course, it would take a little time to persuade the members of the junta that it was in their interest to make the offer. Murat would have to distribute the required bribes and threats to ensure their compliance. Now that would be a far better use of Murat’s abilities, Napoleon noted to himself with a smile. Still, it was a delay all the same and one that he knew would tax his patience. But what could he do? He wanted Joseph to take on the duty and therefore he would have to bow to his brother’s will.
He looked up and nodded. ‘Very well then, I accept your condition. I will send orders to Murat to prepare the ground.’ He cleared the last morsel of meat from his plate and set it down in the grass. ‘Now let’s begin the day’s entertainment.’
Seeing the Emperor rise to his feet the rest of the hunting party hurriedly put aside what was left of their luncheon and followed suit. The guns were brought forward as the guests were led to their posts along the slope of the hillock, where patches of gorse obscured some of the shooting stands from each other. Napoleon saw that Massena was to his right, perhaps twenty paces off. To his left was Berthier. Across the flat marsh the distant figures of the beaters were visible on the far side, and once the signal was given they began to move towards the hillock, thrashing at the ground before them and using wooden clackers to scare the birds into flight. In case the targets should be too few, or too evasive, Berthier had taken the precaution of ensuring that a plentiful supply of pheasant and duck was held ready in small cages spread out amid the long reeds and grassy hummocks ranged before the hunting party.
The beaters edged across the marsh, scaring up the game, and as soon as he judged that the birds had come within range Napoleon reached for his gun. One of the servants behind him pressed it into his hand and he drew it up and settled the stock into his shoulder. He took aim into the air above the beaters. Movement flickered to either side of his vision as ducks rose up from the marshes, quacking in panic.With a sharp thud from his right, Massena took a bird on the wing and there was a little explosion of feathers in mid-air before the duck plummeted to earth.
‘Hah!’ Massena called out as he handed his weapon to one of his bearers and took a loaded replacement. ‘First strike to me!’
A moment later a bird erupted from the reeds directly ahead of Napoleon and flew straight into his line of sight. He tracked it for a second and then began to lead the target before he squeezed the trigger. Instantly a cloud of smoke obliterated his view and the butt kicked savagely into his shoulder. As the breeze swept the smoke away Napoleon saw that he had winged the duck and it flapped pathetically for a little distance, losing height before it dropped into the marsh.
‘One!’ he shouted to Massena, and reached for another gun.
As the day wore on more and more birds were frightened into the sky and were shot down by the imperial hunting party. When the beaters had exhausted the supply of birds in the marsh, they began to release those in the cages. Napoleon had become locked into a fierce competition with Massena as each strove to score the most kills, and late in the afternoon Massena was two birds ahead. Napoleon’s arms were beginning to ache from holding his weapon as an uncaged pheasant flapped into the air slightly to his right, warbling in panic. Knowing that Massena would be bound to claim the bird unless he shot first, Napoleon raised his gun and tracked the bird to his right. It flew low and fast and before he realised it Napoleon had turned almost ninety degrees to the side.
‘Careful, sire!’ one of the bearers cried out in alarm.
Napoleon snatched at the trigger and the weapon went off with a loud report. Almost at once there was a cry of pain and rage and when the smoke cleared Napoleon saw that Massena was staggering back, hands clasped to his face as blood dripped through his fingers. After an instant’s hesitation Napoleon began to run across to him, and behind came Berthier, racing towards the sound of Massena’s shouting. When the Emperor reached Massena the marshal was down on his knees, groaning, and his bearers were standing over him. Napoleon brushed them aside. ‘Get some bandages and water!’
‘Yes, sire.’
‘And see if there is a physician in the party.’
The bearer nodded and ran back up the hill as the shooting continued on either side. Berthier came running up, panting.
‘What happened?’
‘An accident,’ Napoleon muttered. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and began to wipe away the blood on Massena’s face.
‘Careful, damn you!’ Massena growled. He pulled the cloth from the Emperor’s hand and mopped at the blood streaming down the left side of his face. Napoleon could see the small puncture wounds where the shot had struck, and blood and fluid seeping from the marshal’s left eye. He heard the sound of footsteps rustling through the grass as the bearer returned with an officer, Dr Larrey, who had served with Napoleon in Egypt and Syria.
Larrey bent over Massena and examined the wounds. ‘What happened?’
‘What do you think?’ Massena growled through clenched teeth. ‘Some careless bastard shot me in the face.’
Larrey glanced round at the Emperor.
Napoleon felt a surge of anger at the clear accusation. He turned on Berthier and glared. ‘It was you.’
‘Me? But sire . . .’
‘It was you, Berthier. It must have been.You lost sense of where you were aiming. It was an accident.’
Berthier opened and closed his mouth in numbed surprise. He looked to Larrey, and then at Massena, and shook his head. ‘I didn’t . . .’
‘Don’t deny it, Berthier.’ Napoleon grasped his arm. ‘As I said, it was an accident. Massena is wounded, but he will recover. Isn’t that right, doctor?’
Larrey was examining Massena’s face closely, and did not meet the Emperor’s stare. ‘Yes, the marshal will recover, but he may lose the sight in this eye. I’ll do what I can to save the eye, of course. Can you stand, sir?’
‘Yes,’ Massena hissed. ‘I was shot in the face, not my fucking legs.’
He struggled to his feet and Larrey gestured up the slope. ‘Follow me, sir. We’ll take your carriage back to Bayonne. I have my kit there and I can treat you.’
