Fire and Sword (55 page)
Authors: Simon Scarrow
Napoleon was riding in his carriage with General Junot and Berthier, and had spent most of the short journey swapping memories of the campaigns they had shared. At length there was a lull in the conversation, and then Napoleon suddenly leaned forward and tapped Junot’s knee.
‘You have not asked me why you are travelling in my carriage.’
Junot shrugged. ‘It is not my place to question your decisions, sire.’
‘Of course not.’ Napoleon grinned. ‘But you are curious, eh?’
‘Yes, sire.’
Napoleon leaned back and crossed his arms, enjoying his friend’s suspense for a moment. ‘General Junot, I have the pleasure of offering you the command of the newly formed Army of the Gironde. Do you accept?’
Junot smiled broadly. ‘It would be an honour, sire. I thank you with all my heart.What are my orders?’
‘You will have them in good time. Suffice to say, you will in all probability be enjoying the sights of Lisbon before the year is out.’
‘Lisbon?’ Junot’s eyes widened. ‘You mean to attack Portugal, sire?’
Napoleon frowned. ‘Lower your voice! There are foreign diplomats ahead of and behind us, including, I might add, the Portuguese ambassador.’
‘I apologise, sire.’
Napoleon dismissed it with a quick wave of his hand. ‘We will talk more on this later, Junot. I just wished to let you know about your appointment. No doubt you are wondering why I picked you.’
‘It had crossed my mind, sire.’
‘You have proved to be a good soldier, Junot, and a loyal one. We have known each other since you were my sergeant at Toulon, and I was a mere captain of artillery.’ Napoleon glanced out of the carriage window. ‘It seems so long ago now.’
The Emperor fell silent and Junot glanced towards Berthier with a questioning look.The chief of staff shrugged faintly.
Napoleon’s gaze fixed on his hands. It was over twelve years since he and Junot had won their spurs in the siege of Toulon. Much had happened between then and now, and suddenly Napoleon felt older than his years. The strength of will and swiftness of mind that had singled him out from his peers as a young man were starting to fade. His once thin face and slender body had been replaced by rounded, overindulged features and a creeping portliness. He was suddenly overwhelmed by a sense of disgust at the changes in his body.Very well, then. If he could stay young in body, he would stay agile in thought. His eyes flashed up towards Berthier.
‘Is everything in hand for the shoot?’
‘Yes, sire. It has all been taken care of. Even the weather.’ Berthier nodded towards the cerulean sky and laughed.
But Napoleon just nodded, absent-mindedly, and muttered, ‘Good. That’s good.’
Once the guests had arrived, and been served with wine and snacks by the imperial footmen, they began to congregate in groups, filling the air with good-humoured conversation, punctuated by laughter. Napoleon, with a small entourage, moved amongst them, greeting his guests, sharing jokes with old comrades and making flirtatious exchanges with the most beautiful of the women. Then he paused as he saw the Portuguese ambassador in earnest conversation with a small group of foreign dignitaries on the periphery of the party.
‘Excuse me,’ Napoleon said tersely to his followers. ‘Wait here.’
He strode across the trampled grass and the Portuguese ambassador fell silent as the Austrian diplomat, Prince Metternich, nudged his arm.
‘A word with you,’ Napoleon called out as he strode up to them and the other men at once stepped back to make space for the French Emperor. Napoleon rounded on the Portuguese ambassador. ‘I am still waiting for your King to respond to my demands. Well? Heard anything?’
The ambassador bowed his head and replied in a subdued tone,‘Alas, no, your majesty.’
‘I see.’ Napoleon frowned. ‘This discourtesy has gone on long enough. I will not endure it, do you hear? If your King does not do what I want, then he and the house of Braganza will no longer rule Portugal a few months from now.You tell him that. And tell him that with Russia as my ally there is nothing that can stand in the way of France now. Nothing!’ Napoleon glared round at the other diplomats and continued in a menacing tone, ‘And if there is any other nation in Europe that chooses to defy me by receiving any British envoys, I will declare war on them too. I will not be defied, gentlemen.’ He stood there a moment, to make sure they could see that he was serious, then wagged a finger at them and turned to stride back towards his entourage.
All the guests had fallen silent at the sound of his raised voice, and now there was a pause before conversation resumed, a low, nervous muttering which only gradually built up to the former light-hearted hubbub.
After lunch, the male guests strolled down to the shooting line on a raised bank and took up their weapons. Before them lay a vast cropped meadow, and beyond that a small forest.The cages containing the rabbits had been set up a short distance in front of the shooters with the beaters standing ready to drive them forward, in front of the guns of the imperial party. When all the guests had loaded guns held ready and stood in tense expectation, Bethier gave the signal to the senior huntsman, who cupped his hands to his mouth and bellowed,‘Loose the rabbits!’
The pegs were pulled free and the doors swung open as the beaters whacked the rear of the cages with their sticks. At once scores of rabbits bounded free, their tails bobbing up and down like balls of cotton.They hopped a short distance and then began to stop and turn, glancing round curiously.
Napoleon hissed impatiently, waiting for the rabbits to move beyond the beaters so that he could get a clear shot. But the rabbits, as if of one will, had turned round and were already hopping back, darting between the cages and the legs of the beaters as they made for the bank where the shooters stood watching in growing astonishment.
‘What the hell?’ Napoleon growled. He glanced towards Berthier. ‘What is going on? Why don’t they run away?’
Berthier shook his head in bewilderment as the rabbits surged up the bank. He called out to the senior huntsman. ‘What is the meaning of this?’
The huntsman ran over and bowed his head. ‘Sir?’
‘What are the rabbits doing?’ asked Berthier anxiously as he watched Napoleon lower his gun and kick out at a small crowd of rabbits clustered at his feet.
The huntsman bit his lip. ‘These rabbits, sir. Can I ask if you bought ’em wild, or tame?’
‘They’re from a breeder.Why?’
‘So they’re tame.’ The huntsman nodded. ‘That’s it then. They must think the shooters have come to feed them.’
The blood drained from Berthier’s face. ‘Oh, no . . .’
He looked round and saw the line of shooters besieged by the wave of hungry rabbits. Already some of the Emperor’s guests were in a retreat, some angered and some amused as the little beasts followed them. Then, as a fluke waft of breeze brought the scent of the banquet down the slope, the rabbits rose on their haunches, tiny noses quivering, and then surged up the slope. Berthier’s heart sank at the sight.
‘Berthier!’ Napoleon called out furiously. ‘You fool! You dunderhead! ’
Throwing down his weapon in disgust, the Emperor stalked back up the hill towards his carriage. The first of the rabbits had reached the tables and the more hysterical of the female guests were rushing for the shelter of the carriages, some screaming. Berthier looked round, mouth agape, as picnic tables were upset and men and rabbits ran hither and thither in the chaos.
Reaching his carriage, Napoleon climbed the steps and threw himself down on the seat, slamming the door behind him. And then froze. Sitting on the opposite seat was a small rabbit, watching him warily.
‘Bastard,’ Napoleon muttered, launching himself across the gap and grasping a handful of writhing fur and kicking feet. Holding it at arm’s length, he thrust the rabbit towards the carriage window and dropped it on the ground. ‘Driver!’
‘Sir?’
‘Take me back.’
‘To Fontainebleau, sir?’
‘Where else, you idiot?’
The driver cracked his whip and the carriage lurched forward. Ignoring the scene outside, Napoleon slumped down, arms crossed, the darkest of expressions on his face.
He did not move until the carriage stopped in front of the entrance to his country house, and then he climbed down from the coach as swiftly as possible and strode up the stairs to the door being held open for him by a footman. Inside, the hall seemed dark and cold after the dazzling light and warmth of the summer day, and Napoleon paused to let his eyes adjust. Halfway down the hall a figure abruptly rose from one of the padded benches outside the Emperor’s suite of offices.
‘Who’s that?’ Napoleon called out as the figure marched towards him.
‘Courier from Paris, sire.’ The figure halted and dimly Napoleon made out the features of a young dragoon officer. The officer saluted crisply and held out a despatch. ‘From the War Office.’
Napoleon tore open the seal and opened the document out. He moved back into the light beaming from the entrance and read the contents through quickly, then the main points once more, before he folded it up again and thrust it towards the courier.
‘Take this. Do you know the estate at Cerbière?’
‘Y-yes, sire. I think so.’
‘Well, do you or don’t you?’
‘I do, sir.’
‘Then ride there as fast as you can. Ask for the shooting party, and then find Marshal Berthier.Tell him I want him back here immediately. Tell him the British have landed an army in Denmark. Got that?’
‘Yes, sire.’ The officer nodded. ‘Denmark.’
Denmark, Napoleon mused. Why Denmark? The Danes were not allied to France; they were neutral. So why invade them? He frowned, and muttered, ‘What are they thinking? What are the British devils up to now?’
Chapter 34
Arthur
Sheerness, 31 July 1807
There was no putting it off any longer, Arthur realised. It would be the very last task he carried out before he boarded HMS
Prometheus
. The warship lay at anchor, a quarter of a mile from the wharf, and he could see her clearly through the window of the room he had taken in a Harwich inn. In the dying light he stared at the dark hull with the two broad stripes of yellow indicating her gun decks. Above towered the masts and spars, seemingly caught like insects in the intricate web of her rigging. The brigade that Arthur commanded had already boarded the
Prometheus
and the large merchant ships anchored astern of the warship. The men were packed along the decks, crowded in with the sailors and marines. More men, together with equipment and supplies, were loaded in the holds of the merchant ships.
Prometheus
. The warship lay at anchor, a quarter of a mile from the wharf, and he could see her clearly through the window of the room he had taken in a Harwich inn. In the dying light he stared at the dark hull with the two broad stripes of yellow indicating her gun decks. Above towered the masts and spars, seemingly caught like insects in the intricate web of her rigging. The brigade that Arthur commanded had already boarded the
Prometheus
and the large merchant ships anchored astern of the warship. The men were packed along the decks, crowded in with the sailors and marines. More men, together with equipment and supplies, were loaded in the holds of the merchant ships.
The loading was complete and it only remained for Lord Cathcart, the commander of the expeditionary force, to give the order for the fleet to put to sea. As yet the destination of the force was known only to a handful of men in the government and Lord Cathcart, who had been told in the last few days before departure. He had told his senior officers where they were headed - Denmark - but nothing about the purpose of sending the army there. It was puzzling, since Britain was not at war with the Danes. Not yet. Arthur shook his head wearily. Portland’s government seemed hell-bent on provoking neutral powers. The recent policy allowing the Royal Navy to seize vessels, of any nation, suspected of trading with France had outraged them all.
With a sigh, he pulled a sheet of paper across the desk and reached for his pen. He dipped the nib into the inkwell, tapped off the excess and held the pen over the blank sheet.This was not going to be an easy letter to write. As far as Arthur knew, Kitty had no idea that he was about to sail off to war. He knew that he should have told her long before, but Kitty being the nervous, uncertain creature that she was he had told himself that it would be best to present her with a
fait accompli
, rather than letting her fret for weeks while he prepared his men for war. It did occur to Arthur that this delay in informing her might be construed as ignoble, and have the odour of cowardice, but those who knew Kitty as he did would be well aware that the delay was for the best. He drew a deep breath and began.
fait accompli
, rather than letting her fret for weeks while he prepared his men for war. It did occur to Arthur that this delay in informing her might be construed as ignoble, and have the odour of cowardice, but those who knew Kitty as he did would be well aware that the delay was for the best. He drew a deep breath and began.
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