followers. The sentiment was echoed by the demobbed soldiers who were struggling to find a place within the new regime, and looked back on the days of empire with increasing fondness.
As Napoleon read the reports, he resolved to quit his tiny kingdom of Elba at the earliest opportunity. No island of twelve thousand inhabitants could satisfy his ambitions, or sate his boredom, and he began to make preparations in secret. His small army was regularly drilled and his one warship, a small brig, was supplemented by five other small vessels sufficient to carry Napoleon and his men to France. All of this had to be carried out under the gaze of the British resident. Colonel Campbell was a kindly officer, much in awe of his host, and Napoleon was careful to speak with enthusiasm about his plans for improving Elba whenever the two had occasion to talk. Campbell seemed satisfied that Napoleon had accepted his new, minor station in life. Such was his confidence that Napoleon no longer presented any danger that he had announced he was making a brief visit to Florence.
Napoleon concealed his delight at the news as he enquired the date by which Campbell might return, on the pretext that he was planning a ball and did not want the Englishman to miss the event. As soon as Campbell had departed, Napoleon and his followers hurriedly loaded stores and equipment aboard the flotilla of small vessels and departed mere hours before the return of the Royal Navy brig that had conveyed Campbell to Italy.
Luck, as ever, had favoured him, Napoleon reflected. But now he faced the great test of his new adventure. The road ahead was blocked by regular soldiers, sent by the royalists to confront and arrest him.
‘Sire, what are your orders?’ Cambronne interrupted Napoleon’s thoughts. ‘Should I deploy the men?’
‘No. Have them form up in column, lancers to the front. You and I shall ride at the head of the column. How far ahead is the road blocked?’
Cambronne turned to look up the track. It inclined gently down towards the side of a hill and then turned along the shore of a small lake, the end of which could just be seen. To the left steep hills rose up sharply, creating a narrow defile through which Napoleon and his men must march to reach Grenoble.
The veteran pointed towards the place where the road disappeared round the side of the hill. ‘Just beyond the hill, sire, close to the far end of the lake.’
‘Very well, let’s proceed.’
Cambronne hesitated.‘Shall I have the guns moved close to the front of the column, sire? If there’s any trouble, they can clear the way with a few rounds of case shot.’
‘There will be no trouble,’ Napoleon replied flatly. ‘If there is, then our cause is as good as lost. Now, give the order for the men to make ready to advance. Make sure every man understands that they are not to fire a shot without my express order. If anything happens to me, then you are to lay down your arms at once. Is that clear?’
Cambronne nodded reluctantly, then turned away and strode over to the men who had fallen out alongside the track, bellowing at them to re-form their ranks.
A few minutes later the column started down the track. Napoleon was now riding a white horse, and he wore the old grey coat and battered bicorne that was familiar to every soldier who had campaigned with him over the years. As the track rounded the hill he felt his heartbeat quicken. To his right the small lake stretched out, the calm waters reflecting the wooded ridge on the far side. At the far end of the lake there was a stretch of open ground, perhaps a hundred paces across, between the hillside and the shore of the lake. A body of soldiers stood waiting, formed in line, with fixed bayonets that glinted in the afternoon sunshine.
‘What unit is that?’ asked Napoleon.
‘The first battalion of the Fifth Regiment of the Line, sire.’
Napoleon nodded.
The column advanced in silence, marching along the side of the lake. Napoleon glanced back, past the flickering pennants of the lancers, and saw the grim expressions fixed on the faces of the guardsmen. If it came to a fight, the veterans would make short work of the men opposed to them. But the instant the first blood was spilled, France would be bitterly divided. Even if Napoleon survived such a struggle, he would be forced to deal with the other European powers with almost no chance of success.
As the gap between the hillside and the shore began to widen, Napoleon raised his hand to halt the column.
‘Have the Guard form line. They are to shoulder arms. The lancers are to fall back and dismount.’
Cambronne sucked in his breath, but saluted and turned away to give the orders. As the guardsmen trotted out on either side of the track and formed ranks, Napoleon stared at the line of infantry barring his way. They stood silently as their commanding officer sat on his horse and raised his telescope.
Once the men were in position Cambronne resumed his place at Napoleon’s side. ‘What now, sire?’
‘It’s time you announced me,’ Napoleon replied.
Cambronne edged his spurs in and trotted forward towards the waiting soldiers. Their commander lowered his scope and watched the solitary rider approaching. When Cambronne was no more than fifty paces away the other officer cupped a hand to his mouth and called out. ‘Stop there!’
Reining in, Cambronne raised his hat and replied. ‘Comrades! Our Emperor has returned! Join us!’
‘Silence!’ the officer shouted, then ordered his men, ‘Advance your muskets!’
The bayonets angled forward, cold gleaming tips pointing towards Cambronne.
‘What is the meaning of this?’ he barked. ‘How dare you threaten me? What do you think you are doing?’
‘I have orders to prevent you proceeding,’ the officer replied firmly. ‘You will hand over the outlaw behind you, and tell your men to lay down their arms.’
‘I shall do no such thing!’
‘If you do not surrender within ten minutes, I will give the order to open fire.’ The officer pulled out his fob watch and looked down at it.
‘If you fire on the Emperor you will be responsible to all of France!’ Cambronne responded. ‘Come now, we are all Frenchmen.’
He sat in his saddle and waited for a response. Eventually the officer looked up from his watch and spoke. ‘Nine minutes . . .’
With a muttered curse Cambronne turned his mount round and trotted back towards Napoleon. ‘You heard him, sire?’
‘Yes.’
‘Do you think he will give the order?’
Napoleon stared at the line of soldiers for a moment. ‘There’s only one way to find out.’
He dismounted and handed his reins to Cambronne. ‘Stay here. If anything happens to me remember your orders.’
‘Sire, you can’t put yourself in danger. France needs you.’
‘Quiet,’ Napoleon said. He drew a long deep breath and started walking slowly towards the soldiers. As he did so he unbuttoned his coat to reveal the green jacket of a colonel of the Guards. His heart beat quickly as he gazed steadily at the row of bayonets angled towards him. He knew that he was placing his reputation in the balance against the discipline of these soldiers. If he was mistaken then it would be likely that he would be dead within the next few minutes. Although it was spring, he felt cold and had to clench his fists behind his back to stop them trembling. They must not see my fear, he thought fiercely.
He continued to approach them steadily, taking in the details of the expressions of those men closest to him. It was impossible to tell whether they meant him any harm. Behind them, the officer on horseback glared defiantly at Napoleon as he stopped, no more than twenty paces from their bayonets.
‘Soldiers of the Fifth! Do you not recognise me? Am I not your old general?’
His words echoed off the side of the hill and then there was silence until he spoke again. ‘If there is a man amongst you who wants to kill his Emperor . . . then here I am!’ He pulled back his coat and presented his breast to them.
‘Present arms!’ the officer called out, and the men in the front rank raised their muskets.
‘Take aim!
Napoleon pressed his lips together and widened his eyes as he stood his ground and stared into the muzzles of the muskets pointing directly at him.
‘Fire!’
Napoleon felt an instant of icy terror, then the moment was past. There was no crash of a volley, no flame and no smoke. Nothing but a strained silence.
