Simon Scarrow - Fire and Sword

‘You shared it with the Cabinet?’ Arthur responded anxiously. Even though the Tories were in power there were still enough enemies of the Wellesleys within the Cabinet to undermine his suggestions and ensure that they were not given a wider circulation.‘Was that wise, if you don’t mind my asking?’

Castlereagh smiled at him.‘You don’t imagine I occupy this office by virtue of my naivety, do you? I withheld your name, as well as your claim to the job, until after the memorandum had been discussed. I passed it off as the work of a subordinate connected with my office. It took a while before I managed to convince them of the sagacity of your proposals, which was not easy, I can assure you. There are still some ministers who are wedded to the notion of only intervening in far-flung colonies, picking off French territories one at a time. I told them that if we pursued such a strategy it would be years, decades even, before it began to harm France.’

‘Quite right.’ Arthur nodded. ‘We must pursue a more direct, more visible, line of attack on the enemy.’

‘They accepted that argument, finally. So, once the plan for Portugal was approved, it only remained to appoint a commander for the army.’ Castlereagh paused and flashed a mischievous smile at Arthur. ‘That was when I mentioned who the author of the memorandum really was. Well, having approved the plan they could hardly not approve your being given the chance to implement it. Besides, I took the precaution of inviting Dundas to the meeting and he was happy to support my recommendation that you be offered the command. Faced with that, there was little scope for protest. And so there we are.’

Arthur stared at the Secretary for War, not quite believing his ears. ‘I am to command the army?’

‘Strictly speaking, I can’t yet.The letter of appointment has yet to be written and sent to you, and then I must await your considered response to the offer. Only then will I be in a position to announce that you will command the army.’ Castlereagh sat back in his chair and opened his hands. ‘Of course, you could save me the trouble of waiting and let me know your answer here and now. Sir Arthur, will you accept the command of the Army of Portugal?’

Arthur grinned. ‘Yes, sir. It would be an honour.’

‘Alas, it is an honour that must be kept secret for the present. You may go about making the necessary preparations, of course. Recruit your aides, settle your affairs in Ireland and so on, but do not breathe a word of your destination. With luck we can have your army ready to march from Lisbon before the French are even aware of the danger.’

‘I understand, sir.’

‘Good.’ Castlereagh’s expression suddenly became deadly serious. ‘Understand this too, Sir Arthur. You will be in command of our country’s sole field army.You must ensure that it does not meet with disaster.After the fate that befell poor John Moore, our countrymen live in dread of another such defeat.You will take no unnecessary risks, and you will confine yourself to the limits of Portuguese territory. On no account are you to cross into Spain without the express permission of his majesty’s government. Is that clear?’

Arthur nodded. ‘Quite clear, sir.’

Castlereagh stood up and held out his hand.‘Then may I be the first to offer my congratulations, General Wellesley. I trust you will cause the enemy as much distress as possible.’

‘You can count on it, sir.’

Even as he left the Horse Guards and marched across the parade ground, his mind was racing with the possibilities of his new command. He had told Castlereagh that Portugal could be defended. He had no doubt of that. But that was just the start. Once Portugal was safe, then the obvious progression would be no less than the liberation of Spain, in the course of which the cream of the French army would endure the same humiliation as had been visited on General Junot at Vimeiro.

Arthur smiled at the thought. Within months, the shadow of Cintra would be lifted and he would finally have enough men, and enough authority, to take the war to the French on his terms.

Chapter 54

Napoleon

Paris, 23 January 1809

The imperial carriage entered the city late in the morning, having been on the road for several days with only the briefest of stops to change the horses and drivers. Napoleon had taken advantage of such moments to step down from the carriage and stretch his limbs. As he walked up and down beside the coach he thought over the reports he had received on the journey from Valladolid. Soult had chased the British all the way to Corunna after an epic pursuit through the harsh terrain of the Cantabrian mountains.The British rearguard had fought like lions, contesting every step of the way along the ragged mountain tracks, and across wild rivers swollen by winter rain. At the end the British had abandoned almost all their wagons and many of their guns, and only just over half their original force was evacuated from Corunna. The news cheered Napoleon greatly. Such a repulse would strike a blow at Britain’s desire to continue the war. It would have been even better if the entire army had been caught and crushed, Napoleon mused, but it was a French victory all the same, sweetened by the death of General Moore, struck by a cannonball on almost the last day of the evacuation.

There had also been further confirmation of the conspiracy of Talleyrand and Fouché. Prince Eugène, the Emperor’s stepson, who was acting as his viceroy in Italy, had intercepted another letter to Prince Murat. The imperial crown was offered to Murat in far more explicit terms, together with an assurance that the people of France would be sure to back Murat’s claim, even if Napoleon was not killed in Spain. Napoleon had felt the rage rising in him like a fire as he read Eugène’s message. It was not that he felt surprised by their treachery. It was more to do with their ingratitude. Fouché and Talleyrand owed their high office, their titles and their wealth to Napoleon. It was he who had recognised their talents and raised them up to their current stations. Now they repaid him with treachery.

Looking out of his carriage window Napoleon studied the faces of the people he passed in the street. Most had stopped to watch the small procession of gaudily uniformed escorts and the gilded carriage pass by, and some had cheered when they saw the imperial crest on the door. But most had remained silent, their faces expressionless as they stared at their Emperor. It was a cold morning but even allowing for that Napoleon felt an icy tingle trace its way down his spine as he contemplated the mood of his people.

Once he reached the Tuileries he summoned his brother Lucien and strode anxiously up and down the length of his office until he arrived.

‘Your majesty.’ Lucien bowed his head. ‘It is good to see you again.’

‘The door is closed,’ said Napoleon. ‘You can dispense with the formalities, brother.’

Lucien cocked an eyebrow. ‘Well, that is an interesting development. You must be more concerned about the situation than I thought.’

‘How concerned should I be?’

‘There is no immediate threat of open revolt. To be sure, Talleyrand carries the support of much of the nation. The people want peace, Napoleon, and we still don’t have it. Can you wonder that they might want a change? Particularly in view of events in Spain.’

‘The conquest of Spain is all but complete,’ Napoleon replied irritably. ‘We have beaten their armies.We have driven the British from the Peninsula. All that remains is for Joseph to mop up a handful of rebels in Seville and all is done.’

Lucien nodded faintly. ‘So you say. However, there are reports reaching Paris that the common people of Spain are anything but conquered. They harry our men from every point of concealment and the writ of the new King carries no further than the nearest French garrison.’