Fire and Sword

by Simon Scarrow

  There was a light cough from the other side of the table as Kitty gestured towards the letter. ‘No bad news there, I trust?’

  ‘No. None.’

  ‘It’s just that I recognised Richard’s hand and wondered what he had written that caused you to frown so.’

  Arthur thought quickly before replying. There was no sense in upsetting Kitty over something that might never happen. ‘I was not frowning, my dear, just concentrating. Richard merely wishes to know if we are well, and if our son is thriving.’

  ‘I see.That is all?’

  ‘Yes,’ Arthur replied, and hurriedly impaled a piece of meat and popped it into his mouth. His mind raced as it dealt with the message that Richard had sent him.

  It was true that he saw himself as a soldier first, a politician a poor second. The chance of joining an expedition to the continent to fight the Corsican tyrant was tempting in the extreme. Yet, as Richard had said, it was vital that he present his case for inclusion in person. He must leave Dublin as soon as possible.

  ‘I find it strange that Richard should write with such trivial concerns,’ Kitty continued. ‘It is unlike him.’

  ‘He must have time on his hands,’ Arthur replied. ‘There is no hope of returning to high office for a while yet.’

  ‘No. I suppose not.’ Kitty raised another small piece of meat to her mouth and chewed a moment before continuing. ‘Which makes it all the more odd that he did not take the time to write to you at more length.’

  Arthur lowered his knife and fork and stared across the table at his wife. ‘Kitty, I do not know the man’s mind.Whether he chooses to write at length or not is a matter for Richard.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Arthur dear. I did not mean to upset you.’

  ‘You have not upset me,’ Arthur said coldly.

  Arthur did not like to deceive his wife and he knew well enough that the idea of his going off to war would alarm her. Besides, it was one thing to be excited by the possibility of a military command on active service, and quite another to be fortunate enough to be granted such an appointment in practice. He smiled to himself as it occurred to him that it was perverse to think of the prospect of danger as an opportunity to be grasped.Yet without the war with France, he would never have had the chance to improve his lot in life, doomed for ever to be a younger son of a minor aristocratic family casting about for a well-heeled wife to save him from penury.

  ‘What are you thinking of, my dear?’

  Arthur glanced up guiltily, and at once composed his expression into a mask of indifference. ‘Just something someone said to me today.’

  ‘Oh? And what was that?’

  ‘It does not matter. It is of no consequence,’ Arthur replied abruptly and instantly regretted his tone as he saw the hurt look flit across his wife’s face. She had been attempting to make small talk, to play the part of the dutifully attentive wife, only to be curtly rebuffed. He decided to attempt to divert her attention from the pain he had caused and clapped his hands together. ‘So tell me, how is our son today?’

  Kitty started at the sudden noise and then smiled nervously. ‘Arthur is much better. I think he has almost recovered from the measles now.’

  ‘As I always knew he would. Good, good,’ Arthur continued quickly. ‘He is a robust little boy, sure enough. Make a fine soldier one day, eh?’

  ‘Soldier?’ Kitty nodded faintly. ‘Yes, that would be nice. A hero, like his father. That would make me so proud, my dear.’

  Arthur cleared his throat.‘My dear, it seems that I may have to travel to London soon.’

  ‘London? Why?’

  ‘Official business. I am minded to brief the Prime Minister on the situation in Ireland. With all this trouble we have been having with rebellious spirits, he will be keen to be kept abreast of events.’

  ‘But I thought the situation was calming down? You told me so yourself.’

  ‘It is, my dear. Which means that my presence here is not quite so vital at the present. Now would be a good time to absent myself.’

  ‘How long will you be away?’

  ‘Hard to say. Some weeks.’ Arthur picked up his cutlery and began to cut at his steak again as he continued, ‘Months, possibly. I cannot say.’

  Kitty looked at him with large sorrowful eyes.‘So long? I don’t think I could bear it.’

  ‘Of course you can, my dear,’ Arthur said smoothly.‘You will need to take charge of the household in my absence. It will be good practice for you.’

  ‘Practice for what?’

  ‘Ah.’ Arthur paused and cursed his tongue. ‘It is possible that I may be required to serve in the army again at some time. In which case, we may be separated for a while. Naturally, I could not fight well for my country if I was concerned that you were not coping with running the family’s affairs and seeing to the upkeep of the household. So it would be wise to treat this trip to London as a chance for you to get some experience of managing without me. I’m certain that you will make a fine job of it, Kitty, my dear.’

  ‘I will try to,’ she replied softly. ‘But do come back to me, to your son, as soon as you can.’

  ‘I will endeavour to do so with all my might,’ Arthur replied, forcing a smile.

  It felt good to be back in London again, even though it had only been a matter of months since he had departed for Dublin. The streets, the coffee houses and the halls of Parliament itself were buzzing with news from Europe. With the coming of spring the French Emperor had renewed his campaign in the east and was marching towards the Russian armies in pursuit of a decisive battle. Few people in London seemed to doubt that he would achieve it. For his part Arthur was not so convinced. It all depended on how far Bonaparte was prepared to advance from his supply depots. If the Russians laid waste to the countryside behind them, then the French army must starve the further east it advanced. In time the Russians could pick their ground and turn on the tired, hungry and demoralised remains of the Grand Army. At least, that is the strategy that should be employed, Arthur reflected. Whether Tsar Alexander would see things the same way was another matter.

  As soon as he had returned to the house in Harley Street,Arthur sent a message to Castlereagh at the War Office to request a meeting. He had already written to the minister at the start of June explaining his wish to be included in any army sent to fight the French, even if that meant giving up his current post and all the political prestige that went with it. Castlereagh’s response had been swift and he had promised to discuss the matter in person if Arthur came to London.

  So it was that on a fine bright day in the middle of June Arthur was strolling briskly along Whitehall to the War Office.Turning through the gates at Horseguards he passed between the sentries at the main entrance and presented himself at the desk at the end of the hall.

  ‘Major-General Sir Arthur Wellesley. I have an appointment with the minister.’

  The clerk glanced down the list of names and then nodded to one of the orderlies seated behind him. ‘Take the general upstairs. Minister’s office.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ The orderly bowed his head. ‘If you’d follow me, sir?’

  As they climbed the staircase and passed along corridors Arthur was aware of a good deal more activity than had been the case on his previous visit. Clerks and officers were busy at their desks in each room they walked by. Others hurried along the corridors with sheafs of paper clutched tightly to their sides.

  ‘It would appear that the War Office is engaged in planning something rather grand.’

  ‘Yes, indeed, sir.’The orderly glanced back and nodded, before lowering his voice. ‘Word is that there are plans to invade France itself, sir.’

  ‘Really?’ Arthur doubted it. There was no sense in such a direct approach to the enemy. Not when there was no earthly chance of success against the numbers the French could bring to bear against a British army setting foot on their soil. ‘Any news from the continent?’

  The orderly nodded. ‘I heard from a clerk upstairs that the lat
est despatch says that Boney has forced the Russians to make peace. The beggar’s unbeatable.’

  Arthur glanced at him sharply. ‘No general is unbeatable, it is just a question of time. Bonaparte will be beaten one day.’

  ‘Really, sir?’

  ‘You have my word on it.’

  ‘That’s a comfort,’ the orderly replied and Arthur felt a brief spark of anger at the man’s tone, before his mind fixed on the news. So Bonaparte had defeated the Russians.Arthur shook his head at the Tsar’s rashness. He was doing Bonaparte’s work for him.This was the price an army paid when it was led in person by a monarch, rather than a professional soldier. Arthur smiled wryly. France was indeed fortunate that her ruler and the very best of her generals were one and the same man. Fortunate for France, but a curse to her enemies.

  ‘Here we are, sir.’The orderly stood aside at a doorway and bowed as Arthur passed inside. He rang a bell further down the corridor and then left Arthur alone.The anteroom was the same small room where he had met Nelson nearly two years before. As he recalled the moment and vividly pictured the admiral sitting there that day, Arthur felt a sudden sense of what the man’s loss meant to those who had met him, however briefly, and to the nation as a whole. King George and all his subjects had slept more easily since Trafalgar.While that great battle had not won the war, it had made Britain’s defeat unlikely. As the thought came to him,Arthur wondered on whose shoulders it would fall to complete the great project that Nelson had given his life for.

  ‘Sir? If you would come in.’

  Arthur looked up and saw a thin-faced young man in a neat dark coat standing in the doorway to Castlereagh’s office.

  ‘I’m twenty minutes early.’

  ‘The minister wishes to see you at once, sir.’

  ‘Very well, then.’ Arthur strode across the room and followed the man inside. Castlereagh rose and stretched out a hand as soon as he saw Arthur. The young man settled himself at the side of the table and picked up a pencil and notebook.

  ‘Good to see you again,Wellesley!’

  ‘Thank you, sir,’ Arthur replied as he took the man’s hand and gave it a firm shake.

  ‘Sit you down, man!’ Castlereagh smiled.‘How are things in Ireland?’

  ‘I am sure you have seen my reports, sir. I believe I have been thorough enough in those documents.’

  ‘I’m sure you have.They are models of clarity and conciseness. And like any such things, they lack the personal perception that the reader so often craves. So I ask you again.’

  Arthur smiled back, pleased by the minister’s candour.Yet he knew that whatever admirable qualities Castlereagh possessed, he was still a politician and needed to be spoken to in a circumspect manner. For a moment he wondered if he should speak frankly in front of the third man, whom he assumed to be the minister’s personal secretary. But if Castlereagh asked such frank questions in front of the younger man, then Arthur should answer them in a similar fashion. He cleared his throat.

  ‘Sir, we hold Ireland, as a strong man holds a weaker one - by the throat. We can keep Ireland under control as long as we don’t grow weary of the strength it takes to subdue the natives. Unless we can make Englishmen of them there will never be peace there, except under the muzzles of British guns.’

  Castlereagh was still for a moment as he stared directly at Arthur. Then he nodded. ‘I see. No peace, then.’

  ‘No peace, but order. And that can be maintained as long as we have the will to do it, however forcefully it needs to be carried through.’

  ‘Spoken like a soldier.’ Castlereagh smiled. ‘Alas.’

  ‘Alas?’

  ‘If you should cleave to a political career you will find such candour a considerable burden. Then again, you did not come here to pursue a political career. Carstairs, the letter if you please.’ Castlereagh held out his hand and his secretary quickly flipped open a file in front of him and flicked through a couple of pages before he found what he was looking for and proffered it to the minister. Castlereagh held it up for Arthur to see. ‘Your letter of the first of June.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  Castlereagh examined it briefly. ‘You say that you cannot tolerate being in Ireland when an operation on the continent is being planned.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘You still hold to that view?’

  ‘That is why I am here, sir,’ Arthur replied evenly.

  ‘Yes,’ Castlereagh lowered the letter and tapped his finger on the final paragraph. ‘You say you would be willing to give up your post as Chief Secretary in order to have a military command. May I ask why?’

  ‘For the reasons you have stated, sir. I am more a soldier than a politician. At a time of war I believe it is every man’s duty to serve his country in whichever capacity best utilises his proven abilities.’

  ‘A sound enough principle,’ Castlereagh conceded. ‘Yet the Duke of Richmond assures me that he could have picked no finer man for your current post than yourself. Do you doubt his word?’

  ‘It is kind of him to say that,’ Arthur replied cautiously. ‘And I could quite easily continue serving his grace from here in London, until such time as my appointment in the expeditionary force is confirmed or denied. If I am denied then I could return to my duties in Dublin.’

  Castlereagh considered the suggestion for a moment and then frowned. ‘That is a highly irregular suggestion, Wellesley. I am not convinced that it would work.’

  ‘I disagree, sir. I believe that I could conduct the business of government from a distance. Besides, I believe the true path of service to my country lies in being a soldier.’

  ‘It is true that the late William Pitt regarded you highly in that capacity, and there are plenty of other men of influence who would agree that you are an officer of unusual ability and promise.’ Castlereagh paused to collect his thoughts, and then nodded. ‘Very well, I shall do my best to see that you are included amongst the general officers picked for the expeditionary force.’

  Arthur felt a rush of relief sweep through his chest and tried to control the smile that was keen to play on his lips. ‘Thank you, sir.You won’t regret it, I swear.’

  ‘See that I don’t. Now then, is there anything else?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ Arthur nodded. ‘I am given to understand that Bonaparte has forced the Russians to come to terms.’

  The minister exchanged a quick glance with Carstairs before he responded. ‘Good God, that news has only just reached London this morning! Are there no secrets in this damned country? Where did you hear that?’

  Arthur had no desire to have the orderly and his friend held responsible for slackness higher up the chain of command. So he shrugged. ‘A chance comment overheard as I made my way to this meeting, sir.’

  Castlereagh stared closely at him.‘I see. Fair enough. It seems certain that it will be only a matter of days before we hear that the latest coalition against France has collapsed. I sometimes wonder if that bloody frog is invincible.’

  ‘Bonaparte can and will be defeated, sir,’Arthur replied firmly.‘Given the chance I shall prove it.’

  Castlereagh smiled. ‘I believe you would. You see, Carstairs, the fighting spirit of our commanders burns as bright as ever.’

  Carstairs nodded. ‘As you say, sir.’

  ‘Well then.’ Castlereagh rose to his feet suddenly, indicating that the meeting was over. ‘Wait to hear from me, Wellesley. I will do all that I can to give you the chance to bloody the nose of our enemy.’

  ‘Thank you, sir,’ Arthur replied as he stood, and shook the minister’s hand.

  ‘In the meantime, you will need to settle your affairs in Ireland, and break the news to the Duke of Richmond, who, I dare say, will not be too pleased at losing the services of so able a subordinate.’

  As he left the War Office Arthur felt a lightness in his heart at the thought of returning to active service. He had proved himself in India, but the real test was about to come. Here, in Europe, where the stakes were so m
uch higher. He had little doubt that the Duke of Richmond would understand his sense of duty, but informing Kitty was a different proposition, and he frowned as he strode through the streets back towards his house.

  Chapter 31

  Napoleon

  The River Niemen, near Tilsit,

  25 June 1807

  The early morning mist had burned off quickly as the sun rose into a clear blue sky. As he sat on the cushioned thwart at the rear of the barge Napoleon stared across the glassy flow of the Niemen towards the far bank. The dense ranks of the Russian Guard stood in columns a short distance from the water. There was not a breath of wind and their standards hung limply from their gilded staffs. The Tsar’s barge was still tethered to a small jetty and as Napoleon watched there was a sudden burst of activity as the boatmen piled into the vessel and hurriedly took up their oars. Napoleon smiled to himself. Once again he had stolen the initiative by setting out from his side of the river first. He would reach the large raft that had been moored in the middle of the current before Tsar Alexander and so would be in a position to welcome the enemy sovereign aboard. That would give him a small but definite advantage over the Tsar before they even began to speak.