The Fields of Death

by Scarrow, Simon

  ‘Very well,’ Napoleon scratched the bristles on his cheek. This was the moment he had been fearing. So far, no one had stood in his way. Now he was confronted by armed men, whose officers were clearly determined to oppose his progress. The question was, would the men follow their orders when the crisis came?

  Napoleon sat in his carriage and thought carefully about the situation. Throughout the ten months he had remained on Elba he had followed events in France closely. In addition to regular scrutiny of the newspapers he had been receiving secret reports from sympathisers, and even from Fouché, who had been shrewd enough to keep a foot in both camps. Napoleon, and most Frenchmen, had been surprised when King Louis had appointed the arch-schemer as his Minister of Police, the post he had once held under Napoleon.

  It was Fouché who had informed him that the Comte d’Artois, the next in line to the throne, intended to reverse the liberties gained by the common people in the years following the Revolution. D’Artois was also planning to reverse the land reforms that had transferred many aristocratic estates to the peasantry. The mood in France was poisonous, Fouché wrote to his former master. The common people were suspicious of the Bourbons and their followers. The sentiment was echoed by the demobbed soldiers who were struggling to find a place within the new regime, and looked back on the days of empire with increasing fondness.

  As Napoleon read the reports, he resolved to quit his tiny kingdom of Elba at the earliest opportunity. No island of twelve thousand inhabitants could satisfy his ambitions, or sate his boredom, and he began to make preparations in secret. His small army was regularly drilled and his one warship, a small brig, was supplemented by five other small vessels sufficient to carry Napoleon and his men to France. All of this had to be carried out under the gaze of the British resident. Colonel Campbell was a kindly officer, much in awe of his host, and Napoleon was careful to speak with enthusiasm about his plans for improving Elba whenever the two had occasion to talk. Campbell seemed satisfied that Napoleon had accepted his new, minor station in life. Such was his confidence that Napoleon no longer presented any danger that he had announced he was making a brief visit to Florence.

  Napoleon concealed his delight at the news as he enquired the date by which Campbell might return, on the pretext that he was planning a ball and did not want the Englishman to miss the event. As soon as Campbell had departed, Napoleon and his followers hurriedly loaded stores and equipment aboard the flotilla of small vessels and departed mere hours before the return of the Royal Navy brig that had conveyed Campbell to Italy.

  Luck, as ever, had favoured him, Napoleon reflected. But now he faced the great test of his new adventure. The road ahead was blocked by regular soldiers, sent by the royalists to confront and arrest him.

  ‘Sire, what are your orders?’ Cambronne interrupted Napoleon’s thoughts. ‘Should I deploy the men?’

  ‘No. Have them form up in column, lancers to the front. You and I shall ride at the head of the column. How far ahead is the road blocked?’

  Cambronne turned to look up the track. It inclined gently down towards the side of a hill and then turned along the shore of a small lake, the end of which could just be seen. To the left steep hills rose up sharply, creating a narrow defile through which Napoleon and his men must march to reach Grenoble.

  The veteran pointed towards the place where the road disappeared round the side of the hill. ‘Just beyond the hill, sire, close to the far end of the lake.’

  ‘Very well, let’s proceed.’

  Cambronne hesitated.‘Shall I have the guns moved close to the front of the column, sire? If there’s any trouble, they can clear the way with a few rounds of case shot.’

  ‘There will be no trouble,’ Napoleon replied flatly. ‘If there is, then our cause is as good as lost. Now, give the order for the men to make ready to advance. Make sure every man understands that they are not to fire a shot without my express order. If anything happens to me, then you are to lay down your arms at once. Is that clear?’

  Cambronne nodded reluctantly, then turned away and strode over to the men who had fallen out alongside the track, bellowing at them to re-form their ranks.

  A few minutes later the column started down the track. Napoleon was now riding a white horse, and he wore the old grey coat and battered bicorne that was familiar to every soldier who had campaigned with him over the years. As the track rounded the hill he felt his heartbeat quicken. To his right the small lake stretched out, the calm waters reflecting the wooded ridge on the far side. At the far end of the lake there was a stretch of open ground, perhaps a hundred paces across, between the hillside and the shore of the lake. A body of soldiers stood waiting, formed in line, with fixed bayonets that glinted in the afternoon sunshine.

  ‘What unit is that?’ asked Napoleon.

  ‘The first battalion of the Fifth Regiment of the Line, sire.’

  Napoleon nodded.

  The column advanced in silence, marching along the side of the lake. Napoleon glanced back, past the flickering pennants of the lancers, and saw the grim expressions fixed on the faces of the guardsmen. If it came to a fight, the veterans would make short work of the men opposed to them. But the instant the first blood was spilled, France would be bitterly divided. Even if Napoleon survived such a struggle, he would be forced to deal with the other European powers with almost no chance of success.

  As the gap between the hillside and the shore began to widen, Napoleon raised his hand to halt the column.

  ‘Have the Guard form line. They are to shoulder arms. The lancers are to fall back and dismount.’

  Cambronne sucked in his breath, but saluted and turned away to give the orders. As the guardsmen trotted out on either side of the track and formed ranks, Napoleon stared at the line of infantry barring his way. They stood silently as their commanding officer sat on his horse and raised his telescope.

  Once the men were in position Cambronne resumed his place at Napoleon’s side. ‘What now, sire?’

  ‘It’s time you announced me,’ Napoleon replied.

  Cambronne edged his spurs in and trotted forward towards the waiting soldiers. Their commander lowered his scope and watched the solitary rider approaching. When Cambronne was no more than fifty paces away the other officer cupped a hand to his mouth and called out. ‘Stop there!’

  Reining in, Cambronne raised his hat and replied. ‘Comrades! Our Emperor has returned! Join us!’

  ‘Silence!’ the officer shouted, then ordered his men, ‘Advance your muskets!’

  The bayonets angled forward, cold gleaming tips pointing towards Cambronne.

  ‘What is the meaning of this?’ he barked. ‘How dare you threaten me? What do you think you are doing?’

  ‘I have orders to prevent you proceeding,’ the officer replied firmly. ‘You will hand over the outlaw behind you, and tell your men to lay down their arms.’

  ‘I shall do no such thing!’

  ‘If you do not surrender within ten minutes, I will give the order to open fire.’ The officer pulled out his fob watch and looked down at it.

  ‘If you fire on the Emperor you will be responsible to all of France!’ Cambronne responded. ‘Come now, we are all Frenchmen.’

  He sat in his saddle and waited for a response. Eventually the officer looked up from his watch and spoke. ‘Nine minutes . . .’

  With a muttered curse Cambronne turned his mount round and trotted back towards Napoleon. ‘You heard him, sire?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Do you think he will give the order?’

  Napoleon stared at the line of soldiers for a moment. ‘There’s only one way to find out.’

  He dismounted and handed his reins to Cambronne. ‘Stay here. If anything happens to me remember your orders.’

  ‘Sire, you can’t put yourself in danger. France needs you.’

  ‘Quiet,’ Napoleon said. He drew a long deep breath and started walking slowly towards the soldiers. As he did so he unbuttoned his coat to reveal
the green jacket of a colonel of the Guards. His heart beat quickly as he gazed steadily at the row of bayonets angled towards him. He knew that he was placing his reputation in the balance against the discipline of these soldiers. If he was mistaken then it would be likely that he would be dead within the next few minutes. Although it was spring, he felt cold and had to clench his fists behind his back to stop them trembling. They must not see my fear, he thought fiercely.

  He continued to approach them steadily, taking in the details of the expressions of those men closest to him. It was impossible to tell whether they meant him any harm. Behind them, the officer on horseback glared defiantly at Napoleon as he stopped, no more than twenty paces from their bayonets.

  ‘Soldiers of the Fifth! Do you not recognise me? Am I not your old general?’

  His words echoed off the side of the hill and then there was silence until he spoke again. ‘If there is a man amongst you who wants to kill his Emperor . . . then here I am!’ He pulled back his coat and presented his breast to them.

  ‘Present arms!’ the officer called out, and the men in the front rank raised their muskets.

  ‘Take aim!

  Napoleon pressed his lips together and widened his eyes as he stood his ground and stared into the muzzles of the muskets pointing directly at him.

  ‘Fire!’

  Napoleon felt an instant of icy terror, then the moment was past. There was no crash of a volley, no flame and no smoke. Nothing but a strained silence.

  ‘Fire, damn you!’ the officer shouted angrily. ‘Obey the order!’

  Before the sound of the words had died on his lips, another voice cried out, ‘Long live the Emperor!’

  The soldiers lowered their muskets and cheered, almost as one, as they broke ranks and surged towards Napoleon. Some clasped his hand, while others, more awestruck, satisfied themselves with touching his coat. But all cheered his name again and again. Cambronne and his men joined in and ran forward to greet the other men as comrades. Napoleon smiled at those around him and then began to pace forward, the throng parting to let him pass. He stopped before the mounted officer, a young major.

  ‘What is your name?’

  ‘Lansard,’ the man replied through gritted teeth. His face flushed with bitter shame over the failure of his authority. He ignored his men as he fixed his eyes on Napoleon. He took the handle of his sword and drew it from its scabbard, and then tossed it on to the ground at Napoleon’s feet. He glanced down at the sword and then gestured to one of the soldiers next to him. ‘Pick that up and hand it back to the Major.’

  As the officer reluctantly replaced the blade in its scabbard Napoleon smiled at him. ‘Lansard, you are no more a prisoner than I was. Now, your men are mine, and I ask you, will you join me?’

  The officer was silent for a moment, and then nodded curtly. At once there was a fresh burst of cheering and Napoleon had to raise his voice so that Lansard could hear him. ‘You and your men will join my column. Take up position between the Guard and the lancers. Clear?’

  ‘Yes . . . sire.’ Lansard saluted and Napoleon turned and made his way back towards Cambronne and the Guard.

  ‘Cambronne!’

  ‘Sire?’

  ‘Send one of your officers, together with one of Lansard’s, to Grenoble. They are to tell the people, and any other units they find there, what has happened. Tell them to announce the arrival of their Emperor.’

  ‘Yes, sire.’ Cambronne smiled with joy and relief.

  Napoleon smiled back.‘The crisis has passed, my friend. Once others receive word that this first battalion has come over to us without a shot being fired, then the rest of the army will follow suit. Until this moment I was just an adventurer. Now? Now I am a great prince of Europe once again . . .’

  Chapter 55

  The Tuileries, Paris, 8 April 1815

  Napoleon slowly crumpled up the proclamation of the Congress at Vienna and continued to crush it between his hands. ‘So this is how they would treat me,’ he said in a low voice that the others sitting around the table could hardly hear. ‘They brand me an outlaw.’ He sighed bitterly and tossed the small ball of paper aside. ‘You can be sure this is Talleyrand’s doing. This is his revenge for the indignities I heaped on him over the years. So what if I did? He deserved every slight. Every insult.’

  His council of ministers and generals sat in silence. They had been summoned to hear the Emperor read out the allies’ proclamation and discuss the appropriate response. Napoleon looked round at them. There were many familiar faces, recalled to service when Napoleon had returned to Paris. He had been greeted by an hysterical mob who had swept him off his feet and carried him through the streets, into the palace and up into the throne room, abandoned only the day before by King Louis. Napoleon had closed his eyes as they carried him, relishing the feeling of power he had over the affections of so many. Not just the people of Paris. At every stage of his march from the coast, the people had come out to greet him with cheers. The Bourbons had sent soldiers to oppose him, then armies, and in spite of their orders the soldiers had gone over to him. Even Marshal Ney, who had boasted to Louis that he would bring Napoleon to Paris in an iron cage.

  Although the people and the army had acclaimed him, and demanded that he take back his throne, the more influential elements of French society had regarded his return with studied caution. The Chamber of Deputies, which had voted to depose him the previous year, hurriedly retracted their decision and welcomed the Emperor back to his capital, beseeching him to maintain the peace of Europe. Much as he would have liked to respond to their about-face with scorn, Napoleon realised that he needed their support. Without their co-operation, and that of officials and lesser assemblies across the nation, it would be almost impossible to build the support his regime needed.

  The Emperor re-established his reign with caution. He had answered the calls for peace by sending messages to the other rulers of Europe assuring them of his desire to avoid conflict. He had even issued an edict pronouncing the end of France’s involvement in the slave trade. That at least should have garnered some good opinion in Britain. But his offers of peace had been either ignored or curtly rebuffed. Now the allies had signed a treaty pledging to send over half a million men to defeat Napoleon. They sought to divide the Emperor from his people by claiming that their war was not against France, but only Bonaparte, whom they had pronounced an outlaw.

  ‘You have all borne witness to my efforts to prevent war,’ Napoleon addressed his council. ‘I offered them my hand in friendship and in return they have spat in my face and offered me, and France, only threats. It is clear to all right-thinking men that Russia, Austria, Prussia and England are the aggressors.’

  Marshal Davout, who had accepted the post of Minister of War, spoke up. ‘Sire, they could be playing into our hands by refusing to declare war on France. It places them in a difficult position. If they invade France, then they can hardly avoid uniting the nation behind you, particularly as you have offered them peace. Therefore, they must wait, and hope that you will attack them, and thereby justify their declaration of war against you in person.’

  ‘That is true.’ Napoleon nodded thoughtfully. ‘And what do you advise me to do?’

  ‘Bide your time, sire. Make no attempt to provoke military action. At the same time we can build our strength and be ready to defend our borders if the allies become impatient and decided to invade. That is my advice.’

  ‘I see.’ Napoleon regarded him for a moment, then shook his head. ‘We cannot risk such a strategy, Davout.’

  ‘Why is that, sire?’

  ‘At present there are two armies in the low countries, one under Marshal Blücher, the other led by Wellington. Each commands over a hundred thousand men. Schwarzenberg has another two hundred thousand men poised to cross the Rhine, and another hundred and fifty thousand Russians are marching to join them. They will be in position to invade France by the end of July. And what do we have to face them? Louis left us with no more th
an two hundred thousand men to guard our frontiers. I have ordered another seventy-five thousand veterans to be recalled to the army, as well as eighty thousand volunteers. Even after they have been trained, we shall still be massively outnumbered. Lack of manpower is not the only problem. We are short of horses, equipment, ammunition.’ He paused. ‘So you see, time is not on our side.’

  ‘Then what do you propose, sire?’

  Napoleon folded his hands together as he contemplated the answer he had already prepared. He knew that it would dispel any chance of portraying France as the victim of aggressors, yet he could conceive of no other course of action.

  ‘There is only one chance of success, gentlemen. If I give the order for France to mobilise for war today, then by June I can form an army of perhaps a hundred and thirty thousand men on the border with Belgium. That is where the allies’ two weakest armies are positioned. If we can surprise them, before they can concentrate, then I am confident that we can defeat each in turn. If we can annihilate Wellington and his army, then we may force England out of the coalition. Without English gold the other powers will be hard pressed to keep their armies in the field against us.’ Napoleon paused as he saw the uncertainty in the expressions of his subordinates.‘Gentlemen, I assure you that I have fully considered the alternatives. If we wait, and allow the enemy to concentrate all their armies, then we must surely lose. If we attack while our troops are fresh and their morale is high, we can destroy a third of the enemy’s strength at one stroke. The rest will surely hesitate. My aim is to make them offer us peace. That is the limit of my ambition, I assure you. The old days of conquest are over. You have my word on it. We will have peace, but first we must fight for it.’ He looked round the table. ‘Does anyone wish to speak? No? Then I take it we are agreed.’ He paused briefly before continuing, ‘Marshal Davout.’