THE GENERALS Read Free Page A

behind the price rises and food shortages. They are the ones who are trying to undermine the new constitution. Trying to steal the liberty that we have taken into our own hands.’The speaker raised his fists. ‘All that we have fought for. All that those gallant martyrs of the Bastille died for - all, ALL will be torn from us and we will be as slaves again. Is that what you wish?’
     
    ‘No!’ called a resonant voice. Napoleon sensed the theatrical tone of the cry, and he smiled. A supporter planted in the crowd. ‘No! Never!’ the voice cried out again, and others joined in.
     
    The speaker nodded and raised a palm to quieten them before he continued. ‘You are good patriots.That I can tell at once. Not like those Bourbon scum who would sell their souls to foreign powers and their mercenary hordes. They are traitors!’
     
    ‘Damned liar!’ a shrill voice called out. ‘Royalists are not traitors. We seek to free France of the tyranny of the godless!’
     
    Napoleon paused, straining his neck and rising on his toes as he tried to see over the heads of the crowd towards the protester. He saw a tall thin man standing on a pediment at the far side of the crowd. As soon as he had spoken he turned and gestured towards the colonnade. At once a swarm of men emerged from the shadows of the tall columns. Each wore a scarf across his face and carried a wooden club.
     
    A woman screamed. Her cry was taken up and the people surged as one away from the onrushing men.
     
    ‘Death to the murderers of the King!’ the voice shrilled out. ‘For God and monarchy!’
     
    He jumped down from the pediment and joined his followers as they charged into the terrified crowd, swinging their clubs at victims without any regard for age or gender. Suddenly a dense mass of bodies surged against Napoleon, thrusting him back against his companions. Junot grabbed hold of his arm and held him up while Marmont stepped forward with a roar and brandished his fists, daring any of the panicked crowd to come any closer to them. As the bodies flowed past on either side and the evening air filled with cries of fear, pain and anger Napoleon growled, ‘Come on! We’ll teach those royalists a lesson.’
     
    ‘What?’ Junot turned to him in surprise. ‘Are you mad? They’ll cut us down in no time.’
     
    ‘He’s right.’ Marmont eased himself back towards his friends. ‘Three against twenty or more. What can we do?’
     
    ‘Three right now,’ Napoleon conceded, his voice betraying his nervous excitement. ‘But once we fight back, so will others. Come on!’
     
    He thrust his way past Marmont and pushed through the people streaming away from their attackers.Then, over the heads of those at the back of the crowd, he saw the raised clubs and scarved faces of the men beating a path through to the original speaker and his guards. Napoleon paused, fists bunched and heart pounding, not for the first time uncertain about the wisdom of what he was doing.Then he saw on the ground the prone figure of an old man, sprawled on his face, blood gushing from his scalp on to the cobbles. Beside him lay a crutch. Napoleon snatched it up, instinctively grasping it as if it were a musket, armpad clutched to his side and the base held out like a muzzle. His confidence returned and he stepped forward again, swerving round a woman clutching a young boy to her breast, long skirts flowing as she fled. A short distance behind her was the first of the royalists. Above the scarf he wore to conceal his features, his wide excited eyes turned and fixed on Napoleon, widening still further with surprise. He hesistated for an instant before he began to raise his club, and Napoleon swept forward, throwing all the weight of his slight figure behind the crutch as he rammed the base into the man’s chest, and hissed ‘Bastard!’ through clenched teeth.
     
    The blow drove the man back with an explosive grunt and his head struck the ground as he tumbled, knocking him