Simon Scarrow - Fire and Sword

As light faded on the afternoon of their arrival, Arthur stood on the deck of a frigate, wrapped in his coat as he surveyed the bleak winter landscape on either bank. A light shower of snow had fallen earlier and coated the roofs of the nearest hamlet in a pale sheen.The sky was dark and grey and threatened yet more snow.

Behind Arthur the lieutenant of the watch was pacing up and down as his sailors completed the furling of the sails and descended below decks for their evening meal. Arthur took one last glance at the sky and was about to head back to his cabin when there was a shout from aloft.

‘Deck there! Boat approaching!’

Arthur paused, and then turned to scan the river behind him in the gathering gloom.

Sure enough, a ship’s gig had rounded the nearest bend and was making straight for the frigate, which was anchored at the head of the line of transports.An army officer was seated in the stern and as the boat drew up to the side of the frigate he jumped up, and nearly tumbled over the side in his lubberly eagerness to clamber up on to the deck. A moment later, with the helping hands of the sailors in the gig, the officer, a young major on the headquarters staff, scrambled on to the deck and addressed the nearest midshipman.

‘You! Where can I find Major-General Wellesley?’

Arthur strode towards him. ‘Here!’

The officer, panting, hurried up to Arthur and fumbled inside the breast of his coat for a despatch. ‘From the flagship, sir.We got the news just over an hour ago.’

‘What news?’

‘There’s been a great battle, sir.’ The man’s eyes were wide with excitement. ‘Not far from Vienna. At a place called Austerlitz.’

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Chapter 13

Napoleon

As soon as the arrangements had been made for the paroling of some of the prisoners captured at Ulm and sending the rest into holding camps in Bavaria and France, the Grand Army wheeled about and marched against the Russian army led by Kutusov. For the remainder of October, and into the early days of November the soldiers trudged towards Vienna, driving the enemy before them.The weather continued to worsen as autumn began to give way to winter.

On some days, there were bright spells when brilliant white puffy clouds billowed serenely across a clear sky.Then there were times when thick banks of rain and mist blotted out the sun and icy squalls lashed down, soaking the men through to the skin and turning the routes along which they marched into glutinous slippery bogs. At night the temperature dropped swiftly and the men huddled around their campfires, trying to dry their clothes and get some warmth into their shivering frames as they supped on whatever food they had managed to forage during the afternoon. The lucky ones, mostly veterans who had long since learned the knack of finding good shelter, slept under cover, while the rest made themselves as comfortable as they could in the open. There were frequent frosts in the morning when the men woke to find their belongings covered in a gleaming patina of tiny ice crystals that gleamed pale blue in the hour before dawn. After a quick meal the men formed up, stamping their feet to keep warm, and then, when the order was given, they advanced towards the enemy again.

As his carriage lurched forward with the long train of headquarters wagons and mounted staff, Napoleon glanced through the streaked glass of the window and muttered to Berthier, ‘This mud may yet undo us.’

Berthier had been dozing, but he blinked his eyes open and looked round. ‘Sorry, sire, what did you say?’

‘This mud is slowing our advance down too much.’

‘It hampers the enemy as much as us, sire.’

‘True,’ Napoleon conceded. ‘But time is more against us than the enemy.We have to finish the war, swiftly and decisively.They only have to hold out long enough to demonstrate to the rest of Europe that France, that I, can be held at bay.’

Berthier nodded. ‘That is the danger, sire. But you have acted as quickly as you can.’ He paused for a moment to consider the disposition of his master’s forces.‘As long as Murat keeps pressing the Russians back they will have no chance to concentrate their forces with the Austrians.’

Napoleon smiled faintly. ‘I can’t say I feel terribly comforted by the thought of depending on a hothead like Murat.’

Berthier kept his silence. Not only was Murat senior to him, but he was also married to the sister of Napoleon, and any criticism of the impetuous cavalry commander was likely to be taken as a criticism of the Emperor’s family. Berthier knew that he was useful to Napoleon, but his position was not so secure that he dared to offer criticism of Marshal Murat. So he remained quiet and waited for Napoleon to continue.

‘We have to keep driving the enemy back towards Vienna,’ Napoleon said firmly. ‘If we can threaten their capital, then they will feel compelled to turn and fight us.’

‘What if they don’t, sire?’

Napoleon considered this for a moment. If the Austrians followed tradition they would see the fall of their capital as marking the end of the war. Therefore they would fight, must fight, to defend Vienna. And for that they would have to stop retreating and turn to face the Grand Army.The only doubt in Napoleon’s mind concerned the actions of the Russians. Kutusov could decide to stand alongside the Austrians, or continue to fall back and await the arrival of reinforcements before facing Napoleon. As long as Murat kept driving Kutusov away from Vienna and the Danube, then Napoleon would be free to destroy the divided allies one at a time. He turned his attention back to Berthier.

‘The Austrians will fight. They are too proud to surrender their capital, and too foolish to do anything else.’

Berthier’s eyebrows flicked up for an instant. ‘I trust you are right, sire.’>

There was a rap on the door of the Emperor’s carriage and Berthier lowered the window. Riding alongside was a hussar, his saturated coat glistening in the rain. He leaned towards the window and offered a sealed despatch to Berthier.

‘Signal from Paris, sir. Marked urgent.’

Berthier took the despatch with a nod and slid the window up as the hussar wheeled his horse round in the mud with some difficulty and rode off. Berthier broke the seal and held the paper out to Napoleon, who shook his head wearily.

‘You read it.’

‘Yes, sire.’ Berthier unfolded the message and scanned it hurriedly, then read it again more slowly as he took in the details with a growing sense of shock and anxiety over the Emperor’s reaction to the news.

‘Well?’ Napoleon asked softly as he leaned his head back on the cushioned seat and closed his eyes. ‘What do those fools back in Paris want with me now?’

Berthier cleared his throat nervously. ‘There has been a naval battle, sire. Admiral Villeneuve and his fleet encountered the British navy off the coast of Spain.’

Napoleon’s eyes snapped open and he sat up straight.‘Ah! At last he’s got off his arse and done something! What happened?’

‘Sire, it appears that he was defeated.’

‘Defeated?’ Napoleon sneered.‘I can imagine. He ordered his men to turn tail the moment the first ship lost a mast. The man is as cowardly as he is incompetent.’

‘No, sire. Not on this occasion, it appears. He stood his ground and fought the British.’

‘And?’

‘He was beaten, sire.’

‘Beaten? How badly?’

Berthier glanced at the message from Paris, then replied,‘It seems we have lost upwards of twenty sail of the line, sunk or taken.The rest were dispersed as they broke off the engagement.’