The Fields of Death

by Scarrow, Simon

  At length, some hour or so after the members of the court had gathered in the chamber, the tramp of soldiers’ boots in the corridor outside announced the arrival of the Emperor and his bodyguards. The doors of the room opened with a light creak and Napoleon entered. He strode across to the elaborately carved gold leaf and velvet cushioned throne positioned on a raised dais. The throne of the Empress had been removed the previous evening and carried off to a storeroom. When he had taken his seat there was a short pause before more footsteps announced the arrival of the Empress. Josephine wore a simple dark blue gown, as if she was going to a funeral, Napoleon reflected. She crossed the room and stood a short distance in front of the dais, facing him. He could see that she had been crying again, and her skin seemed even more pale than usual.

  Napoleon cleared his throat and looked round the chamber at the members of his family, his ministers, the members of the senate, scores of his marshals and generals, and representatives from the church. Josephine was the only woman in the room.

  ‘My lords, I have summoned you here to bear witness to a sad, but necessary, day in our lives. For reasons of state, I am compelled to end my marriage to the Empress Josephine. The senate has ratified the required decree and today both I and my wife will sign the civil register acknowledging the end of our marriage.’ He paused, not daring to look at her, and fixed his gaze on a ceiling moulding near the top of the opposite wall. Despite all his intentions to keep the formalities brief and without emotion, he could feel his throat constricting painfully. He coughed.

  ‘Before the decree is signed, I wish it to be known that I impute no fault, nor lack of love, to the Empress; nor do I mean her any disfavour. The only fault that has brought us to this unfortunate decision lies in the failure of nature to provide us with an heir to succeed me to the imperial throne.’

  He could no longer deny the need to look at her, and his gaze fixed on hers. Fresh tears glistened in her eyes. She quickly raised a hand and dabbed them away.

  Napoleon breathed in deeply, then stood up and signalled to Fouché, the Minister of Police and one of Napoleon’s closest advisors, to bring forward the decree. Fouché strode up on to the dais with a small writing case. Flipping it open, he revealed the document, and held the case in front of Napoleon. Taking up the pen inside the case, Napoleon opened the inkwell, dipped the nib inside and then moved his hand towards the bottom of the decree. He paused for a moment, looking past his brother towards Josephine. She gave the faintest shake of the head as she stared at him pleadingly. He looked down and quickly signed his name before returning the pen to its holder.

  Fouché retreated two paces and turned to approach Josephine. He addressed her coldly.

  ‘If you would sign the decree, your imperial majesty, then it is all over.’

  Josephine stared at the document as if it were a poisonous snake, and then slowly raised a trembling hand to reach for the pen. She picked it up and charged the nib before preparing to sign her name next to Napoleon’s. She started to write, and then shook her head.

  ‘I-I can’t.’ Her voice caught on a sob. ‘I can’t do this.’

  ‘You must,’ Fouché urged her quietly. ‘You have no choice.’

  She shook her head, blinking back more tears.

  Napoleon could bear it no more and rose from his throne and crossed to her side.‘Josephine, my dearest love, you must sign the decree, or all that I have worked for can come to nothing. Sign it, I beg you, for me. Sign it out of the love you have for me.’

  Josephine nodded, held the pen ready again and then, slowly and deliberately, signed her name. As soon as she had finished, Fouché took the pen from her hand and closed the writing case.

  ‘It is done,’ he announced to the people standing in the audience chamber. ‘The decree is signed and the divorce is official.’

  His words were greeted with silence, the only sound in the room the sobbing of Josephine as she clutched her arms around herself. Napoleon raised a hand to comfort her, then withdrew it, and made himself return to the throne. No one spoke, unsure how to react, and nervously watching for a cue from the Emperor, but Napoleon sat still and silent, staring straight ahead. Then he rose abruptly and left the chamber.

  Early the following morning Napoleon was woken by his personal valet, Roustam, and he dressed and ate a hurried breakfast before making his way down into the courtyard of the palace. It was not quite eight o’clock and the light was thin and pale. A convoy of carriages and wagons waited to carry Josephine and her retinue and belongings to Malmaison, the country chateau that Napoleon had decided to grant her, amongst other gifts and riches, that would ensure that she lived comfortably for the rest of her life. The horses pawed at the cobbles and the servants stamped their boots and rubbed their hands to try to stay warm as they waited for their mistress. Napoleon saw that her carriage was empty and called one of her ladies-in-waiting over to him.

  ‘Where is your mistress? She is supposed to leave on the hour.’

  ‘I’m sorry, sire. She sent word that she would be here at the appointed time. I last saw her in her bedchamber.’

  ‘I see.’ Napoleon lowered his voice. ‘And how is her imperial majesty?’

  ‘Tired, sire, for weeping most of the night. She was sitting on her bed when I last saw her, looking at your portrait.’

  ‘You’d better get into your carriage. No sense in you getting cold while we wait.’

  She backed away and turned towards the carriage, and Napoleon looked up at the clock above the arch of the courtyard. The large hand notched forward another minute and he suddenly felt a familiar irritation with Josephine, who had always contrived to be late for events, keeping him waiting. His mood continued to sour as the eighth hour approached. Then, as the clock struck, a door opened and Josephine emerged from the palace, wrapped in fur and coolly elegant as she strode gracefully across to her carriage. Her step did not falter as she recognised Napoleon and she held out her gloved hands to him. With only the slightest of reservation he took her hands, and leaned forward to kiss her on both cheeks before drawing back. A pained look flickered across her face and he felt her hands gently attempt to draw him closer.

  ‘No, Josephine.’ He smiled softly. ‘That would not be a good idea.’

  ‘Is it so easy for you to resist my love?’

  ‘It is never easy.’

  ‘So?’ Her eyes invited him. ‘If you should ever want to visit me, I would not breathe a word of it to anyone else.’

  ‘That will not happen. We must both be strong in this.’

  She bit her lip and then nodded. ‘Very well. Then I must go.’

  ‘Yes.’

  She released her grip on his hands and turned away, taking the hand of a footman as he helped her up into the carriage. The door closed behind her and all along the small convoy of vehicles men clambered aboard and drivers took up their reins and whips. An order was shouted from the front and the convoy lurched forward, iron-rimmed wheels and iron-shod horses filling the chilly air with a clattering cacophony. As Josephine’s carriage started forward and headed towards the arch, Napoleon stared after it for a moment. The window did not open. There was no sign of her face at the small panel at the rear, and a moment later it passed through the arch and turned into the avenue beyond and out of sight.

  Two weeks later, on the first day of the new year, Napoleon convened a meeting of his family and closest advisors. The clouds and rain that had seemed to hang over the capital for all of December had departed and left a clear blue sky. However, the Emperor had begun to brood over the loss of his wife, and his mood was not helped by the need to make a decision about her replacement. After consulting with his diplomats and sending messages to France’s ambassadors to put forward the names of suitable women a list of candidates was drawn up.

  In the end there were only two that matched Napoleon’s aspirations, and he had called the meeting to help him choose between them. Once everyone was settled at the long table in the briefing room of his pri
vate apartments, Napoleon rapped his knuckles on the table.

  ‘Quiet, gentlemen.’ He paused until the others had fixed their attention on him. ‘We need to decide who is to be my wife, and the new Empress of France. You will be aware that I have been considering a number of women, and it is my belief that our interests will be best served by either the Grand Duchess Anna of Russia, or Princess Marie-Louise of Austria. As most of you will know, the Grand Duchess is the sister of Tsar Alexander. With relations between Russia and France as they are at present, a marriage into the Tsar’s family would help us to repair some of the damage that has been done to our alliance. In time, when there are children, they can only help to strengthen the union of our two powers.’

  ‘Sire,’ Joseph interrupted. ‘There is no guarantee that the Grand Duchess will be fertile. The most pressing need is to produce an heir to the throne. At fifteen, she will be somewhat on the young side to bear children. There might be a risk to her health that would not apply to an older, stronger woman.’

  ‘She is old enough,’ Napoleon replied.‘There are many women who are capable of bearing children at such an age. Besides, if she proves to be fertile then we can be guaranteed an extended period of child-bearing age. The Grand Duchess may well provide us with a good many heirs to the throne over the years.’

  ‘That is true,’ Joseph conceded. ‘However, we must consider her stock. The Romanovs are renowned for producing many sickly offspring, as well as a small number afflicted with insanity. We would not want to risk contaminating your bloodline with such specimens.’

  ‘No, we would not.’ Napoleon nodded thoughtfully. ‘Even so, we must bear in mind the political advantages of a union between France and Russia. Particularly now when England is so close to collapse. Fouché’s agents report that the embargo on English trade is causing goods to pile up in their ports. Factories are closing and their workers are going hungry. Soon they will begin to starve, and when the people starve, they begin to demand change.’

  ‘We have heard this all before from the Minister of Police,’ Joseph said wearily. ‘How long is it that he has been promising us that the common people of England are close to revolt? Two years? Three?’

  Minister Fouché pursed his lips and shrugged.‘I trust what my agents say. The problem is that the English have a distressing capacity for endurance, and a lack of appetite for revolution. But trade is their Achilles’ heel. Cut that and they are hobbled.’

  ‘And still they fight on,’Talleyrand intervened from the far end of the table. Despite the deepening rift between them, Napoleon had summoned his former Foreign Minister with the rest. Talleyrand’s advice was too precious to overlook. ‘Indeed, far from showing any sign of weakening, their influence grows from strength to strength in the Peninsula. They defeated us at Talavera.’ He raised a hand as he saw Napoleon lean forward to protest. ‘I know that Marshal Jourdan and Victor claim it was a victory, and that is how you ordered it to be represented in our newspapers, but the truth is that our forces were repelled by the English.’

  ‘Really?’ Napoleon’s lips curled into a faint sneer.‘Then how do you explain why General Wellesley felt compelled to retreat all the way back to Portugal, if he won the battle?’

  ‘Strategic necessity, sire. All the English have to do is maintain an army in the Peninsula in order to tie down French forces many times their number.’

  ‘Enough!’ Napoleon slapped his hand down. ‘The situation in the Peninsula is moving in our favour. Victory there is inevitable. In the spring I shall send more men to Spain, together with Masséna, and the English will be routed once and for all. So let us not waste another moment thinking on it. We are here to choose a bride. As I pointed out, a marriage would do much to strengthen our ties with Russia. The risk lies with the ability of the Tsar’s sister to present us with an heir.’ He paused. ‘On the other hand, Princess Marie-Louise is nineteen, a ripe enough age to produce children. The pity of it is that she is no beauty.’ He recalled the long Hapsburg face she had inherited from Emperor Francis, together with a narrow nose and bulging eyes. ‘I admit that the thought of bedding her appeals more to my sense of duty than to my desire as a man.’

  ‘Sometimes great men are called on to make great sacrifices,’ Talleyrand shrugged. ‘Do not forget, sire, that it is your duty to provide France with an heir.’

  ‘True, but in this case I wish there was an easier way to achieve that end.’

  Louis, who had not yet spoken, or even seemed terribly interested, stirred and caught his brother’s eye.‘If you’ll pardon me, I seem to recall hearing that one of her forebears, a great-aunt I think, gave birth to twenty-six children. That answers to her suitability for marriage on one ground.’

  Napoleon stared at Louis. ‘Twenty-six children? Astonishing. That is just the kind of womb I want to marry.’ He turned to Champagny, Talleyrand’s successor as minister for foreign affairs. ‘Do we know how the Austrians will react to the offer?’

  ‘Indeed, sire. When I discussed the matter with their ambassador, he said that Prince Metternich had suggested a similar form of alliance between France and Austria. Apparently he had even mentioned Marie-Louise by name.’

  ‘That’s good,’ Napoleon mused. If Metternich could smooth the path for the marriage proposal then it stood every chance of success. However, he reflected, if Metternich was for such a marriage, then he was sure to be playing some kind of long game. Be that as it may, marriage to Princess Marie-Louise served France’s immediate interests, and if she proved fruitful, France’s long-term interests as well. He looked round the table and nodded.

  ‘All right, then, Princess Marie-Louise it is. Champagny, you must place our offer before the Austrians as soon as possible. If they agree, then we will need to move swiftly. I want to give the Russians as little time as possible to register any kind of protest about closer ties between France and Austria.’

  ‘Yes, sire.’

  ‘Inform Emperor Francis that I wish the marriage to take place no later than spring. Affairs of state will make it impossible for me to leave Paris for some months, so I will send an envoy to make the offer on my behalf. If Emperor Francis agrees, then the envoy can act as my proxy and the marriage can take place at once, and Marie-Louise can travel to Paris as my bride.’

  ‘A proxy marriage?’ Joseph raised his eyebrows.‘Would that not seem a bit rushed? Surely if we are to give the impression of a union of our two powers, a state wedding would be more emphatic?’

  Napoleon waved the objection aside. ‘We can put something on later, if necessary, to keep the people happy. What matters is that we tie things up swiftly and that I endeavour to make my new Empress pregnant as soon as possible. Are all agreed then, gentlemen?’

  His advisors nodded, except Louis who stroked his jaw with a rueful expression.

  ‘What is it, brother? You wish to raise an objection?’

  ‘No, sire, not as such. I am only concerned about the damage this will do to the French reputation for romance.’

  The other men smiled and a few laughed, but Napoleon’s expression remained humourless. ‘There is no place for romance in the affairs of state.’ He frowned and hardened his voice. ‘Not any more.’

  Chapter 14

  Arthur

  Lisbon, February 1810

  ‘The government is making a fine mess of things.’ Henry Wellesley shook his head as he helped himself to another glass of Arthur’s Madeira. The two brothers were seated in front of a fire in the country house Arthur rented from a local noble. Outside night had fallen and rain lashed the shutters. The army was in winter quarters along the border with Spain and he had taken the opportunity to visit Lisbon to arrange for provisions to be sent forward. He was also taking stock of the progress of the network of defences he had ordered to be constructed across the strip of land north of the city, between the sea and the river Tagus. Tens of thousands of Portuguese peasants had been conscripted to build the forts, redoubts and trenches on either side of the town of Torre
s Vedras that were intended to hold back the onslaught of the French army when it next attempted to sweep the English out of the Peninsula.

  Henry had arrived from Cadiz in a packet ship, bearing the latest despatches from London. It was a source of considerable infuriation to Arthur that his political masters informed the British representative at Cadiz of developments at home, before such news was passed on to the commander of the English forces in the Peninsula. There was some small cheer on this day at least since Henry had brought the despatches in person, together with letters from friends and family.

  ‘By God,’ Arthur growled. ‘Those fools back in London. Anyone would think they would rather dish their political opponents than the enemy.’

  ‘But Arthur, as far as they are concerned their political opponents are their enemy. The French are merely an inconvenience.’

  ‘Precisely. I thought I’d heard it all when news arrived of that ridiculous duel between Castlereagh and Canning. It’s a miracle only Canning was wounded. Now both men are in disgrace and out of government, precisely at the time when all Englishmen should be putting country above all else. Meanwhile, we have that religious zealot, Spencer Perceval, as Prime Minister. At least in Lord Liverpool we have a cool head as War Minister. He at least appreciates the need to keep an army here in Spain.’

  ‘That he does, but Liverpool is struggling to defend that point of view. There are men in the cabinet who are quite open in their calls to either have you replaced, or have the army evacuated and returned to England.’

  Arthur stared into the heart of the fire and asked quietly,‘Why would they want to replace me? What reason could they have?’

  ‘Reason? You are a Wellesley; Richard’s brother. That is reason enough as far as they are concerned.’