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Authors: Simon Scarrow

BOOK: The Fields of Death
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He looked round the table. Cordet looked stunned.
‘Sire, you ask the impossible. We cannot possibly afford such an expense.’
‘Nevertheless, it will be done. We must be ready for war with Russia, when it comes. I shall expect a report from you within the month explaining to me how these requirements will be financed.’
‘A war with Russia is not inevitable,’ said Maret. ‘We should be concentrating our energies on finding an accommodation with them. It is by far the least costly option, in gold as well as lives.’
‘There can only be one great power in Europe,’ Napoleon said firmly. ‘It must be France, whatever the cost. As things stand, the situation is propitious for striking at Russia next year. At present the Tsar is engaged in a war with Turkey and a large army is tied down in that conflict. For the moment we enjoy good relations with most of the lands bordering Russia and they can be persuaded to contribute men towards the armies we deploy against the Tsar. Now Bernadotte has been called on by the Swedes to be their Crown Prince, we have a united front running from the Baltic to the Black Sea. The time is ripe, gentlemen. We have but to seize the opportunity afforded to us by fate.’
There was another silence before General Savary cleared his throat and spoke up.‘Sire, I have no doubt that you are right about the timing. However, we are heavily committed in Spain. Is it wise to fight two campaigns at once?’
‘I have considered that,’ Napoleon replied, and then smiled faintly. ‘You are right, my dear general. We must deal with Spain. To that end I have already sent word to my brother, King Joseph, to come to Paris to confer. Once our remaining difficulties in Spain are resolved then nothing shall stand in the way of humbling the Tsar.’
Chapter 19
 
The baptism of the new prince was set for June and the Emperor summoned his family, the leading aristocrats of the empire and foreign dignitaries to witness the ceremony. When King Joseph arrived towards the end of May, the Paris newspapers reported that he had travelled from Madrid to celebrate the arrival of his brother’s heir. The other purpose of his visit - to brief Napoleon on the situation in Spain - was kept secret from the people, particularly since Joseph was the bearer of bad news.
‘Masséna failed to relieve the fortess at Almeida,’ Joseph explained as he walked round the garden at Fontainebleau. It was a fine early summer day, and the new leaves gleamed a vibrant green on the trees, while the last of the cherry blossom floated down on the light breeze. On the lawn, in front of the orangery, the Empress and her ladies in waiting were fussing round the infant boy as he lay in his cot. Napoleon spared them a quick glance as he continued listening to his brother’s report.‘He was turned back by the British army at Fuentes de Oñoro and was forced to retreat. The last message I received from the garrison at Almeida said that the food had run out and their ammunition was almost exhausted. If they were not relieved within ten days the commander said that he would be forced to surrender. There was nothing I could do. Almeida has fallen to Wellington’s army.’
‘Yes. But it can be retaken in due course.’
Joseph paused in mid-stride and turned to his brother. ‘You think it is that simple, brother? I think you overestimate the soundness of our position in Spain. We are fighting a new kind of war in the Peninsula. In order to control the country we have to disperse our troops to police every town, village and road. It is the only way to keep the people in check. Yet whenever Wellington advances we are forced to concentrate our forces and abandon control over the countryside. And if we advance against Wellington with an army large enough to overwhelm him, he simply gives ground, luring us on, to the limit of our supply lines, until we are forced to give up the pursuit. And then we have to pacify the countryside all over again. I tell you, we will lose the war in Spain. While our numbers are whittled away, the enemy grows ever stronger. Our soldiers have been pushed out of Portugal and the British are poised to seize all the frontier fortresses and invade Spain.’
Napoleon shook his head. ‘Wellington is not strong enough to launch an invasion. He has no more than a fifth of the number of men available to you. Besides, I think you overrate his ability. He is the same as all the other British generals - too cautious to cause us much trouble. He cannot afford to lose any men. The longer the war goes on, the more certainly the English army will be frittered away. Besides, he lacks the experience of my marshals. Before he arrived in Portugal he commanded very modest forces out in India. I hardly think that a general of sepoys would be capable of besting the commanders of the finest army in Europe.’
‘Yet that is precisely what Wellington has done,’ Joseph countered. ‘He has beaten Junot, Jourdan, Soult and now Masséna. He is a man to be reckoned with.’
‘As I said, you overrate him. I have read the reports of those battles Wellington claims as his victories. He did not win them, he simply allowed our commanders to lose them through their recklessness. That is all. Hardly a firm basis upon which to build such a reputation as you would ascribe to him, Joseph. I tell you he can, and will, be beaten.’
‘Then why don’t you test yourself against him?’ Joseph stared at his brother intently. ‘The Army of Spain needs you, Napoleon. The men’s spirits are low. They have suffered too many reverses at the hands of that cursed English fox and their nerves are worn down by the bands of peasants that dog them wherever they march. The men are a long way from France, from home, and they can see no end to the war they wage in the Peninsula. They say that they have been forgotten by their Emperor.’
‘Forgotten?’ Napoleon exhaled irritably. ‘Who do they think sends the convoys of gold to keep them paid? Do I not make them plenty of awards for bravery and fine performances? Well?’
‘It is not enough. They need you to lead them. To fill their hearts with inspiration once again. Then we could be sure of crushing Wellington once and for all. After that the Spanish will give up the fight and we will have peace.’
Napoleon considered his brother’s words for a moment. He did not deny it was tempting to teach his marshals in Spain that the redcoats were not invincible, as some of them seemed inclined to believe. But then, defeating Wellington would hardly be an achievement worthy of him, he concluded.
‘Joseph, I cannot afford to leave Paris. There are matters here that demand my attention.’
‘More than settling the issue in Spain?’
‘Even more important than that.’ Napoleon turned and continued walking along the path between the flowerbeds, head down and hands clasped behind his back. He had grown heavy from taking too little exercise in the past year and after a moment the discomfort of his arms pressing round his portly body made him release his hands and fold them across his chest instead. Joseph took a few quick steps to resume his place at his brother’s side. They walked in silence for a moment, and the only sounds were the gravel that crunched under their boots, the occasional cry of a peacock, and the laughter and faint snatches of high-spirited conversation of the Empress and her coterie. High above, puffy clouds floated across the sky, serene and unblemished.
‘It is a fine day,’ Joseph said. ‘I had almost forgotten that a man could feel peace like this. It has been such a long time. I would give up the Spanish throne in an instant - if I was permitted to.’
‘You shall do no such thing,’ Napoleon responded without looking up. ‘I have already removed one brother from a throne. I dare not risk the same happening to another Bonaparte. You will remain in Spain, on the throne, and we will win the war there.’
‘And if we don’t win? If we can’t win? Then what? You would leave me there to be torn apart by the mob? Have you not read of what they do to the French officers they capture? Why, the bastards sawed one of our generals in half, and they boiled another alive. Can you imagine that?’ Joseph shook his head in horror. ‘We should cut our losses and abandon Spain completely. That’s my advice, brother.’
‘And that is why you are not Emperor,’ Napoleon replied curtly.‘You lack the necessary appreciation of the wider situation. Spain is but one theatre of war. However, what happens there influences the rest of Europe. If you fail me in Spain, then our enemies will be emboldened to defy us elsewhere.’
‘Then find another king. I am finished with Spain.’
‘Another king?’ Napoleon looked at his brother with a bitter expression. ‘Do you imagine that kings grow on trees that I might just pluck down another whenever I wish it?’
‘I find it hard to believe that you will struggle to find any man who would not wish to be a king.’
‘I will struggle to find one whom I can trust implicitly.’ Napoleon cast his arm wide. ‘I am surrounded by ambitious men who would be king, and most of them would betray me without a moment’s thought. Men like Bernadotte. For the moment he relishes the prospect of the crown of Sweden, but how long before he covets my throne?’ He turned and placed his hands on his brother’s shoulders. ‘That is why I depend on you, Joseph, as I always have. Will you abandon my cause now?’
Joseph did not reply, but stared mutely at his younger brother.
‘My brother.’ Napoleon softened his tone and there was a pleading edge to it when he spoke. ‘Please, I need you. Now as never before.’
Joseph tried to pull away, but Napoleon held his shoulders firmly and refused to let him move. ‘I need to know you are with me.’
‘I must think.’ Joseph glanced down at his brother’s hands. ‘Please, release me.’
Napoleon pursed his lips, then nodded, and his arms fell to his sides. Joseph walked a little further and then sat down on a bench. Napoleon joined him. For a while neither spoke, until Joseph broke the silence.
‘You made me King of Spain, yet the marshals of the Army of Spain refuse to obey my orders. When I have issued commands to them they refer to Paris for permission to carry the orders out. Some have openly said that they will only answer to you, Napoleon. Soult does not even reply to my letters.’
‘They are only carrying out their orders.’
‘
Your
orders. So you don’t trust me to rule my own kingdom, then?’
‘You are a fine administrator,’ Napoleon said patiently. ‘But you have had little chance to develop your military skills. I decided that it would be most effective to entrust the governance of Spain to you, and the command of my troops there to experienced soldiers. Besides, I have certain plans for the northern provinces of Spain.’
Joseph stared at him. ‘Plans? What plans?’
‘France needs secure frontiers,’ Napoleon explained. ‘It is my intention to annex the territory to the south of the Pyrenees. It will provide me with secure routes into Spain, and it will remove some of the burden from you.’
‘I see.’ Joseph shook his head sadly.‘And you did not think to consult me over this . . . small matter?’
Napoleon pressed his lips together briefly. He was pricked by guilt, and then a wave of self-justification swept the sentiment away. Had he not given his brother every privilege and opportunity that he now enjoyed? Had he not placed Joseph on the throne himself? Had he not given him ample military power to enforce his rule and bring peace to the turbulent Spaniards? What had Joseph given him in return? Incompetence and failure.
‘I am not obliged to refer my decisions to anyone. If I choose to seek advice then I will. In any case, I need to secure peace in Spain as swiftly as possible. So far you, and my marshals, have failed me. Which is all the more galling bearing in mind that I have provided you with such rich rewards.’
‘The Spanish throne is not a reward, it is a curse.’
Napoleon struck him on the shoulder, hard. ‘Ungrateful fool! Is that how you repay me?’
Joseph stared hard at his brother, eyes narrowing slightly. He took a deep breath to calm himself and spoke in an undertone. ‘Did I ask for the crown of Spain? No. You forced it on me. And I forced it on the people of Spain. Now they revile me for it, almost as much as they revile you.’ Joseph’s shoulders drooped as he clasped his hands together. ‘It is hopeless, I tell you.’
‘It is never hopeless. Those are the words of a coward,’ Napoleon replied coldly.
‘No, they are the words of a reasonable man who knows when the game is up.’ Joseph stiffened his posture. ‘I have made my decision, my brother. I will abdicate from the throne. I will leave Spain and retire to my estates in France.’
There was a brief silence before Napoleon turned away and clasped his hands behind his back. When he spoke again it was in a strained voice. ‘You will not abdicate. I forbid it.’
‘You cannot forbid it.’
‘I forbid it. What is more I will have you treated as a deserter if you ever leave Spain again without my express permission.’
‘A deserter?’ Joseph could not help smiling thinly. ‘You would have me shot?’
‘That is the fate of deserters,’ Napoleon replied coldly. ‘Though you are my brother, and I love you, I would have you put up against a wall and shot without the slightest compunction.’
‘I don’t believe you.’
Napoleon turned round, his stare piercing and merciless. ‘Believe it.’
Before Joseph could reply, his brother’s face creased in a sudden expression of agony and he staggered a pace towards Joseph before sinking slowly on to the path, propping himself up on one hand as he gasped for air.

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