Authors: Simon Scarrow
Fire and Sword (21 page)
‘There!’ He pointed the enemy out to Berthier. ‘I told you it would work. Send word for Davout and Bernadotte to join us at once. And issue a general order to the army. Let them know that there will be a battle tomorrow. Tell them that we shall win a great victory.’
‘Yes, sire.’
As night fell over the winter landscape Napoleon entertained his senior officers with a simple dinner at the inn in Bellowitz, a small village at the foot of the Zurlan hill. The main course, a steaming bowl of fried potatoes and onions, was consumed with relish and accompanied by some of the wine looted in Vienna. As they ate, reports continued to come in of the loom of campfires on the Heights, directly opposite the French centre, so there could be no doubt over the enemy’s intentions for the next day.Then, at midnight, Napoleon and his officers heard the beating of drums and wild cheering close at hand.
‘What’s that?’ Napoleon asked. ‘Berthier, find out what is going on.’
Berthier smiled. ‘Sire, have you forgotten?’
‘Forgotten?’
‘The date.’ Berthier pulled out his pocket watch. ‘It is past midnight, sire.’
‘So?’
‘It is the second of December. The first anniversary of your coronation.The men are celebrating.’
‘Of course,’ Napoleon replied quickly, angry with himself for letting such an important detail slip his mind. ‘Then I must let the men see their Emperor.’
He left the table and went outside, followed by the others. It was a cold night and his breath plumed in the light cast by the brilliant stars scattered across the heavens. All around the village, and up on the Zurlan, bright campfires flickered in the night, and the cheers of the soldiers carried clearly to the Emperor. As he emerged from the inn, there was a burst of applause and greetings from the men of the Imperial Guard who stood in the street. Some carried torches made from twisted straw and Napoleon could see the warm grins and smiles of his veterans, men who had served with him in previous campaigns. One of the grenadiers took off his bearskin hat and placed it over the muzzle of his musket before hoisting it high into the air as he cheered. Others followed suit and as Napoleon descended the small flight of steps into the street an avenue of cheering soldiers opened before him. He walked slowly down the street, smiling back at his men with genuine warmth.
‘Long live the Emperor! Long live Napoleon!’ The cries echoed down the street and were quickly taken up by the troops outside the village until the night resounded with the chant. Napoleon felt his heart swell with affection and gratitude to these men who had followed him through the years, and now trusted him with their lives. He turned to Berthier and muttered, ‘Did you put them up to this?’
‘No, sire. They do it because they love you.’
‘Love me?’ Napoleon smiled, and for a moment he was tempted to think Berthier must be flattering him. But there was no guile in the faces around him and he in turn realised that Berthier spoke the truth. He patted Berthier on the arm.‘I think this has been the finest evening of my life. And with the dawn will come my finest day.’
Chapter 15
Austerlitz, 2 December 1805
At four in the morning the officers and sergeants of the Grand Army began to rouse their men. Most of the campfires had died down but there was still enough light from the glowing embers for the soldiers to pull on their boots, adjust their uniforms and prepare their weapons for the coming battle. It had been a bitterly cold night and a thick mist had risen from the Goldbach stream which now blanketed the land on either side, so that the French troops were all but invisible to their enemy up on the Pratzen Heights. The celebratory mood over the Emperor’s first anniversary had given way to a quiet contemplation of what was to come. The veterans, for the most part, went about their preparations with a fatalistic calm.The younger and more inexperienced soldiers either were anxious and filled with dread of being wounded or were full of bravado and spoke with a cheery loudness that fooled no one except themselves.
To the south of the Zurlan hill lay the vast sprawl of Murat’s cavalry lines where the troopers were carefully saddling their mounts, checking every strap and buckle to ensure they would be well seated if they needed to charge.The cuirassiers helped each other into their polished chest and back plates before pulling on their helmets with their flowing horsehair crests. In other regiments the dragoons, hussars and lancers made ready and then led their horses into line to await the start of the battle.
On the great mound of the Zurlan the artillery crews carried the first charges from the caissons up to the massed batteries, where some guns were trained on the Heights opposite while others were aimed to the south to pour an enfilading fire on the enemy’s attacks across the Goldbach stream. Even though it was still dark there was no doubt about where the strongest concentration of the enemy forces lay. A faint loom across the skyline in the direction of the village of Pratzen revealed their position and the French gunners marvelled at the strength of the forces ranged against them.
Napoleon led his staff up the hill to the command post that had been prepared for him the afternoon before. He had slept in a barn at the foot of the hill on a bed of straw, and had managed to snatch three hours of deep sleep. Like most of his veterans Napoleon had long since developed the knack of quickly falling into a deep sleep when the chance arose. He felt the familiar light ache of excitement mingled with anxiety in the pit of his stomach. Even now, his mind raced over the details of his plan and the disposition of his troops, and there were still doubts in his mind.
If, for any reason, Davout’s corps failed to arrive on the right flank in time to stiffen its defence, then the enemy might turn the flank and roll up the French line. Davout had visited headquarters the previous evening to report and give his word that his men would reach the battlefield in time to play their part.The marshal had looked weary, and no wonder, Napoleon reflected. He and his men had marched over eighty miles from Vienna in two days after receiving Berthier’s summons. The corps would be exhausted, and yet the fate of the Grand Army might well rest on their shoulders.
Then there was the question of the timing of the main attack on the Pratzen Heights. Too soon and the enemy would spot the danger and be able to respond in time to block the thrust.Too late and the French right might be broken and both armies would merely have wheeled round, locked on each other like a pair of battling stags. Napoleon knew that the attack would have to be perfectly timed to achieve its purpose, and the decision when to give the order would depend on how long the weakened centre and right of the French line along the Goldbach could hold its ground. He stared to the right and cursed the heavy mist. It might well be useful to conceal the French positions from the enemy, but it also concealed the men from the eyes of their commander and it was essential that Napoleon knew exactly what was happening along the length of his battle line throughout the coming day.
He turned to Berthier.‘I want regular reports from the commanders, down to brigade level. On the half-hour, understand? Make sure that there are adequate messengers to carry it out.’
‘Yes, sire.’ Berthier added a note in his log and then turned to one of his junior staff officers to pass on the Emperor’s order. As they talked behind him, Napoleon closed his eyes for a moment, and mentally projected a map of the surrounding area in his head. Marshal Lannes was on the left flank, with orders to hold any Austrian attacks. Murat’s cavalry would form up in support of Lannes, and be launched in pursuit of the enemy if things went well. If they didn’t it would be Murat’s responsibility to cover the retreat of whatever was left of the Grand Army.Then there was Bernadotte’s corps, entrusted with the defence of the Zurlan, but ready to exploit any weakness in the enemy line should the opportunity arise. Behind the Zurlan was the Imperial Guard acting as a reserve, and the two divisions of Soult’s corps chosen to lead what should be the decisive attack - if the battle went as planned, Napoleon reminded himself. He allowed himself a wry smile as he recalled something he had heard years before: once a battle began the very first casualty of the day was always the plan. Just one division, commanded by General Legrand, was entrusted with holding back the main weight of the enemy attack along the bank of the Goldbach. Legrand must hold on until Davout’s hard-marching corps arrived on the right flank and could support him.
‘Dawn, sire.’ Berthier drew his Emperor’s attention to the east, where the dull pink orb of the sun was rising over the crest of the Pratzen Heights, picking out the Russian and Austrian troops massing to attack.
‘Very well. Give the order for Soult’s assault columns to cross the stream and form up. Tell Soult to make good use of this mist, and keep his men hidden for as long as possible.’
‘Yes, sire.’
A dull boom echoed across the valley from the direction of Pratzen and the assembled officers turned towards the sound of the signal gun. A moment later there was a sudden detonation of cannonfire away to the right, followed by the faint rattle and pop of muskets.
Napoleon glanced down as he fished his watch out of its fob pocket. ‘Just short of seven o’clock.’
Berthier strained his ears and eyes as he stared towards the right flank of the French line. But the mist and the smoke from the campfires still obscured the view and only the crest of the Heights and the Zurlan itself stood proud of the miasma. Several columns of enemy troops were marching swiftly down the opposite slope into the mist, and more troops could be seen moving from the Russian and Austrian centre to reinforce the attack. Berthier concentrated on the flank again. ‘Looks like they are attacking the village at Tellnitz.’
Napoleon listened for a moment and nodded. ‘Tellnitz. Send someone to find out what’s happening.’
As Napoleon stood waiting, the firing intensified all along the line, and when the first reports came in it was clear that the enemy was indeed mounting a powerful attack on the French right.Within an hour word came that Tellnitz had fallen and the village of Zokolnitz soon followed.
Napoleon nodded grimly as Berthier told him the news.
‘We must retake those villages. The Goldbach has to be held for a while longer. Long enough to draw in more men from the enemy centre.’ He paused. ‘How close is Davout now?’
‘His light cavalry is already supporting the men defending Tellnitz.’
‘What about his infantry?’
Berthier flicked through the messages he had received until he found the most recent one from Davout. ‘His lead brigade, under General Heudelet, should be close to Tellnitz by now.’
‘Then send Heudelet forward to retake the village, and hold it at all costs.’
‘Yes, sire.’
Almost the moment Tellnitz was retaken a fresh assault was launched against the French, and though Heudelet reported that his men had fought heroically they were completely outnumbered and forced to give ground, so for the third time the village changed hands. But Napoleon’s attention was fixed on the Heights. The mist and fog were slowly beginning to lift, revealing more of the slope, but thankfully still concealing Soult’s two divisions, whose general had come up to the command point in person to receive his orders. Above them the enemy continued to reinforce their attacks on the right of the French line. Napoleon watched carefully, his mind rapidly estimating the speed with which the enemy columns were crossing the battlefield to join the assault.Then he turned to Soult and gestured to him to come forward, indicating the Heights opposite.
‘I want your assault force to attack in the direction of Pratzen, understand?’
‘Yes, sire.’
‘How long do you think it will take them to reach the crest?’
Soult looked over the rising ground in front of his two divisions and thought quickly. ‘Twenty minutes, sire, maybe less.’
Napoleon looked up the slope and estimated the timing for himself. It was too soon.The enemy must be given as much chance to commit himself to the right of the French line as possible. Raising his telescope, Napoleon trained it on two large columns of Austrian troops marching south along the Heights. He watched them for another quarter of an hour before he snapped the telescope shut and turned to Soult. ‘Go now. Move as swiftly as you can and strike the enemy hard.’
‘Yes, sire.’ Soult saluted. ‘You can depend on me.’
‘I know.’ Napoleon punched the marshal lightly on the shoulder. ‘Go.’>
Soult hurried to his horse, mounted and rode down into the mist. All was still to Napoleon’s immediate front. Over to the right the firing had intensified once again as yet another enemy attack was thrust home. Napoleon nodded with grim satisfaction. There were sure to be heavy casualties in Legrand’s division, but it was necessary if the enemy were to be lured into the trap he had set for them. A trumpet blared out from the mist at the bottom of the slope and a moment later the deep rattle and boom of drums announced the advance of Vandamme’s and St-Hilaire’s divisions. There was something quite otherworldly about the shouted orders, beating of drums and throaty roars of ‘Long live the Emperor!’ when there was still nothing to see. Then the first spectral shapes began to emerge from the mist, the dispersed screen of skirmishers advancing ahead of the main columns. Perhaps a hundred paces behind them came the colours of the leading units, followed by the dense mass of infantry striding up the slope. Sunlight glinted off the gilded eagles atop their standards, and the bristling mass of bayonets, and the men cried out again,‘Long live the Emperor! Long live Napoleon!’
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