Fire and Sword r-3 Page 15

  Napoleon smiled. ‘Well, you obviously don’t.’

  Berthier folded his hands together and chewed his lip for a moment before continuing. ‘It will appear to the wider world that we have been forced to retreat, sire. That we have been worsted. Once our enemies trumpet that view of events, they may find ready allies to join them in a war against France.’

  ‘My thoughts exactly. So we dare not retreat, and we dare not advance, and we dare not sit here and wait.’

  Berthier shrugged. ‘A dangerous position indeed, sire. What are you going to do?’

  ‘The only thing I can.’ Napoleon stretched out his arms and yawned before he continued. ‘We must persuade Kutusov and his Austrian allies to attack us.’

  ‘Persuade them?’ Berthier’s eyebrows rose in surprise. ‘How?’

  ‘We give Kutusov an opportunity he will not be able to resist.’ Napoleon reached forward over his campaign table and pulled a map towards him. He scanned it for a moment and then tapped his finger on a feature indicating high ground. Leaning forward he read the inscription.

  ‘We will bait the trap here, on the Pratzen Heights, close to this town.’ His finger moved fractionally across the map. Berthier bent his head forward to read the name.

  ‘Austerlitz.Very well, sire.’

  ‘Austerlitz,’ Napoleon repeated softly as he began to consider the details of the plan that was forming in his mind. It would entail a degree of risk and fine timing, as well as a good deal of subterfuge. ‘We must crush them at Austerlitz, or be crushed in turn.’

  The following day Napoleon gave orders that the corps of Soult, Murat and Lannes were to advance and occupy the Pratzen Heights, where their fifty thousand men would be in full view of the Austrian scouts. The very next day an Austrian officer arrived in the French camp with an offer to open negotiations for an armistice. He was led through to the first line of the Grand Army to await the Emperor. The Austrian officers’ sharp eyes took in every detail of the worn-out soldiers and their threadbare uniforms. Some looked back with sullen expressions of vague curiosity, but most simply sat around their campfires in dejected silence.

  Napoleon and Berthier came riding forward shortly afterwards. The Emperor’s coat was stained with mud and his uniform jacket unbuttoned. He had not shaved and he wore a weary expression. He lowered himself from the saddle with a grunt and turned to meet the enemy envoy.

  ‘I bid you welcome, sir. Might I know your name?’

  ‘Count Diebnitz, at your service.’ The Austrian was immaculately turned out and had to restrain a sneer at the unkempt appearance of the French Emperor. He bowed his head briefly, then began to state his terms without any preamble. ‘The Emperors of Austria and Russia graciously offer you an armistice, of ten days’ duration.’

  ‘An armistice?’ Napoleon raised an eyebrow and pursed his lips as if deep in thought. So, the allies were trying to buy time for Archduke Charles to join them with the army from Italy, he thought. He forced himself to keep hidden any sense of amusement at the transparency of the armistice offer. Instead, he nodded and smiled.‘Yes, yes, an armistice would serve both sides well. It would be the humane thing to do.’ Napoleon gestured at his men. ‘I imagine your army is as tired of running as we are of pursuing you.’

  Count Diebnitz’s lips pressed together briefly before he replied through clenched teeth. ‘The Austrian army does not run, sir. I cannot speak for the Russians, but the Austrian army does not run.’

  ‘No, of course not,’ Napoleon said in a placating tone. ‘I did not mean to offend you.’

  ‘You did not offend me,’ Diebnitz replied fiercely. ‘Now, sir, will you accept the terms or not? I must have your answer at once.’

  ‘At once?’ Napoleon looked anxious. ‘How can I reply at once? I need to know the precise terms of the offer. You can’t expect me to accept at such short notice.’

  ‘That was the demand of my emperor.’

  Napoleon glanced helplessly at Berthier before he turned back to the officer. ‘I offer my compliments to the Emperor.Tell him that I am more than willing to negotiate, but I must have the terms in writing before I can agree to anything.’

  ‘I doubt that he will brook any such delay.’

  ‘Nevertheless, return to the Emperor and ask him.’

  Count Diebnitz frowned for a moment, then replied, ‘As you wish, sir. I doubt the Emperor will be in the mood to talk. But I will carry your words to him all the same.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Napoleon replied with an expression of relief. He maintained the expression as the Austrian remounted, wheeled his horse and rode back through the lines towards the enemy outposts around the small town of Austerlitz. Once Diebnitz was a safe distance away Napoleon relaxed and muttered to Berthier, ‘Well, what do you think?’

  ‘I think that the theatre lost a great actor when you decided to become a military man, sire.’ Berthier could not help chuckling. ‘I just hope that every Austrian over there is as easy to fool.’

  ‘We shall see soon enough.’ Napoleon straightened his jacket and refastened the buttons. He nodded to the nearest men of the regiment that Diebnitz had ridden through.‘Find some wine and spirits for those men.They deserve it after such a fine performance.’

  The soldiers overheard and one instantly rose to his feet and raised his cap to cheer the Emperor, but froze as Napoleon glared at him.

  ‘Sit down, you fool! If the enemy see everyone jump up and shout their heads off they’ll see through the ruse in an instant!’

  The soldier slumped down and was immediately nudged by the men around him as they teased him about his over-reaction. Napoleon turned away, nimbly remounted his horse and trotted back towards headquarters, cheerfully acknowledging the greetings from soldiers as he passed by. Back in his tent Napoleon and Berthier examined the map of the surrounding area.

  ‘Assuming they take the bait,’ Napoleon said quietly, ‘they will think we are far weaker than they are. I doubt they will be able to resist the chance to defeat the Grand Army, and humble Emperor Napoleon.’ He smiled grimly as he tapped the map. ‘The moment they make their move we fall back, behind the Goldbach stream, and send for Davout and Bernadotte. We’ll keep the main bulk of the army hidden behind the Zurlan hill there, and then leave Soult to hold the centre. If he spreads his men thinly and keeps them in open view, then even Kutusov won’t be able to resist the opportunity to throw his columns against us, weak as we shall appear.’

  ‘It’s a fine plan, sire. A clever trap,’ Berthier said approvingly. ‘I just hope the enemy fall for it.’

  Napoleon drummed his fingers on the map as he examined the ground he had chosen for his battle. ‘We shall know soon enough.’

  General Kutusov waited two days before he gave the order to advance. As the Austrian columns advanced on the Pratzen Heights Napoleon gave the order to retreat. The men had been ordered to give the impression of being in a panic and they hurried from the enemy in a disordered mass. Several damaged guns and supply wagons were left behind to enhance the impression of a hasty retreat and the leading elements of the Russian and Austrian army jeered after the French as they took the abandoned positions on the Heights.

  As the first day of December wore on, fine and bright, the French formed a line behind the Goldbach stream, facing the slopes now dominated by enemy troops. Napoleon was satisfied that he had played his hand as well as he could. From the vantage point of the Prazen Heights the French position would look weak and poorly defended. The looming mass of the Zurlan hill on the French left would easily conceal the corps of Lannes and Bernadotte, together with the Imperial Guard. From the enemy’s position it would seem that the enfeebled Grand Army was ripe for destruction.

  All through the day Napoleon kept watch on the Heights, until at last, as the late afternoon sun began to sink towards the horizon, he started to pick out the dense columns of infantry moving opposite the centre and right of the French line.

  ‘There!’ He pointed the enemy out to Berthier. ‘I told y
ou it would work. Send word for Davout and Bernadotte to join us at once. And issue a general order to the army. Let them know that there will be a battle tomorrow. Tell them that we shall win a great victory.’

  ‘Yes, sire.’

  As night fell over the winter landscape Napoleon entertained his senior officers with a simple dinner at the inn in Bellowitz, a small village at the foot of the Zurlan hill. The main course, a steaming bowl of fried potatoes and onions, was consumed with relish and accompanied by some of the wine looted in Vienna. As they ate, reports continued to come in of the loom of campfires on the Heights, directly opposite the French centre, so there could be no doubt over the enemy’s intentions for the next day.Then, at midnight, Napoleon and his officers heard the beating of drums and wild cheering close at hand.

  ‘What’s that?’ Napoleon asked. ‘Berthier, find out what is going on.’

  Berthier smiled. ‘Sire, have you forgotten?’

  ‘Forgotten?’

  ‘The date.’ Berthier pulled out his pocket watch. ‘It is past midnight, sire.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘It is the second of December. The first anniversary of your coronation.The men are celebrating.’

  ‘Of course,’ Napoleon replied quickly, angry with himself for letting such an important detail slip his mind. ‘Then I must let the men see their Emperor.’

  He left the table and went outside, followed by the others. It was a cold night and his breath plumed in the light cast by the brilliant stars scattered across the heavens. All around the village, and up on the Zurlan, bright campfires flickered in the night, and the cheers of the soldiers carried clearly to the Emperor. As he emerged from the inn, there was a burst of applause and greetings from the men of the Imperial Guard who stood in the street. Some carried torches made from twisted straw and Napoleon could see the warm grins and smiles of his veterans, men who had served with him in previous campaigns. One of the grenadiers took off his bearskin hat and placed it over the muzzle of his musket before hoisting it high into the air as he cheered. Others followed suit and as Napoleon descended the small flight of steps into the street an avenue of cheering soldiers opened before him. He walked slowly down the street, smiling back at his men with genuine warmth.

  ‘Long live the Emperor! Long live Napoleon!’ The cries echoed down the street and were quickly taken up by the troops outside the village until the night resounded with the chant. Napoleon felt his heart swell with affection and gratitude to these men who had followed him through the years, and now trusted him with their lives. He turned to Berthier and muttered, ‘Did you put them up to this?’

  ‘No, sire. They do it because they love you.’

  ‘Love me?’ Napoleon smiled, and for a moment he was tempted to think Berthier must be flattering him. But there was no guile in the faces around him and he in turn realised that Berthier spoke the truth. He patted Berthier on the arm.‘I think this has been the finest evening of my life. And with the dawn will come my finest day.’

  Chapter 15

  Austerlitz, 2 December 1805

  At four in the morning the officers and sergeants of the Grand Army began to rouse their men. Most of the campfires had died down but there was still enough light from the glowing embers for the soldiers to pull on their boots, adjust their uniforms and prepare their weapons for the coming battle. It had been a bitterly cold night and a thick mist had risen from the Goldbach stream which now blanketed the land on either side, so that the French troops were all but invisible to their enemy up on the Pratzen Heights. The celebratory mood over the Emperor’s first anniversary had given way to a quiet contemplation of what was to come. The veterans, for the most part, went about their preparations with a fatalistic calm.The younger and more inexperienced soldiers either were anxious and filled with dread of being wounded or were full of bravado and spoke with a cheery loudness that fooled no one except themselves.

  To the south of the Zurlan hill lay the vast sprawl of Murat’s cavalry lines where the troopers were carefully saddling their mounts, checking every strap and buckle to ensure they would be well seated if they needed to charge.The cuirassiers helped each other into their polished chest and back plates before pulling on their helmets with their flowing horsehair crests. In other regiments the dragoons, hussars and lancers made ready and then led their horses into line to await the start of the battle.

  On the great mound of the Zurlan the artillery crews carried the first charges from the caissons up to the massed batteries, where some guns were trained on the Heights opposite while others were aimed to the south to pour an enfilading fire on the enemy’s attacks across the Goldbach stream. Even though it was still dark there was no doubt about where the strongest concentration of the enemy forces lay. A faint loom across the skyline in the direction of the village of Pratzen revealed their position and the French gunners marvelled at the strength of the forces ranged against them.

  Napoleon led his staff up the hill to the command post that had been prepared for him the afternoon before. He had slept in a barn at the foot of the hill on a bed of straw, and had managed to snatch three hours of deep sleep. Like most of his veterans Napoleon had long since developed the knack of quickly falling into a deep sleep when the chance arose. He felt the familiar light ache of excitement mingled with anxiety in the pit of his stomach. Even now, his mind raced over the details of his plan and the disposition of his troops, and there were still doubts in his mind.

  If, for any reason, Davout’s corps failed to arrive on the right flank in time to stiffen its defence, then the enemy might turn the flank and roll up the French line. Davout had visited headquarters the previous evening to report and give his word that his men would reach the battlefield in time to play their part.The marshal had looked weary, and no wonder, Napoleon reflected. He and his men had marched over eighty miles from Vienna in two days after receiving Berthier’s summons. The corps would be exhausted, and yet the fate of the Grand Army might well rest on their shoulders.

  Then there was the question of the timing of the main attack on the Pratzen Heights. Too soon and the enemy would spot the danger and be able to respond in time to block the thrust.Too late and the French right might be broken and both armies would merely have wheeled round, locked on each other like a pair of battling stags. Napoleon knew that the attack would have to be perfectly timed to achieve its purpose, and the decision when to give the order would depend on how long the weakened centre and right of the French line along the Goldbach could hold its ground. He stared to the right and cursed the heavy mist. It might well be useful to conceal the French positions from the enemy, but it also concealed the men from the eyes of their commander and it was essential that Napoleon knew exactly what was happening along the length of his battle line throughout the coming day.

  He turned to Berthier.‘I want regular reports from the commanders, down to brigade level. On the half-hour, understand? Make sure that there are adequate messengers to carry it out.’

  ‘Yes, sire.’ Berthier added a note in his log and then turned to one of his junior staff officers to pass on the Emperor’s order. As they talked behind him, Napoleon closed his eyes for a moment, and mentally projected a map of the surrounding area in his head. Marshal Lannes was on the left flank, with orders to hold any Austrian attacks. Murat’s cavalry would form up in support of Lannes, and be launched in pursuit of the enemy if things went well. If they didn’t it would be Murat’s responsibility to cover the retreat of whatever was left of the Grand Army.Then there was Bernadotte’s corps, entrusted with the defence of the Zurlan, but ready to exploit any weakness in the enemy line should the opportunity arise. Behind the Zurlan was the Imperial Guard acting as a reserve, and the two divisions of Soult’s corps chosen to lead what should be the decisive attack - if the battle went as planned, Napoleon reminded himself. He allowed himself a wry smile as he recalled something he had heard years before: once a battle began the very first casualty of the day was always the plan. Just one divisi
on, commanded by General Legrand, was entrusted with holding back the main weight of the enemy attack along the bank of the Goldbach. Legrand must hold on until Davout’s hard-marching corps arrived on the right flank and could support him.

  ‘Dawn, sire.’ Berthier drew his Emperor’s attention to the east, where the dull pink orb of the sun was rising over the crest of the Pratzen Heights, picking out the Russian and Austrian troops massing to attack.

  ‘Very well. Give the order for Soult’s assault columns to cross the stream and form up. Tell Soult to make good use of this mist, and keep his men hidden for as long as possible.’

  ‘Yes, sire.’

  A dull boom echoed across the valley from the direction of Pratzen and the assembled officers turned towards the sound of the signal gun. A moment later there was a sudden detonation of cannonfire away to the right, followed by the faint rattle and pop of muskets.

  Napoleon glanced down as he fished his watch out of its fob pocket. ‘Just short of seven o’clock.’

  Berthier strained his ears and eyes as he stared towards the right flank of the French line. But the mist and the smoke from the campfires still obscured the view and only the crest of the Heights and the Zurlan itself stood proud of the miasma. Several columns of enemy troops were marching swiftly down the opposite slope into the mist, and more troops could be seen moving from the Russian and Austrian centre to reinforce the attack. Berthier concentrated on the flank again. ‘Looks like they are attacking the village at Tellnitz.’