The Fields of Death

Joseph did not reply, but stared mutely at his younger brother.

‘My brother.’ Napoleon softened his tone and there was a pleading edge to it when he spoke. ‘Please, I need you. Now as never before.’

Joseph tried to pull away, but Napoleon held his shoulders firmly and refused to let him move. ‘I need to know you are with me.’

‘I must think.’ Joseph glanced down at his brother’s hands. ‘Please, release me.’

Napoleon pursed his lips, then nodded, and his arms fell to his sides. Joseph walked a little further and then sat down on a bench. Napoleon joined him. For a while neither spoke, until Joseph broke the silence.

‘You made me King of Spain, yet the marshals of the Army of Spain refuse to obey my orders. When I have issued commands to them they refer to Paris for permission to carry the orders out. Some have openly said that they will only answer to you, Napoleon. Soult does not even reply to my letters.’

‘They are only carrying out their orders.’

‘Your orders. So you don’t trust me to rule my own kingdom, then?’

‘You are a fine administrator,’ Napoleon said patiently. ‘But you have had little chance to develop your military skills. I decided that it would be most effective to entrust the governance of Spain to you, and the command of my troops there to experienced soldiers. Besides, I have certain plans for the northern provinces of Spain.’

Joseph stared at him. ‘Plans? What plans?’

‘France needs secure frontiers,’ Napoleon explained. ‘It is my intention to a

‘I see.’ Joseph shook his head sadly.‘And you did not think to consult me over this . . . small matter?’

Napoleon pressed his lips together briefly. He was pricked by guilt, and then a wave of self-justification swept the sentiment away. Had he not given his brother every privilege and opportunity that he now enjoyed? Had he not placed Joseph on the throne himself? Had he not given him ample military power to enforce his rule and bring peace to the turbulent Spaniards? What had Joseph given him in return? Incompetence and failure.

‘I am not obliged to refer my decisions to anyone. If I choose to seek advice then I will. In any case, I need to secure peace in Spain as swiftly as possible. So far you, and my marshals, have failed me. Which is all the more galling bearing in mind that I have provided you with such rich rewards.’

‘The Spanish throne is not a reward, it is a curse.’

Napoleon struck him on the shoulder, hard. ‘Ungrateful fool! Is that how you repay me?’

Joseph stared hard at his brother, eyes narrowing slightly. He took a deep breath to calm himself and spoke in an undertone. ‘Did I ask for the crown of Spain? No. You forced it on me. And I forced it on the people of Spain. Now they revile me for it, almost as much as they revile you.’ Joseph’s shoulders drooped as he clasped his hands together. ‘It is hopeless, I tell you.’

‘It is never hopeless. Those are the words of a coward,’ Napoleon replied coldly.

‘No, they are the words of a reasonable man who knows when the game is up.’ Joseph stiffened his posture. ‘I have made my decision, my brother. I will abdicate from the throne. I will leave Spain and retire to my estates in France.’

There was a brief silence before Napoleon turned away and clasped his hands behind his back. When he spoke again it was in a strained voice. ‘You will not abdicate. I forbid it.’

‘You ca

‘I forbid it. What is more I will have you treated as a deserter if you ever leave Spain again without my express permission.’

‘A deserter?’ Joseph could not help smiling thinly. ‘You would have me shot?’

‘That is the fate of deserters,’ Napoleon replied coldly. ‘Though you are my brother, and I love you, I would have you put up against a wall and shot without the slightest compunction.’

‘I don’t believe you.’

Napoleon turned round, his stare piercing and merciless. ‘Believe it.’

Before Joseph could reply, his brother’s face creased in a sudden expression of agony and he staggered a pace towards Joseph before sinking slowly on to the path, propping himself up on one hand as he gasped for air.

‘Napoleon!’ Joseph crouched down beside him, supporting his shoulder. ‘What is it? What’s the matter?’

‘My stomach . . .’ Napoleon hissed through clenched teeth. ‘Christ, it hurts.’

His brother glanced up, but could see no one in the grounds around them. The imperial staff were keeping a discreet distance from their Emperor and the Spanish King.

‘I’ll get help,’ Joseph said, then looked down at his brother anxiously.

Napoleon nodded, gritting his teeth as he fought off another wave of burning agony from low down in his abdomen. ‘Go.’

He slumped back on to his elbows as Joseph hurried off in search of assistance. The pain in his stomach felt as if a heated iron bar had been pressed into his groin. It was not the first time that he had experienced the pain. Over the last year it had struck him down on several occasions - usually when he was exhausted by the demands placed on him by the endless calls on his time and strength.

‘What is wrong with me?’ he growled bitterly. Ten years before he could have endured such strains on his constitution without any complaint when he had campaigned in Italy. He had marched, eaten and slept in the open with his soldiers, even in the depths of winter. Many times they had forsaken sleep for days as they dashed to confront yet another Austrian army.

Napoleon closed his eyes and sank down on to the path, curling slightly on his side. ‘So many battles,’ he murmured wearily. ‘I am growing old.’

His heart felt heavy and he wondered at the process by which time had laid the years upon him so subtly that he had not really noticed their effects until recently. In the last two years he had grown heavy, fat even, and now there was this pain in his stomach. With a stab of fear Napoleon wondered if this was how his life might end, struck down by a common malady. He had always imagined he was most likely to die on the battlefield, like Desaix or La

He heard the sound of boots crunching on the gravel of a nearby path and blinked his eyes open.

‘This way!’ Joseph yelled. ‘Quickly, now.’

Napoleon rolled slowly on to his back and waited a moment before Joseph knelt beside him, breathing hard and looking anxious. Other men appeared around him.

‘Take me inside,’ Napoleon commanded.

‘I’ve sent for the doctor,’ Joseph panted. ‘He’s coming directly.’

‘Take me into the house,’ Napoleon replied firmly. ‘I don’t want to be seen lying out here like an invalid. Get me inside.’

For a moment Joseph looked as if he might protest; then he nodded. He rose up and turned to the servants he had fetched from the house. ‘Pick his majesty up. Gently as you can. Take him to the couch in his study.’

Napoleon felt their arms slip beneath his shoulders and legs and a moment later he was carefully hoisted off the ground. He grimaced. ‘Does the Empress know?’

‘Not yet.’

‘Then don’t tell her. No need to cause her any concern. Let her enjoy the day.’

Joseph nodded.

‘Besides, I don’t want her to see me like this. Weak. If word of this got back to the Austrian court . . .’

‘I understand.’

The little party skirted round some neatly clipped bushes to keep out of sight of the Empress and her guests and made their way through the long glazed doors into Napoleon’s private study. Once he had been placed on the couch he dismissed all the others except Joseph as they waited for his personal surgeon to arrive.