Napoleon relaxed his jaw.‘Very well then, Marshal Ney. I accept your explanation. This time. But do not fail me again.’
‘I did not fail you this time, sire,’ Ney replied gruffly.
Napoleon lowered his hands below the desk, out of sight, as he clenched them so tightly that every drop of blood drained from his knuckles. ‘You were not where I wanted you to be, and the enemy escaped. However, on reflection, I will not hold you wholly responsible for that.You are dismissed. Return to your corps at once.’
‘At once?’ Ney glanced wearily towards the rain-streaked window and sighed.Then he bowed stiffly to the Emperor and turned to march out of the room, closing the door forcefully behind him.
Napoleon stared at the door for a moment. Then he picked up his dividers and walked across to the map. He adjusted the instrument to fit the scale and measured off the distance that Ney’s corps had been ordered to march. The dividers passed over territory marked as mountainous and broken by many streams and tributaries. For long stretches there were no roads marked on the map. It was, as Ney had said, roughly a hundred and twenty miles. A fresh division of infantry might have encompassed it, Napoleon told himself, but a whole army corps, burdened by its wagons and artillery, could never hope to march such a distance in three days.
Why had he not seen this? It was a lapse of judgement. He would not have made such an error ten years ago, or even five.Was age making his mind less acute? He dismissed the thought. He was not yet forty, surely not old enough for that. But what if his judgement was at fault? What if the organisational brilliance that had made him the master of Europe had become corrupted by his success? It would not be the first time that a great man had fallen prey to the temptation to view every decision he made as infallible.The prospect appalled him. For a moment Napoleon was furious with himself for not making the correct allowances for Ney’s movement.Then he forced the very idea of it from his mind. It could not be his fault.
In fact, he recalled that he had given the order without consulting the map. It had been a hectic night when he had dictated his plans to Berthier. Why had Berthier not mentioned the difficulties that Ney would face in keeping to the allotted time for his advance? It was Berthier who had failed him, not Ney. He decided that he must pay closer attention to Berthier from now on. Perhaps the man was growing too old, too weary, to carry the burden of being the Emperor’s chief of staff. Berthier would have to be watched to ensure that he did not make any more such mistakes, Napoleon told himself sadly. Berthier was a good man, but he had let his Emperor down and caused him to blame wrongly a fine officer like Ney. Well, Napoleon comforted himself, his subordinates were only human. Once the campaign was over he would have a word with Berthier and suggest that the chief of staff apologise to Ney for making him the target of Napoleon’s anger.
There was a knock at the door, and Berthier entered. Napoleon stared at him for a moment, uncertain whether to be angry with the man for causing the earlier scene, or to feel pity for Berthier’s mortal failings. In the end he opted for the latter, and smiled condescendingly.
‘What is it?’
‘A report from one of our light cavalry regiments, sire. They have been scouting along the River Duero and have discovered that the British are on the march.’ Berthier crossed to the map and tapped it. ‘They are heading in the direction of Salamanca.’
‘Salamanca?’ Napoleon considered the map briefly. General Moore’s army was thought to amount to little more than twenty thousand men. Hardly a critical threat to the Army of Spain.Yet one that could not be ignored. ‘We could march towards Salamanca and defeat the British,’ he mused. ‘But it would mean leaving the conquest of Madrid until later.’
Berthier was emboldened by his master’s thoughtful tone. ‘That is true, sire, but I must admit the prospect of dealing a humiliating blow to the long-time enemy of France is alluring. It would be a fine thing to offer up a victory over Britain to the rest of Europe.’
‘Yes, it would.’ Napoleon scrutinised the map again and made his decision. Nevertheless, we can leave Moore until later. First we must crush these Spanish rebels and place my brother on his throne. So, then, we march on Madrid.’
Chapter 48
Before the Army of Spain lay the forbidding mass of the Guadarramas, a long barrier of hills protecting the northern approaches to Madrid. The weather had turned cold but the soldiers had been spared rain as they prepared to assault the Spanish forces defending the Somosierra pass. The night before, the enemy garrison in the village of Sepúlveda had abandoned the position and fled west, rather than face the mass of the French army drawn up before them. As dawn broke, skirmishers advanced through fog to capture the village, and soon afterwards the Emperor and his staff rode forward to climb the church tower, which rose above the fog, and inspect the defences of the main enemy force blocking the pass.
Through his telescope Napoleon followed the narrow road that wound up the side of the hill to the head of the pass. There he could make out the lines of Spanish troops waiting for the French. No more than ten thousand men, Napoleon calculated, in addition to twenty guns mounted in some hastily erected redoubts on either flank which covered the road from Sepúlveda.There did not seem to be any attempt to defend the slopes on either side of the pass and Napoleon briefly considered sending men into the hills to work round the enemy position. But that would cause delay, and he was determined to capture Madrid and settle matters in Spain as swiftly as possible. Besides, Spanish troops were no match for his veterans and would be brushed aside easily enough.
Snapping his telescope shut Napoleon curtly gave an order to Berthier.‘We’ll use General Ruffin’s division to clear the pass.They can advance up the road and deploy in line the moment they come within range of the enemy’s artillery.’
‘Yes, sire. How many guns shall we send forward to support them?’
‘Guns?’ Napoleon pursed his lips for an instant and then shook his head. ‘It will be a quick affair, Berthier. Ruffin’s men will not need artillery support.’
Berthier looked surprised, and seemed to be about to query the instruction, but nodded instead. ‘As you wish, sire.’
Napoleon’s head ached terribly this morning, something he put down to a lack of sleep since the advance from Burgos three days before. ‘Give the orders, Berthier. I’m going forward with Ruffin as far as that hillock beside the road there, to view the attack.’
‘Yes, sire.’
‘Carry on,’ Napoleon dismissed him, and thrust the telescope into the long pocket of his coat before descending from the tower. As he left the small church he was aware of some shouting a short way down the street and saw two soldiers approaching, with a third man held firmly between them. Behind them marched a young infantry officer.
‘Let go of me!’ the man shouted. ‘Let me go, you fuckers!’