‘Am I to take that as an ultimatum?’
‘Yes, sire.’
Napoleon’s eyebrows flickered. ‘I see. You have a copy of the detailed demands?’
‘Of course, sire.’
‘Then leave them here. I must have time to consider them.’
‘Yes, sire. The Tsar has authorised me to offer you an extension to the armistice, by two more weeks.’
‘That is generous. Please express my gratitude to him.’ Napoleon stood up abruptly. ‘Very well, I will discuss the terms with my advisors and we will draw up our own terms to put before Alexander and Frederick William. Since the hour is late, I suggest we conclude this discussion.’
‘Yes, sire.’ Metternich hurriedly pulled out a copy of the peace terms and left it on the table as he swept the rest of the documents and notes back into his leather case and refastened it. Napoleon escorted him to the door of the salon and they exchanged a formal bow before Metternich left, summoning his aides to join him as he made his way along the corridor towards the stairs leading down to the main hall of the palace.
Napoleon stared after him for a moment and then snorted with derision. He returned to the table and carried one of the chairs over to the fire and sat down, leaning forward and resting his chin on his knuckles. After a moment he reached inside his waistcoat for the small locket he always carried with him. Clicking it open he gazed at the miniatures of the Empress and his infant son, gently caressing them both with his thumb. He had hoped that his marriage into the Austrian royal family might provide the necessary link that would prevent the two nations from engaging in yet another war against each other. Now it seemed that blood-letting was thicker than blood, he mused. He snapped the locket shut and slipped it back in his pocket. A short while later, Berthier entered the room.
‘Prince Metternich has left the palace, sire.’
‘Good.’ Napoleon nodded towards the small door concealed in the wall of the salon that linked the room to a service corridor. ‘Did you hear everything?’
‘Yes, sire.’
‘What do you think?’
Berthier carefully considered his response. ‘Sire, the proposed terms are unacceptable. Our enemies must know that. I suggest we do what we can to prolong the negotiations and see what concessions we might win from them. Who knows, we could even have a peace agreement.’
‘Peace? Do you really think the Tsar wants peace? He will not be content until France, the last obstacle to his ambitions in Europe, is brought down. There can be no peace between us.’
‘Then let us use the negotiations to buy us as much time as possible, sire. Metternich knows some of the truth about the condition of our army, but not all.’ Berthier waved a hand helplessly. ‘More than half the army is in no condition to fight. We have too many boys. This morning I inspected some of the latest reinforcements. They had been given two weeks’ training before being marched to Germany. When they left France only half of them had muskets and they had fired just two rounds of blanks during training. They haven’t been issued with full kit and they haven’t the slightest idea how to live off the land.’ He shook his head in exasperation. ‘Sire, we are sending lambs to the slaughter.’
‘Nonsense! Boys become men as soon as they taste battle. And there are plenty of veterans in the Grand Army who will teach them the skills they need to live while on campaign.’ He paused to look closely at his chief of staff. ‘Perhaps the problem is that you are getting too old for this, my friend.’
‘Sire?’
‘You have worked tirelessly for many years, Berthier. Too many years. You are losing heart. It is is only natural.’
Berthier forced himself to stand stiffly, and shook his head. ‘I am fit enough to carry out my duties, sire. I merely wished to point out that Metternich was right. This could be a war that we cannot win.’
‘Cannot win?’ Napoleon was astounded. ‘Cannot win! You are defeatist, Marshal Berthier. I have never seen that quality in you before. And you are wrong. We can win. What our men lack in experience and equipment they more than make up for in their patriotism, and their devotion to their Emperor. That is why we shall win.’
‘Sire, what if Austria joins the coalition? If that happens then our enemies can put over half a million men into the field against us. We will have to face them with little over half that number.’
‘We have been outnumbered before, and won the day.’
‘Not this time, sire.’
Napoleon frowned. What had happened to Berthier, he wondered. He searched the man’s anguished expression, and saw as if for the first time that this, the most loyal and efficient of his officers, was close to exhaustion. Napoleon rose from his chair and approached him, touching him gently on both shoulders.
‘My friend, you are weary. So are we all. Yet we must brace ourselves for one more effort. If we defeat the enemy then the coalition will collapse. This war is no longer about numbers of men, horses and guns. It is about spirit, and the will to endure. In that quality lies the secret of our success. I ask this one final effort of you, and all my soldiers. Then we shall have a great victory and we can rest. I swear it.’
Berthier looked at him, a spark of hope burning faintly in his eyes. ‘You swear it?’
Napoleon nodded.
‘Then I am your man, sire.’
Napoleon smiled warmly. ‘I could not fight my wars without you, old friend. Now go, get some rest.’
Berthier bowed his head and turned to leave the room. After he had gone, Napoleon returned to the fire, stoking up the embers and adding some more wood before he resumed his seat. As the fresh wood cracked and hissed he reflected on all that had been said during the evening. He was certain that he could defeat the armies of Alexander and Frederick William, but if Austria did enter the war on the side of his enemies it would be the greatest military test of his career. He had no doubt that he would be able to meet the challenge, but the question that troubled him greatly was whether the officers and the men of his army would match him in the pursuit of glory.
The next morning dawned bright and clear, with not a single cloud to be seen in the sky as Dresden woke to a fine summer day. After he had taken breakfast Napoleon went for a walk in the Great Garden that stretched out to the south-east of the old city where the palace was situated. Some of the townsfolk were out, following the gravel paths that divided the ornate rose gardens, flowerbeds and clusters of trees. The half-company of guardsmen that screened the Emperor made certain that no one could get within pistol shot, and so Napoleon walked head down, deep in thought, oblivious of the curious faces that watched him pass at a distance.
He reached the far end of the garden and turned back, returning the same way he had come, consumed with thought over the planning for every eventuality when the armistice inevitably came to an end.
‘Sire!’
Napoleon looked up and saw Berthier striding along the path towards him. He forced a smile and raised his hand in greeting.
‘Did you sleep well, as I ordered?’
There was no smile in the marshal’s face as he approached, and he spoke in a low voice. ‘Sire, we have received a despatch from Marshal Jourdan. His majesty the King of Spain was defeated a month ago, at a battle outside Vitoria.’
‘Another defeat?’ Napoleon shook his head bitterly.‘Can none of my marshals teach Wellington a lesson?’ He sucked in a sharp breath. ‘No doubt Joseph’s army will have to fall back to regroup.’
‘Sire, there is no army to regroup. Two divisions escaped from the battle and retreated to France; the rest were routed. Only two guns were saved, and the army lost its entire baggage train.’
Napoleon stared at him, anxiety twisting in his guts. ‘And my brother?’
‘He escaped, sire.’
‘Where is he?’