The Fields of Death Read online

  The Fields of Death

  SIMON SCARROW

  headline

  www.headline.co.uk

  Copyright © 2010 Simon Scarrow

  The right of Simon Scarrow to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  Apart from any use permitted under UK copyright law, this publication may only be reproduced, stored, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, with prior permission in writing of the publishers or, in the case of reprographic production, in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency.

  First published as an Ebook by Headline Publishing Group in 2010

  All characters in this publication - other than the obvious historical characters - are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Cataloguing in Publication Data is available from the British Library

  eISBN : 978 0 7553 5344 6

  This Ebook produced by Jouve Digitalisation des Informations

  HEADLINE PUBLISHING GROUP

  An Hachette UK Company

  338 Euston Road

  London NW1 3BH

  www.headline.co.uk

  www.hachette.co.uk

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Chapter 1 - Napoleon

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3 - Arthur

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5 - Oropesa, 21 July 1809

  Chapter 6 - Talavera, 27 July 1809

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8 - Napoleon

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11 - Schönbrunn, 23 October 1809

  Chapter 12 - Fontainebleau, December 1810

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14 - Arthur

  Chapter 15 - April 1810

  Chapter 16 - Busaco Ridge, 27 September 1810

  Chapter 17 - Lisbon, January 1811

  Chapter 18 - Napoleon

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20 - Arthur

  Chapter 21 - Badajoz, 9 June 1811

  Chapter 22 - Paris, 2 December 1811

  Chapter 23 - Paris, January 1812

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25 - Arthur

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27 - Salamanca, 22 July 1812

  Chapter 28 - Napoleon

  Chapter 29 - Schivardino, 6 September 1812

  Chapter 30 - Moscow, 15 September 1812

  Chapter 31 - Arthur

  Chapter 32 - Burgos, 4 October 1812

  Chapter 33 - Tordesillas, 31 October 1812

  Chapter 34 - Napoleon

  Chapter 35 - 6 November 1812

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37 - Molodetchna, 29 November 1812

  Chapter 38 - Arthur

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40 - 21 June 1813

  Chapter 41 - Napoleon

  Chapter 42 - Dresden, 26 August 1813

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45 - Arthur

  Chapter 46 - Villefranque, 10 December 1813

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48 - Napoleon

  Chapter 49 - Arcis-sur-Aube, 20 March 1814

  Chapter 50 - Fontainebleau, 4 April 1814

  Chapter 51 - Arthur

  Chapter 52 - London, 24 June 1814

  Chapter 53 - Paris, November 1814

  Chapter 54 - Napoleon

  Chapter 55 - The Tuileries, Paris, 8 April 1815

  Chapter 56 - Arthur

  Chapter 57 - Fleurus, 8.00 a.m., 16 June 1815

  Chapter 58 - Ligny, 7.00 a.m., 17 June 1815

  Chapter 59 - Le Caillou, 9.00 p.m., 17 June 1815

  Chapter 60

  Chapter 61 - The Ridge of Mont-St-Jean, 1.30 p.m.

  Chapter 62

  Chapter 63 - La Belle Alliance, 6.30 p.m.

  Chapter 64 - On the road to Charleroi, 4 a.m., 19 June 1815

  Chapter 65 - Plymouth, 30 July 1815

  Author’s Note

  For James and Bob, for their unstinting dedication to the team.

  Chapter 1

  Napoleon

  The Danube, April 1809

  The defences of the Bohemian town of Ratisbon looked formidable indeed, Napoleon silently conceded as he swept his telescope along the aged walls and ditches confronting him. The retreating Austrian army had hastily thrown up more earthworks to bolster the existing defences and cannon muzzles were discernible in the embrasures of each redoubt, with more cannon mounted on the thick, squat towers of the old town. Here and there, the white-uniformed figures of the enemy regarded the French host approaching the town. Beyond the walls the pitched roofs and church spires were vague in the last vestiges of the early morning mist that had risen up from the Danube. On the far side of the river Napoleon could just pick out the faint trails of smoke rising up from the Austrian camp on the far bank.

  He frowned as he lowered the telescope and snapped it shut. Archduke Charles and his men had escaped the trap Napoleon had set for them. Ratisbon had been in French hands until a few days before, and the enemy had been caught with their backs to the river. But the commander of the garrison had surrendered after a brief resistance, leaving the bridge across the Danube intact. So the Austrians had crossed to the north bank and left a strong force behind to defy their pursuers. Archduke Charles had surprised him, Napoleon reflected. He had fully expected the Austrians to fall back towards Vienna to protect their supply lines and defend their capital. Instead, the enemy general had crossed the river into Bohemia, leaving the road to Vienna open. Only it was not as simple as that, Napoleon realised well enough. If he led his army towards Vienna, he would be inviting the Austrians to fall on his supply lines in turn. That might be an unavoidable risk.

  Napoleon turned round to face his staff officers. ‘Gentlemen, Ratisbon must be taken if we are to cross the Danube and force the enemy to face us on the battlefield.’

  General Berthier, Napoleon’s chief of staff, briefly raised his eyebrows as he glanced past his Emperor towards the defences of the town, barely a mile away. He swallowed as his gaze switched back to Napoleon.

  ‘Very well, sire. Shall I give the order for the army to prepare for a siege?’

  Napoleon shook his head.‘There is no time for a siege. The moment we settle down to dig trenches and construct batteries the Austrians have the initiative. Moreover, you can be sure that our other enemies . . .’ Napoleon paused and smiled bitterly, ‘and even some of those who call us friends will take great comfort from the delay. It would not take much prompting for them to side with Austria.’

  The more astute of the officers readily understood his point. Several of the small states of the German Confederation were sympathetic to Austria’s cause. But by far the biggest danger came from Russia. Even though Napoleon and Tsar Alexander were bound by treaty there had been a marked cooling of their relationship over the past months, and it was possible that the Russian army might intervene on either side of the present war between France and Austria.

  Napoleon had been surprised by the temerity of the Austrians when they had opened hostilities in April, without a formal declaration of war. Before then there had been many reports from spies that the Austrian army had been reorganised and expanded, and equipped with new cannon and modern muskets. The signs that Emperor Francis intended to begin another war were unmistakable, and Napoleon had given orders for the concentration of a powerful army ready to meet the threat. Once the campaign had begun, the usual plodding progress of the enemy columns had allowed the French to outmarch them and force the Austrians to fight on Napoleon’s terms. The performance o
f his army had been most gratifying, Napoleon considered. Most of the soldiers who had engaged the enemy so far had been fresh recruits, yet they had fought superbly. But for the failure to prevent the Austrians from escaping across the Danube, the war would already be as good as won.

  Napoleon turned towards one of his officers. ‘Marshal Lannes.’

  The officer stiffened. ‘Sire?’

  ‘Your men will take the town, whatever the cost. Understand?’

  ‘Yes, sire.’ Lannes nodded, and casually adjusted his plumed bicorne over his brown curls. ‘The lads will soon chase the Austrians out.’

  ‘They’d better,’ Napoleon replied curtly. Then he stepped closer to Lannes and fixed his gaze on the marshal. ‘I am depending on you. Do not let me down.’

  Lannes smiled softly. ‘Have I ever, sire?’

  ‘No. No, you haven’t.’ Napoleon returned the smile. ‘Good fortune be with you, my dear Jean.’

  Lannes saluted, then turned to stride swiftly towards the orderly who was holding his horse. Swinging himself up into the saddle, Lannes touched his spurs in and trotted his mount forward, riding down from the small knoll towards the columns of his leading infantry division as they formed up out of range of the Austrian guns. A brief lull settled over the French positions and then a trumpet signalled the advance and with a rattle of drums the infantry columns tramped towards the enemy fortifications. Ahead of them a screen of skirmishers advanced in loose order, muskets lowered as they looked for individual targets along the line of the Austrian defences.

  Napoleon felt his heart harden at the sight of the blue-coated columns closing on the enemy-held town. At any moment the Austrians would open fire and cones of case shot would tear bloody holes in the brave ranks of his men. But Ratisbon had to be taken.

  ‘For what we are about to receive,’ Berthier muttered as he strained his eyes to observe the leading elements of the division closing on the enemy defences.

  The Austrians held their fire until the French skirmishers had almost reached the wide ditch in front of the town’s walls. Then hundreds of tiny puffs of smoke pricked out along the walls as bright tongues of flame stabbed from the guns mounted on the towers and redoubts. Napoleon raised his telescope and saw that scores of the skirmishers had been cut down, and behind them the leading ranks of Lannes’s columns reeled as they were subjected to a storm of lead musket balls and the iron shot of the guns. The officers raised their swords high, some placing their hats over the points to make them more visible, and urged their men on. The soldiers surged over the lip of the ditch and were lost to view for a moment before they reappeared, scrambling up the far slope and running on towards the wall. Above them, the battlements of the town were lined with the white uniforms of the Austrians, barely visible through the drifting banks of smoke that hung in the air like a tattered shroud. All the while, the attackers were being whittled down as they tried to reach the wall.

  Then, quite abruptly, the forward impetus died as the soldiers went to ground, huddling behind whatever cover they could find as they desperately exchanged shots with the enemy. Still more men entered the ditch, crowding those on the far slope who refused to advance any further. The dense mass of humanity presented an irresistible target to the enemy, who swept the ditch with case shot while grenades were lobbed down from the walls. They detonated with bright flashes, shooting shards of jagged iron in every direction, mutilating the men of Marshal Lannes’s first wave.

  ‘Damn.’ Napoleon frowned irritably. ‘Damn them. Why do they sit there, and die in that ditch? If they want to live, then they must go forward.’

  His frustration grew as the slaughter continued. At length the inevitable happened as the men of the first wave slowly began to give ground, and then the pace increased as the urge to retreat spread through the soldiers like an invisible wave rippling out through their ranks. Within minutes the last of the survivors sheltering in the ditch was hurrying away from the town, leaving the dead and wounded sprawled and heaped before the wall. As the men streamed back the Austrians continued to fire after them until the French were out of musket range, and then only the cannon continued, firing several more rounds of case shot before they too fell silent.

  Abruptly, Napoleon dug his spurs in and urged his mount down the gentle slope of the knoll before galloping towards Lannes’s forward command point in the ruins of a small chapel. The emperor’s bodyguards and staff officers hurried after him, anxiously trying to keep up. Marshal Lannes strode forward to confront the first of the fugitives as soon as he was aware that the attack had failed. By the time Napoleon reached him he was berating a large group of sheepish-looking soldiers.

  ‘Call yourself men?’ Lannes bellowed at the top of his voice. ‘Running like bloody rabbits the first time we come up against some Austrians who have the balls to stand and fight. Sweet Jesus Christ, you shame me! You shame your uniforms, and you shame the Emperor.’ Lannes indicated Napoleon as he approached and reined in. ‘And now the enemy are laughing at you. They mock you for being cowards. Listen!’

  Sure enough, the faint sound of jeers and whistles came from the defenders of Ratisbon and some of the men looked down at the ground, not daring to meet the eyes of their commander.

  Napoleon dismounted and stared coldly at the men gathered in front of Lannes. He remained silent for a moment before he shook his head wearily.‘Soldiers, I am not angry with you. How could I be?You obeyed your orders and made your attack. You advanced into fire and continued forward until your nerve failed. And then you retreated. You have done no less than any other man in any army in Europe.’ Napoleon paused briefly to let his next words carry their full weight. ‘But you are not in any army in Europe. You are in the French army. You march under standards entrusted to you by your Emperor. The same standards that were carried to victory at Austerlitz. At Jena and Auerstadt. Eylau and Friedland. Together, we have beaten the armies of the King of Prussia and the Tsar. We have humiliated the Austrians - the very same Austrians who now taunt you from the walls of Ratisbon. They think that the men of France have grown weak and fearful, that the fire in their bellies has died. They think that the enemy they once faced, and feared with good cause, is now as meek as a lamb. They shame you. They laugh at you. They ridicule you . . .’ Napoleon looked round and saw the glowering expressions of anger on the faces of some of his men, just as he had hoped. He pressed home his advantage. ‘How can a man endure this? How can a soldier of France not feel his heart burn with rage at the scorn poured on him by those whom he knows to be his inferiors?’ Napoleon thrust his arm out in the direction of Ratisbon. ‘Soldiers! Your enemy awaits you. Show them what it means to be a Frenchman. Neither shot nor shell can shake your courage, or make your resolution waver. Remember those who have fought for your Emperor before you. Remember the eternal glory that they have won. Remember the gratitude and gifts that their Emperor has bestowed on them.’

  ‘Long live Napoleon!’ Marshal Lannes punched his fist into the air. ‘Long live France!

  The cry was instantly taken up by the nearest men and swept through the ranks of those gathered around. Other soldiers, further off, turned to stare, and then joined in so that the taunts of the Austrians were drowned out by the tumultuous acclaim sweeping through the men of Lannes’s division. Lannes continued leading the cheering for a moment before he raised his arms and bellowed for his men to still their tongues. As the cheers died away the marshal drew a deep breath and pointed to the first of the soldiers rallying to their regimental standards.

  ‘To your colours! Form up and make ready to show those Austrian dogs how real soldiers fight!’

  As the men hurried off Napoleon could see the renewed determination in their expressions and nodded with satisfaction.‘Their blood is up. I just hope they can take the wall this time.’ He turned his gaze back towards the enemy’s defences. They were less than half a mile from the nearest enemy guns. ‘We are still within range here. And so are the men.’

  ‘It would take a lucky sh
ot indeed to hit anyone at this range, sire,’ Lannes replied dismissively. ‘Waste of good powder.’

  ‘I hope you are right.’

  An instant later there was a puff of smoke from an embrasure in the nearest Austrian redoubt and both men traced the faint dark smear of the shot as it curved through the morning air, angling slightly to one side of their position. The ball grounded a hundred yards ahead, kicking up dust and dirt before it landed again another fifty paces further on, and then again before carving a furrow through the calf-length grass and coming to rest a short distance from the front rank of the nearest French battalion.

  ‘Good conditions for artillery,’ Napoleon mused. ‘Firm ground - the effective range will increase, and the ricochet of the enemy shot is going to cost us dear.’

  More Austrian guns opened fire and a shot from one of the heavier pieces grounded just short of one of the French battalions before slicing a deep path through the ranks, felling men like skittles.

  Lannes cleared his throat. ‘Sire, it occurs to me that we are also in range of the enemy guns.’

  ‘True, but as you pointed out the chances of their hitting us are negligible.’

  ‘Nevertheless, sire, it would be prudent for you to withdraw beyond effective range.’

  Napoleon glanced towards the redoubt, noting that the muzzle of one of the guns was foreshortened to a black dot. Abruptly the gun was obscured by a swirl of smoke and a moment later a puff of dirt kicked up just ahead of them.

  ‘Look out!’ Lannes yelled a warning.

  But before Napoleon could react, the ball grounded much closer, and then again right at their feet. Grit and soil sprayed in their faces as Napoleon felt a blow, like a savage kick, slam into his right ankle. The shock of the impact stunned him and he stood rigidly, not daring to look down, as Lannes dusted down his uniform jacket with a chuckle. ‘As I said . . .’