Read The Fields of Death Online
Authors: Simon Scarrow
The Fields of Death (86 page)
Luck, as ever, had favoured him, Napoleon reflected. But now he faced the great test of his new adventure. The road ahead was blocked by regular soldiers, sent by the royalists to confront and arrest him.
‘Sire, what are your orders?’ Cambronne interrupted Napoleon’s thoughts. ‘Should I deploy the men?’
‘No. Have them form up in column, lancers to the front. You and I shall ride at the head of the column. How far ahead is the road blocked?’
Cambronne turned to look up the track. It inclined gently down towards the side of a hill and then turned along the shore of a small lake, the end of which could just be seen. To the left steep hills rose up sharply, creating a narrow defile through which Napoleon and his men must march to reach Grenoble.
The veteran pointed towards the place where the road disappeared round the side of the hill. ‘Just beyond the hill, sire, close to the far end of the lake.’
‘Very well, let’s proceed.’
Cambronne hesitated.‘Shall I have the guns moved close to the front of the column, sire? If there’s any trouble, they can clear the way with a few rounds of case shot.’
‘There will be no trouble,’ Napoleon replied flatly. ‘If there is, then our cause is as good as lost. Now, give the order for the men to make ready to advance. Make sure every man understands that they are not to fire a shot without my express order. If anything happens to me, then you are to lay down your arms at once. Is that clear?’
Cambronne nodded reluctantly, then turned away and strode over to the men who had fallen out alongside the track, bellowing at them to re-form their ranks.
A few minutes later the column started down the track. Napoleon was now riding a white horse, and he wore the old grey coat and battered bicorne that was familiar to every soldier who had campaigned with him over the years. As the track rounded the hill he felt his heartbeat quicken. To his right the small lake stretched out, the calm waters reflecting the wooded ridge on the far side. At the far end of the lake there was a stretch of open ground, perhaps a hundred paces across, between the hillside and the shore of the lake. A body of soldiers stood waiting, formed in line, with fixed bayonets that glinted in the afternoon sunshine.
‘What unit is that?’ asked Napoleon.
‘The first battalion of the Fifth Regiment of the Line, sire.’
Napoleon nodded.
The column advanced in silence, marching along the side of the lake. Napoleon glanced back, past the flickering pennants of the lancers, and saw the grim expressions fixed on the faces of the guardsmen. If it came to a fight, the veterans would make short work of the men opposed to them. But the instant the first blood was spilled, France would be bitterly divided. Even if Napoleon survived such a struggle, he would be forced to deal with the other European powers with almost no chance of success.
As the gap between the hillside and the shore began to widen, Napoleon raised his hand to halt the column.
‘Have the Guard form line. They are to shoulder arms. The lancers are to fall back and dismount.’
Cambronne sucked in his breath, but saluted and turned away to give the orders. As the guardsmen trotted out on either side of the track and formed ranks, Napoleon stared at the line of infantry barring his way. They stood silently as their commanding officer sat on his horse and raised his telescope.
Once the men were in position Cambronne resumed his place at Napoleon’s side. ‘What now, sire?’
‘It’s time you announced me,’ Napoleon replied.
Cambronne edged his spurs in and trotted forward towards the waiting soldiers. Their commander lowered his scope and watched the solitary rider approaching. When Cambronne was no more than fifty paces away the other officer cupped a hand to his mouth and called out. ‘Stop there!’
Reining in, Cambronne raised his hat and replied. ‘Comrades! Our Emperor has returned! Join us!’
‘Silence!’ the officer shouted, then ordered his men, ‘Advance your muskets!’
The bayonets angled forward, cold gleaming tips pointing towards Cambronne.
‘What is the meaning of this?’ he barked. ‘How dare you threaten me? What do you think you are doing?’
‘I have orders to prevent you proceeding,’ the officer replied firmly. ‘You will hand over the outlaw behind you, and tell your men to lay down their arms.’
‘I shall do no such thing!’
‘If you do not surrender within ten minutes, I will give the order to open fire.’ The officer pulled out his fob watch and looked down at it.
‘If you fire on the Emperor you will be responsible to all of France!’ Cambronne responded. ‘Come now, we are all Frenchmen.’
He sat in his saddle and waited for a response. Eventually the officer looked up from his watch and spoke. ‘Nine minutes . . .’
With a muttered curse Cambronne turned his mount round and trotted back towards Napoleon. ‘You heard him, sire?’
‘Yes.’
‘Do you think he will give the order?’
Napoleon stared at the line of soldiers for a moment. ‘There’s only one way to find out.’
He dismounted and handed his reins to Cambronne. ‘Stay here. If anything happens to me remember your orders.’
‘Sire, you can’t put yourself in danger. France needs you.’
‘Quiet,’ Napoleon said. He drew a long deep breath and started walking slowly towards the soldiers. As he did so he unbuttoned his coat to reveal the green jacket of a colonel of the Guards. His heart beat quickly as he gazed steadily at the row of bayonets angled towards him. He knew that he was placing his reputation in the balance against the discipline of these soldiers. If he was mistaken then it would be likely that he would be dead within the next few minutes. Although it was spring, he felt cold and had to clench his fists behind his back to stop them trembling. They must not see my fear, he thought fiercely.
He continued to approach them steadily, taking in the details of the expressions of those men closest to him. It was impossible to tell whether they meant him any harm. Behind them, the officer on horseback glared defiantly at Napoleon as he stopped, no more than twenty paces from their bayonets.
‘Soldiers of the Fifth! Do you not recognise me? Am I not your old general?’
His words echoed off the side of the hill and then there was silence until he spoke again. ‘If there is a man amongst you who wants to kill his Emperor . . . then here I am!’ He pulled back his coat and presented his breast to them.
‘Present arms!’ the officer called out, and the men in the front rank raised their muskets.
‘Take aim!
Napoleon pressed his lips together and widened his eyes as he stood his ground and stared into the muzzles of the muskets pointing directly at him.
‘Fire!’
Napoleon felt an instant of icy terror, then the moment was past. There was no crash of a volley, no flame and no smoke. Nothing but a strained silence.
‘Fire, damn you!’ the officer shouted angrily. ‘Obey the order!’
Before the sound of the words had died on his lips, another voice cried out, ‘Long live the Emperor!’
The soldiers lowered their muskets and cheered, almost as one, as they broke ranks and surged towards Napoleon. Some clasped his hand, while others, more awestruck, satisfied themselves with touching his coat. But all cheered his name again and again. Cambronne and his men joined in and ran forward to greet the other men as comrades. Napoleon smiled at those around him and then began to pace forward, the throng parting to let him pass. He stopped before the mounted officer, a young major.
‘What is your name?’
‘Lansard,’ the man replied through gritted teeth. His face flushed with bitter shame over the failure of his authority. He ignored his men as he fixed his eyes on Napoleon. He took the handle of his sword and drew it from its scabbard, and then tossed it on to the ground at Napoleon’s feet. He glanced down at the sword and then gestured to one of the soldiers next to him. ‘Pick that up and hand it back to the Major.’
As the officer reluctantly replaced the blade in its scabbard Napoleon smiled at him. ‘Lansard, you are no more a prisoner than I was. Now, your men are mine, and I ask you, will you join me?’
The officer was silent for a moment, and then nodded curtly. At once there was a fresh burst of cheering and Napoleon had to raise his voice so that Lansard could hear him. ‘You and your men will join my column. Take up position between the Guard and the lancers. Clear?’
‘Yes . . . sire.’ Lansard saluted and Napoleon turned and made his way back towards Cambronne and the Guard.
‘Cambronne!’
‘Sire?’
‘Send one of your officers, together with one of Lansard’s, to Grenoble. They are to tell the people, and any other units they find there, what has happened. Tell them to announce the arrival of their Emperor.’
‘Yes, sire.’ Cambronne smiled with joy and relief.
Napoleon smiled back.‘The crisis has passed, my friend. Once others receive word that this first battalion has come over to us without a shot being fired, then the rest of the army will follow suit. Until this moment I was just an adventurer. Now? Now I am a great prince of Europe once again . . .’
Chapter 55
The Tuileries, Paris, 8 April 1815
Napoleon slowly crumpled up the proclamation of the Congress at Vienna and continued to crush it between his hands. ‘So this is how they would treat me,’ he said in a low voice that the others sitting around the table could hardly hear. ‘They brand me an outlaw.’ He sighed bitterly and tossed the small ball of paper aside. ‘You can be sure this is Talleyrand’s doing. This is his revenge for the indignities I heaped on him over the years. So what if I did? He deserved every slight. Every insult.’
His council of ministers and generals sat in silence. They had been summoned to hear the Emperor read out the allies’ proclamation and discuss the appropriate response. Napoleon looked round at them. There were many familiar faces, recalled to service when Napoleon had returned to Paris. He had been greeted by an hysterical mob who had swept him off his feet and carried him through the streets, into the palace and up into the throne room, abandoned only the day before by King Louis. Napoleon had closed his eyes as they carried him, relishing the feeling of power he had over the affections of so many. Not just the people of Paris. At every stage of his march from the coast, the people had come out to greet him with cheers. The Bourbons had sent soldiers to oppose him, then armies, and in spite of their orders the soldiers had gone over to him. Even Marshal Ney, who had boasted to Louis that he would bring Napoleon to Paris in an iron cage.
Although the people and the army had acclaimed him, and demanded that he take back his throne, the more influential elements of French society had regarded his return with studied caution. The Chamber of Deputies, which had voted to depose him the previous year, hurriedly retracted their decision and welcomed the Emperor back to his capital, beseeching him to maintain the peace of Europe. Much as he would have liked to respond to their about-face with scorn, Napoleon realised that he needed their support. Without their co-operation, and that of officials and lesser assemblies across the nation, it would be almost impossible to build the support his regime needed.
The Emperor re-established his reign with caution. He had answered the calls for peace by sending messages to the other rulers of Europe assuring them of his desire to avoid conflict. He had even issued an edict pronouncing the end of France’s involvement in the slave trade. That at least should have garnered some good opinion in Britain. But his offers of peace had been either ignored or curtly rebuffed. Now the allies had signed a treaty pledging to send over half a million men to defeat Napoleon. They sought to divide the Emperor from his people by claiming that their war was not against France, but only Bonaparte, whom they had pronounced an outlaw.
‘You have all borne witness to my efforts to prevent war,’ Napoleon addressed his council. ‘I offered them my hand in friendship and in return they have spat in my face and offered me, and France, only threats. It is clear to all right-thinking men that Russia, Austria, Prussia and England are the aggressors.’
Marshal Davout, who had accepted the post of Minister of War, spoke up. ‘Sire, they could be playing into our hands by refusing to declare war on France. It places them in a difficult position. If they invade France, then they can hardly avoid uniting the nation behind you, particularly as you have offered them peace. Therefore, they must wait, and hope that you will attack them, and thereby justify their declaration of war against you in person.’
‘That is true.’ Napoleon nodded thoughtfully. ‘And what do you advise me to do?’
‘Bide your time, sire. Make no attempt to provoke military action. At the same time we can build our strength and be ready to defend our borders if the allies become impatient and decided to invade. That is my advice.’
‘I see.’ Napoleon regarded him for a moment, then shook his head. ‘We cannot risk such a strategy, Davout.’
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