Berthier glanced anxiously at his Emperor. ‘Sire, it seems that they have broken.’
‘Nonsense!’
And yet still they came, running back towards the rest of their division. Napoleon felt his temper rise at the sight of such mass indiscipline and cowardice.‘Why doesn’t somebody rally those bastards? Before they disrupt the rest of the corps.’ Napoleon craned his neck towards the cluster of standards that marked the position of Prince Eugиne and his staff. ‘For God’s sake do something!’
The remnants of MacDonald’s division emerged from Wagram, closely pursued by the jubilant Austrians, who shot down the fleeing Italians, or bayoneted them on the ground, without a shred of mercy. Mad with fear, the Italians raced towards the safety of their steadier comrades, pushing aside the leading ranks and breaking up the formation. Berthier nodded towards the scattered figures fanning out as they fled from Wagram.
‘They’re coming this way, sire. We should order the Guard to open ranks and let them through.’
‘No,’ Napoleon said firmly.‘We cannot afford to let that rabble throw the Guard into chaos. Order the men to fix bayonets.’
‘Sire?’
‘Do it!’ Napoleon snapped. ‘At once.’
‘Yes, sire.’
As the command was relayed through the battalions of the Old Guard standing in the front rank, the long triangular spikes of steel rasped from their sheaths and clattered into the locked position over the musket muzzles. Napoleon and his officers retired behind the leading battalion and watched as the sergeants gave the order to advance bayonets. A wall of lethal points was presented to the Italians fleeing towards the Guard. At the sight of the threat, and the cold and contemptuous expressions on the faces of the veterans, they turned aside and ran for the gaps between the French units. As the last men of MacDonald’s division hurried by, the pursuing Austrians drew up at the sight of fresh enemy units.
With parade-ground precision the Imperial Guard unleashed several volleys that cut the leading enemy wave to shreds. A handful of gallant Austrian officers attempted to rally their men and re-form their ranks to return fire, but they were swiftly struck down and lay with the rest of their men in heaps scattered across the bloody ground. The Austrian soldiers began to fall back, and soon they were running to the shelter of the houses on the edge of Wagram. In the failing light those French battalions that had been disrupted by the men of MacDonald’s division had re-formed, and stood ready to advance once again.
‘Shall I order Prince Eugиne to counter-attack?’ asked Berthier.
Napoleon shook his head. ‘It’s too late. It will be dark within half an hour.’ He puffed his cheeks in frustration. ‘Call off the attack. Order all formations to fall back and make camp for the night.’
Once the last of the fighting had died away and an uneasy quiet fell across the plain, Napoleon summoned his marshals to his headquarters to discuss his plans for the next day. First, however, the Emperor made a last visit to the bridges to ensure that the supply trains had begun to cross from Lobau island. The pontoon bridges sagged under the weight of the long, heavy artillery caissons, and the lines of wagons carrying ammunition for the men of the infantry and cavalry. The engineers had placed lanterns along the length of each bridge and the flickering glows undulated up and down as the vehicles passed by.
Satisfied that the men of the Grand Army would not be short of supplies for the next day, Napoleon returned to his field headquarters at the church. The cluster of staff officers and escorts that stood around the entrance revealed that his senior officers had already arrived. Dismounting, Napoleon handed the reins to a groom and hurriedly returned the salutes of the men on either side of the church doors before entering the building. The sound of voices came from the altar, and by the light of a handful of candles burning in brackets on the walls Napoleon saw his marshals gathered there. Marshal Bernadotte’s voice carried clearly over the subdued talk of the others.
‘I’m telling you, it was a wasted opportunity. The Emperor delayed his attack for too long, and he should not have attempted to attack along the whole line.’
‘Really?’ Davout responded drily. ‘And what would you have done in his place, I wonder?’
There was a pause and the other marshals stopped talking. Bernadotte cleared his throat and replied, ‘If I had been in command of the army, we would be celebrating a great victory at this moment. I would have used a special manoeuvre that would have defeated the enemy. I would have . . .’
Napoleon decided he had heard enough, and strode towards the altar. As the marshals stood to attention, he waved them down.‘No time for formalities, gentlemen. We have a battle to plan.’
Everyone clustered around the altar and Napoleon stared at the map before them as he gathered his thoughts. ‘We have every reason to be pleased with today’s achievements, my friends. The Grand Army’s crossing of the Danube caught our enemy by complete surprise. All that remains is for us to deliver the final blow and crush Archduke Charles.’
There was a brief silence before Davout cleared his throat and tapped the line of the Russbach river. ‘Sire, what is the latest intelligence of Archduke John’s position?’
‘Our cavalry patrols report no sign of him for twenty miles, south and east of here. He need not concern us.’
‘What if Archduke John does reach the battlefield, and attacks our flank?’
‘If, if, if.’ Napoleon frowned. ‘I told you, Archduke John does not concern us. He is not near enough to intervene.’
Davout nodded slightly. ‘If you say so, sire.’
Napoleon felt a slight giddiness as he struggled to contain his fraying temper. It had been some days since he had had a proper night’s sleep. He had been constantly awake for almost all that time, and his limbs were heavy. It took some effort to think clearly. He rubbed his eyes and then looked round at his officers. ‘Gentlemen, you may return to your commands. Berthier will issue your orders during the night.’
After the marshals had left the church Napoleon decided to move his headquarters closer to the decisive sector of the coming battle. Leaving Berthier to arrange for his staff to follow on, Napoleon mounted his horse and rode north of the village of Raasdorf to stop on a small knoll a short distance behind Massйna’s right flank. In the darkness, he could just make out the faint outline of columns of men massing in readiness for the coming attack. When the first battalion of the Old Guard arrived to secure the Emperor’s new command post, Napoleon had the drummers stack their instruments to make a shelter for him. Then, with a rolled greatcoat for a pillow, he lay down to snatch a few hours’ sleep.
Berthier gently shook his shoulder at three in the morning and Napoleon blinked his eyes open, his mind still vague with exhaustion. A guardsman holding a lantern stood behind Berthier.
‘What time is it?’
‘It’s past the third hour, sire.’
Napoleon eased himself up and then rose stiffly to his feet, pressing his fists into the small of the back as he stretched his spine. ‘Is the army in position?’
‘Yes, sire. All corps headquarters report that they will be ready to attack by four.’
Napoleon glanced round. Even though it was still dark he could make out the vague masses of men slowly forming their ranks. The cool night air was restless with their muted conversation and the shuffling tramp of their boots. He could feel their tense excitement at the prospect of the coming battle. There was some anxiety and fear there too: a certain edge in their voices. Napoleon turned back to Berthier and forced a smile.
‘All goes well. Our leading divisions will fall upon the enemy while they’re still eating their breakfast, eh?’