They rested again shortly after midnight and sat huddled together against the cold night air. Away to the west a sand dune was dimly highlighted by the glow of a campfire and a dark silhouette kept watch over the intervening desert. Napoleon stared at the Bedouin for a long time, wondering at the hardiness of a people who could endure such a hostile environment.What kind of man would choose such a life? But if this wasteland was the kind of terrain over which the Egyptian campaign would be fought, then he would do well to recruit these desert warriors to his side.
At length, Napoleon stood up and gave the order for the column to prepare to march. ‘Tell them, one more day and then we’ll camp on the bank of the Nile.Then they can drink as much water as they want.’
As the men rose up stiffly and took their places in the marching column a rider suddenly crested the dune a short distance along the track and galloped towards Napoleon and his staff officers. He slewed his foaming horse to a halt and stretched out an arm towards Napoleon as he offered him a folded dispatch.
‘From General Desaix, sir. He begs you to read it at once.’
Napoleon hurriedly broke the seal, opened the sheet of paper out and scanned the hurriedly composed message, then looked up at the messenger. ‘Tell General Desaix we will reach him tomorrow night. Until then he is to do nothing but rest his troops. Understand?’
‘Yes, sir.’
As the messenger turned his horse back down the track and spurred it into a trot Napoleon gestured to Berthier. ‘Ride ahead with me.’
The two officers urged their mounts forward until they were well out of earshot of the others.Then Napoleon slowed the pace to a walk and spoke quietly.‘Desaix says his men are on the verge of mutiny.’
‘Mutiny?’
‘Quiet, you fool!’ Napoleon glanced round anxiously and then continued. ‘The men refuse to go on. Their representatives have demanded that the army retreats to Alexandria and abandons the campaign. Even worse, some of the senior officers are backing their demands.’
‘Who, sir?’
‘General Mireur, and two colonels.’
‘What will you do, sir?’
Napoleon shrugged.‘I’m not sure, yet. By rights I should have them shot. Them and all the other ringleaders. I must restore discipline at any cost. But I’ll need to handle the situation very carefully.’ He thought a moment longer and then nodded to himself as he made a decision. ‘Berthier, I’m going to ride on ahead. I’ll take a small escort and find Desaix. I’m leaving you in command. Make sure the column does not stop until it reaches the Nile. Clear?’
‘Yes, sir.’
They exchanged a salute and then Napoleon pointed back to the squadron of mounted scouts. ‘You . . . and you. Follow me!’
He urged his horse into a trot and headed along the track towards Desaix. For the rest of the night and into the first pale light of dawn Napoleon’s anger at the situation Desaix had allowed to flare up smouldered in his breast. Mutiny? So early in the campaign? It was unthinkable, Napoleon fumed. If only these men had one fraction of the endurance and courage of the Army of Italy this would never have happened. He spurred his horse on. As the three men rode across the sands they encountered ever more abandoned equipment and bodies, and finally, to Napoleon’s rage, a gun and limber, with two horses still attached to their traces. Each had been shot through the head. All the while, Napoleon was aware of a small band of Bedouin trailing them some distance off to their right. They made no attempt to close in on the French riders; they were just waiting patiently for a horse to go lame or for one of the men to fall far enough behind to be easily picked off.
As on previous days they stopped at noon to rest and water the horses as sparingly as possible. Then they moved on again. It was not until mid-afternoon that Napoleon finally sighted the main body of the army, camped outside the village of Damanhur, little more than a clutch of squalid hovels gathered around a handful of small wells. Desaix was still a day’s march from the Nile and Napoleon felt his dusty face flush with rage that the army had halted short of its goal. He galloped through the pickets surrounding Damanhur and headed into the centre of the village, noting the soldiers staring listlessly as they leaned against the walls of the mud-brick houses that lined the dirty streets. There was hardly any sign of the local people, just occasional faces peering out from windows and doorways with fearful expressions. In the heart of the village Napoleon found a small market area shaded by several palm trees. He reined in and jumped down from his horse, and strode towards a group of soldiers sitting round a small cooking fire as they fed the remains of a market stall into the flames.
One of the men, a sergeant, looked round and his eyes widened. ‘Christ! It’s Bonaparte . . . On your feet, lads!’
The soldiers rose wearily and shuffled to attention and Napoleon had to force himself not to rage at their slovenly and insolent manner.
‘Where’s General Desaix’s headquarters?’ he snapped.
The sergeant pointed to a side street leading off the square. ‘There’s a small mosque just down there, sir. It’s the big house opposite. Can’t miss it. Most of the officers in the army are there right now.’
‘Really? What’s going on, Sergeant?’
‘They’re debating whether or not to continue the advance. Least that’s the rumour that’s going round, sir.’
‘Then we’d better put an end to that rumour. There will be no retreat,’ Napoleon said firmly as he stared round at the group of soldiers. ‘We’re here to win this land for France. That is what we have been ordered to do and there will be no debate on the matter. Clear?’
The men nodded and saluted Napoleon as he turned and strode off in the direction the sergeant had indicated.The soldiers watched him for a moment, and then returned to tending their evening fire and began to mutter again.
When Napoleon found the building he strode past the astonished sentries outside and made for the sound of raised voices that echoed off the high walls of the interior. The officers were gathered in the courtyard garden and from the top of a covered well General Desaix was waving his hands to try to quiet them when Napoleon emerged from the entrance hall. As soon as he saw his commander Desaix froze and his hands sank slowly to his sides. Gradually the angry debate died away as the other officers became aware of Napoleon’s presence. When all was still Napoleon made his way through the crowd and nodded to Desaix to get down from the well. He climbed up and surveyed the officers with a hostile expression.
‘What is the meaning of this meeting, gentlemen?’
At first no one dared to answer him, and most avoided his gaze, until, at last, General Desaix cleared his throat.
‘Sir, the army cannot endure this godforsaken land. The heat and the lack of water are driving our soldiers mad. Nearly every well we have found has been fouled by the Bedouin. Some of our men have even been driven to take their own lives.And for what? There is nothing here but desert and a slow death. There is not even a proper enemy to fight. They flee into the distance the moment any of our lads turn on them, and then come back when it’s safe and wait to pick off any stragglers like a pack of vultures. The men have had enough. It’s the same with many of the officers.’
‘Which officers?’ Napoleon asked coldly. ‘You?’
The blood drained from Desaix’s face. ‘No. Not me. Never.’
‘Then who is it that wishes to defy me? Which of you fine men wants to take issue with your general?’