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

‘As of this last night’s returns we have eighty-nine thousand infantry, twenty-two thousand cavalry and three hundred and sixty-six guns.’

Napoleon frowned. ‘I had expected more.’

‘A division was diverted to the Vendйe to suppress the rebels there, sire. On your orders.’

‘Ah, yes. A pity. Well, I am confident that we have enough men for the task. In any case we shall have the advantage of surprise and that is worth more than any division, eh?’

‘Yes, sire.’

‘So it only remains to decide the time and place of the attack,’ Napoleon mused as he returned his attention to the map.‘We will strike here, at Charleroi, in the early hours of the fifteenth of June.’

Soult’s eyebrows rose. ‘So soon?’

‘We cannot attack soon enough. Issue the orders. The cavalry is to screen our approach to the frontier tonight. No fires are to be lit until the campaign begins and every man is to be as quiet as possible. The enemy must not guess our intentions. Now, I am tired. I need sleep.’ Napoleon turned and headed back towards the door. ‘I trust that you have arranged quarters for me?’

‘Of course, sire.’ Soult hurried after him. ‘I’ll have a clerk show you the way.’

The room was spacious and a comfortable breeze cooled the air as Napoleon lay on the bed, stripped down to his shirt and breeches. Even though he was exhausted by the frenzied activity of the last three months, no sleep would come. He lay still, staring at the ceiling, as orderlies and officers came and went in the rooms below. Beyond the walls of the inn he could hear the faint hubbub of the army; shouted orders, the occasional rattle as a recently recruited drummer boy practised his beats, and the high-spirited cheers and laughter of men on the verge of a great adventure. Napoleon’s restless mind grappled with the supreme challenge posed by this latest campaign. Despite what he had said to Soult he knew that the odds were against him. Each of the allied armies matched his in size. Unless he could force his way between them there was little chance of victory, and without a decisive victory there was no hope of breaking the will of the vast coalition gathering to overwhelm him.

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.