Read The Fields of Death Online
Authors: Simon Scarrow
The Fields of Death (64 page)
After the fifth volley, the order was given to charge and the British surged forward, momentarily disappearing into the smoke before bursting out the other side, straight at the startled French. Arthur watched the two lines clash, the leading ranks merging into a bloody, merciless mêlée as the men fought hand to hand. More redcoats surged through the slowly dissipating cloud of powder smoke and the French began to give ground. The British pressed on, and then, as if caught by some herd instinct, the enemy broke and ran, streaming back across the open ground towards Vitoria.
Arthur turned to look expectantly towards the waiting cavalry. Unlike his previous battles in the Peninsula, when lack of cavalry had removed any chance of a successful pursuit, this time his mounted arm was a force to be reckoned with. Five cavalry brigades, nearly six thousand men, stood ready to be unleashed. As the French began to flee the regiments began to walk forward. The rear formations of the infantry line opened up to let the horsemen pass through and then the cavalry spread out again, picking their way over the bodies of those who had fallen in the exchange of fire shortly before. As the leading formations of the infantry saw the cavalry approach they hurriedly clustered together to avoid being trampled. The riders continued to advance at the walk until they had cleared most of their comrades in the infantry. Then the bugles sounded, the rising notes sounding thin and tinny from where Arthur watched the magnificent drama as they increased the pace from walk into trot, and then the canter, and finally the gallop as their riders spurred their mounts on and advanced their sabres with a throaty roar that drowned out the sound of the bugles.
Across the width of the battlefield the cavalry surged forward in a massive wave, their swords, and the helmets of the dragoons, glittering in the sunlight. Then the magic of the moment was lost as they surged amongst the French soldiers. Swords slashed left and right as the horsemen, caught up in the bloodlust of the charge, carved their way through their enemy. Here and there, small knots of men banded together around their eagle standards and tried to make for high ground as they held the British cavalry off at bayonet point. A handful of battalions in the French reserve line had the sense to form square and slowly made their way eastwards as the horsemen flowed round them.
Arthur gestured to his staff to follow him and galloped down on to the plain to follow the cavalry, ordering the infantry to join the pursuit as he passed them. Glancing towards the Heights he could see that Hill’s column had taken the length of the ridge and was now descending towards Vitoria to join in the destruction of the French army. Towards the river the sound of cannon fire was fading away and as Arthur rode over a small hillock he could see the first columns of Graham’s men marching on Vitoria. Beyond them, a host of French soldiers was retreating towards the rolling country to the east. All around Arthur and his party the ground was littered with dead and wounded Frenchmen. A number of guns had been abandoned as their crews had cut the horses free of the limbers and ridden off in a frantic attempt to escape the pursuing cavalry.
Ahead, as they approached Vitoria, Arthur could see the cavalry flowing round each side of the town. A short distance further on and he saw that the landscape to the east of the town was covered with wagons and carriages, their drivers whipping their horses on in a frenzied attempt to escape as the fleeing infantry caught up with them and hurried on. A few paused by abandoned or overturned vehicles to snatch up any easily available loot before running on, with terrified looks back over their shoulders. Behind them, the British cavalry came on, many of them forced to slow down as the riders threaded their way through the wagons to get at the enemy. Other units, commanded by cooler heads, had managed to direct their men around the sides of the wagons to avoid being caught up in the tangle of vehicles, soldiers and camp followers. Arthur reined in on a small knoll just to the north of Vitoria.
There was little doubt that his victory was complete. Aside from a few battered divisions fighting a rearguard action as they withdrew to the east, the bulk of the French army, its baggage, most of its guns and, most important of all, the war chest of King Joseph, would be taken. The last alone would provide the wherewithal for the army to operate for some months independently of the ports on the northern coast of Spain.
General Alava coughed. ‘My lord, may I congratulate you on a most brilliant victory.’
Arthur looked at him coldly.‘You may, once the victory is in the bag, and not before.’
‘But my lord, look there,’Alava protested, sweeping his arm across the panorama of abandoned vehicles between which the British cavalry pursued the enemy. ‘There is your victory!’
As the officers paused to watch the final destruction of the French army Arthur noticed that more and more of his cavalry were breaking off their pursuit and heading for the baggage train. The first of the infantry had just begun to catch up with their mounted comrades and were dashing through and round the town to join the orgy of looting that was breaking out.
‘Damn them!’ Arthur cursed as he snapped his telescope shut and thrust it into his saddle bucket. ‘The bloody fools are letting the enemy escape.’
Sure enough, the remnants of the enemy army were streaming away towards the low hills to the east, wholly unhindered as the allied soldiers began to break ranks and descend on the baggage train, desperate not to miss out on the plunder.
‘Sir?’ Somerset spoke quietly. ‘What are your orders?’
‘Orders?’ Arthur shook his head. ‘What is the point of giving orders to that rabble? The scum of the earth.’ He drew a deep breath and sighed. ‘Very well. I want every formation that has yet to reach Vitoria halted and sent back at least three miles. We must have some order established if there is going to be any kind of pursuit tomorrow.’
‘Yes, sir. And where will you establish headquarters? Vitoria?’
‘No. I have no desire to witness the spectacle of my army turned into a mob of thieves. I will be at Arinez. Find me there.’
‘Yes, my lord.’
‘One final thing. And do this at once. I want a company of reliable men. Men that can be trusted not to join in the looting. They are to locate the French army’s pay chest. Once they have located it, they are to guard it with their lives.’
‘I understand, my lord. I’ll see to it.’
As Somerset rode away, Arthur took one last long look at the wagons and carriages, thousands of them, being systematically looted by his men. Then he turned his horse away from the spectacle and headed back east towards the village of Arinez, at the foot of the two hills rising up from the valley floor. He gritted his teeth and muttered again,‘Scum of the earth.’
Late that night Somerset reached the headquarters that had been set up in a tavern a short distance above the village. Arthur was sitting out in the open at a long wooden table by the light of a lantern. A folded map lay before him, together with a small notebook and pencil. He was staring out across the valley towards Vitoria and the blaze of torches and bonfires that defined the extent of the baggage train. He looked round as Somerset approached the table.
‘You’ve taken a long time.’
‘I apologise, my lord, but it took a while to locate the wagons with the enemy’s pay chests.’
‘You found them then?’ Arthur’s expression brightened. ‘Well done!’
‘I found some of them, sir. They have been placed under guard.’
‘Some of them? How much exactly?’
‘Difficult to say. At a guess I would imagine there is perhaps a quarter of a million francs in gold remaining.’
‘A quarter of a million?’ Arthur rubbed his cheek wearily. ‘My spies reported that there was five million in those wagons. Now it’s in the pockets of that rabble. And not just the gold. They’ll be loaded down with every valuable they can find. Then there will be the drink and there are sure to be fights. I dare say the army will be unfit to continue the campaign for days.’
‘That might have been true even if they had not given in to temptation, my lord,’ Somerset suggested mildly. ‘They have marched hard for the last six weeks, across some of the most difficult terrain to be found in Spain. The men are exhausted; they have to be rested at some point. Why not now?’
‘Why not now? Because they have let the enemy escape. That should not have happened, Somerset. We should have pursued them to destruction. That was the entire purpose of my plan.’
‘In which case, I would say that the plan was successful in almost every detail, my lord. Today’s victory is sure to end French rule in Spain. The first reports say we have captured all but a handful of their guns. Why, we almost captured Joseph Bonaparte.’
‘What?’
‘One of our troops of hussars came upon his carriage a few miles to the east of Vitoria, caught up in a column of vehicles trying to escape. Apparently Joseph jumped out of one side of his carriage just as one of our officers was climbing in the other. He managed to reach some of his bodyguards and find another mount, and they cut their way free of the column and rode off into the night.’
‘By God, that would have been some blow to Boney, if we had taken his brother prisoner. As it is, the episode hardly enhances Joseph’s dignity.’ Arthur smiled.
‘He’s not the only one whose dignity has been pricked.’ Somerset fished inside the haversack he used to carry his notebooks and pencils and brought out a short rod, covered with purple velvet and encrusted with small gold eagles. He handed it to Arthur.‘Marshal Jourdan’s baton, my lord. It was found in another carriage not far from Joseph’s.’
Arthur held the baton up to the lantern and examined it. ‘A pretty thing. I should imagine a bauble like this will amuse the Prince Regent. I shall send it back to England together with the victory despatch.’
‘All Britain will be overjoyed by the news, my lord. And not just Britain. When word of your victory reaches the rest of Europe, it will fire the hearts of our allies to bring Bonaparte down.’
Arthur nodded slowly.‘That may be, Somerset. What is certain is that French interests in Spain cannot recover from this blow. All that is left to them now is a thin strip of land this side of the Pyrenees, and Suchet’s army, bottled up in Valencia.’
‘What are your plans now, my lord?’
Arthur tapped the map with the captured baton. ‘Our work in the Peninsula is all but complete. The time has come to take the war to France. I aim to lead our army on to French soil before the onset of this very winter.’
Chapter 41
Napoleon
Dresden, 26 July 1813
Napoleon received the Austrian Foreign Minister in one of the Residenzschloss palace’s smaller salons the night Metternich arrived from Vienna. Despite the season he felt cold and a fire was burning in the grate, creating a comfortable fug in the room which was enhanced by the rosy hue cast by the steady flames glowing on the candelabras. Ever since he had returned from Russia Napoleon had found that he was more sensitive than before to the cold and had developed a relish for being in the warm. The scars of that campaign had been borne across every sphere of life in France. Of the six hundred thousand men he had led into Russia the previous summer, scarcely ninety thousand had returned, and many of those had been crippled by frostbite. Others were broken men, unable to face the rigours of another campaign. Only the very strongest and the bravest had endured, and for a while they were all that stood between the forces of the Tsar and France’s German territories.
In the months after his return to Paris Napoleon had been forced to scrape together every available man to rebuild his forces to face the threat from the east. The eighty thousand men of the National Guard were inducted into the army by imperial decree, as were tens of thousands of youths who were not due to be conscripted for another two years. Discharged veterans were recalled to serve under the eagles once again, and the marines and gunners of the navy were reassigned to fill out the ranks of the army’s corps of artillery. Whatever their quality, there had been enough men to provide Napoleon with an army of a quarter of a million men when spring returned.
However, it was rather harder to find new mounts. Only a few thousand horses had survived the Russian campaign, and once Frederick William had switched sides and joined the Tsar the horse-breeding estates of northern Prussia were denied to France. Napoleon had felt their loss immediately when the year’s campaign had opened. Murat’s forces had been unable to adequately screen the movements of the French army. Nor had they been able to scout effectively, often leaving Napoleon in the dark as to the whereabouts of the enemy. Worse still, they were too few to prevent units of Cossacks from raiding the French supply lines.
As a result, despite winning two battles, the French had not been able to achieve a decisive result. After two months of exhausting marches across the plains and hills of the German states and the lands of western Prussia, Napoleon had been relieved by the Tsar’s offer of an armisitice at the start of June. It had been agreed that the ceasefire would last until the end of July, while negotiations were conducted over the terms for a peace treaty. The Emperor of Austria, Francis, had offered to act as mediator and so Prince Metternich had spent the last weeks travelling between Napoleon’s headquarters in Dresden and the Tsar and Frederick William in Berlin.
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