The Fields of Death

by Scarrow, Simon

  ‘Sire?’

  ‘I want the order to mobilise our forces issued before the end of the day.’

  ‘Yes, sire.’

  For the rest of the month, and into May, Napoleon worked tirelessly to prepare the country for war. At the same time, he was more mindful than ever before of the need to secure the loyalty of his war-weary people. The repressive measures imposed by the Bourbons were reversed. Political prisoners were set free and those officers who had served the Bourbons were freely pardoned and many offered commands within the reconstituted imperial army. At times this caused friction, especially when hard-line Bonapartist officers were denied promotion in favour of those who had served King Louis. But Napoleon knew that he could take the loyalty of his ardent supporters for granted, while the loyalty of the former Bourbon officers had to be bought. Thereafter they would be watched with suspicion by their subordinates and would be keen to prove their newfound allegiance to Napoleon.

  Davout swiftly organised the production and supply of equipment for the rapidly expanding army. Mills and factories turned out thousands of uniforms and tens of thousands of cartridges. New cannon were cast and pinioned to freshly constructed gun carriages. Horses were requisitioned across the country. All the while a steady flow of soldiers marched north towards the Sambre river where they camped across a wide front, waiting for the order to concentrate. Napoleon remained in Paris for as long as possible. He had sent a private message to the Emperor of Austria, begging for the return of his son and his wife. But there was no reply and his heart hardened towards the Austrians, and he vowed that he would avenge this cruel silence.

  As he made a show of dealing with his civil obligations, all the time Napoleon’s mind was focused on planning the coming campaign, selecting his officers carefully. Murat’s request to serve under him was brusquely declined. Murat had foolishly declared war on Austria as soon as he heard of Napoleon’s escape from Elba and was defeated shortly thereafter and forced to flee to France. After his earlier treachery Napoleon could not trust him.

  His uncertain hold on power meant that he must leave Davout to control Paris in his absence. Berthier would have been his first choice as chief of staff of the new Army of the North, but early in June came news that Berthier was dead. He had fallen from a window of his home in Bamberg, but it was not clear if it was an accident or something more sinister. In his place Napoleon appointed Soult, despite Soult’s protest that he lacked the ability to run the Emperor’s general staff, and was better employed on the battlefield.

  On 7 June Napoleon ordered that the frontier with Belgium be closed. As a further security measure no mail or civilian traffic was allowed on to the roads, while the soldiers of the Army of the North began to concentrate on Philippeville less than a day’s march from the border. A week later Napoleon’s carriage and cavalry escort trundled into the small town of Beaumont where the headquarters for the army had been established. The usually quiet streets of the town were filled with soldiers and they jumped to their feet and cheered the instant they were aware that their Emperor had joined them. Napoleon, though exhausted by the preparations for the campaign, forced a smile and waved to them. Even amid the wild celebration his mind was coolly assessing their morale and he was pleased to see that there was no hint of the dull mood of resignation that had characterised the soldiers he had led a year ago. They pressed round the carriage, following it through the streets until it turned into the coachyard of the inn where Soult and his staff were waiting.

  The officers had been alerted to his approach and were already lining the short walk to the entrance of the inn. As the carriage rumbled to a halt on the cobbles, Soult strode across the yard and bowed his head while a footman helped the Emperor down.

  ‘Is everything ready?’ Napoleon asked curtly.

  ‘Sire, I have the honour to report that the Army of the North awaits your orders.’

  ‘Very good, Soult.’ Napoleon smiled and patted the marshal on the shoulder.‘Then it only remains to settle the final details of my plans.’ He gestured towards the entrance. ‘Inside.’

  The two passed between the lines of staff officers, who bowed their heads as the Emperor passed. Napoleon noticed a few familiar faces, but most were unknown to him.

  ‘I take it that you had difficulties reassembling my old headquarters staff?’

  ‘Indeed, sire. Some had accepted service under the Bourbons, others were exiled or had left France. I have gathered the best men that I could find at short notice. They seem capable enough.’

  ‘Soult.’ Napoleon lowered his voice. ‘The fate of France will be decided in the next few days, a few weeks at the most. I am depending on you, and your staff. You shall not fail me, in any detail, is that clear?’

  ‘Yes, sire.’

  They entered the building and proceeded through a small hall into the dining room. Every table had been pushed together in the centre to provide a map table for Soult and his staff. Small campaign desks and stools had been set up along the walls, and were presently piled with paperwork. There was little sense of the order that Berthier had insisted on, Napoleon reflected as he removed his jacket and slung it over the back of a chair. The weather in the last few days had been warm and the room was sweltering.

  ‘Open some windows,’ Napoleon ordered as he spread his hands on the table and leaned forward to inspect the main campaign map. While Soult unfastened the latches and thrust the windows open Napoleon took in the details of the Army of the North’s deployment, as well as the forces of Blücher and Wellington.

  ‘How accurate is our intelligence on the enemy’s positions?’

  Soult joined him at the table. ‘As good as it can be, sire. We have many sympathisers amongst the Belgians and they have been feeding us with regular reports on the enemy. As you can see, their forces are still widely dispersed. I estimate that it will take them a minimum of three days to mass their armies once the order is given.’

  Napoleon considered the map for a moment. ‘Let us assume the worst and say a maximum of three days.’ He paused for a moment and then smiled faintly. ‘There is something else that works in our favour. See how their lines of communication are routed in opposite directions: Blücher’s east towards the Rhine, while Wellington’s stretch to the coast, at Ostende. Let’s play on that. Have a cavalry brigade detached from the army and make a feint towards Wellington’s communications. That should distract him. When we strike, their natural impulse will be to close up on their supply lines, and that will create a weak point at the junction of their armies, here.’ Napoleon reached forward and tapped the map, indicating the road leading from Charleroi on the border straight to Brussels. ‘That is where we must strike, Soult. The Army of the North’s main thrust must be along this road. We shall divide them and crush each in turn.’

  ‘Very well, sire.’ Soult nodded approvingly. ‘Which first? Blücher or Wellington?’

  Napoleon was silent for a moment before he responded. ‘Blücher, I think. He is the more aggressive of the two. We can rely on Wellington to conform to his usual caution. He will wait for us to come to him. And while he waits, we will deal with Blücher.’

  Soult stirred uncomfortably. ‘Do not underestimate Wellington, sire. He is more bold than you think.’

  Napoleon looked at his chief of staff and shook his head. ‘You overestimate his abilities because he has beaten you, Soult. Just the same as the other marshals he humbled in Spain and Portugal. You walked into the traps that he set, all of you. I will not be so easily fooled.’

  ‘Sire, you are wrong. If you had faced Wellington last year then you would know. He is a man to be reckoned with, and his soldiers would follow him to the ends of the earth.’

  ‘It is you who are wrong, Soult. I know how to beat Wellington. Besides, he does not command the same army any more. Wellington has a pot-pourri of nationalities fighting under him. Less than half of his men are British, and he dare not trust his Belgian units. While he faces such difficulties he need not concern u
s unduly. Is that clear?’

  Soult stared defiantly at his Emperor for a moment, then gritted his teeth and nodded. ‘Yes, sire.’

  ‘Good.’ Napoleon turned back to the map and examined the disposition of his army.‘Marshal Grouchy has been notified that he is to command the right wing, I take it?’

  ‘Yes, sire.’

  ‘Then I intend to appoint Marshal Ney to command the left wing, while I remain with, and command, the reserve.’

  ‘Ney?’

  ‘You question my decision?’

  ‘Of course not, sire,’ Soult replied hurriedly.‘It’s just that Ney was the commander in chief of France’s armies under Louis. Can you trust him?’

  ‘Can I afford not to?’ Napoleon responded. ‘You know his reputation. The soldiers love him. He has great influence over those officers who served under the Bourbons. If Ney serves me, then we may be sure that those officers will follow his example. So, Ney commands the left wing.’

  ‘Very well, sire. When will Ney be joining the army?’

  ‘I sent for him shortly before I left Paris. Have him brought to me the moment he arrives.’

  ‘Yes, sire.’

  Straightening up, Napoleon rubbed his haunches, which were aching after the long journey by carriage from the capital.‘What is the strength of the army?’

  ‘As of this last night’s returns we have eighty-nine thousand infantry, twenty-two thousand cavalry and three hundred and sixty-six guns.’

  Napoleon frowned. ‘I had expected more.’

  ‘A division was diverted to the Vendée to suppress the rebels there, sire. On your orders.’

  ‘Ah, yes. A pity. Well, I am confident that we have enough men for the task. In any case we shall have the advantage of surprise and that is worth more than any division, eh?’

  ‘Yes, sire.’

  ‘So it only remains to decide the time and place of the attack,’ Napoleon mused as he returned his attention to the map.‘We will strike here, at Charleroi, in the early hours of the fifteenth of June.’

  Soult’s eyebrows rose. ‘So soon?’

  ‘We cannot attack soon enough. Issue the orders. The cavalry is to screen our approach to the frontier tonight. No fires are to be lit until the campaign begins and every man is to be as quiet as possible. The enemy must not guess our intentions. Now, I am tired. I need sleep.’ Napoleon turned and headed back towards the door. ‘I trust that you have arranged quarters for me?’

  ‘Of course, sire.’ Soult hurried after him. ‘I’ll have a clerk show you the way.’

  The room was spacious and a comfortable breeze cooled the air as Napoleon lay on the bed, stripped down to his shirt and breeches. Even though he was exhausted by the frenzied activity of the last three months, no sleep would come. He lay still, staring at the ceiling, as orderlies and officers came and went in the rooms below. Beyond the walls of the inn he could hear the faint hubbub of the army; shouted orders, the occasional rattle as a recently recruited drummer boy practised his beats, and the high-spirited cheers and laughter of men on the verge of a great adventure. Napoleon’s restless mind grappled with the supreme challenge posed by this latest campaign. Despite what he had said to Soult he knew that the odds were against him. Each of the allied armies matched his in size. Unless he could force his way between them there was little chance of victory, and without a decisive victory there was no hope of breaking the will of the vast coalition gathering to overwhelm him.

  A large bee came into the room, its droning buzz growing louder while it flitted from side to side as it approached the bed. Napoleon’s eyes sought the insect out and he smiled faintly as it landed on the bedpost by his feet. A bee, the symbol he had chosen for his emblem. It was a good omen.

  That night, under cover of darkness, the army crept as close to the frontier as it dared. The soldiers on picket duty patrolled the bank of the Sambre, exchanging good-humoured insults with their unsuspecting Prussian counterparts on the far side of the river, just as they had done for many weeks. As each formation reached its position the men were ordered to fall out and settle down in silence. They had been issued with rations for five days, and as dawn broke over the gently rolling countryside the men chewed on bread and cheese, as they had been forbidden to light fires to cook the stew that they usually ate.

  Even though he rose at first light, Napoleon did not leave headquarters to ride through his army to offer encouragement, as had been his custom on the eve of battle. As far as the allies knew, he was still in Paris, and it would be foolish to risk being greeted by cheers that might be overheard by the enemy pickets.

  Marshal Ney arrived late in the afternoon. His coat was covered in dust and his cheeks flushed from the exertion of the ride from his estate outside Paris. Napoleon stared at him frostily as the marshal presented himself in the small office that had been commandeered from the owner of the inn.

  ‘You are late, Ney.’

  Ney sucked in a deep breath. ‘I might have been given more warning, sire. I came immediately I got your summons. What is it that you require of me?’

  ‘I need you to command the left wing of the Army of the North. Do you accept?’

  ‘Yes, sire,’ Ney replied without hesitation. ‘When do you expect the enemy to attack us?’

  Napoleon could not help a small smile and glanced at the timepiece mounted on the wall. ‘It is we who will be attacking, Ney, in less than twelve hours from now.’

  Ney’s eyes widened. ‘Sire, I know nothing of your plans. I need time to take up my command.’

  ‘Your officers have already been briefed. Your chief of staff can provide you with all the details that you need. Do you still accept the command, or do you consider yourself unfit to meet the challenge?’

  Ney glared back. ‘I will do my duty, sire. I will lead the left wing of the army, wherever you command me to go.’

  ‘Very well,’ Napoleon stood up and held out his hand.‘My dear Ney, I have never needed you more than at this hour. You have no idea how much it comforts me to know that I will have the bravest of my marshals fighting at my side when we face the enemy.’

  Ney puffed out his cheeks at such brazen flattery. Yet he took the emperor’s hand and shook it firmly. ‘I can think of no higher honour, sire.’

  ‘Then it is settled.’ Napoleon releaded his grip. ‘Given the time we have left before the advance begins, I suggest that you collect your orders from Soult and ride to join your men.’

  ‘Yes, sire!’ Ney stood stiffly and bowed his head, then turned and strode out of the office.

  The soldiers of the Army of the North spent the remainder of the day, and the first part of the night, resting in the fields and woods close to the peaceful flow of the Sambre. Then, at midnight, the sergeants and corporals quietly crept down the lines of sleeping men and shook them awake. In the cool night air the dark figures formed into columns and moved forward to their start positions. Elsewhere, in the artillery camps, the gun crews harnessed the horse teams and limbered the cannon before they too rumbled forward. Ahead of the dense columns of infantry and artillery the cavalry mounted and fanned out along the bank, and then waited for the order to cross the frontier. At three in the morning the sentries silently fell back and on the far bank the Prussians were puzzled when there was no reply to the usual greetings they called across the water.

  At headquarters Napoleon sat with his staff. Some of the officers conversed in low tones, but most sat in silence, glancing at the hands of a large clock perched on the mantel above the fireplace in the map room. The orders had been sent out to every formation hours earlier and the desks, stools and document chests had been packed on to the wagons allocated to Soult and his officers. There was a lull in the frantic activity of the last few days as everyone waited for the army to be unleashed against the allies. The hour hand of the clock crawled towards three and then, finally, Napoleon eased himself on to his feet, and his officers scrambled up from their chairs and faced him expectantly.

  ‘Gentleme
n! The attack begins. God willing, this time in a week we shall be celebrating in the streets of Brussels.’

  Soult raised his fist and punched the air. ‘Long live France! Long live the Emperor!’

  His officers repeated his cry, again and again, while out in the night tens of thousands of men and horses rippled forward, advancing across the frontier.

  Chapter 56

  Arthur

  Brussels, 15 June 1815

  ‘ ’Tis a damned disgrace,’ Picton grumbled as he took his place at the table. ‘The government has sent us not much more than half the troops your grace requested. And most of the beggars are green. Much of the army is foreign and nearly half the men speak German.’

  ‘It is an infamous army, to be sure,’ Arthur agreed calmly. He had invited his senior officers to an early dinner so that they might discuss their preparations for war before attending a ball that evening. Arthur had arrived to take up his command barely two months earlier and had been horrified by the lack of readiness evident in the lowlands. The failure of the British government to provide him with enough soldiers was only one of the difficulties he had had to contend with.

  Faced with the new threat,Arthur had sought the services of as many as possible of the officers he had commanded in the Peninsula. Most had answered the call, but others had been imposed upon him, like his cavalry commander, the Earl of Uxbridge. It was the same with many of the staff officers who had been appointed by the Duke of York before Arthur arrived from Vienna.

  Then there was the dubious quality, and loyalty, of the allied troops that made up two-thirds of his army. King William of the Netherlands had at first refused to agree to place his men under Arthur’s command and had reluctantly consented only after intense diplomatic pressure from London, and the payment of a large subsidy in gold. Arthur had decided to distribute the most unreliable of his allied troops amongst his redcoats to lessen the impact of any treacherous sentiments. Picton was right to complain, Arthur reflected as the other officers took their seats. But that was the hand that he had been dealt and he must do the best he could.