The Irish Witch

by Dennis Wheatley

  ‘My dear de Breuc,

  ‘I much regret to have to tell you that we have drawn a blank. My people tell me that after the Brunswickers were shipped by the English from Spain they were landed in north-west Germany and employed there against the forces of the Marshal Prince d’Eckmühl in Hanover; so your relative is probably in a prisoner-of-war camp in the Prince’s command; and of the occupants of these we have no records.

  ‘With my most distinguished sentiments, etc.’

  Giving a sigh, Roger laid the letter down. Obviously the mission on which he had set out was not yet anywhere near accomplishment.

  15

  The War Reopens

  As Roger had had good reason to expect that Charles had been sent south to a camp somewhere in France or, at the worst, in the Rhine Provinces, General Clarke’s letter was a grievous disappointment. Not only did it mean another journey of at least six hundred and fifty miles, but the Prince d’Eckmühl was Marshal Davout, a dour man who had no liking for Roger, so it would be useless to go direct to him. The only course was to go first to the Emperor and obtain from him an order to the Marshal to release Charles.

  All that was known in Paris of the situation in the north was that the French were holding the line of the Elbe and that the Emperor’s headquarters were somewhere in the neighbourhood of Dresden. So, on the morning of August 24th, Roger took leave of his charming host and set off in that direction.

  Again averaging fifty miles a day, he travelled by way of Chalons, Nancy, Strasbourg, Stuttgart, Nürnberg, Plauen and Chemnitz.

  At officers’ Messes in garrison towns through which he passed he picked up news of the conflict that had reopened when Austria entered the war. On the 18th Marshal Macdonald’s army in Silesia had been defeated by Blücher and forced back over the river Katzbach; but on the 21st the Emperor had arrived on the scene and restored the situation. Two days later he hurried back to Dresden. Macdonald was said to have believed that the allies were retiring, but they were not, so the two armies, this time unexpectedly, again came into collision. Blücher’s Prussians were severely handled, but the Russian cavalry broke through the French flank and drove the centre of Macdonald’s army in great confusion down into the flooded river Neisse. After further severe fighting, by September 1st the allies had driven the French out of Silesia, so could claim their first substantial victory.

  In the meantime, on August 22nd, Prince Karl von Schwarzenberg, who had been nominated Generalissimo of the Allied forces, had invaded Saxony with his Austrians and advanced on Dresden. As the Emperor had by then gone to the assistance of Macdonald in Silesia, the city was covered only by St. Cyr’s corps. Schwarzenberg, presumably unaware of this, and at all times a hesitant General with an obsessive fear of Napoleon, decided to await further reinforcements; so he did not open the attack until the morning of the 26th, and then only half-heartedly.

  But for this dilatoriness he could almost certainly have taken the Saxon capital. As things turned out, St. Cyr’s three divisions proved staunch enough to hold off the first assaults and, that very morning, Napoleon returned. Halting on the bridge over the Elbe, he swiftly deployed the army he had brought back with him from Silesia, and despatched General Vandamme with a strong force to Pirna, from where he could fall on the Allies’ rear.

  Early on the 27th Napoleon launched a full-scale attack and, although the Allied army exceeded the French by some forty thousand men, by afternoon their left wing had been shattered, which led to a general retreat. The weather was appalling, the roads bad and that night Russians, Prussians and Austrians were fleeing in hopeless disorder. They had lost ten thousand killed and wounded, and fifteen thousand had been taken prisoner. On the following day they were relentlessly pursued, and lost a further five thousand men.

  Such was Napoleon’s great victory at Dresden, but he was robbed of its fruits a few days later. While the Allies strove to stem the retreat and bring up reinforcements, the King of Prussia appealed to the Russian General Ostermann to use the reserve division he commanded in an endeavour to check the French advance. On the 30th the fifteen thousand Russians fought heroically against great odds, lost half their number, but succeeded in holding Vandamme before Kulm. By the following day von Kleist’s Prussians had outflanked the French, and both the Russians and Austrians, now fifty thousand strong, attacked them fiercely. At Kulm two divisions laid down their arms, and ten thousand prisoners were taken, including Vandamme himself. For him this was a great misfortune, as he was one of Napoleon’s ablest Generals and, but for this defeat, might soon have been made a Marshal.

  Such was the situation, as far as it was known to Roger, when he rode into the great camp just outside Dresden on the afternoon of September 6th.

  Whenever Roger rejoined Napoleon, it had always been his custom first to see Duroc, the Grand Marshal of Palaces and Camps, who had long been a close personal friend of his, to learn from him how matters were going and the mood of the Emperor. Stopping a Lieutenant, he enquired of him the whereabouts of Duroc’s quarters.

  The young officer looked up at him in surprise and replied, ‘Did you not know, Sir, the Duc de Friuli is dead? He was killed by a cannon ball that ploughed right through the Emperor’s staff on the day after the battle of Bautzen.’

  This was a great blow to Roger, as he knew it must also have been to the Emperor, since for nearly twenty years Duroc had been Napoleon’s constant companion, and a man for whom he had a very deep affection.

  For a few minutes Roger remained seated on his halted horse, his head bowed in sadness; then another horseman cantered by, glanced at him in passing, abruptly pulled up and exclaimed:

  ‘Mon Dieu! If it’s not le brave Breuc! We thought you long since dead on the plains of Russia.’

  Swinging round, Roger recognised Caulaincourt, Duc de Vicenza, a soldier-diplomat whom he had known for many years, and said, ‘I got cut off, but had the good luck to escape. At the moment though, I am quite overwhelmed, for I have only just learnt that poor Duroc is dead.’

  The Duc nodded. ‘Alas, yes. Without him at headquarters things will never be the same. Neither will the Imperial Guard without Bessières as its commander. He was killed at Lützen.’

  ‘I must then condole with the Emperor on the loss of both when I report to him.’

  ‘You would do better to wait for a more propitious moment, both to report and to condole. He got back to Dresden from one of his reconnaissances in force only this morning, so is up to his eyes in business and in a far from good humour. Wait until this evening, and in the meantime accompany me to my quarters, where I can provide you with refreshment and you can rest for an hour or two.’

  Roger happily agreed, as Caulaincourt was one of the Emperor’s closest confidants. He came of a noble Picardy family and, when Bernadotte was Minister of War, had been given by him the command of a crack cavalry regiment. Under the Consulate Talleyrand had, on discovering that Caulaincourt had an excellent brain, sent him as Ambassador to Russia. On his return Bonaparte had made him an A.D.C., and it was then that Roger had first come to know him.

  Later, when Napoleon had become Emperor, he had made Caulaincourt Grand Equerry then, in 1807, sent him again as Ambassador to Russia. He had got on excellently with the Czar and his advisers, and done everything he possibly could to prevent war between the two countries, but failed. Having accompanied Napoleon in the retreat from Moscow, he had left the shattered army with him when he abandoned it to return in haste to Paris, and since had handled the negotiations that had led to the armistice of June-July.

  In his marquee, over a bottle of excellent hock, he gave Roger the inside information about what had been going on. As one of Napoleon’s most loyal subordinates, he lamented the state into which his master had fallen. He said that the Emperor, unlike his old self, was now a prey to constant indecision, wasted hours and sometimes days in sleeping or lazing about and, instead of concentrating his forces, tended to disperse them. It was his failure to follow up and swiftly support
Vandamme which had led to that General’s defeat and capture; and his attempt to take Berlin had been both ill-judged and disastrous.

  Roger had heard nothing of this last. Napoleon had always disliked Bernadotte, so had displayed ungovernable rage when he learned that his ex-Marshal had actually brought Sweden into the war on the side of the allies, and had sworn to be avenged on him. When the war reopened, the allies had put Bernadotte in command of their army of the north, which consisted of some one hundred and twenty thousand Prussians, Russians and Swedes. Instead of concentrating all his forces against the Allies’ main army on the far side of the Elbe, Napoleon’s personal hatred of Bernadotte had led him in mid-August to despatch Marshal Oudinot with sixty thousand men, and General Girard’s division of fourteen thousand in support, to capture Berlin.

  French intelligence reported that there had been dissension among the Allies. Bernadotte, afraid to try conclusions with Napoleon, had been for retiring behind the Havel and Spree, but the Prussians were determined to die if they had to in front of their capital rather than behind it, and had pushed the Swedish Crown Prince into letting them have their way. After some initial successes, Oudinot was surprised by an independent corps of Prussians on his right; his centre, under Regnier, was driven back and, a few days later, Girard’s division was almost annihilated. So this pointless attempt against Berlin had led to another defeat for the Emperor, and the loss of some ten thousand men.

  The bottle of hock being finished and Roger having given a brief account of his movements since escaping from Russia, he took his ease while Caulaincourt settled down to work at his desk. An hour or so later an adjutant brought him a despatch. Having glanced at it, he sprang up from his chair with an excited shout:

  ‘Here is splendid news! That traitor Moreau is dead. His legs were blown off by a cannon-ball during last week’s battle.’

  Moreau had first become famous as a General during the wars of the Revolution and, while Bonaparte had been in Italy, won the great battle of Hohenlinden. But he was a die-hard Republican, and his enormous popularity with the people had made him an obvious leader of any movement to curb the powers of a dictator, which Bonaparte as First Consul was already showing signs of assuming. To forestall any such danger to his position Napoleon had had him and a number of other Jacobins brought to trial for conspiring against the State. They had been condemned—in Moreau’s case probably unjustly—but, fearing a popular outcry, Bonaparte had not dared order the hero’s execution, so had sent him into exile.

  Roger had not heard of him for a dozen years and, sitting up, exclaimed in surprise, ‘Moreau? I thought he was in the United States.’

  Caulaincourt shook his head. ‘Nay. He was, but had recently returned, hoping that the time had come to take his revenge on the Emperor. He was received with the highest honours by the three Allied monarchs, and has since been acting as military adviser to the Czar Alexander. I must take these great tidings to our master. Personal feelings apart, he will be delighted, for Moreau was a very able General, and so a danger to us. Come with me and you can be assured of a good reception from His Majesty.’

  Ten minutes later they were both in the presence of the Emperor. In the nine months since Roger had last seen him, he seemed to have aged several years. His paunch was even more prominent, the dark hair brushed across his big head was thinner, his stoop more pronounced and his face, always pale, now had an unhealthy look.

  When Caulaincourt announced his news, Napoleon’s fine eyes suddenly lit up, and he cried, ‘So that treacherous pig is dead, eh? What a splendid bonus to our recent victory. God be praised for yet another mercy.’

  Then his glance lit on Roger, who had been standing a little behind Caulaincourt and in his shadow from the big lantern that lit the marquee. Leaning forward he scowled for a moment and thrust out his powerful jaw. Then he suddenly laughed:

  ‘Breuc, or I’ll be damned! I swear you have nine lives like a cat. How did you get out of Russia?’

  Bowing low, Roger started off, ‘May it please Your Imperial Majesty …’ then gave the account of himself that he had told both Clarke and Caulaincourt. That Roger had been in England did not surprise the Emperor, as his memory was prodigious, but when it emerged that, from Sweden, Roger had been carried off to the United States, Napoleon’s interest immediately quickened.

  ‘Ha! Then you can tell me about the war the Americans are waging against the accursed English. You shall do so while I eat.’ Turning, he called in his heavily-accented French to his secretary, Baron Méneval, who was working at a desk at the far end of the marquee, ‘Have my dinner brought.’

  Méneval was absent only a few minutes. During that time Roger continued his account of how he had succeeded in rejoining his master by way of Spain. Then Rustom, the Mameluke slave whom Napoleon had brought back from Egypt as his personal body servant, came in carrying a single dish under a silver cover.

  Napoleon had never had any interest in food and at meals in his Palaces had tended to embarrass his guests by the swiftness with which he despatched course after course, evidently grudging the time that had to be given to eating. When in the field he ate irregularly and, in order that he should not be kept waiting whenever he felt hungry, day and night his chefs put a fresh chicken on the spit every ten minutes or so, in order that one should always be sufficiently roasted to be served immediately.

  While he ate voraciously of this single course, washing the meat down with gulps of red wine, Roger told him all he had gathered about the Anglo-American war on land and sea. When he had exhausted the subject, he went on smoothly:

  ‘You will recall, Sire, that I have English relatives. While I was in London I learned that a young nephew of mine, the Earl of St. Ermins, a Lieutenant in the Cold-stream Guards, who was attached to the Duke of Brunswick’s contingent, had been taken captive. I have reason to believe that he is now in one of the Prince d’Eckmühl’s prisoner-of-war camps. The boy’s mother is a dear friend of mine, so I should take it as a great personal favour if Your Imperial Majesty would give me an order for his release. It could be executed without his becoming aware that I am in fact a loyal Frenchman and in your service. He could be told that his liberty has been restored owing to an exchange with the Prussians, on condition that they send him home and he remains a non-combatant for the duration of the war.’

  The Emperor considered for a moment, wiped his mouth on a napkin, then replied, ‘Why not? It will make one less mouth for us to feed and, God knows, supplies in this damn’ country are devilish hard to come by. My poor army is now living on starvation rations.’ Turning to Méneval, he added:

  ‘Write an order to Davout, or whom it may concern, in accordance with Breuc’s wishes, and let him have it.’

  Ten minutes later, with the order in his hand and greatly elated by his success, Roger was bowing himself out of the marquee. But his elation was short-lived, as Napoleon said curtly:

  ‘I can’t let you go off to Davout to arrange such a minor matter yet, though. The campaign has already proved most costly, and I am short of A.D.C.s. With your long experience you will prove most valuable to me. You must remain until I’ve taught those treacherous Austrians a lesson and dealt with the rest of the rabble that has combined against me. When I’ve done that, it will be time enough for you to restore this youth to his mother’s arms.’

  ‘To hear is to obey, Sire.’ Roger forced himself to use cheerfully the Gasconade with which he had often before taken the Emperor’s orders. But, as he made his way to find the quarters which Caulaincourt had promised to have allotted to him, he was greatly worried. It was already September. Charles was menaced by death when the leaves began to fall, and that would not now be long. It might be months before a decisive battle was fought, and he dared not flout the Emperor’s orders by leaving him at once. He must remain for a week or two at least, but it had become imperative that he should not remain longer with Napoleon. He made up his mind there and then that at the first chance, during a reconnaissance
or skirmish, he would disappear, leaving it to be believed that he had been killed or captured, and make off with all speed to Davout’s headquarters.

  Next day Roger learned that the Emperor, still obsessed with his desire to defeat and humiliate Bernadotte, had, on the 5th, sent Ney with his corps to reinforce and take over the command from Oudinot for another attempt to capture Berlin. On the 7th Napoleon, with further divisions and his staff, including Roger, left Dresden to support this new opposition.

  The Emperor’s position was now a far from favourable one. Since the recommencement of hostilities, he had lost one hundred and fifty thousand men and three hundred guns. His communications were under constant attack from German irregulars, it was becoming more and more difficult to supply his army, and he had at least three hostile armies of mixed Allies threatening him from different quarters, the exact positions of which were unknown to him.

  Not long after leaving Dresden he received a despatch from Ney, reporting that his opening move had proved successful and he had driven the enemy back on Jüterberg. But on the following day intelligence was received that the army of Silesia was again advancing on Dresden; so, instead of continuing north to join Ney for a concerted attack on Berlin, Napoleon turned his army about, to defend the Saxon capital again.

  The Emperor’s failure to support his Marshal, coupled with Ney’s misjudgement in ordering Oudinot to reinforce their front on the north bank of the marshy Ahebach, brought about disaster. Courier after courier brought tidings of the ever-worsening situation. In the neighbourhood of Dennewitz, Bülow’s Prussians drove in the French right. Ney made a desperate attempt to break through the Prussian centre, but failed. Oudinot was unable to get his troops back across the marshy little river in time to turn the tide of battle. Before he could do so, the cautious Bernadotte had decided to commit his Swedes. As darkness fell, the French broke and fled. The second attempt to take Berlin had failed lamentably and cost the French twenty-two thousand men.