‘But not you.’
‘No.’ The clerk nodded down. ‘Club foot. First time it’s been any use to me.’
‘I see.’ Napoleon frowned. ‘Then where’s the nearest blacksmith?’
‘There was one at Ollioules, but he was taken into the army as well.You could try General Carteaux’s headquarters.They’ll know where our blacksmith is. Last I heard the army was camped close to Ollioules.’
‘How far’s that?’
‘An hour’s ride down the road towards Toulon.’
‘Damn!’ Napoleon clenched his fist. It had been a long tiring day and the prospect of spending several hours organising the repair to the wagon wheel made him angry.
The clerk watched him for a moment, then added, ‘You could try the inn on the other side of the square.’
‘Oh?’
‘There should be a few of Carteaux’s staff officers there. They might be able to give you directions and the authority to use the blacksmith. That is, if they’re not too busy toadying up to the representatives.’
Napoleon’s eyebrows rose. ‘What representatives?’
‘From the Committee of Public Safety. They’ve been sent down here to make sure that Carteaux does a thorough job on those royalist bastards down in Toulon.’
Napoleon’s pulse quickened. The representatives of the Committee were the driving force behind France’s armies. It was the representatives who had the power to promote successful officers and dismiss those who failed to perform diligently enough, or who even seemed to be tarred by bad luck. He stared at the clerk.
‘Who are they?’
‘Fréron and Saliceti.’
‘Saliceti?’ Napoleon shook his head in surprise. The last time he had seen the man was back in Paris, when Saliceti had tasked him with spying on Paoli. And now he was a representative. For a moment Napoleon wondered if it might be better to avoid Saliceti, given the way things had turned out in Corsica. But then he reasoned that it was not his fault. He had done all that Saliceti had asked of him. In fact, it was Saliceti who was in Napoleon’s debt, something that Napoleon might be able to exploit. Not that great men were inclined to think well of those who reminded them of such debts, Napoleon mused. Still . . . unless he dared to face the man he would never know if he had passed up just the kind of opportunity he so desperately needed right now. He glanced at the clerk again. ‘This Fréron - what’s he like?’
The clerk shrugged and replied cautiously.‘I couldn’t really say. I’ve hardly met the man . . .’
‘And?’ Napoleon prompted.
‘All I know is that he used to publish a Jacobin newspaper in Paris. So he’s got powerful connections. The kind of man who would make you very careful of what you say in front of him, if you get my meaning, Captain.’
‘I understand.’ Napoleon nodded. ‘Very well. Thank you, citizen.’
The clerk dipped his head in acknowledgement and then returned to his paperwork as the artillery captain left the office and strode across the small village square to the inn on the far side. Two National Guardsmen were lounging on a bench beside the entrance and they rose to their feet and reached for their muskets at Napoleon’s approach. One raised his arm to prevent Napoleon entering the inn.
‘Excuse me, sir. What’s your business?’
‘Business?’ Napoleon glared back at the man. ‘My business is my own, soldier. Now let me pass.’
The man shook his head. ‘Sorry, Captain. This building has been requisitioned by the representatives. It’s off limits to everyone but staff officers.’
‘I’m here to see Citizen Saliceti,’ Napoleon replied firmly. ‘He is a friend of mine.’
‘A friend?’ the guard repeated with a faint mocking tone.
‘Yes, a friend,’ said Napoleon. ‘If you will not let me pass, then tell him Captain Buona Parte would be pleased to have the chance to speak with him.’
For a moment the National Guardsman hesitated, then he turned to his comrade. ‘You keep watch while I’m gone.’
He stepped inside and swung the door to behind him, and Napoleon heard his footsteps echo off the wooden floor as the man crossed the room beyond. There was a muttered exchange, then the door opened again and the National Guardsman waved Napoleon inside. ‘Citizen Saliceti will see you.’
It was gloomy inside, though rosy fingers of light shone through the open shutters on the far wall. Two men in unbuttoned gold-laced jackets were sitting at a table, hunched over some maps spread out between them. The scraps of a generous meal rested on two large plates to one side. One man was stocky and balding and wore spectacles. He stared at Napoleon with an irritable expression as he approached the table.The other man rose to his feet and stretched out his hand in greeting.
‘Buona Parte! Haven’t seen you for months. Well, not since . . .’
‘Not since Paris, citizen. When you asked me to return to Corsica.’
‘Ah yes,’ Saliceti smiled awkwardly. ‘An unfortunate outcome, my friend.You were lucky to escape with your life.’
Napoleon shrugged. ‘You might say that, but that is all that my family did escape with. We lost everything when we were forced to leave.’
The other representative, Fréron, sniffed. ‘The revolution has meant sacrifices for us all, young man.’
Napoleon’s gaze flickered towards the remains of their meal as he replied, ‘Evidently.’
Fréron hissed,‘It would be wise to show me the respect due to a representative of the Convention, Captain.’
Saliceti intervened with a chuckle. ‘Peace, Citizen Fréron. My young friend meant no offence. Besides, he is a professional soldier, and they are inclined to express themselves bluntly.’
‘A soldier?’ Fréron looked over the slight young man standing before them and obviously did not much approve of what he saw. ‘If this boy is typical of the officers who are leading our armies then our cause is as good as lost.’
Napoleon felt his blood chill in his veins as he fought to hold back his anger. He glared at Fréron, but kept his lips pressed together. Fréron smiled at his expression before he turned back to Saliceti. ‘Officers . . . Pah! If our officers are so good then why are the enemies of France driving us back on every front? We should shoot a few more of ’em to make sure the rest perform their duties properly.’
Saliceti raised a hand to calm his companion down. ‘Yes, yes. You’ve explained your ideas about motivating our men many times, citizen. And, in part, I agree with you. But Captain Buona Parte here has the makings of a fine officer, and he’s a good Jacobin - one of us - so please, cast no aspersions on his loyalty to the revolution.’
Fréron did not look convinced and merely shrugged dismissively. ‘If you say so. But I’ve seen little evidence of much loyalty or competence amongst the officers round here. We must count ourselves fortunate that Carteaux was available to take command of the army. He’s done fine work in putting down those rebels in Lyons and Avignon. And soon he’ll have sorted out that nest of traitors in Toulon.’
‘Yes, I’m sure he will,’ Saliceti said smoothly.‘For a man of such limited military experience he has proved to be formidable in putting down these revolts.’
‘Military experience is nothing compared to the power of revolutionary zeal.’ Fréron’s eyes glittered behind the glass of his spectacles.‘It is through that power that the revolution will succeed.’
Napoleon listened in contempt. Zeal was only one of the forces that officers must harness. But on its own it was as much a danger as a virtue. Fréron was clear proof of the need for military matters to be left in the hands of soldiers, not politicians.
‘Of course our leaders need zeal,’ Saliceti agreed.‘But that isn’t going to help General Carteaux much right now. What he needs is reinforcements.’The representative turned towards Napoleon to explain further. ‘Since the rebels surrendered Toulon to the British, the enemy have been pouring men into the defences. Besides the British, they’ve landed a strong force of Spanish troops, as well as some
Sardinian and Neapolitan forces. We’ve sent for reinforcements, but what the general really needs are specialists in siegecraft. Particularly now that he’s lost Captain Dommartin.’
‘Captain Dommartin?’
‘He was Carteaux’s artillery commander. Badly wounded over a week ago. Now the good general says that there’s little he can do until Dommartin is replaced. We’ve sent word to the Army of the Alps to find someone, and until they do, our men can do nothing but sit on their arses and keep watch on Toulon.’
Napoleon felt his brain reel with the implications of this news. How unfortunate for Dommartin. How fortunate for Napoleon, if only he could persuade Saliceti and, more importantly, Fréron. He cleared his throat.
‘Citizens, if I might make a suggestion?’
‘What?’ Fréron looked at him impatiently.‘What is it, Captain? Speak up.’
‘As Citizen Saliceti is aware, I am an artillery officer.’ Napoleon stiffened his posture. ‘I could take command of General Carteaux’s artillery.’
‘You?’ Fréron shook his head.‘Why should we choose you? We need a specialist in siegecraft.’
‘I am a specialist,’ Napoleon replied firmly. ‘I have studied the subject in depth, and came top of my class at the military academy in Paris.’ It was a lie, but Fréron could not know that. The only risk was that Saliceti might recall the details of Napoleon’s record.
‘That’s no good. We need a man of experience, not a schoolboy, no matter how promising you may be.’
Napoleon sensed the opportunity slipping from his grasp and took a step closer to Fréron, leaning forward slightly to emphasise his words. ‘I can replace Dommartin. Give me the cannon and I will deliver Toulon to you.’ He turned to Saliceti.‘Just give me the chance to prove it. That’s all I ask.’
‘That’s all you ask?’ Fréron laughed.‘Not much then. Send this boy away, Saliceti, and let’s get back to work.’
‘Wait!’ Napoleon grasped Saliceti’s sleeve. ‘What have you got to lose by appointing me? I trained at the best artillery school in Europe. Besides, you need someone to command the artillery and I’m the only officer here who can do it.’
‘Well . . .’
‘At least appoint me until Dommartin’s replacement arrives. I can start work on the siege batteries. It’ll mean the new commander of artillery can press ahead with the siege as soon as he arrives.’
Saliceti pursed his lips thoughtfully. ‘That’s true.’
Fréron snorted. ‘Oh, come now, Saliceti! He’s wasting our time.’
‘No. No, he’s not. Captain Buona Parte could save us time, like he says.We’ve nothing to lose in appointing him.Who knows, we may even have plenty to gain. I say we appoint him. We’ll do it on my authority, if you don’t want to share the responsibility.’
Napoleon kept quite still during this last exchange, hardly daring to breathe while his immediate fate was being decided. If Saliceti had his way then Napoleon would be going into combat. Laying siege to a heavily fortified town was a dirty and dangerous business, as Captain Dommartin had discovered. It might well be the death of Napoleon. But the alternative - an endless procession of ammunition convoys grinding across the uneven roads and tracks of southern France - was too much to bear.
Fréron leaned back in his chair.‘You’ll put that in writing?’ He gave a cold smile as he scented the advantage he might wring out of the situation.
Saliceti nodded. ‘I will.’
‘All right then. On your authority. And until his replacement turns up.’
‘I agree.’ Saliceti turned to Napoleon. ‘I’ll have my clerk draw up your orders at once.You can wait outside.’
‘Thank you, sir.’ Napoleon smiled. ‘I promise, you won’t regret this.’
‘You had better make sure of it, Captain. I’m sure you can imagine the fate that awaits you, should you fail.’
Chapter 74
General Carteaux was an imposing figure. Tall, broad-shouldered and, as befitted a former cavalry trooper, he had a dark curly moustache. He muttered softly as he read through the document that the young artillery officer had presented to him. Outside the tent the sounds of the encamped army filled the air - the whinnying of horses, the casual conversation of men off duty and the harsh cries of drill sergeants.
Napoleon had handed command of the ammunition convoy over to one of his lieutenants at first light. Taking one of the horses, he had then ridden hard down the road to Ollioules to find the headquarters of General Carteaux. As soon as he had finished reading Saliceti’s letter of appointment Carteaux looked up.
‘Captain Buona Parte, your credentials are impressive. Citizen Saliceti speaks very highly of you. He seems to think you can be of considerable assistance to me.’
‘I hope so, sir.’
‘So do I. But let me make one thing quite clear.’ Carteaux stabbed his finger at Napoleon. ‘This is my army, and I was soldiering when lads like you were still sucking at your mother’s tit. I know what I’m doing and I don’t take kindly to anyone telling me how to do my job.’ He leaned back. ‘I had enough of that from Dommartin.You artillery types think you know it all.’
Napoleon kept his mouth shut. There was nothing he could say without provoking this man’s prejudices even further. It was better to weather his abuse and then get on with the job. He changed the subject.
‘Sir, may I ask what your plans are for the siege?’
‘My plans?’ Carteaux smiled faintly. ‘My plans are for me to know and you to carry out.’
‘Of course, sir. But if you could let me know my part in them, then I can make sure the guns are ready to serve your needs.’
‘Very well.’ Carteaux eased himself to his feet and, picking up a telescope from the top of his travel chest, he headed for the entrance to the tent. ‘Follow me, and I’ll explain.’
Outside he led Napoleon to a small mound. From its crest the ground rolled downhill and there, maybe three miles away, lay the great port of Toulon, nestling beneath Mount Faron at the head of the inner harbour, where a great fleet of warships lay at anchor. Carteaux regarded the scene for a moment before addressing Napoleon.
‘It’s going to be a hard nut to crack. Besides the defences of the town itself, there’s a number of forts that ring the port. The three largest are Malbousquet, there nearest us, LaMalgue on the far side of the harbour, and the fort on top of Mount Faron. We must take all three if we are to control the approaches to Toulon. And then,’ Carteaux waved a hand over the shipping in the harbour, ‘there’s the enemy fleet to deal with.We’ve counted over twenty ships of the line so far, and there’s rumoured to be even more on the way.’
‘Rumoured?’
‘We have our spies in Toulon. They keep us well enough informed on the enemy’s strength and positions. At the moment, so they tell us, the enemy has over ten thousand men in Toulon. I have twelve thousand. So I must wait until I am heavily reinforced before I begin my attack. In the meantime, I want the cannon brought up ready to support my infantry when they assault the forts. That, Captain Buona Parte, is your job.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Now, I expect you will want to inspect your new command.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Very well. The artillery park is down the hill there.’ He indicated a motley collection of tents some distance behind the crudely fortified positions of the advance posts. To one side sprawled the gun carriages and limbers of Carteaux’s artillery train. There was little sense of order and the few men that were visible were sitting idly by a handful of smouldering campfires.
Carteaux nodded in their direction.‘Off you go then, Captain. I want a report on the artillery’s battle-readiness by the end of the day. Might as well do something useful before your replacement arrives.’
‘Yes, sir.’ Napoleon stood to attention and saluted formally. Carteaux nodded his head in acknowledgement and then strode back to his tent.
As he made his way down the slope Napoleon passed through the encampments
of one of the regular infantry battalions. The men watched him sullenly as he passed by; only a few of them bothered to stand and salute. Even though the tents had been erected in straight lines the latrine ditches had been dug a short distance from the camp and were so shallow that they were already overflowing, and Napoleon wrinkled his nose in disgust as he hurried past them.
When he reached the artillery park he took a deep breath and marched up to the nearest campfire where three men sat smoking pipes. At the sound of his approach the men turned towards him but made no attempt to stand up and salute Napoleon.
‘On your feet!’ he shouted. ‘Who the hell do you think you are?’
The three men rose and reluctantly adopted a more formal posture as they saluted. Napoleon’s eyes blazed as he stepped up to the nearest man and knocked his pipe to the ground. ‘What’s your name, soldier?’
‘Corporal Macon, sir.’
‘Corporal? Where’s your stripe then?’
‘With my kit, sir.’
‘Then that’s where it can stay.You’re Private Macon from now on.’
The soldier’s eyes widened in surprise. ‘You can’t do that!’
‘I’m your new commander,’ Napoleon growled.‘I can do what I like, Private.’
‘No.’ Macon shook his head. ‘I protest.’
‘Protest noted, and you’re on a charge for insubordination.’ Before the man could reply Napoleon turned to one of the other men. ‘Name?’
‘Private Barbet, sir.’ The man stood to attention, as stiffly as he could.
‘Right then, Barbet, who’s the senior officer in the camp?’
‘The officers are in Ollioules, sir.’
‘Ollioules?’
‘At the inn, sir.’
Napoleon’s expression darkened. ‘What kind of a miserable excuse for soldiers are you lot?’
The three soldiers stared straight ahead silently, not daring to meet his gaze.
‘Pah!’ Napoleon spat on the ground. ‘You’re a fucking disgrace!’
‘What the hell’s going on here?’ a voice called out behind the soldiers, and an instant later a young sergeant thrust his way through the soldiers and stopped in surprise as he caught sight of Napoleon.
Young Bloods Page 48
