Текст книги "The Fields of Death"

Автор книги: Simon Scarrow

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‘Cowards!’ he shouted. ‘Stand your ground! Rally to me, damn you!’

He edged over towards the nearest of his men and slapped him across the shoulder with the flat of his sword. ‘Stand! Stand with me!’

Napoleon regarded him in a cold fury. Bernadotte had not only failed to stem the tide of his broken division, he had been the cause of the debacle in the first place by abandoning the village and obliging his men to attempt to retake it, with disastrous results. He had endangered not only his men but also the army’s battle plan. Taking a sharp intake of breath, Napoleon clicked his tongue and urged his horse forward.

‘Berthier, come with me. I want you to witness this.’

They walked their mounts between the lancers and on towards Bernadotte. The moment the marshal saw them, he sheathed his sword, took up his reins and trotted up to Napoleon. He saluted as he reined in.

‘Sire, I regret to inform you that the attack has failed.’ Bernadotte swept his arm up to indicate the fleeing Saxons.‘As you can see, my men have failed me.’

‘Really?’ Napoleon folded his hands over the saddle pommel as he glared at Bernadotte in contempt. ‘Tell me, Marshal, is this the special manoeuvre you were going to use to force Archduke Charles to lay down his arms?’

Bernadotte’s mouth sagged open, and then surprise gave way to anxiety as he recalled his bragging to the other marshals the night before and realised that Napoleon must have heard him. ‘Sire, I . . .’

‘Silence, Bernadotte!’ Napoleon snapped.‘You have failed me for the last time. You are herewith dismissed from command of your corps, which you have handled with such incompetence.’

‘Sire, no,’ Bernadotte protested, but Napoleon continued.

‘You are to leave this battlefield at once. You are to leave the Grand Army before the day is out and return to France. I will decide your fate in due course. Now leave my presence.’

‘You cannot do this!’ Bernadotte blustered. ‘I am a Marshal of France!’

‘Not any longer. You are disgraced. I will say it once more. Leave my presence, before I have you arrested and taken to the rear in chains.’

Bernadotte straightened to his full height in his saddle and opened his mouth to speak, but Napoleon turned away and trotted back through his escort to re-join his staff officers. ‘Do not permit that man to approach me,’ he ordered loudly with a nod back towards Bernadotte. For a moment Bernadotte stared helplessly after Napoleon, then looked to Berthier questioningly. The latter shook his head faintly. With a tap of his heels Bernadotte turned his horse towards the pontoon bridge nearest Essling and walked his mount away, urging it into a trot after a little distance, and then a gallop – so stung by the shame of his treatment at Napoleon’s hands that he was compelled to leave the field as swiftly as possible.

Napoleon spared him a brief glance and muttered, ‘Good riddance.’

Berthier cleared his throat. ‘Is that wise, sire? In the middle of a battle?’

Napoleon nodded. ‘I could hardly afford to have Bernadotte fouling things up any more at such a critical moment, wouldn’t you agree?’ He turned to his chief of staff with a penetrating glare.

‘Yes, sire. Of course.’

‘Good. Then we shall have to try to struggle on without the tactical brilliance of Bernadotte to help us. Now then, send an order to Massйna. He is to retake Aderklaa immediately. Massйna at least will not fail me.’

‘Yes, sire.’

‘And let us hope that there will be no further surprises this morning.’

Within the hour, just after the church clock in Aderklaa chimed nine, the tricolour was flying from the church tower. Napoleon had just sent an orderly forward to express his congratulations and gratitude to Massйna when a messenger arrived from General Boudet, commander of the division guarding the army’s left flank.

‘What is it now?’ Napoleon asked wearily.

‘General Boudet begs to report that he has been forced back into the Mьhlau bridgehead, sire.’

‘Forced back?’ Napoleon frowned. ‘What has happened? Speak up, man!’

‘Sire, we are under attack from two army corps. We are a single division. We were driven back.’

Napoleon was about to give vent to his anger at this new frustration when the full significance of the report suddenly hit him. This was part of Archduke Charles’s plan. The enemy commander must have intended to envelop both flanks of the Grand Army, but, for whatever reason, the attack on Napoleon’s left flank had been delayed until some hours after the attack on his right. It was bad timing for the French, Napoleon reflected bitterly. With Massйna’s attention directed towards the recapture of Aderklaa, a gap had opened between the Danube and the left flank of the Grand Army. Now, Archduke Charles was attempting to seize or destroy the bridges that crossed to Lobau island. If he succeeded, then he would sever the supply lines that fed the Grand Army.

‘How far have the enemy advanced?’

‘When I left General Boudet the Austrians were approaching Essling, sire.’

‘Essling!’ Berthier turned to Napoleon with a look of horror. Glancing round at his staff officers he saw that the news had stunned them. There was fear in some expressions too. He had to steady their nerves. He must set the example, or all was lost. Forcing a calm expression on to his face, Napoleon addressed Berthier. ‘We have two options. We ignore this attack and continue with the plan, and hope that Davout successfully crushes the enemy’s left flank. Or we send Massйna to block their advance, hold the bridges and then force them back.’

‘But Massйna is already engaged, sire. Besides, even if he could break contact, he would have to march across the face of the Austrians on our left. If they can bring their guns to bear then Massйna’s men will be mauled.’

‘That’s possible,’ Napoleon conceded. ‘My conviction is that the Austrians will not be able to bring their guns into action fast enough to do much harm to Massйna. Everything will depend on our speed. Firstly we must extricate Massйna and prevent the enemy from trying to maintain contact. The reserve cavalry are to charge the enemy forming to the west of Aderklaa. They must pin them in place long enough for Massйna to reach Essling and form his line there.’

Berthier nodded.

‘If Bessiиres fails, then our centre cannot possibly be held. The Grand Army will be cut in two. Make sure Bessiиres understands the danger we are in.’

‘Yes, sire.’

The situation was critical, Napoleon realised. As at Eylau, his battle line was in danger of shattering under enemy pressure. If the cavalry could relieve the strain on the rest of the army there was some chance that the line could re-form and hold off the enemy. While he watched the cavalry come forward and form lines ready to charge the enemy centre, Napoleon saw movement behind Massйna’s corps as a division from Eugиne’s corps and some batteries of artillery crossed the rear of the formation and formed a line facing the enemy columns advancing along the bank of the Danube. With a nod of approval and relief, Napoleon realised that his stepson had acted on his own initiative to attack the enemy’s flank. The crews hurriedly unlimbered their cannon and loaded case shot. Within minutes the first of them was in action, belching flame and smoke as the gun carriage leaped back on the recoil. More guns joined in and soon began to tear holes in the Austrian columns passing by their front. As the enemy soldiers were scythed down, each battalion had to slow to step over the bodies and re-form their ranks, buying vital time for Massйna.

Massйna’s formations pulled back, apart from one division left behind to defend Aderklaa. As soon as they were a safe distance from the enemy, the French soldiers turned about and began to quick-march across the plain towards Essling. The race was on, Napoleon realised, his stomach knotted by anxiety. If the enemy captured Essling and moved swiftly enough, they would take the bridges over the Danube. He could see Massйna riding up and down the columns of blue-coated infantry, urging them on. Despite having had little sleep for nearly three days the men stepped out in a lively fashion, kicking up a thin haze of dust from the dry ground.

A series of sharp bugle notes pierced the morning air and Napoleon turned to see the first of Bessiиres’s charges ripple forward towards the Austrian centre. A line of cuirassiers trotted across the plain, breastplates and helmets shimmering as their crests swished from side to side. Half a mile in front of them the nearest units of Austrian infantry began to form squares while the gun crews trained their cannon on the new threat.

‘A brave sight,’ Napoleon commented. As the horsemen closed on the Austrians and increased their pace to a gentle canter, there seemed to be a pause in the fighting on either side of the battlefield as the two armies watched the wave of men and horses thundering over the flattened grass and crops of the plain. The brief spell was broken as the first of the enemy batteries opened fire, scouring the leading ranks of one of the cuirassier regiments. Scores of men and horses went tumbling over as if they had been tripped, and the succeeding lines had to swerve round them like eddies in a stream. More guns joined in, decimating the ranks of the French heavy cavalry. The bugles sounded again, ordering the charge, and the riders dug their spurs in, extended their sword arms and let out an exuberant cheer that could be clearly heard by Napoleon and his staff officers as they watched.

The Austrian gunners turned away from their weapons and ran for the shelter of the nearest squares, throwing themselves flat at the feet of the kneeling front rank as the latter’s muskets came up, ready to fire into the approaching cavalry. The face of the closest Austrian square abruptly disappeared behind a line of gunpowder smoke and several more of the cuirassiers were cut down. The rest plunged on, riding into the smoke.

The squares of the enemy’s front line held firm, and the French horsemen were forced to flow round them, fired on as they galloped past. Some tried to lean from the saddles and slash at the Austrians with their swords. Others, more cool-headed, sheathed their blades and drew out their pistols, firing back at point-blank range. All the time, the Frenchmen were steadily cut down and the wounded trickled back across the body-strewn fields towards the French lines. The second wave of horsemen opened ranks to let them pass through, and then moved forward to add their weight to the survivors of the first charge.

‘They’re being cut to pieces,’ Berthier said. ‘They can’t break those squares.’

‘No. But that is not necessary,’ Napoleon responded coolly. ‘Just as long as they pin those Austrians in place, long enough for us to reorganise our lines.’ He looked round at his reserve formations. ‘We’ll need all the guns from the Imperial Guard. Line them up with Eugиne’s batteries. That’ll give us over a hundred pieces to blast the enemy with. See to it at once.’

As soon as the guns were in place, Bessiиres withdrew his battered cavalry divisions and there was another brief lull as the enemy squares formed back into lines and then advanced, en masse, towards the waiting Italians of Prince Eugиne, and the hurriedly assembled battery defending the centre of the Grand Army. With a thunderous roar the guns tore into the enemy lines, carving bloody paths through the leading ranks. Napoleon could only wonder at their discipline as the Austrians closed up the gaps and continued at a steady pace, muskets sloped.

‘My God, Berthier, those men are fearless.’

Berthier nodded, eyes fixed on the terrible carnage being wrought by the continuous blasts of the French guns. Over a thousand men must have been cut down before they came within musket range of the French line. Still their discipline held as their officers gave the order to shoulder their weapons and take aim on the French. Their first volley whirred through the dense smoke hanging in front of the cannon, striking down scores of the gunners. A second volley did as much damage, and there was a brief pause before the first company of Imperial Guardsmen were ordered forward to serve the guns. They slung their muskets over their shoulders and did as they were bid by the artillerymen who had survived the initial volleys.

The two lines stood their ground, the French guns and muskets of Eugиne’s men answered by the massed volleys of the Austrians. Napoleon watched the mutual slaughter without expression. Thousands had fallen, and all the time more were struck down, falling upon the heaped bodies of their comrades. It was a small mercy that the smoke became so thick that it hid the true scale of the horror from the men locked into a mechanical ritual of firing and reloading as swiftly as they could. The carnage amongst the gun crews in front of Napoleon’s position numbed his staff officers, who sat in their saddles and watched the bloody spectacle in silence.

For nearly an hour the firing continued. In that time Napoleon had news that Massйna had managed to form his men up in front of Essling and was starting to push the Austrians back. The cannon on Lobau island were firing across the river into the enemy’s flank, and under attack on three sides they could only endure so much before falling back. On the other side of the battlefield Marshal Davout was also steadily pushing the enemy back. Napoleon glanced at his watch and saw that it was almost noon. He turned to Berthier.

‘It seems that the enemy’s attacks have been checked, and the last of their reserves are committed to the battle. Now is the time for us to mount our own assault, break the Austrian line and defeat the army of Archduke Charles.’

The Emperor’s chief of staff looked round the battlefield. ‘Sire, we have few enough reserves of our own. Would an attack be prudent?’

‘Prudent?’ Napoleon shook his head in pity. ‘Have you no faith in me, Berthier?’

Berthier lowered his gaze.

Napoleon continued. ‘Send orders for the army to attack along the entire line. The main blow will be delivered there.’ He raised his hand and pointed to the ground west of Aderklaa.

‘Yes, sire. And who is to have that task?’

Napoleon thought a moment.‘General MacDonald. His men are the freshest troops we have on the field.’

‘They are also some of the most inexperienced,’ Berthier countered.

‘Even so, they will win the battle for me. What greater glory could a new soldier ask for? Tell MacDonald to form his men up to attack.’

Hundreds of cannon rumbled along a battle line that stretched from the Danube to Wagram, and then down the line of the Russbach river, a distance of nearly eight miles. Opposite the Austrian centre, General MacDonald led his men forward. Eight thousand of them, their battalions arranged in a huge square formation. As soon as the drums beat the advance, the formation marched forward. The men were sweating freely in their stifling uniforms. The ground before them was a patchwork of trampled fields, strewn with bodies and abandoned equipment from two days of fighting. The dead had begun to corrupt in the midsummer heat and the air was thick with the stench of decaying flesh, blood and shit. Clouds of flies and other insects created a steady drone as they gorged themselves.

Ahead, the leading ranks could see the enemy artillery crews hurriedly repositioning their guns as they spied the new threat through the thinning clouds of gunpowder smoke.

‘MacDonald’s men will make a fine target, sire,’ said Berthier. ‘That square of his will be impossible to miss.’

Napoleon did not respond, but just continued to watch intently as the first of the Austrian batteries opened fire. The range was long, and they had loaded the guns with roundshot. The heavy iron balls grounded with a puff of dry soil a short distance in front of the leading battalion before ricocheting through the ranks, mowing down every soldier in their path. More guns opened up and MacDonald’s division began to lose scores of men with each minute that passed. Their progress across the plain was marked by a bloody trail of dead and wounded. As they came within range of case shot the nearest guns unleashed a devastating hail that wreaked even more slaughter on the diminishing French ranks.

Berthier shook his head in wonder. ‘My God, they can’t take much more of this.’

Napoleon sucked in a breath through his teeth. ‘Pray that they do.’

The square staggered on, coming in range of the Austrian skirmishers, who added their fire to the cannon. MacDonald had already lost half his men, Napoleon estimated, yet still they advanced into the teeth of the enemy’s cannon and muskets. At last the survivors were close enough to the enemy line to fire their first volley in reply. The leading battalions deployed, loaded and raised their muskets, and fired at the nearest enemy guns and infantry formations. Napoleon felt a moment of blissful vengeance as the distant figures of Austrian artillerymen were cut down beside their guns.

MacDonald ordered the square to advance again and it pressed on, pausing to fire another volley before bayonets were fixed and they charged into the line of Austrian infantry waiting beyond.

The terrible tension of waiting for the division to get into action gave way to anxiety that MacDonald’s men had suffered too many casualties to carry the day. Napoleon nodded to himself as he made a decision.‘Berthier, we need every available man to support MacDonald! We must send forward what is left of Eugиne’s reserves, and also the Imperial Guard.’

Berthier raised his eyebrows. ‘But sire, then we will have no reserves left. Nothing to face Archduke John should he reach the field.’

Napoleon gestured towards the two battalions assigned to guard the headquarters. ‘That will be our reserve. Send them to cover our right, and order the rest forward to save MacDonald, before it is too late.’

As the reinforcements swiftly advanced over the torn-up plain, Napoleon read through the latest reports from the other sectors of the battlefield. Davout and Massйna were driving back the Austrian flanks and Wagram had been taken by Prince Eugиne and his men. Satisfied that the battle was tilting in his favour, he turned his attention back to the centre. With the aid of the fresh troops Napoleon had sent him, MacDonald was pushing steadily through the Austrian centre. Both sides were exchanging volleys at point-blank range and bodies lay in heaps across the battlefield. The arrival of the Imperial Guard proved to be decisive. After delivering one volley, they charged the Austrian line. There was a brief and bitter struggle and then the enemy broke, thousands of their men scrambling away towards the shelter of the hills running along the edge of the plain to the north.

At long last the Austrian army had been broken in two.

Napoleon stared at the fleeing enemy, too exhausted and too bitter at the cost of the battle to feel any triumph. As the enemy began to pull back the French battalions did not pursue them. The men’s strength had gone. The heat of the two days and the numbing slaughter they had witnessed meant that they had reached the end of their endurance. There was nothing further that could be done with them, Napoleon realised. Any pursuit of the Austrians was out of the question, especially with Archduke John’s army at large. He could only sit on his horse and watch the enemy make their escape, all the while burning with frustration.

Berthier spoke tonelessly. ‘A victory then. My congratulations, sire.’

‘Victory?’ Napoleon blinked his aching eyes and scanned a landscape of shattered buildings, heaps of bodies and the mangled remains of those caught by the full blast of artillery fire. Amid the carnage, the survivors stood, or sat, in a daze, some drinking from their canteens as they slaked their day-long thirst. ‘If this is victory, then I wonder can France ever afford such a victory again?’

Chapter 11

Schцnbrunn, 23 October 1809

A chill wind was blowing across the parade ground outside the yellow and cream walls of the palace, a short distance from Vienna. Overhead the sky was grey and threatened rain. Even so, the display had attracted the usual crowd of people from the city who had paid for tickets to view the spectacle of the Imperial Guard marching in formation, to the tunes struck up by their bandsmen. Some had come to see Napoleon, curious to gaze upon the great man of the day. For most it was the only chance they had to see him since the French Emperor rarely ventured out in public, and then only to attend the opera or theatre, where he sat to the rear of his private box, giving the audience no more than an occasional glimpse of him.

Napoleon stood on the steps of the parade ground, watching his troops march past. It was ten days since the Austrians had finally signed a peace treaty with France. The negotiations had dragged on for months following the battle at Wagram. Emperor Francis had cavilled over every point, playing for time. Napoleon decided that Austria had to be punished, and the eventual agreement forced Emperor Francis to hand portions of his land to France, the Grand Duchy of Warsaw, Bavaria and Russia. Emperor Francis was also required to recognise Joseph as the legitimate King of Spain and to restrict the size of the Austrian army to no more than one hundred and fifty thousand men.

That, Napoleon smiled to himself, had done much to diminish any future threat that might be posed by Austria. As a final reminder to Emperor Francis of the new balance of power that existed between Austria and France, Napoleon had delayed his withdrawal from Vienna. Today’s parade was to be one of the last reviews before the Grand Army began its march back to the Rhine.

The last company of guardsmen stamped to a halt at the end of the line and then a silence fell across the parade ground as Napoleon surveyed the men before him. Four regiments of the Old Guard, the finest soldiers in his army. He gazed fondly at them, even though he kept his severe expression fixed. Many of these men had fought for him at Marengo and Austerlitz. To join their ranks a man had to have served a minimum of five years and fought in two campaigns. That was before they were even considered for selection. The men stared directly ahead, many sporting extravagant moustaches and beards. Their uniforms were clean, their white cross-straps a brilliant white, and their buttons gleamed, due to long hours of careful application of tripoli powder. Their tall bearskin hats and proud bearing made the men seem larger than other soldiers and Napoleon knew that their appearance alone on the battlefield was enough to unsettle an enemy. When they went into action they were utterly fearless and ferocious and only the finest of their foes ever dared to hold their ground against the Imperial Guard.

Napoleon slowly paced down the stairs, followed by Berthier and General Rapp, the commander of the brigade being reviewed. Approaching the guardsmen, Napoleon began his inspection as he strode along each line, occasionally stopping to exchange a word with one of the veterans, conspicuous thanks to the chevrons on their sleeves denoting the number of campaigns they had fought in.

Once the inspection was over, Napoleon returned to the stairs and began to award the promotions, decorations and prizes to each of the recipients called out from the ranks. Each man approached the Emperor smartly, stood to attention while his citation was bellowed out by General Rapp, and then received the appropriate reward, together with the profuse congratulations of his Emperor. But all the time, Napoleon’s mind flitted from one preoccupation to another.

Foremost in his mind was the coming confrontation with the Empress Josephine. His heart felt heavy with remorse at what he must do when he returned to Paris. France needed an heir to the throne. Only royal blood would do, since it would make it impossible for rival rulers to deny that a child of Napoleon lacked the breeding required to rule as the equal of any other emperor, king or tsar. Even though the logic of his decision to divorce Josephine was unassailable, still he felt the sour grief of being forced to act contrary to his will. Despite all the infidelities on both sides, and his frequent despair over her profligacy, Napoleon loved her as no other. It was as if their hearts and minds were bound together, and the prospect of her enforced rejection crushed almost any notion of pleasure in his life.

Once the last of the guardsmen had received his award, General Rapp ordered the soldiers to shoulder their muskets and then, as the band struck up, the battalions marched off the parade ground. As the last company passed by the civilian sightseers began to spill out across the parade ground. Napoleon turned to Berthier.

‘How are preparations for the army’s departure progressing?’

‘The last two corps are ready to march. The imperial baggage train is packed and can leave at any time. There’s only one issue to resolve.’ Berthier paused. ‘That’s the sale of surplus supplies, ammunition and equipment we captured from the Austrians.’

‘What’s the problem?’

‘The Austrians refuse to pay the price agreed when we signed the treaty.’

‘What are they saying?’

‘They’ll pay thirty million francs, sire.’

Napoleon shook his head with a dry laugh. ‘Thirty million! They must think me a fool. No, the price is fifty million, as we agreed. If they don’t pay up then tell that fool, Prince Metternich, that we will not leave Vienna until they do.’ Napoleon’s resolve hardened even as he spoke and he thrust a finger into Berthier’s chest. ‘You also tell him that if we are not paid in full by the end of the year then I will regard the treaty as having been broken, and that means war. You tell him that!’

‘Yes, sire. As you wish.’

‘Austrian bastards,’ Napoleon hissed through gritted teeth. ‘They brought this war on themselves. Emperor Francis is in no position to change the peace terms. I will bring them to heel, whatever it takes.’

He turned away and made his way down the steps to head back across the parade ground to his quarters in the palace. As he did so a young man stepped forward from the milling crowd of awed sightseers and strode towards him. Napoleon noticed him at the last moment and drew up with a scowl.

‘What’s this?’

‘Sire,’ the man said, eyes wide and staring.‘I bring you a petition from all Germans.’

Napoleon glanced over the youth. He was blond-haired, blue-eyed, and broad-shouldered beneath his plain black coat. Napoleon shook his head. ‘You must take it to my clerks. They deal with such matters. Now, then, if you would step away.’

‘No, sire. You will deal with it now!’

The youth lurched forward. There was a dull gleam and General Rapp cried out, ‘Sire! He has a knife!’

Napoleon stared at the youth, frozen where he stood. Then Berthier grabbed his arm and pulled him back, stepping in between his Emperor and the youth. There was a blur of blue uniform and gold lace as Rapp threw himself at the assassin and both crashed down on to the parade ground. Rapp clasped both hands around the wrist of the young man’s knife hand and bellowed, ‘Guards! On me! On me!’

The soldiers who had stood guard on the staircase came dashing over. The youth balled his free hand into a fist and smashed it into Rapp’s face, at the same time kicking out at the general with his feet. But Rapp rolled his weight over the youth’s chest, pinning him down as he held the weapon hand away from them both. A moment later the guardsmen reached the spot, and while one forced the youth’s hand open and took away the knife, the others dragged him to his feet. General Rapp rose to his feet, hatless and breathing heavily as he glared at the youth.

Napoleon pressed Berthier aside and took a step towards the German. ‘You mean to kill me.’

‘Yes!’ the assassin shot back.

Napoleon shook his head. ‘Why?’

‘You are a tyrant. Enemy of liberty. Enemy of the German people.’

‘Enough of that claptrap!’ roared Rapp as he threw a punch into the youth’s midriff. The young man doubled over, as far as the soldiers holding him allowed, and groaned as he gasped for breath. Rapp turned to Napoleon. ‘What shall I do with him, sire?’

Napoleon stared at the youth for a moment, still stunned by the suddenness and surprise of the attack. It was not the first time that someone had tried to kill him, but in the past his would-be assassins had used bombs, poisons and other methods of the coward. This was different. A direct attack on him with a knife, by an assailant little more than a boy who had no hope of escape whether he succeeded or failed in his attempt.

Napoleon cleared his throat nervously. ‘Take him away. Have him questioned. Find out who else is involved in this conspiracy. They will all be made to pay dearly for it.’

Rapp nodded, and gestured to the guardsmen.‘You four, take him to the cellars and wait for me there. The rest, stay close to the Emperor. If anyone else comes too close before you reach the palace, then shoot ’em.’

Napoleon set off, his guardsmen closed up around him, cautiously watching the civilians milling around the parade ground. Those who had witnessed the assassination attempt looked on in silence as the French Emperor and his escort hurried by, and then turned their attention to General Rapp and his small party as they dragged the young man away.

‘Death to tyrants!’ the youth cried out. ‘Death to Napoleon!’ Rapp leaped to his side and smashed his fist into his jaw, silencing him.

A short distance away, Napoleon glanced back at his assailant, and then noticed that his hands were trembling. With an angry frown he clasped them together behind his back and strode towards the palace.

Late in the evening Napoleon descended into the cellars of the palace. General Rapp had taken his prisoner to one of the empty storerooms beneath a little-used section of the palace. There Napoleon found him, with three burly sergeants of the Old Guard, stripped to the waist as they sat on stools around the youth, who was tied into a chair. His coat had been removed, and his white shirt and breeches were spattered with his blood. Rapp’s men had beaten him severely about the face, and by the light of a lantern hanging from a beam above him Napoleon could not recognise the features of the man who had tried to kill him earlier in the day. His lips were cut and swollen, his nose was broken and bloody and his forehead was grazed and cut in places.