The Fields of Death - Scarrow Simon (читаем книги онлайн бесплатно txt) 📗
‘Milhaud. It is imperative that we know if Wellington has halted for the night, or if he is using the cover of darkness to continue his retreat. Take your men forward and see what you can find.’
‘Yes, sire.’ General Milhaud saluted and then called out for his men to advance. Napoleon and his escort waited at the side of the road as the dark figures of the mounted column splashed by and disappeared into the night. There was no sound for nearly ten minutes, then all at once a bright flare of light appeared on the ridge, followed by the boom of a gun. More jets of flame stabbed out along a line bestriding the road and Napoleon nodded with grim satisfaction. Wellington was there all right. Close enough to be forced to stand his ground and fight in the morning. Napoleon turned his horse back and returned to the farmhouse. The headquarters servants were still preparing the accommodation, so he rested on some straw spread in a wide trough in one of the barns as he waited.
His fury at Ney had hardly abated. The opportunity to force a battle on Wellington at the crossroads had been lost, and now the arrival of the storm had hampered the army’s attempt to close up on their enemy. The men were exhausted, and strung out along the road towards Quatre Bras. It would be many hours before they caught up with the vanguard, ready to continue the pursuit once the storm had passed.
Napoleon knew that some measure of the blame attached to him as well. Too many hours had passed that morning before he had grasped the need to move on Wellington’s army. Exhaustion had played its part. He had not slept properly for many days and the normal heightened alertness of his mind was dulled. But there was something else, he mused. He had been so certain of his assumptions that Blьcher had deserted his allies, and that Ney would have taken Quatre Bras. That was an error of judgement. The breathless speed with which he had recovered power in France, together with the hysterical joy that had greeted his return, had made him feel invulnerable and infallible. Today had been a rude reminder of a commander’s need to constantly adapt to circumstances.
As soon as the farmhouse had been prepared for the Emperor and his staff, Napoleon summoned his senior officers. Over the next hour, the marshals and generals of division arrived, in drenched coats and splattered with mud. There was only one room in the farmhouse large enough to accommodate them all and most of the officers had to stand as they crowded about the Emperor, who was himself perched on a stool.
‘It is my intention to attack Wellington tomorrow. He has chosen the very worst of positions to defend. Behind him lies the forest of Soignes. If his army breaks, they will not be able to retreat and we shall annihilate them. The opportunity we lost earlier today will be set right.’ He shot a cool glance at Ney and the Marshal pursed his lips angrily. ‘It is therefore vital that as many of our men as possible are in place before dawn. I have no time for excuses, gentlemen. You will do whatever you must to ensure that your formations reach the field in time. Questions?’
‘Sire.’ D’Erlon raised his hand. ‘Will Grouchy be close enough to take part in the battle?’
‘I don’t know. I am still waiting for him to report his progress. We must assume that he will not reach us in time to intervene. That need not concern us. We are strong enough to carry the day.’
‘And what of the Prussians?’ asked Prince Jйrфme. ‘There is a danger that they might intervene, sire.’
‘Not if Grouchy contains them. Besides, as far as we know, their line of retreat will take them away from Wellington. I think we can discount the prospect of the Prussians’ causing us any difficulties.’
Jйrфme shook his head. ‘I am not so certain, sire.’
‘Really?’ Napoleon raised his eyebrows as he looked at his younger brother. ‘Why is that?’
‘Two hours ago I had a meal at an inn at Genappe. A waiter told me an interesting story. He claimed that Wellington and his staff ate there this afternoon. He overheard one of the staff officers say that Blьcher was at Wavre, and that he might move to support Wellington tomorrow.’
The other officers stirred at this news. Napoleon was silent until they settled down again. ‘I thank you for that intelligence, Jйrфme. But let us wait for Grouchy’s report. Then we shall know for certain.’
‘What if the waiter was telling the truth, sire?’ Jйrфme persisted.
‘I don’t see how Blьcher can present any danger, as long as Grouchy is forcing him back, away from Wellington.’ Napoleon waved his hand dismissively. ‘Blьcher is of no concern to us. All that matters is the army waiting for us at Mont-St-Jean.’
Waterloo, 10.00 p.m.
Colonel Frazer was standing stiffly before his commander in chief, trying not to show any expression as he endured the tirade.
‘It is bad enough having to contain the foolihardiness of my cavalry without my artillery blasting away at every shadow they see in the darkness,’ Arthur said bitterly.
‘Begging your pardon, your grace, but it wasn’t shadows my boys were shooting at. It was Frog cavalry.’
‘I don’t give a damn. It’s the job of the vedettes and the pickets to deal with such things. Not the damned artillery. Now Bonaparte knows where your batteries are sited, thanks to your gunners’ overeagerness. I’ve a damned good mind to break every sergeant back to private over this, d’you hear?’ Arthur leaned across his table, bearing his weight on his knuckles, and tried to moderate his tone.‘Now then, Frazer, you will have to see to it that the guns are repositioned. Perhaps a little hard work in the rain and the mud might help to clear the heads of your men, eh?’
‘Yes, your grace. I’ll give the order at once.’
‘I’d rather you oversaw the repositioning in person.’
‘Yes, your grace. Will that be all?’
Arthur nodded and his senior artillery officer turned smartly and marched to the door of the cottage. The sentry opened the door for him and Frazer disappeared into the rain. Once the door was closed, Arthur eased himself back down into his chair and gently rubbed his eyes. There was little doubt that Bonaparte knew that his army was in position on the ridge. Uxbridge’s cavalry patrols reported that more French troops were massing opposite the ridge with every passing hour. There was no question of further retreat. The position at Mont-St-Jean was the last decent defensive ground before Brussels, and there Arthur must stand and fight. His best hope was that Blьcher would respond to his request and send some portion of his army to support Arthur. As yet there had been no answer.
Le Caillou, 4.00 a.m., 18 June
Napoleon stamped the mud from his boots as he handed the oilskin cape to a servant. He had just returned from a visit to his outposts to try to see if there was any sign that the enemy were withdrawing. The ridge was quiet and the sentries patrolling in front of the allied army were clearly visible against the dull hue of a multitude of camp fires burning on the reverse slope. Reassured that Wellington remained in position, Napoleon had returned to his headquarters. As he entered the dining room of the farmhouse Soult approached him.
‘Sire, a message has arrived from Grouchy.’
‘Ah, at last. What does he say?’
‘He has determined that the bulk of the Prussian army had retired on Wavre, and not towards Liиge.’
‘Wavre?’ Napoleon’s brow creased as he concentrated on the implications of this news. It seemed that there was some truth in the story told by the waiter in Genappe after all. If Blьcher was at Wavre then he needed to be watched closely to ensure that the Prussians did not intervene in the day’s business. ‘Does Grouchy say what his intentions are?’
