‘Yes, sire.’
‘There’s no time to waste. Go!’
As the horse guns rumbled into a trot, the chains of their traces jingling, Napoleon returned to Davout and his officers. He indicated Nansouty’s column thundering out to the flank. ‘You’ll have some support from that direction soon enough. Make it count.’
‘Yes, sire.’
They watched as Nansouty’s batteries deployed just in front of the line of trees. The gunners hurriedly loaded the weapons and a moment later there was a flash and puff of smoke as the first gun fired, quickly followed by the others. Napoleon turned his gaze on the approaching Austrian columns and saw several men suddenly smashed aside, then some more, and soon the side of the enemy attack was marked by a trail of bodies. The Austrians’ progress slowed as the battered flank battalions halted to re-dress their ranks, filling the gaps, before tramping forward again until they were hit by another salvo from Nansouty’s guns.
As the losses mounted Davout’s infantry began to counter-attack, advancing between each volley of musket fire. Caught from two directions, the left flank of the enemy attack began to crumble as the more fearful of the men started to give ground, falling back at first and then turning to run. For a moment the Austrian attack wavered, and then fear swept through it like a torrent. Battalion after battalion fell back, and all the time Nansouty’s guns poured lethal cones of case shot into their scattering ranks.
Napoleon turned to Davout. ‘I’m returning to headquarters. You know what you have to do.’
‘Yes, sire.’
‘Then good luck, Marshal.’
Napoleon pulled on his reins and turned his mount to race back to the west, while Davout’s drummers beat the advance and his soldiers let out a great cheer as they began their pursuit of the retreating Austrians.
The moment he arrived back at the forward command position Napoleon sensed something was wrong, as Berthier hurried towards him with a relieved expression.
‘What’s happened?’
‘Aderklaa is in enemy hands.’
‘How is that possible? Bernadotte has the best part of a division in the village. They’d turned the place into a fortress.’ Napoleon felt a leaden despair in his guts. ‘What happened?’
‘Marshal Bernadotte ordered his men to quit the village, sire. He informed me that he was obliged to shorten his battle line by pulling his men back between Massйna and Prince Eugиne.’
Napoleon closed his eyes briefly as he took a sharp intake of breath. The village was intended to be the base for his attack on the centre of the Austrian line. Now it had to be retaken, at the cost of the lives of many of his men. Because of Marshal Bernadotte. He breathed out through clenched teeth and opened his eyes.
‘Send orders to Bernadotte. He must retake Aderklaa. At any cost.’
‘Yes, sire.’
While Berthier hurriedly prepared the orders, Napoleon dismounted. As he landed, a terrible giddiness struck him so that he had to hold on to the pommel of the saddle for fear that he might fall. He raged at his body for this moment of weakness. He knew that he was suffering from exhaustion. Ten years earlier he would have endured this without a thought, and Napoleon realised that age was creeping up on him. He stood a moment until his head had cleared and then walked carefully to the map table and sat down heavily. He snapped his fingers at the nearest orderly. ‘I want something to eat. Something to drink. Now.’
‘Yes, sire.’
The orderly returned with a lump of hard cheese, some bread and a jug of beer. Napoleon did not care for ale and only sipped at it as he forced himself to eat.
Shortly after six in the morning, Bernadotte’s division of Saxon soldiers began their attack on Aderklaa. Napoleon abandoned his meal and called for his horse. Ordering Berthier to accompany him with a small escort of staff officers and lancers from the Imperial Guard, he rode forward to view the action more closely.
Marshal Bernadotte was close to the front, encouraging his Saxon infantry forward as they were met with a withering hail of fire from the Austrian defenders. The enemy had made good use of all the defences prepared by Bernadotte’s men only hours before, and fired from behind walls and loopholes in the houses on the edge of the village. Even so, the Saxons advanced steadily, the leading battalions closing ranks as their men were whittled down by enemy bullets. As he watched, Napoleon could see more enemy forces approaching from behind the village. He willed Bernadotte to throw his men forward, before the Austrian defenders could be reinforced.
There was a final flurry of musket fire at point-blank range before the Saxons charged home and attacked the enemy with bayonets. Napoleon raised his telescope, and through the dispersing gunpowder smoke he caught glimpses of the bloody close-quarters skirmishing on the outskirts of the village. A gallant young officer urged his men over a garden wall. Several men went down like skittles as they burst through a gate, straight into the muskets of the men waiting within. Two men were helping a comrade with a shattered leg to the rear. A sergeant smashed down an Austrian soldier with the butt of his musket before reversing the weapon and thrusting his bayonet home into the enemy’s throat.
Napoleon lowered his telescope. Bernadotte’s attack seemed to be succeeding. Once the village was back in French hands, then the rest of the army’s assault on the Austrian line could begin. At last, the morning’s crises had been contained. He turned to Berthier.
‘The moment Bernadotte confirms that Aderklaa has been cleared of the enemy, send the order to all commands to begin their attacks.’
‘Yes, sir.’ Berthier nodded, and then glanced past Napoleon with a curious expression.
‘What is it now?’ Napoleon grumbled, turning round.
The Saxon columns entering the village had halted. On either side, flowing back round them, were the men from the leading battalions. Some of the officers and sergeants tried to stop them, but were quickly thrust aside or knocked down as the Saxon troops fled. Napoleon raised his looking glass again and saw more flashes of gunfire and smoke amid the buildings, then the green of Austrian uniforms, and over them the standard of Austria, waving from side to side. A volley smashed into the leading ranks of one of the Saxon columns stalled just outside the village. That was enough to break their wavering spirit and they too turned and ran. In a short space of time the entire Saxon division was on the run.
A horseman raced out ahead of the fleeing infantry, cutting diagonally across their path and straight towards Napoleon and his entourage.
‘That’s Bernadotte,’ said Berthier, lowering his telescope. ‘Must be trying to cut ahead of his men to rally them.’
‘Ah, leading from the front, as usual,’ Napoleon sneered. ‘Even in retreat.’
Berthier glanced at the emperor and spoke quietly. ‘Sire, the marshal is a brave man, even if he is inclined to self-aggrandisement.’
‘Inclined to it?’ Napoleon smiled coldly. ‘Why, the man is utterly devoted to himself.’
Berthier seemed about to respond, but thought better of it and clamped his jaw shut instead.
They watched as Bernadotte reined in his mount in front of a group of soldiers and began to berate them, thrusting his arm out towards the village. A handful of those closest to the marshal stopped and regarded him briefly before warily turning aside and hurrying on after their comrades. Bernadotte called after them, then spurred his horse into a gallop to attempt to get in front of his men again. Ahead of him the plain was covered with thousands of his Saxons, the foremost of whom were coming close to Napoleon and his staff. Berthier turned to the commander of the escort and ordered him to send his men forward to screen the Emperor. The lancers walked their mounts up and halted ten paces in front of Napoleon, in a loose line, and lowered the tips of their weapons. The fleeing Saxons began to flow to the sides to avoid the new danger. Marshal Bernadotte stopped a hundred paces away and drew his sword, turning on the Saxons.