The Generals

‘They have only themselves to blame,’ he muttered to Bourrie

Colonel La

‘Is this the garrison?’ Napoleon asked.

‘Yes, sir.They’ve been held in the cells beneath the citadel for the last three days. They’ve had no food and were left in their own filth.’

‘Where’s Captain Linois?’

La

‘Linois!’ Napoleon barked. ‘Come here!’

‘Yes, sir.’ The captain saluted and trotted over. As he stood before his general Napoleon’s nose wrinkled at the stench that hung round the man.

‘Linois, do you have any idea how much damage you have done to our cause?’

The captain’s gaze fell and Napoleon struck him on the side of the head and continued in a low harsh voice. ‘Once word reaches other cities that a French garrison has surrendered to the local rabble without firing a shot, what do you imagine they will think? As a result of your cowardice I’m going to have to double the size of the garrisons, and bolster them with good combat troops, instead of this rubbish that you command. Troops that I am counting on to defeat the Austrians. Well, what have you to say for yourself, Linois?’

The captain shook his head and looked up at his general with a wretched expression. ‘Sir, they surprised us. There were hundreds of them. What could we do?’

‘You could have fought them! That’s what!’ He stepped up to the captain and thrust an arm into his chest, sending the man reeling back. ‘God damn you, Linois, you useless bastard.’ For a moment he sensed that he was on the edge of a great rage and he had to force himself to be calm. He breathed deeply, his nostrils flaring. ‘So, what am I to do with you, Linois?’

Linois’s eyes widened. He sensed his peril. ‘Sir, break me to the ranks. It’s the least I deserve.’

‘Too true,’ Napoleon muttered with contempt. ‘By virtue of the power vested in me by the Directory and the War Office, I sentence you to death.’ He turned to La

Linois dropped to his knees and reached out a hand imploringly. ‘No, sir! Please spare me! Send me to the front. Let me die like a soldier!’

‘It’s too late for that,’ Napoleon replied coldly. ‘You had your chance, and you proved that you are no soldier. Take him away.’

Linois made a light keening noise and bit his lip as two soldiers pulled him to his feet and half led, half dragged him across the piazza to join the other prisoners. Napoleon turned away, sickened by the sight, and caught Bourrie

‘Are you questioning my judgement?’ Napoleon asked softly.

‘I would not presume to do that, sir,’ Bourrie

‘Good. Perhaps if you were a general you would understand.’

‘Then I thank God I am not a general, sir.’

Napoleon stared at him briefly before he responded. ‘Yes. Thank God. For the sake of France if no other reason.’

The men of the firing squad stood to attention facing the town hall. Opposite them Captain Linois leaned against the wall, his head covered with a piece of sacking and his hands bound behind his back. His body trembled and Napoleon hoped that he would spare himself the indignity of falling over before the sentence was carried out. He turned away from the man to address the three companies of grenadiers assembled to bear witness to the execution.

‘Through his cowardice this man has endangered the lives of every one of his comrades in the Army of Italy. His death will act as a signal to every French soldier that betrayal of one’s comrades is beyond contempt and will never go unpunished! Tell every soldier you meet what you witness here today so there will be no doubt about the fate reserved for those who fail France, fail their comrades and fail in their own duty as a soldier! Colonel La

He moved to one side as La

‘Firing party . . . present arms! Take aim!’

There was a final sob from Linois, a horrible animal noise from deep in his chest, and then La

‘Fire!’

The volley thundered out, echoing off the tall walls of the town hall as the musket balls ripped into Captain Linois, flattening him against the wall before he tumbled to the side, twitched once, and was still. Colonel La

‘Sentence has been carried out.What are your orders, sir?’

Napoleon drew a breath to help strengthen his resolve. His work in Pavia was not yet complete. One final task remained to be carried out. He gestured across the Piazza to the prisoners. ‘Hang them. All of them.’

There was only the faintest look of surprise in La

The grenadiers were in a subdued mood as they marched out of Pavia late in the afternoon. Napoleon did not want to linger in the devastated town overnight and resolved to let his men rest for the night only when they were some distance from the scene. Several wagons had been seized to carry the wounded back to the army, as well as the bodies of their fallen comrades. Napoleon did not wish to have them buried where the townspeople could desecrate their graves. They would be given full honours by the army once the column reached Brescia.

Behind them Pavia lay under its shroud of smoke, still and quiet as a ghost town. Napoleon drew rein and stared at the scene, feeling cold and tired. For a moment he yearned for a different life, or at least a period of respite away from the monstrous deeds that he had been compelled to carry out. Then he turned his horse away from the town and trotted forward to take up his place at the head of the column.

Chapter 19

As soon as he reached the army headquarters in the bishop’s mansion in Brescia Napoleon dictated a letter for circulation to every town and city lying between his army and the border with France. There were to be no more uprisings. If any French soldiers were killed then the nearest town or village would be burned to the ground and any men caught under arms would be shot. Bourrie

He raised his head and pulled over a fresh sheet of paper. He opened an inkwell, dipped his pen and wrote the opening words of a new letter, words that he had written a hundred times before, but which still gave him a small thrill when he saw them in his own hand on the page.

Dear Josephine.

He still marvelled that she had consented to be his wife, and the familiar longing to lie in her arms once again fired the passion in his veins. He readied his pen, wanting to burst into the flow of impassioned words that poured from him in a torrent whenever he wrote to Josephine. But tonight the words did not come. His mind was too weary and too occupied with the demands made upon him as commander of the Army of Italy. Napoleon sat for a moment, pen poised, wanting to unburden himself of all the concerns that weighed down on him. The Directory’s criminal neglect of his soldiers; uniforms in tatters, boots worn to shreds and bellies frequently empty, and the men were still owed several months’ pay. Then there was the need to close with the Austrian army and destroy them, but Napoleon was constantly frustrated by the enemy’s refusal to stand and fight. And Napoleon still had to deal with the prospect of dividing his army with Kellerma