The Generals r-2 Page 5

  A few moments later Junot came hurrying back to Napoleon.

  ‘They’re coming back this way! Up the Rue Saint-Honoré.’

  Napoleon thought for a moment, pulling at his ear lobe. The royalists had been driven back twice already, and much of the fight must have been beaten out of them. Very well, this attack must be the last. This was the decisive moment, and when they broke they had to be pursued without mercy so that the rebellion would be utterly crushed.

  Napoleon snapped an order to Junot. ‘Find Major Murat. I want him and his men mounted and ready in the courtyard, out of sight of the barricades.They are to wait there for my order to move. Once they have the order they are to clear the Carrousel and pursue the enemy as far as they can. They are to take no prisoners and show no mercy to those traitors. Make sure he understands it. I want that mob out there to be in no doubt about the cost of defying the government.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ Junot nodded, then ventured a question.‘And what if we don’t hold them back? What are the major’s orders then?’

  Napoleon shook his head. ‘It won’t come to that . . . But, if it does, then Murat is to cover our withdrawal to the palace, and then look to his own survival.’

  ‘Very well, sir.’ Junot saluted and ran off, leaving Napoleon staring out across the barricade. It was possible that they might not beat off another attack, Napoleon considered briefly, then he shook his head irritably. No.There was no question of defeat. Junot was a fool to even think it.

  The sound of the royalists marching back along the Rue Saint-Honoré grew louder and then the head of the column entered the Carrousel again. It was clear that someone had taken charge of the attackers this time, as a line of militia men formed across the square and, at the command, advanced steadily towards the palace. The rest of the mob spilled into the space behind the front line and cheered them on. Napoleon drew a deep breath.

  ‘One last effort, lads! Make every shot count.Aim true and kill as many of the bastards as possible! Long live the republic!’

  Some of the soldiers echoed his call before turning to face the enemy with intent expressions. The militia battalion reached the edge of the zone carpeted with bodies and discarded weapons and slowed down as they stepped over their fallen comrades. They halted fifty paces from the barricades and then their commander bellowed the order to prepare their weapons. The cocks clicked back, and the weapons came up at the order to present.

  ‘Keep down!’ Napoleon called out.

  The defenders ducked behind the barricade.The order to fire was instantly drowned out by the crash of the volley and smoke immediately obliterated the militia as their musket balls rapped home against the barricade or whirred overhead. A sharp cry sounded to Napoleon’s right but he ignored it and rose up to give his orders.

  ‘Make ready! Open fire!’

  Once again the muskets and cannon crashed out into the square, and so thick was the bank of smoke this time that the effect of the volley was not visible. As his men reloaded their weapons Napoleon heard the militia commander give the order to charge. Most of the defenders fired blindly into the smoke, until vague shapes flitted into sight and then burst through the smoke right in front of the barricade. Five or six men appeared directly before the cannon beside Napoleon and drew up wide-eyed at the sight of the muzzle gaping before them. An instant later the portfire touched the fuse and the men were shredded into bloody ribbons by the grapeshot.

  The militia appeared all along the barricade, bayonets thrusting towards the defenders as the government troops rose up and defended themselves, using their bayonets or wielding their muskets like clubs. Napleon’s sword was in his hand and his heart beat wildly as he stepped up to the barricade. To his left a grenadier was locked in a duel with a stocky man in a black cap, their bayonets scraping as each tested the other’s strength.With a snarl the militiaman thrust the other’s weapon aside and made to thrust his point home. Napoleon slashed his sword down on to the barrel and the point thudded harmlessly into a meal bag, tearing the material open instantly.The grenadier swung his butt up, smashing it into the militiaman’s face, and he collapsed with a grunt. The grenadier grinned and nodded his thanks to Napoleon before turning to face the next attacker.

  For a moment Napoleon found that he had no one to engage. He glanced to both sides and saw that, even though his men were holding the line, the rest of the mob were piling into the rear of the militia battalion and soon the sheer weight of numbers must overwhelm the defenders.

  Junot appeared beside him. ‘Hot work.’

  ‘Where’s Murat?’

  ‘He’s entering the courtyard, over there.’ Junot gestured with his arm.

  ‘Then tell him to charge now. Now, or the fight is lost!’

  When Junot had gone, Napoleon stepped back from the line and filled his lungs.‘Grenadiers! Gunners! Fall back to the palace! Fall back!’

  His men obeyed at once, as best as they could. Some ran back from the barricade, others retreated with their weapons levelled, ready to fight off their pursuers. In the thick smoke along the fighting line the militia did not immediately realise what was happening and there was a moment’s delay before a triumphant cheer swept through their ranks and they began to clamber over the rough barricade and charged after the government troops. Napoleon raced at the head of his men, making for the stairs that led up to the main entrance. He sprinted to the top and turned round to face his soldiers.

  ‘Form up here! Quickly, damn you!’

  The men turned and hurriedly shuffled into several ranks, bayonets lowered to receive the royalists streaming across the courtyard. More and more of them filled the open space, anxious to butcher the men who had caused them such grievous losses earlier on. But they never made it as far as the stairs. The sound of horses’ hooves clattering across the courtyard stopped them in their tracks, the cries of triumph dying in their throats as they turned to see a line of hussars sweeping towards them, long curved blades resting on the riders’ shoulders as they picked up more speed. At their head rode Murat, tall and imposing in his saddle. A short distance from the fringe of the loose mob he raised his sword into the air, then arced it down and leaned forward as he spurred his mount on.

  The royalists turned and fled for their lives, throwing down their weapons as they ran, fighting with their comrades to get away from the dreadful fate carving its way through their ranks. From the stairs the defenders jeered their enemy. True to their orders Murat’s men showed no mercy as they hacked and slashed at the men running before them, cutting them down in droves. Then they reached the line of the barricade and the slowly dissipating powdersmoke, leapt their mounts over the barrels and meal bags, and were swallowed up in the haze. And the sounds of the pursuit drifted away from the palace, across the square and back up the avenues running between the Rue Saint-Honoré and the River Seine.

  Napoleon was suddenly aware of how cold and tired he felt and his sword hand trembled as it struggled to retain its hold on the hilt. As he sheathed the blade there was a clatter of footsteps behind him and Napoleon turned to see Paul Barras hurrying down the steps towards him, arms stretched as he smiled widely.

  ‘Bonaparte! My dear Bonaparte! You’ve done it! They’re running like the treacherous cowards they are. Murat will cut them down like vermin.’ He reached Napoleon and flung his arms round his shoulders. ‘France is saved. Thanks to you. All thanks to you.’

  Around them, the soldiers turned away from the grisly carnage of Murat’s pursuit and cheered, some of them raising their hats up into the air on the ends of their bayonets as they joined in the cheers for their commander standing a few steps above them, in the embrace of the most powerful man in France.

  Chapter 7

  Over the next two days the royalists’ rebellion crumbled as the government troops hunted them down. Most had already fled into the suburbs and surrounding countryside where they could do no more harm. With the centre of Paris back under government control Barras moved quickly to disarm every quarter
of the city, even those that had stayed loyal. All firearms, pikes and swords were to be handed in to the local town halls. As the people of Paris began to emerge back on to the streets Paul Barras announced his triumph to the National Assembly. He paraded the officers responsible for crushing the attempted coup, and publicly thanked them for their assistance in defeating the royalists. But even as he did so, Napoleon suddenly realised that not one of them had been singled out by name. Barras was determined to seize all the glory for himself, and would have done without an intervention from one of the deputies, who rose to his feet to propose a vote of thanks to ‘General Bonaparte’. Struggling to hide his irritation, Barras conceded the vote. By the end of the next day all Paris knew of the brilliant officer who had saved France from the Bourbons, and to spare the people the confusion of explaining that Bonaparte was only in fact a brigadier, Barras rushed through his promotion to full general.

  So it was that, a week after the storms of grapeshot had swept clear the ground in front of the Tuileries palace, Napoleon was sitting in a large, comfortably appointed office overlooking the same square. He found it hard to believe the improvement in his fortune that had occurred in the last few days. Barras had appointed him second in command of the Army of the Interior. On his greatly enhanced pay he had been able to move out of his squalid rooms in the slum quarter, and into a fine official residence in the hôtel de la Colonnade in the centre of the city. He had servants, a new carriage and horses and a beautifully cut new uniform, albeit lacking in the ostentatious gold braid that Major Murat seemed so fond of. No longer the obscure officer of artillery, Napoleon was now the most talked about man in Paris, invited to almost every ball and salon in the capital. Napoleon smiled to himself. Even the conceited Madame de Staël had condescended to send him an invitation to visit her house. Life was good, he mused. All he lacked now was an army posting worthy of his talents and ambition. That, and perhaps a wife.

  There was a knock at the door and Napoleon pulled himself up in his chair and called out, ‘Come!’

  His secretary, a thin man with glasses, entered the office. ‘General, there’s a boy outside wishing to see you.’

  ‘A boy? What’s his name?’

  ‘Eugène Beauharnais, he says.’

  ‘Beauharnais?’ Napoleon frowned. ‘I don’t know the name. Did he say what he wants to see me about?’

  ‘A personal request, with regard to his late father’s sword.’

  Napoleon’s curiosity was piqued by this information. He had been on the verge of sending the boy away, but he decided to spare this Eugène Beauharnais a moment of his time. ‘Very well, I’ll see him now.’

  ‘Yes, General.’

  The secretary disappeared and a minute later the door opened again to reveal a tall, handsome boy in his early teens. He had wide clear eyes, and a high forehead capped with curly brown hair. He bowed gracefully. ‘Good morning to you, General Bonaparte.’

  Napoleon nodded without rising from his chair. ‘And to you, Citizen Beauharnais. How can I be of service? I’m told it’s some matter relating to your father’s sword?’

  ‘Yes, sir. My mother has sent me with the request that the family might be able to retain the sword.’

  ‘I’m sorry, but you must know the terms of the Assembly’s disarmament decree?’

  ‘Indeed I do, sir.’The boy looked pained. ‘But the sword is one of the few keepsakes that my family has to remember my father by.’

  ‘What happened to your father?’

  ‘He was guillotined last year, sir.’

  ‘For what reason?’

  ‘He was in command of the garrison of Metz when it fell. The Committee of Public Safety charged him with treason. And, well, you know how it was under Robespierre, sir.’

  Indeed Napoleon did. Any military reverse was treated with suspicion and the representatives of the Committee were merciless in their punishment of failure in order to inspire other commanders to achieve success. And here was the human cost of such a strategy - the grief of a blameless family. Napoleon felt some compassion for the boy and his mother. They had already sacrificed enough for France without having to give up a precious memento of what they had lost.

  ‘Very well, young Beauharnais.You shall keep the sword. It has already been surrendered, I presume.’

  ‘It was taken from our house yesterday.’

  ‘Then it will be at the nearest praefecture. Leave your address with my secretary and I will see that the sword is returned to you as soon as possible.’

  The boy bowed his head. ‘My sincerest gratitude, General. And my mother’s as well.’

  Napoleon smiled. ‘Your mother must be proud of you, Beauharnais. I’m sure you’ll grow up to be a fine soldier, and wear your father’s sword at your side.’

  ‘That is my ambition, sir.’ Eugène smiled back before he turned to the door and made his way out of the office.

  The next day, at noon, Napoleon received another visitor. Madame Josephine Beauharnais was shown into the general’s office, and he automatically rose to his feet and bowed as gracefully as he could. His keen eyes examined her thoroughly the moment he straightened up. She had a tall, long-limbed body and a finely boned face with a small nose, slightly turned up. Her eyes were lively and scrutinised him in return.

  ‘Madame, what can I do for you?’

  She smiled.‘You have done enough for my family, General, by permitting us to keep my late husband’s sword.’

  Her voice was low and warm and Napoleon immediately felt himself intrigued by her tone and measured way of speaking. He waved a hand dismissively.

  ‘It was the least I could do for the family of a fellow soldier. Just make sure that fine boy of yours follows in his father’s footsteps.’

  Josephine smiled faintly. ‘Not as far as the guillotine, I would hope.’

  Napoleon was taken aback by her morbid jest and laughed nervously. ‘No. Of course not. Your family has already suffered enough for France,’ he added grandly and mentally winced at his pompous tone.

  ‘Well, yes, I suppose it has.’ Josephine nodded. ‘But times are hard when the nation is at war and death sweeps up everyone in its embrace, regardless of age, gender and innocence. And if the death of Robespierre had come much later, then I would surely have gone the way of my dear Alexandre, leaving my children helpless orphans.’

  The woman had an artful turn of phrase, Napoleon decided. There was a very nicely worked huskiness to her last words. Unless it was genuine. He felt a flush of shame at his ungallant thoughts, and tried to cover his feelings by hurrying round the desk to pull out a chair for his guest. ‘Please, madame, take a seat.’

  ‘Thank you, General,’ she replied, with a small catch in her voice. ‘I’m sorry to appear before you like this. I assure you that I am not in the habit of being so . . . emotional.’ She lowered her head, and Napoleon saw her shoulders trembling. As she leaned forward his eyes fell upon the smooth white flesh of her cleavage and as her chest heaved slightly with a sob he forced his embarrassed gaze away and stared fixedly at the top of her neatly pinned hair.

  ‘Madame, please. There is no need to apologise. Not after all that you must have been through.’

  ‘No, no! I must apologise. I only came here to thank you for your kindness, and I’m taking up your valuable time with my nonsense.’With a delicate flick of her hand she pulled out a lace handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes. ‘I must go. I have no right to impose upon a man with such grave responsibilities. I’m sorry.’

  Abruptly she rose from the chair, and Napoleon found himself suddenly looking directly into her eyes.There was intelligence in her expression, and a sensuality in the smooth curve of her lips. Scent filled his nostrils with a musky sweetness that stirred his loins. He took a step back and bowed his head.

  ‘As you wish, madame. Do you wish me to have your carriage called for you?’

  ‘Carriage?’ She looked up and he saw the faint look of distress in her expression. ‘I have no carriage, General
. I walked here.’

  ‘Ah . . .Then, please, allow me to call for mine. It will take you home.’

  The corners of her lips lifted into a grateful smile. ‘You are a most gallant man, my general. Once again, I am in your debt. Perhaps I might repay you by asking that you call on me?’

  ‘Yes, I should like that. If it’s not imposing?’

  ‘It will be I who imposes, on the valuable time of France’s hero.’

  Napoleon opened his mouth to speak, but for once no words emerged and he strove for a reply before he blurted out, ‘I’ll come as soon as I can.’

  Josephine smiled faintly. ‘I’ll look forward to it. I’ll make sure your driver makes a note of my address.’

  Then she turned and left, and as the door closed behind her Napoleon received one last waft of her scent. He breathed it in deeply before it had faded away, leaving only a memory of her that made his blood warm and his heart beat fast as he recalled the creamy whiteness of her breast.

  Chapter 8

  The following week Napoleon made sure that the malcontents of Paris realised that their uprising was over. Soldiers were posted at all the main road junctions and public buildings, and artillery pieces were openly positioned so that the main boulevards lay under their muzzles. At the same time he summoned regular troops from the Army of the Vendée and some of the depots to supplement the National Guard units in Paris.

  But he did not forget his promise to the Beauharnais boy, and as soon as the sword was located Napoleon had it delivered to his office. Early the next day he set off in his carriage to the address on the Rue de la Chaussée-d’ Antin. As the carriage pulled up outside a generously proportioned building Napoleon felt his pulse racing. He descended from the carriage carrying the sword, and hurriedly smoothed down his coat jacket and breeches, glancing at his boots to ensure that the glassy polish he had demanded from one of his servants was still unbesmirched. Then, taking a breath, he strode up to the door and rapped the large iron knocker.There was a short delay in which he had time to imagine that Josephine Beauharnais might not be at home, even this early in the day.