‘I see. And did you agree with the terms of the armistice, as ratified at Cintra?’
Arthur swallowed nervously, but strained to keep his face calm, and his voice unflustered. ‘There is no simple answer, sir. The object of the campaign was to capture Lisbon and eject French forces from Portugal. The treaty achieved that with no loss of life. To that extent I approved of the treaty.’
‘However?’ Dundas prompted.
‘However, I contend that we should have accepted a few more casualties and pursued and destroyed Junot’s army, and thereby damaged wider French morale and inspired our allies. In addition, I think the terms agreed were over-generous to our enemy and have damaged the reputation of Britain. Having defeated Junot, it was absurd to permit his army to be returned to France, rather than be taken into captivity.’
Dundas narrowed his eyes. ‘You are a master of understatement, General Wellesley. However, I feel it only fair to inform you that Sir Hew Dalrymple is unequivocal in ascribing the blame for the treaty to you.’
Arthur felt a cold chill of anger grip his heart.‘I fail to see how I can be held to account for the treaty. If General Dalrymple refused to heed any of my advice in the conduct of the campaign, I am certainly not answerable for the consequences.’
Dundas looked away and conferred quietly with the other panel members, making a few more notes on the papers before him.At length he turned back to Arthur and continued questioning him on more precise details for the next hour, after which Arthur was permitted to leave.
For the next week other officers were called before the inquiry, and then the panel retired to consider the evidence and write their report.As Arthur waited, he made preparations to return to Dublin with Kitty and the children to resume his civilian duties at the castle, but he could not help considering his prospects.At best, he would be cleared of any blame, but he knew that the stigma of the Cintra treaty might stick to his name for many years to come, unless he had the chance to fight again and win a victory that would expunge his part in the armistice.At worst, he faced public censure and would be stripped of his post of Chief Secretary, with no hope of achieving high office at any future date.
Kitty and the boys went back to Dublin, but Arthur lingered in London, feeling he was in a peculiar state of limbo. His friends and acquaintances remained slightly at a distance, as if he had some kind of illness, and yet inside he felt certain that he would not be censured by Sir David Dundas and his colleagues.The fact that it had been a military inquiry, rather than a parliamentary one, was a considerable source of comfort in such politically partisan times.
The wait dragged by, and Arthur’s spirits settled lower and lower, until three days before Christmas. He was taking breakfast, alone, when he heard a loud knock at the front door. A moment later a footman opened the door. There was a short, muffled exchange, then footsteps pounded down the hall and the door to the dining room burst open. William stood on the threshold, breathing hard, eyes wide with excitement.
‘Good God,’ Arthur exclaimed. ‘What on earth is the matter with you?’
‘Just . . . come . . . from my club.’ William struggled to catch his breath, and swallowed before continuing.‘One of the others . . . brought news of the inquiry.They’ve just published.’
Arthur froze, knife and fork poised over his lamb chops. ‘Well?’
‘They’ve approved the treaty . . . six votes to one. There’ll be no action taken against you or the others.’
Arthur nodded slowly. Inside he felt no joy or sense of vindication, only a sudden heavy weariness. It was over, then. Dundas and the others had decided to close ranks and protect their fellow generals, and the radical press and politicians would howl with protest that they had been denied their prey.
‘You’re in the clear,’ William continued. ‘You must show your face around London, and in Parliament. There’s a reputation to rebuild. So what do you intend to do?’
‘Do?’ Arthur replied calmly. ‘I intend to finish my breakfast. Then I shall complete my arrangements to re-join my wife and children in Dublin.’
Chapter 52
Napoleon
Madrid, December 1808
‘And there’s another message from his majesty the King of Spain and the Indies,’ said Berthier, holding out a brief note towards the Emperor. Napoleon glanced sharply at his chief of staff, to discern whether Berthier was being ironic. It was out of character for Berthier, but Napoleon wondered if there was a feeling of disrespect for Joseph within the army. Certainly his brother had never shown any desire, or ability, for military affairs. It was possible that as far as the army was concerned the feeling was mutual. That pricked Napoleon’s sense of loyalty to his older brother and he stared suspiciously at Berthier, who was still holding the message out towards him. Napoleon did not reach for it.
‘What does my brother have to say?’
‘His majesty asks to be informed when he might avail himself of the opportunity to enter his capital.’
Napoleon smiled to himself.That sounded precisely like the kind of message Joseph would send. He had trained as a lawyer in his youth and it seemed that the cumbersome turn of phrase of the legal trade had left its mark on him for ever.
Berthier cleared his throat. ‘Do you wish to reply to his majesty, sire?’
‘Yes. Tell him that I am still dealing with the arrangements for his reception here.’ Napoleon paused an instant before continuing. ‘Inform his majesty that I am in the process of reforming the institutions of his kingdom. Once said reforms are operative he may resume his occupation of the throne. Or something like that.’ Napoleon smiled. ‘That should keep him happy for now.’
‘Yes, sire.’ Berthier nodded. ‘But I assume that his majesty’s impatience to enter the capital cannot be assuaged for much longer.’
Napoleon’s expression hardened.‘My brother will wait until I decide that conditions here are appropriate for his return. Before then the government must be reformed, the remaining rebels crushed, and the British chased back into the Atlantic. Now, if that is the last of the morning despatches, I have other matters to attend to.’
‘Yes, sire.’ Berthier bowed his head and backed away two steps before turning and leaving the Emperor’s office. Once the door had closed Napoleon lowered his gaze to the notes on his desk. They concerned the tax system of Spain and had been compiled for him by one of the officials at the treasury. The arrangements were hopelessly complicated and inefficient and it was a wonder that any revenue was ever collected. Napoleon had been making his own notes alongside the official’s to begin with but it was clear that the system was beyond redemption.
Accordingly, he had begun to draft his own system and would have it ready for implementation before Joseph took control of the country again. It was not that his brother lacked the wit to make such necessary reforms, Napoleon reflected, it was just that he lacked the iron will necessary to force such measures through. Given the present intransigence of the people it would be folly to attempt to negotiate the changes. Better to present them as a fait accompli and implement them by force if required. Particularly in view of the other reforms that Napoleon had planned.
The Inquisition was to be abolished, and the number of religious orders reduced, thereby cutting down the financial burden of the Church on the Spanish people. When Napoleon had announced his plans to Joseph’s ministers they had reacted with horror, warning him that the people would not tolerate such changes, even though the reforms would undoubtedly improve the governance of Spain. Napoleon had addressed them firmly. The reforms would be made, and implemented fully. He had spoken.
It had been nearly two weeks since Madrid had fallen and Napoleon had spent most of the time devoting his energies to drafting his plans for Spain. Some eighty thousand men were camping in an arc round the south and east of the capital and another forty thousand were billeted in Madrid itself. Soon General Junot would be joining them, having marched directly from France the moment his troops had been repatriated by the British navy. On
ce he had attended to the political situation Napoleon would lead his armies in the next, and final, stage of his conquest of Spain and Portugal.There were only two enemy forces to deal with. A Spanish army concentrated around Seville, and the British army of General Moore, which had emerged from its lair in Portugal to interfere with events in Spain.
As December wore on, the temperature steadily dropped and the nights were cold. The troops camped outside the capital had soon recovered from their march to Madrid and now that they were fed and rested they were keen to complete the campaign and return to France. The inhospitality of the climate, the hostility of the people and the scarcity of food to forage and property to loot had combined to undermine the morale of the French soldiers.They had complained to their officers, who had complained to their commanders, who had reported the mood of their men to imperial headquarters.The Emperor had long since discovered the best medicine for such disgruntlement and immediately gave orders for the army to hold a review in the centre of Madrid. That would serve the double purpose of raising the morale of his army as well as impressing upon the Spanish the might of the army they had dared to oppose.
The review was scheduled for the nineteenth of December and the day was overcast and chilly as the first division marched through the streets of Madrid towards the royal palace, where the Emperor and his staff stood watching on a balcony. With regimental colours raised high and buttons and boots polished to a high gleam, the men let out a lusty cheer that echoed back off the palace walls as they passed the Emperor and snapped their eyes to the right. Napoleon raised his hat to acknowledge them, with a smile. Once the entire division was formed up, he descended from the balcony and began a close inspection of his soldiers, stopping regularly to question individuals, and to award medals and other rewards to those who had been singled out for their courage by their superiors.
It was as he was handing a sword to the captain of the first company to enter Madrid that a staff officer came running up to Berthier and muttered something to him in a low voice. Napoleon was aware of the interruption but continued his congratulations to the captain before he passed on, with a brief gesture to Berthier to accompany him.
‘What is the news?’
‘A message from General Dumas, sire. He reports that his scouts have observed elements of the British army advancing towards Marshal Soult.’
‘Soult?’ Napoleon drew up and closed his eyes, visualising the disposition of his forces across Spain. Of all the major formations in his army, Soult’s was one of the weakest, comprising twelve thousand infantry and two thousand cavalry. It was tasked with policing the regions of Castille and León. In a moment Napoleon grasped the danger to which he had exposed Soult. His eyes flicked open and he turned to Berthier. ‘What else did General Dumas have to say?’
Berthier looked uneasy as he replied, ‘Dumas has taken it upon himself to divert forces to support Soult. I have told his staff officer to ride back and order Dumas to halt his movements pending approval from imperial headquarters. He is also to send patrols out to find the British army and confirm their position.’
Napoleon considered Berthier’s decisions for a moment and then shook his head.‘No. Cancel your orders. Dumas did the right thing.The British are more daring than I had thought. General Moore seeks to isolate and destroy Soult . . . Well then, we shall turn the tables on Moore. If we can move swiftly enough we can trap the British between Soult and the forces that are camped around Madrid.’ Napoleon smiled. ‘Imagine it, Berthier. The annihilation of Britain’s only field army.Their government would not survive such a catastrophe. This could be the very chance I have always sought to bring this war to an end!’
He clasped his hands together and nodded towards the division standing silently behind the two officers.‘Cancel the review. Send word to all divisional commanders to have their men ready to march at once. And have all my senior officers summoned to the palace. The fates are with us, Berthier.Within a month we will have caught and crushed the British army.’
Orders for the redirection of the campaign flowed out of imperial headquarters over the following two days.The day after the news of the British move had arrived, Marshal Ney’s corps was already on the march, climbing over the pass through the Guadarrama mountains to Villacastin. Napoleon remained in Madrid long enough to see his brother installed in the royal palace, protected by thirty-five thousand men under the command of Marshal Lefebvre. Joseph was left with strict instructions to ensure that the Madrid newspapers reported that the British army was trapped and would be crushed within weeks. Satisfied that he had set in motion a host of men to catch and trap the British, Napoleon set off from Madrid a day later.
Winter had set in with a vengeance as they approached the mountains, which were shrouded in a thick layer of snow. A biting cold wind was blasting down from the north and made the going tough even before the column reached the bottom of the route leading up into the pass. There they camped for the night, taking advantage of any shelter from the wind that they could find in peasant hovels and behind low walls and rocky outcrops. The men huddled round fires that flared and roared as they were discovered by stray blasts of the wind. It was almost impossible to sleep in the icy cold of the night, and before dawn thick flakes were borne down on the howling wind to swirl around the shivering men and horses of the French army.
As dawn broke faintly across the bleak landscape the men shook themselves free of the snow and prepared to climb up the slope to the pass. Napoleon watched as the infantry formed up in long shivering columns and the artillery train harnessed their horses to the limbers and caissons.The men were silent and any attempt at levity in the ranks died away almost as soon as it began. The dragoons of the Imperial Guard were the first to advance up the slope. Both men and mounts lowered their heads into the wind that howled down from the pass as they trudged forward. Napoleon had ridden a little way ahead and watched as the dragoons passed by with hardly a sound. The thick snow had deadened the sound of their progress and fresh flurries added to the drifts that had formed across the narrow winding track.They advanced slowly, and eventually the tail of the column disappeared into the snowstorm, as the first of the infantry battalions made ready to follow.
In less than an hour a messenger arrived from the commander of the dragoons. His breath burst from his lips in ragged puffs that were instantly ripped away by the wind as he reported to the Emperor.
‘Sire, the colonel begs to inform you that his men can go no further. The colonel has halted to await orders.’
‘Await orders? The colonel has his orders! Tell him to keep moving. I will not have my army held up because the colonel can’t bear a little cold.’
The messenger bowed his head, and then looked up nervously.‘I beg your pardon, sire, but my colonel is right. It is not possible to advance any further.’
‘And why not?’ Napoleon asked tersely. ‘Explain.’
‘Sire, the conditions up there are far worse than they are here. The wind is so strong that our horses can barely stay on their legs, while the riders are nearly being swept from their saddles when the gusts strike. Then there’s the ground, sire. There’s ice under the snow, and now the first squadron’s hooves have cleared the snow away the rest of the regiment are struggling to keep their footing.’
‘Excuses!’ Napoleon snapped. ‘You ride back and tell the colonel to keep advancing. I don’t care how strong the wind is, and I don’t care about the ice.You tell him I don’t care if he has to make his way across the pass on his belly, pulling his horse behind him. I don’t care what he says. It is possible. It will be done.You tell him.’
The messenger looked as if he was about to make a further protest, but there had been a dangerous tone in Napoleon’s voice, and he saluted instead. ‘Yes, sire.’
Once the dragoon had turned his horse back to the slope and was trotting it carefully through the thicker snow along the side of the track Napoleon nudged his spurs in and walked his own mount on to the slope. Followed by his esc
ort he began the ascent. The horses and men who had already passed that way had packed the snow down, and stretches of the track were already compacted into sheets of ice that gleamed like marble. The iron-shod boots of the infantry had some purchase on the ground, but the horses began to slither dangerously as Napoleon and his party pressed on.
‘Clear the way there!’ a sergeant called out as he saw the imperial party struggle to pass by. The infantry moved stiffly to the sides of the track. Napoleon noticed that there were none of the usual cries of‘Long live the Emperor!’ as he rode through them. Instead, the men glared sullenly at him.
‘Someone shoot the devil!’ a voice called out when Napoleon had ridden by. He checked the impulse to turn round, and stared fixedly ahead. It would not do to try to find the man and punish him. It would only depress morale still further, and cause the advance to be delayed. Not one of the officers or sergeants amongst the infantry stirred at the man’s cry.The Emperor bit back on his anger and pretended not to have heard as he continued up the slope.
‘Will no one shoot him and put an end to this misery?’ the voice called out again. ‘You cowards!’
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