Free True Soldier Gentlemen (Napoleonic War 1) by Adrian Goldsworthy Page B

general struggled to control it, his whole body sheathed in agony. Finally he recovered enough to speak.
    ‘The Tsar must act like any good ruler and cope with defeat.’ The general did not add that his monarch was also still young, and not always wise. ‘At present we cannot fight the French. Our armies need time to recover. Our generals need to learn how to win. God willing, one day we will find another Suvarov.’
    ‘Better to stay their friend if Napoleon’s plan works.’ As far as the general could see Denilov felt little shame in Russia’s defeat, showed no regret for all those dead men. The count had made a name for himself in the campaigns, showing courage at times when there were influentil witnesses. Had it not been for his reckless gambling, shameless affairs with married women, and the frequency and ruthless effectiveness with which he duelled, his career would have prospered far more. Denilov did not appear to care.
    ‘If it works?’ the general continued. ‘The French face risings in Portugal and throughout Spain. Napoleon’s soldiers are good, but they are stretched thinly from Poland to the Atlantic. If the English send an army to aid the rebels . . .’ He broke off for another spasm of coughing.
    ‘The English spend money, not their own blood,’ said Denilov dismissively.
    The general breathed deeply, and waved one arm in the air. For some reason it seemed to help. ‘Even lavish use of money would aid the rebels greatly. Yet this time they may also fight. They have done it before, and perhaps now have reached a point where they have nothing left to lose. If Bonaparte’s plan works, then England will be lost, sooner or later. Do we want a world run by Bonaparte?’
    Denilov shrugged. ‘Paris is still a long way from St Petersburg.’
    ‘For the moment. What of the future? Is Bonaparte always to dictate to us, and Russia must come to heel like a whipped cur?’
    Another shrug, but there was just the hint of more interest in the count’s gaze. The idea of Britain making a last desperate gamble appealed to him for it mirrored his own life. He also knew from experience that the cards did not always favour either the desperate or the bold. It was a truth which made the wager all the more intoxicating. For himself there were still more hands to play. The British were finished. Whether they fought or not, they would lose in the end and Napoleon’s empire would dominate the world. That was the reality, and a sensible man would accept it, and make himself as comfortable as possible in the new order.
    The general was pleased to see the spark of real attention, accepting it as a sign that whatever Denilov’s failings of character, he remained a true Russian and loved his country. It calmed him, and with little more than a clearing of the throat, the automatic raising of his handkerchief to brush his lips, and a slight wave of his hand, he was ready to continue.
    ‘That is our task. To go to Lisbon, and judge what will happen next. Siniavin will help us, but he is not an imaginative man and he must not know our purpose for his opinion will be worth little. All sailors respect the English fleet too much to understand the weakness of their army.’ When Russia had made peace with France the previous year, the Tsar and his ministers had made many concessions to the French. One was giving up all of their Mediterranean bases. That left the squadron of warships stationed there with a long journey home, unsure whether or notthe Royal Navy would treat them as enemies. Admiral Siniavin was their commander, and he was a cautious man who had put in to the broad mouth of the Tagus and anchored off Lisbon on the pretext of repairing storm damage. He maintained friendly relations with the French there, but kept his distance even though he was an ally. He also ensured his crews were prepared for anything. Denmark had shown how little the British regarded neutrality when there were warships at stake. The three men