antagonise Moreau, not until it is clear to every French soldier which one of us is the master. So I must win this campaign, Berthier. If I lose, those two will throw me to the wolves.’

  Chapter 53

  The air was as clear and fresh as any Napoleon had ever tasted and he breathed deeply and filled his lungs as he gazed down the length of the Great St Bernard Pass. It was late in the afternoon and the sun was sinking behind the mountains to the west, making the snow-capped peaks appear blue in the watery light that remained. Napoleon gazed back along the narrow track he had ascended. A long line of soldiers, dark against the snow, snaked down into the treeline. Here and there several men struggled to help mules and horses haul small wagons and empty gun carriages up the slope. The barrels of the cannon, the most awkward of burdens to be taken over the pass, had been tied securely into hollowed-out tree trunks, each one harnessed to a hundred men who were tasked with hauling them up the pass, and then gingerly steering them down the far side.

  It had been Marmont’s idea, and Napoleon felt pleased that his choice for the Army of Reserve’s artillery commander had been vindicated. So many of the officers who had served with Napoleon since the early days had turned out to be fine commanders, in spite of humble origins in many cases. Men like Masséna, and Desaix. Thought of the latter made Napoleon smile. A day earlier he had had news that Desaix had broken the blockade of Egypt and returned to France. Napoleon had sent for him at once; a man of Desaix’s talent could be vital to the success of the present campaign. That was the real triumph of the revolution, Napoleon thought with a slight nod. A man might rise as high as any on the basis of merit alone, and not because of some accident of birth. That was why France would win, in the end. For what nation could hope to stand against a nation of men free to pursue their ambitions?

  For a moment the cares and concerns of leading an army were forgotten as Napoleon marvelled at the view afforded him from the top of the pass. To one side of the track the hospice of St Bernard squatted in the thick snow, and its monks stood at the entrance passing bread, cheese and wine into the hands of the soldiers as they tramped past, wrapped in coats and blankets, hands in gloves or bound with strips of cloth to save them from the cold, and frostbite. Napoleon watched as a company of the Consular Guard stood and ate their rations, stamping their feet and breathing plumes of steamy breath into the gloomy blue twilight.

  Even though Napoleon was wrapped in a large fur coat he felt the sting of the icy air, and the perspiration that he had shed in the final climb up to the top of the pass now chilled his skin.

  ‘God, it’s cold,’ he muttered.

  Junot turned to him. ‘Sir?’

  ‘I think we’d better get moving again, before it gets dark.’

  ‘Yes, sir. A lodge has been prepared for us a few miles down the path. We will eat and sleep there.’

  Napoleon nodded. For the soldiers there would be no shelter. They would only rest when they reached the treeline, having marched for over two days in the numbing cold with no chance to sleep.

  The staff officers moved on to the track and began the descent. Napoleon swapped greetings with the soldiers who made way for them as they passed. Despite their exhaustion he was pleased to see that they were still in high spirits and greeted him with the same rough informality the men had used when he took command of his first army. As night folded over the mountains they proceeded by the light of the braziers that had been set up at regular intervals. Soldiers clustered round each blaze, stretching out their hands to the flames until they were moved on by a sergeant or an officer. At last Napoleon and his small group of staff officers reached the lodge, a solid timber construction wit
h a few small shuttered windows. It smelt musty, but a fire had been built up by the men sent ahead to prepare the shelter for Napoleon. A simple meal of onion soup steamed in a cauldron and the new arrivals fell on it hungrily.

  As Napoleon sipped at the scalding brew he read through the reports from the leading division of the army, commanded by Lannes. The news was not good. Thirty miles further on, the valley became very narrow at the village of Bard. Above the village, on a rock, was a fortress with a strong garrison whose cannon covered the route into Italy. Lannes had taken the village without any difficulty, but the fortress was impregnable. Leaving a small force to cover the enemy, Lannes had taken his infantry on a winding track around the fortress and was moving on towards Ivrea. Lannes would be vulnerable without artillery and Napoleon felt his heart sink a little at this first obstacle to his plans.

  Time was more important than ever. Shortly before leaving Geneva he had received news that the Austrians had attacked Masséna and divided the Army of Italy. While half the army was driven back towards the French border, the rest, along with Masséna, were under siege in the port city of Genoa, caught between the Austrian army and the Royal Navy. Even though Masséna was short of supplies, Napoleon had sent an order to hold on until the middle of June, long enough to divert the enemy’s attention away from the Army of Reserve closing on them from the Alps. It was a bad situation but Napoleon was reassured by the fact that Masséna was in command at Genoa. He could be counted on to fight for as long as possible.

  However heroic Masséna might be, Napoleon reflected, everything depended on getting the Army of Reserve into position in the shortest possible time, and the delay at Bard might yet cost him dearly. He set his spoon down with a sharp rap on the table and stood up. ‘Junot, Bourrienne, come with me. We must keep going. The rest of you follow first thing in the morning.’>

  He led the way outside, and explained briefly about the situation at Bard as they continued along the icy track, joining the dark string of soldiers trudging south.The night sky was clear and stars gleamed brilliantly in the velvet heavens as they marched as fast as they could. As soon as the ground became level and firm enough to ride a horse, Napoleon and the others commandeered some mounts from a cavalry regiment and rode on, passing Aosta before dawn and from there following the Dora Baltea river towards Bard where they arrived at the headquarters of General Berthier late in the afternoon.