He was disturbed by the arrival of a young dragoon officer who stood to attention and saluted as he stood before his Emperor.
‘What is it?’ Napoleon snapped.
‘Sire, Marshal Massйna sends his compliments and begs to inform you that the Austrians are beginning to withdraw from Essling.’
‘Are they now?’ Napoleon frowned. It seemed that Archduke Charles had finally realised the danger of his situation and was starting to extricate his army. ‘Tell Massйna that he is to press forward at once. He is to push the enemy back, and stay in contact with them. They must not be allowed to escape, or be given any respite. Massйna must drive all before him. Now go!’
‘Yes, sire!’
Throughout the afternoon the French soldiers pressed forward, driving the enemy back across the plain. The last clouds had long since gone and the sun blazed down from a clear blue sky. But while there was serenity in the heavens, the Marchfeld was marked by great banks of rolling gunpowder smoke and the litter of war. Bodies of the dead and wounded lay strewn in the trampled grass, together with discarded equipment, shattered gun carriages and lame or abandoned horses that grazed between the corpses. The air was heavy from the heat, and reverberated with the sounds of cannon and the lighter crackle of musket fire.
Late in the afternoon Napoleon and his escort rode forward to assess the situation. He stopped by a small church on a dusty road heading north from Aspern, and climbed its tower with Berthier. There was little space at the top, and they had to squeeze past the old bronze bell before they could open the shutters and look out over the battlefield. Both men raised their telescopes and slowly swept them along the French line, taking in the formations of men and horses advancing under their tricolour and imperial eagle banners. They were dark against the shimmering gold of wheat fields, and the verdant green of meadows.
Napoleon could see that his army formed a giant wedge, driven into the centre of the Austrian line. He felt the familiar excitement tingle in his scalp as he viewed the over-extended enemy.
‘Berthier, do you see?’
‘Sire?’ Berthier lowered his looking glass and waited patiently while his Emperor briefly examined the battlefield once again before he lowered his own glass and turned round with a cold smile.
‘Berthier, we have them, provided we strike swiftly. Come!’
Napoleon led the way back down the narrow steps of the tower and they emerged in the cool plastered nave. Striding across to the altar, Napoleon swept the ornaments aside.
‘Let me see the map.’
Berthier unfasted the strap of the leather document case hanging from his shoulder. He took out the map, unfolded it and spread it across the altar. Napoleon leaned forward and stared at it a moment, eyes darting across the features, and then he nodded.
‘Our line extends thus.’ He drew his finger east from the Danube, towards Wagram, and then angled it south, along the length of the Russbach river. ‘The enemy’s right wing hinges on Wagram. Massйna can pin their right, Oudinot and Davout can strike against their left, and then we use our reserves to punch through, here.’ He tapped the map. ‘At Wagram. If we succeed, then we can turn and trap their right flank against the Danube and annihilate a third of Archduke Charles’s army.’ His eyes glittered.
Berthier studied the map a moment. ‘But what of Archduke John, sire? What if he appears on our flank? It could be dangerous.’
Napoleon shook his head. ‘Send a cavalry division to screen our flank. If he nears the battlefield before we have dealt with his brother, they can hold him off while we defeat Archduke Charles.’
‘Very well, sire. What time shall we begin the attack?’
Napoleon took out his watch. ‘It’s five o’clock. We should begin no later than seven. That gives us the best part of three hours of daylight to break the Austrians. The orders have to be sent out no later than six.’ Napoleon took off his jacket and threw it to the side of the altar. ‘To work, Berthier!’
The massed guns of the Grand Army opened fire on the enemy just after seven that evening. Napoleon watched with satisfaction as solid shot ploughed through the dense enemy formations. Then their own guns replied, smashing gaps in the French columns waiting for the order to advance. Once he judged the Austrian centre was beginning to waver under the intense bombardment, Napoleon gave the order for the attack to begin. As the French guns fell silent, the drums began a deep rolling beat and the infantry closed up on the waiting Austrians. Again, the long smears of dense smoke spread across the landscape, shrouding the battle, and Napoleon waited with the Imperial Guard, just behind Eugиne’s corps.
As the sounds of the assault rose in a crescendo Napoleon rose up on his stirrups and strained his eyes to see how the leading division was progressing. Eugиne had chosen General MacDonald, the descendant of an exiled Scottish aristocrat, to lead the way with his division of Italian soldiers. In the fading evening light, Napoleon could just make out the distant figures of his men beginning to enter the streets of Wagram. He nodded approvingly.
‘I have misjudged MacDonald’s men. I had feared they might lack the elan of French men, but look at them now. Charging in like lions!’
‘Yes, sire,’ Berthier replied, looking up from the first reports that had arrived from the other sectors of the battle line. He cleared his throat nervously and addressed his Emperor. ‘Sire, Oudinot and Davout are taking heavy losses.’
‘Of course they are. It’s to be expected in a frontal attack.’
‘But the enemy are holding their ground, sire. Our columns have been stopped in their tracks. And they’re losing men.’
Napoleon’s brow creased and he thought for a moment before responding. ‘It does not matter. The battle will be decided at Wagram. Once we have that, the enemy’s spirit will break. I know it.’
As he watched MacDonald’s men advance into the town Napoleon felt a glow of triumph kindle in his breast. The Grand Army was on the cusp of another great victory. Once Austria was defeated he would make sure that they would never again dare to defy France and her Emperor. But harsh terms in any treaty would not be enough. Napoleon intended to find a way of tying the destiny of both nations together.
A sudden intensification of musket fire from the direction of Wagram broke into his thoughts.
‘Sounds like MacDonald has run into some determined opposition,’ Berthier commented.
‘Archduke Charles must have reinforced Wagram. Even he isn’t so stupid that he does not see a danger when it stares him right in the face. Still, it’s of no consequence. Eugиne will reinforce his leading division in turn. The Austrians will run out of reserves before we do.’
‘You are right, of course, sire.’
Napoleon raised his nose and continued to gaze towards Wagram, trying to discern how the battle was going. Then the first Italian casualties began to limp out of the town, making their way back towards the rest of Eugиne’s corps formed up a short distance ahead of Napoleon and his staff. After the walking wounded came those who were being helped to the rear by their comrades and Napoleon regarded them coldly, always suspicious of unwounded men who fell out of the battle line, for any reason. There were always men who took advantage of a comrade’s injury to duck out of the fight. Soon the trickle emerging from the town became a flood; some had even abandoned their weapons in their haste to get away.
‘Bloody cowards!’ a voice called out from the front rank of the nearest battalion of the Old Guard.
‘Silence there!’ a sergeant bellowed. ‘I’ll have the balls of the next man who opens his mouth!’
The veterans stood and watched as hundreds of men from MacDonald’s division streamed out of Wagram. The sounds of fighting began to diminish, and a faint cheer rose up in the distance.