Authors: Simon Scarrow

The Fields of Death (88 page)

BOOK: The Fields of Death

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A large bee came into the room, its droning buzz growing louder while it flitted from side to side as it approached the bed. Napoleon’s eyes sought the insect out and he smiled faintly as it landed on the bedpost by his feet. A bee, the symbol he had chosen for his emblem. It was a good omen.

That night, under cover of darkness, the army crept as close to the frontier as it dared. The soldiers on picket duty patrolled the bank of the Sambre, exchanging good-humoured insults with their unsuspecting Prussian counterparts on the far side of the river, just as they had done for many weeks. As each formation reached its position the men were ordered to fall out and settle down in silence. They had been issued with rations for five days, and as dawn broke over the gently rolling countryside the men chewed on bread and cheese, as they had been forbidden to light fires to cook the stew that they usually ate.

Even though he rose at first light, Napoleon did not leave headquarters to ride through his army to offer encouragement, as had been his custom on the eve of battle. As far as the allies knew, he was still in Paris, and it would be foolish to risk being greeted by cheers that might be overheard by the enemy pickets.

Marshal Ney arrived late in the afternoon. His coat was covered in dust and his cheeks flushed from the exertion of the ride from his estate outside Paris. Napoleon stared at him frostily as the marshal presented himself in the small office that had been commandeered from the owner of the inn.

‘You are late, Ney.’

Ney sucked in a deep breath. ‘I might have been given more warning, sire. I came immediately I got your summons. What is it that you require of me?’

‘I need you to command the left wing of the Army of the North. Do you accept?’

‘Yes, sire,’ Ney replied without hesitation. ‘When do you expect the enemy to attack us?’

Napoleon could not help a small smile and glanced at the timepiece mounted on the wall. ‘It is we who will be attacking, Ney, in less than twelve hours from now.’

Ney’s eyes widened. ‘Sire, I know nothing of your plans. I need time to take up my command.’

‘Your officers have already been briefed. Your chief of staff can provide you with all the details that you need. Do you still accept the command, or do you consider yourself unfit to meet the challenge?’

Ney glared back. ‘I will do my duty, sire. I will lead the left wing of the army, wherever you command me to go.’

‘Very well,’ Napoleon stood up and held out his hand.‘My dear Ney, I have never needed you more than at this hour. You have no idea how much it comforts me to know that I will have the bravest of my marshals fighting at my side when we face the enemy.’

Ney puffed out his cheeks at such brazen flattery. Yet he took the emperor’s hand and shook it firmly. ‘I can think of no higher honour, sire.’

‘Then it is settled.’ Napoleon releaded his grip. ‘Given the time we have left before the advance begins, I suggest that you collect your orders from Soult and ride to join your men.’

‘Yes, sire!’ Ney stood stiffly and bowed his head, then turned and strode out of the office.

The soldiers of the Army of the North spent the remainder of the day, and the first part of the night, resting in the fields and woods close to the peaceful flow of the Sambre. Then, at midnight, the sergeants and corporals quietly crept down the lines of sleeping men and shook them awake. In the cool night air the dark figures formed into columns and moved forward to their start positions. Elsewhere, in the artillery camps, the gun crews harnessed the horse teams and limbered the cannon before they too rumbled forward. Ahead of the dense columns of infantry and artillery the cavalry mounted and fanned out along the bank, and then waited for the order to cross the frontier. At three in the morning the sentries silently fell back and on the far bank the Prussians were puzzled when there was no reply to the usual greetings they called across the water.

At headquarters Napoleon sat with his staff. Some of the officers conversed in low tones, but most sat in silence, glancing at the hands of a large clock perched on the mantel above the fireplace in the map room. The orders had been sent out to every formation hours earlier and the desks, stools and document chests had been packed on to the wagons allocated to Soult and his officers. There was a lull in the frantic activity of the last few days as everyone waited for the army to be unleashed against the allies. The hour hand of the clock crawled towards three and then, finally, Napoleon eased himself on to his feet, and his officers scrambled up from their chairs and faced him expectantly.

‘Gentlemen! The attack begins. God willing, this time in a week we shall be celebrating in the streets of Brussels.’

Soult raised his fist and punched the air. ‘Long live France! Long live the Emperor!’

His officers repeated his cry, again and again, while out in the night tens of thousands of men and horses rippled forward, advancing across the frontier.

Chapter 56

Arthur

Brussels, 15 June 1815

‘ ’Tis a damned disgrace,’ Picton grumbled as he took his place at the table. ‘The government has sent us not much more than half the troops your grace requested. And most of the beggars are green. Much of the army is foreign and nearly half the men speak German.’

‘It is an infamous army, to be sure,’ Arthur agreed calmly. He had invited his senior officers to an early dinner so that they might discuss their preparations for war before attending a ball that evening. Arthur had arrived to take up his command barely two months earlier and had been horrified by the lack of readiness evident in the lowlands. The failure of the British government to provide him with enough soldiers was only one of the difficulties he had had to contend with.

Faced with the new threat,Arthur had sought the services of as many as possible of the officers he had commanded in the Peninsula. Most had answered the call, but others had been imposed upon him, like his cavalry commander, the Earl of Uxbridge. It was the same with many of the staff officers who had been appointed by the Duke of York before Arthur arrived from Vienna.

Then there was the dubious quality, and loyalty, of the allied troops that made up two-thirds of his army. King William of the Netherlands had at first refused to agree to place his men under Arthur’s command and had reluctantly consented only after intense diplomatic pressure from London, and the payment of a large subsidy in gold. Arthur had decided to distribute the most unreliable of his allied troops amongst his redcoats to lessen the impact of any treacherous sentiments. Picton was right to complain, Arthur reflected as the other officers took their seats. But that was the hand that he had been dealt and he must do the best he could.

At least Kitty and his sons were safe. Somerset had escorted them back to England before joining Arthur in Brussels. They had left Paris only a few days before Napoleon had arrived and Somerset had taken the commendable precaution of burning all the embassy’s records before leaving. Unfortunately, the Bourbons had failed to show the same good sense and Napoleon had discovered the secret treaty that had been signed between Austria, France and England at the start of the year. When the details had been published in the French newspapers the Prussians and Russians had been outraged, and many of the officers in Blücher’s army were hostile and suspicious of their English allies in consequence.

When the soup had been served, Arthur leaned towards Uxbridge and asked quietly, ‘Any fresh reports of enemy activity on our right flank?’

‘Nothing new. The Frogs seem to be there in strength, judging by what they show us along the frontier. Of course, if I had permission to send patrols into France we would have a far clearer picture.’

‘Out of the question. My orders are to hold the army in readiness until war is declared. If we cross the frontier we become the aggressors.’

‘Something of a nicety,’ Uxbridge said dismissively. ‘It is hard to believe that war can be avoided at this stage.’

‘Nevertheless, we have our orders. In the meantime, I am concerned that Bonaparte may attempt to strike to the west of Brussels, and cut us off from the sea. The army must be ready to concentrate against an attack from that quarter. So, we must have adequate warning from your cavalry patrols, Uxbridge. They must stay alert.’

‘I have them in hand, your grace. You’ll be amongst the first to know if Boney goes for the coast, or takes the Mons road to Brussels.’

‘That is well.’ Arthur paused a moment. ‘Blücher’s chief of staff is demanding to know where I intend to concentrate my army in the event of an attack. I cannot tell him until I know where the main weight of the French army is positioned.’

‘Damned Prussians,’ Uxbridge muttered before he raised his spoon and took a sip. His eyes lit up. ‘I say, fine soup.’

Arthur suppressed a sigh. He had been trying to keep up the morale of his army, and that of his Belgian hosts, by insisting that the social life of Brussels continue as if there were no threat of war. The difficulty of that was that many of his officers were playing their part too well and appeared to have scant concern for the presence of a French army gathering on the other side of the border.

He forced himself to make inane conversation with Uxbridge, until the end of the first course. Then, as the dishes were cleared away, a staff officer entered the dining room and hurried to Arthur’s side and leaned towards his ear.

‘Your grace, there is a Prussian officer waiting in the hall. He says he has an urgent despatch from Marshal Blücher’s headquarters.’

Arthur nodded, and smiled apologetically to his guests as he rose from his seat at the head of the table. ‘Pray continue the meal, gentlemen. I shan’t be long.’

He followed the officer outside to where the mud-bespattered Prussian waited. Despite his anxious expression, the Prussian snapped to attention and bowed stiffly before speaking in heavily accented English.

‘I come from General Gneisenau, your grace. The chief of staff begs to inform you that the French attacked our position at Thuin at eight o’clock this morning.’

‘In what strength?’

‘Enough to drive in our outposts and then take the town, your grace.’

‘Are the French attacking anywhere else?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Very well.’ Arthur nodded his thanks. ‘Tell General Gneisenau that I am concentrating my army. I will send word of my position as soon as I can.’

The Prussian bowed his head again and turned to stride back towards the entrance of the house Arthur had rented in the heart of the city. Arthur turned to the staff officer. ‘Get to headquarters at once. Tell Somerset to issue orders to every formation. The army is to form up and be ready to march as soon as orders are issued.’

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

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

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

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

The officers turned towards him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘So it seems.’ Uxbridge nodded.

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

BOOK: The Fields of Death

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