Authors: Simon Scarrow
Fire and Sword (43 page)
‘Would you care to explain why it took you so long to join us today, Marshal?’
Ney frowned and there was no hiding the anger in his reply. ‘I did not receive your order to close up on the main army until after two in the afternoon, sire.’
‘Did you not hear the guns? You must have done.’
‘The wind and the snow prevented the sound from carrying to us, sire.’>
Even though it was true, it still sounded like an excuse and Ney shifted uneasily under the gaze of the other officers. Napoleon stared at him for a moment before taking a deep breath and turning to the rest.
‘We have been hit hard, gentlemen, according to the first strength returns to reach headquarters. Only a quarter of Augereau’s corps are still fit to fight and there have been heavy casualties to all formations, except Ney’s.We can only hope that the enemy have also suffered badly.’
Soult sniffed. ‘They have, sire. Our bullets were not made of cotton.’
‘Thank you, Soult,’ Napoleon said testily. ‘The question is, will the Russians still have any fight left in them come the morning? If so, will our men be able to withstand an attack? Should we even consider a withdrawal? Your thoughts, gentlemen?’
‘We should attack,’ Ney said firmly. ‘Now. While the enemy are still shaken. Seize the initiative, sire.’
Napoleon shook his head. ‘The army is in no condition to attack. The men are exhausted and I dare say their only thought at the moment is finding somewhere warm enough to spend the night so that they don’t freeze to death.’
Augereau cleared his throat. ‘Sire, we cannot attack. Equally we cannot retreat.The men’s morale is low enough as it is. If we turn from the enemy now we risk a general breakdown in discipline. If the enemy pursue us, we’re finished. We must hold our position, for a day at least. While the men recover.’
Several of the other senior officers nodded and Napoleon considered the matter as he rubbed the bristles on his chin. There seemed to be little choice. ‘Very well, then. The army stands to for the night, in case the enemy mount an attack. When dawn comes, Ney’s corps will open an assault on the enemy’s flank.The entire Imperial Guard will move up to the centre of the line and attempt to break through the Russian position. That’s the best we can hope for, gentlemen. Return to your commands to await orders.You are dismissed.’
Before the sun rose over the battlefield, a pale orange disc against a grey sky, Napoleon’s fears for the losses incurred by the Grand Army were borne out as the last of the strength returns reached headquarters.There had been over twenty thousand casualties, nearly a third of the army. By the gathering light of the dawn the battlefield looked like an open-air slaughterhouse. A vast expanse of corpses, individual and heaped, men and horses, marked the passage of Augereau’s ill-fated advance, the Russian counter-attack, and Murat’s charge. The bodies had frozen in the night and the cold had claimed the lives of many of those who had lain wounded on the field.
At first light the French outposts had reported no sign of the Russians and now cavalry patrols reported that the enemy army had pulled back during the night and was retreating to the east.As Napoleon inspected the battlefield in the company of his marshals he could see that his men had reached the end of their endurance. As he approached, they rose sullenly to their feet, and when their officers called on them to cheer their Emperor there were few cries of‘Long live the Emperor!’ and many more calls of ‘Long live peace!’ instead.
Napoleon’s expression was fixed in a cold fury as he passed on and his staff eyed him anxiously as they approached the small hillock where the square of French infantrymen had perished the day before. As they stood on its crest, surrounded by thousands of stiffening bodies, Ney shook his head. ‘What a massacre. And without result.’
Napoleon rounded on him. ‘Enough! We have won a victory here. The enemy are in full retreat and left us in possession of the battlefield.’
‘Battlefield?’ Ney spoke wearily. ‘This is no battlefield, sire. It is the graveyard of the Grand Army.’
‘Silence, Ney! It is a victory, I tell you. Berthier, you will draft a despatch to send to Paris.You will tell them that I won a great victory at Eylau, after a gallant fight by our men.You will say that we suffered seven thousand casualties, and inflicted at least twice that on the enemy. The despatch is to be copied and distributed across Europe.’
‘And published in the army newspapers, sire?’ asked Berthier.
Napoleon was silent for a moment and then shook his head.‘Not for the present.The men are too tired to read even good news.’
He stared round at his officers, challenging anyone to defy him. No one dared speak. Napoleon clasped his hands behind his back and abruptly turned and began to pick his way through the bodies as he made his way back towards Eylau. After a moment’s hesitation his officers filed after him, in silence.
Despite what he had said Napoleon was under no illusion about the damage done to his men. The Grand Army could not continue the campaign. Cold, weary, hungry and badly shaken, they were in no condition to fight. There was nothing for it but to pull back, return to winter quarters and wait for spring to arrive.
Then the Russians must be beaten decisively and forced to make peace. Before the rest of Europe saw through the pretence that Eylau was any kind of victory and closed on Napoleon like wolves circling wounded prey.
Chapter 26
Arthur
London, February 1807
The cries from upstairs reached a new pitch and Arthur dropped the cards on the table and rose up from his chair to make for the door.
‘Easy there, Arthur,’ Richard said calmly from the other side of the table as he looked through his hand and made a quick calculation of the odds. ‘I’ll have another card, if you please.’
Arthur stared at him.‘Damn you and your cards! My wife is in pain. She needs me.’
‘She is in labour,Arthur,’ Richard replied with the casual indifference of a man.‘It is a natural part of the process of giving birth.The pain will pass and you will have a child. Kitty is in good hands. There is nothing you can do to help, so come and sit, and continue the game.’
A fresh cry of agony came from the room above and Arthur hesitated for an instant before he made himself resume his seat and pick up the deck of cards. However, his eyes fixed on the ceiling and his brother had to cough lightly to get his attention.
‘Another card, if you please.’
‘What? Oh, yes.’ Arthur glanced down and flipped the top card over on to the table in front of Richard. A nine of diamonds.
‘Damn.’ Richard frowned.
Arthur absent-mindedly gathered in the cards and added his brother’s stake to the small pile of coins in front of him. As he dealt the next hand he spoke with forced calm.
‘Is it always like this?’
‘What?’
‘All this pain? The suffering of the wife and the anxiety of the husband?’
‘Oh, yes.’ Richard smiled. ‘It was the same every time with Hyacinthe.A lot of noise, shouting, insults and so on. I soon learned that it was best to keep out of it and let the womenfolk tend to her.’
‘I think it would be best if I went and comforted her. Kitty needs me.’
‘No she doesn’t,’ Richard replied firmly. ‘Trust me. Now deal me another card.’
Arthur obliged and his brother examined his hand and laid it down. ‘I think I’ll stick with that.’
Arthur flipped his over. An ace and a king. Richard frowned as his stake was swept away once more.
‘I came here to offer you comfort and support and you insist on fleecing me. I’ve had enough of cards. Besides, your mind is not on the game.’
‘How could it be?’ Arthur replied with a nod to the ceiling as Kitty cried out again. ‘My mind is on my wife and her suffering.’
‘Then we must find other means of diverting your attention.’ Richard poured himself another glass of port from the decanter and topped up Arthur’s glass. ‘Drink. It will help. Now then, I’ve been meaning to ask you, how long do you think the present government will last? It seems that the so called ministry of all the talents is missing the most vital talent of all in the field of politics, namely that of self-preservation. ’
Arthur could not help smiling as he nodded his agreement.‘They do seem intent on failure.’
‘As well as undermining me as much as they can.’
‘That is just the Whigs, Richard. Most of the Tories are ambivalent about the charges against you, if not actually supportive of your position.’
‘That is small comfort.And I do question why my own brother lends his support to such a coalition of my enemies.’
Arthur sighed wearily. ‘Our country is at war, Richard. We cannot afford any unnecessary dissention in Parliament. So I must support the government, even if some of its members are hell-bent on ruining your reputation.’
‘War?’ Richard mused. ‘A strange kind of war it seems to me. After Trafalgar and Austerlitz Britain rules the seas while France rules the land, and we are condemned to regard each other warily, but unable to fight.’
‘That will change one day. And Britain has the advantage of being able to take the war to the enemy. Bonaparte does not have that choice. As for your situation, I wish it were otherwise. However, I doubt the present government will last much longer. And if Grenville and his coalition government fall, I pray to God that the next ministry is more determined to continue the fight against France.’
‘I pray so.’ Richard paused at a fresh cry from upstairs. When it had passed he continued,‘Grenville is doomed if he persists in attempting to mollify the Irish and the Catholics.’
Arthur nodded. As ever, the opponents of British rule in Ireland had drawn great comfort from Napoleon’s triumphs and once news of Jena reached the ears of the Irish revolutionaries there had been uprising in the countryside. Several land agents had been murdered and some estates burned to the ground. As usual, the officials in Dublin had called out the army and the militia and suppressed the rebels mercilessly, hanging any ringleaders they captured and scattering the bands of rebels with a volley or two of musket fire.The spirit of rebellion still festered in Irish hearts and in an attempt to assuage such passions the government had proposed to ease some of the restrictions placed on Catholics.
‘What else can the government do?’ Arthur shrugged. ‘Any prospect of peace with France died with Charles Fox. Britain is renewing the struggle and needs order. If that means satisfying the demands of the Catholics, so be it.’
‘Whatever the feelings of people here in England? Surely you remember what happened when that man Gordon stirred up the rabble the last time there was an attempt at Catholic relief ?’
‘How could I forget?’ Arthur vividly recalled the days of rioting, the burning down of public buildings and the bloody manner in which the army had restored order to the streets of London. ‘But we were not at war then. People are more mindful of the need to do what is necessary to beat Bonaparte.’
‘You think so?’ Richard looked surprised. ‘Arthur, you are a fine soldier, but a poor politician. Forgive me for saying so, but the national interest is not at the top of most politicians’ list of priorities. If political capital can be made out of resisting Catholic relief, then it will be so.As surely as night follows day.Why, I have even heard that the King himself intends to intervene to prevent the passage of any such bill through Parliament.’
‘That would be an act of madness. He would not presume. Surely?’
‘Would he not?’ Richard smiled. ‘And as for madness, let us say that his majesty has hardly availed himself of a full measure of sanity since he came to the throne.’
Like many Englishmen Arthur did not wish to be reminded of King George’s mental infirmity in an age when the very principle of monarchy was under widespread attack. He cleared his throat nervously. ‘I am certain that the King would not challenge the authority of Parliament over such an issue. Especially when Britain is at war and a man’s service to his country is more important than the question of his faith.’
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