The Generals

Chapter 32

The enemy abandoned Cairo during the following night and two days later, on 24 July, Napoleon entered the Egyptian capital. The imams and other leaders anxious to win favour had urged their people to come out on to the streets to welcome the French general and his army. As Napoleon and his staff rode up to the open gateway that gave on to the city’s main thoroughfare the religious leaders, the highest officials and the wealthiest merchants met him at the gate and formally offered him the surrender of the city. Napoleon listened to their speeches through an interpreter and then respectfully accepted the surrender. With the Egyptians leading the way and a smartly turned out battalion from each division following Napoleon and his staff, the procession wound its way through the main streets of Cairo towards the palace of the Pasha.The soldiers with their smart facings and brightly polished buttons marched to the tunes of their bands and sang as they tramped through the baking streets, made more uncomfortable still by the press of bodies of the city’s inhabitants who had come to see the spectacle.

Napoleon bowed his head graciously to either side as he passed through the cheering crowds. He had been told that the natives measured a man’s status by his finery and wore his best uniform coat, hurriedly adorned with ample gold lace, and a silk sash of red and blue tied about his waist. This was not France, where a man was obliged to demonstrate his pious devotion to duty with no thought of reward if he was to win the affection of the public. They were in a new land, far from home, and needed to win the support of the local people if the influence of France was to spread into the east and encroach upon the territory and trade routes of England.

Besides, he reflected with a faint smile as he progressed along the streets, he had liked the image he cut in his fine uniform as he had examined himself in a mirror earlier that day. And his pride in his achievements, and those of his army, merited this celebration. In less than a month he had won a new land for France, and his mind churned with phrases and grand figures of speech that he would deploy when he wrote the dispatch to France telling them of the magnificent victory gained in the very shadow of the great pyramids. A fine phrase, he thought. One to note down the moment he had time to return to his papers.

Of course, he admitted to himself, the remnants of the enemy army still had to be brought to battle and annihilated. But after losing their capital and melting away into the desert it was surely only a matter of time before the fellahin levies returned to their homes, and then Murad Bey would have only a few thousand Mamelukes and Bedouin allies to continue the fight. What chance had they to frustrate French ambitions? Napoleon had already decided to hunt them down and destroy them utterly. Then there would be peace and France could begin to milk her latest conquest, wringing wealth out of Egypt to finance the sinews of war back in Europe. The Directory would be in his debt more than ever. Parisian society would worship him alongside the greatest heroes of France, and - his heart warmed at the thought - Josephine would glow with pride in her husband. One day he would return to her embrace as the great conqueror and they would be the most dazzling couple in Paris.

At that moment he felt a yearning for her more deep and profound than any he had experienced before and his mind dwelt on her every feature and facet of character in adoring detail. He could recall the scent of her hair, and the sweetness of her favourite perfume, and the soft, yielding flesh of her body. The thought sparked a hot surge of lust and Napoleon hurriedly forced her from his mind as he stiffened his spine and bowed his head to a group of merchants raising their arms in greeting.

Napoleon cleared his throat and spoke as clearly as he could. ‘Salaam aleikum.’

There was an instant of surprise in their expressions and Napoleon feared he had got the greeting wrong, then they smiled in delight and bowed their heads as they replied.

Junot edged his horse forward and grinned. ‘Seems to have gone down well, sir.’

‘Yes. But we’ll need to do far more than exchange a few pleasantries with them.’

‘Sir? What do you mean?’

‘Not now, Junot. We’ll talk later. Just enjoy the moment.’ Napoleon patted Junot’s shoulder. ‘Just think. In years to come, when you are old and grey, you will tell your grandchildren that you rode at General Bonaparte’s side as he captured Cairo for France.’

Junot suddenly looked serious. ‘I will treasure this moment, sir. Always.’

‘As will I, Junot.’ Napoleon nodded.‘I just wish Josephine was here to see it.’

Junot’s expression became more strained for an instant, and he looked away, quickly waving his hand in response to a fresh chorus of cheers from the crowd.

That night Napoleon entertained his senior officers and the local dignitaries in the banquet hall of the Pasha’s palace. The French band had played during the first part of the feast as the guests sat on cushions before low tables set with platters of an eastern design.What was music to European ears was clearly little more than a discordant racket to the Egyptians and in the face of their pained expressions Napoleon had the band dismissed for the rest of the night. In deference to the locals, and to the chagrin of his officers, there was no alcohol at the tables and the Frenchmen sat with glazed expressions of boredom as several long-winded speeches were made by Cairo’s leading worthies. In his reply Napoleon set out the ambition of the revolution to free peoples across the world from oppression. No longer would they be tyrannised by Mameluke warlords. He promised that his men would respect the Muslim faith, local customs and property.

His words were received with polite applause and nodding of heads and then the guests returned to their meals, and a low hubbub of conversation echoed off the high walls of the chamber. Napoleon was seated on a raised dais at the end of the hall, with Berthier, Desaix, Junot and the most influential imam and sheikh of the city. Sheikh Muhammad el Hourad had made a small fortune from his dealings with French merchants who traded with Alexandria and had a good grasp of the language of his new masters. As he reached to pour Napoleon a fresh goblet of water he smiled and said, ‘Tell me, General, this revolution of yours, does it truly seek to rid the world of oppression?’

‘Of course.’ Napoleon nodded. ‘Its values are inspired by the greatest and most enlightened philosophies of the civilised world. No Frenchman today is required to demean himself before any other. We are all equal before the law and any man can forge his own path to success and greatness. What people of the world would not want to share in that vision?’

The sheikh nodded his head. ‘A fine ambition, General, but I wonder if your vision will have much purchase in less . . .’ he paused for a moment, then smiled faintly,‘less civilised lands, such as our own.’ He gestured round the hall. ‘These people are not of the fellahin; they would not welcome any change to our social order. I fear there would be much resistance to the values of your revolution.’

‘I understand, but surely you would agree that all men should have the chance to free their talents from the chains of their social caste?’

‘If that was the will of Allah, then it would be so.’

‘If it is the will of men, then it is so,’ Napoleon countered. ‘And now that we have freed Egypt from the Mamelukes, it will be so here, as it is in France.’

There was a tense silence as Muhammad el Hourad digested this and then translated it to the imam. The latter’s expression hardened into frank hostility and he muttered his reply to the sheikh.

‘He says that it would seem we have lost one oppressor only to have gained another.’

Junot leaned forward and spoke earnestly.‘But we are not here to oppress. We are here to free your people.’

‘Free our people?’The sheikh pursed his lips. ‘Forgive me, but I am confused.You see, whenever Allah has been good enough to see that foreign newspapers reach us here in Cairo, I have read of the wars in Europe. I have heard of the exploits of the great General Bonaparte in Italy. I have heard how France has spread her rule over other countries and grown rich off the spoils of war.’ He paused and turned his gaze to Napoleon. ‘I ask myself how such conquests can spread liberty and - what are the words of your national motto?’ He clicked his fingers. ‘Ah yes, liberty, equality and fraternity. Is that not so?’

‘Those are the words.’

‘Then, forgive me, General. I am not a sophisticated man, and, as you have implied, this is not a civilised land, but I wonder how such fine principles can be delivered by the application of fire and the sword.’ He looked at Napoleon and raised his eyebrows, inviting a reply.

Napoleon returned his gaze coldly. ‘France is at war with the tyrannies of Europe because they fear the example we have set. France would live in peace, but for the desire of other nations for war. When we have finally defeated our enemies we will be free to fully embrace the ideals that gave birth to the revolution. And we will be free to extend our ideals to other lands, far from Europe. As you pointed out, this is not a civilised land. One day it will be, under French guidance.’

‘Inshallah - if Allah wills it.’

‘Of course.’ Napoleon forced himself to smile. ‘Inshallah.’

‘Perhaps we are thinking too far ahead, General. After all, Murad Bey and his men are still in the field. Egypt is not conquered - pardon me, liberated - until Murad Bey and his Mamelukes are crushed. I fear that you will find he has many allies amongst the Arab tribes that he can call on to reinforce his army.’

‘Perhaps.’ Napoleon shrugged. ‘But as you saw the other day, courage and numbers are no match for the discipline and firepower of a modern army. I have given orders for General Desaix here to complete the destruction of Murad Bey and his army.’

Desaix bowed his head in acknowledgement and added confidently, ‘It will be the work of a few weeks, a few months at most.’

‘It is true that your men are more than a match for the Mamelukes,’ the sheikh agreed. ‘But I fear you will find that our land and our climate will be your real enemy.Yours is not the first European army to be defeated by the sun and the sand. You march in the shadow of the crusaders, and perhaps you will share their fate. It is possible that Allah has deemed these worthless lands to be the domain of less civilised peoples.’

‘We are here to stay,’ Napoleon replied firmly. ‘Desaix will defeat Murad Bey and the people of Egypt will embrace the opportunities that France extends to them.’

‘And for those who don’t accept those opportunities?’

Napoleon’s expression hardened. ‘There will be no place for such men in the new order.’

‘I see.’ The sheikh nodded thoughtfully. ‘It occurs to me that should you drive Murad Bey out of Egypt, what is to stop him raiding us from neighbouring lands?’

‘There will be no safe haven for him, or any who resist the changes here in Egypt. If the need arises I will lead my army across the Sinai and up into Palestine and Syria.’

‘And on to Constantinople, perhaps?’

‘No. Even now, the French foreign minister, Monsieur Talleyrand, is concluding a treaty with the Sultan. Our two empires will soon become allies.’

‘If Allah wills it, though the Sultan might well regard the presence of French troops in Egypt, let alone Syria, with some concern, General. But, as you say, the French are a peace-loving people. I am sure the Sultan will see you for what you really are. Now, if you will permit me, I will take my leave. It has been a fine day, and a long day, and I am tired.’ The sheikh rose to his feet, and Napoleon and his officers quickly followed suit. There was a formal exchange of statements of friendship before the sheikh left the hall, followed by the other local men of influence, and the French officers were left to themselves.

Berthier muttered, ‘That seemed to go well enough, sir. I didn’t get any sense they would cause us any trouble.’

‘It hardly matters if they do,’ Napoleon replied casually. ‘What could they achieve against muskets and cannon? No, they’ll soon see that any thought of resistance is futile, and once we begin to bring some order and efficiency to the public affairs of Egypt they’ll be only too pleased that we took control of their land.’

Junot puffed out his cheeks. ‘Well, let’s hope so, sir. But I can’t help thinking that opposition to France might just give them a cause to rally round.’

Napoleon laughed. ‘Come now! They are a backward people, long accustomed to bowing before a constant flow of foreign overlords.They will bow to France just as readily. Gentlemen, I’ve had quite enough ceremony and polite behaviour today. It’s time to celebrate like soldiers!’

The mess servants cleared away the remains of the banquet and brought out the wine and brandy that had been landed from the ships safely anchored in Aboukir Bay and brought up the Nile to Cairo. With the warmth of the eastern night and several rounds of toasts, Napoleon and most of his officers were soon quite drunk. And why not, he thought. The campaign was as good as over. Only the remnants of Murad Bey’s army needed to be tracked down and crushed and Egypt would be the latest conquest to adorn the map of the French empire.

As the night drew on, the conversation became more reflective as the officers began to remind themselves of all the comforts that had been denied to them since coming ashore.

Berthier raised his glass. ‘A good bath, clean sheets and a woman to take your mind off soldiering. That’s my toast.’

The other officers chorused their agreement.Then they grew quiet as their commander held up his glass. ‘Gentlemen, to French women. They have no peer when it comes to beauty, grace and wit.And they make love with a passion that makes men their slaves.’

As his companions roared their approval and clashed their glasses together Napoleon felt his heart ache with longing for Josephine. His hand fumbled for the minature that hung round his neck and he stared at the image, gently caressing it with his thumb. The artist had captured her lively spirit in the eyes that seemed to glint mischievously as he stared at them. However, he knew that if he indulged in such reflection for too long he was in danger of becoming melancholy, so he forced himself to smile and raise his glass again.

‘To our lovers, to our wives and to my beautiful, adoring wife Josephine.’

Again the officers cheered and drank. Junot refilled his cup, and blearily turned to some nearby officers and said, too loudly, ‘To our wives, whoever they adore!’

Some of the officers exchanged embarrassed looks while others heedlessly drank to Junot’s toast. Junot turned to Napoleon with a broad smile, and froze. Napoleon was looking at him with an angry expression.

‘What did you say?’

‘Sir?’

‘Just now. What did you say?’

‘To our wives . . .’ Junot mumbled. ‘Whoever they adore.’

‘And what exactly do you mean by that?’

‘Nothing, sir. It was a joke. Nothing more.’

‘A joke?’ Napoleon sat his glass down with a sharp rap. He felt light headed and his mind concentrated with difficulty. Slowly the conversation of the other officers died away as they turned towards their general with curious faces. Napoleon stepped up to Junot and stabbed a finger into his chest. ‘Are you insulting my wife, Junot? You dishonour her. How dare you say that about her?’ The fond affection of a moment earlier had gone. In its place was an injured drunken pride, and Napoleon clenched his fist and thrust it behind his back where it could not be so readily used. ‘Say it again, if you dare.’

Junot shook his head as the blood drained from his face. ‘Sir, I wasn’t thinking. I meant no offence.’

‘No offence!’ Napoleon spat. ‘You imply my wife is being unfaithful, and you say that you mean no offence.’

‘I’m sorry, sir.’ Junot attempted to stand stiffly to attention. ‘I beg you to accept my apology.’

‘No. I will not.You slander the woman I love, who loves me, and you think a mere apology will suffice? I think not, Junot. I think that you should leave me. Leave my staff. Leave my army and take yourself home. I will not have you near me.’ Suddenly, his temper snapped and his clenched fist swept out, and he punched Junot hard in the face.

Everyone stood quite still, shocked by the confrontation and the sound of the impact that echoed back from the walls. Napoleon was drawing his arm back to hit him again when Berthier intervened, thrusting Junot aside and standing between him and Napoleon.

‘Sir! That’s enough!’

Napoleon glared at him, wide eyed. ‘You dare to come between me and this foul-mouthed brute? I’ll break you with him. You and anyone who dishonours my wife with such lies. Anyone who can think that of Josephine.’

‘Then you will have to find a replacement for every man at headquarters,’ Berthier said desperately.

‘What?’ Napoleon felt a sick feeling well up in his stomach. ‘What are you saying? What are you saying about my wife?’

Berthier’s face twisted into a pained expression and for a moment words failed him.Then he swallowed and spoke.‘Sir . . . she has a lover.’

‘A lover?’

‘Yes.’

Napoleon thought he was going to be sick, and bit down, clamping his lips together. His first instinct was to reject the idea, but then doubts rushed in to fill his mind like winter shadows. ‘Who, then? Who is this lover? Tell me!’

‘His name is Hippolyte Charles.’

‘Charles? The cavalry officer who came with her to Italy?’

Berthier nodded.

Napoleon’s mind instantly leaped back to those times where he had encountered Josephine in the young officer’s company, and his heart felt as if it was locked in a cold vice. Doubt edged towards certainty and he looked round the hall at the other officers. ‘Who else knows?’

Berthier shifted uncomfortably. ‘It is known to most of Paris, sir. Has been for several months.’

‘Months . . .’ Napoleon lowered his head. All hope was fading, and in its place a tide of rage and, worse, shame engulfed him. If Paris society knew of this infidelity, had known of it for months, then he would be a laughing stock.They would look at him with the same cruel, amused contempt that was reserved for all cuckolded husbands. They would be laughing at him behind his back. He felt his cheeks burn as he realised that the grand reputation he had been trying to build for himself, and for Josephine, was worthless if she was so openly entertaining a lover while her husband was away at war.Then he raged at himself for not seeing it before. For being blinded by his love for her, his unquestioning belief in her devotion to him. He was worse than any lovesick boy and the knowledge burned into him like a heated iron and he slumped down on a cushion.

Berthier glanced round at the other officers and nodded towards the entrance to the banquet hall. Silently, the men began to drift away, slowly emptying the chamber until at last only Berthier and Junot remained with him. Junot, who had served with Napoleon through so many dangers and adventures, felt compelled to offer some comfort to his friend. He reached his hand tentatively towards Napoleon’s shoulder and then hesitated, horrified by the enormity of what he was on the verge of doing. No general could show weakness. Before Junot could commit such an unpardonable transgression of the written and unwritten codes that exist between a commander and his subordinate officers, Napoleon glanced up, eyes red and glistening as he struggled to fight back the grief that threatened to overwhelm him.

‘Get out. Both of you.’

Junot withdrew his hand. ‘Sir, I just wanted—’

‘Get out!’ Napoleon screamed at him.‘You heard me! Get out and leave me alone! Now!’

Junot recoiled nervously and made his way over to the great doors at the entrance to the chamber. For a moment Berthier tried to think of some words of consolation, but what can one man say when faced with another’s betrayed love? It was too painful, too personal, for tokens of comfort. So he turned to follow Junot, and closed the door softly behind him, leaving Napoleon sitting on his cushion, nursing his head on his arms. For a long time he stared at the floor tile between his boots and then his vision blurred as the first tears, which he had failed to fight off, welled up in his eyes. He pressed the palms of his hands against his face and at last gave in to his grief and rage.

For several days Napoleon rarely emerged from his quarters in the palace. It was hard to bear the shame of being almost the last man to know the truth about Josephine’s treachery. He sensed that those around him regarded him with a mixture of pity and amusement, even though they struggled to hide their feelings. Soon the rest of the army would hear the rumours, if they hadn’t already, and their laughter would echo that of Paris society. The great general who commanded France’s armies and conquered her enemies, yet could not control his wife. Nor satisfy her as a man should. That Josephine should prefer a foolish, vacant-headed cavalry officer to him fell on his heart like a great weight. The recent victory, and all the others before, seemed no more than insignificant details now, and his immediate ambitions seemed futile and pointless. In an attempt to work through the dark thoughts whirling through his mind, Napoleon forced himself to write a letter to Joseph.

The words came slowly and painfully as he set down his feelings. ‘Glory is stale when I am only twenty-nine. I have achieved everything a man can in this life. And now there is nothing left for me but to become really and completely selfish . . .’

He looked at the last word on the page with loathing and despair. He must not let himself sink into a well of self-pity.There would be time for that later, when he returned to Paris and confronted Josephine. Meanwhile an army stood by, waiting for his orders. The fate of twenty-five thousand Frenchmen, and the future of an empire, lay in his hands.

Very well then, he decided. He would harden his heart and pursue his goals with utter ruthlessness. Every enemy he killed, every army he crushed, would be dedicated to Josephine and those who mocked him.

Napoleon led the army out of Cairo early in August. Ignoring Murad Bey and his Mamelukes for the moment, he tracked down the large host of ragged and poorly armed foot soldiers under Ibrahim Bey. Napoleon’s men had been issued with new, lighter uniforms and were accompanied by hundreds of commandeered carts and camels carrying casks of water. He marched them hard, driving Ibrahim Bey before him, until he caught up with the enemy at Salalieh. There was no battle to speak of, merely a bloody massacre as wave after wave of the fellahin conscripts were cut down by musket fire and grapeshot, until their bodies covered the ground before the ranks of the French soldiers. When, at last, the shattered remnants of Ibrahim Bey’s army broke and ran, there were few cries of triumph from the French ranks. Most men simply stared out across the piles of peasant bodies and blood-spattered sand in numbed horror.

‘This is not war,’ Berthier said quietly. ‘It is murder.’

Napoleon sniffed.‘It is neither.This is what victory looks like. The sooner our men get used to this the sooner our task in the east will be complete and they can go home.To which end, give the order for the pursuit of the enemy. Take command here, Berthier. Keep after them. Push the men as hard as you can, and there must be no mercy shown to the enemy. None, do you hear? I want the survivors to spread word of what happens to those who choose to oppose us. Then next time this can be avoided.’ He gestured towards the battlefield.‘Now I must return to Cairo. Send me word of your progress.’

‘Yes, sir.’ Berthier saluted.

Napoleon wheeled his horse round and rode back to headquarters. He ate quickly as his mounted escort was assembled, and then they set off along the route back to Cairo. They had only ridden for two hours when they saw a small dust cloud on the track ahead of them. Napoleon reined in as the guides fanned out around him, ready to draw their sabres. As the other group approached Napoleon realised it was merely a dispatch rider accompanied by a handful of dragoons, and the tension eased amongst his men as they resumed their formation at his back. As the horses galloped up, foaming at the mouths and flanks heaving from their hard ride, the messenger made straight for Napoleon. His expression left no doubt that something terrible had occurred.

‘Urgent message from General Kléber at Alexandria, sir.’

‘What’s happened?’ Napoleon snapped. The rider was breathing heavily and struggled to find the words to relate the news. Napoleon frowned. ‘Well? Speak up, man!’

‘The English fleet attacked our ships at Aboukir Bay ten days ago, sir . . .’

‘Go on.’

‘Our fleet was defeated. Admiral Brueys is dead. The flagship blew up.’

‘Who’s in command now?’

‘Admiral Villeneuve, sir.’

‘Where is the rest of the fleet?’

The messenger looked confused for a moment. ‘Sir, there is no fleet. The English sank or took all but two of our ships.’

Napoleon stared at him, as the full import of the man’s words struck home. There was no longer a lifeline to France. No way home for the Army of the Orient. ‘Dear God . . . We’re on our own now. Completely on our own.’