Fire and Sword

by Simon Scarrow

  There was a sudden roar from one side, and then the other, and a hail of grapeshot swept the top of the quay clear of enemy soldiers. Startled, Arthur turned and saw that the launches on the flanks had fired their carronades, and were already reloading as the men on the oars began to stroke the vessels away from the quay. One of the seamen in Arthur’s boat let out a cheer.

  ‘Shut your bloody mouth!’ the midshipman shouted. ‘Keep rowing!’

  For a moment there was no further sign of the French soldiers, and then the more stout-hearted of them showed themselves along the quay again and took aim on the retreating boats. Shots slapped into the water close by, sending up narrow spouts of silver into the salty air. But the range was already long and within a minute the lusty strokes of the men at the oars had carried the launch to safety. Arthur felt the tension and fear begin to drain from his body as he turned to stare back towards Copenhagen and the tricolour flag waving over the heads of the French soldiers as they hurled insults after their enemy.

  Even though the operation had been a success and the Danish fleet was on its way to Britain, he could not help feeling a sense of failure. Once again a British army had secured a small foothold on the continent, only to have to give it up. As long as that remained the pattern of the conflict, Britain would never defeat Bonaparte. As he stared at the enemy flag, swaying defiantly from side to side, Arthur made a resolution. The instant he returned to London he would do whatever he could to persuade the government to commit itself to a full-blooded campaign on the continent. It was only through such action that Britain could begin to topple the edifice of Bonaparte’s vast empire.

  Chapter 38

  Napoleon

  Paris, December 1807

  The Emperor sat at his desk, hands folded together and supporting his chin as he stared into the middle distance. It was the day after Christmas, yet he felt not the slightest inclination to share the festive mood of the rest of his household and the people of Paris. Before him, on the desk, lay the report from General Junot, detailing his operation in Portugal. Despite marching across Spain and through Portugal with commendable speed, Junot’s corps had captured Lisbon only to discover that the royal family, the government and the warships of the Portuguese navy had fled to their colonies in Brazil just two days before. They had quit the capital so swiftly that they had abandoned on the quayside scores of wagons carrying chests of gold and silver, works of art, linen, dinner services and fine furnishings from the palace. None of which compensated for the loss of the fine ships of the Portuguese navy, Napoleon reflected ruefully.

  Now that he had lost the chance of seizing both the Danish and the Portuguese fleets there was no chance of redressing the imbalance in naval power that had existed between France and Britain since the disaster at Cape Trafalgar. The only hope of defeating Britain now lay in the full implementation of the closure of European ports to British trade and British vessels.

  Napoleon let out an explosive, exasperated sigh. He rose abruptly to his feet and crossed over to the long windows overlooking the courtyard of the Tuileries and the open square beyond. A thin veil of snow had descended on Paris the night before and much of it had been trampled into the cobblestones during the morning so that the streets looked peculiarly grimy compared to the gleaming white mantles that covered the roofs of the capital. Overhead the sky was filled with thick grey clouds that wholly obscured the sun and threatened further snow. Down in the square a large crowd of street urchins were engaged in a snowball fight and their shouts and shrill cries of laughter carried faintly through the glass as Napoleon gazed down. He felt a brief twinge of envy as he watched them.

  A memory flashed into his mind and he recalled a time when he had led a team of students in a snowball fight at the school he had attended in Brienne. A smile flickered across his lips. That had been a fine day. One of the few pleasurable days he recalled from a childhood spent far from his family; a lone Corsican amongst a crowd of haughty and wealthy boys from the finest families in France. At times they had made his life a torment. And now he was their Emperor. Fate played peculiar games, Napoleon mused. Yet despite all his power and all that he had achieved, he fervently wished that he could be an anonymous young boy once more and run across the square and join those engaged in the snowball fight, heedless of the duties and burdens of his office. The thought filled his heart with an aching sense of loss as he looked at the children and he felt his throat tighten.

  ‘No,’ he muttered, angry with himself. He turned away from the window and returned to his desk, forcing his mind to fix on the high affairs of state. The Portuguese ruler and his government may have escaped Junot and taken their fleet with them, but their country was now in French hands and their ports would soon be closed to British ships. It was a different situation in Spain, however, where the corruption and incompetence of the government meant that British merchants openly flouted the embargo. The King, Charles IV, and his heir, Ferdinand, were both fools who loathed each other, and were in turn loathed by their people. Both the King and his Queen were under the spell of Manuel Godoy, a nobleman who had once been a mere soldier in the royal guard until he had become the lover of the Queen and been showered with honours and riches.

  Napoleon smiled to himself. Godoy’s corruption knew no bounds, and for some years he had secretly been in the pay of the French. It was through Godoy’s influence that French troops had been permitted to march across Spain to reach Portugal, and to leave garrisons in their wake to protect the communications with France. Even now, three small army corps had crossed the border into Spain and were well placed to intervene in Spanish affairs the moment Napoleon gave them their orders. He turned his chair round and stared up at the large map of Europe that hung on the wall behind his desk. His eyes fixed on Spain and he pressed his lips together. Very well then, he decided. The time had come to act.

  That evening Napoleon returned to his country estate of Malmaison, not far from Paris.A fresh fall of snow had made the road difficult going for the horses; in places the snow had drifted and the men of the mounted escort had been forced to dismount and clear a path with the butts of their carbines before the carriage could proceed. It was past midnight before they finally pulled up outside the main entrance and a mufflered footman jumped down to place the steps beside the carriage and open the door for the Emperor. Napoleon cast aside the thick sheepskin covering that he had been using to try to keep warm and climbed stiffly down. The door to the house had been opened and a welcoming shaft of warm yellow light fell across the steps and out on to the snow-covered drive. He hurried inside and allowed a footman to take off his coat before he warmed himself at a small fire burning in a hearth to one side of the lobby.

  ‘Is the Empress still awake?’

  ‘I do not know, sire. Her majesty retired to her quarters over an hour ago.’

  ‘Ah.’ Napoleon frowned. He had sent word earlier in the day that he would arrive in time for the evening meal. That was before the snow had started again.

  ‘Do you wish me to have some food brought to you, sire?’

  ‘Yes. Some soup and wine. I’ll be in my study. Is the fire made up?’

  ‘Yes, sire.’

  ‘Good.’ Napoleon nodded and strode off down the corridor to the rear of the house, the stamp of his boots echoing off the tiled floor.The air in the study was warm and the glow from the fire was comforting as Napoleon eased himself into the chair at the desk that looked out over the gardens. At night the windows were shuttered and heavy curtains drawn across them to cut off any chilly draughts. He lit a lantern and by its light drew a piece of blank paper from the top drawer and then reached for a pen. He thought for a moment, and then dipped the nib in the inkwell and began to make notes in his usual swift, scarcely legible hand.

  There was a soft tap on the door and a servant quietly entered and set down a tray on the corner of the desk. The Emperor did not look up from his work. At length he set the pen down, pulled the tray closer and began to drink his soup as
he read over his thoughts on the situation in Spain. As he was finishing the soup he became aware of another presence in the study and glanced up to see Josephine standing just inside the door.

  ‘Can’t sleep?’ he asked.

  She smiled thinly. ‘Not easy when you have been waiting anxiously all evening for your husband to arrive in a blizzard.’

  ‘Hardly a blizzard.’

  She shrugged. ‘In any case, I was worried.’

  ‘Well I am here, safe and sound. Come, sit.’ Napoleon thrust his chair back and patted his lap. Josephine crossed the room and eased herself down, wrapping an arm round his neck and dangling her hand from his shoulder. She bent her head down and kissed him on the lips.

  ‘We haven’t done this for some time.’

  ‘No?’ Napoleon frowned, and then chuckled and kissed her again. ‘You are right. It is a pity. I have been neglecting you.’

  ‘You have.’

  There was a serious edge to her tone, but before Napoleon could comment she had turned to read his notes, her eyes flicking over the uneven lines and figures. ‘What is so compelling about Spain at the moment?’

  For a second Napoleon considered brushing the matter aside. He was tired and wanted to rest his head against her naked chest and fall asleep there. But his mind was still working, still turning over various possible actions and consequences. He drew a breath and sighed. ‘It is time the regime in Madrid was changed.’

  ‘Why? Spain is our ally.’

  ‘Some ally.’ Napoleon sniffed. ‘That wretched little mercenary, Godoy, has been taking our money for years and France is not seeing as much benefit from her investment as I would like. Many of Spain’s ports openly trade with our enemy. Godoy schemes with other powers and now it seems that he is trying to block the marriage between Ferdinand and Lucien’s daughter.’

  ‘Louise? I thought that matter had been settled.’

  ‘So did I. The marriage would have gone a long way to cementing the alliance. But now it seems that Ferdinand is not keen to hold to the agreement, and Godoy refuses to use his influence with King Charles and the Queen to force the issue.’

  Josephine thought for a moment before looking directly at Napoleon. ‘So what do you intend to do about it? Not another war, surely?’

  Napoleon shook his head. ‘There’s no need. Madrid is riven by dissent. The members of the royal household spend their lives plotting against each other while the people look on in despair. So it will be simple enough to engineer a crisis.The King will ask me to intervene.

  I imagine Ferdinand will make a similar request as well. Then my soldiers who are already in Spain can seize control of the towns along the frontier and I will adjudicate the grievances between Charles and his heir.’

  ‘While disposing of Godoy, naturally.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What then?’ Josephine asked as she moved her hand and began to softly stroke the back of his neck.

  ‘If Godoy goes, then so must Charles. I will make Ferdinand King, and ensure that he knows who his master is.’

  ‘And if Ferdinand does not like being your puppet?’

  ‘Then he must go as well.’

  ‘Then who will rule Spain?’

  Napoleon smiled. ‘That is a matter for contemplation at a later date, my dear.’ He took her other hand and raised it to his lips and kissed her fingers softly, one by one.They kissed again, and Napoleon’s hand glided down her neck and across her cleavage before slipping inside her nightdress and caressing her breast. He felt her shudder as her nipple swiftly hardened. Napoleon withdrew his hand.

  ‘We will be more comfortable by the fire.’

  Josephine glanced round at the rug lying on the floorboards before the hearth. ‘Can’t we go up to bed, my love?’

  ‘Why? It is warm enough in here, and the fire will give us light.’

  Josephine sighed.‘I am tired. I want to be in a nice comfortable bed. Besides, I am getting too old to make love on a hard floor. Come, husband.To bed.’

  She rose from his lap and took his hand, pulling him gently after her, but Napoleon did not move and after a moment she released her grip and looked anxiously at him. ‘What is it?’

  ‘I want to make love to you. In here. Now.’

  ‘Wouldn’t the bed be more comfortable? It’s a cold night.’

  ‘It’s warm enough in here,’ he responded flatly.

  ‘I know. But I would still prefer to go to bed, my love.’

  They stared at each other for a moment, and as they did so Napoleon felt the passion for her die in him. The feeling had passed, and he felt a wave of weariness wash through him. ‘You go on first. I’ll join you. There’s something I need to finish first.’

  ‘You don’t love me any more . . .’ she whispered.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I said that you don’t love me.’

  ‘Don’t be a fool.’

  ‘I’m no fool, Napoleon. I have known you for twelve years. Well enough to know what you are thinking.’ Her voice caught and she had to bite her lip to stop it trembling. ‘You don’t love me. Why? Is it because of that young Polish whore?’

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘Marie Walewska. Did you think I wouldn’t find out?’

  Napoleon took a deep breath to calm his racing heart. ‘I had hoped you would not find out, but since you have I won’t deny it.Why should I? After all the lovers that you have entertained in the years of our marriage? I am entitled to whatever solace I can find when I am away on campaign.’

  ‘As long as it does not harm your feelings for me.’

  ‘I still love you,’ Napoleon said firmly.

  ‘But you are not in love with me. Not in the same way. Not any more. Isn’t that what you mean?’ Josephine smiled sadly and the tone of her voice cut into his heart like a knife. He could not reply, and she moved a step away from him, towards the door.

  ‘I knew this would happen, my love,’ she continued.‘One day.When I had grown old enough for my looks to fade. I suppose she is far younger, fresher. The kind of girl who would make love in front of a fire on a cold winter’s night. Am I right, husband?’

  His silence was answer enough and she laughed mirthlessly.‘I knew it.’

  Napoleon swallowed nervously. ‘I am a man, Josephine, with a man’s appetites. If you cannot satisfy them, then I must look elsewhere. Besides—’

  He shut his mouth abruptly and looked away.

  ‘Besides?’ She narrowed her eyes and continued sharply. ‘Besides what?’

  When he did not reply, she raised her voice, fists clenched by her sides. ‘Besides what? Speak up.’

  ‘Very well, then.’ Napoleon raised his chin. ‘Since you insist.You are right. Marie excites me more than you do. Besides which, you have never given me any children. At least Marie could. She was carrying my child before it was lost.That proves my seed is fertile. And it is clear to me that your womb is barren. If we cannot have a child together, then what is the point of lying with you? But that does not mean that I don’t still love you, in a way.’

  ‘In a way,’ she mimicked mercilessly. ‘What way? Like a young man’s affection for an aged aunt, or an old pet? Is that it?’

  Napoleon looked away wearily.‘Leave me. Go to bed. I will not have this discussion with you. Not now.’

  ‘Well, what if I want to discuss it now?’

  ‘Go, Josephine. I will not argue with you. Not tonight. Now go.’

  ‘Bastard,’ she muttered through clenched teeth.‘You faithless bastard.’

  Napoleon jumped to his feet and thrust his arm towards the door. ‘Get out! Go! Now!’

  Josephine was startled by the instant transformation and backed away nervously. She started to speak but he took two paces towards her, eyes blazing, and she feared that he might strike her. Turning, she hurried out of his study and quickly closed the door behind her.

  For a minute or so, Napoleon stared at the door, then slumped down in a chair by the fire and stare
d into the glowing embers. At first he was inclined to angrily refute everything she had said, everything that she had accused him of. As his temper began to calm, and his heartbeat slowed to a more regular rhythm, he realised that she was right, and had only put into words those thoughts and feelings that he had refused to acknowledge within himself. Now that he had been forced to confront them the sense of failure was deadening. Worse, he knew more certainly than ever that the order he had brought to France could not endure while there was no heir to the imperial crown. The time must come when Napoleon would be forced to find a woman who could provide him with a son. There must be a divorce, he accepted. But not until he had found himself a princess, of Austrian or Russian stock, in order to cement his ties with another powerful dynasty. Once he had chosen, only then would he break the news to Josephine.