‘Fate won’t decide this,’ Napoleon replied. ‘It’s a test of courage and endurance . . . And numbers.’
Berthier smiled mirthlessly. ‘Fate has a way of favouring the bigger battalions.’
Napoleon did not reply, but stared out over the battlefield at the Austrians surging forward to attack his thinly stretched army. Could they weather another assault, he wondered? If not, then only Desaix could save them from utter destruction.
After a fresh cannonade the Austrian columns came on again.To the right, opposite the end of Watrin’s division, a large body of cavalry was forming up behind the columns of Austrian infantry. The Consular Guard formed into a square before it marched steadily forward to fill the gap between Watrin’s and Monnier’s divisions.As the enemy saw the guard moving towards them, they turned their attention away from the remnants of Watrin’s division and opened fire on the square. At such close range the veterans were shot down by the score under the withering volleys of the enemy. But each time they steadily closed ranks and continued forward, until at last the order was given to halt, and open fire.
For the moment the Guard was holding its own and Napoleon turned his attention to the far right of the line. The sacrifice of the Guard had not only taken the pressure off the shaken survivors of Watrin’s division, but also given Monnier the chance to form his men up on the right flank, and now his fresh columns rolled forward towards Castel Ceriolo. As Napoleon had hoped, the Austrians began to break contact with Watrin and the remnants of the Consular Guard as they turned to face the new threat. The firing died away for the moment as the French soldiers fell back a few hundred paces and re-formed their line.
A rider approached Berthier, and leaned forward to hand him a note. Berthier glanced at it before turning to Napoleon.‘Victor is pulling back, before he is destroyed.’
For an instant Napoleon was on the verge of shouting an order that Victor should hold his line to the last man, but then cold calm reason asserted itself. Such an order would be madness. Inhuman madness. Instead he nodded. ‘He has done enough.Tell him to withdraw towards the main camp at San Giuliano. Pass the order down the line to all the other commanders.’
Berthier hurried back to his desk. Now that defeat seemed unavoidable, Napoleon felt a tired calmness fill his body. His men had done all they could to stem the Austrian assault, and it was his duty to try to save as many of them as he could. With luck, Desaix might arrive in time to cover their retreat.The loss of this battle would give heart to France’s enemies, and destroy his reputation. The fault, he accepted, was his own. He had misjudged the character of his opponent - the classic mistake of an arrogant commander blinded by faith in his infallibility. Once news of this defeat reached Paris, his days as First Consul were numbered. Bernadotte and Moreau would circle like vultures ready to pluck the power from his bones.
The French army retreated from the battlefield, marching back down the road towards the village of San Giuliano. The men trudged along in silence, the injured being helped by their comrades.As they passed him Napoleon noted the exhausted and anxious expressions on their grime-streaked faces and knew that their travail was not over. Glancing at his watch he saw that it was not yet three o’clock in the afternoon, still early enough for the enemy to mount a pursuit. Beyond Marengo he could see that the centre of the Austrian line was forming into a column whose intention was all too clear. Melas was sending his army after them, determined to complete his victory with one final crushing blow to his defeated enemy. He would do it too, Napoleon realised. A short while earlier he had seen a dense cloud of dust on the far side of the river as one of the Austrian cavalry columns moved out to swing round the retreating French and cut off their escape route. A similar force was massing this side of the river, ready to march towards Novi to act as the other pincer arm.
‘Sir!’ Berthier called out to him and pointed down the retreating column in the direction of the camp. A small party of horsemen was galloping towards them. At their head was a figure with gold braid on his uniform coat. ‘It’s Desaix!’
Napoleon made himself smile as his friend rode up and reined in. Desaix had ridden hard and his horse’s flanks heaved like a blacksmith’s bellows.
‘Sir, it’s good to see you.’ Desaix gestured to the retreating column. ‘I assumed the worst.’
‘I fear the worst is still to come.’ Napoleon pointed out the dust from the enemy cavalry columns. ‘They aim to block our retreat while the main body of the enemy army pursues us down this road. Not a good situation for us, I fear.’
Desaix quickly took stock of the situation and then pulled out his watch before he turned back to Napoleon. ‘This battle is completely lost.’ Then he raised his head defiantly. ‘But there is still time to win another. My leading division is close behind me, sir. If we can form a new line, before San Giuliano, and put every gun we have to the head of the enemy column, then we can stop them dead in their tracks, and take them in the flanks.’
Napoleon considered the idea for a moment and nodded. Desaix was right. If the army continued to retreat they would only be falling into the enemy’s trap. Their only chance was to turn on the pursuit column and attempt to break it.
He cleared his throat. ‘Very well. One last throw of the dice.’
The late afternoon sun slanted across the fields surrounding San Giuliano. The French line was strung out across the plain in a shallow S formation. On the right flank Monnier and the remnants of the Consular Guard were tasked with holding back the enemy column advancing from Castel Ceriolo. The rest of the army was drawn up facing the road to Marengo. In front of San Giuliano Marmont had massed the remaining eighteen guns, and concealed them behind the stone walls and hedges of the villagers’ smallholdings. Beyond them, Desaix and his men stood ready to attack the enemy column. The battered divisions of Victor and Lannes’ stood formed up parallel to the road, but far enough away to remain out of sight. As they waited for the Austrian column to march into view Napoleon rode down the line to offer encouragement to his troops. Every so often, he halted to deliver the same message.
‘Soldiers! You have retreated enough. The enemy thinks we are beaten! He thinks that he is, at last, our master. He thinks that he has beaten us into a corner like a whipped cur.Well, he should know the danger that comes from cornering a wild beast. He is about to get his arse well and truly bitten off!’
The men raised a laugh, and he moved on, until he reached the survivors of the Consular Guard, drawn up in a neat line. They raised their muskets and presented arms as he reined in before them. Napoleon felt his heart sink as he realised that less than half of the men who had so gallantly marched to Watrin’s rescue still remained. He swallowed and took a deep breath as he addressed them.
‘Men of the Guard, you have proved today that you are the bravest of the brave in the French army . . . in any army. If we win this day then all France shall hear of your courage, and the men of the Guard will for ever hold the place of honour wherever I lead our armies into battle.’ He took off his hat and raised it above his head. ‘Your general salutes you!’
Unlike the other units he had addressed the men stood still, staring ahead as if they were on a parade ground, and there was no outburst of cheers. A sergeant at the end of the front rank suddenly shouted out, ‘Chins up!’
The men strained to raise themselves up to their full height and Napoleon could not help smiling at their fearless and fierce sense of elan. He replaced his hat, wheeled his horse about and galloped back to his command post, just behind the centre of Desaix’s line. They did not have long to wait for the enemy column. With drums beating the pace the Austrians marched straight down the road from Marengo. They did not falter for an instant when they saw the French lines waiting for them before San Giuliano, no doubt taking them for little more than a rearguard left behind to delay the Austrians for as long as possible while the main body of the French army fled.