Early January 1805
As of eight months previously, France was now officially an empire, jubilant and resurgent under her triumphant and brilliant new emperor, Napoleon Bonaparte. A lavish coronation had taken place in December 1804 in the Tuileries Palace, the seat of the French kings, now Napoleon's residence. And it was a sight for all to behold - the choir-boys with their heavenly voices alluding to a strong divine presence that could not be felt by anyone but the most keenly spiritual, a room foggy with incense and wet and heavy with the smell of frankincense and perfume, a rich and unadulterated ambience of unity and pride reflected in the feeling of revival across the nation. Eager crowds gathered outside the palace, and the courtyard thronged with well-wishers and bystanders crowing their blessings for their new ruler. He was the chosen one. He was the elect, picked out among many by the nation to be their saviour, their deliverer, their law-giver, their father, their general, their teacher, master and judge.
Yet the new Emperor did not have time to enjoy his new, lavish palaces, fancy dresses or the power with which he had been invested. No sooner had he been crowned than he was back in the saddle. In March 1803 Britain had dishonourably broken the Treaty of Amiens, thereby having earned their contemptuous title of "Perfidious Albion", due to French re-conquest of Switzerland. An invasion force was assembled at Boulogne to cross the Channel and smash the British, but British control of the seas meant that this did not materialise. Troops were recruited in Paris in order to augment the proposed invasion force.
Meanwhile, French armies were scattered across France and Italy, with an army under Jean Andre-Massèna outside Milan (under the dominion of the French protectorate of the Kingdom of Italy) poised to march into Austrian-occupied Venice and liberate the ancient city from the tyrannical clutches of Kaiser Francis. An army under Karl von Österreich-Teschen defended the city with a small army that was nevertheless somewhat tougher than the little army commanded by Marshal Massena. But Napoleon had faith in his "Dear Child of Victory".
Meanwhile, three French armies were dispersed outside the city of Strasbourg - Michel Ney to the south, Louis-Nicolas Davout to the north-east, and the Grand Armèe commanded by Napoleon himself to the north-west.
Napoleon had had the foresight to create, as it were, an organisational structure within the French army superior to most of Europe, that in creating several Marshals of the Empire, of which Ney and Davout were part, and, in conferring to them that office, giving them their own corps which was essentially a complete army in miniature with infantry, artillery and cavalry, large enough to defend themselves from attacks and small enough to cover ground without the entire army being held back by ambushes or marching into intercepting enemy forces. This formed the core of the Grand Armèe, which was the brainchild of the genius emperor.
Yet none of Napoleon's marshals would ever come close to his superior organising ability, his mastery of the battlefield, his superlative vision and eminence in military tactics. Try as they might, in the face of the great maestro, all of Napoleon's marshals were incompetent fools.
Having completed giving out orders for all the necessary infrastructure which needed to be built throughout France for the year in order to support the war effort and make for quick transportation of troops across the continent, Napoleon set about unifying the main body of the French army under his command with Ney's and Davout's detachments.
General Massena soon received orders from Napoleon to march on Venice. The Austrians could be given no time to recruit reinforcements and something was needed to distract their attention from Napoleon's advance on Vienna. What better way to achieve this than to attempt to seize Austria's chief (and last but one) remaining possession in Italy?
In the French encampment outside Milan, the soldiers were huddled around their camp fires. It was a night colder than they could remember, and the fierce January wind was like the biting teeth of the Lord on the skin of the soldiers.
Suddenly, Jean, the camp commandant, arrived in the middle of the camp with his aide-de-camp, the rather loud and interfering Georges.
"What's going on?" Georges demanded.
"What is it you want to know?" Jean snapped.
"There's no harm in asking," George moaned ruefully, and he drew back, a disappointed expression on his face.
"If you must know, blockhead," Jean replied, "I am going to call the men together to announce to them that we are to march on Vienna. I have sent my subordinates to go and call them to the gathering point now, that being here."
A short toot of the trumpet was enough to send the men rallying to Jean and Georges in the centre of the camp, along with much shouting and cajoling by the junior officers Jean had sent among them.
"Soldiers!" Jean announced. "As of tomorrow morning, we shall be setting out on a journey that is of the utmost importance. Our Emperor deems it necessary for the preservation of the lack of clarity surrounding his march on Vienna to the Austrian forces that we march under the banner of France, and loyally in unity with our noble commander, General Massena, on the city of Venice, which has been under the yoke of Austrian tyranny for so long, and whose citizens cry out for the salvation that can only be procured by the jackboot of French soldiers! And that is why you must once again pick up the ruck-sack and the musket, and advance where your Emperor has commanded you to advance, so that we may win glory once more for the Empire and for the people of France."
A great cheer arose from the ranks. The jubilating troops waved their muskets in celebration and shouted "Vive l'Empereur" with great tumult and enthusiasm. Then the general himself, having overheard the great noise, came out of his tent, accompanied by his entourage.
"Gentlemen!" his aide-de-camp announced. "I present to you General Andre Massena of the Armèe d'Italie!"
The cries of the troops died down and dissipated into a respectful silence as they parted to form a great chasm through which the General walked, inspecting the men as he plodded along with his entourage through the massed ranks of his army. For General Massena was not popular. He lacked the genius of the emperor, the charisma of Ney, the dash of Murat, the quiet dignity of Davout. The army was also small, and the soldiers did not see themselves as part of a grand whole like those under Napoleon's command did. Instead, they felt irrelevant and unimportant. They felt that in being sent to Venice, they were being relegated to the very backwaters of the conflict. Little did they know that the wider tactical importance to their mission was that the capture of Venice would go some way to securing the flanks of Napoleon's advancing troops. Neutral Prussia was still a threat, and an attack by Austrian forces from Italy would have devastating consequences. France's southern flank was protected by virtue of its alliance with Spain, which was somewhat uneasy, especially due to French meddling in the succession crisis there. The British also had designs on seizing the Iberian Peninsula from their base in Gibraltar and at some point would have to be dealt with. A small Russian army under command of Mikhail Kutuzov was on its way to aid Austria, but Napoleon was undeterred. As his troops marched to Vienna, they also passed by allied Bavaria and Wurtemmburg, members of the Confederation of the Rhine.
Meanwhile, Massena and his men were stuck with the task of seizing Venice, away from all the best action. To Massena it might have been a relief - he could gain credit for doing something less risky. But for the troops, boredom and dissatisfaction ensued.
As Massena inspected the troops, a soldier spoke out without permission. "Why are we being sent to Venice?" he demanded. Out from the ranks stepped Gerard, an outspoken and and undisciplined soldier attached to the artillery crew. Massena's head whirled around like like a mechanical soldier. His face became redder than the evening sky and he demanded "Who spoke without permission?"
"I did," replied a defiant Gerard. "And if you see it fit to punish me, I shall bear it like I have braved death through countless battles, like the other thirty-five times that I have been punished for committing some offence or another." At this the ordinary soldiers laughed.
"Stand before me, you impertinent cretin, and I shall see to it that you are lashed until you can barely walk, until your wit ceases to relieve you of your perpetual agony and until you seek to alleviate your misfortune through a grovelling apology for your grave misjudgments, now and in the past," Massena thundered.
Suddenly Gerard was seized, tied to a nearby tree, and his man-handlers seized a bundle of whips and prepared themselves for the obvious, as did the ordinary soldiers who were made to watch.
"This man shall be made an example of," Massena proclaimed. "He shall be whipped and whipped and whipped until he becomes such a bloody pulp as to become unrecognisable. Yet he will remain barely alive, so that he may endure the pain and the agony, and never again have the audacity to make his misplaced wit known to his brethren. And then, for this latest show of insubordination, he is to be court-martialled, and hanged!"
The soldiers were open-mouthed in astonishment. Gerard was a popular man among the men and they would hate to lose him. This only stirred up more resentment of Massena and his lack of reason.
"You are a murderer, Massena!" cried one of the soldiers. "A sadist and a murderer!"
"Do you wish to join your friend in the fiery furnaces of hell?" Massena quipped. The soldier kept his peace.
"I am speaking for those who have no voice, Massena!" the soldier cried. One of his man-handlers kept him tied, the other prepared to bring down the whip upon the bare, glistening back of his victim...