Текст книги "The Fields of Death"

Автор книги: Simon Scarrow

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‘Yes, sire!’

Throughout the afternoon the French soldiers pressed forward, driving the enemy back across the plain. The last clouds had long since gone and the sun blazed down from a clear blue sky. But while there was serenity in the heavens, the Marchfeld was marked by great banks of rolling gunpowder smoke and the litter of war. Bodies of the dead and wounded lay strewn in the trampled grass, together with discarded equipment, shattered gun carriages and lame or abandoned horses that grazed between the corpses. The air was heavy from the heat, and reverberated with the sounds of cannon and the lighter crackle of musket fire.

Late in the afternoon Napoleon and his escort rode forward to assess the situation. He stopped by a small church on a dusty road heading north from Aspern, and climbed its tower with Berthier. There was little space at the top, and they had to squeeze past the old bronze bell before they could open the shutters and look out over the battlefield. Both men raised their telescopes and slowly swept them along the French line, taking in the formations of men and horses advancing under their tricolour and imperial eagle banners. They were dark against the shimmering gold of wheat fields, and the verdant green of meadows.

Napoleon could see that his army formed a giant wedge, driven into the centre of the Austrian line. He felt the familiar excitement tingle in his scalp as he viewed the over-extended enemy.

‘Berthier, do you see?’

‘Sire?’ Berthier lowered his looking glass and waited patiently while his Emperor briefly examined the battlefield once again before he lowered his own glass and turned round with a cold smile.

‘Berthier, we have them, provided we strike swiftly. Come!’

Napoleon led the way back down the narrow steps of the tower and they emerged in the cool plastered nave. Striding across to the altar, Napoleon swept the ornaments aside.

‘Let me see the map.’

Berthier unfasted the strap of the leather document case hanging from his shoulder. He took out the map, unfolded it and spread it across the altar. Napoleon leaned forward and stared at it a moment, eyes darting across the features, and then he nodded.

‘Our line extends thus.’ He drew his finger east from the Danube, towards Wagram, and then angled it south, along the length of the Russbach river. ‘The enemy’s right wing hinges on Wagram. Massйna can pin their right, Oudinot and Davout can strike against their left, and then we use our reserves to punch through, here.’ He tapped the map. ‘At Wagram. If we succeed, then we can turn and trap their right flank against the Danube and annihilate a third of Archduke Charles’s army.’ His eyes glittered.

Berthier studied the map a moment. ‘But what of Archduke John, sire? What if he appears on our flank? It could be dangerous.’

Napoleon shook his head. ‘Send a cavalry division to screen our flank. If he nears the battlefield before we have dealt with his brother, they can hold him off while we defeat Archduke Charles.’

‘Very well, sire. What time shall we begin the attack?’

Napoleon took out his watch. ‘It’s five o’clock. We should begin no later than seven. That gives us the best part of three hours of daylight to break the Austrians. The orders have to be sent out no later than six.’ Napoleon took off his jacket and threw it to the side of the altar. ‘To work, Berthier!’

The massed guns of the Grand Army opened fire on the enemy just after seven that evening. Napoleon watched with satisfaction as solid shot ploughed through the dense enemy formations. Then their own guns replied, smashing gaps in the French columns waiting for the order to advance. Once he judged the Austrian centre was beginning to waver under the intense bombardment, Napoleon gave the order for the attack to begin. As the French guns fell silent, the drums began a deep rolling beat and the infantry closed up on the waiting Austrians. Again, the long smears of dense smoke spread across the landscape, shrouding the battle, and Napoleon waited with the Imperial Guard, just behind Eugиne’s corps.

As the sounds of the assault rose in a crescendo Napoleon rose up on his stirrups and strained his eyes to see how the leading division was progressing. Eugиne had chosen General MacDonald, the descendant of an exiled Scottish aristocrat, to lead the way with his division of Italian soldiers. In the fading evening light, Napoleon could just make out the distant figures of his men beginning to enter the streets of Wagram. He nodded approvingly.

‘I have misjudged MacDonald’s men. I had feared they might lack the elan of French men, but look at them now. Charging in like lions!’

‘Yes, sire,’ Berthier replied, looking up from the first reports that had arrived from the other sectors of the battle line. He cleared his throat nervously and addressed his Emperor. ‘Sire, Oudinot and Davout are taking heavy losses.’

‘Of course they are. It’s to be expected in a frontal attack.’

‘But the enemy are holding their ground, sire. Our columns have been stopped in their tracks. And they’re losing men.’

Napoleon’s brow creased and he thought for a moment before responding. ‘It does not matter. The battle will be decided at Wagram. Once we have that, the enemy’s spirit will break. I know it.’

As he watched MacDonald’s men advance into the town Napoleon felt a glow of triumph kindle in his breast. The Grand Army was on the cusp of another great victory. Once Austria was defeated he would make sure that they would never again dare to defy France and her Emperor. But harsh terms in any treaty would not be enough. Napoleon intended to find a way of tying the destiny of both nations together.

A sudden intensification of musket fire from the direction of Wagram broke into his thoughts.

‘Sounds like MacDonald has run into some determined opposition,’ Berthier commented.

‘Archduke Charles must have reinforced Wagram. Even he isn’t so stupid that he does not see a danger when it stares him right in the face. Still, it’s of no consequence. Eugиne will reinforce his leading division in turn. The Austrians will run out of reserves before we do.’

‘You are right, of course, sire.’

Napoleon raised his nose and continued to gaze towards Wagram, trying to discern how the battle was going. Then the first Italian casualties began to limp out of the town, making their way back towards the rest of Eugиne’s corps formed up a short distance ahead of Napoleon and his staff. After the walking wounded came those who were being helped to the rear by their comrades and Napoleon regarded them coldly, always suspicious of unwounded men who fell out of the battle line, for any reason. There were always men who took advantage of a comrade’s injury to duck out of the fight. Soon the trickle emerging from the town became a flood; some had even abandoned their weapons in their haste to get away.

‘Bloody cowards!’ a voice called out from the front rank of the nearest battalion of the Old Guard.

‘Silence there!’ a sergeant bellowed. ‘I’ll have the balls of the next man who opens his mouth!’

The veterans stood and watched as hundreds of men from MacDonald’s division streamed out of Wagram. The sounds of fighting began to diminish, and a faint cheer rose up in the distance.

Berthier glanced anxiously at his Emperor. ‘Sire, it seems that they have broken.’

‘Nonsense!’

And yet still they came, running back towards the rest of their division. Napoleon felt his temper rise at the sight of such mass indiscipline and cowardice.‘Why doesn’t somebody rally those bastards? Before they disrupt the rest of the corps.’ Napoleon craned his neck towards the cluster of standards that marked the position of Prince Eugиne and his staff. ‘For God’s sake do something!’

The remnants of MacDonald’s division emerged from Wagram, closely pursued by the jubilant Austrians, who shot down the fleeing Italians, or bayoneted them on the ground, without a shred of mercy. Mad with fear, the Italians raced towards the safety of their steadier comrades, pushing aside the leading ranks and breaking up the formation. Berthier nodded towards the scattered figures fanning out as they fled from Wagram.

‘They’re coming this way, sire. We should order the Guard to open ranks and let them through.’

‘No,’ Napoleon said firmly.‘We cannot afford to let that rabble throw the Guard into chaos. Order the men to fix bayonets.’

‘Sire?’

‘Do it!’ Napoleon snapped. ‘At once.’

‘Yes, sire.’

As the command was relayed through the battalions of the Old Guard standing in the front rank, the long triangular spikes of steel rasped from their sheaths and clattered into the locked position over the musket muzzles. Napoleon and his officers retired behind the leading battalion and watched as the sergeants gave the order to advance bayonets. A wall of lethal points was presented to the Italians fleeing towards the Guard. At the sight of the threat, and the cold and contemptuous expressions on the faces of the veterans, they turned aside and ran for the gaps between the French units. As the last men of MacDonald’s division hurried by, the pursuing Austrians drew up at the sight of fresh enemy units.

With parade-ground precision the Imperial Guard unleashed several volleys that cut the leading enemy wave to shreds. A handful of gallant Austrian officers attempted to rally their men and re-form their ranks to return fire, but they were swiftly struck down and lay with the rest of their men in heaps scattered across the bloody ground. The Austrian soldiers began to fall back, and soon they were running to the shelter of the houses on the edge of Wagram. In the failing light those French battalions that had been disrupted by the men of MacDonald’s division had re-formed, and stood ready to advance once again.

‘Shall I order Prince Eugиne to counter-attack?’ asked Berthier.

Napoleon shook his head. ‘It’s too late. It will be dark within half an hour.’ He puffed his cheeks in frustration. ‘Call off the attack. Order all formations to fall back and make camp for the night.’

Once the last of the fighting had died away and an uneasy quiet fell across the plain, Napoleon summoned his marshals to his headquarters to discuss his plans for the next day. First, however, the Emperor made a last visit to the bridges to ensure that the supply trains had begun to cross from Lobau island. The pontoon bridges sagged under the weight of the long, heavy artillery caissons, and the lines of wagons carrying ammunition for the men of the infantry and cavalry. The engineers had placed lanterns along the length of each bridge and the flickering glows undulated up and down as the vehicles passed by.

Satisfied that the men of the Grand Army would not be short of supplies for the next day, Napoleon returned to his field headquarters at the church. The cluster of staff officers and escorts that stood around the entrance revealed that his senior officers had already arrived. Dismounting, Napoleon handed the reins to a groom and hurriedly returned the salutes of the men on either side of the church doors before entering the building. The sound of voices came from the altar, and by the light of a handful of candles burning in brackets on the walls Napoleon saw his marshals gathered there. Marshal Bernadotte’s voice carried clearly over the subdued talk of the others.

‘I’m telling you, it was a wasted opportunity. The Emperor delayed his attack for too long, and he should not have attempted to attack along the whole line.’

‘Really?’ Davout responded drily. ‘And what would you have done in his place, I wonder?’

There was a pause and the other marshals stopped talking. Bernadotte cleared his throat and replied, ‘If I had been in command of the army, we would be celebrating a great victory at this moment. I would have used a special manoeuvre that would have defeated the enemy. I would have . . .’

Napoleon decided he had heard enough, and strode towards the altar. As the marshals stood to attention, he waved them down.‘No time for formalities, gentlemen. We have a battle to plan.’

Everyone clustered around the altar and Napoleon stared at the map before them as he gathered his thoughts. ‘We have every reason to be pleased with today’s achievements, my friends. The Grand Army’s crossing of the Danube caught our enemy by complete surprise. All that remains is for us to deliver the final blow and crush Archduke Charles.’

There was a brief silence before Davout cleared his throat and tapped the line of the Russbach river. ‘Sire, what is the latest intelligence of Archduke John’s position?’

‘Our cavalry patrols report no sign of him for twenty miles, south and east of here. He need not concern us.’

‘What if Archduke John does reach the battlefield, and attacks our flank?’

‘If, if, if.’ Napoleon frowned. ‘I told you, Archduke John does not concern us. He is not near enough to intervene.’

Davout nodded slightly. ‘If you say so, sire.’

Napoleon felt a slight giddiness as he struggled to contain his fraying temper. It had been some days since he had had a proper night’s sleep. He had been constantly awake for almost all that time, and his limbs were heavy. It took some effort to think clearly. He rubbed his eyes and then looked round at his officers. ‘Gentlemen, you may return to your commands. Berthier will issue your orders during the night.’

After the marshals had left the church Napoleon decided to move his headquarters closer to the decisive sector of the coming battle. Leaving Berthier to arrange for his staff to follow on, Napoleon mounted his horse and rode north of the village of Raasdorf to stop on a small knoll a short distance behind Massйna’s right flank. In the darkness, he could just make out the faint outline of columns of men massing in readiness for the coming attack. When the first battalion of the Old Guard arrived to secure the Emperor’s new command post, Napoleon had the drummers stack their instruments to make a shelter for him. Then, with a rolled greatcoat for a pillow, he lay down to snatch a few hours’ sleep.

Berthier gently shook his shoulder at three in the morning and Napoleon blinked his eyes open, his mind still vague with exhaustion. A guardsman holding a lantern stood behind Berthier.

‘What time is it?’

‘It’s past the third hour, sire.’

Napoleon eased himself up and then rose stiffly to his feet, pressing his fists into the small of the back as he stretched his spine. ‘Is the army in position?’

‘Yes, sire. All corps headquarters report that they will be ready to attack by four.’

Napoleon glanced round. Even though it was still dark he could make out the vague masses of men slowly forming their ranks. The cool night air was restless with their muted conversation and the shuffling tramp of their boots. He could feel their tense excitement at the prospect of the coming battle. There was some anxiety and fear there too: a certain edge in their voices. Napoleon turned back to Berthier and forced a smile.

‘All goes well. Our leading divisions will fall upon the enemy while they’re still eating their breakfast, eh?’

Berthier nodded, with a nervous chuckle. ‘Yes, sire.’

‘I wish I could see Archduke Charles’s face when he realises we have stolen a march on him a second time in as many days.’

Napoleon called for some bread and water and sat on a pile of firewood as the army continued to form up around him. Over to the east a faint glow presaged the coming dawn. Moment by moment Napoleon began to see more and more detail of the surrounding countryside, and the tens of thousands of men standing ready. He rose to his feet, brushing the crumbs from his jacket, and took out his watch.

‘Ten minutes to four,’ he muttered.

There was a sudden thud of cannon fire to the south-east and Napoleon and his staff officers turned to look.

‘That comes from the direction of Davout’s corps.’ Napoleon frowned. ‘What the devil is he up to? The orders were for the attack to begin at four. This is the work of some glory-hunter with an itchy trigger finger. Well, whoever it is, he’ll have to answer to me when the day is over.’ He turned abruptly to Berthier. ‘No point in waiting for four now. Send orders to all corps to begin the attack at once.’

‘Yes, sire.’

The distant cannon fire quickly swelled into a continuous rumble as the skirmish line began to filter forward towards the enemy. Then, with a deafening crash, the guns of Massйna’s corps opened fire on the Austrian centre, pounding the village of Aderklaa, a short distance from Wagram in the blue-hued light of the predawn. As the bombardment continued, Napoleon watched the officers of the leading infantry columns ride up and down their ranks, shouting encouragement to the men.

Berthier appeared at his side with a nervous expression.

‘What is it?’

‘Sire, a message from Davout. He is under attack.’

‘Under attack?’

‘Yes, sire. The enemy have fallen on his right flank. He is being driven back.’

‘No, Davout must be mistaken. It’s probably just a local counter-attack. Nothing more.’

‘His messenger says the Austrians are attacking in force, sire.’

‘Rubbish!’

Before Napoleon could give further vent to his anger, he was aware of a sudden increase in the sound of gunfire to his right. He turned to stare towards the flank, unable to comprehend the obvious at first. Then he smiled ruefully. ‘Who would have guessed it? Archduke Charles has finally learned to take the initiative.’ He turned to Berthier. ‘The enemy have got their attack in before us.’

Chapter 10

‘Tell all corps commanders to hold their positions, until I discover exactly what is going on.’ Napoleon listened again to the cannonade to his right and made another decision. ‘We must be ready to reinforce Davout. Send the cavalry reserve and all the horse artillery to cover the end of our right flank.’

‘Yes, sire. Do you wish me to order Massйna to suspend his bombardment?’

‘No. It may help to unsettle the enemy. Let him continue.’ Napoleon scratched his chin anxiously for a moment. The situation between the two armies had changed completely. Instead of launching a decisive attack to break the Austrians, the Grand Army was itself under attack. He dared not proceed with his original plan until he had discerned the intentions of Archduke Charles.‘I’m riding over to Davout. I have to see what is happening for myself. The rest of the army is to hold its ground and be ready to receive new orders. One other thing: have the Imperial Guard moved two miles to our right, in case I need to call on them in a hurry.’

Napoleon saw Berthier’s brief look of surprise. The order to shift the position of the Guard was a clear admission that the Emperor was anxious about the fate of Davout and his corps.

‘What if it is Archduke John?’ Berthier asked quietly.

‘It isn’t.’

Napoleon strode towards the white mare being held by one of his grooms. ‘Make a step!’

The groom obediently released the reins and cupped both hands as he bent down. Once Napoleon was hoisted into the saddle he took the reins and called out to Berthier.‘If anything happens, if the enemy make any further movements, send word to me at once!’

‘Yes, sire.’

Napoleon turned his horse away and spurred it into a gallop across the heart of the plain towards the Grand Army’s right flank. As he rode he was deep in thought and ignored the cheers of the men he passed by. Despite what he had said to Berthier, he feared that the attack on Davout might well herald the arrival of Archduke John. The right flank of the Grand Army would be vulnerable to the Austrian reinforcements.

Ahead of him clouds of gunpowder smoke billowed across the eastern horizon, blotting out the first rays of the sun. Napoleon raced to the corps headquarters on the edge of the village of Glinzendorf, where he found Marshal Davout’s staff hurriedly packing their document chests on to wagons. The crack of muskets and thud of guns came from less than half a mile to the east.

‘You!’ Napoleon pointed at the nearest staff officer. ‘Where is Davout?’

‘The marshal has gone to the flank, sire. Some of our units broke when the enemy attacked. Davout went to rally the men.’

Napoleon wheeled his horse round and rode on through the reserve formations of Davout’s corps until he passed over a small rise and saw the battle on the flank raging across the landscape before him. The edge of the sun had risen over the rim of the distant hills and by its light Napoleon could see the dark columns of the enemy tramping forward. They had crossed the Russbach and struck Davout’s men as the latter were forming up for their own attack. Tiny figures of fleeing soldiers were still spreading about across the plain as they ran from the enemy. The second French line had held firm and was now locked in an exchange of volleys with the Austrians. To the right of the line Napoleon could make out a group of officers, and he spurred his horse on.

As he rode up to Davout the marshal was busy issuing orders to his subordinates to steady their men and hold their ground. Some distance to the rear Napoleon saw the horse artillery and the cavalry he had sent to cover the army’s flank.

‘Sire.’ Davout greeted him with an anxious look. ‘I didn’t expect to see you here.’

‘No?’

‘I thought you’d be leading the attack.’

‘The attack is delayed until this flank is safe. What is your situation?’

‘They caught us by surprise, sire. Their guns opened fire shortly before dawn, breaking up my leading formations. Then they sent their infantry across the river.’

‘What about their cavalry?’

‘No sign so far, sire. My guess is they are holding them back to mount a pursuit if their infantry break through my line. However,’ Davout gestured to the rolling smoke along the firing line, ‘we have stopped them, for now.’

Napoleon stared across the smoke and saw more enemy units marching to support their attack. Davout was right. His corps could hold their own. But that was not good enough. Napoleon needed them to retake the initiative and attack.

‘Hold your position here, Davout. Once the enemy start giving ground, you follow them up and keep pushing them back. Understand?’

‘Yes, sire.’

Napoleon nodded curtly, turned his horse towards the distant batteries of horse artillery and galloped towards them. The commander of the guns, General Nansouty, was as surprised as Davout to see the Emperor so far from the centre of operations and he stammered a greeting before Napoleon cut him short.

‘Nansouty, take your guns over to the right of Davout’s line. You see that stand of trees along the track there?’

Nansouty followed the direction the Emperor indicated. A mile away some poplars stretched out, shading a country road. ‘Yes, sire.’

‘That will be your firing line. The range should be good enough for case shot. You are to fire into the enemy flank as they close up on Davout. Keep firing until they break.’

‘Yes, sire.’

‘There’s no time to waste. Go!’

As the horse guns rumbled into a trot, the chains of their traces jingling, Napoleon returned to Davout and his officers. He indicated Nansouty’s column thundering out to the flank. ‘You’ll have some support from that direction soon enough. Make it count.’

‘Yes, sire.’

They watched as Nansouty’s batteries deployed just in front of the line of trees. The gunners hurriedly loaded the weapons and a moment later there was a flash and puff of smoke as the first gun fired, quickly followed by the others. Napoleon turned his gaze on the approaching Austrian columns and saw several men suddenly smashed aside, then some more, and soon the side of the enemy attack was marked by a trail of bodies. The Austrians’ progress slowed as the battered flank battalions halted to re-dress their ranks, filling the gaps, before tramping forward again until they were hit by another salvo from Nansouty’s guns.

As the losses mounted Davout’s infantry began to counter-attack, advancing between each volley of musket fire. Caught from two directions, the left flank of the enemy attack began to crumble as the more fearful of the men started to give ground, falling back at first and then turning to run. For a moment the Austrian attack wavered, and then fear swept through it like a torrent. Battalion after battalion fell back, and all the time Nansouty’s guns poured lethal cones of case shot into their scattering ranks.

Napoleon turned to Davout. ‘I’m returning to headquarters. You know what you have to do.’

‘Yes, sire.’

‘Then good luck, Marshal.’

Napoleon pulled on his reins and turned his mount to race back to the west, while Davout’s drummers beat the advance and his soldiers let out a great cheer as they began their pursuit of the retreating Austrians.

The moment he arrived back at the forward command position Napoleon sensed something was wrong, as Berthier hurried towards him with a relieved expression.

‘What’s happened?’

‘Aderklaa is in enemy hands.’

‘How is that possible? Bernadotte has the best part of a division in the village. They’d turned the place into a fortress.’ Napoleon felt a leaden despair in his guts. ‘What happened?’

‘Marshal Bernadotte ordered his men to quit the village, sire. He informed me that he was obliged to shorten his battle line by pulling his men back between Massйna and Prince Eugиne.’

Napoleon closed his eyes briefly as he took a sharp intake of breath. The village was intended to be the base for his attack on the centre of the Austrian line. Now it had to be retaken, at the cost of the lives of many of his men. Because of Marshal Bernadotte. He breathed out through clenched teeth and opened his eyes.

‘Send orders to Bernadotte. He must retake Aderklaa. At any cost.’

‘Yes, sire.’

While Berthier hurriedly prepared the orders, Napoleon dismounted. As he landed, a terrible giddiness struck him so that he had to hold on to the pommel of the saddle for fear that he might fall. He raged at his body for this moment of weakness. He knew that he was suffering from exhaustion. Ten years earlier he would have endured this without a thought, and Napoleon realised that age was creeping up on him. He stood a moment until his head had cleared and then walked carefully to the map table and sat down heavily. He snapped his fingers at the nearest orderly. ‘I want something to eat. Something to drink. Now.’

‘Yes, sire.’

The orderly returned with a lump of hard cheese, some bread and a jug of beer. Napoleon did not care for ale and only sipped at it as he forced himself to eat.

Shortly after six in the morning, Bernadotte’s division of Saxon soldiers began their attack on Aderklaa. Napoleon abandoned his meal and called for his horse. Ordering Berthier to accompany him with a small escort of staff officers and lancers from the Imperial Guard, he rode forward to view the action more closely.

Marshal Bernadotte was close to the front, encouraging his Saxon infantry forward as they were met with a withering hail of fire from the Austrian defenders. The enemy had made good use of all the defences prepared by Bernadotte’s men only hours before, and fired from behind walls and loopholes in the houses on the edge of the village. Even so, the Saxons advanced steadily, the leading battalions closing ranks as their men were whittled down by enemy bullets. As he watched, Napoleon could see more enemy forces approaching from behind the village. He willed Bernadotte to throw his men forward, before the Austrian defenders could be reinforced.

There was a final flurry of musket fire at point-blank range before the Saxons charged home and attacked the enemy with bayonets. Napoleon raised his telescope, and through the dispersing gunpowder smoke he caught glimpses of the bloody close-quarters skirmishing on the outskirts of the village. A gallant young officer urged his men over a garden wall. Several men went down like skittles as they burst through a gate, straight into the muskets of the men waiting within. Two men were helping a comrade with a shattered leg to the rear. A sergeant smashed down an Austrian soldier with the butt of his musket before reversing the weapon and thrusting his bayonet home into the enemy’s throat.

Napoleon lowered his telescope. Bernadotte’s attack seemed to be succeeding. Once the village was back in French hands, then the rest of the army’s assault on the Austrian line could begin. At last, the morning’s crises had been contained. He turned to Berthier.

‘The moment Bernadotte confirms that Aderklaa has been cleared of the enemy, send the order to all commands to begin their attacks.’

‘Yes, sir.’ Berthier nodded, and then glanced past Napoleon with a curious expression.

‘What is it now?’ Napoleon grumbled, turning round.

The Saxon columns entering the village had halted. On either side, flowing back round them, were the men from the leading battalions. Some of the officers and sergeants tried to stop them, but were quickly thrust aside or knocked down as the Saxon troops fled. Napoleon raised his looking glass again and saw more flashes of gunfire and smoke amid the buildings, then the green of Austrian uniforms, and over them the standard of Austria, waving from side to side. A volley smashed into the leading ranks of one of the Saxon columns stalled just outside the village. That was enough to break their wavering spirit and they too turned and ran. In a short space of time the entire Saxon division was on the run.

A horseman raced out ahead of the fleeing infantry, cutting diagonally across their path and straight towards Napoleon and his entourage.

‘That’s Bernadotte,’ said Berthier, lowering his telescope. ‘Must be trying to cut ahead of his men to rally them.’

‘Ah, leading from the front, as usual,’ Napoleon sneered. ‘Even in retreat.’

Berthier glanced at the emperor and spoke quietly. ‘Sire, the marshal is a brave man, even if he is inclined to self-aggrandisement.’

‘Inclined to it?’ Napoleon smiled coldly. ‘Why, the man is utterly devoted to himself.’

Berthier seemed about to respond, but thought better of it and clamped his jaw shut instead.

They watched as Bernadotte reined in his mount in front of a group of soldiers and began to berate them, thrusting his arm out towards the village. A handful of those closest to the marshal stopped and regarded him briefly before warily turning aside and hurrying on after their comrades. Bernadotte called after them, then spurred his horse into a gallop to attempt to get in front of his men again. Ahead of him the plain was covered with thousands of his Saxons, the foremost of whom were coming close to Napoleon and his staff. Berthier turned to the commander of the escort and ordered him to send his men forward to screen the Emperor. The lancers walked their mounts up and halted ten paces in front of Napoleon, in a loose line, and lowered the tips of their weapons. The fleeing Saxons began to flow to the sides to avoid the new danger. Marshal Bernadotte stopped a hundred paces away and drew his sword, turning on the Saxons.