France, Napoleon had delayed his withdrawal from Vienna. Today’s parade was to be one of the last reviews before the Grand Army began its march back to the Rhine.
The last company of guardsmen stamped to a halt at the end of the line and then a silence fell across the parade ground as Napoleon surveyed the men before him. Four regiments of the Old Guard, the finest soldiers in his army. He gazed fondly at them, even though he kept his severe expression fixed. Many of these men had fought for him at Marengo and Austerlitz. To join their ranks a man had to have served a minimum of five years and fought in two campaigns. That was before they were even considered for selection. The men stared directly ahead, many sporting extravagant moustaches and beards. Their uniforms were clean, their white cross-straps a brilliant white, and their buttons gleamed, due to long hours of careful application of tripoli powder. Their tall bearskin hats and proud bearing made the men seem larger than other soldiers and Napoleon knew that their appearance alone on the battlefield was enough to unsettle an enemy. When they went into action they were utterly fearless and ferocious and only the finest of their foes ever dared to hold their ground against the Imperial Guard.
Napoleon slowly paced down the stairs, followed by Berthier and General Rapp, the commander of the brigade being reviewed. Approaching the guardsmen, Napoleon began his inspection as he strode along each line, occasionally stopping to exchange a word with one of the veterans, conspicuous thanks to the chevrons on their sleeves denoting the number of campaigns they had fought in.
Once the inspection was over, Napoleon returned to the stairs and began to award the promotions, decorations and prizes to each of the recipients called out from the ranks. Each man approached the Emperor smartly, stood to attention while his citation was bellowed out by General Rapp, and then received the appropriate reward, together with the profuse congratulations of his Emperor. But all the time, Napoleon’s mind flitted from one preoccupation to another.
Foremost in his mind was the coming confrontation with the Empress Josephine. His heart felt heavy with remorse at what he must do when he returned to Paris. France needed an heir to the throne. Only royal blood would do, since it would make it impossible for rival rulers to deny that a child of Napoleon lacked the breeding required to rule as the equal of any other emperor, king or tsar. Even though the logic of his decision to divorce Josephine was unassailable, still he felt the sour grief of being forced to act contrary to his will. Despite all the infidelities on both sides, and his frequent despair over her profligacy, Napoleon loved her as no other. It was as if their hearts and minds were bound together, and the prospect of her enforced rejection crushed almost any notion of pleasure in his life.
Once the last of the guardsmen had received his award, General Rapp ordered the soldiers to shoulder their muskets and then, as the band struck up, the battalions marched off the parade ground. As the last company passed by the civilian sightseers began to spill out across the parade ground. Napoleon turned to Berthier.
‘How are preparations for the army’s departure progressing?’
‘The last two corps are ready to march. The imperial baggage train is packed and can leave at any time. There’s only one issue to resolve.’ Berthier paused. ‘That’s the sale of surplus supplies, ammunition and equipment we captured from the Austrians.’
‘What’s the problem?’
‘The Austrians refuse to pay the price agreed when we signed the treaty.’
‘What are they saying?’
‘They’ll pay thirty million francs, sire.’
Napoleon shook his head with a dry laugh. ‘Thirty million! They must think me a fool. No, the price is fifty million, as we agreed. If they don’t pay up then tell that fool, Prince Metternich, that we will not leave Vienna until they do.’ Napoleon’s resolve hardened even as he spoke and he thrust a finger into Berthier’s chest. ‘You also tell him that if we are not paid in full by the end of the year then I will regard the treaty as having been broken, and that means war. You tell him that!’
‘Yes, sire. As you wish.’
‘Austrian bastards,’ Napoleon hissed through gritted teeth. ‘They brought this war on themselves. Emperor Francis is in no position to change the peace terms. I will bring them to heel, whatever it takes.’
He turned away and made his way down the steps to head back across the parade ground to his quarters in the palace. As he did so a young man stepped forward from the milling crowd of awed sightseers and strode towards him. Napoleon noticed him at the last moment and drew up with a scowl.
‘What’s this?’
‘Sire,’ the man said, eyes wide and staring.‘I bring you a petition from all Germans.’
Napoleon glanced over the youth. He was blond-haired, blue-eyed, and broad-shouldered beneath his plain black coat. Napoleon shook his head. ‘You must take it to my clerks. They deal with such matters. Now, then, if you would step away.’
‘No, sire. You will deal with it now!’
The youth lurched forward. There was a dull gleam and General Rapp cried out, ‘Sire! He has a knife!’
Napoleon stared at the youth, frozen where he stood. Then Berthier grabbed his arm and pulled him back, stepping in between his Emperor and the youth. There was a blur of blue uniform and gold lace as Rapp threw himself at the assassin and both crashed down on to the parade ground. Rapp clasped both hands around the wrist of the young man’s knife hand and bellowed, ‘Guards! On me! On me!’
The soldiers who had stood guard on the staircase came dashing over. The youth balled his free hand into a fist and smashed it into Rapp’s face, at the same time kicking out at the general with his feet. But Rapp rolled his weight over the youth’s chest, pinning him down as he held the weapon hand away from them both. A moment later the guardsmen reached the spot, and while one forced the youth’s hand open and took away the knife, the others dragged him to his feet. General Rapp rose to his feet, hatless and breathing heavily as he glared at the youth.
Napoleon pressed Berthier aside and took a step towards the German. ‘You mean to kill me.’
‘Yes!’ the assassin shot back.
Napoleon shook his head. ‘Why?’
‘You are a tyrant. Enemy of liberty. Enemy of the German people.’
‘Enough of that claptrap!’ roared Rapp as he threw a punch into the youth’s midriff. The young man doubled over, as far as the soldiers holding him allowed, and groaned as he gasped for breath. Rapp turned to Napoleon. ‘What shall I do with him, sire?’
Napoleon stared at the youth for a moment, still stunned by the suddenness and surprise of the attack. It was not the first time that someone had tried to kill him, but in the past his would-be assassins had used bombs, poisons and other methods of the coward. This was different. A direct attack on him with a knife, by an assailant little more than a boy who had no hope of escape whether he succeeded or failed in his attempt.
Napoleon cleared his throat nervously. ‘Take him away. Have him questioned. Find out who else is involved in this conspiracy. They will all be made to pay dearly for it.’
Rapp nodded, and gestured to the guardsmen.‘You four, take him to the cellars and wait for me there. The rest, stay close to the Emperor. If anyone else comes too close before you reach the palace, then shoot ’em.’
Napoleon set off, his guardsmen closed up around him, cautiously watching the civilians milling around the parade ground. Those who had witnessed the assassination attempt looked on in silence as the French Emperor and his escort hurried by, and then turned their attention to General Rapp and his small party as they dragged the young man away.
‘Death to tyrants!’ the youth cried out. ‘Death to Napoleon!’ Rapp leaped to his side and smashed his fist into his jaw, silencing him.
A short distance away, Napoleon glanced back at his assailant, and then noticed that his hands were trembling. With an angry frown he clasped them together behind his back and strode towards the palace.
Late in the evening Napoleon descended into the cellars of the palace. General Rapp had taken his prisoner to one of the empty storerooms beneath a little-used section of the palace. There Napoleon found him, with three burly sergeants of the Old Guard, stripped to the waist as they sat on stools around the youth, who was tied into a chair. His coat had been removed, and his white shirt and breeches were spattered with his blood. Rapp’s men had beaten him severely about the face, and by the light of a lantern hanging from a beam above him Napoleon could not recognise the features of the man who had tried to kill him earlier in the day. His lips were cut and swollen, his nose was broken and bloody and his forehead was grazed and cut in places.
