The Fields of Death

by Scarrow, Simon

  Across the width of the battlefield the cavalry surged forward in a massive wave, their swords, and the helmets of the dragoons, glittering in the sunlight. Then the magic of the moment was lost as they surged amongst the French soldiers. Swords slashed left and right as the horsemen, caught up in the bloodlust of the charge, carved their way through their enemy. Here and there, small knots of men banded together around their eagle standards and tried to make for high ground as they held the British cavalry off at bayonet point. A handful of battalions in the French reserve line had the sense to form square and slowly made their way eastwards as the horsemen flowed round them.

  Arthur gestured to his staff to follow him and galloped down on to the plain to follow the cavalry, ordering the infantry to join the pursuit as he passed them. Glancing towards the Heights he could see that Hill’s column had taken the length of the ridge and was now descending towards Vitoria to join in the destruction of the French army. Towards the river the sound of cannon fire was fading away and as Arthur rode over a small hillock he could see the first columns of Graham’s men marching on Vitoria. Beyond them, a host of French soldiers was retreating towards the rolling country to the east. All around Arthur and his party the ground was littered with dead and wounded Frenchmen. A number of guns had been abandoned as their crews had cut the horses free of the limbers and ridden off in a frantic attempt to escape the pursuing cavalry.

  Ahead, as they approached Vitoria, Arthur could see the cavalry flowing round each side of the town. A short distance further on and he saw that the landscape to the east of the town was covered with wagons and carriages, their drivers whipping their horses on in a frenzied attempt to escape as the fleeing infantry caught up with them and hurried on. A few paused by abandoned or overturned vehicles to snatch up any easily available loot before running on, with terrified looks back over their shoulders. Behind them, the British cavalry came on, many of them forced to slow down as the riders threaded their way through the wagons to get at the enemy. Other units, commanded by cooler heads, had managed to direct their men around the sides of the wagons to avoid being caught up in the tangle of vehicles, soldiers and camp followers. Arthur reined in on a small knoll just to the north of Vitoria.

  There was little doubt that his victory was complete. Aside from a few battered divisions fighting a rearguard action as they withdrew to the east, the bulk of the French army, its baggage, most of its guns and, most important of all, the war chest of King Joseph, would be taken. The last alone would provide the wherewithal for the army to operate for some months independently of the ports on the northern coast of Spain.

  General Alava coughed. ‘My lord, may I congratulate you on a most brilliant victory.’

  Arthur looked at him coldly.‘You may, once the victory is in the bag, and not before.’

  ‘But my lord, look there,’Alava protested, sweeping his arm across the panorama of abandoned vehicles between which the British cavalry pursued the enemy. ‘There is your victory!’

  As the officers paused to watch the final destruction of the French army Arthur noticed that more and more of his cavalry were breaking off their pursuit and heading for the baggage train. The first of the infantry had just begun to catch up with their mounted comrades and were dashing through and round the town to join the orgy of looting that was breaking out.

  ‘Damn them!’ Arthur cursed as he snapped his telescope shut and thrust it into his saddle bucket. ‘The bloody fools are letting the enemy escape.’

  Sure enough, the remnants of the enemy army were streaming away towards the low hills to the east, wholly unhindered as the allied soldiers began to break ranks and descend on the baggage train, desperate not to miss out on the plunder.

  ‘Sir?’ Somerset spoke quietly. ‘What are your orders?’

  ‘Orders?’ Arthur shook his head. ‘What is the point of giving orders to that rabble? The scum of the earth.’ He drew a deep breath and sighed. ‘Very well. I want every formation that has yet to reach Vitoria halted and sent back at least three miles. We must have some order established if there is going to be any kind of pursuit tomorrow.’

  ‘Yes, sir. And where will you establish headquarters? Vitoria?’

  ‘No. I have no desire to witness the spectacle of my army turned into a mob of thieves. I will be at Arinez. Find me there.’

  ‘Yes, my lord.’

  ‘One final thing. And do this at once. I want a company of reliable men. Men that can be trusted not to join in the looting. They are to locate the French army’s pay chest. Once they have located it, they are to guard it with their lives.’

  ‘I understand, my lord. I’ll see to it.’

  As Somerset rode away, Arthur took one last long look at the wagons and carriages, thousands of them, being systematically looted by his men. Then he turned his horse away from the spectacle and headed back east towards the village of Arinez, at the foot of the two hills rising up from the valley floor. He gritted his teeth and muttered again,‘Scum of the earth.’

  Late that night Somerset reached the headquarters that had been set up in a tavern a short distance above the village. Arthur was sitting out in the open at a long wooden table by the light of a lantern. A folded map lay before him, together with a small notebook and pencil. He was staring out across the valley towards Vitoria and the blaze of torches and bonfires that defined the extent of the baggage train. He looked round as Somerset approached the table.

  ‘You’ve taken a long time.’

  ‘I apologise, my lord, but it took a while to locate the wagons with the enemy’s pay chests.’

  ‘You found them then?’ Arthur’s expression brightened. ‘Well done!’

  ‘I found some of them, sir. They have been placed under guard.’

  ‘Some of them? How much exactly?’

  ‘Difficult to say. At a guess I would imagine there is perhaps a quarter of a million francs in gold remaining.’

  ‘A quarter of a million?’ Arthur rubbed his cheek wearily. ‘My spies reported that there was five million in those wagons. Now it’s in the pockets of that rabble. And not just the gold. They’ll be loaded down with every valuable they can find. Then there will be the drink and there are sure to be fights. I dare say the army will be unfit to continue the campaign for days.’

  ‘That might have been true even if they had not given in to temptation, my lord,’ Somerset suggested mildly. ‘They have marched hard for the last six weeks, across some of the most difficult terrain to be found in Spain. The men are exhausted; they have to be rested at some point. Why not now?’

  ‘Why not now? Because they have let the enemy escape. That should not have happened, Somerset. We should have pursued them to destruction. That was the entire purpose of my plan.’

  ‘In which case, I would say that the plan was successful in almost every detail, my lord. Today’s victory is sure to end French rule in Spain. The first reports say we have captured all but a handful of their guns. Why, we almost captured Joseph Bonaparte.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘One of our troops of hussars came upon his carriage a few miles to the east of Vitoria, caught up in a column of vehicles trying to escape. Apparently Joseph jumped out of one side of his carriage just as one of our officers was climbing in the other. He managed to reach some of his bodyguards and find another mount, and they cut their way free of the column and rode off into the night.’

  ‘By God, that would have been some blow to Boney, if we had taken his brother prisoner. As it is, the episode hardly enhances Joseph’s dignity.’ Arthur smiled.

  ‘He’s not the only one whose dignity has been pricked.’ Somerset fished inside the haversack he used to carry his notebooks and pencils and brought out a short rod, covered with purple velvet and encrusted with small gold eagles. He handed it to Arthur.‘Marshal Jourdan’s baton, my lord. It was found in another carriage not far from Joseph’s.’

  Arthur held the baton up to the lantern and examined it. ‘A pretty thing. I should imag
ine a bauble like this will amuse the Prince Regent. I shall send it back to England together with the victory despatch.’

  ‘All Britain will be overjoyed by the news, my lord. And not just Britain. When word of your victory reaches the rest of Europe, it will fire the hearts of our allies to bring Bonaparte down.’

  Arthur nodded slowly.‘That may be, Somerset. What is certain is that French interests in Spain cannot recover from this blow. All that is left to them now is a thin strip of land this side of the Pyrenees, and Suchet’s army, bottled up in Valencia.’

  ‘What are your plans now, my lord?’

  Arthur tapped the map with the captured baton. ‘Our work in the Peninsula is all but complete. The time has come to take the war to France. I aim to lead our army on to French soil before the onset of this very winter.’

  Chapter 41

  Napoleon

  Dresden, 26 July 1813

  Napoleon received the Austrian Foreign Minister in one of the Residenzschloss palace’s smaller salons the night Metternich arrived from Vienna. Despite the season he felt cold and a fire was burning in the grate, creating a comfortable fug in the room which was enhanced by the rosy hue cast by the steady flames glowing on the candelabras. Ever since he had returned from Russia Napoleon had found that he was more sensitive than before to the cold and had developed a relish for being in the warm. The scars of that campaign had been borne across every sphere of life in France. Of the six hundred thousand men he had led into Russia the previous summer, scarcely ninety thousand had returned, and many of those had been crippled by frostbite. Others were broken men, unable to face the rigours of another campaign. Only the very strongest and the bravest had endured, and for a while they were all that stood between the forces of the Tsar and France’s German territories.

  In the months after his return to Paris Napoleon had been forced to scrape together every available man to rebuild his forces to face the threat from the east. The eighty thousand men of the National Guard were inducted into the army by imperial decree, as were tens of thousands of youths who were not due to be conscripted for another two years. Discharged veterans were recalled to serve under the eagles once again, and the marines and gunners of the navy were reassigned to fill out the ranks of the army’s corps of artillery. Whatever their quality, there had been enough men to provide Napoleon with an army of a quarter of a million men when spring returned.

  However, it was rather harder to find new mounts. Only a few thousand horses had survived the Russian campaign, and once Frederick William had switched sides and joined the Tsar the horse-breeding estates of northern Prussia were denied to France. Napoleon had felt their loss immediately when the year’s campaign had opened. Murat’s forces had been unable to adequately screen the movements of the French army. Nor had they been able to scout effectively, often leaving Napoleon in the dark as to the whereabouts of the enemy. Worse still, they were too few to prevent units of Cossacks from raiding the French supply lines.

  As a result, despite winning two battles, the French had not been able to achieve a decisive result. After two months of exhausting marches across the plains and hills of the German states and the lands of western Prussia, Napoleon had been relieved by the Tsar’s offer of an armisitice at the start of June. It had been agreed that the ceasefire would last until the end of July, while negotiations were conducted over the terms for a peace treaty. The Emperor of Austria, Francis, had offered to act as mediator and so Prince Metternich had spent the last weeks travelling between Napoleon’s headquarters in Dresden and the Tsar and Frederick William in Berlin.

  A sharp knock on the door broke into Napoleon’s thoughts as he stood gazing into the heart of the fire, his hands clasped behind his back. He looked up as the door opened and Bertheir entered the room.

  ‘Prince Metternich is here, sire.’

  ‘Good. Show him in.’

  Berthier bowed his head and left the room, leaving the door open. He returned a moment later and ushered the Austrian diplomat into Napoleon’s presence. Metternich was accompanied by two members of his staff and they remained a respectful distance behind their master as he approached Napoleon and took the hand that the Emperor extended towards him.

  ‘It is good to see you again.’ Napoleon smiled warmly. ‘I trust the accommodation for you and your staff is satisfactory?’

  ‘Most comfortable, I thank you, sire. Though it would have been agreeable to have taken some refreshment and a rest before continuing our business.’

  ‘I am sorry for that, but the peace of Europe comes before the comforts of the peacemakers, as I am sure you would agree.’

  Metternich smiled thinly. ‘Indeed, sire.’

  ‘Good. You may wish to know that the Empress has written to me. She sends her warmest affection to her father, and trusts that he still regards France as a good friend and ally.’

  ‘I will pass on her words to Emperor Francis,’ Metternich replied flatly. ‘He will be pleased to hear from his daughter.’

  ‘I’m sure.’ Napoleon smiled. ‘And do reassure his imperial majesty that his son-in-law echoes the sentiments of his wife.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Come then, and sit.’ Napoleon waved his guests towards the oval table that had been set in the middle of the room. The Austrians waited for the Emperor to be seated first and then took their places, before Napoleon signalled to Berthier to sit beside him. When all had settled, Napoleon folded his hands together and addressed Metternich.

  ‘So, my dear Prince, what terms have Alexander and Frederick William decided to offer me?’

  Napoleon saw that Metternich was unsettled at the directness of the question, no doubt discomforted by the absence of the extended pleasantries that had been a convention of diplomatic negotiations in the days when Talleyrand had served as Napoleon’s Foreign Minister. Metternich turned to one of his aides. ‘The document case, please.’

  The aide reached down for a small leather satchel, unfastened the buckle and opened it on the table before sliding it across to Metternich. The Foreign Minister picked up the top sheet of paper and looked up at Napoleon.

  ‘Since you are determined to address matters directly, I’ll just present you with the summary of their terms.’

  Napoleon nodded.

  Metternich held the document up close to his eyes and began.‘One: agreement to dismantling of the Duchy of Warsaw and the division of its existing territories between the central powers of Europe. Two: agreement to the disestablishment of the Confederation of the Rhine. Three: Prussia is to have its frontiers of 1805 restored. Four: the Continental Blockade is to be lifted and France is to respect the shipping of neutral nations. Five: all French troops are to be withdrawn behind the Rhine.’ He lowered the document and looked up.‘There are other terms, but they are peripheral and can be negotiated once the main points are agreed to.’

  Napoleon sat still and silent for a moment as he stared at Prince Metternich. Then he laughed contemptuously. ‘Is that all they ask of me? There is no demand that I give up my territories in Italy, or that I abandon my brother in Spain?’

  ‘The Tsar and the King are prepared to let you retain your possessions in Italy,’ Metternich replied, and then allowed himself a slight smile.‘As for Spain, I suspect that the Peninsula will not be within your gift for much longer, sire.’

  ‘Really? And what makes you so certain of that, I wonder?’

  ‘The latest accounts of the war indicate that your armies there are exhausted and demoralised, and the population is almost wholly against the reign of your brother. And now General Wellington is marching across Spain with impunity.’

  ‘What is Wellington to me?’ Napoleon snapped. ‘Just another over-cautious English general who will be thrown back into the sea the moment I deign to lead my armies against him in person. For the present, I am content to hold on to what can be defended in that country, but in due course the Spanish will be tamed and Wellington and his rabble of British, Spanish and Portuguese sol
diers will be crushed. All Europe can be certain of that, at least.’

  Metternich shrugged. ‘I can only admire your formidable confidence, sire. However, Spain is not an issue for the present. We are here to discuss the armistice. I need to know if you accept the terms offered by Russia and Prussia, and if you have any counter-proposals to make.’

  Napoleon stared down at his hands.‘You must realise that there is no question of my accepting the terms as they stand. France would be humiliated before the eyes of the world. I would be humiliated. How long do you think it would take the people of France to rise up and depose me, as they did Louis? What if there was another revolution? All would be swept away and the powers of Europe would be dealing with another popular tyranny bent on tearing down the institutions of the old regimes. I am all that stands between the thrones of Europe and anarchy. Alexander and Frederick William would do well to remember that before they seek to depose me.’

  ‘They have not said that that is what they want to achieve,’ Metternich responded carefully.

  ‘Of course not. They just want peace,’ Napoleon sneered.

  Metternich did not rise to the bait and sat silently. Napoleon looked up and stared coldly at the Austrian. He noted the long nose and narrow face, and the same haughty air of superiority and condescension that Metternich shared with Talleyrand, and which so easily enraged him. None of these people, none of the rulers and aristocrats who held sway over the masses through an accident of birth, none of them would rest easy while a man who had fashioned his own destiny ruled France. He stirred slowly in his seat and leaned closer to Metternich.

  ‘What does Austria hope to gain from this?’