The Fields of Death

by Scarrow, Simon

  ‘Very well, take him away. Have him put in a secure cell and kept under watch. Make sure that he is made comfortable and fed well.’

  Rapp looked surprised for an instant before he shrugged and stepped forward to haul the youth to his feet. Grasping him by the arm, the French officer marched him to the door, opened it and thrust him into the hands of the waiting sergeants. When the orders had been given he shut the door and returned to his Emperor, who was staring at the blood-spattered paving slabs under the chair that Staps had been sitting on. At length he looked up at the general.

  ‘Do you believe him?’

  ‘Sire?’

  ‘That he was acting alone?’

  ‘I don’t know, sire. He says he was.’

  Napoleon thought for a moment.‘I cannot believe it. There are other conspirators . . . there must be. Staps is the product of all those secret societies that I am told infest the German states. Men like him are under the influence of religious zealots and political schemers. They make young men into assassins and fill their heads with false ideologies. But how can we fight against false ideas? They cannot be destroyed by cannon balls.’

  Rapp pursed his lips. ‘Force has its uses in keeping people under control, sire.’

  ‘I know that. But it is at best an expedient. We must rule their minds and their hearts if we are to rule without living on the whim of maniacs like Staps.’

  ‘Yes, sire.’

  Napoleon stared at the empty chair. He had escaped the knife of an assassin this time, but how many more men like Staps were out there, waiting for their opportunity? If he died now, then that would be an end to any dream of a new dynasty of Bonapartes. The need for an heir was more pressing than ever and Napoleon steeled his heart to do what was necessary the moment he returned to Paris.

  ‘Sire?’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘What are your orders concerning the prisoner? How long do you want him held?’

  ‘Held?’ Napoleon frowned. ‘I don’t want him held. Draw up the paperwork for a military court. Have him charged, and convicted, of attempted murder.’

  Rapp nodded. ‘Yes, sire. I’ll select the necessary officers in the morning. We can try him straight away.’

  ‘There’s no need for that. We just need the appearance of a fair trial. Draft the paperwork as soon as you can.’ Napoleon rose from his stool and stretched. ‘Meanwhile, Staps is to be shot. At dawn. Find him an unmarked grave and have the body covered in quicklime. Is that clear?’

  ‘Yes, sire.’

  ‘I will not permit Friedrich Staps to become a martyr, or his grave to become a shrine. He is to be obliterated. Erased from history.’

  Chapter 12

  Fontainebleau, December 1810

  ‘Her imperial majesty is not happy with the new arrangements,’ Baron Bausset muttered as he escorted Napoleon up the steps to the chateau. A light rain fell from leaden skies and a keen breeze drove it into the faces of the soldiers and household staff who had formed up to greet the emperor. He had returned from Austria shortly before noon, tired and cold after several days in his carriage. He had sent word to Bausset a few weeks before that all the staircases and doors that linked his apartments with those of the Empress were to be sealed up. In view of the coming confrontation, Napoleon had no wish to provide Josephine with any more access to him than possible. He well knew the hold she had over him. Over the next few weeks he must be strong. He must resist her tears and her pleas. For the good of France, he reminded himself.

  Bausset cleared his throat as they reached the top of the curved staircase that led to the entrance.‘Sire, the Empress has asked me repeatedly for an explanation for blocking the access between her apartments and yours.’

  ‘I can imagine,’ Napoleon replied. ‘What have you told her?’

  ‘I told her that I was only obeying your orders and had not been informed of the reasons behind your instructions.’

  ‘Good.’

  As he entered the hall, Napoleon paused and undid the buttons of his coat and then eased his shoulders as a footman stepped forward and helped slip it from his back. Napoleon removed his hat and thrust it towards the man as he continued addressing Bausset.

  ‘Does she know I have returned?’

  Bausset paused a moment before replying. ‘I received notice of your arrival some two hours ago, sire. As you instructed, the staff were told not to say anything to her imperial majesty.’

  ‘Some hope,’ Napoleon sniffed. ‘She’s bound to have a few of them in her pocket. Now then, I need some soup, and some coffee. Send them to my office. Has the fire been made up?’

  ‘Of course, sire.’

  ‘I sent orders to Paris for despatches to be sent here. I want them brought to me the moment they arrive.’

  ‘Yes, sire.’

  ‘Very well, then.’ Napoleon waved Bausset away, but before he could turn towards the wing of the chateau where his office was situated, there was a shrill cry of delight from the top of the staircase in the hall.

  ‘My darling! My dearest Napoleon!’

  He looked up and saw Josephine smiling as she clasped the rail in her hand and leaned slightly forward. Even at this distance Napoleon could see her small stained teeth clearly and could not help making an unflattering contrast with the neat, white smile of Marie Walewska, waiting to be reunited with him in the suite of rooms that had been provided for her at the Tuileries. As soon as he made the comparison Napoleon felt the sickening burden of guilt and betrayal settle on his heart. He felt a flicker of self-loathing, then swiftly upbraided himself. There was no need to blame himself for anything. His duty to his country must come before personal feelings. Josephine would understand that. After all, she had hardly comported herself as the wife of the most powerful man in Europe should do. Her profligacy was a public scandal, and her past affairs had embarrassed him with a shame that still smouldered in his breast. He swallowed nervously and pressed his lips together in a thin, cold expression as he stared back at his wife.

  A flicker of concern crossed her face, then Josephine ran down the stairs, her slippered feet pattering lightly on the steps as she descended. Napoleon watched her with a sense of dread and then hardened his heart as he drew himself up and folded his hands behind his back. She hurried across the hall and folded her arms around his shoulders as she kissed him on the cheek.

  ‘My love, I have missed you,’ she whispered into his ear, and then froze, sensing the unyielding stillness of his body. She drew back with a slight frown and stared into his eyes. ‘My dear, what is the matter with you? Have you no kiss, no embrace for your wife?’

  ‘Later,’ Napoleon said harshly. ‘I have work to attend to. If I have time, we may talk later. Excuse me.’

  Without a kiss, or any other sign of affection, the Emperor turned away and walked towards his suite of offices. He did not falter or look back once, knowing that she would be gazing after him in that forlorn, helpless manner that she knew would melt his heart. When he reached the study, Napoleon ordered the footman standing outside to admit no one, on any pretext, unless they were carrying a bowl of soup. He closed the door firmly behind him and immediately crossed to his desk. A small pile of documents and letters lay on a salver, and with a heavy sigh Napoleon tried to banish all thought of Josephine from his mind as he slumped into his chair and began to deal with the correspondence.

  Breaking the seal of the first document, he opened it out and glanced over the contents. It was from a senior treasury official requesting an interview to discuss the looming monetary crisis. Napoleon was aware that France’s coffers were running low, but had hoped that the new peace would restore the flow of taxes and other revenue. However, the treasury reported that the economy was suffering from the trade embargo with England, which was affecting the whole continent. That, coupled with the costs of maintaining the armies in Spain, was bleeding France dry. Napoleon penned a few hurried comments on the document and moved on to the next, a reply from his brother, King Louis of Hol
land, to his request for Dutch reinforcements to be sent to Spain. Louis claimed to be fearful that his subjects might rise in revolt if he attempted to send troops to the aid of King Joseph. To add to his grievances, he claimed that he could not enforce the embargo on English trade for the same reasons.

  ‘Fool,’ Napoleon muttered as he scribbled a terse response at the bottom of his brother’s letter. ‘Does he not understand that unless we break England, no Bonaparte is safe on his throne?’

  The next letter contained a politely worded request that the Emperor might be kind enough to settle the debt owed by Josephine to a Parisian dressmaker. Napoleon’s eyes widened at the sum she owed. Over ten thousand francs. He glared at the letter, then thrust it to one side.

  There was a soft click as the door opened and a servant entered the room bearing a tray with a small steaming bowl, some bread, a small decanter of watered wine and a glass.

  ‘Here, on the desk.’ Napoleon tapped the gleaming wooden surface to his right. The servant crossed the room and carefully lowered the tray before bowing his head and backing away. Napoleon finished his notes and set the pen down. The pleasant odour of onion soup curled into his nostrils, and he eased the tray across the desk in front of him. Outside the rain rattled against the window panes in an irregular rhythm as the wind moaned over the chateau. Taking up the spoon he began to sip carefully, his mind soon moving back to the most pressing of the issues weighing on his mind - the matter of how to break the news to Josephine.

  A week later Napoleon ate alone with his wife. The last of the dinner service had been cleared away, with most of the food lying untouched on the fine chinaware. At length a steward served them coffee and then retired from the small salon where the Emperor and Empress had taken their supper. It was bitterly cold outside and night had long since closed over the chateau. Hardly a word had been spoken over the meal, beyond mere pleasantries. Napoleon’s stomach was too knotted with anxiety to allow him to eat and he had had to force himself to eat a few mouthfuls of chicken before poking at the rest of the meal and finally laying aside his cutlery and clicking his fingers for the servants to clear the table.

  ‘It will soon be Christmas,’ Josephine observed at length.

  ‘Yes.’

  Josephine raised her cup and sipped carefully. ‘Nothing has been arranged.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Well, don’t you think we should organise an event of some kind? A celebration?’

  Napoleon looked at her, feeling sick at the imminence of his betrayal. ‘There will be nothing for us to celebrate.’

  ‘What?’ Josephine lowered her cup slightly. ‘Why do you say that? What is wrong, my love? You have been so cold with me from the moment you returned.’

  ‘I . . . I have something to tell you.’ Napoleon swallowed nervously and found that he could not continue. Josephine saw the pained look in his face and began to rise from her chair to come and comfort him. ‘Sit down,’ he ordered. Then, aware of the harshness of his tone, he forced himself to soften his voice. ‘Please, sit, my love.’

  After a moment, she did as she was told and stared back at him. ‘What is it? Tell me.’

  There was no longer any means of avoiding the moment and Napoleon took a calming breath before he spoke. ‘I must divorce you.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I have to divorce you. I must have an heir. So I must find a new wife.’

  She stared at him and then laughed nervously. ‘You are joking. That’s it. You are teasing me.’

  ‘No. It’s true.’ Napoleon felt the relief begin to flow through his body now that he could finally explain the situation. ‘This is not about you and me, it is about France. I love you, I always have. But we must be brave and put the needs of our people before our own.’ He watched her dumbstruck expression closely. ‘Do you understand?’

  Josephine shook her head faintly, her lips trembling. ‘No . . . No . . .’

  ‘I wish, with every fibre in my body, that we could avoid this situation,’ Napoleon continued gently. ‘But it has to be done.’

  Josephine clenched her fists. ‘Don’t. Please don’t.’

  ‘I have to. If we are to be divorced then we cannot be together. It would be unseemly.’

  ‘Don’t do this, my darling.’ Her voice quavered. ‘I beg you.’

  ‘It has already been done. The senate ratified the decree earlier today. I will announce it in Paris tomorrow, and we will both sign the formal agreement before the imperial court. It is best for it all to be done as swiftly as possible.’ Napoleon smiled. ‘To ease our suffering, you understand.’

  ‘NO! NO! NO!’ Josephine screamed, sweeping her arm out across the table, knocking her coffee cup and saucer flying towards the fireplace, where it exploded into fragments with a sharp crash. She rose to her feet and lurched round the table towards him, then stopped and stared at him, eyes wild.

  ‘NO!’ She suddenly raised her fist and Napoleon instinctively flinched. Instead of striking him, she struck her breast, hard, again and again.

  ‘Don’t do that!’ Napoleon stretched a hand towards her.‘Please don’t, my love.’

  A sob racked her body, and then her legs gave way and she fell on to the thick rug underneath the table and curled up on the floor as she screamed and wept. Napoleon stared at her for a moment, knowing that he must not weaken this time. Her tears had undone his anger many times in the past, and caused him to change his mind. But not this time, he told himself. He pushed his chair back and stood over her.

  ‘Get up, Josephine. Stop crying.’

  She shook her head and continued sobbing, adding a grief-stricken shriek every now and then as Napoleon stared at her, helpless as pity and irritation vied to control his thoughts. Behind him the door opened and there was a footman, holding a lamp, and beside him stood Baron Bausset.

  ‘Sire? I heard cries. Is anything the matter?’

  Napoleon gestured towards Josephine. ‘What do you think? Come here, I need your help.’

  ‘Yes, sire.’

  As Bausset hurried across to the table, Josephine reached out and grasped Napoleon’s leg. ‘Help me up,’ she muttered. ‘I don’t want to be seen like this.’

  He leaned down and grasped her shoulder, slipping the other hand round her waist as he eased her on to her feet. Her eyes were puffy and red, her cheeks streaked with tears, and her bottom lip trembled. Napoleon felt a terrible guilt burning in his veins and a compulsion to hold her in his arms. Then Bausset arrived at his side and the spell was broken.

  ‘Here, you help the Empress.’ Napoleon tried to pull himself free but Josephine clung to his arm desperately.

  ‘Don’t leave me!’

  ‘I’m not leaving you. I’ll help you to your apartments.’

  Her eyes glittered for an instant. ‘Yes. That would be kind of you.’

  She eased her grip and Napoleon slipped free, taking a quick pace back. ‘Here, Bausset, you hold the Empress. Tightly, don’t let her fall. I’ll light the way.’

  Bausset quickly stepped in and took his place. Josephine forced a smile and thanked the imperial official frostily as her husband carefully took a candle from the holder on the table. Cupping his spare hand round the flame to shield it from any draught, he led the way to the door. With Bausset supporting the Empress, the small party made their way to a small rear staircase and began climbing the steps to Josephine’s apartments on the floor above. As they reached the top step she suddenly went limp in Bausset’s arms and started weeping again.

  ‘Don’t do it, Napoleon. For pity’s sake don’t divorce me.’

  Napoleon turned round. ‘Quiet!’ he hissed. ‘Bausset, for God’s sake, keep a firm grip on her.’

  With Bausset half carrying and half dragging Josephine, the three of them made their way down the corridor to the door of her sleeping chamber. Napoleon opened the door and stood to one side, holding the candle high.

  ‘Get her over there on the bed. Quickly.’

  Bausset did as he was ord
ered and gently laid the Empress down on her silken quilt, before retiring towards his master.

  Napoleon felt a sudden burning on his wrist. ‘Shit!’ He snatched the candle down to brush away the molten wax with his spare hand and the little flame flickered wildly.

  ‘Don’t leave me!’ Josephine rose up on her elbow, her other hand stretched out towards him.

  ‘Out!’ Napoleon ordered Bausset. ‘Now.’

  The two men hurried into the corridor and Napoleon shut the door firmly behind them, cutting off a fresh bout of tears and cries of anguish. He puffed his cheeks with relief before he looked at Bausset. ‘Stay here. The Empress is distraught and needs to rest. She is not to be permitted to leave her apartments until I say. She may receive visitors if she desires, but it would be . . . inappropriate for her to encounter me in the present circumstances, you understand.’

  ‘Yes, sire. I will see to it.’

  ‘Good.’ Napoleon patted him on the shoulder and then turned back towards the staircase, being careful not to let the wax drip on to his hand again. Once he was out of earshot of Bausset he shook his head. He felt worn out. His heart was leaden and yet he was grateful for the sense of release and relief that washed over him. He sniffed wryly to himself.

  ‘That went well, then.’

  Chapter 13

  The members of the imperial court entered the throne room of the Tuileries palace in silence. They filed to their assigned places and waited for the sombre ceremony to begin. The previous night had been bitterly cold and the roofs of the capital gleamed under a coating of frost, while jagged crystals of ice had formed in the corners of each pane of glass in the throne room. The sky was a leaden grey, adding to the gloom of the mood of those assembled to await the arrival of the Emperor.