Текст книги "The Fields of Death"

Автор книги: Simon Scarrow

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 40 (всего у книги 45 страниц)

‘Yes, sir.’ The officer turned away and increased his pace.

‘Walk, my boy, don’t run! We must appear calm in front of the local people.’

‘Yes, sir,’ the young officer replied, chastened.

Arthur returned to the dining room and sat back down. Picking up his fork he rapped the side of his glass. ‘Quiet, gentlemen.’

The officers turned towards him.

‘The French have crossed the border,’ he announced. ‘They attacked one of Blьcher’s formations.’

‘At last.’ Uxbridge smiled. ‘Where was this?’

‘At Thuin. The question is, does this constitute the main thrust of their attack, or is it a feint?’

‘A feint?’ Picton growled. ‘Are you saying that Boney’s trying to lure us towards the Prussians? That makes no military sense to me.’

‘It does, if he means to break through on our right and sever our communications.’ Arthur paused. ‘That is what I believe his intention to be, for the present. To guard against that possibility, the army will concentrate to the west of Thuin. If there is any indication that this is not a feint, then we will adjust our position accordingly. I have given the order for the army to make ready to march. I will also send an order to General Dцrnberg at Mons to probe for any sign of the enemy to his front. Meanwhile we shall wait until the situation becomes clear. Now, gentlemen, you know my policy with regard to the local people and our own civilians. We will attend tonight’s ball and there is to be no mention of this attack. I suggest you make the most of the entertainment, since it may be the last such occasion for a while.’

Shortly after ten o’clock Arthur was talking to Uxbridge when he saw the guests stir by the entrance to the ballroom as a figure in a riding cloak entered and scanned the room. Arthur recognised him at once – General Mьffling, the officer assigned to liaise between the headquarters of the two allied armies. As soon as he caught sight of Arthur the Prussian hurried through the crowd towards him.

‘I fear the game is up,’ Arthur muttered as the dancing stopped and the orchestra fell silent. All eyes were turning towards him.

‘So it seems.’ Uxbridge nodded.

Mьffling had been riding hard and his cloak and boots were smeared with mud. ‘Sir, Marshal Blьcher sent me.’

‘Come.’ Arthur placed an arm on the Prussian’s shoulder. ‘Let us converse somewhere quiet, and I shall have refreshments brought to you.’

He led Mьffling through a door at the side of the ballroom. Beyond, lit by a single candlestick, lay a small room used to store chairs. Arthur gestured to catch Somerset’s attention and pointed towards the orchestra before closing the door behind him. As the music struck up Arthur turned to Mьffling.

‘What news?’

‘Blьcher has advanced to Ligny to confront the French army. He asks if you will move to support him.’

‘How does Blьcher know for certain that the French army lies before him?’

‘We have been fighting the enemy throughout the day, sir. Our cavalry patrols report large columns marching through Charleroi. They even heard the enemy soldiers cheering for their Emperor. There can be no doubt that this is their main line of advance.’

Arthur was silent for a moment as he considered Mьffling’s words. Then he nodded slowly. ‘Very well, General. I hope that this is no ruse; I still think that the main attack will be along the most direct route to Brussels.’ Arthur reached for the handle of the door and nodded towards the ballroom. ‘Shall we?’

As they emerged back into the brightly lit ballroom Arthur saw that many of the officers had already left and more were taking their leave and making for the exit. There was nothing he could do to stop them, not without creating a scene. Mьffling strode away and Arthur beckoned to Uxbridge and the other senior officers present to join him so that he might pass on their brief exchange. As the officers left to join their commands, Arthur saw that the remaining guests were hurrying to quit the ballroom, fear in their eyes.

The streets of Brussels were filled with soldiers hurrying from their billets towards the regiments forming up outside the city. As Arthur’s carriage rattled over the cobbles he saw the first of the civilians loading their valuables into carriages and carts as they prepared to flee. Just before midnight the carriage reached General Mьffling’s house and Arthur was quickly shown through to the study where the general was waiting.

‘I have given orders for the army to march east to support Marshal Blьcher. We shall march through the night and hope to reach him by way of Quatre Bras tomorrow afternoon. Ride and tell him.’

‘I will, sir.’ Mьffling reached for his coat. ‘I only pray that it is not already too late.’

Arthur nodded. Every hour counted. If the French took the vital crossroads at Quatre Bras then there would be little chance of uniting the allied armies – and all that stood between Bonaparte and possession of the crossroads were two Dutch brigades.

THE WATERLOO CAMPAIGN JUNE 1815

Chapter 57

Fleurus, 8.00 a.m., 16 June 1815

The order to Marshal Ney to seize the crossroads at Quartre Bras had just been sent when a report from Marshal Grouchy arrived, announcing that the Prussians were massing their forces near the village of Ligny, on the far side of the stream that gave the village its name. Napoleon felt his heartbeat quicken as he saw the opportunity that Blьcher was foolishly extending to him. He looked up at the staff officer who had brought the message.

‘Are you certain it is the main Prussian force?’

‘Yes, sire. There is no question of it. They are forming up on the sloped ground on the far bank, in clear view.’

Napoleon smiled and then turned quickly to Soult. ‘We will attack Blьcher with Grouchy’s wing and the reserve. Order them to advance on Ligny immediately.’

‘Yes, sire. And what of Marshal Ney? Shall I send fresh orders for him to march and join us?’

Napoleon quickly considered the positions of his forces and shook his head. ‘No. We must have the crossroads. But tell Ney that he is to report the moment he has won control of Quatre Bras.’ Napoleon rose from his chair and strode towards the door of the hotel that Soult’s headquarters had occupied. He gestured to the officer who had carried the message from Grouchy. ‘Come! You are to take me to your marshal at once.’

The Emperor and his escort hurriedly mounted, and led by Grouchy’s staff officer they pounded out of the village. Ahead of them stretched the rear echelons of the right wing of the army, battalion after battalion of infantry together with artillery columns. As the small party of horsemen galloped up the side of the road, the soldiers glanced round and let out a great cheer as Napoleon passed by, his grey coat-tails whipping out behind him.

An hour after he left headquarters Napoleon reached Marshal Grouchy’s command post at a windmill on a small hill overlooking the stream and the high ground beyond. The soldiers and guns of Vandamme’s corps were already deploying on the French side of the stream. Opposite them stood the Prussians: dense formations of infantry in their blue and black uniforms, spread out along the slope. Napoleon dismounted and hurried towards Grouchy and his staff.

‘It seems that fortune favours us, gentlemen,’ he said, gesturing towards the enemy. The officers smiled, and then Napoleon turned his attention directly on Grouchy.‘What do you know of their strength and dispositions?’

‘That’s Zieten’s corps over there, sire. My skirmishers captured some prisoners at first light. I had them interrogated. They said that the enemy is concentrating at Ligny. Our cavalry patrols report that two more Prussian corps are approaching from the north. There is no question of it. Blьcher intends to fight.’

‘Then we may face as many as ninety thousand of them,’ Napoleon mused. ‘Very well, we need to bring every available man into line as swiftly as possible. You may start siting your guns opposite the Prussians. When the battle begins, they will make a fine target.’

‘Indeed, sire.’ Grouchy nodded.

Napoleon felt a surge of satisfaction flow through his body. His plan had called for the Army of the North to break through between the allies and then seek and destroy them one at a time. Now it seemed that Blьcher had saved him the job. It was only a question of assembling his forces more swiftly than Blьcher and attacking the instant he had the advantage.

As the hours passed and the sun climbed into the sky more infantry, cavalry and artillery swelled the ranks on either side. The Prussian infantry occupied all the buildings along the far bank of the Ligny and set about fortifying them, knocking loopholes in the walls to harass the French when they made their attack. While both sides prepared, Napoleon rode forward with his escort to inspect the battlefield more closely. The ground either side of the stream was marshy for some way and it was clear that any attack would be forced to use the bridges and fords scattered along the length of the stream. There would be heavy losses, Napoleon realised as he returned to the command post and waited for the rest of his forces, and Soult’s headquarters, to reach the battlefield. It steadily became evident that the enemy were arriving in greater numbers than the French, and towards noon Napoleon sent a message to Ney instructing him to attack the Prussian right flank as soon as Quatre Bras was in French hands.

By two in the afternoon Napoleon had decided on his plan. Standing over Soult’s map table, he briefed his officers. ‘The enemy has spread their forces thinly along the stream, over a considerable distance. The situation could hardly be better for us, gentlemen. While our cavalry contains Blьcher’s left flank, the guns massed in the centre of the battlefield will pound the enemy line, and then we shall attack frontally. When the moment is ripe, the Imperial Guard will smash through their line and cut their army in two. It will only remain for Ney’s wing to fall upon their right flank and rear and the Prussians will be shattered. After that, we will turn on Wellington and end this campaign.’ He smiled as he stared round at his officers. ‘A few days from now France will have triumphed and our enemies will have no choice but to sue for peace.’

Half an hour later, the signal gun announced the opening of the battle, and the French batteries thundered out. At first they concentrated their fire on the defenders in the villages along the bank of the river, and then, as the order was given for the infantry to advance, they shifted their aim to begin wreaking terrible destruction in the ranks of the Prussian reserves drawn up in full view on the slope behind the stream. Roundshot smashed into the formations, leaving a trail of bodies and limbs to mark their passage. Despite the losses, the iron discipline of the Prussians held up, and the battered battalions closed up the gaps and stood firm.

Through his telescope Napoleon watched the progress of the attacks across the stream as his men fought to gain control of the villages covering the bridges and fords. The enemy fire was withering and the soldiers following the tricolours were being scythed down as they advanced. Yet their morale never faltered and the cheers for their country and their Emperor carried back faintly but clearly to Napoleon as he watched the bloody struggle.

Soult was at Napoleon’s side and muttered, ‘Our men are taking heavy punishment, sire.’

‘As are the enemy,’ Napoleon replied. ‘We just need Blьcher to commit his full strength to the fight, and the Guard and Ney will deal the decisive blows.’ Napoleon lowered his telescope and focused his mind on the surrounding landscape once again. It would be as well to spur Ney on, to ensure that his men reached the battlefield in time to strike as hard a blow to the enemy as possible.

He turned to Soult. ‘Send a message to Ney. Tell him the battle is in full swing. He is to manoeuvre immediately in such a way as to envelop Blьcher’s right and fall upon his rear. Tell him the fate of France is in his hands.’

Soult nodded as he finished scribbling down the message in his notebook and then hurried over to his aides to have the note rewritten in a fair hand. A moment later a despatch rider spurred his horse into a gallop and headed west towards Quatre Bras. Napoleon turned his attention back to the vicious struggle along the banks of the stream and noted with satisfaction that the first of the villages had fallen into French hands as a tricolour appeared in the tower of the church.

‘Sire!’ Soult called out as he trotted over from where his staff sat hunched over their campaign desks, dealing with the constant flow of reports and orders. He held up a scrap of paper. ‘From Ney.’

‘Well?’

‘He reports that he is engaging Wellington at Quatre Bras. He estimates their number at twenty thousand, with more sighted approaching the crossroads.’

‘Damn.’ Napoleon pressed his lips together. This was unexpected. ‘Tell Ney to continue to fight for control of the crossroads, but detach d’Erlon’s corps to make the attack on Blьcher’s flank. I need every man here. Every man.’

‘What about Lobau’s corps?’ Soult asked.

‘Lobau?’

‘At Charleroi, sire.’

Napoleon turned on his chief of staff. ‘What the hell are they doing at Charleroi?’

‘They have no orders, sire,’ Soult explained. ‘You made no mention of them this morning.’

‘I made no mention?’ Napoleon’s face drained of blood as he raged, ‘You fool, Soult! You idiot! What use is Lobau’s ten thousand in Charleroi? Send for them. At once, do you hear? Now get out of my sight.’

He turned away from his chief of staff before he gave in to the temptation to strike the man. An entire corps of his army was sitting uselessly as the decisive battle of the campaign was being fought. Lobau had little chance of arriving in time to make a difference. The outcome of the day rested on Ney’s shoulders. Napoleon turned and stared west for a moment, in the direction of Quatre Bras. If he could not have Ney, then at least d’Erlon’s corps would swing the balance here in Napoleon’s favour. There was still a good chance of destroying Blьcher and his army.

Quatre Bras, 3.00 p.m.

The Prince of Orange greeted Arthur and Somerset with a cheery wave as they galloped up to his line. The ‘Young Frog’, as he was known to Arthur’s officers thanks to his bulging eyes and thick lips, had drawn his two brigades up on a rise half a mile in front of the crossroads. The rolling land surrounding Quatre Bras, and the high crops of rye, obscured the view of the allied troops, and that of the French to the south. So far it had worked in the allies’ favour, as the enemy could not have realised how few men stood before them. Otherwise, Arthur realised, they would have swept the two Dutch brigades aside.

‘My dear Duke!’ The Prince grinned. ‘A pleasure to see you, sir.’

‘And you too, your highness.’ Arthur touched the brim of his hat. ‘What is the situation here?’

‘Calm enough. The French had left us alone until an hour or so ago. Then we heard their drums. Since then, they have contented themselves with sending forward some skirmishers to take those farms.’The Prince turned and indicated two small clusters of buildings to the south. ‘They’re also fighting my light infantry in the woods, to our right there.’

As Arthur and Somerset followed the direction indicated a fresh crackle of muffled musket fire sounded from the trees. In the distance the dull thunder of artillery at Ligny could be heard. The Prince cocked his head towards the east.‘I take it that Marshal Blьcher has engaged the enemy?’

‘Indeed.’ Arthur agreed. ‘I spoke to him less than two hours ago, just as the battle began. Unless we are attacked first, it is my intention to march the army to his support.’

‘Bravo!’The Prince nodded. ‘The Corsican pig will soon be on the run, eh?’

‘That is my fervent hope, your highness. But first we must secure control of the crossroads.’

They were interrupted by a fresh exchange of musket fire in the woods, far closer this time. Figures emerged from the treeline, running back towards the Prince of Orange’s position. Some had lost their hats, and others had abandoned their muskets. They disappeared into the rye and only the swirls of the tall stalks marked their passage. Behind them came the first of the French skirmishers, advancing out of the woods towards the right of the Dutch brigade. To the south, approaching through more of the crops, Arthur could make out another line of skirmishers, and behind them a shimmering mass of bayonets. A moment later the crested helmets of cuirassiers appeared to the left, working their way towards the vital Namur road that linked the two allied armies.

‘We are in some difficulty, your grace,’ said Somerset as he watched the enemy approach.

‘I have eyes,’ Arthur snapped. He turned in his saddle and stared up the road leading to Brussels. A British column was approaching, at its head the unmistakable figure of General Picton in his black coat and top hat, looking for all the world like an undertaker. ‘Ride to Picton. Tell him to send one of his officers back down the road. He is to tell every formation he encounters that they must march for Quatre Bras as swiftly as they can!’

Without waiting to salute, Somerset spurred his horse into a gallop and raced towards the oncoming British soldiers. By the time he had returned to his commander Arthur was watching the steady progress of the French as they emerged from the wood and began to drive back the Dutch brigade on the right. On the left the French cavalry were forming a line to charge. Arthur could see the first of the Dutch troops beginning to waver as they saw the danger. Some of the men began to step back, disordering the line, and then the first abruptly turned and ran, dropping his musket and then wriggling out of the straps of his backpack as he fled. Arthur glanced back to see that Picton’s leading regiment, the Ninety-second, Highlanders, were deploying into a line a few hundred yards behind the Prince of Orange’s position. More regiments were advancing to extend the line, and over to the left another column, in the black uniforms of the Brunswickers, was striking out towards the left, to support the wavering Dutch.

‘This is going to be a close fight,’ Arthur muttered.

‘Oh, you need not worry, sir,’ the Prince of Orange responded cheerfully. ‘My men will stand their ground.’

‘I hope so.’

The shrill cry of bugles sounded and an instant later the French cavalry advanced, crushing the rye stalks under them as they closed on the Dutch brigade. A few shots rang out as a handful of men were too nervous to wait for the order to fire, then more followed, and a long ragged volley consumed the Dutch soldiers in a bank of powder smoke. For a moment they could not see the approaching cavalry, but they could hear them well enough and feel the vibration of hooves through the ground beneath their boots. It proved too much for the inexperienced soldiers and the brigade broke, streaming back towards the crossroads.

The French bugles sounded the charge and the cuirassiers let out a roar as they spurred their big horses on. They swept through the dispersing smoke, swords and breastplates gleaming in the sunlight, and then slashed left and right as they cut down the fleeing Dutch soldiers. A short distance beyond, Arthur saw the Brunswickers halt and try to deploy, but they were thrown into confusion as the Dutch rushed amongst them, swiftly followed by the French cavalry, and then the Brunswickers were fleeing as well.

‘Your grace!’ Somerset shouted a warning and pointed as one of the cuirassier squadrons began its charge down the length of the remaining Dutch brigade. Arthur saw the danger and called to the Prince of Orange. ‘Your highness, follow me!’

The three officers turned their mounts and spurred them down the rise towards the line formed by Picton’s division. The remaining Dutch troops, caught between the infantry emerging from the wood and the cavalry charging their flank, turned and ran. The air was filled with the sound of horses’ screams and the irregular pop of muskets as Arthur urged his mount on. Ahead lay the Highlanders, two deep, front rank kneeling as they advanced their bayonets to receive the cavalry charge. With an icy stab of realisation, Arthur saw that he and the others were in immediate danger of being impaled on those bayonets.

Cupping his hand to his mouth he bellowed as loudly as he could, ‘Ninety-second! Lie down!’

Even though the order was not in the manual, the nearest men had sufficient presence of mind to throw themselves flat, and the horses of the three officers leaped over the Highlanders. As Arthur reined in and turned his mount round the men rose to their feet to face the oncoming cuirassiers.

‘Hold your fire until I give the order!’Arthur shouted, ignoring Picton’s angry expression at his commander’s presumption. ‘Wait . . .Wait . . .’

The men held their muskets tightly into their shoulders, stilling their breath in anticipation. The enemy, having cut down the Dutch, now pounded on towards the redcoats, so close that their savage expressions were clearly visible. At no more than thirty yards Arthur shouted the order. ‘Fire!’

The volley crashed out and from the saddle Arthur saw the leading Frenchmen and their mounts pitch forward in a tangle of arms, legs and horseflesh. Those behind had to swerve aside or rein in and the impetus of the charge was broken. A second volley cut down another score of cuirassiers and then they turned and cantered away, back towards the rise where the Dutch brigades had once stood.

Arthur glanced round and saw that the arrival of fresh troops had stabilised the allies’ position and the French cavalry were in retreat. But already another danger was evident as the first French guns unlimbered to his front. Within fifteen minutes the first cannon balls were pounding the allied line.

For the next two hours the French made several more attacks. But all the time more allied units and guns were arriving from the direction of Brussels and gradually the battle swung in Arthur’s favour. In the approaching dusk the allied line pressed forward, retaking the ridge and farmhouses while the light infantry cleared the French skirmishers out of the woods. As night fell the final shots were fired and then the battlefield was quiet, save for the groans and cries of the wounded.

While more formations continued to arrive, including his headquarters staff, Arthur was growing increasingly concerned by the lack of news from Ligny. The last report from the Prussian headquarters, received at five o’clock, had informed him that Blьcher’s men were holding their positions.

‘In that case,’ Arthur told his aide, ‘we shall be in an advantageous position tomorrow. Once we combine with Blьcher we are sure to overwhelm the enemy.’

‘Assuming Blьcher has held them off.’

‘Of course. But we must be certain.’ Arthur called over one of his staff officers. ‘Colonel Gordon! Over here, if you please!’

The colonel trotted over as Arthur mentally composed his orders before he spoke. ‘You have a fresh horse?’

‘Yes, your grace.’

‘Then I want you to ride to Marshal Blьcher’s headquarters at Sombreffe, north of Ligny. Tell him that we have the crossroads and by dawn the army will be here in sufficient strength to march to join him. Also, I would appreciate a report on his engagement today.’

‘Yes, your grace.’

‘Then off you go. You may find me here when you return.’

Colonel Gordon disappeared into the night, galloping along the road to Sombreffe, and Arthur stretched his shoulders for a moment before settling down by one of the camp fires of the Ninety-second to await his return. The long hours of the night passed without incident as more soldiers arrived at the crossroads and were led to their positions by staff officers. At first Arthur’s spirits were high. It had been touch and go the previous afternoon, but his men had bested the enemy. Even if Blьcher had not won at Ligny, he would be near enough for the armies to combine in the coming day. However, there was no sign of Gordon during the night, and as the first light appeared on the horizon a building sense of foreboding began to gnaw at Arthur’s heart. The sun rose, bathing the rolling landscape in a warm rosy hue. From the south came the faint sounds of trumpets as the French stirred, but there was no attempt to renew the previous day’s fighting.

Finally, at half past seven, Colonel Gordon returned. His horse was blown, its bridle covered in foam, and Gordon’s face looked gaunt as he dismounted and strode up towards Arthur.

‘Well?’

‘If you please, your grace, might we speak out of earshot of the others?’

Arthur frowned, but paced a short distance away from the headquarters staff, who exchanged a mixture of curious and anxious expressions.

‘Blьcher was defeated yesterday, your grace.’ Gordon spoke softly. ‘Many of his formations were routed. The rest were forced to retreat.’

‘I see.’ Arthur felt his heart sink as he digested the news. ‘Then I take it he is no longer at Sombreffe.’

‘No, your grace. He has pulled his army back to Wavre. That’s why it took me so long to find them.’

‘Wavre?’ Arthur was momentarily stunned. ‘But that’s nearly twenty miles from here. By God, we are undone,’ he continued in a hushed tone as the full implication of the news struck home. Blьcher was powerless to intervene if the French attacked Arthur’s army at Quatre Bras. Taking a deep breath, Arthur patted Gordon on the shoulder. ‘My thanks to you. I suppose in England they will say we have been licked. I can’t help it; as the Prussians have gone back, we must go too.’ He shook his head sadly. ‘Find yourself some refreshment. But first, send General Mьffling to me.’

‘Yes, your grace.’

While he waited for the Prussian liaison officer Arthur glanced to the south and east, as if expecting to see the leading formations of the French army already advancing to attack him and seal their victory.

Mьffling came up, hurriedly fastening his jacket buttons. ‘You sent for me?’

‘Yes. It seems that your countrymen were defeated yesterday.’

The Prussian’s jaw sagged in dismay. ‘I had not heard.’

‘That is because we were not told,’ Arthur responded coldly.‘Blьcher has retreated to Wavre. Yes, Wavre. More than a day’s march from here. And his chief of staff did not think to inform us of his reverse at Ligny. For what reason, I wonder? A suspicious mind might conclude that we had been left here, unaware, in order to cover the Prussian retreat.’

Mьffling froze and then shook his head.‘That is an ignoble suggestion, your grace.’

‘Perhaps. And if I am mistaken, then I apologise,’ Arthur replied flatly. ‘But the fact remains, my army is in an exposed position. I will have to withdraw. I want you to ride to Blьcher at once. Tell him that I will fall back to a position parallel with his at Wavre.’ Arthur closed his eyes and imagined the map of the surrounding landscape. He nodded. ‘Tell Blьcher I will make my stand at Mont-St-Jean, if he can promise me the support of at least one of his army corps.’

‘Mont-St-Jean?’

‘The ridge across the road to Brussels. Just before the village of Waterloo.’

‘I know it.’

Arthur clasped his hand. ‘If I am defeated by Bonaparte then I fear that England may never forgive Prussia. In that event the coalition will fail, and the shadow of Bonaparte will descend upon Europe once again.’

Mьffling nodded.‘I understand. I will do whatever I can to persuade Marshal Blьcher.’

Chapter 58

Ligny, 7.00 a.m., 17 June 1815

Napoleon was at breakfast when the first report came in from General Pajol. He had taken his cavalry forward at first light to scout for the Prussians and discover in which direction they had retreated. Pajol’s officer informed the Emperor that a large body of the Prussians had been spotted on the road to Liиge. There were signs that some more of the enemy had headed in the direction of Wavre, but Napoleon dismissed that. If Blьcher was retreating, then he would be sure to fall back on his supply lines and make for Liиge.

Napoleon nodded with satisfaction as he dismissed the messenger and turned his attention back to his breakfast. He had been joined by Grouchy, Soult and some of the headquarters officers. Despite heavy losses, the victory of the previous day had left the Emperor in a good mood, and his subordinates were grateful for that.

‘All is proceeding according to plan,’ Napoleon declared as he cut into a rasher of bacon. ‘The Prussians are on the run, and Ney controls the crossroads at Quatre Bras. Wellington and his rabble will be withdrawing towards Brussels.’ He popped a large piece of meat into his mouth, chewed quickly and swallowed. ‘We have driven the enemy apart and it only remains to complete their destruction.’ He smiled at his officers. ‘This may go down in history as the swiftest campaign I have ever fought. Think on that, gentlemen. In years to come you will be sure to tell the tale to your grandchildren, eh?’

Soult and some of the others chuckled, but Grouchy’s expression remained sombre.

‘What is it, Grouchy?’ Napoleon frowned. ‘Why the long face?’

‘Sire, we should have launched our pursuit of Blьcher last night. If we had, then his army would have been scattered. As it is, we have lost contact with the Prussians. They could be anywhere. Rallying even as as we sit here and eat.’

‘You heard the report. Pajol saw them on the road to Liиge.’

‘He saw some Prussians. They could be deserters. I’m not convinced that our cavalry have located the main body of the Prussian army. Sire, we have to find them.’

A fresh knock at the door interrupted Grouchy. A junior officer entered and handed a slip of paper to Soult. The chief of staff read through it quickly and then cleared his throat. ‘From Ney, sire.’

‘Yes?’

‘He, er, says that he was not able to complete the capture of the crossroads yesterday. Wellington is still holding the position.’

Napoleon lowered his knife and fork and licked his lips as he considered this new information. What was Wellington playing at? He must know that his ally had been heavily defeated.