The Fields of Death (78 page)
Read The Fields of Death Online
Authors: Simon Scarrow
‘Do not dissemble with me, Ney. Why, if I took your line of argument to its absurd conclusion, then I should be the man ultimately responsible.’
Ney said nothing for a moment, then looked back towards the ridge and spoke quietly.‘Those responsible will always be held to account, one way or another.’
Before Napoleon could reply the sounds of bugles cut through the chilly air. As the last of the French vedettes and patrols trotted back towards the main column the first of the enemy appeared. They wore the plumed helmets of cuirassiers, and the heavy coats that covered their breastplates made them seem large and formidable. Squadron after squadron appeared along the crest, and reined in.
Marshal Ney immediately halted his column and turned them to face the threat as Sebastiani’s cavalry retired to the wings of the line of infantry. The artillery was still stuck in mud on the far side of the river and Napoleon cursed the lost opportunity to give the Austrian horsemen a savage pounding. His bad mood increased as a battery of horse artillery joined the enemy on the ridge, and soon the stubby barrels of howitzers were presented to the Frenchmen.
‘Now we’re in for it,’ Ney muttered, and glanced down the line. ‘I pray that the men hold firm.’
A moment later there was a brief series of flashes and puffs of smoke, and after a short delay the sound of the enemy’s howitzers carried down the slope, sharper than the bellow of cannon. There was a burst of orange and red just above the heads of a company of infantry a hundred paces to Napoleon’s left, and several men collapsed as if slapped down by a giant hand. More shells burst above the men, or slammed down into the muddy ground, fuses sputtering before they detonated, sending a spray of mud and fragments of iron slicing through the surrounding men. As the Austrian gunners reloaded and fired as quickly as they could, the casualties mounted along the French line, and Napoleon noticed that the men were slow to close up and fill the gaps as they stared fearfully at the howitzers.
‘They’ll not stand much more of this,’ said Ney as he watched the men of the nearest battalion waver, some already edging away.
There was a loud splat nearby and Napoleon glanced sharply towards the noise. A shell had landed right in front of the nearest men, a company of grenadiers. The men flinched back, terror in their expressions as they tried to push away from the fiercely fizzing fuse burning on top of the spherical iron casing. Napoleon kicked his heels in and jerked the reins savagely. With a shrill whinny his horse turned towards the shell and galloped forward. It took seconds to reach the shell, but Napoleon was only aware of a serene stillness of mind that seemed to slow the passage of time as he took in myriad details of the line of soldiers reeling back, the impressions of boots and hooves in the soft ground, and then the ugly protrusion of black metal and sparks.
‘Sire!’ Ney shouted in alarm. ‘What the hell are you—’
Then Napoleon’s horse was directly over the shell, there was a flash and a roar that he felt as a blow, transmitted through the body of the horse beneath him. There was smoke in his eyes and mouth and his ears were numbed, and the saddle fell away beneath him as the horse collapsed, killed instantly by the explosion. Napoleon dropped the reins and struggled to rise up from the saddle. Hands grabbed his arms and pulled him away from the horse and held him up. Ney was staring anxiously into his face. ‘Sire? Sire, are you injured?’
Still dazed and with his ears ringing Napoleon looked round and saw that the blast had torn the belly and legs of his horse to shreds. Intestines, organs and blood lay spattered either side of the animal’s body. But the hapless beast had absorbed the full force of the explosion, and no one else had been hurt. Napoleon shook off the hands that supported him and adjusted his hat.
‘I’m all right,’ he announced. ‘I’m not wounded.’
Ney glanced over him and then shook his head.‘What did you think you were doing, sire?’
Napoleon had to concentrate hard before he could summon a reply. ‘The men were breaking. Besides, if I hadn’t then we’d have both been killed. It was the logical thing to do. Now get me another horse.’
‘Logical?’ Ney frowned, and then barked a laugh. ‘Sire, I swear, you have balls of steel!’
The men whom Napoleon had saved joined in his laughter, then one called out, ‘Long live Napoleon! Long live the Emperor!’
The cry echoed down the line as the men cheered to see that he was alive. Napoleon climbed into the saddle of the mount one of Ney’s staff officers hurriedly gave up, and raised his hat aloft, waving it towards the ridge.
‘There is your enemy! Here is your Emperor! Providence is with us! Advance and drive them back!’
Ney bellowed the order and an instant later it was carried down the line and the French infantry began advancing towards the ridge, cheering Napeolon’s name at the top of their voices. The Austrian cavalry had formed into lines, ready to charge, and still their guns lobbed shells towards the approaching French formations, causing further casualties. But the men’s blood was up now, and they came on, bayonets angled towards the enemy, shouting out their battle cry, heedless of the violent flashes of fire as the shells burst over and amongst them. As his men approached the enemy, Napoleon saw the gun crew hurriedly limber the howitzers and then withdraw down the far side of the low ridge. The cavalry remained, as if the enemy commander could not make his mind up what to do. Finally courage won out over caution. When the two sides were no more than two hundred paces apart, the Austrian bugles sounded the advance.
The horses stepped forward, and then moved swiftly through a trot into a canter, bits jingling and hooves thumping down in a rumble that could be clearly felt through the ground. Ney halted his line, and ordered them to prepare to receive a cavalry charge. The front line went down on one knee, bracing the butts of their muskets firmly against the ground so that the points of their bayonets faced the oncoming cavalry in a thicket of pointed steel. The rear ranks thumbed back their firing hammers and took aim.
‘Fire!’ Ney roared and the order was repeated at once as flame and smoke spat at the enemy. From his saddle Napoleon saw scores of them topple from their mounts and tumble into the mud. The rest spurred on, thrusting their straight heavy blades towards the French as they attempted to charge across the muddy ground. The second and third ranks changed places and then another volley crashed out as the Austrians drew within fifty paces of Napoleon’s men. Horses and men tumbled down, forcing others to swerve round them or draw up, creating yet further confusion as the charge was forced to halt, a scant twenty paces from the waiting infantrymen.
‘That’s it, lads!’ Ney bellowed, as he punched his fist into the air. ‘Hit ’em hard!’
They fired another volley. This time the range was so close that hardly a shot missed and over a hundred more of the enemy cavalry went down. Napoleon rode forward to join his men, and saw that the rearmost Austrians were already breaking away, urging their mounts back up towards the ridge. The panic leaped from man to man and soon all the surviving cavalrymen were falling back. A handful of officers, with their guidons, tried to rally the men on the ridge, but they flowed past and carried on.
The French line continued forward, picking its way over the heaped bodies of men and horses, with a handful of shots as injured horses, lashing out in agony and terror, were put out of their misery to prevent them from causing injury with their iron-shod hooves.
Ney reined in alongside Napoleon, his expression flushed with excitement. ‘Did you see ’em? Ha! They bolted like rabbits. That’ll do our lads a power of good.’
Napoleon returned his grin. He felt his heart beating quickly and the familiar thrill at the prospect of victory, and, beyond that, the hope that he might yet overcome his enemies.
‘Press the attack, while their cavalry is disordered.’
‘Yes, sire.’
‘That’ll be one enemy column less to deal with.’
Ney’s expression became more sober.‘One, yes. But how many more are there?’
‘Be assured, my friend, however many there are, as long as they serve them up to us one at a time, then we must win in the end.’
‘And if they are not so foolish as to do that?’
Napoleon turned away and made no reply as he stared ahead. Ney was right to fear that the enemy would learn from their mistakes and concentrate their forces. Napoleon hoped that he could inflict enough damage to cause the allies to pause, and possibly retreat. In that event he could present himself to the French people as their saviour and might yet buy enough time to rebuild the army so that it could engage the enemy on more even terms in the following year.
The rational part of his mind mocked him for his hopes. So much of his strategy depended on the enemy being utterly foolish, and his own men performing like the finest soldiers he had ever commanded. There was not one chance in ten of winning the present campaign, he told himself. And yet . . . what else could he do?
Napoleon’s thoughts were interrupted by Ney, who had pulled a little further ahead, and had now reached the crest of the ridge. On either side the line had halted and the men stared before them in silence. Napoleon dug his spurs in and cantered forward to join Ney, ready to bitterly rebuke the soldiers who were throwing away the chance to charge down the disordered enemy.
Instead, the words died in his mouth as he beheld the sight before him. Thousands of enemy infantry and horsemen were advancing across the countryside towards the slender French line. Dense columns rippled along lanes and over fields. Long trains of field guns and their wagons trundled amongst them. This was no rearguard they had encountered, but the vanguard of the main Austrian army itself.
‘My God,’ Ney muttered. ‘There must be sixty thousand of them. At least.’
Napoleon nodded.
Ney scrutinised the approaching horde for a moment. On either side, the French soldiers, who had been cheering loudly a moment earlier, now stood in silence, aghast at the horde marching towards them. The cavalry that they had broken was already rallying at the foot of the slope, and more columns of horsemen were cantering forward to reinforce them.
‘Sire, we cannot stand and fight. We must fall back. At once.’
Napoleon turned to inspect the ridge. The slope was steeper on the far side. He thought aloud. ‘We have a good position here. If we can get our guns up here, then—’
‘No, sire,’ Ney said firmly. ‘We cannot stand here. We will fall back across the river at Arcis and blow the bridge.’
Napoleon stared at him. ‘You dare to give the orders?’
‘I am the commander of these men,’ Ney replied defiantly.‘I will not order them to go to a pointless death.’
‘They are soldiers. They will do as their Emperor commands. As will you.’
‘No. I will not. I am in command here, and my order is that they retreat. You may stay and fight if you wish.’
Without waiting for Napoleon to respond, Ney pulled his reins and steered his mount forward towards his staff officers. ‘Fall back! Form column and march for the bridge at Arcis. In good order. This is not going to turn into a rout.’
Napoleon glared at him, speechless. His heart was filled with bitter outrage that Ney had defied him so forcefully to his face. Then he felt a stab of fear and anxiety. What had happened to his authority? Why did his presence no longer seem to effortlessly command the opinions of others? He watched Ney sidelong and wondered how much trust he could afford to place in his marshals any more. He felt a strange tingling in his arm and looked down to see that the hand holding his reins was trembling. He stared at it for a moment, then tightened his fingers and turned his mount towards Ney.
‘Take command here,’ he ordered flatly. ‘I’m returning to headquarters.’
‘Yes, sire,’ Ney replied with a curt nod.
‘Report to me later.’ Napoleon turned his horse about and spurred it into a gallop, back down the slope towards the river.
Napoleon remained at his headquarters for the next four days, anxiously reading reports from his patrols and the commanders of the hard-pressed armies struggling to delay the advance of the allies. After the skirmish near Arcis there had been no more reports of isolated allied columns small enough for Napoleon to risk attacking. The enemy had adapted their strategy, he realised grimly. On the evening of the fourth day there was a message from Marmont informing the Emperor that he was powerless to prevent the allies from taking Paris. At once Napoleon summoned Marshal Ney and thrust the despatch towards him. ‘Read.’
He settled into his chair by the fire and waited while Ney concentrated on the message. At length the marshal handed it back to Napoleon, who tossed it on to the fire. ‘I want as few men aware of the situation as possible. Clear?’
‘Yes, sire. What do you intend to do?’
‘There is nothing I can do to save Paris. The Prussians will reach the capital at least three days before we could.’ Napoleon paused a moment and then shrugged. ‘Paris will fall. Therefore it makes sense to order Marmont to gather every man that he can and abandon Paris and combine forces with us.’
‘And then?’
‘We march east, and strike towards the Rhine. If we cut the enemy’s supply lines, then there is still a chance to force an armistice on them and buy some time.’
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