‘We’ll see who’s still smiling in a week’s time,’ Napoleon muttered.
Berthier looked up from his notebook. ‘Pardon, sir?’
‘It doesn’t matter.’ Napoleon snapped his telescope shut and turned to his chief of staff. ‘I want the approach trenches and the batteries prepared as soon as possible.When the siege guns are in position they will commence firing at once. That central bastion is the key to their defences. If we take that and mount some guns on it, then we can bombard any point of the city at will. See that the orders are given, Berthier.’
For the rest of the day the trenches crept towards the walls of Acre, under constant bombardment from the guns mounted in the towers and the main bastion. Napoleon noted that none of the enemy’s pieces seemed to be heavy guns and was thankful for that small mercy at least. Some time could be saved on the earthworks being thrown up to protect the siege guns. Napoleon returned to his observation point from time to time to check on the progress and watched impatiently as his engineers struggled to break up the hard ground and dig deep enough to provide enough soil to bank up the sides of the trenches and make them safe for the men to approach the walls of Acre. As night fell Napoleon retired to his tent and reviewed his progress. It had taken longer to reach Acre than he had thought, but now the army had begun its siege the end of the campaign was a matter of weeks away. Within days the siege guns would be pulverising the walls until a breach was made.As at Jaffa, his men would pour into the city and sweep the defenders aside.With Acre in French hands Napoleon could return to Egypt, and the warm embrace of Pauline, and prepare to counter the Sultan’s other pincer arm. He went to bed with a warm feeling of satisfaction. It was true that the campaign had been dogged by delay, some misfortune and the bad feeling that had arisen after the massacre of the prisoners on the beach at Jaffa, but in the end they had reached their goal and soon the French flag would be flying above Acre. When word of the victory reached Paris there would be further public acclaim and laurels for his reputation.
Junot woke his general at dawn, an anxious expression on his face.
‘What’s the matter?’ Napoleon sat up. ‘What’s happened?’
‘The men have heard about the plague, sir.The rumour spread through the camp last night.They’re saying that this land is cursed. You should give up the siege and lead the army back to Egypt.’
‘What good would that do?’ Napoleon snapped. ‘We can hardly leave the plague behind. Besides, the men are overreacting. The victims have been isolated and the plague will run its course soon enough.’
‘I doubt that is going to satisfy the men.’
‘You may be right,’ Napoleon conceded. ‘Then we must act now to reassure them. They have to be shown that there’s nothing to fear. Have my staff officers summoned. I think it’s time for a little demonstration.’
‘What kind of demonstration, sir?’ Junot asked warily.
A smile flickered across Napoleon’s lips. ‘You’ll see soon enough, and I pray to God we live to tell the tale.’
As soon as he had dressed, Napoleon and his staff officers mounted up. He had given them no explanation and just wheeled his horse and trotted out of camp. The staff officers and a squadron of the guides followed him back down the road towards Jaffa before turning off into the hills a few miles from the camp. There on a small rise stood an old monastery with weathered walls. Outside stood several carts, tended by French soldiers. As Napoleon reined in outside the monastery the orderlies hurriedly rose to their feet and stood to attention.
‘Where is Dr Desgenettes?’
‘Inside, sir. With the patients.’
‘Well, send him my compliments and ask him to join me out here.’
‘Yes, sir.’ The orderly hurried inside and Napoleon turned back to his staff officers. ‘Junot, tell the guides to dismount and rest their horses. The rest of you are coming with me.’
‘Where, sir?’ Berthier asked nervously as he stared at the monastery. ‘Not in there, surely?’
‘You’re not afraid, are you, Berthier?’
‘Sir, I know what this place is. It would be madness to remain here another moment. We should leave. At once.’
‘Not until I’ve made my point.’ Napoleon turned at the sound of footsteps crossing the threshold of the monastery’s arched entrance, and saw Dr Desgenettes emerge from the dim interior. He looked exhausted and the surgeon’s apron he wore was soiled and stained with blood. He saluted. ‘I must say, I’m surprised to see you here, sir.’
‘Good. My staff and I have come to inspect your field hospital, doctor. Would you be kind enough to show us inside?’
‘Inside?’ Desgenettes’s eyebrows rose in surprise. ‘Very well then, sir. If you’d follow me.’
Napoleon turned to his staff and was amused to note their horrified expressions as he beckoned to them. ‘Come, gentlemen.’
Inside the monastery it was cold, despite the small braziers burning at each end. On both sides of the main hall was a line of palliasses on which lay the sick. Most were still and quiet, but here and there men moaned in agony.
‘This end is where we keep the recently admitted cases,’ Desgenettes explained. ‘If the symptoms progress, as they almost invariably do, then we move them to the far end.When they die they are taken out of the monastery for burial.’
‘What can be done for them?’ asked Napoleon, glancing down at the nearest man, a youngster no more than twenty. He had fine features and a shock of light brown curly hair and would have cut a handsome figure in his uniform. Already there were blackened swellings about his neck.
‘We try to keep them warm and comfortable, and alleviate the pain when the sickness gets to its most advanced stage. The men with the strongest constitutions might survive, but their recovery will be slow. If they show arrested symptoms they are moved to another room where we can minimise the risk of further infection - in theory.’
‘Aren’t you at risk, doctor?’ Junot asked.
‘Of course. So is any man in close contact with the sick.’
‘Then why haven’t you caught it?’
Desgenettes smiled. ‘How do you know I haven’t?’
Some of the men were still well enough to recognise their commander and tried to sit up.
‘No!’ Napoleon waved his hand at them.‘Lie still, soldiers.You must conserve your strength, or I’ll have you back on latrine duty in double time.’
Some managed a smile at that, but most stared at Napoleon with a lucklustre expression of despair and even resignation to their awful fate. He stopped at the foot of one of the makeshift beds and stared at the man lying there.
‘This one’s dead.’
Desgenettes came over and knelt beside the man, and felt for his pulse. After a moment he rose up and called out, ‘Stretcher bearers! Here!’
Two men came from outside carrying a stretcher and set it down beside the dead man. One took the body by the heels while the other lifted him under the shoulders and they hoisted him awkwardly across on to the stretcher. The blanket slid from his body, and there was a sharp intake of breath from Junot as the bare flesh of his torso was revealed.
‘Good God, look.’
Some of the buboes had burst and the discharge was smeared across his neck and chest.
‘Shit . . .’ muttered one of the orderlies, turning his nose away from the foul odour and instinctively stepping back a pace. His companion had already grasped his end of the stretcher and looked up angrily.
‘Come on, we have to get him out.’
‘Wait,’ Napoleon interrupted. ‘Let me.’
He pushed the reluctant orderly aside and grabbed the stretcher handles. ‘Ready? Let’s go then.’
The body was heavier than he expected and Napoleon strained his muscles to hold up his end of the stretcher.The other orderly backed out slowly and the staff officers followed behind them, looking at their general in surprise and awe.