Staff 3: Bonaparte sent Ney to conquer Austria –
Wellington: (Irritated) While he had taken up residence in an inn twenty miles from the border, yes. However, that was different. (Bangs table) Napoleon is a xenophobe who utterly detests the English. Belgium and specifically Brussels is the main centre of British influence on the mainland! Ten years ago, were it not for Nelson, Napoleon would almost certainly have personally led his blasted invasion.
Staff 2: Why would the bugger risk his neck?
Wellington: It was never really war with the coalition. It was always Napoleon against the British. He hates us! He wants nothing more than to beat us off the continent and send any disbanded survivors tearing back to the seven gates of London. He will lead his villainous army in the hope of watching our heroic gin-sodden rags, bless them, blast themselves with their own muskets! He uses scare tactics gentlemen, nothing more! That was what let him conquer half the known world a decade ago but (raising voice, thumps table with each word) times ... have ... CHANGED! Now he must defeat five united empires, along with numerous smaller countries in open warfare. The strategy of Macbeth shall not humble us into submission again.
Staff 1: Your Grace, how would you like us to proceed?
Wellington: Send word to some cavalry skirmishers on the flanks to go hunt for this French army of Blüchers. Find out if it even exists. There’s absolutely no point in doing anything else first.
Staff 3: And the gala ball tonight? Shall we send word to Her Grand Duchess of Brussels that His Grace the Noble Duke of Wellington shall not be in attendance?
Wellington: (Considering) No. We will proceed with that plan for now. There is absolutely no point in deploying troops or anything else until we know for certain that there is a genuine threat. The Duchess is a rather forceful woman and maintaining good relations with the Belgians is essential for the success of this campaign. And after all (laughs) I can’t see them attacking in the middle of a celebration. We all know the French dictator fancies his wine as much as assailing us! In short, pretend that godforsaken army doesn’t even exist! Don’t let it spoil your evening, my lads!
[Exeunt]
Act One, Scene Two
A tent. Enter Napoleon and his staff
Napoleon: Has our army congregated as we planned?
Staff 1: Yes, Mon Emperor. Marshal Ney has sent word that he is prepared to take Quatre Bras and later La Belle Alliance. We shall be dining in Brussels by Sunday evening.
Napoleon: Today is Thursday. When shall Ney be ready to strike?
Staff 2: Daybreak, Mon Emperor. The gullible British are unprepared and defenceless. As we speak, their (sneer) grand leader, Arthur Wellesley of Wellington, is putting on his finest clothes and dancing shoes for some ridiculous dinner party the Duchess of Brussels is hosting. Their army is spread across the whole country like butter on bread. Ney shall crush them with ease.
Napoleon: Send word to Ney to proceed. I personally wish to speak with Wellington when he is in chains.
Staff 1: I shall see it done, Mon Emperor.
[Exit Staff 1]
Staff 2: And what of the Prussians, sire? What shall be done to deal with their threat?
Napoleon: (Thinking) I will engage them personally. Prussians ... annoy me. They are flies to be crushed, specks to be wiped. The British are the true enemies of any Frenchman. However ... Blücher. He is a sly fox. I shall lead the Guard forward. Ney shall capture Quatre Bras. We will destroy both the English and the Prussians at dawn tomorrow and capture Brussels permanently!
Staff 2: As you wish, Mon Emperor.
[Exeunt all but Napoleon]
Napoleon: Oh glorious day! Oh triumphant day! The thought of Wellington in the heart of the Bastille beguiles me. Wellington. The one enemy general who supposedly has the capacity to defeat me in battle. I would have believed it was impossible, a rumour started by a child, but even my own generals do not advise direct contact with him. Were I a Corporal once again, I’d request him to eat grass before breakfast. He and his army are so unfathomably irritating. (Pacing) The British. The British Goddamns. I was forced to abandon my campaign in Egypt to deal with traitors in my capital. It was the British who had lashed out against me, spreading their lies and propaganda. It was the British who crippled my fleet at the Nile and finally crushed it at Trafalgar. And the British in the Iberian Campaign ... (Hollow laugh) I desired Portugal, a British ally. Spain was no genuine asset, merely a servant to be sent on errands, no more. They had served all their purposes as allies; now they would join the proud league of nationalities under French ascendancy. (Shout) But oh no! The traitorous hypocrites chose to join London, not Paris! Pushing my armies north, back over the Pyrenees! But not this time! (Growling) Oh, come Ney, take La Belle Alliance, we shall engage the tiresome British on the Brussels road and in our victory, six centuries of shame, insult and pointless conflict will be avenged and the British army will be but a cutlet of meat beneath a French knife!
[Exit Napoleon]
Act One, Scene Three
A ballroom. Enter Wellington, soldiers, guards, various other nobles/ladies. Music plays and they dance, Wellington with a well-dressed lady. Then enter General Henry Percy
Percy: General Wellington. May I take you aside for a moment?
Wellington: This is hardly the best of times. May it wait until the dancing concludes? (Twirls lady around)
Percy: Forgive me, sire, but this is extremely urgent. It cannot wait.
Wellington: (Sighs) Very well, General Percy. Forgive me, madam. (Hastily) Don’t stop on account of my absence, gentlemen. (They go aside) What news do you bear?
Percy: We have just received a dispatch about this ghost French army of yours.
Wellington: I see. What ...?
Percy: It is not fictitious.
Wellington: (Lowering voice) What in God’s name are you talking about?
Percy: (Grim) The skirmishers you sent out earlier returned. There is indeed an army and it is indeed heading for Brussels.
Wellington: (Curses under breath) I didn’t say so but I indeed hoped that Prussian was a deceiver. A hope proved false, however. What does this army consist of?
Percy: As yet, no solid evidence. Their –
[A Noble approaches]
Noble: (in heavy Dutch accent) Oh most honourable General Wellington, the Duchess asks I bring you this way. She requests you sample the crab devilled eggs which I understand are –
Wellington: (snarl) Tell the Duchess I am, ah, currently engaged. I shall sample finger food later. (turns away pointedly)
Percy: I’ve quite lost my train of thought. (Pauses) Ah yes. Their camp was heavily fortified and they dared not risk detection in broad daylight. However, they heard mention from a sentry of a large number of artillery batteries and the presence of the Imperial Guard.
Wellington: Dammit! The Guard goes where Bonaparte goes. And that man has his artillery, as always. (Amazed, shakes head) How in the name of God could they have assembled an army so fast without our knowledge?
[Enter General Thomas Picton, covered in blood. Music stops abruptly. Everyone stares at Picton. Loud muttering in background]
Murmur in background: That gentleman has spoiled the dancing.
Picton: (Bows before Wellington. Out of breath, wildly gesticulating) General! Your Grace! My division has just received word of a message from Blücher. The French are near and they can see the light of their fires. They are planning an assault at dawn! The Prussians are fortified but are unlikely to hold indefinitely. Your Grace, Blücher requests word of your plans. I departed immediately with my staff but ran into some cavalry buggers! I must say –
Wellington: General Picton, please calm down! You are babbling like an infant! (Glances around, appears to notice whole room staring at him) Worry not, this is confidential but completely unimportant business, ladies and gentlemen. My comrade is often thus and (with air of telling a joke) hath been from his youth. Pray you, keep seat. The fit is momentary; upon a tho
ught he will again be well. If much you note him, you shall offend him and extend his passion. (Eyebrows raised, waving hand. Crowd chuckles appreciatively) But please! Return to your gaiety, pay us no attention. (Beckons Percy and Picton into a corner, speaks more quietly) Very well, now I must see a map before doing anything.
Picton: I brought one along. (Pulls out map that is projected for audience) Now, Ligny is here. Could the Emperor’s plan be to capture there, then regroup his forces and assault Brussels?
Wellington: (puzzled) No ... No. That can’t be right. Something else is happening. Why would the bloody Frog focus on Ligny? It’s a very small town that isn’t anywhere near Brussels; in fact, it’s nearer the Prussian border, look. No, the only reason he would go there would be to dislodge the Prussians. But if they’ve advanced this far without detection, presumably they know of the way our army isn’t condensed and is therefore extremely weak. But why would he just demonstrate to us where he is and give us time to prepare defences? Could it be possible his army is in two sections and can therefore launch two simultaneous attacks?
Percy: Two French armies hitherto undiscovered? Come now, your Grace, that is a bit ... (Moves hands, searches for words)
Wellington: (Quietly, bordering on discernible whisper) By God, Napoleon has humbugged me.
Picton: It makes sense! That’s his plan, same as always! Attack both at once, stop us doing the same. Many old soldiers re-enlisted under King Louis XVIII during his short-lived reign and plenty of new volunteers would have joined Bonaparte –
Wellington: (snarl, suddenly furious) I couldn’t give a damn about the French fixation with Bonaparte, Thomas! For all intents and purposes, this bugger that crawled out of his pit for the first time in eleven months is presently leading at least one enormous army straight through Belgium soil, without our knowledge until today while our forces are spread halfway across the goddamn CONTINENT! It defies any rule of war ever written, even his own! (Petty, almost childish) It ... It’s not fair.
Picton: The situation is dire, sir, but getting snappish at us shall not help in any way, with all due respect. Nor will classifying the situation in terms of ‘fairness’. Were the situation fair, we would be back in London now, not in a foreign land. Were the situation fair, Bonaparte would have kept himself to himself on Elba. Were the situation fair, we would not be discussing fairness now!
Wellington: (breathing heavily) Yes ... I apologise. Suppose we are right and he has divided his army. Whom would he trust with such a paramount task?
Picton: What about Marshal Ney? Bonaparte could quite easily have delegated him such an undertaking. They achieved the impossible in Russia together for a very long time.
Wellington: What did Ney’s reaction to Napoleon’s return appear to be?
Percy: From what information we’ve managed to glean, Ney was ordered to lead an army to either kill or apprehend Bonaparte when he returned from Elba. However, when he was sighted, the Monster somehow turned the tables and inspired his entire army to his cause. Though I’m certain Ney privately disliked this, he surrendered his sword and allowed Bonaparte to take overall command again. It was partially on his suggestion that he abdicate in the first place, bear in mind. Ney is a true militarist; he serves France. He has never shown loyalty toward one specific leader.
Wellington: I suppose I must commend the bugger for that. (Desperately) Is there any way at all this can be turned to our advantage, in your opinions?
Picton: (Shakes head slowly) Ney is not quite as competent a military leader as Bonaparte but just as ambitious and abhorrent. There’s no way in hell he’ll back down unless either defeated in battle or ordered by the Emperor directly. No matter how you look at it, your Grace, we have to engage them.
Percy: (Quietly) In all realism, your Grace, we may actually have a slight advantage in that Ney and Bonaparte’s forces are separated. If they should join, they will quite literally annihilate us.
Wellington: Let’s say we assume we’re right about all this. If we are, the only liable target of Ney’s would be the crossroads at Quatre Bras. They can’t get to Brussels without somehow going around us, and the French never were buggers for stealth. Besides, I personally feel Napoleon himself would insist on leading that siege. However ... Quatre Bras. It’s an incredibly strategic position.
Percy: We may be mistaken, your Grace. Perhaps –
Wellington: No, it’s Quatre Bras, it must be! For one thing, it’s on the main Brussels road. Secondly, that crossroads is the route for our supplies. Food, gunpowder, medical supplies, everything ... it’s all brought down that road. Should it fall, we may as well consider ourselves under siege. We must fight for that place, gentlemen, and either win or die fighting!
Percy: Sire, no doubt Ney’s army is not as large or as formidable as the Emperor’s, but they will almost certainly still outnumber and outgun the forces we have in Belgium.
Wellington: Henry, send word to the Earl of Uxbridge. He is currently leading the Union and Household brigades to assist Blücher. Somehow they’ll have to do without – we need them back here right away. Go now.
Percy: Yes sir.
[Exit Percy]
Wellington: Thomas, go see the Prince of Orange. Quite frankly, I’d rather not rely on the Dutch but they do have a reasonably sized army. Send him to me. Also fetch whoever leads that miserable Belgian army. We need their assistance too. Lastly, find Major Bentley and Sergeant Frederick. They were instructed by Orange to attend.
[Exit Picton]
Wellington: (Addressing audience) Oh, what a calamity. What in God’s name are we going to do? I’m merely fooling myself by thinking we can hold the crossroads under these conditions. If France is a snake, Napoleon Bonaparte is the tongue. No matter how many times we defeat him, crush him, he merely slips out again. In Spain, he seemed unstoppable, pushing my forces aside with ease. We did however beat him back over his iced Pyrenees but any thought of it ending there was a child’s daydream. All of Eastern Europe was humbled into conceding they were, in fact, French. Then the snake slithered over the motherland, toward the Russian capital, where it finally lost its momentum. It crept back on itself while more and more of its tail was removed, until it was merely the head and top of its neck. We removed the head finally, locked it away for eleven months. But the sly creature never died, merely bided his time; allowing poison to replenish in his fangs. BONAPARTE WILL NEVER AGAIN DOMINATE EUROPE. Such may not be decided tomorrow, or the next day, or next week or in a thousand and one nights; but history will, at some stage, decide on our behalf.
[Enter Prince of Orange]
Orange: Most noble Viscount Wellington, what may I –
Wellington: Duke, boy, Duke! Do you never read the news?
Orange: I wholeheartedly apologise, your Grace. Now what is the meaning of this audience? I am supposed to be dancing with the –
Wellington: As you have undoubtedly heard, however late, Napoleon Bonaparte has returned from exile. What you have undoubtedly not heard is that he invaded Belgium earlier today. Britain and Belgium require Holland’s assistance to stamp out this attack.
Orange: Sir, you must understand that my nation is ill prepared for war and indeed my army is worse prepared for battle.
Wellington: Prince, around the time you were still at school, your, ah, prosperous nation was allied to France. Calling itself the Batavian Republic. Do you recall such a time?
Orange: Yes, sir, of course, but –
Wellington: What you may not recall was that it was not, per se, a republic, indeed, I daresay, almost the exact opposite. Bonaparte thundered orders from Paris, threatening annihilation if not instantly obeyed. When you were annexed by Britain and became the United Netherlands, the Frog was furious at having lost one of his backyard puppet states. Should Brussels fall at any point in the future weeks, Amsterdam will be his next objective – and he will not let it slip through his fingers again. You do not even want to entertain the notion of what the revised regime would be like, m
ark my words on that.
Orange: (Pale faced) You will have full assistance from Holland, sire. I promise you that.
Wellington: I thought as much. Goodbye.
[Exit Orange, enter Bentley]
Wellington: Major Bentley, good evening. I am afraid we have a problem. Napoleon has invaded Belgium and is headed for Quatre Bras as we speak. I have had to request help from the Prince of Orange and his army. Now (smiles grimly) Orange is not a competent commander and last time he led a battle he managed to cause far, far more trouble then he solved. We are going to engage the French tomorrow and, as you are the largest British representative on Orange’s staff, I am delegating you the task of double-checking his orders. Irritatingly, I can’t authorise you the power to veto his decisions, but if he orders something absurd, you are to come directly to me. Any questions?
Bentley: Your Grace, what exactly do you define as absurd?
Wellington: Between you and me, Major, with a lot of work and excellent mentors, the Prince might make a half-decent lieutenant or a captain, perhaps. He is certainly not fit for leading an army of any kind, let alone the only one that can repel an invasion by Napoleon. I would like you to stay with Sergeant Frederick and observe the Prince. Do not make it obvious however, unfortunately, we need to co-operate almost perfectly with the Dutch for the duration of the war and letting my doubts on to him would be the equivalent of begging for trouble. You follow?
Bentley: Yes, sire.
Wellington: Now, make haste! We must defend Quatre Bras in the morning or die trying!
[Exeunt]
Just relax
CAROL MCGILL
JUST RELAX, THEY TOLD ME. You’ll enjoy it. You just have to let yourself go.
So here I am.
I can’t breathe. I give up trying to suck in what little oxygen is left in the stuffy room and yell at my friends that I’m getting some air. I duck and dart through the crowds until I reach the door and stumble through it. The cold night catches me as soon as I step outside. It seems blissful after the stuffy hall. I edge over to a cold, damp wall and lean against it. I wish I could see the stars.
Words to Tie to Bricks Page 9
