The Fields of Death - Scarrow Simon (читаем книги онлайн бесплатно txt) 📗

‘That’s it, lads!’ Ney bellowed, as he punched his fist into the air. ‘Hit ’em hard!’

They fired another volley. This time the range was so close that hardly a shot missed and over a hundred more of the enemy cavalry went down. Napoleon rode forward to join his men, and saw that the rearmost Austrians were already breaking away, urging their mounts back up towards the ridge. The panic leaped from man to man and soon all the surviving cavalrymen were falling back. A handful of officers, with their guidons, tried to rally the men on the ridge, but they flowed past and carried on.

The French line continued forward, picking its way over the heaped bodies of men and horses, with a handful of shots as injured horses, lashing out in agony and terror, were put out of their misery to prevent them from causing injury with their iron-shod hooves.

Ney reined in alongside Napoleon, his expression flushed with excitement. ‘Did you see ’em? Ha! They bolted like rabbits. That’ll do our lads a power of good.’

Napoleon returned his grin. He felt his heart beating quickly and the familiar thrill at the prospect of victory, and, beyond that, the hope that he might yet overcome his enemies.

‘Press the attack, while their cavalry is disordered.’

‘Yes, sire.’

‘That’ll be one enemy column less to deal with.’

Ney’s expression became more sober.‘One, yes. But how many more are there?’

‘Be assured, my friend, however many there are, as long as they serve them up to us one at a time, then we must win in the end.’

‘And if they are not so foolish as to do that?’

Napoleon turned away and made no reply as he stared ahead. Ney was right to fear that the enemy would learn from their mistakes and concentrate their forces. Napoleon hoped that he could inflict enough damage to cause the allies to pause, and possibly retreat. In that event he could present himself to the French people as their saviour and might yet buy enough time to rebuild the army so that it could engage the enemy on more even terms in the following year.

The rational part of his mind mocked him for his hopes. So much of his strategy depended on the enemy being utterly foolish, and his own men performing like the finest soldiers he had ever commanded. There was not one chance in ten of winning the present campaign, he told himself. And yet . . . what else could he do?

Napoleon’s thoughts were interrupted by Ney, who had pulled a little further ahead, and had now reached the crest of the ridge. On either side the line had halted and the men stared before them in silence. Napoleon dug his spurs in and cantered forward to join Ney, ready to bitterly rebuke the soldiers who were throwing away the chance to charge down the disordered enemy.

Instead, the words died in his mouth as he beheld the sight before him. Thousands of enemy infantry and horsemen were advancing across the countryside towards the slender French line. Dense columns rippled along lanes and over fields. Long trains of field guns and their wagons trundled amongst them. This was no rearguard they had encountered, but the vanguard of the main Austrian army itself.

‘My God,’ Ney muttered. ‘There must be sixty thousand of them. At least.’

Napoleon nodded.

Ney scrutinised the approaching horde for a moment. On either side, the French soldiers, who had been cheering loudly a moment earlier, now stood in silence, aghast at the horde marching towards them. The cavalry that they had broken was already rallying at the foot of the slope, and more columns of horsemen were cantering forward to reinforce them.

‘Sire, we cannot stand and fight. We must fall back. At once.’

Napoleon turned to inspect the ridge. The slope was steeper on the far side. He thought aloud. ‘We have a good position here. If we can get our guns up here, then—’

‘No, sire,’ Ney said firmly. ‘We cannot stand here. We will fall back across the river at Arcis and blow the bridge.’

Napoleon stared at him. ‘You dare to give the orders?’

‘I am the commander of these men,’ Ney replied defiantly.‘I will not order them to go to a pointless death.’

‘They are soldiers. They will do as their Emperor commands. As will you.’

‘No. I will not. I am in command here, and my order is that they retreat. You may stay and fight if you wish.’

Without waiting for Napoleon to respond, Ney pulled his reins and steered his mount forward towards his staff officers. ‘Fall back! Form column and march for the bridge at Arcis. In good order. This is not going to turn into a rout.’

Napoleon glared at him, speechless. His heart was filled with bitter outrage that Ney had defied him so forcefully to his face. Then he felt a stab of fear and anxiety. What had happened to his authority? Why did his presence no longer seem to effortlessly command the opinions of others? He watched Ney sidelong and wondered how much trust he could afford to place in his marshals any more. He felt a strange tingling in his arm and looked down to see that the hand holding his reins was trembling. He stared at it for a moment, then tightened his fingers and turned his mount towards Ney.

‘Take command here,’ he ordered flatly. ‘I’m returning to headquarters.’

‘Yes, sire,’ Ney replied with a curt nod.

‘Report to me later.’ Napoleon turned his horse about and spurred it into a gallop, back down the slope towards the river.

Napoleon remained at his headquarters for the next four days, anxiously reading reports from his patrols and the commanders of the hard-pressed armies struggling to delay the advance of the allies. After the skirmish near Arcis there had been no more reports of isolated allied columns small enough for Napoleon to risk attacking. The enemy had adapted their strategy, he realised grimly. On the evening of the fourth day there was a message from Marmont informing the Emperor that he was powerless to prevent the allies from taking Paris. At once Napoleon summoned Marshal Ney and thrust the despatch towards him. ‘Read.’

He settled into his chair by the fire and waited while Ney concentrated on the message. At length the marshal handed it back to Napoleon, who tossed it on to the fire. ‘I want as few men aware of the situation as possible. Clear?’

‘Yes, sire. What do you intend to do?’

‘There is nothing I can do to save Paris. The Prussians will reach the capital at least three days before we could.’ Napoleon paused a moment and then shrugged. ‘Paris will fall. Therefore it makes sense to order Marmont to gather every man that he can and abandon Paris and combine forces with us.’

‘And then?’

‘We march east, and strike towards the Rhine. If we cut the enemy’s supply lines, then there is still a chance to force an armistice on them and buy some time.’

‘For what?’

Napoleon looked at him in surprise. ‘Why, to continue the fight, of course.’

Ney sighed. ‘Sire, the war is lost. You are defeated. France must come to terms.’

‘Damn France!’ Napoleon slapped his hand on to his breast. ‘I am France. Me. And I will not surrender. Not while I yet draw breath.’

Ney returned his glare with a calm, almost pitying expression. ‘If Paris falls, then I will conduct my own negotiations with the Austrians.’

‘How dare you?’

‘Because I will do what is right, sire.’ Ney stiffened his back and bowed his head. ‘Is there anything else, sire?’

Napoleon’s lips pressed together in a thin line as he regarded his subordinate. Then, when his temper had subsided, he shook his head. ‘This is treason.’

‘No, sire. Treason is committed when a man betrays the interests of his nation. Any man.’

‘I see.’ Napoleon sneered. ‘Then I had better leave, and find myself a commander who still has the courage to fight.’

If Ney felt any anger at this slight to his bravery he showed no sign of it. Napoleon pointed towards the door. ‘Now get out of my sight.’