Fire and Sword

by Simon Scarrow

  Bercourt swallowed nervously. ‘Yes, sire.’

  ‘Very well, return to the ranks.’

  ‘Yes, sire,’ Bercourt replied in a humbled tone.

  Once the man had resumed his position Napoleon glared at the massed ranks of his finest soldiers and called out,‘Is there any other man amongst you who would presume to command his Emperor?’

  The words were met by silence and Napoleon nodded as he addressed them again. ‘Thank you, gentlemen. Now, if you don’t mind, I have a battle to fight.’

  He turned away and strode back to join Berthier and the other staff officers. They had been watching the confrontation, but now turned to follow the progress of the French line as it gradually pushed the Prussians back. Napoleon shook his head as he approached Berthier.

  ‘Damned glory-hunters! There are a sight too many of them in the army for my taste. It’s young men like that who end up like Marshal Ney.’

  Berthier shrugged. ‘Is that such a bad thing? It is only a measure of the men’s élan, sire.’

  ‘Élan?’ Napoleon frowned. ‘I command an army, Berthier, not a duelling society. What use is élan if it leads to recklessness? The Grand Army is an instrument of my will, and the men must understand that first and foremost. Otherwise they threaten us all with disaster.’

  ‘Yes, sire.’ Berthier conceded. ‘I will have that soldier and the rest of them reprimanded.’

  ‘No. That’s not necessary.’ Napoleon thought for a moment before he continued. ‘Promote him to sergeant. I need men who are keen to fight. But tell him that if I ever hear him, or any man in his company, challenge my orders like that again, I’ll have the lot of them sent to rot in the navy.’

  ‘Yes, sire.’ Berthier grinned.‘That’ll put the fear of God in them, sure enough.’

  ‘They can fear God if they like, just as long as they obey their Emperor.’

  Napoleon concentrated his mind on the battle spread out before him across the plateau. Except for a few isolated positions where the Prussians were putting up a spirited resistance, the enemy was falling back. Behind the front line the Prussians were forming up into columns and preparing to march away from the battlefield. Napoleon felt the tension in his body. If there was to be a decisive result it was vital that the enemy did not have the chance to retire in good order and fight another day. He clasped his hands together behind his back and began to pace up and down in front of his staff as he continued to watch the battle. It was swiftly apparent that he need not have worried that his subordinates were up to the task.They had fought enough battles at his side to be fully aware of the need to press the enemy to breaking point.

  As the Prussians fell back and attempted to disengage from the struggle, Lannes sent his artillery forward to continue blasting grapeshot into the enemy ranks.Already demoralised by having to retreat, and still under withering fire from the advancing French, the Prussian regiments quickly became disorganised as they fell back and disorder spread through their ranks.There was no need for Napoleon to issue any order to Murat, as the cavalry commander instantly grasped that the time had come to begin his charge.The shrill call of trumpets sounded across the plateau, and as Napoleon and his staff looked on the French cavalry, eight thousand strong, edged forward, building up to a trot as they passed beyond their comrades in the infantry and then finally surging forward into a gallop as they approached the Prussians.

  Napoleon could well imagine the terror of the enemy, already shaken by defeat, as they faced a glittering wave of horsemen, swords and lances readied to strike as the pounding hooves of their charging mounts shook the earth beneath them.Then they were in amongst the Prussian formations, shattering all but the most brave and professional of the Prussian regiments who had been able to form squares. A tide of fugitives fled from the battlefield, and even the column of reinforcements that Napoleon had sighted earlier fell prey to the panic that now gripped the Prussian army as it broke and streamed back across the landscape in the direction of Weimar.

  Berthier consulted his watch and made a note in his logbook before he addressed his Emperor. ‘My congratulations, sire. Your victory is complete, and there are still at least three hours of daylight left for Murat to continue his pursuit.The enemy has lost the campaign.’

  ‘Let’s hope so,’ Napoleon replied.‘But the day is not over, and I have yet to hear from Davout and Bernadotte. They should have reached Apolda by now, and cut off the retreat of some of the men we have defeated here.’ He glanced to the north, where faint smudges of powder smoke were visible towards the horizon. ‘I trust that they have dealt with the Prussian detachment at Auerstadt. Any reports from them yet?’

  ‘Only that Davout had encountered a large enemy force.’

  ‘Nothing more?’

  ‘Not so far, sire.’

  Napoleon pursed his lips for a moment and then started towards his horse. ‘I am sure that Davout will have defeated them as readily as we defeated the main army. I’m surprised we won as easily as we did. Anyway, I’m riding down on to the plateau to speak to the men. If there is any news from Davout or Bernadotte, send word to me at once. I shall be returning to the headquarters at Jena for the evening.’

  ‘Yes, sire.’

  The gently rolling landscape was covered with the dead and wounded from the battle. Napoleon rode from regiment to regiment to offer his congratulations and rewards to those who had distinguished themselves. His men knew that they had won an important victory and cheered him as he approached, clustering round his horse as he acknowledged their greetings with a broad smile, and a wave of his hat. As he passed amongst them Napoleon gave orders for the wounded to be carried down to Jena where they could be sheltered from the cold of the coming night. He also instructed that any captured enemy colours were to be taken to headquarters at once, together with the count of casualties suffered by both sides.

  Dusk was gathering over the town as Napoleon entered Jena with his escort and clattered through the cobbled streets. On either side wearied men, many wearing bloodied dressings, rose up and cheered as the Emperor passed by. When he reached headquarters an excited staff officer showed him the stack of enemy colours that had been brought in from the battlefield.

  ‘Over twenty so far, sire! Quite a haul.’

  ‘Yes.’ Napoleon smiled, and then yawned. He rubbed his jaw as he looked at the trophies. ‘Make sure that the men who captured these are awarded promotions.’

  ‘Yes, sire.’

  Napoleon had turned away, and was about to go to his quarters and order a meal, when the staff officer addressed him again.

  ‘Sire! There’s a messenger waiting to see you. He has come straight from Marshal Davout at Auerstadt.’

  ‘Auerstadt?’ Napoleon turned back quickly. ‘Where is he?’

  ‘Waiting outside your quarters, sire.’

  Napoleon strode away through the main hall of the hotel that had been commandeered for the temporary headquarters of the Grand Army. The place buzzed with the excitement of victory as the officers toasted each other with wine taken from the hotel’s cellar. Napoleon ignored them all as he climbed the stairs to the hotel’s best suite of rooms, which was serving as his personal quarters. An officer rose from a bench outside the door leading into the private dining room as Napoleon approached. He was spattered with mud and a bandage had been crudely tied about his head. Nevertheless, there was no hiding the triumphant gleam in his eye as he greeted his Emperor.

  ‘Sire, I have come from Marshal Davout.’

  ‘I know that.’ Napoleon waved a hand dismissively. ‘Make your report. Wait, who are you?’

  ‘Captain Tobriant, of Marshal Davout’s staff, sire.’

  ‘Very well, Tobriant. What news from Davout? Did he manage to contain the enemy’s flank guard?’

  ‘Flank guard?’ Captain Tobriant looked surprised. ‘Sire, I don’t think you understand. Marshal Davout begs to inform you that he met with the main body of the Prussian army on the Auerstadt road and defeated it today.’
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  Napoleon stared at him for a moment and then shook his head. ‘What nonsense is this? The main Prussian army fought us here at Jena.’

  Captain Tobriant’s exultant expression faded. ‘Sire, Marshal Davout estimates that his corps faced more than sixty thousand Prussians today.’

  ‘Sixty thousand?’ Napoleon laughed. ‘Impossible! How could Davout have defeated so many? Why, that would mean he was outnumbered by more than two to one.’

  ‘Yes, sire. That’s right.’ Tobriant nodded, then reached into his jacket and pulled out a slim despatch. ‘His report, sire.’

  Napoleon took the document and hurriedly broke the seal, unfolded it and read through the briefly recounted details. Then he lowered the report and glanced up at Tobriant. ‘This can’t be true.Your commander is seeing double. He could not possibly have overcome such odds. The real battle was here. The victory is mine. Mine. Davout’s fight was merely a flank action. Does he think he can usurp my glory?’

  Captain Tobriant opened his mouth to protest, then thought better of it as he made his reply. ‘Sire, you have Marshal Davout’s report. I can only say that I witnessed the battle from his headquarters, close enough to the fighting to be wounded by a spent musket ball. I know what I saw, sire, and Marshal Davout speaks the truth.’

  ‘Then he must be a fool,’ Napoleon snapped. ‘You return to him at once and tell him to present himself here first thing in the morning when he can make a more sober, and accurate, account of his . . . skirmish.’

  ‘Skirmish?’ Tobriant looked astonished for a moment before he recovered his composure. ‘I will go and report to him, sire.’

  Napoleon dismissed Tobriant and entered the dining room, where he sat down at the long table. He called for his secretaries and ordered food to be brought to him.While he ate he dictated a despatch to be sent to Paris immediately to let France know of the great victory that had been won over the Prussians at Jena.Then there were orders to be written so that the army might take advantage of the situation and make a rapid advance on Berlin to end the war.As he dictated, the first of the detailed reports from Davout’s headquarters arrived. Reading the tally of enemy and French losses, as well as the description of the battle at Auerstadt, Napoleon began to wonder if he had judged Davout too hastily.

  It had been some days since Napoleon had last slept well and towards midnight exhaustion finally got the better of him: he fell asleep, head cradled in his arms as he slumped over the table. Berthier waited a moment to see if he would stir, and then quietly rose up and fetched a thick coat from one of the pegs by the door and gently placed it over his shoulders as he began to snore.Then he ushered the secretaries from the room and, with a last glance at his master, followed them out and shut the door behind him.

  Napoleon woke with a start as the first rays of the dawn filtered into the room.Tossing the coat aside he stood up and rolled his neck cautiously until the stiffness had worn out of his spine.Then he strode to the door and pulled it open.

  ‘Berthier!’ he called out into the corridor. Receiving no reply, he pointed at a passing staff officer. ‘You there! Where is Berthier?’

  ‘Sire, he has just retired to his room to rest.’

  ‘Then wake him up and send him to me at once.’

  ‘Yes, sire.’

  ‘And then have the latest reports from Davout and Bernadotte brought to me.’

  The staff officer saluted and hurried away to do the Emperor’s bidding. By the time Berthier reached the room, bleary-eyed and dishevelled, Napoleon had read through most of the reports that had reached headquarters during the night. He lowered the steaming cup of coffee he had been drinking and tapped the sheaf of documents.

  ‘Have you seen these?’

  Berthier twisted his head as he approached the table so that he might see the reports, and then nodded.‘The despatches from Marshal Davout. Yes, sire, I have read them.’

  ‘And what do you make of his claim to have defeated the main body of the enemy’s forces?’

  Berthier was quiet for a moment as he tried to gauge the Emperor’s mood, and then spoke carefully.‘I have to say that I was sceptical at first, sire. But as I read more, it was clear that his assessment was backed by the reports sent in by his divisional commanders. It would appear that he is speaking the truth, sire.’

  ‘I see . . . So you believe that while nearly a hundred thousand men of the Grand Army were tied down here, taking on the enemy’s flank guard, Marshal Davout and his single corps attacked and defeated the main body of the Prussian army?’

  ‘That is what seems to have happened, sire. Based on those reports.’

  ‘Preposterous!’ Napoleon shoved the documents across the table in frustration. ‘It is not possible. Why, he even claims that he received no assistance from Bernadotte and his corps.’

  ‘Yes,’ Berthier said evenly. ‘If what he says is true, then Bernadotte disobeyed a direct order to march to Davout’s aid.That will require an investigation, sire.’

  ‘If it is true, then Bernadotte deserves to be court-martialled and shot,’ Napoleon decided. ‘Be that as it may, I cannot bring myself to believe the full extent of Davout’s claims. Why, if it were true, then he would have won a victory far greater than the one I achieved here yesterday. Is that not so?’

  Berthier did not respond at once but raised his eyebrows and tilted his head slightly to one side as if he was considering a very complicated proposition.

  Napoleon shook his head.‘No, the real victory was won here, at Jena. That is what people will say.’

  ‘Yes, sire. I imagine so.’

  Napoleon eyed him coldly. ‘You imagine so?’

  Berthier shifted uncomfortably but did not reply and Napoleon sighed with exasperation. He did not want to believe that one of his corps commanders had taken on the main Prussian army and won a victory that so clearly eclipsed his own. Yet all the evidence of the reports was that Davout had achieved precisely what he claimed to have done. There was no denying that the victory at Auerstadt was an astonishing achievement, and one that Napoleon could not help feeling a surge of jealousy over. Once word of Davout’s success spread through the army, and then across Europe, any attempt made by Napoleon to claim that the real glory was won on the field at Jena would be seen through at once as a petty attempt to outshine his subordinate. People would laugh at him, Napoleon reflected bitterly.There was no avoiding the painful humiliation that the true glory of the previous day belonged to Davout.Very well then, Napoleon resolved. He would be magnanimous and accord Marshal Davout the praise and recognition that was due. Besides, a show of respect for the man would be sure to play well with the rankers, and in the newspapers. By such gestures he would be seen to remain a man of the people, and not the petty despot and tyrant his enemies tried to depict him as.

  Napoleon took a deep calming breath and eased himself back in his chair as he looked at Berthier. ‘Send Davout to me the moment he arrives.’>

  ‘Yes, sire.’

  ‘In the meantime, have the army newspapers prepare an article on the magnificent victory a handful of French soldiers achieved over an enemy army many times their strength. The writers are not to stint in their praise of Davout. You are to let them know that the Emperor himself pays his profound respect and gratitude to the marshal and adds his voice to the honour that the rest of the Grand Army bestows on Davout and his heroic men. Is that quite clear?’

  Berthier nodded.

  ‘Then leave me. I must be shaved and properly dressed to receive France’s hero of the hour.’

  Once Berthier had gone, Napoleon clenched his fists and gritted his teeth as he indulged in a seething rage over the mistake he had made in assuming that he had attacked and defeated the main Prussian army at Jena.The reasons behind the ready success of the previous day were now apparent and the words of triumph he had penned for the newspapers in Paris the night before now mocked him. Napoleon hurriedly searched through the morning paperwork left on the table for his s
ignature until he found the despatch announcing the victory at Jena. He glanced over the neatly transcribed paragraphs and then folded the letter and tore it in half, and then again and again until there was only a scattering of paper fragments on the table.

  Marshal Davout arrived at headquarters as Napoleon was finishing his breakfast and the Emperor instantly rose to his feet and thrust his napkin aside as he smiled at his subordinate.

  ‘Marshal Davout, it is a pleasure to greet the victor of Auerstadt! Please, sit down and join me. Coffee? Something to eat?’

  ‘Thank you, sire. Coffee would be most welcome.’

  Once Napoleon had ordered a clerk to bring refreshments for the marshal, he glanced over at his guest. Davout had ridden through the night, and had not slept for three days. A thick stubble encrusted his cheeks and his eyes were red-rimmed and bloodshot. He eased himself stiffly into the chair opposite the Emperor and smiled wearily. ‘May I offer my congratulations to you, sire, on your victory here at Jena?’