Simon Scarrow - Fire and Sword

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The third in this epic quartet of novels focusing on two giants of European history, Wellington and Napoleon. In the early years of the nineteenth century, Arthur Wellesley (elevated to Viscount Wellington in the course of the novel) and Napoleon Bonaparte are well-established as men of military genius. Wellesley has returned from India, where his skill and bravery made a remarkable impression on his superiors. He faces trials and tribulations on the political scene before becoming embroiled militarily in Copenhagen, then Portugal and finally Spain. Napoleon, established as Emperor, is cementing his control on Europe, intending finally to crush his hated foe across the Channel: Britain. The time is fast approaching when Wellington and Napoleon will come face to face in confrontation and only one man can emerge victorious...

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‘But he will be needed for the pursuit, sire. Once the battle is won.’

‘It won’t be won. Not now. Not without Murat. He must charge. Murat must buy us the time to re-form our line and for Ney and Davout to move into position. He must charge at once. See to it.’

The snow had almost stopped as Murat’s cavalry, eighty squadrons of superbly mounted men, trotted forward to the right of the town in a vast column of brilliant uniforms and gleaming horseflesh.The officers in the church tower gazed on the spectacle with awe, and desperate hope. Only Murat could save the Grand Army now. The chasseurs led the charge, carving a path through the re-forming infantry column that the two battalions of the Imperial Guard had driven out of Eylau. Across the front of the French centre the enemy recoiled and then fled, running for the main Russian line stretching across the ridge one and a half miles away. Murat’s cavalry chased them down without mercy, sabres flashing as his men struck again and again at enemy fugitives, leaving bodies scattered across the battlefield to add to the corpses of Augereau’s men.

As Napoleon watched the charge through his telescope he could just pick out the flamboyant uniform of Murat at the head of the second wave of cavalry, brandishing his riding crop as he urged his men on.The vast column of horsemen charged, through the remnants of the first Russian line and up the slope towards the ridge. The crews of the cannon that had cut Augereau’s men to ribbons fired a few last shots at the oncoming French cavalry and then turned and ran for the safety of the squares that were forming along the Russian centre. The cavalry raced on, engulfing the squares and passing on through the heart of the enemy army. A handful of men paused by the abandoned guns to drive iron spikes into the vents with small mallets to make the cannon unusable for the rest of the battle.

Even Napoleon was taken aback by the grandeur and shock effect of the cavalry charge. Europe had seen nothing like it, and mounted as they were on the pick of the Prussian horses captured after Jena the French riders were invincible.The enemy’s cavalry attempted a counter-attack but their mounts were lighter and easily brushed aside. The last wave of French horsemen disappeared over the ridge and for a moment a brief lull hung over the battlefield as the battered French soldiers took full advantage of the respite Murat had bought them and began to re-form their line. A message arrived from Davout informing the Emperor that the marshal’s corps was in position and ready to begin its flanking attack.

‘But where is Ney?’ Napoleon fumed. ‘Does he not know that he is needed if we are to deliver a fatal blow to the enemy? Where the devil is Ney?’

As noon passed and the skies began to clear, there was a sudden flurry of activity along the ridge and a moment later the French cavalry reappeared over the crest, scattering some of the enemy soldiers before they rode back down the slope, cutting down any Russians that remained in their path, and returned to the flat area south of Eylau where they had been positioned at the start of the battle.

The sound of cannon fire from the right flank announced that Davout was beginning to launch his attack on the Russian left and all eyes in the church tower turned in that direction.As the afternoon wore on and the sounds of fighting intensified the first reports from Davout claimed that the enemy to his front was steadily being forced back. Still there was no sign of Ney and Napoleon’s frustration and anger at his subordinate’s tardiness tore at his self-control so that he stamped a foot angrily.

‘Why does Ney not march to the sound of the guns? Has he not learned the first principle of command?’

Berthier finally brought news of Ney late in the afternoon, just as word arrived from Davout that the Russians had heavily reinforced their left flank and were pressing Davout’s men back in the gathering dusk.

‘Sire, report from Marshal Soult’s headquarters,’ Bethier panted after his hurried climb up the stairs.‘Ney’s corps is arriving on the left flank. He intends to attack at once.’

‘How good of him,’ Napoleon replied acidly.‘He may be just in time to save us from defeat rather than complete the victory that should have been mine.’

The rolling thunder of artillery sounded from the north, and as the Emperor and his staff waited for further news the winter night drew in and darkness crept across the battlefield, punctuated by squibs of bright light as cannon and musket volleys from both sides were fired into the gloom.As Napoleon hoped, Ney’s attack forced the Russians to ease the pressure on Davout. Slowly, as the night dragged on, the firing on both sides petered out. By midnight the battlefield was silent, save for the pitiful cries of the wounded still lying on the frozen, snow-covered ground.

Napoleon had descended from the tower and stood in the nave warming himself at a fire that had been made from the pews. He had summoned his marshals to consider the next day’s action. His officers gathered round the fire, faces lit in the wavering glow of the flames.The exhaustion of the day’s fighting was etched into their faces as they attended their Emperor. Napoleon turned first to Ney.

‘Would you care to explain why it took you so long to join us today, Marshal?’

Ney frowned and there was no hiding the anger in his reply. ‘I did not receive your order to close up on the main army until after two in the afternoon, sire.’

‘Did you not hear the guns? You must have done.’

‘The wind and the snow prevented the sound from carrying to us, sire.’>

Even though it was true, it still sounded like an excuse and Ney shifted uneasily under the gaze of the other officers. Napoleon stared at him for a moment before taking a deep breath and turning to the rest.

‘We have been hit hard, gentlemen, according to the first strength returns to reach headquarters. Only a quarter of Augereau’s corps are still fit to fight and there have been heavy casualties to all formations, except Ney’s.We can only hope that the enemy have also suffered badly.’

Soult sniffed. ‘They have, sire. Our bullets were not made of cotton.’

‘Thank you, Soult,’ Napoleon said testily. ‘The question is, will the Russians still have any fight left in them come the morning? If so, will our men be able to withstand an attack? Should we even consider a withdrawal? Your thoughts, gentlemen?’

‘We should attack,’ Ney said firmly. ‘Now. While the enemy are still shaken. Seize the initiative, sire.’

Napoleon shook his head. ‘The army is in no condition to attack. The men are exhausted and I dare say their only thought at the moment is finding somewhere warm enough to spend the night so that they don’t freeze to death.’

Augereau cleared his throat. ‘Sire, we cannot attack. Equally we cannot retreat.The men’s morale is low enough as it is. If we turn from the enemy now we risk a general breakdown in discipline. If the enemy pursue us, we’re finished. We must hold our position, for a day at least. While the men recover.’

Several of the other senior officers nodded and Napoleon considered the matter as he rubbed the bristles on his chin. There seemed to be little choice. ‘Very well, then. The army stands to for the night, in case the enemy mount an attack. When dawn comes, Ney’s corps will open an assault on the enemy’s flank.The entire Imperial Guard will move up to the centre of the line and attempt to break through the Russian position. That’s the best we can hope for, gentlemen. Return to your commands to await orders.You are dismissed.’

Before the sun rose over the battlefield, a pale orange disc against a grey sky, Napoleon’s fears for the losses incurred by the Grand Army were borne out as the last of the strength returns reached headquarters.There had been over twenty thousand casualties, nearly a third of the army. By the gathering light of the dawn the battlefield looked like an open-air slaughterhouse. A vast expanse of corpses, individual and heaped, men and horses, marked the passage of Augereau’s ill-fated advance, the Russian counter-attack, and Murat’s charge. The bodies had frozen in the night and the cold had claimed the lives of many of those who had lain wounded on the field.

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