The Fields of Death - Scarrow Simon (читаем книги онлайн бесплатно txt) 📗
As he made a show of dealing with his civil obligations, all the time Napoleon’s mind was focused on planning the coming campaign, selecting his officers carefully. Murat’s request to serve under him was brusquely declined. Murat had foolishly declared war on Austria as soon as he heard of Napoleon’s escape from Elba and was defeated shortly thereafter and forced to flee to France. After his earlier treachery Napoleon could not trust him.
His uncertain hold on power meant that he must leave Davout to control Paris in his absence. Berthier would have been his first choice as chief of staff of the new Army of the North, but early in June came news that Berthier was dead. He had fallen from a window of his home in Bamberg, but it was not clear if it was an accident or something more sinister. In his place Napoleon appointed Soult, despite Soult’s protest that he lacked the ability to run the Emperor’s general staff, and was better employed on the battlefield.
On 7 June Napoleon ordered that the frontier with Belgium be closed. As a further security measure no mail or civilian traffic was allowed on to the roads, while the soldiers of the Army of the North began to concentrate on Philippeville less than a day’s march from the border. A week later Napoleon’s carriage and cavalry escort trundled into the small town of Beaumont where the headquarters for the army had been established. The usually quiet streets of the town were filled with soldiers and they jumped to their feet and cheered the instant they were aware that their Emperor had joined them. Napoleon, though exhausted by the preparations for the campaign, forced a smile and waved to them. Even amid the wild celebration his mind was coolly assessing their morale and he was pleased to see that there was no hint of the dull mood of resignation that had characterised the soldiers he had led a year ago. They pressed round the carriage, following it through the streets until it turned into the coachyard of the inn where Soult and his staff were waiting.
The officers had been alerted to his approach and were already lining the short walk to the entrance of the inn. As the carriage rumbled to a halt on the cobbles, Soult strode across the yard and bowed his head while a footman helped the Emperor down.
‘Is everything ready?’ Napoleon asked curtly.
‘Sire, I have the honour to report that the Army of the North awaits your orders.’
‘Very good, Soult.’ Napoleon smiled and patted the marshal on the shoulder.‘Then it only remains to settle the final details of my plans.’ He gestured towards the entrance. ‘Inside.’
The two passed between the lines of staff officers, who bowed their heads as the Emperor passed. Napoleon noticed a few familiar faces, but most were unknown to him.
‘I take it that you had difficulties reassembling my old headquarters staff?’
‘Indeed, sire. Some had accepted service under the Bourbons, others were exiled or had left France. I have gathered the best men that I could find at short notice. They seem capable enough.’
‘Soult.’ Napoleon lowered his voice. ‘The fate of France will be decided in the next few days, a few weeks at the most. I am depending on you, and your staff. You shall not fail me, in any detail, is that clear?’
‘Yes, sire.’
They entered the building and proceeded through a small hall into the dining room. Every table had been pushed together in the centre to provide a map table for Soult and his staff. Small campaign desks and stools had been set up along the walls, and were presently piled with paperwork. There was little sense of the order that Berthier had insisted on, Napoleon reflected as he removed his jacket and slung it over the back of a chair. The weather in the last few days had been warm and the room was sweltering.
‘Open some windows,’ Napoleon ordered as he spread his hands on the table and leaned forward to inspect the main campaign map. While Soult unfastened the latches and thrust the windows open Napoleon took in the details of the Army of the North’s deployment, as well as the forces of Blьcher and Wellington.
‘How accurate is our intelligence on the enemy’s positions?’
Soult joined him at the table. ‘As good as it can be, sire. We have many sympathisers amongst the Belgians and they have been feeding us with regular reports on the enemy. As you can see, their forces are still widely dispersed. I estimate that it will take them a minimum of three days to mass their armies once the order is given.’
Napoleon considered the map for a moment. ‘Let us assume the worst and say a maximum of three days.’ He paused for a moment and then smiled faintly. ‘There is something else that works in our favour. See how their lines of communication are routed in opposite directions: Blьcher’s east towards the Rhine, while Wellington’s stretch to the coast, at Ostende. Let’s play on that. Have a cavalry brigade detached from the army and make a feint towards Wellington’s communications. That should distract him. When we strike, their natural impulse will be to close up on their supply lines, and that will create a weak point at the junction of their armies, here.’ Napoleon reached forward and tapped the map, indicating the road leading from Charleroi on the border straight to Brussels. ‘That is where we must strike, Soult. The Army of the North’s main thrust must be along this road. We shall divide them and crush each in turn.’
‘Very well, sire.’ Soult nodded approvingly. ‘Which first? Blьcher or Wellington?’
Napoleon was silent for a moment before he responded. ‘Blьcher, I think. He is the more aggressive of the two. We can rely on Wellington to conform to his usual caution. He will wait for us to come to him. And while he waits, we will deal with Blьcher.’
Soult stirred uncomfortably. ‘Do not underestimate Wellington, sire. He is more bold than you think.’
Napoleon looked at his chief of staff and shook his head. ‘You overestimate his abilities because he has beaten you, Soult. Just the same as the other marshals he humbled in Spain and Portugal. You walked into the traps that he set, all of you. I will not be so easily fooled.’
‘Sire, you are wrong. If you had faced Wellington last year then you would know. He is a man to be reckoned with, and his soldiers would follow him to the ends of the earth.’
‘It is you who are wrong, Soult. I know how to beat Wellington. Besides, he does not command the same army any more. Wellington has a pot-pourri of nationalities fighting under him. Less than half of his men are British, and he dare not trust his Belgian units. While he faces such difficulties he need not concern us unduly. Is that clear?’
Soult stared defiantly at his Emperor for a moment, then gritted his teeth and nodded. ‘Yes, sire.’
‘Good.’ Napoleon turned back to the map and examined the disposition of his army.‘Marshal Grouchy has been notified that he is to command the right wing, I take it?’
‘Yes, sire.’
‘Then I intend to appoint Marshal Ney to command the left wing, while I remain with, and command, the reserve.’
‘Ney?’
‘You question my decision?’
‘Of course not, sire,’ Soult replied hurriedly.‘It’s just that Ney was the commander in chief of France’s armies under Louis. Can you trust him?’
‘Can I afford not to?’ Napoleon responded. ‘You know his reputation. The soldiers love him. He has great influence over those officers who served under the Bourbons. If Ney serves me, then we may be sure that those officers will follow his example. So, Ney commands the left wing.’
‘Very well, sire. When will Ney be joining the army?’
‘I sent for him shortly before I left Paris. Have him brought to me the moment he arrives.’
‘Yes, sire.’
Straightening up, Napoleon rubbed his haunches, which were aching after the long journey by carriage from the capital.‘What is the strength of the army?’
