Simon Scarrow - Fire and Sword

‘Sire!’ the commander of the escort called out in alarm, dropping from his saddle and running through the snow towards him. Napoleon was gasping for breath and could not reply immediately as the officer leaned over him with a concerned expression. ‘Sire, are you injured? Do you need the surgeon?’

Napoleon shook his head and struggled out of the snowdrift, his grey coat caked in snow. His hat, which he had jammed on to his head earlier, was still there, and as he swept the snow from his coat his breath gradually returned to him. ‘I’m all right. But we’ll have to continue on foot from here.’

One of the escort took the reins of Napoleon’s horse and they trudged on, up the slope, passing stragglers from the dragoons. One man stood over his mount, which he had shot after it fell and broke a leg, busy stripping the horse of the saddlebags and anything else that could be carried away, and he did not look up the Emperor passed by, a few paces away.

Napoleon did not reach the pass until after midday, hours later than he had intended. Conditions there were as bad as they could be. The wind was now so strong that men were having to link arms to stay on their feet.Thick snow blanketed the ground and the combination of the altitude and the icy blizzard had driven the temperature down to well below freezing.The men’s exhaled breath froze into tiny crystals on the front of the mufflers they had pulled up to protect their faces. The colonel of the dragoons was waiting there to urge his men on. He saluted as Napoleon shuffled through the snow towards him.

‘Sire.’

Napoleon nodded a greeting and grasped the man’s shoulder as he cupped his other hand to his mouth. ‘Tough work, Colonel! How are your men faring?’

‘Most have gone through the pass, sire. I’m just waiting here to send the last of them on their way. I’ve ordered the regiment to form up at the bottom of the slope.’

‘Good.You’d better join them.’

‘Yes, sire.’The colonel nodded and Napoleon released his grip.

The pass was a dreadful place under such conditions, and despite his layers of clothing and thick gloves Napoleon could feel his hands and feet beginning to grow numb. Leaving orders for some of his escort to stay behind and urge the rest of the army through the pass, Napoleon carried on, picking his way carefully down the far slope. He passed several more dead horses, and one dragoon who had been crushed when his horse had fallen on him. Already the snow had heaped up around the bodies and they would soon disappear beneath the mantle of white, there to remain until the spring thaw revealed their pitiful remains.

It took the rest of the day and through the night for the army to negotiate the pass and stumble into the town of Villacastin on the far side of the Guadarrama range. But there was little chance to rest the exhausted soldiers. Reports reached Napoleon that General Moore had begun to retreat to the north. A deadly race was on.The British seemed to be making for the port of Corunna where, no doubt, their navy would be waiting to evacuate them. But if Soult was still in a position to block their retreat then General Moore and his men were trapped and would be crushed. Napoleon took warm satisfaction from this chance to humiliate his oldest enemy. Such a catastrophe would rock Britain to its foundations and they would never dare to attempt another campaign in Europe on such a scale again.

So the Emperor drove his men on, often leading the pursuit at the head of a squadron of Guard cavalry as the army sped north.They began to pass the bodies of the first of the enemy’s stragglers, cut down by the pursuing French cavalry.Then came the wagons, lying abandoned at the side of the road. Napoleon rode through towns and villages which had been looted by the British as their discipline began to fail. Some of the redcoats had been so drunk or exhausted that they could not continue and simply sat in the streets waiting to be taken prisoner. But the British were not the only enemies facing the French.

On the morning that Napoleon reached the town of Valderas, a mere two hours after the British rearguard had retreated from the town, they came across a small farm beside the road a short distance away.The farm was deserted, save for the bodies in front of the barn. Two French hussars had been staked, spreadeagled, on the ground. Their eyes had been gouged out and they had been mutilated and disembowelled. But they were the lucky ones, Napoleon reflected.Their officer, a lieutenant, had been nailed, upside down, to the door of the barn. Below him lay the smouldering remains of a small fire. His head and shoulders were burned black as pitch.

‘Bastards,’ someone muttered behind Napoleon.

The captain of the squadron edged his mount forward and cleared his throat. ‘First six men, fall out and bury those bodies.’

‘No!’ Napoleon intervened. ‘Leave them.’

‘Sire?’ The captain turned to him with a surprised look. ‘Surely we can’t leave them there, for all our men to see?’

‘That’s precisely why we are leaving them there. Let everyone in the army know what awaits them if they stray from their comrades to loot, or straggle.’

The captain thought about protesting, but then swallowed and nodded. ‘Yes, sire.’

‘Now let’s go.’ Napoleon spurred his horse on and the small column rode away, leaving the three bodies behind to serve as an example to the men who followed.

That night, as Napoleon ate his supper at a small inn just outside Valderas, Berthier came and sat opposite him with the evening despatches.

‘I’m eating,’ Napoleon mumbled as he chewed on a hunk of bread and then dipped some more into the remains of the stew in front of him. ‘You read. Just the important items. Precis the rest.’

‘Yes, sire.’ Berthier had skim-read the messages and ordered them accordingly. He coughed and began.‘From Soult. He reports that he has skirmished with Moore’s cavalry, and managed to evade the main force by a march to the east.’

‘Evade?’ Napoleon lowered the piece of bread and swallowed as quickly as he could. ‘Evade? What the hell is Soult doing? I ordered him to hold his position, unless he had to manoeuvre in order to cut off the British line of retreat. If he goes east, Moore will escape. Why has he moved?’

Berthier scanned the message and replied, ‘It seems that Soult is concerned that the survivors from La Romana’s Spanish army is closing on him from the north-east. He did not want to get caught in a trap himself.’

‘Pah! La Romana’s army is little more than a band of brigands. Soult has nothing to fear from them.’ Napoleon paused and projected a map of the area in his mind, together with the forces he had set in motion against the British.With Soult to the east the chance to trap Moore was gone. All that was left was the hope of overhauling the British army and forcing it to turn and fight. Napoleon ground his teeth in frustration at his subordinate’s action and roughly pushed away the nearly empty bowl of stew. ‘Have orders sent to every division. Tell them that the Emperor demands one last effort of them. They have but to catch General Moore and they will have brought Britain to her knees.’

‘Yes, sire.’

‘Now that Moore has escaped our trap we no longer need so many troops to continue the pursuit. Soult can deal with it. Reinforce him with Junot’s men and the rest can return to Madrid. I’ll follow Soult with the Imperial Guard as a reserve for the present.’

Berthier nodded.

‘Next message.’

Berthier pulled out the next sheet. ‘From your brother Lucien, sire.’

‘Read it.’

‘ “Your imperial majesty, I write to you briefly to apprise you of certain unexpected developments in Paris which may well be innocent expression of the idiosyncracies of the characters in question, or a symptom of something more sinister.You well know the antipathy that has existed between Fouché and Talleyrand for many years . . .” ’