Napoleon’s smile faded.‘That explains why there are so few of them. But come on, we must greet him.’
They hurried down the stairs and out into the street. The stern expressions of the guardsmen preparing to defend the town turned to disbelief and joy when Captain Dubois shouted the news that Ney had survived. Napoleon and Berthier edged round the barricade and hurried across the bridge. They stopped on the far side as the head of the column came into view a short distance away. The men were marching in step, muskets resting on their shoulders: the very picture of military efficiency were it not for the rags holding their boots together. At their head marched Marshal Ney, a musket slung across his shoulder and a scarf wrapped over his feathered hat and tied under his chin. Several days’ growth of red beard covered his jaw and cheeks. Twenty paces from the Emperor he stepped to the side of his men and bellowed, ‘Rearguard! Halt!’
The column stamped forward a pace and stopped.
Ney stared at them a moment and then bellowed, ‘Rearguard! Long live Napoleon! Long live France!’
They echoed his cheer with full throats, and as the echo of their cry died away Ney turned to Napoleon. ‘Permission to return to main column, sire?’
‘Permission granted!’ Napoleon laughed. He strode forward and clasped Ney’s arms. ‘My God, it is a fine thing to see you again. How on earth did you manage it?’
‘A moment, if you please, sire.’ Ney turned back to his column and drew a deep breath. ‘Rearguard . . . Fall out! Get some food and some rest. You’ve earned it!’
The men broke ranks and filed past Napoleon and the two marshals. Despite their bearing as they approached the town Napoleon could clearly see that they were at the end of their endurance. Ravaged by hunger and exhaustion, their eyes were sunken in dark sockets and their cheeks looked pinched as they walked stiffly over the bridge. The guardsmen cheered them as they entered the town, embracing their comrades and shoving their own meagre rations into the newcomers’ hands.
‘Just over nine hundred of them,’ Ney said quietly as they passed by. ‘All that’s left of my corps and those that joined them at Smolensk.’
‘What happened?’ asked Berthier.
‘We were pursued most of the way by Cossacks. At first we drove them off with musket fire, but two days ago we were down to three rounds a man. I had no choice but to close up and form square. We halted for the night, and they kept coming at us, racing in from the shadows to pick us off a few at a time. There was no chance to sleep, so I got the square moving. We marched through the night, and the whole of yesterday, under attack nearly all the time. I had to leave the wounded behind. I would have ordered them to be shot, but we needed the ammunition. The Cossacks only broke off towards dusk. We rested for the night in what was left of a village then started marching again at first light. Haven’t seen a single Cossack since yesterday. Don’t know why they let us go, but thank Christ they did. We’re down to our last few rounds.’
Napoleon stroked his chin. ‘They let you go because they had orders to get ahead of the main column. They’ll be making for Borisov. At least that’s my guess.’ He looked up at Ney again and could not help smiling again. ‘I knew that I had not seen the last of you. I knew it.’
‘Well.’ Ney shrugged.‘I have to say that I had my doubts.’ He unslung his musket and stared at the weapon. ‘It’s been quite a while since I last fought as a ranker. Here!’ He thrust the musket towards one of the last of the soldiers crossing the bridge. ‘Take this for me.’
‘Yes, sir!’
As the soldier hobbled on Napoleon punched Ney lightly on the shoulder. ‘Marshal Michel Ney, Duke of Elchingen, I shall have to find a new title for you. But for now one will have to suffice. Ney, the bravest of the brave.’
Ney nodded his approval and then rubbed his hands together briskly. ‘I thank you, sire, but right now I am Ney, the coldest of the cold. Where’s the nearest bottle of brandy?’
Chapter 36
The skies cleared as the army marched out of Orsha and made for Borisov. For the first time in days the sun shone and the temperature rose above freezing. Meltwater dripped from the trees and the surface of the road gradually turned to slush that made the going a little easier for the soldiers and remaining horses of the army. The men’s mood was lifted by the escape of Ney and his rearguard. After all, if they had survived their predicament and fought their way through the Russians, then there was something to hope for.
The army made its way across open farmland towards the Berezina without sighting any Cossacks on either flank, or behind them. For the first time in weeks, Napoleon was beginning to think that the worst was over. Marshal Victor and Marshal Oudinot had advanced from Vilna and joined the army with twenty thousand fresh soldiers and a convoy of supplies.
Then, towards the end of the second day’s march, a dragoon came galloping up to Berthier with a despatch from the cavalry screen, some fifteen miles ahead. Berthier quickly read the message as his horse walked along and then trotted forward to Napoleon’s side.
‘Sire, the scouts sighted Borisov at noon.’
‘Is the way clear?’
‘No, sire.’
‘The Russians have taken the town?’
‘Worse than that. They’ve burned the bridges and have dug into the far bank.’
Napoleon reined in and took the slip of paper from Berthier to read it through for himself. Then he handed it back with a heavy heart. ‘We needed those crossings.’
‘Yes, sire.’
A hearty cheer interrupted their conversation as the remains of a battalion from Oudinot’s corps marched past. Napoleon turned to them with a smile and raised his hand in greeting. The smile dropped at once as he turned back to Berthier.‘We keep marching towards the Berezina. The army is too weak to divert north or south. We must halt while an alternative crossing place is found. There’s a village called Loshnitsa less than a day’s march from the river, I recall. Give orders for the vanguard to halt there.’ Berthier nodded. ‘I’m riding ahead to see for myself. I’ll join you at Loshnitsa.’
Escorted by one of the few remaining squadrons of Guards cavalry, Napoleon spurred his horse forward. They passed the Imperial Guard at the head of the column and then followed the road west. The thaw had brought some of the peasants out of their huts to replenish their stocks of firewood. As soon as they saw the small column of distant horsemen they ran for cover. There was still no sign of the Cossacks and as night fell Napoleon rode on until they came up to one of the cavalry patrols observing the distant fires of the Russian soldiers on the far side of the river.
Napoleon dismounted as the colonel in charge of the dragoons made his report. ‘The enemy has invested the town, sire. Must be upwards of five thousand men. We’ve seen more of them up and downstream, patrolling the far bank.’The colonel turned to point to the north where a dim glow reflected off some low clouds scudding in from the east. ‘See that? Camp fires. But there’s no knowing how many of them are over there, sire.’
Napoleon nodded, then looked closely at the colonel. ‘What regiment do you command?’
‘Regiment?’ The colonel looked surprised. Then he smiled ruefully. ‘Sire, I command all that is left of Nansouty’s cavalry corps. All the remaining horses have been allocated to the dragoons. All two hundred of us.’
Napoleon struggled to hide his shock as he glanced round at the handful of pitiful-looking mounts that were tethered to the back of a small hut where the colonel’s men were sheltering for the night.‘Where are the rest of your men?’
‘I have one troop to the south and one close to the bank to observe Borisov. The other two troops are scouting the river to the north, looking for any crossing points.’