Текст книги "The Fields of Death"

Автор книги: Simon Scarrow

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The light continued to strengthen as Arthur tried to concentrate his thoughts on what needed to be done to prepare for the first attack. Then, as he stared towards the French positions, he frowned. The artillery batteries had gone. There were no lines of infantry and cavalry massing for attack. Only a handful of enemy horsemen remained on the far side of the Portina, keeping watch on the British line.

‘What the devil?’ For a moment Arthur was struck by a terrible anxiety as he wondered if the French were attempting to move through the hills to the north to try to cut him off from his lines of communication back to Portugal. Then, as the first rays of the sun filtered out across the landscape, he saw the French army. Dense columns of men, horses, cannon and wagons, marching to the east, back in the direction of Madrid. It was a while before his mind, dulled with exhaustion, finally grasped the truth.

‘They’re retreating . . . By God, they’re retreating,’ he muttered to himself. The British had won the battle after all. There was no elation in his heart. None. Only relief, and that soon faded as the morning light revealed the terrible cost of victory spread across the still smouldering lower slopes of the ridge and out on to the plain towards Talavera.

THE BATTLE OF WAGRAM

Chapter 8

Napoleon

Lobau island, July 1809

‘This will do,’ Napoleon nodded. ‘Mark it down, Massйna.’

‘Yes, sire.’ Massйna took his pencil from behind his ear and carefully noted the location on the folded map he was holding, then quickly tucked it away again before they attracted the attention of the Austrian sentries on the opposite bank, scarcely a hundred paces away. Napoleon and Massйna had borrowed the jackets and caps of two sergeants and set out without an escort in order not to provoke scrutiny of their reconnaissance work.

They were selecting the sites for the series of pontoon bridges that were to be thrown across the final stretch of the Danube. The first attempt to cross at the end of May had ended in a humiliating reverse that had cost thousands of lives, including that of Marshal Lannes. Napoleon’s enemies across Europe had been greatly encouraged by the news from Austria. The only way to retrieve the situation was to deliver a crushing blow against Archduke Charles and his army.

The difficulty was that the Danube separated Napoleon from his prey. In addition, the Austrian army had erected a formidable array of field fortifications in a wide arc that stretched across most of the bank that faced Lobau. The enemy had made no moves to carry the fight to Napoleon and seemed content to sit and wait for him.

With all Europe watching the conflict, Napoleon was determined to make another attempt to cross the river, and this time the result would be very different.

Every soldier that could be spared had been summoned to Vienna, where the army steadily increased in size until over a hundred and sixty thousand men had gathered to take part in the attack on Archduke Charles. The troops left to guard the army’s communications with France were thinly stretched and if only one more of the European powers chose to intervene on the side of Austria then there would be little to stand in their way.

Meanwhile Lobau was turned into a fortress. By the end of June over a hundred and thirty cannon were sited in batteries covering the far bank. Two strong bridges had been constructed across the main channel of the Danube as well as three new pontoon bridges. Stakes had been driven into the river bed upstream of the bridges to ensure that they would be protected from any Austrian fireships or floating rams. There was to be no dependence on a single, vulnerable bridge across the river this time.

The enemy had made no attempt to intervene. The French had even managed to land a force across the river to seize the salient on which the hamlet of Mьhlau stood. Within hours the French engineers had thoroughly fortified the village and mounted powerful batteries in redoubts to cover the approaches. The enemy had reacted with their usual plodding deliberation and by the time a column had arrived to retake the village it was clear to Archduke Charles that it would cost him far more men than the village was worth and he opted to enclose the salient within the wider system of fieldworks designed to contain any French attempt to break out on to the Marchfeld. Napoleon had been careful to ensure that the Austrians saw the construction of the elaborate series of batteries to cover a landing between Aspern and Essling. Moreover, the elite Imperial Guard had loudly paraded opposite Mьhlau, and two additional bridges had been constructed to the salient. The enemy could hardly be in any doubt where Napoleon’s blow would fall.

Which was as well, he mused to himself as he strolled further along the bank of Lobau island with Massйna. For it was all an elaborate ruse, calculated to draw the enemy’s attention away from the true direction in which the French would strike. Already, ten pontoon bridges had been constructed out of sight of the Austrians, ready to be towed into position on the night of the attack. It was these bridges that Napoleon and Massйna were choosing positions for as they made their way along the eastern end of the island in their borrowed jackets.

Napoleon paused to survey the opposite bank once again. A party of Austrian soldiers were bathing in the shallows, their laughter and sound of splashing carrying clearly across the water. Beyond the Austrians the bank sloped gently up to higher ground.

‘What do you think?’

Massйna stared across the river for a moment before he nodded. ‘Looks good to me, sire. The river bed must be firm there, and our guns will be able to negotiate the far bank easily enough.’

‘I agree. Mark the position.’

They worked their way steadily along the bank, choosing the points where the ground was most solid and the bank posed no obstacle to the swift crossing of the river. When the last site had been marked on the map they turned to make their way back across the island to the Emperor’s forward headquarters. Behind the screen of forests that surrounded the heart of the island sprawled a vast camp. Marshal Oudinot’s corps had joined Massйna’s men, and once night came Davout’s thirty-five thousand soldiers would swell the ranks of the army waiting to be unleashed on the unsuspecting Archduke Charles. Obedient to their strict orders the men had not lit camp fires, and sat quietly resting. Some were stretched out asleep, others were cleaning their weapons, the cavalry rasping whetstones along the edges of their sabres. Although no orders had been issued for any attack, the concentration of so many men was evidence enough that their Emperor was preparing for an imminent battle.

As they walked through the camp Napoleon felt the keen sense of anticipation amongst his soldiers. So different from little over a month earlier when the army had been thrust back on to the island by the Austrians. Napoleon’s brow creased into a frown as he recalled the scene. The survivors of the battle had slumped on the ground in exhaustion. Thousands of injured men had been forced to spend two nights in the open, and hundreds had died from their wounds and been buried in a mass grave on the south of the island.

Eventually the wounded had been evacuated to Vienna, including Marshal Lannes, whose legs had been smashed by a cannon ball. With both legs shattered the imperial surgeon, Dr Larrey, had no choice but amputation. Napoleon had gone to his friend’s side after the operation and found the veteran of many campaigns lying on a bed in a small chapel. A thin sheet covered Lannes and his arms lay at his sides. The sheet fell flat to the bed from his thighs down. Lannes was in a troubled sleep, his face slick with perspiration, as Napoleon and Dr Larrey entered the room.

Napoleon turned to Dr Larrey and asked quietly, ‘What are his chances of surviving?’

‘Good enough. The marshal has a strong constitution. Provided there is no corruption of the wound, the stumps will heal in time.’

Napoleon nodded. ‘Keep me informed of his progress.’

‘Yes, sir.’

Napoleon glanced back through the door and felt a great sadness over the knowledge that the courageous and utterly dependable Lannes would never again be at his side during a battle. It would be hard for a man so full of vitality to accept life as a cripple, Napoleon realised. As he closed the door, he wondered if it might not have been kinder if Lannes had been killed outright.

Marshal Jean Lannes died eight days after he had been wounded. The pain of his loss still burned in Napoleon’s heart. He had wept at the news, and the army had been stunned. Many had seen Lannes in the front rank in battle and had been steadied by his example. He had risen from amongst their ranks and had shared their perils and their wounds, and they openly grieved for him as the news spread through the ranks.

Jean Lannes would be avenged, Napoleon vowed silently as they approached a group of sergeants sitting beside the track running across the camp. The men had a small keg of brandy with them and a haunch of cured venison. One of them looked up as Massйna and Napoleon passed by.

‘Hey, friends, join us for a drink?’

Massйna was about to refuse the offer when Napoleon nudged him and smiled a greeting. ‘Why, yes. Thank you.’

Massйna shot him a surprised glance, but Napoleon simply pulled his cap down a bit further as he sat on the crushed grass. After a moment’s hesitation Massйna joined him. The sergeant who had invited them held out two battered copper cups and lifted the keg to pour a small measure into each. Napoleon raised his cup. ‘Good health!’

The other sergeants, ten or so of them, raised their cups to return the toast and then, after a sip of the fiery liquid, Napoleon wiped his lips and asked, ‘So what unit is this, then?’

‘First battalion, Eighty-second regiment of the line. In Friant’s division.’

Napoleon nodded. ‘Davout’s corps, then. Only just arrived.’

‘Not only that,’ the sergeant continued, ‘but only just formed. The battalion’s marched here from the depot at Lyons.’

Another sergeant cleared his throat and spat on to the ground beside him. ‘Most of the recruits are just boys.’

‘And what about you lot?’ asked Massйna. ‘What’s your service record?’

‘Us?’The first sergeant laughed.‘Up until a couple of months ago we were just customs officers. Then the call-up comes from Paris. The Emperor needs a new army and his recruiters are scouring France for discharged veterans, National Guard officers and NCOs, and finally, at the bottom of the barrel, us. That’s why I asked you to join us.’ He pointed at their jackets.‘You’re from the Imperial Guard. You must have seen a thing or two.’

Massйna nodded.

‘Then you must have been here when the army last went up against the Austrians.’

‘Yes.’

‘The army newspapers say that it was a tactical withdrawal after the enemy had been given a good hiding. Of course, no one believes a word of it. From what we’ve heard, it was a bloody disaster. Is that true?’

Massйna glanced at Napoleon, who was still for a moment before he nodded discreetly. This was a rare chance to hear what his soldiers really thought. Freshly arrived from Lyons, it was likely that none of them had ever set eyes on their Emperor. Most of the paintings and prints that were to be found around the country had him bedecked in glittering uniforms. They would not guess his identity, for now at least.

Massйna looked at the sergeant and nodded. ‘It was a hard fight, and yes, they drove us from the field. We lost good men, thousands of them.’

‘How did that happen?’

Massйna shrugged. ‘We advanced too far too quickly and the reconnaissance was sloppy, and somehow the cavalry patrols managed to miss spotting the Austrian army. That’s how.’

‘Then it’s like we were told,’ one of the others intervened. ‘The Emperor fucked up.’

Napoleon sensed Massйna freeze by his side, and he coughed and leaned forward.‘Careful, that’s dangerous talk. I wouldn’t let any officers overhear such an opinion. But, for what it’s worth, the Emperor made a mistake. I doubt he’ll make the same one again.’

‘Really?’ The sergeant raised his eyebrows. ‘What makes you think so?’

Napoleon gestured at the vast camp surrounding them. ‘Every preparation has been made. I doubt there’s any army in the whole of Europe that could beat us now.’

‘I’m not worried about other armies. I’m worried about the one that’s waiting for us on the other side of the river. They’ve beaten us once. They’ll be thinking they can do it again.’

‘Then they’re wrong,’ Napoleon replied, and jerked his thumb at Massйna. ‘We’ve fought ’em before. Trust me, the Austrians can be beaten, and they will be beaten.’

The sergeant still seemed doubtful. ‘Well, I hope you’re right. God knows we need to beat them and end this war. Let’s hope this time we can have a real peace at the end of it all. Perhaps we’ll live to see the day when the Emperor has finally had his fill of war. All I want is peace, and the chance to go home to my family.’

‘Peace, and the chance to go home?’ Napoleon shrugged. ‘I’m sure that’s what the Emperor wants as much as the next Frenchman. The question is, will the other nations let us have peace?’

‘No chance,’ the sergeant replied bitterly. ‘War is all that kings, tsars and emperors understand. They love the uniforms, and pushing tokens round on maps, and all the time it’s the lot of common people to die. I thought the Revolution was supposed to put an end to all of that. We got rid of the King, and the aristos. Now look at us. Dukes, princes and barons as far as the eye can see, and Napoleon sitting on top of it all with his crown. What’s changed, tell me that?’

The first sergeant laughed.‘Ignore him. Pierre’s just an old-fashioned Jacobin. He’s always grumbling. I wonder . . .’ He looked eagerly at Massйna and Napoleon. ‘You must have seen him. What’s he like?’

‘The Emperor?’ Massйna puffed his cheeks at the awkward situation. ‘Well, he’s just a man, like any of us here. He may be Emperor when he’s in the palace in Paris, but here, in the field? Here, he’s a soldier. He takes his risks with the rest of us.’

‘And what about you?’ asked the sergeant called Pierre, staring directly at Napoleon. ‘What do you think?’

Napoleon stared back at him for a moment, tempted to reveal his identity, but at the same time loath to break the illusion that they were all comrades. He set down his cup and stood up, punching Massйna lightly on the shoulder. ‘I think it’s time we got back to our battalion. It’s going to be a busy night.’

Massйna handed back his cup and stood up. ‘Good luck to you all.’

‘And you,’ the first man nodded back.

‘What do you think?’ Napoleon asked quietly, as he and Massйna strode off.

Massйna glanced at him. ‘Sire?’

‘Don’t be a fool, Massйna. I’m talking about what those men said. Are they right? Have I betrayed the Revolution and simply created a new form of tyranny?’

‘You are talking about politics, sire, and I am a soldier. It’s not my field.’

‘You are evading the issue.’ Napoleon laughed softly. ‘When a man fears to speak the truth then he does indeed live in a tyranny. It seems that the sergeant was right.’

‘King or emperor, what difference does it make?’ Massйna responded. ‘The fact is, France is at war and it is the duty of every soldier to fight for his country. When the fighting begins there is no place for questioning the cause of it.’ He was quiet for a moment. ‘Besides, what use have I for peace? It would do me out of a fine living.’

Napoleon looked at him and shook his head. ‘Marshal Massйna, you have a brutally practical way of looking at life. Even so, I must admit I had hoped that a little idealism burned in your heart.’

Massйna shrugged. ‘I’ll leave idealism to the philosophers, sire. As long as there’s fighting, fucking and fortunes to be made, I am your man.’

‘And what if I make peace? What of your allegiance to me then?’

‘Sire, that sergeant was right about one thing. While you are Emperor there cannot be peace in Europe, whether you will it or not. And that suits me perfectly.’

They returned their borrowed jackets when they reached headquarters and made their way into the map room. Berthier was leaning across the table with a pair of dividers as he calculated the march timetables for the remaining columns still moving forward to join the army. He straightened up and bowed his head as the Emperor and Massйna entered.

‘Everything proceeding to plan?’ asked Napoleon.

‘Yes, sire. The entire army should be over the river by the second day. One hundred and eighty thousand men, less the garrison to cover the bridges.’

‘What’s the latest intelligence on Archduke Charles?’

‘According to the reports from the cavalry corps, the Austrians have something in the order of one hundred and fifty thousand men concentrated against us. Of course, we are still unsure of the precise location of Archduke John’s army. He began his withdrawal from Italy two weeks ago, and might be close enough to intervene.’

‘What’s his strength?’

‘No more than fifteen thousand, sire.’

‘Then he is of little consequence to us,’ Napoleon decided. He clicked his fingers. ‘Massйna, the map.’

Massйna took out the diagram of the river crossings and unfolded it beside the larger-scale map that Berthier had been working on. Napoleon tapped his finger on the pencilled markings on the eastern side of Lobau island. ‘This is where we cross. Have the map copied and sent to the commander of the engineers. He is to have the pontoon bridges ready to move into position at nightfall.’

‘Yes, sire.’

Napoleon studied the map in silence for a moment before he nodded with satisfaction. All the pieces were in place. Archduke Charles had concentrated his army around the French troops in the Mьhlau salient. It appeared that he had taken the bait and was waiting to meet the French attack over the same ground as where they had attempted to force a crossing just over a month earlier. Instead, Napoleon would strike two miles to the east, towards the village of Wittau. In overwhelming strength the French would pour across the Danube and immediately wheel round to take the Austrians in the flank and rear and crush them. Napoleon looked up at Marshal Massйna and smiled.

‘We have the enemy precisely where we want them. Tonight, you will have the honour of leading the army across the Danube and on to victory.’

Chapter 9

The storm broke just after night fell over the Danube. Lightning illuminated the landscape in brilliant flashes of dazzling white which caught thousands of men, horses, guns and silvery streaks of rain in a frozen tableau for an instant before plunging the world back into darkness. Then, as the men marched forward through the mud towards the pontoon bridges, the thunder crackled and boomed like a vast cannonade in the heavens.

‘It could hardly be better,’ Napoleon commented to Berthier as they sat on their horses, watching the first columns of Massйna’s corps move forward to the river bank, ready to cross over the moment the bridges were swung into place. Napoleon gestured towards the western side of the island, nearly two miles away. ‘This storm, and the diversionary attack from Mьhlau, will provide perfect cover for Massйna’s assault.’

Berthier nodded, and reached for his pocket watch. He waited a moment, and then read the time as lightning flashed overhead.

‘Just gone nine o’clock, sire. Less than ten minutes to go now.’

They waited in the darkness while the rain hissed down, pattering off the flat tops of the soldiers’ shakos and soaking through their greatcoats and the uniform jackets beneath. Around them, the trees that lined the river bank swayed in the gusts of wind that sounded like the sea as it swept through the leafy boughs. Every time the lightning burst across the landscape the soldiers looked like statues, Napoleon mused as he hunched his neck down into his collar to try to keep the water from trickling down his neck. Then, at the appointed time, there was a deep roar from the west that echoed across the island as the guns massed opposite Mьhlau blasted the Austrian lines. At the same time General Legrand would be launching his diversionary attack, engaging the enemy outposts as aggressively as he could to draw Archduke Charles’s attention away from his left flank.

As soon as the cannonade began, the five hundred grenadiers of Massйna’s assault force rushed the small boats they had been issued down the bank and into the river, before clambering aboard and paddling across the current as swiftly as possible. No shots were fired from the Austrian sentries, who were either sheltering from the storm or distracted by the furious sounds of battle away to the west. In the darkness, Napoleon could just make out the boats surging across the river, the men landing and then heading cautiously up the far bank, muskets at the ready.

As soon as the assault force was across, the first of the pontoon bridges was towed into position. Behind it came the other nine, emerging from the small channel where they had been waiting, hidden from Austrian eyes. The engineers hauled them into position and fastened them to the posts already driven into the bank of Lobau island. Napoleon urged his mount forward to the nearest of the pontoon bridges and sent for the officer in charge.

‘How long will it take you to get the bridge into position, Lieutenant?’

‘Fifteen minutes, sire,’ the engineer replied at once.

‘I will give you five minutes,’ said Napoleon as he reached for his pocket watch. ‘I’ll be timing you.’

‘Yes, sire.’ The engineer saluted and turned to run down the bank to his men, already shouting his orders to get a boat across the river with a cable and some stout stakes to drive into the far bank. As soon as the stakes were pounded into position the engineers pulled the cable attached to the end of the bridge and with ponderous grace the line of pontoons and trestles angled across the current until it extended from bank to bank. As soon as the last cables had been tied securely to the stakes the engineering officer sprinted up to his Emperor and saluted as he stood to attention, chest heaving from his exertions.

‘Beg to report, the bridge is ready, sire.’

Napoleon thrust his pocket watch back inside his coat. ‘With nearly half a minute to spare. Fine work.’

‘Thank you, sire.’

‘Now, I’d be obliged if you would get the first of Massйna’s men across that bridge of yours.’

‘Yes, sire.’ The engineer saluted smartly and hurried off to the head of the bridge and waved the first company forward. The soldiers broke step as they reached the first trestle and then strode as quickly as they could across to the far bank. Further downriver Napoleon could just discern the outlines of the other bridges being swung into position across the current, and more of Massйna’s corps quickly crossed to the far bank. A few hundred paces inland, individual muskets flared as those enemy soldiers on watch who had managed to keep their powder dry opened fire on the assault party. Once the first division was across it marched off along the bank of the river to the north, making for the fortified village of Gross-Enzerdorff before pressing on to Essling.

To the right, Oudinot and Davout led their men across and drove the enemy back as they fanned out across the plain and formed their corps up on Massйna’s right flank. By the early hours of the morning half of the Grand Army was already over the Danube. Napoleon and his staff crossed the river and set up headquarters in the hamlet of Uferhaus, where the Emperor’s bodyguard unceremoniously turfed out the owner of a small estate and surrounded the walls with pickets. Inside Napoleon sat at a hastily arranged map table and took a bowl of soup as Berthier eagerly read over the reports sent back from each of the three corps which had already crossed the river.

‘No reports of any serious opposition, sire. The Austrians seem to be retreating right across our front.’ Berthier sifted through a few more sheets of paper before he looked up again. ‘Casualties are minimal.’

‘Good. And what of the bridges? Are they still in one piece?’

‘As far as I know, sir. At least, there have been no reports to the contrary.’

Napoleon stared at his subordinate for a moment, wondering if he could trust his junior officers to keep him fully informed of the army’s progress across the river. After the debacle of the last attempt to force a crossing of the Danube, Napoleon was determined to ensure that the army’s lines of communication were unhindered. He pushed the bowl to one side. ‘Berthier, send an officer to the river bank. I want to know the instant anything happens that might frustrate our plans, in any way. Is that clear?’

‘Yes, sire.’

Napoleon gazed at the map, deep in concentration. By dawn three army corps and the Imperial Guard would be drawn up in a line facing north across a six-mile front from the bank of the Danube across the plain to the east. A hundred thousand men. Opposed to them would be a hundred and fifty thousand Austrians. Napoleon was confident that his men could hold their line, even though outnumbered, until the last formations of the Grand Army crossed the Danube and swelled the total to over a hundred and eighty thousand men. If Archduke Charles retreated, then the Grand Army would be obliged to pursue him, all the time stretching their lines of communication, and being forced to leave behind men tasked with guarding vital supply routes.

Very well, then, Napoleon resolved, the enemy must not be given any chance to break contact. At first light, the first three corps must be launched against the Austrians, forcing them to stand and fight.

When the sun rose across the plain in the morning, it was clear that the Austrians had been caught by surprise. Through his looking glass Napoleon could see enemy lines scattered across the landscape. The largest concentration of Austrian forces was between the villages of Aspern and Essling where the diversionary attack had struck the previous evening. Elsewhere individual units were hurriedly forming up into lines to face the coming onslaught. As the light strengthened across the drenched fields, he saw that some of the enemy formations were already pulling back, heading for the Russbach river. The bank was raised on the far side of the river and would provide the Austrians with some defence against a French attack.

During the first hours of the morning there was no attempt to counter-attack and most of the French soldiers had the chance to chew on some bread and sip some water. They stood in the muddy fields, muskets slung over their shoulders as thin wisps of steam rose from their uniforms into the warm air. As they waited a steady stream of infantry, cavalry and artillery hurried across the river. Three more corps were due to cross the Danube during the day, and the last, commanded by Marmont, would join them on the morrow. In little over a day, almost all the army would have reached the far bank. It was an achievement to be proud of, Napoleon mused to himself as he stretched his shoulders and watched the men of Prince Eugиne’s corps stepping out across the pontoon bridges.

His heart warmed at the thought of his stepson. Eugиne had proved himself to be an able commander and, more important, a loyal subordinate – unlike the commander of the corps that was waiting to cross after Eugиne’s men. Marshal Bernadotte had become increasingly arrogant in the years since Napoleon had been crowned Emperor. Recently, there had been reports from some of his officers that Bernadotte had been speaking very openly of his superiority to the Emperor in military affairs. While it was tempting to dismiss the marshal and be done with him, the fact was that Bernadotte was popular with his men, and well connected amongst the politicians in Paris. He would present more of a danger if left to his own devices in the capital than here in the field, where Napoleon could keep a close eye on him. Even so, there was a limit to how far the Emperor would tolerate such a troublesome officer.

He thrust Bernadotte from his mind and returned to his consideration of Eugиne. It was a shame that he had not fathered such a fine man, Napoleon reflected sadly. That had been a fond hope and ambition of his marriage to Josephine. But there was no chance of her bearing another child now. She was too old for that, and even if she had still been fertile she would not be prepared to risk another childbirth. Yet France needed an heir to the imperial throne. Without a son to succeed him, Napoleon could not give his empire the stability it so desperately needed. Since he had fathered a son by the Polish Countess Walewska, he knew that his own fertility was not at fault. If there was to be an heir, then he must find himself a new wife. Yet he shrank from the consequences of that knowledge. Despite the discovery of Josephine’s numerous affairs, and her failure to give him a son, Napoleon loved her more deeply and surely than any woman he had ever known.

He sighed heavily. Once the campaign was over, and Austria had been humbled, then he would have to deal with the matter of providing his empire with a successor, no matter how much pain that would cause him, and Josephine. Duty and destiny must prevail over emotion, he resolved.

He was disturbed by the arrival of a young dragoon officer who stood to attention and saluted as he stood before his Emperor.

‘What is it?’ Napoleon snapped.

‘Sire, Marshal Massйna sends his compliments and begs to inform you that the Austrians are beginning to withdraw from Essling.’

‘Are they now?’ Napoleon frowned. It seemed that Archduke Charles had finally realised the danger of his situation and was starting to extricate his army. ‘Tell Massйna that he is to press forward at once. He is to push the enemy back, and stay in contact with them. They must not be allowed to escape, or be given any respite. Massйna must drive all before him. Now go!’