Fire and Sword

by Simon Scarrow

  The reports from French spies in Austria were alarming. Every month more and more men were being recruited into the army. Hundreds of new artillery pieces were being cast and horse-buyers were travelling across Europe to secure the best mounts for the Austrians’ growing number of cavalry regiments. It was clear to Napoleon that these were preparations for war, and if Russia could be induced to declare her support for France in such a conflict then it was possible that the Austrians might be discouraged from taking the final step. But Alexander’s guarantees to France were unconvincing and Napoleon had little faith in his ally. The only good to come out of Erfurt was the appearance that the two rulers were still allies.

  With his affairs in eastern Europe settled, for the moment at least, Napoleon concentrated his attention on Spain. Three of his finest marshals, Ney, Mortier and Victor, together with their veteran corps had been transferred from Germany to the Peninsula and it was these troops who formed the new Army of Spain. With such fine men at his back Napoleon was confident that it would require only a brief campaign to crush Spanish resistance and bring the entire Peninsula under French rule, in the person of King Joseph. Thought of his brother caused Napoleon to frown. Joseph had barely been in Madrid long enough to be crowned before he had abandoned his new capital and retreated. Clearly he lacked the ruthless streak that was necessary to cow the rebellious Spaniards.Yet Napoleon had set him on the Spanish throne and there was no question of replacing him, or letting him be driven out. Napoleon’s prestige was at stake and he was firmly resolved to teach Spain that her people could not be permitted to defy the will of the Emperor.

  It was dark when the imperial convoy at last entered the gates of Vitoria and made its way through the streets to the citadel that served as the army’s headquarters. The four squadrons of lancers that had accompanied the Emperor’s carriage across the mountains clopped straight to the stables, where the frozen riders dismounted and rubbed their stiff backsides and tenderly stretched their legs.

  Napoleon’s carriage lurched to a halt in front of a narrow flight of steps leading up into the central keep of the citadel.The steps were lined with soldiers in greatcoats carrying torches in place of their muskets. The steam from their breath puffed out in little clouds as the Emperor climbed stiffly from the carriage and made his way up the steps to the entrance of the keep. A small group of officers, led by Berthier, waited to greet him formally.

  ‘Sire, it is good to see you.’ Berthier bowed his head. ‘The army is keen to teach the Spanish a lesson.’

  ‘Good,’ Napoleon muttered. ‘That’s the spirit. Is everything prepared?’

  ‘Yes, sire. There’s food and wine in the hall and your quarters are ready to receive you . . .’

  ‘Be quiet,’ Napoleon said irritably.‘I meant is everything in readiness for the campaign?’

  ‘Apologies, sire. I will brief you after you have eaten and rested, if you wish.’

  Napoleon shook his head.‘You can do it as I eat. Show me the way.’

  Berthier led him inside the keep and Napoleon relished the warmth as they entered the great hall, where a large fire was blazing in the hearth, casting a warm glow over the chamber and its furniture. A large framed map hung on one wall and was illuminated by a lantern hanging from a stand.Taking off his cloak and handing it to a footman Napoleon approached the fire and held out his hands, smiling as the blaze began to warm him through. At length he turned away and made his way to the table where there were several platters of cold meats, cheese and bread. A bowl of soup steamed at one end. Napoleon summoned a footman and pointed out his requirements.

  ‘I’ll have the chicken, this cheese and a bowl of soup. Over there, that seat to the left of the fire.’

  ‘Yes, sire.’ The footman bowed and started to gather the food on a plate bearing his master’s crest. Meanwhile, Napoleon crossed over to a couch by the fire and gestured to Berthier as he eased himself down. ‘Proceed.’

  ‘Yes, sire.’ Berthier stood in front of him, notebook in hand in case he needed to consult it, and cleared his throat. ‘From the latest reports from our spies in Madrid it appears that the junta there is trying to take control of Spanish resistance to our forces. It’s proving to be a challenge for them, sire, since other juntas and the leaders in the regions are not keen to subordinate themselves.’

  Napoleon smiled. ‘Already they are divided. They do our work for us, Berthier.Very well, if they choose to fight us separately then we shall destroy them one after the other. Good. Continue.’

  The footman approached with a small table in one hand and a tray bearing the food in the other. He quietly set the table down and laid out the plate and cutlery as Berthier spoke.

  ‘Based on the reports of our agents I estimate that the Spanish can field as many as one hundred and thirty thousand regular soldiers, with perhaps another seventy thousand militia. In addition, we face the British army in Portugal, under General Moore. He is thought to command more than twenty thousand men.’

  Napoleon nodded as he tore some flesh off a chicken leg and chewed. ‘It is well for us that the British government does not choose to reinforce Moore. Junot has told me how good their men are.’ He shrugged. ‘Maybe they are good. Or maybe Junot was never quite the general I had hoped he would be. No matter. We have two hundred thousand of our best men here in Spain. More than enough to deal with those who choose to deny the authority of my brother. Once they are swept aside there will be peace in Spain. And I need peace here,’ Napoleon added wearily. ‘The men need to return to Germany, and discourage any desire on the part of our Austrian friends to make war on us.’

  Berthier raised his eyebrows and cocked his head to one side.

  ‘You have something to say?’ Napoleon asked. ‘Speak freely.’

  ‘Yes, sire.’ Berthier chewed his lip for a moment before he continued. ‘I fear this war in Spain will be different from those we have fought before.’

  ‘Different?’ Napoleon had finished his chicken leg and now turned his attention to a slice of cheese and a hunk of bread.

  ‘Yes, sire. We are not just waging a war against regular troops. The people of Spain are against us too. Our soldiers dare not forage in small numbers. We have lost many men to groups of villagers, or those rebels who have formed bands and taken to the hills. Scores of our couriers have simply disappeared on the roads. Some bodies have been found, mutilated. As things stand, our commanders are obliged to send two or three squadrons of cavalry to protect their messengers.’

  Napoleon swallowed quickly and lowered his. ‘Then we must respond with the utmost severity. I want every act of rebellion met with reprisals. For every French soldier killed, the nearest village will be burned and ten of its inhabitants put to death. Send that instruction out to every one of our columns at once.’

  ‘Yes, sire,’ Berthier replied quietly.

  ‘You disagree with my suggestion?’

  ‘Of course not, sire. It’s just that I do not see how it might help us to win the people round to supporting King Joseph.’

  Napoleon stared at his chief of staff. ‘Believe me, if we could win over their hearts then I would spare no effort to do so. But we do not have the time for that. I must have order in Spain as soon as possible. The only way to achieve that is by exercising ruthlessness. Spain must be whipped into submission, like a dog. Once these people accept our rule, then we can exercise a degree of leniency. But first we must break their will to resist.’

  Berthier did not look convinced, but he responded, ‘As you order, sire.’

  Napoleon nodded sourly, and bit off another chunk of bread. ‘Yes, as I order. Now then, what of these Spanish soldiers? Do we know how their forces are disposed? Are they still as they were when you reported to me last week?’

  ‘Yes, sire.’ Berthier approached the map and indicated the salient features as he spoke. ‘The enemy appears to be trying to encircle our forces, from the west of the River Ebro, and here to the east at Tarazona. There is a third army to the south of
the Ebro, blocking the route to Burgos.’

  Napoleon wiped his hands on the napkin that had accompanied the plate, then joined Berthier in front of the map and examined it closely for a moment before he spoke. ‘Since our enemies are insistent on dividing their forces and adding to their blunder by advancing to meet us, we shall make the most of their mistake.’ He studied the map and then pointed at the Ebro, where it cut across the north of Spain, above Burgos. ‘The army will cross here, and then Lefebvre and Victor will wheel to the right to cut behind the western thrust of the enemy. Once we are certain we have them trapped then Ney and Lannes can turn to the east and destroy the enemy’s right flank.The rest of the army, under Marshal Bessières, will make for Burgos. As soon as our flanks are secured I will march on Madrid.’

  ‘Yes, sire.’ Berthier nodded, noting the Emperor’s directions.

  Napoleon’s gaze switched towards the lands of Portugal and he tapped his fingers lightly on his lips as he thought. ‘There is one thing that still concerns me.’

  ‘Sire?’

  ‘The British. If General Moore crosses the border into Spain he may cause us some difficulty if he can isolate any of our corps. Notify all our columns. I want any news of the British army’s movements sent directly to me.’

  ‘Yes, sire.’

  ‘Very well then,’ Napoleon concluded.‘If all goes well, the army will take Madrid before the year is out and Joseph will have his throne once and for all.’

  The Army of Spain crossed the Ebro, but despite the simplicity of the Emperor’s plan for the campaign, it was soon beset by problems. Bessières led his army forward at a snail’s pace and Napoleon was forced to replace him with Soult before the vanguard was even in sight of Burgos. The Spanish garrison of the city, some ten thousand proud but foolish men, sallied out of the city to face the French host on a low ridge a short distance from the gates. There they put up a brief fight before being routed and cut to pieces. The following day Napoleon established his headquarters in Burgos and his troops set about sacking the town. Their Emperor hurriedly issued a general order forbidding pillaging and threatening summary justice for any men who defied the order.

  As soon as Burgos was secured, the French columns moved west and east to clear the flanks of the Army of Spain. Then news of a battle fought at Tudela reached headquarters. Marshal Lannes had broken a Spanish army, though much of the enemy force escaped intact due to Ney’s failure to cut off their retreat.

  Napoleon was furious, and immediately sent an order for Ney to report to him at headquarters. Two days later Ney arrived, soaked through, spattered with mud and exhausted after a hard ride from Tudela. He was ushered into the imperial presence immediately and stood to attention under the glowering eyes of the Emperor as rain beat against the windows of the office.

  ‘You have let me down, Ney,’ Napoleon began.‘What is wrong with my commanders that they should fail me so? First Victor underestimates his enemy and leaves his corps strung out and vulnerable to counter-attack. I ask you, how could a man of his experience underestimate the worst army in Europe? Then Lefebvre sends his men in piecemeal attacks against entrenched troops. And now you do not arrive in time at Tudela and the enemy escapes. Tell me, Ney, what is your excuse this time?’

  ‘This time?’ Ney replied with evident ill-temper. ‘And when have I let your majesty down in the past?’

  ‘The past does not matter.’ Napoleon dismissed the comment with a curt wave. ‘You failed to move your army quickly enough. Because of you most of the enemy escaped.’

  ‘Sire, you asked the impossible. When your orders reached me I was required to lead my corps one hundred and twenty miles in three days. Over mountains. It was impossible. No soldiers in the entire army could have done that.’

  ‘It might have been possible had you not rested your men for two days at Soria.’

  ‘It was barely a day, sire. Half the men were straggling. I had to let them catch up or I would not have reached Lannes with enough men to serve any purpose.’

  ‘Rubbish! Davout managed an equally hard march before the Battle of Rivoli.’

  ‘Sire, that was half the distance, over better roads,’ Ney protested.

  ‘You dissemble, Marshal Ney, and you know it.’ Napoleon thrust a finger at him. ‘Admit it, you failed to do your duty.’

  ‘No, sire. I did my duty.’ Ney’s expression hardened.‘What I failed to do was the impossible. If you had considered the matter more closely before you sent me my orders you would surely have seen that.’

  Napoleon breathed in sharply. ‘How dare you speak to me in such a manner!’

  But Ney was not cowed and nodded towards the wall. ‘Look at the map if you don’t believe me. Measure out the distance with those dividers you are so fond of. Then you’ll see I speak the truth.’ Ney paused a moment to control his rising temper. ‘Sire, I serve you loyally. I am a soldier and I obey orders to the utmost of my ability. But if the orders are at fault then I will not take the blame for the consequences. Now, if you feel I have betrayed your confidence, or, indeed, you feel no confidence in my abilities, then dismiss me. I will not be held to account for the failings of another.’ Ney stiffened to attention. ‘Sire.’

  There was silence as the two men glared at each other. The only noise was the rain at the window and occasional dull whirr as a gust of wind swept round the building. Napoleon gritted his teeth. He was enraged by Ney’s defiance and for a while he was almost consumed by the desire to dismiss the marshal on the spot and send him back to France in disgrace. But he was forced to admit that Ney was a fine leader, and a capable subordinate. He had served his country bravely and loyally and been promoted to his present rank by Napoleon himself. Ney was a popular man, both within the army and with the French public. If Napoleon dismissed him now, his own judgement might well be called into question. That would not do. The latest reports from Fouché indicated that the people were becoming increasingly disillusioned with the almost perpetual state of war. Open dissent between the Emperor and his marshals would only increase unrest.

  Napoleon relaxed his jaw.‘Very well then, Marshal Ney. I accept your explanation. This time. But do not fail me again.’

  ‘I did not fail you this time, sire,’ Ney replied gruffly.

  Napoleon lowered his hands below the desk, out of sight, as he clenched them so tightly that every drop of blood drained from his knuckles. ‘You were not where I wanted you to be, and the enemy escaped. However, on reflection, I will not hold you wholly responsible for that.You are dismissed. Return to your corps at once.’

  ‘At once?’ Ney glanced wearily towards the rain-streaked window and sighed.Then he bowed stiffly to the Emperor and turned to march out of the room, closing the door forcefully behind him.

  Napoleon stared at the door for a moment. Then he picked up his dividers and walked across to the map. He adjusted the instrument to fit the scale and measured off the distance that Ney’s corps had been ordered to march. The dividers passed over territory marked as mountainous and broken by many streams and tributaries. For long stretches there were no roads marked on the map. It was, as Ney had said, roughly a hundred and twenty miles. A fresh division of infantry might have encompassed it, Napoleon told himself, but a whole army corps, burdened by its wagons and artillery, could never hope to march such a distance in three days.

  Why had he not seen this? It was a lapse of judgement. He would not have made such an error ten years ago, or even five.Was age making his mind less acute? He dismissed the thought. He was not yet forty, surely not old enough for that. But what if his judgement was at fault? What if the organisational brilliance that had made him the master of Europe had become corrupted by his success? It would not be the first time that a great man had fallen prey to the temptation to view every decision he made as infallible.The prospect appalled him. For a moment Napoleon was furious with himself for not making the correct allowances for Ney’s movement.Then he forced the very idea of it from his mind. It could not be his fau
lt.

  In fact, he recalled that he had given the order without consulting the map. It had been a hectic night when he had dictated his plans to Berthier. Why had Berthier not mentioned the difficulties that Ney would face in keeping to the allotted time for his advance? It was Berthier who had failed him, not Ney. He decided that he must pay closer attention to Berthier from now on. Perhaps the man was growing too old, too weary, to carry the burden of being the Emperor’s chief of staff. Berthier would have to be watched to ensure that he did not make any more such mistakes, Napoleon told himself sadly. Berthier was a good man, but he had let his Emperor down and caused him to blame wrongly a fine officer like Ney. Well, Napoleon comforted himself, his subordinates were only human. Once the campaign was over he would have a word with Berthier and suggest that the chief of staff apologise to Ney for making him the target of Napoleon’s anger.