When the escort caught up with him they rode on through the night, across a moonlit landscape of silky dunes interspersed with rocky massifs. At dawn they caught up with the artillery train, labouring along the route towards El Arish. The wheels of the gun carriages rotated for short distances before sinking into the sand so that the carriages had to be dragged forward. Berthier had been right, Napoleon reflected: this was no terrain for heavy wheeled traffic. He gave orders for the largest-calibre guns to be left behind and all available camels and horses to be harnessed to the mortar batteries and the lightest field pieces, and then drove them forward to join Reynier’s division outside the fort at El Arish.
They arrived late in the afternoon and as they crested the last rise before the village Napoleon saw the fort, a large square constructed from solid-looking masonry. To the left the sea sparkled serenely in the sunlight. Leaving the artillerymen and his escort to haul the mortars into the camp, Napoleon rode ahead to find General Reynier.The division commander was in a small redoubt on a low escarpment beyond the fort.
‘What the hell are you doing up here?’ Napoleon demanded. ‘Your men are facing the wrong way.’
‘No, sir. We were attacked by a relief force yesterday. The advance battalion only just managed to hold them off until I could bring up support. Then the enemy broke and retreated up the coast.’
‘Have you sent any scouts forward to see how far they’ve gone?’
Reynier paused, nervously. ‘No, sir. Not yet.’
‘Why not? If they’ve gone then your men have been sitting on their arses here for two days when they could have been down there assaulting the fort.’
‘We’ve already tried frontal attacks. My men didn’t even get over the wall before they were repulsed. With heavy losses, sir.’
‘I see.’ Napoleon frowned. ‘Right, then, leave a battalion up here, just in case the enemy does come back. Get the rest down to cover the fort and make ready for another assault. Meanwhile, as soon as the mortars are in place, we’ll give those Turks a shelling they won’t forget in a hurry.’
The artillery teams dragged the mortars up to the fortified pits that Reynier’s men had prepared for them. Napoleon joined the crews as they wrestled the awkward timber carriages into place and unloaded the shells and propellent charges. It was hot, exhausting work and the battery was not ready to open fire until late in the evening. There was still plenty of light cast by the moon, and the range had already been calculated by Reynier’s artillery commander, so Napoleon gave the order to start the bombardment. The first mortar fired with a booming thud and the flash from the muzzle briefly illuminated the crew and the surrounding pit in a lurid orange glow, then all eyes snapped forward towards the fort. There was a short delay before the rampart was lit up by a brilliant flash inside the fort and a moment later the crash of the detonation carried across the intervening ground, slightly deadened by the sand.
‘The range is good!’ Napoleon called out. ‘All mortars - open fire!’
The bombardment continued through the night and into the following day in a steady rumble of explosions that soon shrouded the fort in a thick cloud of dust, illuminated from within by the blooms of exploding shells. Hour after hour the bombardment continued and still the garrison showed no sign of surrendering. Napoleon sat on a rock and watched the shelling continue for another night. In between fitful snatches of sleep, he stood up and walked swiftly to and fro behind the battery, fretting about the delay this siege was causing to his advance on Acre.
As the sun rose out of the desert on the following morning, one of the gunners shouted out to Napoleon and pointed towards the fort. The gate had opened and two men made their way outside. The gate was hurriedly closed behind them, just as the last shell to be fired went off a short distance beyond the wall. The two figures threw themselves flat.
‘Cease fire!’ Napoleon bellowed. ‘Cease fire!’
In the silence the two men warily rose to their feet; then there was a glint as one of them raised a trumpet to his lips and blasted out three notes.The other unfurled a small white flag and held it up in clear view as they advanced across the open ground in front of the fort.
Reynier came trotting up to Napoleon with an excited expression. ‘Looks like they have had enough, sir.’
‘Not before time. Those bastards have delayed us enough already. Right, offer them terms. If they surrender the fort they can leave with their weapons, under parole. Tell them they are forbidden from taking up arms against French forces for a year. If they refuse those terms then we will continue the shelling and there will be no prisoners taken when we assault and take the fort. If they agree, get them out of here as quickly as you can, then break camp and continue the advance. Got that?’
‘Yes, sir.’ Reynier saluted and summoned an infantry section to go forward with him to meet the Turkish emissaries. Napoleon turned away and strode swiftly back to the mounted guides who were holding his horse ready. He swung himself into the saddle and turned back down the track towards the rest of the army, still seething at the delay to his plans.
With the removal of the threat to his lines of communication Napoleon led his army north, and into Syria. At once Reynier’s advance guard came up against Turkish cavalry, but as soon as he formed his men into squares the enemy attacked only half-heartedly before withdrawing.The weather was cold and sudden squalls of rain turned the tracks into slippery mud, and it was not until the beginning of March that the first troops moved into position around the port of Jaffa. The town was protected by a decrepit wall, erected long before the days of artillery, and Napoleon was content to use his field guns to breach the walls rather than send for his siege artillery. As the engineers constructed their batteries Napoleon sent an emissary forward to negotiate terms for the surrender.
‘God, I hope they’re not anything like that lot at El Arish,’ Berthier muttered as Napoleon and his senior officers watched the French officer enter the gates.
Napoleon shrugged. ‘If they are, then we’ll bombard them into submission just as we did before.’ He raised his telescope and examined the walls. ‘You can see that the masonry is crumbling in many places. I’m certain that a few well-placed shots will soon bring down a section of the wall large enough for Lannes’s division to make an assault into the town.’ He lowered the telescope and turned round with a smile. ‘What do you say, Lannes? Think your men can take that place?’
General Lannes grinned. ‘Just try to stop them, sir.’
Napoleon punched him on the shoulder. ‘That’s my Lannes! Only this time, try not to get wounded, eh? You have more lives than ten cats, but even you will run out of them one day.’
‘Not before my enemies.’
The other officers smiled, and then Berthier raised his arm and pointed towards the gates of Jaffa. ‘That was quick.’
Napoleon, still smiling, turned towards the town and saw the French officer emerge through the open gate, between two Turkish soldiers. Close behind him emerged a third soldier.
‘At last, they’re being reasonable.’
As Napoleon and his staff watched, the emissary was suddenly thrust down on to his knees. Light glinted off steel as the man behind him drew his sword and swept it round in a glittering arc. The officer’s head leaped from his shoulders and bounced a short distance from the gate as blood sprayed up from his neck. The swordsman kicked the torso over and then he and his two companions strode back through the gate and it closed behind them. Neither Napoleon nor his officers spoke for a moment. Then the sound of jeering echoed across the ground from the city walls and broke the spell. As Napoleon stared at the distant figures waving their swords and muskets above the ramparts he shook his head with disgust.