Fire and Sword

by Simon Scarrow

  Two days later Napoleon was back at his office in the Tuileries. No more snow had fallen and that which still lay across the roofs was stained by soot and ash so that Paris had taken on the appearance of a grimy, mottled wasteland.The cheerful mood that had filled the city had soon faded as its citizens huddled round their fires, or hurried through the cold, damp streets, hunched down in their coats. Napoleon turned away from the window towards the two men sitting at the table waiting for him. Berthier sat ready with a notebook opened in front of him, pen in hand and poised close to a small pot of ink. Beside him, Fouché glanced at the chief of staff with a faintly amused expression of contempt. Napoleon found himself earnestly wishing that Talleyrand still served as foreign minister. His advice and wisdom was sorely needed at present and his replacement, Champagny, had proved to be of little worth. The Emperor sighed with frustration as he took his seat.

  ‘Gentlemen, I have decided that the time is ripe for us to bring Spain within our sphere of control. Since our enemies have removed the fleets of Portugal and Denmark from our grasp, the last navy of any significant size that we might gain possession of lies in Spanish ports. I mean to have those ships.We can no longer count on Spain as a loyal ally. Godoy is a man whose only loyalty is to himself and he will sell his influence to whoever pays him enough gold. Charles is an indolent fool, a trait he seems to have passed on to his heir. I cannot afford to permit the Bourbons to remain on the throne in Madrid any longer.’

  Berthier looked up from his notebook.‘Do you propose an invasion of Spain, sire? If so, we will need to shift the balance of the Grand Army to the Pyrenees as swiftly as possible.That’s no small task.’

  Napoleon shook his head.‘That won’t be necessary.There will be no need for an invasion, as such.’ He smiled. ‘What I had in mind was an armed intervention to assist our Spanish allies in restoring order. To which end we must set them at each other’s throats.That is where you come in, Fouché.’

  ‘Sire?’

  ‘I want our newspapers to play up the business about Ferdinand’s proposed marriage to my niece. I want the papers to express outrage over the bad faith the Spanish court has shown us. I want them to fix the blame on Godoy. At the same time I want your agents to feed Godoy information that Ferdinand is planning to oust his father.’

  ‘Very well, sire.’ Fouché bowed his head. ‘I will see to it. And might I suggest a refinement?’

  ‘Well?’

  ‘You might instruct our ambassador in Madrid to let Godoy believe that the Prince has asked for our support in his attempt on the crown, and having failed to tempt us has gone to the British to request their backing. With luck that should set the cat amongst the pigeons, sire.’

  ‘Indeed.’ Napoleon nodded approvingly. ‘It is a good thing you are my creature, Fouché. I would hate to have you as an enemy.’

  ‘There is no question of my ever being an enemy of your majesty.’

  ‘Of course not,’ Napoleon responded. ‘Besides, if you ever did contemplate any disloyalty to me I would ensure that you suffered as a consequence.’

  Fouché smiled nervously, and Napoleon turned back to Berthier. ‘Once we have undermined the Bourbons in Madrid, our forces already in Spain must be prepared to take control of the largest towns and cities the instant the order is given. I want the main routes across the frontier in our hands as swiftly as possible. My generals are to achieve that with the minimum loss of blood. It is imperative that we are seen as liberators and not invaders. To that end our men must not be permitted to loot any property or supplies. Discipline must be maintained at all costs. Make sure that every soldier who crosses the border into Spain has money in his pockets.’

  ‘Yes, sire. Of course.’

  ‘Give immediate orders that our men already in Spain are to start gathering intelligence on every road and town in the north of the country. I want to know where every Spanish soldier is positioned. I want to know their state of readiness, their morale, and most important how loyal they are to either Charles or Ferdinand.When the time comes to act, we must have a column ready to march on Madrid and take control of the city as soon as possible.’ Napoleon paused and thought for a moment before he came to a decision and nodded. ‘Murat is to command the column. He can be trusted to drive his men on and do what is necessary to achieve our ends.Yes, Murat is the man for the job.’

  Berthier nodded, and added to his notes. ‘Anything else, sire?’

  ‘Just the timing. Our preparations must be complete by early February. I plan to begin our operations in the middle of the month and have Spain in our hands by the summer. No later.’

  Chapter 39

  Pamplona, February 1808

  It was a freezing morning and the Spanish sentries guarding the entrance to the citadel struggled to keep out the cold while they waited for their watch to come to an end. The thought of retreating to their barracks and settling round a fire was a source of comfort. Meanwhile they stamped their feet and cupped their hands and breathed warm air on to their cold palms. They had stood guard since first light over the approaches to the drawbridge which spanned the wide defensive ditch that surrounded the citadel. As the first rays of the sun peeped over the snow-covered hills and began to cast warmth across the land, the Spanish soldiers started to feel their spirits rise.

  Before them, the city was starting to come alive. A handful of market traders began to set up their stalls on the edge of the plaza in front of the citadel. Over to one side a large bakery had opened its doors and the aroma of fresh bread wafted across to the sentries and made them feel hungry. Shortly after eight in the morning the sentries’ attention was drawn to the sound of boots echoing down one of the streets that led on to the plaza and a short time later a crowd of French soldiers emerged, talking and laughing cheerfully as they crossed the open ground towards the bakery.

  They were not armed, and were wearing their forage caps in place of shakos. They shouted good-humoured greetings at the Spanish soldiers as they passed by the drawbridge, and there was no reason to suspect that anything was amiss. After all, the French were allies and they had lived alongside the local people comfortably enough for the past few weeks. Their commander, General Mouton, had explained to the governor of Pamplona that his men were waiting for the worst of the winter to pass before they marched west to reinforce General Junot in Portugal. The French soldiers had not been unwelcome in Pamplona.They treated the locals in a sufficiently courteous manner and paid their way with gold and silver. Indeed, the inhabitants of Pamplona had come to embrace the custom they provided for the local sellers of food and wine.

  While the officer in charge of the party entered the bakery to negotiate the sale of a bulk order of bread his men waited in the plaza. It had not snowed for a few days and the snow on the ground had become icy and hard to compress into a decent snowball. Nevertheless the Spanish sentries guarding the entrance to the citadel watched with amused curiosity as a handful of French soldiers spontaneously bent down and began to scrape up snow to throw at each other. Within moments others had joined in and soon the snowball fight was general. Little by little some of the soldiers came closer to the drawbridge and then one of the snowballs struck a Spanish soldier, bursting off his shoulder in a spray of white. For an instant the man glared at the foreigners, searching for his assailant.Then, slinging his musket across his back, he swooped down, scooped up a handful of snow, packed it tight and hurled it into the crowd of French soldiers. There was a shout of protest and then several missiles were thrown back at the sentries as the nearest Frenchmen turned on them and began to exchange a flurry of missiles with the Spaniards. Soon the men of the bread party were on the drawbridge itself, mingling with the outnumbered sentries as they hurled snow and ice at each other.

  As the sounds of the shouting from the drawbridge increased in volume the officer emerged from the bakery and stared towards the entrance to the citadel, examining the scene carefully. Then he drew a whistle from his pocket, raised it to his lips and blew three
sharp blasts.

  At once, his men on the drawbridge threw down their snowballs and seized the startled sentries, snatching away their muskets and knocking them to the ground. At the same time more French soldiers, fully armed, burst out of a side street and crossed the plaza at a dead run, surging across the drawbridge and into the citadel.The officer watched for a moment, hearing muffled sounds of shouted protests and harsh commands.Within a matter of minutes it was all over, and as the first of the bewildered Spanish prisoners emerged on to the drawbridge to be marched to a holding area in the plaza, the flag of the Bourbons fluttered down from the flagstaff on the central tower of the citadel. A moment later a new flag was hoist, and as it reached the top of the flagstaff a faint breeze caused it to ripple out. The blue, white and red colours of the French flag gleamed in the bright rays of the morning sun.

  In the days that followed, many more towns and fortresses fell into French hands through similar ruses and more French troops poured across the frontier until, by the end of February, over a hundred thousand French soldiers were on Spanish soil. In Madrid many members of the junta and supporters of Prince Ferdinand were outraged by the French and openly cursed Godoy and the King for their complacency over such an affront to Spanish national pride. Napoleon read the reports of these events with glowing satisfaction. Everything was going according to plan.There remained only one last piece to fall into place: the final humiliation of King Charles, his Queen and their scheming Prime Minister, Manuel Godoy. A message from Napoleon was sent to the latter, via Fouché’s agent in the Spanish court, suggesting that the court would be well advised to quit Madrid before the mob gave vent to their anger.At the same time, the agent hinted to Ferdinand that his father was planning to quit Spain altogether and flee to Spanish possessions in the Americas.

  One night early in April Napoleon was woken in the early hours by a servant. He blinked his eyes open and winced as he stared into the bright flame of the candle the man was holding over him.

  ‘Get that away from me,’ he grumbled, and the servant hurriedly retreated a couple of paces as his master stirred irritably.‘What time is it?’

  ‘Past two in the morning, sire.’

  Napoleon turned his back to the man and instinctively reached his arm across to the other side of the bed. But there was no one there. Josephine had refused to sleep with him since that night in Malmaison, and a frosty cordiality often divided them when they were together now. Napoleon thrust her from his mind.

  ‘What is the reason for waking me at this ungodly hour?’

  ‘Sire, there is a messenger from Marshal Murat waiting in your study. He bears urgent news from Madrid.’

  Napoleon was fully awake in an instant, and throwing back his bedclothes he rose to his feet and clicked his fingers. ‘Bring me a warm gown.’

  ‘Yes, sire.’

  Slipping his feet into soft slippers, Napoleon allowed the servant to slip the woollen gown over his shoulders. He pulled the folds tightly around his body and quickly tied the sash before pacing from the sleeping chamber and down the dimly lit corridor to the suite of offices at the far end.The courier stiffened to attention as he entered the study. Flames flickered in a candelabra set on the desk and by their light Napoleon saw that the messenger was a young colonel of hussars, splattered with mud and trying not to collapse with exhaustion.

  ‘You can eat and rest when we are done.’ Napoleon forced himself to smile. ‘I understand you have a report for me. From Murat.’

  ‘Yes, sire.’The courier opened the flap of the bag at his side and took out a waterproofed and sealed leather tube, which he handed to his Emperor.

  ‘I will read this later,’ said Napoleon. ‘First, are you able to give me a detailed verbal report?’

  ‘Yes, sire. That was why the marshal chose me.’

  ‘Very well.’ Napoleon smiled. ‘Proceed.’

  The colonel rapidly collected his thoughts, cleared his throat and began. ‘In accordance with his orders, Marshal Murat was advancing towards Madrid. As far as the Spaniards knew we were marching south, to lay siege to Gibraltar. The story seemed to hold up well enough, sire. We met no resistance of any kind and were still four days’ march from Madrid when we heard that the King and his court had made an attempt to escape to Cadiz. They had got as far as Aranjuez, some twenty leagues south of the capital, when a mob of Ferdinand’s supporters caught up with them and surrounded Godoy’s palace, where they had stopped for the night. The mob stormed the palace and beat Godoy close to death before Ferdinand intervened and saved his life.’

  ‘A pity.’

  ‘Yes, sire. After that the King and Queen were placed under house arrest, before the King was forced to abdicate in favour of his son. Ferdinand immediately proclaimed himself Ferdinand VII of Spain and returned to the capital to secure the junta’s confirmation of his title. But the junta is split, sire. Some back Charles, although most support Ferdinand.There was violence in the streets when word of the coup got out.The marshal took an advance force of cavalry and entered Madrid the following day. The people actually came out and cheered us, sire. They are heartily sick of the civil strife that has plagued Madrid for months now. They assumed that the French army had been sent to restore order.’

  ‘Good.’ Napoleon nodded. ‘Carry on.’

  ‘Well, sir, Marshal Murat was not certain how to proceed. Events had rather superseded his orders. He was not sure whether to back Charles or Ferdinand. The marshal says that Charles is far too unpopular amongst his people to survive for long on the throne. On the other hand, Ferdinand makes no secret of his hatred for the French, and cannot be trusted.’

  ‘And what has Murat done to resolve the situation?’ Napoleon asked anxiously.

  ‘Nothing, sire. He has placed Charles under protective custody and he has refused to recognise Ferdinand as King. He awaits instructions from your majesty.’

  ‘Murat has done the right thing.’ Napoleon was relieved. For once his cavalry commander had managed to act with discretion. The situation was very promising, he mused. Very promising indeed. There was much that could be gained if he acted quickly. He focused his attention on the colonel again. ‘You must return to Madrid in the morning.’

  ‘Yes, sire.’ If the young officer was dreading the prospect of several more days in the saddle, he had the sense not to show it.

  ‘I will have instructions drafted for Marshal Murat. But in case there is any misunderstanding of the written word you are to make it clear to Murat that he is not to intervene on either side at any cost. Nor is he to permit our soldiers to be quartered in Madrid.They must remain in the suburbs and be kept in check. The very last thing we can afford is any of the usual high-handedness with the local people. Murat is to make it clear to the Spanish that he is there to keep the peace and to help Spain improve its institutions in the interests of the common people. Lastly, I want him to instruct Ferdinand to meet me at Bayonne later this month. He is to tell Ferdinand that I wish to discuss the best way to reconcile the differences of opinion that currently divide Spain. Once Ferdinand is on his way to Bayonne, Murat is to wait two days and then send Charles to join him at Bayonne, on the same pretext.’ Napoleon looked closely at the weary officer.‘Is that all clear, Colonel?’

  ‘Yes, sir. Quite clear.’

  ‘Good. Now I suggest you have something to eat, and sleep for the remainder of the night.Your orders will be given to you at first light. You have a long journey ahead of you, so get some rest. Dismissed.’

  ‘Yes, sire!’ The colonel stiffened to attention, saluted and turned to march out of the room, his heavy boots echoing off the floor. Once he was alone, Napoleon sat a moment in silence, his mind swiftly processing what he had been told.Then he broke the seal on the leather tube and pulled out several sheets of paper that made up Murat’s report. By the time he had finished reading through the document Napoleon had decided on his course of action. One that would for ever bind Spain and France together and deal a crippling blow to British inter
ests.

  The decision to hold a conference at Bayonne had been made some months before the crisis in Madrid occurred. For a long time Napoleon had intended to assemble his family to explain what he required of them. The purpose of awarding them the lands and titles he had bestowed on them was to provide a close-knit dynasty that would bind Europe together. As it was, some of his brothers were taking their status as rulers a little too much to heart and acting with a degree of independence that ran counter to Napoleon’s interests. He was determined to make them understand what he wanted and that they should do his bidding as efficiently as possible.

  The finest houses in Bayonne and the best of the nearest estates had been commandeered for the conference and every luxury prepared for the arrival of the Emperor and his brothers: Joseph, King of Naples and Louis, King of Holland. A spate of last-minute preparations were hurried through in order to welcome Ferdinand and Charles and their immediate retinues. The townspeople had never seen so much royalty gathered together before and the excitement in the town was tangible. Napoleon waved at the crowds lining the streets to greet him, but his mind was elsewhere. The coming days were vital to his ambitions for France, and he would have to play a very careful game in order to secure the desired end.