The Generals r-2 Read online

  ‘Why?’ asked Junot.

  ‘I don’t know, but I fear my leave is about to come to an abrupt end.’ Napoleon shrugged. ‘So I might as well as make the most of this evening. Come on. Let’s be off. I’ve heard that there are some new girls at Madame Marcelle’s place.’

  The Palais-Royal was lit from one end to the other by the orange glow of lanterns. Madame Marcelle’s establishment was in the far corner, and as the three officers threaded their way through the evening throng of friends, families, lovers, hawkers and all manner of street entertainers, Napoleon noticed a crowd gathered round a man speaking from a large wine cask outside a café. He was screened from his audience by four men carrying long staves. As Napoleon drew closer he could hear the first words of the speaker, strident against the good-humoured tone of the wider crowd.

  ‘Citizens! You are in grave danger - your complacency threatens to kill you! Do you not know that even as you stand there, the Bourbon agents are plotting to overthrow the revolution? It is they who are behind the price rises and food shortages. They are the ones who are trying to undermine the new constitution. Trying to steal the liberty that we have taken into our own hands.’The speaker raised his fists. ‘All that we have fought for. All that those gallant martyrs of the Bastille died for - all, ALL will be torn from us and we will be as slaves again. Is that what you wish?’

  ‘No!’ called a resonant voice. Napoleon sensed the theatrical tone of the cry, and he smiled. A supporter planted in the crowd. ‘No! Never!’ the voice cried out again, and others joined in.

  The speaker nodded and raised a palm to quieten them before he continued. ‘You are good patriots.That I can tell at once. Not like those Bourbon scum who would sell their souls to foreign powers and their mercenary hordes. They are traitors!’

  ‘Damned liar!’ a shrill voice called out. ‘Royalists are not traitors. We seek to free France of the tyranny of the godless!’

  Napoleon paused, straining his neck and rising on his toes as he tried to see over the heads of the crowd towards the protester. He saw a tall thin man standing on a pediment at the far side of the crowd. As soon as he had spoken he turned and gestured towards the colonnade. At once a swarm of men emerged from the shadows of the tall columns. Each wore a scarf across his face and carried a wooden club.

  A woman screamed. Her cry was taken up and the people surged as one away from the onrushing men.

  ‘Death to the murderers of the King!’ the voice shrilled out. ‘For God and monarchy!’

  He jumped down from the pediment and joined his followers as they charged into the terrified crowd, swinging their clubs at victims without any regard for age or gender. Suddenly a dense mass of bodies surged against Napoleon, thrusting him back against his companions. Junot grabbed hold of his arm and held him up while Marmont stepped forward with a roar and brandished his fists, daring any of the panicked crowd to come any closer to them. As the bodies flowed past on either side and the evening air filled with cries of fear, pain and anger Napoleon growled, ‘Come on! We’ll teach those royalists a lesson.’

  ‘What?’ Junot turned to him in surprise. ‘Are you mad? They’ll cut us down in no time.’

  ‘He’s right.’ Marmont eased himself back towards his friends. ‘Three against twenty or more. What can we do?’

  ‘Three right now,’ Napoleon conceded, his voice betraying his nervous excitement. ‘But once we fight back, so will others. Come on!’

  He thrust his way past Marmont and pushed through the people streaming away from their attackers.Then, over the heads of those at the back of the crowd, he saw the raised clubs and scarved faces of the men beating a path through to the original speaker and his guards. Napoleon paused, fists bunched and heart pounding, not for the first time uncertain about the wisdom of what he was doing.Then he saw on the ground the prone figure of an old man, sprawled on his face, blood gushing from his scalp on to the cobbles. Beside him lay a crutch. Napoleon snatched it up, instinctively grasping it as if it were a musket, armpad clutched to his side and the base held out like a muzzle. His confidence returned and he stepped forward again, swerving round a woman clutching a young boy to her breast, long skirts flowing as she fled. A short distance behind her was the first of the royalists. Above the scarf he wore to conceal his features, his wide excited eyes turned and fixed on Napoleon, widening still further with surprise. He hesistated for an instant before he began to raise his club, and Napoleon swept forward, throwing all the weight of his slight figure behind the crutch as he rammed the base into the man’s chest, and hissed ‘Bastard!’ through clenched teeth.

  The blow drove the man back with an explosive grunt and his head struck the ground as he tumbled, knocking him cold.

  ‘Marmont! Take his club!’

  Now that two of them were armed, they made for the next target, a short distance off in the gathering gloom. Napoleon feinted at him and as the man moved to block the blow Marmont charged forward and felled him with a vicious strike to the head. As Junot seized the man’s weapon Napoleon turned to shout over his shoulder.

  ‘Citizens! Citizens, hear me! Are you cowards or patriots?’

  A few faces turned to look and Napoleon seized the moment, charging towards the middle of the body of men fighting their way towards the meeting’s speaker. He filled his lungs and shouted, ‘Death to tyranny!’

  Marmont and Junot raced after him, adding their cries to his. An instant later they were amongst the royalists, slashing out with their clubs. Since they were soldiers and more accustomed to the madness of battle, and the need to strike hard and fast, they had an advantage over the casual bullies who had been expecting an unarmed crowd and not this fierce counter-attack. Napoleon thrust out again with his crutch, and struck a man’s shoulder.The blow was not disabling and the man at once swung his club at Napoleon’s head. Napoleon snatched the crutch back and up into the path of the club and there was a sharp crack, the force of the blow jarring his hands. Marmont abruptly swung his boot into the man’s crotch, hard enough to lift the royalist off his feet, and the man tumbled back with a deep groan and rolled on the ground vomiting. Marmont hissed at Napoleon, ‘Hold the other bloody end, you fool! Use it like a club.’

  As he reversed his hold Napoleon heard the speaker shout out to his bodyguards. ‘Help those men! Help them!’

  Napoleon, Marmont and Junot stood back to back in a loose triangle, swinging their makeshift weapons at the men about them, trying to keep them at a distance. Marmont growled, ‘Come on then, you bastards! If you have the stomach for it.’

  ‘Girondin scum!’ someone shouted back.

  ‘Girondin? Girondin!’ Marmont roared. ‘I’m a Jacobin, you bastard! And you’re dead!’

  He hurled himself into their midst, knocking two of the royalists to the ground, and then he was laying about him in great sweeping arcs with his club, shattering bones, battering muscles into nerveless jelly and driving the breath from his enemies with his blows.

  Junot edged closer to Napoleon. ‘They really shouldn’t have called him a Girondin. I almost feel sorry for them.’

  ‘No time for that,’ Napoleon replied.Taking a deep breath he moved off in Marmont’s wake. The speaker and his bodyguards joined the fight and as the royalists were forced to stop and defend themselves the crowd stopped fleeing. Some edged towards the fight and then the first of them walked, then ran, back to the melee. ‘Death to tyrants!’ he called out, then again, his voice strengthening. Others joined in, emboldened by his confidence.

  Napoleon glanced back and felt his heart lift. ‘Citizens! Help us!’

  Some heeded his call, and charged into the fight, throwing themselves on to the royalists. But some were struck down by the royalists’ clubs and brutally beaten to the ground. Edging round a crumpled body, Napoleon raised the crutch and looked for another opponent. But in the growing darkness, the civilians around him all looked the same, until he saw a face half hidden by a scarf, and at once smashed his crutch down on the man’s head. T
he blow never landed. Suddenly the dusk exploded in a blinding flash of light and Napoleon reeled back. He shook his head, trying to disperse the fading white flashes that obscured his sight.

  ‘Run for it!’ a voice shouted. ‘Royalists! On me!’

  Several figures turned and bolted, running back for the dark shadows beneath the colonnade. The crowd pursued them for a moment and then gave up, jeering and shouting insults after the defeated enemy. Even though he was aware of a searing pain high on his forehead Napoleon felt awash with elation. Finding Marmont, he gave his friend a hearty slap on the back.

  ‘Auguste Marmont, I swear you are half man, half wild animal.’

  ‘Bastards had it coming to them,’ Marmont muttered.‘Call me a Girondin, would they?’Then he caught sight of the dark smear streaming down Napoleon’s temple. ‘Sir, you’re bleeding.’

  Napoleon drew out his handkerchief and clasped it to his head with a wince.Then he looked down at the crutch still in his hands, and turned to find its owner. The old man was sitting up, nursing a tear in his scalp.

  ‘My thanks, citizen.’ Napoleon helped the man up and returned his crutch to him.

  The man nodded his gratitude.‘Just wish I’d been able to help you out, sir.’

  ‘You made your contribution.’ Napoleon smiled and patted the crutch. ‘Which is more than can be said for most of the people here tonight.’

  Junot emerged from the gloom, a thin-faced man at his side, whom Napoleon recognised as the speaker who had been addressing the meeting before it had been broken up. He approached the three officers, glanced over them and turned to Marmont.

  ‘I must thank you, and your friends, sir.’

  Marmont looked embarrassed, and nodded towards Napoleon. ‘Don’t thank me. Our brigadier led us into the fight. I just followed.’

  The speaker stared at Napoleon more closely with his hooded eyes and Napoleon sensed that he was not impressed by what he saw. ‘Brigadier?’ He recovered from his surprise and proffered his hand. ‘Joseph Fouché at your service.’

  Napoleon took the hand and felt the man’s cold skin. He nodded. ‘Brigadier Napoleon Bonaparte, at yours.’

  ‘Well, it seems I must thank you for saving my skin. Though not without some cost to yourself.’

  ‘A scratch,’ Napoleon replied. ‘We were glad to help you. I’ll not let any royalists drive our people off the streets. Not whilst I live.’

  ‘I see.’ Fouché’s lips flickered into a thin smile. ‘I like your spirit. The republic needs more men like you. Especially now. Paris seems to be infested by nests of royalist sympathisers. It is time that good men recognised the growing threat and stood up to them. Before it’s too late.’

  Napoleon laughed. ‘Come now, they were no more than a gang of thugs. A rabble.’

  ‘You think so? Then look here.’ Fouché squatted down over one of the men who had attacked the crowd, now lying senseless on the cobblestones. Fouché pulled the scarf away from his face, and then flicked open the dark coat. Underneath it the man was wearing a smartly tailored jacket and waistcoat. Fouché stood up.

  ‘A common thug? I think not. He’s an aristo.’ Fouché swung his foot into the side of the man’s head. ‘An aristo and a traitor. And there are many more like him out there, scheming and plotting to place a Bourbon back on the throne. Mark my words, Brigadier Bonaparte, we have to watch our backs.The revolution is not quite as safe as our government would like us to think.’ He smiled. ‘Now I must go. I have another speech to make, in the Place Vendôme.’ Fouché suddenly looked tired and anxious. ‘The people have to be convinced to vote for the new constitution. If it fails to win their support then all is lost . . .Anyway, I hope we meet again, sir.’

  Napoleon nodded faintly, not relishing the prospect.

  As Fouché and his bodyguards strode away towards the Rue Saint-Honoré Napoleon glanced round at the people in the Palais-Royal. Now that the excitement was over, most were drifting back to their earlier entertainments. Only a small proportion of them had come to Fouché’s aid. As for the rest, Napoleon could not say where their loyalties lay. Perhaps Fouché was right, Napoleon conceded. Perhaps the situation in Paris was more dangerous than he had supposed.

  Chapter 3

  The Minister of War gestured to the chair that had been positioned on the opposite side of his desk. ‘Please, Brigadier Bonaparte, sit down.’

  Napoleon complied, and Carnot leaned forward. ‘You’ve injured your head.’

  For a moment Napoleon considered relating the events of the previous evening, and then realised it might be thought unseemly for a senior officer to be involved in a street brawl. He cleared his throat. ‘I had a dizzy spell, citizen. I tripped and fell down some stairs.’

  ‘But your head’s clear enough, I trust.’

  ‘Yes, sir. Of course.’

  ‘Just as well, since I have been asked by the Committee for Public Safety to pick your brains.’ Carnot smiled.‘It seems that you are regarded as something of an expert on military affairs in Italy.’

  Napoleon’s mind raced. It was true that he had been asked to draft some plans for the campaigns of the Army of Italy, and he had written some assessments of the war capability of Genoa, but did that qualify him as an expert? If he assumed the role too readily he risked being thought impudent. On the other hand, this might be a chance to improve his prospects. He straightened his back and nodded modestly as he replied.

  ‘It is true that I have a thorough knowledge of the Italian theatre, citizen.Though I have been out of touch with operations for some months now.’

  ‘Then you are not aware of the latest reports from the front?’

  Napoleon shrugged. ‘I read the newspapers, citizen.’

  ‘The newspapers are hardly intelligence reports.’ Carnot sniffed. ‘Besides, even they don’t yet know of the latest situation. But they will soon enough. Some fool or other on the Committee will blurt it out to one of his friends and it’ll be round Paris quicker than a dose of the clap.’ Carnot eased himself forward and stared directly at Napoleon. ‘General Kellermann and his men have suffered another defeat. The Army of the Alps is in full retreat, and I wouldn’t be surprised if Kellermann had scurried halfway back to Paris by now.’

  Napoleon was irritated to hear the hero of Valmy spoken of so dismissively and instinctively rallied to a fellow officer’s defence. ‘The general must have his reasons for withdrawing, citizen.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sure he does.’ Carnot wafted a hand. ‘But let us call a spade a spade, Bonaparte. This is no withdrawal, it is a retreat pure and simple.The man has been beaten.What the Committee wants to know is whether it is worth renewing our efforts to take Italy from the Austrians, or whether we should be content with just defending the frontier. Now, you know the terrain, you know the enemy’s strengths and weaknesses and you know what our men are capable of achieving. So, then, which course of action would you advise?’

  Napoleon hurriedly marshalled the knowledge he had of the Italian front and mentally composed his response before he spoke. There was only a short pause before he began, ticking the points off with his fingers.

  ‘We need Italy. France’s treasury is almost empty. There’s plenty of wealth to be had from seizing Austria’s Italian provinces. We might even be able to exact enough money to pay for the war. Besides, it’s not as if the Italians are keen to stay under the Austrian yoke. If France promises them freedom and political reform, then we can be sure of winning over all but the most entrenched of their aristocrats. We could also make good use of the enmity that exists between Genoa, Lombardy,Venice, Rome and Naples. Play them off against each other and we can take each one in turn.’

  ‘But first we have to defeat the Austrians.’

  ‘Yes, citizen. I believe it can be done. Their soldiers are tough enough. But they’ve been serving in Italy for a long time. Many of them are far older than our men. All our soldiers need is the right kind of leader. Someone who can fire their patriotism . . .’ Napoleon paused a
moment, to allow Carnot to reach the inevitable conclusion of this line of rhetoric. Then he drew a breath and continued. ‘A man of General Kellermann’s reputation is more than adequate for the task.’

  ‘Such faint praise.’ Carnot smiled. ‘For a moment there I thought you were going to volunteer for the job.’

  ‘No,’ Napoleon protested and tried to sound sincere. ‘I’m not ready to command an army. The idea’s preposterous.’

  ‘I know it is. That’s why I am glad that you didn’t suggest it. Please continue.’

  ‘Yes. Well then, leaving aside the morale issue, the Austrians lack mobility.They never advance anywhere without long supply columns. If our men can live off the land they will march many times faster than the Austrians. We could cut their communications at will, fight a war of manoeuvre.’The ideas were spilling out of his mind in a rush and Napoleon forced himself to slow down. If his words were to have any effect on the members of the Committee he must not appear to be some cavalier adventurer. He must present his case in a balanced manner. He continued.