Magon swallowed nervously and risked a quick glance at his Emperor before responding. ‘I’m sure it’s safe enough, sir. In any case, the Emperor has ordered it.’
‘That’s right,’ Napoleon affirmed evenly. ‘And we will proceed with the unloading. The men are more than able to cope in these weather conditions. Isn’t that so, Admiral?’
‘Yes, sire. My officers are in no doubt about what they must do.’
‘Good.Then let’s see how they handle it.’
Napoleon and his staff fixed their attention on the nearest vessel as the sailors hauled a launch alongside and held it in position with lines and boathooks as the first of the soldiers clambered down the side of the barge. The launch lurched up and caught three men just as they stepped into it, sending two tumbling into the bottom of the boat while the third fell over the side with a splash. He was seen to struggle for a moment, arms waving desperately, then a wave passed over him, sweeping him away, and he was lost from sight.As more soldiers boarded the launch, another two men were lost, and then, at last, the sailors pushed the boat away from the barge and unshipped their oars. But as the wind carried the launch away it turned side on to an oncoming wave and capsized. The staff officers around Napoleon gasped, but he continued to watch without expression as a handful of survivors clung to the bottom of the boat, which floated low in the water like the back of a whale.
‘Sweet Jesus,’ Berthier muttered. ‘Those poor bastards.’
‘Yes,’ Napoleon said tonelessly. ‘Let’s see if we have any better luck with the next boat.’
Fortunately, the soldiers from the barge managed to board without incident and the sailors turned the launch smartly into the shore and rowed for their lives.The third boat was not so lucky, and a chaotic surge of foam along the side of the hull swamped her just as she was cast off, carrying away some of the men aboard before the rest panicked as the boat sank into the sea beneath them.Those who could swim struck out for the side of the barge a short distance away.The rest went down with the launch.
Berthier shook his head in horror. ‘Sire, we must put a stop to this.’
‘No. They handled it badly. The men in the other ships will learn from their example.’
Berthier rounded on his Emperor. ‘It is not their fault. That sea is wild.Too wild for any man.’
‘But not them, it seems.’ Napoleon gestured to the tiny distant gleam of the sails of the British frigate keeping watch over the French exercise. ‘If they can cope so far out to sea then surely our men can manage to cover the short distance to the shore?’
‘But, sire . . .’ Desperately, Berthier looked round the other officers for some support, but most avoided his gaze and those that did not hurriedly glanced away, not daring to defy the Emperor. Berthier turned helplessly towards Napoleon. ‘We are doing murder, sire. Signal the ships to end the exercise. I beg you.’
‘Berthier!’ Napoleon snapped. ‘You forget yourself. How dare you challenge my authority? You are to return to headquarters at once.’
‘But sire—’
‘At once!’ Napoleon balled his hands into fists. ‘At once, do you hear?’
Berthier stared back for a moment and then his gaze wavered. ‘As you wish.’
He turned and strode away through the ranks of the silent officers standing behind Napoleon as the latter glanced back towards the sea. The surviving launch had made it as far as the surf and the sailors timed their oar strokes carefully before putting in a spurt as a large wave lifted the boat and carried it towards the beach.The launch grounded heavily and swerved slightly to one side as the terrified soldiers clambered out, splashed into the surf and ran from the sea. Napoleon noted sourly that some had even abandoned their muskets in their haste. A fresh wave caught the stern quarter of the launch and rolled it over on to the last of the men still aboard, crushing them underneath.
To one side, Napoleon heard a sharp intake of breath as Admiral Magon watched the unfolding disaster. Then the Emperor turned his gaze to the other barges stretching out behind the vessel he had been watching. Many more boats had capsized or floundered and hundreds of men were in the heaving waves, fighting for their lives as their heavy clothes and equipment dragged them down. Less than half the launches reached the shore, and as the dazed soldiers staggered out of the surf the officers and sergeants that remained tried to form them up in their companies on the rain-slick sand. Half an hour after the attempted landing had begun the remains of the division stood shivering, while behind them those men who had managed to swim ashore crawled out of the reach of the waves, exhausted.
Napoleon stared at the scene, thin-lipped and silent.Then he turned abruptly to the admiral and said in a low voice, ‘Put an end to this charade, at once. Send the men back to their bivouacs and order the ships back into harbour.’
‘Yes, sire.’ Magon swallowed and forced himself to continue.‘As soon as they have finished picking up survivors from the sea.’
‘What? Yes . . . yes, of course. Take over here, Admiral. But I want a full report on this mess, first thing in the morning. Find out which of your officers were responsible for the shambles and discipline them.’
‘Yes, sire.’
Napoleon did not return the admiral’s salute, but stalked away, head down and hands clasped behind his back. He could sense the fear of the officers and gave thanks for that small mercy at least. None would dare to confront him over the affair, and he would have Fouché see to it that the Paris newspapers made little of the event. Back in his private quarters Napoleon cast off his wet clothes and ordered his manservant to prepare a bath. Then, as he lay up to his chin in the steaming water, he closed his eyes, folded his hands over his chest and began to reflect on the day. There was no question of it. The navy was woefully unprepared to carry out the vital duty of conveying the invasion army across the Channel. The officers vacillated over every decision, and the men had little opportunity to train and carry out exercises, thanks to the vigilance of the British navy patrolling just off the coast.
Napoleon felt a surge of rage sweep through him. Barely thirty miles from where he lay were the shores of Britain. No more than a day’s hard marching. And yet it might as well be three hundred miles, or three thousand, thanks to the wretched stretch of ocean that guarded the country like a moat. As things stood, there was only an outside chance that Britain would ever be invaded. Accepting the point, he suddenly gritted his teeth and thumped the side of the bath.Very well, then. Even if there was no invasion, he would keep an army here, and fill the ports and harbours along the coast with transport ships, just to keep the fear of invasion alive in the minds of the British.That at least would help to divert them from intervention elsewhere. Which was as well, since Napoleon’s thoughts were already turning towards a more pressing situation to the east.
The gale blew itself out overnight and in the rosy glow of dawn the sea was calm and a gentle swell rolled in towards the beach. A few battered launches had survived, washed up amid a tide of fragments from the other boats and the bodies of soldiers and sailors who had been lost the previous day. Small parties of men dragged the bodies up from the surf and laid them out in rows where they could be counted and identified.
Berthier entered Napoleon’s quarters as the Emperor was hurriedly eating his breakfast. Napoleon glanced up, chewing furiously on a slice of ham, and gestured to a chair on the other side of the table before he raised an eyebrow and stabbed his fork towards the sheaf of papers Berthier was carrying.
‘The morning roll call of the division chosen to demonstrate the landing, sire,’ Berthier explained. ‘It appears that we lost over two thousand men yesterday. Of course, some might have been swept up the coast and may yet report back to their battalions. But they won’t amount to many.’
Napoleon swallowed, and took a quick swig of water to clear his mouth. ‘That doesn’t matter now. I summoned you for another reason.’
‘Sire?’
‘I’m calling the invasion off. If Villeneuve ever arri
ves, he can still take on the British navy.Who knows, by some miracle he may even beat them. Be that as it may, the invasion army is to be reduced to one corps. As for the rest of the army, they must be prepared to march.’
‘March, sire?’ Berthier’s eyes widened with surprise. ‘Where to?’
‘To the Danube, Berthier. It is time to confront Austria.’
Chapter 7
Paris, September 1805
‘Not a very satisfactory state of affairs,’ Napoleon muttered as he eased himself down into the bath. He sighed as Josephine leaned forward on her cushioned stool and stroked his hair. ‘I leave Paris for two months, and that fool Mercurier turns a blind eye while his officials make off with a fortune from the National Treasury. As if that was not enough, Fouché tells me that thousands of those men called up to join the army have taken to their heels and are hiding in the countryside.’ He frowned for a moment and then continued. ‘Well, they’ll soon learn the price of defying their Emperor.’
‘Oh?’ Josephine arched her eyebrows.
‘I have ordered Fouché to track down those who stole from the treasury, and the deserters who betray their country.They’ll be tried and shot, the lot of them.’ Napoleon nodded vehemently. ‘And good riddance. I do not need such distractions on the eve of a new war. I must leave Paris in a few days, a week at the most.’
‘So soon?’ Josephine pouted as she looked down at Napoleon.
He nodded. ‘My dear, we should never have stayed in Paris this last month. It was never my intention.’ He yawned. ‘By now I had hoped we would have been with the headquarters at Strasbourg.’
‘Strasbourg . . .’ Josephine repeated vaguely. ‘A nice enough city, I suppose, but it is not Paris. I sometimes wonder how those provincials cope with such lack of stimulation.’
Napoleon glanced at her with an amused smile. ‘Sometimes you are such a snob, my dear. Not everyone enjoys your privileges. And it is not as if all this finery is something you were born into.’ He gestured round the ornately decorated sleeping chamber with its heavy purple curtains, gold-leaf mouldings and thick carpets. ‘Nor was I, for that matter.’
He stared at the room for a moment in thought. In truth he felt little for all these luxurious trappings. The Corsican streak in him tended to value the practical over the ostentatious, but the panoply of the imperial household was necessary to bolster the legitimacy of the new regime and set it on a level with the other ruling houses of Europe. It was a sad truth, he reflected, that men were so easily swayed by baubles. But a useful truth. Surround a man with the trappings of a king and he would be treated as one, even though he was of the same flesh and blood as those who bowed to him. That was why the moment he became Emperor Napoleon had insisted that all the old protocols of the deposed Bourbon household be consulted to ensure that the imperial court appeared authentic and traditional, and not spirited out of thin air. To be sure, the palaces, servants and procedures looked the part, but there was some nagging doubt in his mind and he looked at Josephine again.
‘Do you think we are carrying it off ?’
She raised a plucked brow at him. ‘What do you mean, my darling?’
‘All this.’ He waved a hand at the room and then continued,‘And us. Emperor Napoleon and Empress Josephine.’
She shrugged.‘What does it matter?You are the Emperor. By law and by the will of the people. That’s all that matters, surely?’
‘I don’t know.’ Napoleon frowned.‘I feel that I have earned the right to call myself Emperor, as much as any man can.’
‘And yet?’ Josephine prompted.
‘And yet I sometimes feel as if I am playing a role, and so are you, and all the others. All the chamberlains, stewards, equerries, masters of the hunt, and so on. We wear the costumes and speak the proper lines, but at the end of the day it appears to knowledgeable onlookers that we are just performers.Take our friend Talleyrand, for example. I can never shake off the feeling that he considers me his inferior.’
‘He considers everybody his inferior.’ Josephine chuckled bitterly. ‘Why, I am sure that when the man dies the very first thing he will do when he reaches heaven is admonish the almighty for taking as many as six days to create the world.’
‘If such a man as Talleyrand is admitted to heaven, then there is hope for us all.’ Napoleon was silent for a moment before continuing. ‘The man despises me. He thinks me a coarse upstart. And he’s not the only one. I’ve seen the way some of the aristos look at me.’
‘You are imagining it, my love.’
‘No.They only serve me for as long as they can profit from it.They would as soon serve under a Bourbon as me. In fact, I imagine they would prefer a Bourbon ruler to a Bonaparte. I fear that’s why we shall never know peace in Europe while I am Emperor.’
Josephine looked at him for a moment and then shook her head. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘These endless coalitions of other nations are determined to defeat France, or rather to defeat me. Perhaps that is what all this is about.The revolution toppled the Bourbons and proved that the people could choose their own ruler, rather than have one imposed by divine right. That is what they cannot tolerate. As long as I stand as refutation of the birthright of aristocrats and monarchs they can never rest easy. I, and what I stand for, must be swept away in order that they can survive on their thrones.’ He sighed wearily. ‘There can be no peace. This is a war without precedent, Josephine. This is not about redrawing boundaries, nor redressing grievances, nor even about the shift in power between royal households.This is a war between two ideals. A war to determine whether we shall live in a world governed by birthright, or a world governed by raw ability.’
‘Really?’ Josephine looked at him and stifled a yawn. ‘If you say so, my love. Now then.’ She stroked a hand down his chest and slowly continued across his stomach, the tips of her fingers setting his nerves alight. ‘If there is to be a war, we must make the most of our time together.’
Napoleon’s eyelids fell as her fingers gently closed around his penis. As it stirred, he let out a faint moan. For a moment, at least, his thoughts on the destiny of Europe were put aside.
The following day, a signal reached Paris from the army headquarters at Strasbourg. The staff officer who had interrupted Napoleon as he approved the drafts of his orders and instructions in his office stood at attention breathing hard as the Emperor scanned the short note scribbled on the slip of paper. Napoleon rose from his desk and crossed the room to the map table that ran along one wall. Shuffling through the maps that were spread out on its top, he pulled out one that displayed the heart of Europe, from the eastern frontier of France across to the heart of the Austrian empire. Summoning the staff officer to join him, Napoleon tapped the uneven line that marked the passage of the river Inn.
‘Murat’s scouts report that an Austrian army under General Mack has crossed the Inn, and is heading for Munich.’ He paused, and then nodded to himself. ‘They mean to crush our Bavarian allies before turning on Strasbourg. Murat says that there is no sign of the Russians as yet. It seems that the Austrians are intent on grabbing the glory of defeating France before their allies can intervene. Very well, let them come.’
He turned to the staff officer, his mind made up. ‘Send a signal to Strasbourg immediately. Tell Berthier to give the order for the Grand Army to begin concentration.They are to be ready to cross the Rhine no later than the last week of September. Got that?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘And have Berthier draft a general order to the troops. He is to tell them that all the riches of Vienna will be theirs for the taking, before the year is out.’
Chapter 8
Strasbourg, 24 September 1805
As two of the junior staff officers spread out the map and weighted the corners Napoleon looked round the table at the commanders of his army corps.There was an expectant and excited air about these men he had come to know so well over the years.They were the cream of those officers who had risen through the
ranks during the wars that had followed the revolution. Unlike their Austrian and Russian counterparts most of Napoleon’s marshals and generals were not aristocrats, and owed their present positions to their own efforts. They would need every last reserve of courage and quick wits in the weeks to come, Napoleon reflected as he watched them lean forward to examine the map spread out before them. Berthier had already marked out the dispositions of the Grand Army, and the possible locations and strength of enemy forces.
Clearing his throat, Napoleon motioned to them to take their seats on either side of the table.
‘Gentlemen, before I begin let me say that you have all performed prodigious feats of organisation in preparing your men so swiftly for this campaign. I am in your debt.’ He bowed his head.‘Now then, on to the plan. As you can see, it appears that our enemies have not yet realised that the main weight of our attack will be directed across the Rhine and on towards the Danube. Our spies report that there are nearly a hundred thousand Austrian troops concentrating to attack northern Italy. Meanwhile another twenty thousand are defending Tyrol, while a third force of seventy thousand, under General Mack and Archduke Ferdinand, is advancing towards the Rhine to try to cut us off from our Bavarian allies. It is likely that Mack has also been tasked with holding us back long enough to permit the Russian armies of Kutusov and Bennigsen to join forces with them.’
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