He paused and his tone softened. ‘I know how you must feel. We have been running from our pursuers for over a month now. It seems that there is always one more river we must cross to escape. I don’t doubt that your men will despair when they hear the news. The ordeal is not over yet. A hard march lies ahead of us, but when we cross at Borisov it is only another week’s march to Vilna where there is food enough for the whole army, as well as coats, boots and drink. Tell that to your men. Tell them it is there for the taking, if they can make the effort.’ Napoleon paused and looked round the room. He was sad to see the resignation in so many of their faces. They were beyond calls to patriotism and appeals to the heart now. But they must still be open to reason, he decided. He drew a deep breath.‘Tell them whatever you like, as long as it inspires them to keep marching. When that fails, use force.’
He gave them a moment to let his words settle in their weary minds. ‘We will have to do all that we can to increase the pace, gentlemen. To that end it is necessary that we leave behind all our heavy vehicles and any unnecessary baggage. We will keep the guns, limbers and ammunition carts only. Every wagon, carriage and cart is to be left behind. They will be burned, together with any supplies that we can no longer take with us.’
‘What about the wounded?’ asked Berthier.
‘The walking wounded can stay with the army. The rest will be left here, together with any who volunteer to remain behind to look after them.’
There was a silence as the officers digested the order, then Roguet cleared his throat. ‘Sire, that is a death sentence. We know what the Cossacks do to their prisoners.’
‘Then we must hope that the Russian regulars enter the town first,’ Napoleon replied. ‘But, just in case, we must ensure that every man is left with the means to escape captivity. The choice is theirs. There is nothing else we can do for the seriously wounded.’
Roguet shook his head, but kept his silence. Davout asked the next question.
‘What about the engineers’ pontoons, sire? Are they to be burned as well?’
‘Yes.’
Davout frowned. ‘But, sire, if the enemy take Borisov then we will need the pontoons to make our escape across the river.’
‘They’re not necessary,’ Napoleon replied. ‘The temperature has not risen above freezing for the last five days. It is likely to get colder still, in which case the river will freeze. Hard enough for us to cross the Berezina wherever the ice is thickest.’
‘That is taking quite a risk, sire,’ Davout protested. ‘If the Borisov crossings are denied to us, and the ice cannot bear the weight, then . . .’ He shook his head.
‘That’s why we need to move as fast as we can.’ Napoleon clasped his hands together behind his back and concluded the briefing. ‘Pass the orders on to all officers. All the vehicles are to be gathered in the market place. Half the remaining draught horses are to be butchered and the meat distributed to the men. Only our soldiers, mind you. Any civilians are to look to their own devices. The army will march at dawn.’
All through the night the wagons and other vehicles were dragged out of the town and pushed tightly together. Kindling was piled beneath the axles. The injured were carried into the buildings and made as comfortable as possible on beds, mattresses and piles of straw. Those who carried them tried to block out their comrades’ desperate pleas not to be left behind. The weakest horses were led to the cattle market and slaughtered, and the army’s butchers hurriedly stripped the carcasses of meat and placed the chunks in barrels to distribute to each surviving battalion of the army. An hour before dawn, as the men were roused from their billets in readiness to begin the next march, the engineers set light to the vast jumble of vehicles and the flames licked high into the sky as the first glimmer of the coming day lightened the eastern horizon.
It was at that moment that the alarm was raised. An officer from the battalion tasked with the last watch of the night came running into the corn exchange and breathlessly announced that a column was approaching Orsha. Napoleon quickly countermanded the order to begin the march and told Roguet to have the Guard ready to repel an attack. Then, with Berthier, he followed the officer through the streets to the eastern side of the town and climbed the tower of a small church. The officer commanding the watch battalion was already in the tower, gazing towards the sunrise. He turned and saluted as his Emperor panted up the steps and joined him.
‘What is your name?’ asked Napoleon, somewhat surprised to see a captain in charge of the battalion.
‘Captain Pierre Dubois, sire.’
‘And how old are you, Dubois?’
‘Twenty-one, sire.’
‘What happened to your colonel?’
‘We lost him, and most of the other officers, at Borodino, sire. I took over command from Captain Lebel in the second week of the retreat.’ Dubois paused and looked at Napoleon anxiously. ‘I meant the second week of the march, sire.’
Napoleon smiled and patted his arm.‘Easy there, Dubois. It’s all right to speak the truth to your Emperor. Now then, where’s this column of yours?’
Dubois led the way to the tower window. The shutters had been bolted back and a light breeze flapped the corners of Napoleon’s coat as he squinted into the half-light. The church was close to the river and as Napoleon glanced at the bridge, no more than fifty paces downstream to his right, he could see small ice floes gliding down towards the large stone buttresses. Dubois pointed to the road on the other side of the river. The handful of wooden houses on the far bank had been burned to deny the Russians any cover if they approached the town while the French were still occupying it. Beyond the charred ruins the road to Smolensk stretched out for a mile before it disappeared into a forested vale. A dark band slowly edged out of the vale, and raising his telescope to his eye Napoleon could just make out the figures of a column of infantry marching towards Orsha.
‘Russians?’ asked Berthier.
‘Can’t tell yet.’ Napoleon rested the telescope against the side of the window frame to steady it and then squinted. It was most likely that it was the vanguard of Kutusov’s army, hurrying forward to force Napoleon to turn and fight while the flanking Russian columns made for the Berezina. The tail of the column had emerged from the vale, and Napoleon waited a moment to see what would follow. But there was nothing. No more columns, guns or Cossacks. Just what appeared to be a strong battalion of infantry. The column marched steadily towards the bridge. Down below in the streets the first companies of the Imperial Guard were entering the buildings surrounding the end of the bridge and smashing open the windows and knocking rough loopholes in the walls with picks. Others dragged furniture out into the street to form a barricade across the bridge.
‘Very strange,’ Berthier muttered as he watched the column approach.‘They have to know that we are here, with all that smoke from the fire. But surely they would not dare to attack us on their own?’
‘Assuming they are Russian,’ Napoleon replied. He glanced through the telescope again. The head of the approaching column was now no more than half a mile away. At that moment, a small gap in the clouds opened on the horizon and sunlight flooded across the landscape, picking out a gleaming form at the head of the column. An eagle.
Napoleon felt a surge of relief and joy fill his heart as he lowered the telescope and beamed at Berthier. ‘It’s Ney!’
‘Ney?’ Berthier shook his head. ‘Impossible. The rearguard was cut off. There must have been thousands of Cossacks between Ney and the rest of the army.’