Young Bloods

by Simon Scarrow

  The courtyard looked like a battlefield. Scores of bodies lay sprawled on the ground. Many wore the uniforms of the National Guard but most belonged to the household guard, slaughtered like cattle as they had made the retreat to the palace entrance.The flagstones in front of the palace were splashed with blood.With a look of distaste Napoleon picked his way over the carnage towards the steps.

  Before he reached them, there was a screech of triumph and three women emerged from behind one of the pediments at the bottom of the staircase, dragging a small figure in the red coat and white breeches of the Swiss Guard. He could not have been more than twelve years old and must have been one of the drummer boys, Napoleon realised. The women dragged him out on to the steps, then one of them rummaged in her haversack and drew out a large cleaver. As soon as the boy saw it he screamed in terror. He caught sight of Napoleon and stretched out his hands, fingers splayed and begging for help. Then the women dragged him down and one pinned his head on a step. The cleaver flashed down and thudded into his neck with a wet crunch, cutting off his screams. The bloodied cleaver rose and fell, rose and fell again and then one of the women stood up, brandishing the boy’s head, as blood coursed down the steps and dripped on to the cobblestones. Snatching up a crudely sharpened stake from one of the dead bodies littering the ground in front of the steps, the woman thrust the little head down onto the point and then, grasping the base of the stake, she lifted it over her head with a gleeful cry. Then the three of them set off towards the Place du Carousel. Napoleon stared at them in numbed horror as they passed by him, and refused to acknowledge their greeting.

  He turned back to the palace and mounted the steps, stained with blood and covered with more bodies. On the threshold of the massive entrance hall he paused. The shouts of those inside echoed round the cavernous space and there was still sporadic musket fire. The last of the Swiss Guards defending the royal apartments had made a final stand on the staircase where their bodies lay in an untidy heap. Around them lay the bodies of some of their attackers, many entwined with their victims, killed while fighting with their bare hands. Napoleon did not want to risk being mistaken for a royalist in his artillery uniform, and hurried away to the terrace at the back of the palace.The doors at the far end stood open.

  Emerging on to the terrace he found himself confronted by a nightmare scene. The vast expanse of the ornate flowerbeds and lawns of the Tuileries gardens was covered with figures running in all directions. Men in scarlet uniforms were fleeing for their lives. Small groups of civilians and men of the National Guard were chasing them down and slaughtering them without mercy. A flash of scarlet in the branches of a tree a hundred or so paces away drew Napoleon’s eye and he saw that one of the Swiss Guards had climbed into the highest branches to try to escape his pursuers. A small crowd was shouting angrily and beckoning to the man to come down. Then a National Guardsman approached. He raised his musket and calmly took aim on the Swiss soldier as if he was out shooting fowl. There was a flash and a puff of smoke before the crack reached Napoleon’s ears.The man in the tree convulsed, and he balanced on his branch for a moment as a bright red patch spread across the white facings of his uniform. Then his legs collapsed, his grip failed him and he tumbled through the branches like a rag doll before he hit the ground and was instantly lost from sight as the mob surged over his body.

  A crunch of gravel on the terrace behind him made Napoleon flinch and he spun round. A National Guardsman was staring at him down the barrel of a musket, but he smiled as he saw Napoleon’s cockade, and lowered his weapon.

  ‘Sorry, sir. Thought you were a royalist . . . Looks like it’s all over,’ the man said as he came and stood beside Napoleon and stared out across the gardens. ‘We’ve won, then. Paris belongs to us now.’

  ‘Some victory,’ Napoleon muttered as he gazed out across the killing fields of the Tuileries. ‘Do you know what’s become of the royal family?’

  The man snorted. ‘Louis gave in the moment we breached the first gate.Took his family and ran for shelter in the riding school. Didn’t bother to tell his men until it was too late to do any good. There’s a lot of blood on his hands today.’

  ‘I suppose so.’ Napoleon nodded towards the mob in the gardens. ‘I don’t imagine the deputies will be able to protect the King for long.’

  ‘King? He’s not King any more. Not after today.You mark my words, Lieutenant. The monarchy’s finished, and not even the Duke of Brunswick can do anything about it.’

  Napoleon remembered the fate the Prussian commander had promised for the city if the Tuileries was attacked. ‘I pray that you’re right, citizen.’

  Napoleon had seen enough - more than enough. When he had joined the army, he had never imagined that his first sight of a battlefield would be here amid the grandeur of Europe’s finest palace. And he had never imagined it would look like a vision of hell. So this was what happened when the people ran out of control. Despite his sympathy for the suffering of the poorest classes of French society he could find no justification for the scene before him. Nor could he staunch the bitter feeling of disgust that swelled up inside him. Napoleon nodded farewell to the National Guardsman and turned to walk away, leaving the man to his victory.

  Chapter 65

  Two days after the massacre of the Swiss Guards, Saliceti sent for Napoleon. When he arrived at the deputy’s office Napoleon was kept waiting for over an hour before Saliceti finally appeared, looking exhausted. He swept past Napoleon, beckoning to the lieutenant to follow him into the office, then he closed the door behind them and slumped in his seat behind the desk.

  ‘Those fools at the Assembly want to suspend the King.’

  ‘Suspend?’ Napoleon looked astonished. ‘How do they expect to do that?’

  ‘By a rope ideally.’ Saliceti laughed. ‘If only! No, I mean they refuse to depose him. They still can’t see that it’s him or us at the end of the day. In any case, it’s out of their hands now.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘The Paris Commune has taken charge of the King. The Assembly can say what it likes, but Louis is a prisoner of the Commune and they’re not going to hand him over until they get what they want.’

  Napoleon stirred uneasily. ‘What’s going to happen to the King?’

  ‘He, and the rest of the royal family, are being held in one of the towers at the Temple. Until their fate is decided. If the Jacobins win the day, he’ll be dethroned, tried as a traitor and then ...’ Saliceti waved his hands. ‘And then, he’ll be disposed of.’

  Napoleon bit his lip. Despite the angry cries of denunciation he had heard in the streets since the massacre, there had been few demands for the King’s death, just his removal from the throne. But that was wishful thinking. As long as he lived, Louis would pose a danger to the new order in France.

  ‘Anyway,’ Saliceti broke into his thoughts,‘I didn’t send for you to discuss the fate of kings. That’ll be my job. It’s time for you to repay my favour. I have a tricky mission for you.You won’t like it, and it is dangerous. Both for you and your family. You must understand that before I explain anything else to you.’ Saliceti’s dark eyes bored into Napoleon. ‘Despite our desperate need for professional officers in the army I’m not sending you back to your regiment.’

  Napoleon opened his mouth to protest. He had been kept idle in Paris while his regiment had no doubt been called forward to fight in the defence of France, and he longed to join them. To prove himself as a soldier and - if he was honest with himself - to win himself some glory.

  Saliceti raised a hand to forestall Napoleon’s complaint. ‘I’ve made up my mind. It has to be you. One artillery officer more or less is going to have little effect on the outcome on the war. But one Buona Parte in the right place is going to be invaluable to me, and to France.’

  Napoleon looked at him warily. ‘What exactly is it that you want me to do?’

  ‘Your promotion to captain will be effective immediately. Then I want you to return to Corsica. I
want you to find out what Paoli is up to. If you can, I want you to destabilise him by any means that come to hand.’

  ‘You want me to be a spy?’ Napoleon replied quietly.

  ‘Is that so terrible?’ Saliceti smiled faintly. ‘Please put aside that look of distaste, young man. Whatever you may think of me, I have one attribute that is unquestionable: I am an excellent judge of character. After I read the report on your activities at Ajaccio, I sent for your records at the War Office.They make for interesting reading. Clearly you are an outstanding officer. But one other thing was very evident to me when I pieced together all the information about you.You are the kind of man who possesses a personal ambition that overrules his patriotism.That’s the kind of man I need right now. What? Do you think I have misjudged you?’

  Napoleon stared back at him. At first he felt insulted. Then he realised that Saliceti had seen through him and that the deputy was right. Napoleon had felt the touch of destiny on his shoulder and when a man had had that experience, the rules and values that tied the hands of normal men no longer applied.

  ‘Very well. I’ll return to Corsica. I’ll be your spy.’

  Saliceti slowly smiled. ‘Of course you will.’

  Chapter 66

  ‘Sir,’ Napoleon spoke patiently, ‘we have to prepare the island’s defences. France is already at war with most of Europe. If Britain should join our enemies then we will be facing the most powerful navy in the world.’

  ‘The defence of Corsica is a French concern,’ General Paoli said. ‘Why should the people of this island be burdened with the task of turning their home into a fortress? Particularly against a nation such as Britain, which has been our ally in the struggles for liberation.’ He smiled. ‘Do not forget, my dear Napoleon, that it was Britain who offered me shelter when your father and I were defeated at Ponte Nuovo.’

  ‘I know that, sir. But times change. If France and Britain go to war then Corsica will become a vital strategic asset for whichever side holds the island.’

  Paoli stared hard at him. ‘Not so long ago, you were set on freeing Corsica from the French.’

  Napoleon shrugged.‘At present it is in our best interest to side with France.’

  ‘But only for the present?’

  ‘As I said, the situation has changed. It is more than likely it will change again.’

  ‘So I see,’ Paoli smiled. ‘It’s only been a few months since you left Corisca in disgrace. Now you are a regular army captain and, since Ajaccio’s volunteers have been reinstated, a colonel of volunteers once again.You’re quite an opportunist, my boy.’

  Napoleon stared back at him. ‘If you say so, sir. Do you wish to discuss my report on the island’s defences?’

  Napoleon did not wait for a response but spread the map out across the table in Paoli’s ostentatious office in the Palais National. Whilst Napoleon pulled out his notes from his saddlebag, Paoli wandered over to the doorway that led on to the balcony. Despite it being early in January, the doors were open and the room was cool. The general professed to like the clean, fresh mountain air. Below the balcony the hill town of Corte spread out in a labyrinth of streets. To one side loomed the ancient fortress that had protected the town for centuries, perched atop a rocky crag. Barren mountains surrounded Corte and the peaks were shrouded in dazzling white snow. General Paoli took a deep breath and turned back to Napoleon with another smile.

  ‘Much as I appreciated the hospitality of my British hosts, there was not a day that passed when I did not dream of being back here in the mountains of Corte.’

  ‘I understand, sir. I felt the same when I was being educated in France. It’s in our blood. Wherever you transplant a Corsican, and however long you keep him there, at the end of the day he’s still a Corsican.’

  Paoli looked at him. ‘Well said, young man. There are times when you remind me of your father.’

  Napoleon was touched. ‘Thank you, sir. I hope I do some honour to his memory.’

  ‘You do. I’m sure Carlos would be proud of how you’ve turned out. And now you have been entrusted with surveying the island’s defences for the French Government. The War Office must have a great deal of faith in you.’

  Napoleon stirred uncomfortably. The survey was a cover concocted by Saliceti for the real purpose behind Napoleon’s return to Corsica. The War Office, fearing that Britain would inevitably be drawn into a war against revolutionary France, had long been concerned about the fate of Corsica. If the island was seized from France it could be used as a base from which to attack the southern coast, or to intervene in Italy. So orders for a thorough survey of the defences had been given, and Saliceti had intervened and placed the survey in the hands of Captain Buona Parte.

  Napoleon had been diligent enough in carrying out the task. After arriving in Ajaccio, and presenting Saliceti’s confirmation of his position in the Ajaccio volunteer battalion, he spent until Christmas travelling round the island, taking soundings in the main harbours, carefully marking potential positions for coastal batteries and talking guardedly with people wherever he went. Even though Paoli was behaving like a dictator, the majority of Corsicans were loyal to him. However, this loyalty was tempered by sympathy for the revolution and all the main towns on the island maintained political clubs that were dominated by the Jacobins.There was no certainty over what might happen if Paoli tried to sever Corsica’s links with France.

  Napoleon cleared his mind and turned his attention back to the report.There was a detailed map of Corsica, heavily annotated in Napoleon’s scruffy hand.

  ‘I hope you don’t expect me to try and read any of that,’ Paoli said.

  Napoleon shook his head. ‘It won’t be necessary, sir. I assume you have read the copy of the report I sent to you.’

  ‘Ah, yes. I had one of my officers look over it and present me with a summary. A thorough piece of work, and I agree with your conclusions. The defence of the main ports must be the priority. I will put your report in front of the next meeting of the governing council. That will be in March.’

  ‘March?’ Napoleon looked at the general sharply.‘We could be at war with Britain by then.’

  Paoli shrugged.‘It’s the best I can do.The council will consider your report, and if they decide to proceed with your recommendations we’ll need to work out the costings and then submit those to the treasury committee for approval. Then the work can begin.’

  ‘I see,’ Napoleon said quietly. ‘And when, precisely, might that be, sir? I need to know so that I can inform the War Office.’

  Paoli pursed his lips and looked up at the ceiling for a moment before replying.‘Realistically . . . the end of the year.At the earliest.’

  ‘I don’t think Paris will be very happy with that, sir.’

  ‘That’s as maybe. But there’s nothing I can do about it.’

  ‘Very well, sir.’ Napoleon bowed his head. ‘I’ll put your estimate of the time needed to the War Office at once.’

  ‘You do that,’ Paoli replied tonelessly. ‘Now, if you put your reports away we can proceed to other business.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ Napoleon wondered what the other business might be. When he had been summoned from Ajaccio three days ago, General Paoli had merely asked to discuss the results of the survey of Corsica’s defences.

  ‘You might as well leave the map out. We’ll need it.’ Paoli crossed to the door, opened it and said to one of his clerks, ‘Tell Colonel Colonna we’re ready for him now.’

  As Paoli returned to the table Napoleon looked at him enquiringly. He had met Colonna recently. Colonna was the commander of the garrison at Bastia and Napoleon had approached him to ask for some engineers to be seconded to his small survey team, but Colonna had refused the request. Paoli noticed the expression on Napoleon’s face.‘All will be made clear to you in a moment. While we’re waiting for my nephew I want to ask you something, Colonel.’

  This was the first time that Paoli had condescended to call him by this rank, and not his regular army ra
nk of captain and Napoleon was immediately back on his guard. ‘What is it, sir?’

  ‘This war that the Convention is waging against Austria and now Prussia - what are France’s chances of winning?’

  Napoleon’s mind raced to organise his thoughts. ‘It depends. So far the National Guard units have made a poor showing, but there are plans to merge them with the regulars in coming months. Once that happens our armies will fight far more effectively. At the moment we’re also short of good officers. Many of the aristocrats have resigned their commissions and emigrated. But there are good men emerging from the ranks, and many others in training. It’s all a question of time. If we can hold the enemy back for five, maybe six months, then we have every chance of winning.’

  ‘Against Austria and Prussia, yes. But what if Britain and other nations enter the war against France? As they surely will if any harm comes to King Louis.’

  Napoleon nodded. There was no point in avoiding the issue. The latest news from Paris was that the Convention, the revolutionary executive, had decided to charge the King with treason. The best Louis could hope for was exile, but imprisonment was the most likely outcome, although a number of leading Jacobins were calling for his head. But if Louis was disposed of, then France’s enemies would multiply overnight, and how could one nation hope to prevail against so many? Napoleon decided to answer General Paoli’s question honestly. ‘In that case, we cannot win. Not unless the whole nation is put at the service of the army. Even then our armies would need to be led by the most outstanding generals of our time.’

  ‘Alas, I am too old for such duties,’ Paoli smiled, then laughed. ‘I’m joking, of course.’ He frowned as he saw the look of relief that flitted across Napoleon’s face. ‘I’m sure that your generation will produce some useful commanders. Maybe you will be one of them.’