Final Preparations

Napoleon in 1806
Édouard Detaille (PD)

Maréchal Ney came into the Emperor's office, Ali had just left with a few last minute items to be stowed in the Imperial carriage. Ali had tactfully turned away when the Emperor had handed him a small portrait of Joséphine. He swore that a tear glistened upon the man's cheek.

Ney spoke gruffly, "Sire, I am concerned that you are dispatching the Guard tomorrow. That will signal to everyone in Europe that you will be traveling soon."

The Emperor sighed, put a battery of cannon to his front, give him a squadron of hussars, and Michel Ney would draw his saber and bellow the charge at the top of his lungs. But the peculiarities of tactics and strategy, particularly strategy, were well beyond his ken.

"My dear Maréchal, how long do you thing it will take for the Russians and Austrians to approach the frontier?"

"Certainly weeks, Sire, but ..."

"Where are the two armies which could conceivably march on Paris any day now?"

"Why Belgium of course, Blücher and his Prussians, then you've got Wellington and his mongrel army. But march on Paris? Not while the diplomats continue to squabble in Vienna."

"Ah Ney, you are a good soldier but you see, there is only one move available to me, one logical move, and that is to move north and attack Wellington and Blücher in their cantonments. While they might expect it, my spies have spread the word that I'm having trouble recruiting my cavalry up to strength, let alone properly mounting them. I let them think that my infantry is still being equipped and that my artillery is woefully inadequate. But they are duped, when we march it will be with a hundred and fifty thousand veteran troops and nearly 300 cannon."

"You said we, I thought I was to be left behind, that whole 'iron cage' thing, for which I apologize once again ..."

"Ney, Ney, Ney, your apology was accepted. I understand, you bet on what you thought was a sure thing. The might of France against my rag tag army of banditti marching up from the Mediterranean coast. I might have done the same. But the dice rolled one way and you came up short."

"Am I to accompany the army with you? And in what capacity I might ask."

"You march with my headquarters. I may have need of your sword at some point, you will be a spare marshal, if you will, if anything happens to Davout or Soult, I can throw you into command. The men know you, I'm not sure they fully trust you, but they do respect you. It's that or spend the campaign under house arrest. Your choice."

Ney bowed his head, he was desperate, he needed this. After all, the Bourbons had insulted his beloved wife, they had looked down on him, even referring to him as "that Alsatian brute" behind his back. Though he had thrown in his lot with Louis, he regretted it now, deeply.

"I will go where you command, Sire. Into Hell itself, if need be."

Napoléon laughed, "If we lose we may indeed see Hell, a firing squad at the very least. Now go, we march in the morning."

The Emperor opened his eyes well before dawn. He sat up and grimaced, his piles were acting up. Though the physicians had given him a salve, it smelled badly and didn't really relieve the pain. He was eating a very plain diet in the hope that by the time he had to take to his saddle, the piles might subside.

A sharp rap came on the outer door, he heard Ali respond. A moment later Ali was at his bedchamber.

"Sire, le Maréchal Berthier is here."

"Very well, send him in."

The Emperor ran his fingers through his hair, he hoped he looked somewhat presentable, but Berthier had seen him disheveled before and wouldn't say a word.

"Ah, Berthier, good morning. You have news for me I trust?"

"Yes Sire. Certain royalist officers have been, shall we say, relieved from their posts as of late last night. Général de Division Bourmont had already moved with his staff to the frontier. Unfortunately ..."

Berthier coughed and had to clear his throat.

"Bourmont was shot and killed by his own men as he was reconnoitering the area to the front of his division. The pickets were not informed and they assumed the general and his party were a Prussian cavalry patrol. A number of his staff were also killed and wounded."

"Ah, a shame," the Emperor's voice had a hint of glee in it.

He had been looking for a reason to get rid of Bourmont, but a number of people, important people, had vouched for the man. One of those who sang Bourmont's praises had been Fouché, whose body now lay moldering beneath the soil of the Forêt de Marly, alongside that of Talleyrand.

"Who will take 14th Division in his stead?" Napoléon asked, knowing the answer.

"The commander of the 1st Brigade, Général de Brigade Baron Etienne Hulot de Mazarny is very capable. However, Gérard has been making noises, he vouched for Bourmont and he is demanding an investigation."

"Well, now I have a job for Ney, recall Gérard to Paris at once, place him under house arrest for the time being. Write the orders, Ney is to have IV Corps. He should be able to handle that."

"Sire, it shall be done. Your carriage is ready, the headquarters is ready. The Guard is already on the roads north. The borders have been sealed and Paris itself has been placed under martial law for the time being. Maréchal St. Cyr has been given carte blanche to deal with any insurrectionists."

"Very well."

As Berthier left, Napoléon shouted, "Ali! Let's get a move on man! We march!"

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