Fire and Sword (82 page)
Authors: Simon Scarrow
‘I know.’
Joseph was silent for a moment before he spoke again. ‘And I will not be King.’
‘Yes, you will,’ Napoleon replied flatly. ‘I made you King of Spain, and only I can choose to remove you from the throne, should I wish it. Not some antiquated committee of inbred aristocrats.’
Joseph cleared his throat. ‘And what if I choose not to be King?’
Napoleon stared at his brother with a surprised expression, and then laughed. ‘Why would a man not want to become a king?’
Joseph clasped his hands behind his back as he composed his thoughts. ‘You misled me about conditions here in Spain. The people are not like those of other nations.They are profoundly inward-looking. They are suspicious enough of the people in the next village, let alone any foreigner imposed upon them as a king. I tell you what they are like, brother.They are like Corsicans.’
‘Then you are surely the man to be their King!’ Napoleon grinned, but Joseph’s expression remained quite serious.
‘No, brother. They will never be ruled by someone they have not freely chosen.You have made a grievous error in forcing me upon them. They will resist me until I am dead.’
‘Let them try. I will not let you come to any harm, and I will not let them oust you.’
‘But, Napoleon, can you not see that you have made a mistake? If you persist in this it may well be the greatest mistake of your life.’
‘Mistake? Me?’ Napoleon was hurt. His brother had never questioned his judgement so openly, or so honestly, before. ‘I have thought this through. There is no mistake. Trust me. It is merely a question of the correct application of force for the appropriate length of time. Once the Spanish see that they cannot oust you, nor defeat French soldiers, they will see that it is pointless to continue the struggle.’
‘You make it sound so simple.’ Joseph turned away from his brother and wearily strolled across to the windows. He looked out over the surrounding landscape, which was dotted with the flames of Napoleon’s army. ‘How many men can you spare to keep Spain subdued?’
‘Enough.You have my word on it.’
‘Think on it. There will need to be strong garrisons the length and breadth of Spain. Every road used by our men will need to be protected. Every despatch exchanged between France and Spain will have to be escorted. None of our men will be able to forage alone, or even in small parties. And they will be attacked from behind every rock.That is even without considering any intervention by a British army. For that we will need a strong field army, over and above the men required for other duties.’ Joseph turned back to face his brother. ‘Your army will die the death of a thousand cuts here in Spain. And for what?’
‘For you to be King.’
‘Only until the day that the people finally triumph.’
‘That will never happen. Brigands and outlaws can never overcome a modern army,’ Napoleon asserted confidently. ‘Trust me, brother. I know what I am talking about. I am a soldier to the core.’
‘Perhaps that is the problem.You cannot conceive of the implications for an army forced to face the wrath of an entire people. Our men will not be fighting
a
war here.They will be fighting an infinite number of little wars. Against every man who can hold a weapon, every woman who can poison a well, every child who misdirects them or leads them into ambushes. In the end it will break their will, I am sure of it.’
a
war here.They will be fighting an infinite number of little wars. Against every man who can hold a weapon, every woman who can poison a well, every child who misdirects them or leads them into ambushes. In the end it will break their will, I am sure of it.’
Napoleon shook his head. ‘You look too deeply into the hearts of men, Joseph.You always have. We will win here.You will be King and there will be peace.’
‘Because you say so.’
‘Yes, because I say so.’
‘But I don’t want to be King. I don’t want to be the cause of the endless suffering of the people of Spain. I don’t want to be responsible for the deaths of tens of thousands of those fine soldiers who now sit by their campfires. I don’t want any of it.’
‘It is too late for that, brother.’ Napoleon moderated his tone as he continued. ‘I made you King. I cannot afford to be seen to have made a mistake. Even if you are right in your fears for the future, I cannot be seen to be less than invincible. The other nations of Europe are like a pack of jackals circling France. The moment they scent weakness they will pounce. If that happens, it will not just be you that falls, it will be all of us, every member of our family, every friend and worthy comrade whom we have rewarded with promotions and titles. France will be returned to the Bourbons and the world will be the exclusive province of aristocrats again. Is that what you would wish for?’
‘No. Of course not.’
‘Then surely you must see why you have to be King here? If you give way, it will be as the first brick in a dam.’ Napoleon’s eyes glittered as he seized on the metaphor. ‘That is what we are, brother. Bricks in a dam, shielding our people from the dark waters of reactionaries and religious fanatics. It is our duty not to give way. I know you are a good man. I know that you are an idealist, as I am. You will understand the role you must play here in good time.Your people will need you when the rebellion is crushed.You must lead Spain into the modern world. That is a task no Bourbon could undertake.’ Napoleon smiled and clasped his brother’s shoulder. ‘It is a fit task for a Bonaparte, is it not?’
Joseph stared at him for a while in silence and then his shoulders slumped wearily and he nodded.
‘Good! Then it is settled. Come, let us go and eat.’ Napoleon ushered his brother out of the room, and because he went ahead Joseph did not see the look of contempt that hardened the Emperor’s face.
On the fourth day of December the French guns opened fire. A barrage of heavy iron tore holes in the enemy’s flimsy barricades, smashing those sheltering behind. One by one the guns in the batteries covering the capital’s gateways were silenced as they were struck and dismounted in an explosion of splinters and slivers of iron that sliced through the gun crews. Once Madrid’s outer defences had been pulverised, a column of French troops forced their way on to the Heights of Retiro that dominated the city. Several batteries of guns were moved up to the Heights and trained on the heart of Madrid. But there was no need to open fire. Before sufficient ammunition had been brought forward to begin the bombardment, a deputation of Madrid’s councillors approached the French lines under a flag of truce to surrender. The junta had already fled, the moment they had seen the French guns being wheeled into position.
At noon, the first columns of French infantry entered the capital, the skirmishers warily picking their way along the main avenues and thoroughfares, searching the openings of each narrow lane for sudden ambushes. Behind them tramped the columns of line infantry, under their tricolour banners surmounted with the gleaming golden eagles of the empire. Once the route to the royal palace was secured, Napoleon entered the city on horseback, surrounded by a screen of escorts. He was struck by the silence and stillness that pervaded the capital, as if every living being had retreated within their houses, refusing to face up to the French presence on their streets. Napoleon stared about him in bitter resentment. The fools had been liberated from the dead hand of Bourbon rule. He had offered them his brother, as liberal and enlightened a ruler as any kingdom could wish for. Yet they resented their liberation and even now harboured a deep spirit of resistance to the new order.
Well, let them sulk, he reflected coldly. They would learn soon enough. The only real choice facing them now was acquiescence or death.
Chapter 50
Arthur
London, December 1808
‘It was a mistake to ever send an army into Spain,’William grumbled as he poured himself another glass of madeira and settled back into his chair in the front parlour of Arthur’s Harley Street home.‘Nothing good will come of it. How can General Moore hope to take on Napoleon’s Grand Army with his puny force?’
‘Oh, I don’t know,’ Arthur replied calmly.‘Moore is a fine officer. He might yet upset the plans of the Corsican tyrant.You’ll see.’
William took a sip and looked across at his younger brother.‘If there was any justice, or common sense, in this world it would be you in command of that army.’
Arthur smiled slightly. ‘Well, I don’t know about the rest of the world, but there is precious little justice or common sense here in London at present.’
William nodded with feeling.
From the moment Arthur had stepped ashore following his return from Portugal he had been under attack from all those who opposed the treaty that had been signed at Cintra, allowing General Junot and his army to evade surrender.The image of the Royal Navy being used as a passenger service for the French army had humiliated the nation. The London newspapers had accused Arthur, Dalrymple and Burrard of everything from incompetence to cowardice. It had upset Kitty dreadfully and for the present she kept to the house rather than brave the hostile looks of Arthur’s enemies, and the embarrassment of his friends.
Some politicians in Parliament, scenting the opportunity to settle old scores, had immediately seized the chance to extend the attack to the rest of the family. Richard was still denied government office and had fallen back into a mire of self-pity and whoring.To make matters worse he had approached the King to request that Arthur be ennobled as a reward for his victory at Vimeiro. Lesser generals had won smaller engagements and received far greater honours, yet the timing of Richard’s approach was hardly ideal.With public opinion set against the generals held responsible for the Cintra treaty, now was not the time for the King to reward Arthur, and as things stood he doubted he would ever become Viscount Vimeiro.
Worse still, the enemies of the Wellesley family had finally convinced the government to set up a military inquiry into the events leading up to the Cintra treaty and it had been taking evidence for the last two weeks of November. Both Dalrymple and Burrard and their supporters had been busy laying the blame at each other’s door, when they were not directing it at Arthur. For his part he had kept silent, reserving any comment for the moment when he would make his case in front of the panel of senior officers in the Great Hall of Chelsea College. The day appointed for him to give his evidence and face cross-examination was two days hence. Before that Arthur had been invited to a royal levee: an early morning reception by the King himself.
‘Are you certain about tomorrow?’ William suddenly asked, as if he had been reading Arthur’s thoughts. ‘It might be wise to stay out of public view, at least until the inquiry is complete.’
‘I will go,’ Arthur replied firmly. ‘Neither the newspapers, nor the politicians, nor the London mob will have the satisfaction of having dissuaded me from showing my face in public.’
‘I suppose that is a good thing,’William said doubtfully. ‘In any case, I shall be coming with you.They might as well have two targets for their anger as one.’
Arthur laughed. ‘Spoken like a true soldier!’
‘God forbid.’
Several soldiers stood guard at the palace gates and a sergeant inspected invitations as each carriage rumbled to a halt. A small crowd of Londoners had braved the chilly morning air to gather round the gates to watch the great and the good arrive at the palace.As the sergeant read off the names on the invitations they raised a cheer for popular public figures, showed blank indifference to those without a reputation and booed and whistled at a handful of those who had incurred public displeasure for whatever reason.
‘I don’t like the look of that mob,’ William muttered as he ducked back into the carriage.
‘Ignore them,’ Arthur replied calmly. ‘They are as fickle as the wind. Today I am dangled in front of them as a villain. In a year’s time, who knows? I may be the darling of the mob.’
‘Small comfort,’William muttered. ‘It’s today I am worried about.’
The carriage slowed to a halt at the gates and the driver handed over the invitation to the sergeant. The latter filled his lungs and bellowed out, ‘Admit the honourable William Wellesley, member of Parliament, and Lieutenant-General Sir Arthur Wellesley!’
At once there was a chorus of boos from the mob and as the carriage rattled forward some muddy slime struck the carriage window. Arthur raised an eyebrow. ‘Charming.’
They entered the inner courtyard of the palace and descended from the carriage to join the other guests climbing the steps into the reception hall. A number of footmen lined the route to the chamber hosting the levee. William nudged Arthur.
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