Young bloods

'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.'

For a moment Napoleon was tempted to answer modestly, but he already felt irritated by Paoli's cavalier response to his report on the state of Corsica's defences.'I'm sure that every good officer shares that ambition, sir.'

'I'm glad to hear it. But you must admit, the chances of France prosecuting a successful war are slim indeed. In which case, some might argue that it is in the best interest of Corsica not to be on the losing side.'

'Some might argue that.'

'And you? What do you think? I ask you as one Corsican to another.'

Napoleon felt a chill trickle down his spine. What was Paoli after? Was this some kind of loyalty test? If so, what would be the safest answer? He had to be careful. If Paoli was thinking of declaring Corsican independence then Napoleon must be seen to support him, until his family could be moved to safety. If, on the other hand, he was testing Napoleon's loyalty with a view to reporting back to Paris then Napoleon would have to hope that any pro-independence line that he supported would be seen as an expedient by Saliceti. Napoleon cleared his throat. 'I think that Corsica needs France, for now. We are like a goat surrounded by wolves. Our only salvation lies in siding with the strongest wolf. Besides, no other power would tolerate the social reforms that our people are starting to enjoy.'

Paoli stared at Napoleon with renewed intensity. 'And what happens when the beasts have fought it out, and the strongest one is left? What hope is there for your goat then?'

Napoleon managed to smile at such a predicament. 'Then, I hope that the wolf has already eaten enough to overlook a scrawny morsel.'

Paoli laughed and leaned forward to clap the young man on the shoulder.'Truly, you are in the wrong profession.What a lawyer or politician was lost when you decided to become a soldier.'

The tramp of heavy boots ended the exchange as both men glanced towards the door. A tall man in thigh-length riding boots entered the room and saluted Paoli, but ignored Napoleon. He had a shock of dark hair tied back by a blue ribbon. He was powerfully built and projected a confidence that bordered on arrogance, and Napoleon was instantly reminded just how much he had disliked the man when they had last met in Bastia.

Paoli made the reintroductions. 'Colonel Colo

'Yes, sir.' He turned to Napoleon. 'Or would you prefer me to address you as captain of artillery?'

Napoleon bit back on a surge of anger. 'As I am currently in Corsica, serving in a Corsican battalion and working in the interests of Corsica, it would be suitable to refer to me by my local rank, wouldn't you agree, sir?'

Colo

'Excuse my nephew,' Paoli interrupted with a hard glance towards Colo

'Operation?'

Paoli smiled. 'You were so busy with your survey that I didn't think it right to distract you.We have been instructed by the War Office in Paris to co-operate in the campaign against the Kingdom of Piedmont. France needs to protect its southern flank so she intends to send an army into Piedmont. The main force will strike from Nice and Savoy. Our contribution will be to seize Sardinia.'

Napoleon's mind reeled. 'When were you told of this?'

'Before Christmas. We have been busy with organising the men and supplies needed since then. Now we need to consider the plan.'

Before Christmas. Napoleon was furious.Why had Saliceti not warned him? He would write to the deputy at the first opportunity and find out. Meanwhile Paoli had beckoned to Colo

'Just to put you in the picture, Buona Parte, Admiral Truguet's fleet at Toulon will provide the transport for our troops. We have been instructed to provide six thousand men. Needless to say, that will strip most of the garrisons of Corsica of their protection, but Paris does not seem to have considered that. The question is, where should we strike first? I'd value your opinion.'

Napoleon bent over the map. He already knew what he would say. He had mentioned it in the appendix to his report. Two prominent islands were marked off the northern tip of Sardinia.

'Maddalena and Caprera.' He tapped the names with his finger. 'We must take them before we make a landing on Sardinia. As soon as the enemy are aware that France is going to launch an attack they are sure to fortify these islands and place heavy guns on them. Once that is done they will control the Strait of Bonifacio, and be able to prevent any landing in the north of Sardinia. But if we move fast, we can snap up these islands before the enemy realise the danger. Then we mount our own batteries there, and the Strait is under our control.'

He looked up in time to see Paoli and his nephew exchange a look of satisfaction, then Paoli's eyes flickered towards Napoleon and he nodded. 'That is just what we were thinking, Napoleon. I'm delighted that we are in agreement. A small force should suffice for the attack. Say, one battalion.'

Napoleon felt a burst of excitement. This was his chance. 'Sir, may I request that the Ajaccio battalion has the honour of making the attack?'

Paoli smiled. 'I was hoping you'd say that. I suggest that you return to Ajaccio and prepare your men, the moment we have completed the plans.'

'When did it happen?' Napoleon asked.

'On the twenty-first of January,' Joseph replied, thrusting the newspaper across the table to his brother. Napoleon had been aware that something momentous had happened the moment he entered Ajaccio. The streets were almost deserted and he hurried up to the salon the moment he had tethered his mount in the small courtyard behind the house. His mother and his other brothers and sisters were at church, like much of the population, praying that the Almighty would spare Corsica from the consequences of the execution of King Louis. Joseph had remained in the house to read through the first reports to reach Ajaccio.

Napoleon glanced at the newspaper, skimming his eyes over the front page. 'Good God… they actually went ahead and did it,' he marvelled. 'I don't believe it.'

Joseph nodded. His gaze flickered towards his younger brother. 'What will happen now?'

'Now?' Napoleon bit his lip. With King Louis dead the monarchs of Europe would be terrified of sharing his fate. Terrified, and filled with a spirit of vengeance. It could mean only one thing. 'There'll be a conflict on a scale no one can yet imagine.'

Joseph stared back at him anxiously, and Napoleon continued, 'They'll be lining up to declare war against France now. Those fools in Paris have no idea what they have unleashed.'

'God help us.'

Napoleon smiled bitterly. 'There'll be no help from that quarter. Not after everything that Robespierre and his friends have done. We're on our own, and the world is against us.'

Chapter 67

The icy water felt like a thousand knives stabbing at his flesh and Napoleon gasped as it closed round his chest. He held his pistols above his head and started wading towards the shore. Around him, the men from the other boats were also struggling to reach the shingle, muskets held aloft and muttering low curses at the coldness of the water. Ahead, at the base of the cliff, gleamed the lantern that had guided the boats to the landing point. A dark figure stood in the faint glow of the lamp, beckoning them on. Napoleon felt the angle of the seabed increase and moments later he surged from the small waves breaking on the shore and stood on the shingle, shivering like a new-born lamb. Around him the other men were stamping their boots and muttering through clenched teeth.The sound was terrifying and Napoleon was sure that the sentries on the walls of the small fort a short march from the beach would hear the noise. He grabbed the arm of the nearest sergeant.