The Fields of Death - Scarrow Simon - Страница 25

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‘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

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