Fouché smiled nervously, and Napoleon turned back to Berthier. ‘Once we have undermined the Bourbons in Madrid, our forces already in Spain must be prepared to take control of the largest towns and cities the instant the order is given. I want the main routes across the frontier in our hands as swiftly as possible. My generals are to achieve that with the minimum loss of blood. It is imperative that we are seen as liberators and not invaders. To that end our men must not be permitted to loot any property or supplies. Discipline must be maintained at all costs. Make sure that every soldier who crosses the border into Spain has money in his pockets.’
‘Yes, sire. Of course.’
‘Give immediate orders that our men already in Spain are to start gathering intelligence on every road and town in the north of the country. I want to know where every Spanish soldier is positioned. I want to know their state of readiness, their morale, and most important how loyal they are to either Charles or Ferdinand.When the time comes to act, we must have a column ready to march on Madrid and take control of the city as soon as possible.’ Napoleon paused and thought for a moment before he came to a decision and nodded. ‘Murat is to command the column. He can be trusted to drive his men on and do what is necessary to achieve our ends.Yes, Murat is the man for the job.’
Berthier nodded, and added to his notes. ‘Anything else, sire?’
‘Just the timing. Our preparations must be complete by early February. I plan to begin our operations in the middle of the month and have Spain in our hands by the summer. No later.’
Chapter 39
Pamplona, February 1808
It was a freezing morning and the Spanish sentries guarding the entrance to the citadel struggled to keep out the cold while they waited for their watch to come to an end. The thought of retreating to their barracks and settling round a fire was a source of comfort. Meanwhile they stamped their feet and cupped their hands and breathed warm air on to their cold palms. They had stood guard since first light over the approaches to the drawbridge which spanned the wide defensive ditch that surrounded the citadel. As the first rays of the sun peeped over the snow-covered hills and began to cast warmth across the land, the Spanish soldiers started to feel their spirits rise.
Before them, the city was starting to come alive. A handful of market traders began to set up their stalls on the edge of the plaza in front of the citadel. Over to one side a large bakery had opened its doors and the aroma of fresh bread wafted across to the sentries and made them feel hungry. Shortly after eight in the morning the sentries’ attention was drawn to the sound of boots echoing down one of the streets that led on to the plaza and a short time later a crowd of French soldiers emerged, talking and laughing cheerfully as they crossed the open ground towards the bakery.
They were not armed, and were wearing their forage caps in place of shakos. They shouted good-humoured greetings at the Spanish soldiers as they passed by the drawbridge, and there was no reason to suspect that anything was amiss. After all, the French were allies and they had lived alongside the local people comfortably enough for the past few weeks. Their commander, General Mouton, had explained to the governor of Pamplona that his men were waiting for the worst of the winter to pass before they marched west to reinforce General Junot in Portugal. The French soldiers had not been unwelcome in Pamplona.They treated the locals in a sufficiently courteous manner and paid their way with gold and silver. Indeed, the inhabitants of Pamplona had come to embrace the custom they provided for the local sellers of food and wine.
While the officer in charge of the party entered the bakery to negotiate the sale of a bulk order of bread his men waited in the plaza. It had not snowed for a few days and the snow on the ground had become icy and hard to compress into a decent snowball. Nevertheless the Spanish sentries guarding the entrance to the citadel watched with amused curiosity as a handful of French soldiers spontaneously bent down and began to scrape up snow to throw at each other. Within moments others had joined in and soon the snowball fight was general. Little by little some of the soldiers came closer to the drawbridge and then one of the snowballs struck a Spanish soldier, bursting off his shoulder in a spray of white. For an instant the man glared at the foreigners, searching for his assailant.Then, slinging his musket across his back, he swooped down, scooped up a handful of snow, packed it tight and hurled it into the crowd of French soldiers. There was a shout of protest and then several missiles were thrown back at the sentries as the nearest Frenchmen turned on them and began to exchange a flurry of missiles with the Spaniards. Soon the men of the bread party were on the drawbridge itself, mingling with the outnumbered sentries as they hurled snow and ice at each other.
As the sounds of the shouting from the drawbridge increased in volume the officer emerged from the bakery and stared towards the entrance to the citadel, examining the scene carefully. Then he drew a whistle from his pocket, raised it to his lips and blew three sharp blasts.
At once, his men on the drawbridge threw down their snowballs and seized the startled sentries, snatching away their muskets and knocking them to the ground. At the same time more French soldiers, fully armed, burst out of a side street and crossed the plaza at a dead run, surging across the drawbridge and into the citadel.The officer watched for a moment, hearing muffled sounds of shouted protests and harsh commands.Within a matter of minutes it was all over, and as the first of the bewildered Spanish prisoners emerged on to the drawbridge to be marched to a holding area in the plaza, the flag of the Bourbons fluttered down from the flagstaff on the central tower of the citadel. A moment later a new flag was hoist, and as it reached the top of the flagstaff a faint breeze caused it to ripple out. The blue, white and red colours of the French flag gleamed in the bright rays of the morning sun.
In the days that followed, many more towns and fortresses fell into French hands through similar ruses and more French troops poured across the frontier until, by the end of February, over a hundred thousand French soldiers were on Spanish soil. In Madrid many members of the junta and supporters of Prince Ferdinand were outraged by the French and openly cursed Godoy and the King for their complacency over such an affront to Spanish national pride. Napoleon read the reports of these events with glowing satisfaction. Everything was going according to plan.There remained only one last piece to fall into place: the final humiliation of King Charles, his Queen and their scheming Prime Minister, Manuel Godoy. A message from Napoleon was sent to the latter, via Fouché’s agent in the Spanish court, suggesting that the court would be well advised to quit Madrid before the mob gave vent to their anger.At the same time, the agent hinted to Ferdinand that his father was planning to quit Spain altogether and flee to Spanish possessions in the Americas.
One night early in April Napoleon was woken in the early hours by a servant. He blinked his eyes open and winced as he stared into the bright flame of the candle the man was holding over him.