courage in return.
Turning round, he approached General Augereau and the colour party of the next battalion in the column. Napoleon gestured towards the sergeant holding the tricolour standard.
‘Give me that!’
Augereau cleared his throat anxiously. ‘Sir, what are you doing?’
‘What every general should do,’ Napoleon replied quietly, trying not to show the excitement and fear that gripped his body. ‘I’m going to lead from the front. Have this battalion ready to advance. Packs down and bayonets fixed. Do it now!’
‘But, sir.’ Augereau looked horrified. ‘What if you are killed?’
‘Then, if this attack fails, you will need to lead the next charge. And you will stick to the plan.We have to cross the river. Understand?’
Augereau nodded reluctantly and turned away to issue the commands. The sergeant handed Napoleon the standard.
‘Sir?’
Napoleon turned round and saw that Major Muiron had stepped forward. At his shoulder stood Marmont and Louis.
‘What is it, Muiron?’
‘We request permission to go with you.’
‘No,’ Napoleon replied in a harsh tone, and at once relented. It was hardly fair to men who had offered to risk their lives alongside his. He forced himself to smile and he clasped Muiron’s shoulder with his spare hand. ‘I would not want to be the cause of your deaths, my friends. Stay here, and then join me on the far bank when it’s all over.’
Muiron shook his head. ‘Sir, with respect, we know the dangers, and we know our duty is to be at your side. If we stay here while our general goes forward we shall be shamed for ever.’
‘Nevertheless it is my order.’
‘Sir, your order would dishonour us. What have we done to deserve that?’
‘Nothing.’ Napoleon smiled. ‘But you have served me well enough not to deserve death on that bridge.’
Muiron shrugged. ‘Death comes for us all, sir. I would sooner face it today at your side than die an old man, made infamous by remaining behind whilst his commander went into battle.’
Napoleon felt a flush of irritation.There was no time for this. He had given an order and the man should obey it. But then, there was truth in what Muiron said, and he knew he would make the same request for the same reasons if their positions had been reversed. So he nodded. ‘Very well then. If this is the day, then there are no men I would be more proud to have at my side. Let’s go.’
Raising the standard aloft where all the men of the battalion - and the Austrians - could see it, Napoleon walked steadily forward. Behind him the sergeants of the following battalion bellowed out the order to advance and the second attack headed towards the bridge. Major Muiron stepped into position to Napoleon’s left and Louis and Marmont fell in on his right as the four officers reached the open ground and unconsciously quickened their pace. Then they passed the first of the bodies, a young lieutenant sprawled on his front with half his head blown off by grapeshot. They were in range of the Austrian cannon, Napoleon realised, and steeled himself for the first blast from the enemy guns. He took a deep breath and called over his shoulder.
‘Advance . . . at the double!’
The French broke into a trot, buckles chinking as boots pounded across the open ground. As before, the Austrians held their fire until the attackers had passed well within killing range to maximise the effect of the first blast.Time seemed to slow and Napoleon found that he was seeing every detail in its full intensity of colour and form as he rushed on. He saw the Austrian artillery officer raise his arm, readying his gun crews for the first discharge, and his racing mind tried to calculate the chances of being hit by the cone of fire blasting from the muzzle of a cannon. The odds of coming out of this alive were not impressive and he laughed. Muiron shot him a questioning look. There was no time to explain as the flat detonation of the cannon echoed across the river. He was aware of a low hissing in the air around him and the sound of a soft, wet thud, and an explosive groan from a man behind him.
‘Charge!’ he shouted out. ‘Charge! For France!’
The rough grass of the open ground gave way to the muddy ruts of the track leading up to the bridge and Napoleon ran to one side of the rail and paused, waving his men on.
‘Forward!’ he cried, thrusting his sword at the far end of the bridge. ‘Keep moving! Keep moving!’
The men ran past him, heads hunched into their shoulders. Grim faced, they clutched their muskets vertically to avoid skewering their comrades. As they ran down the length of the bridge the Austrian infantry opened fire and the air filled with the low whip of musket balls, mixed with the splintering crack of shots striking the woodwork, and the soft thuds as they cut down men in the dense mass surging along the narrow bridge. Napoleon felt the concussion as one of the guns on the far side fired at the attackers and he stood up, craning his neck to see how his men were progressing. As before, the fire was murderous in the middle of the bridge and body piled upon body as the French were slaughtered. The charge faltered.
‘No!’ Napoleon shouted. ‘Keep going! Keep going and victory is ours! Stop and we all die!’
He strode forward, pushing his way through the men until the mass thinned out and those ahead were going to ground, trying to find whatever cover they could from enemy fire. Napoleon stepped amongst them and held the standard high.
‘Keep going!’
But the men around him refused to meet his eye and began to creep back.
‘Bastards!’ Napoleon screamed. ‘Would you let your general die alone?’
He was about to step forward when someone grasped his arm and spun him round, shielding his body from the far bank. Muiron glared into his face.
‘General! You will get yourself killed!’ the major shouted above the din. ‘If you fall we are lost! This is not your place. Get back!’
He pushed Napoleon through the men stalled on the bridge, just as some herd spirit made them all turn back towards their own lines.
‘Make way for the general!’ Muiron called out, and then his grip on Napoleon’s arm spasmed. Napoleon turned and saw a shocked expression on the major’s face. He was looking down and Napoleon followed his gaze and saw the hole in his jacket, over the heart, the blood pumping from the wound.
‘Muiron?’
The major frowned, then his head slumped and his legs buckled as he fell on to the bridge. Napoleon paused and reached down to help his companion. As he did so one of his men thrust past, desperate to escape the slaughter. He was a large man and he sent his general reeling towards the edge of the bridge. The rail had been splintered by grapeshot and gave way with a crack the moment Napoleon fell against it. He flung his arms forward, dropping the standard as he desperately tried to keep his balance, but his momentum was too great and he tumbled backwards off the bridge. He landed on his back in the mud, the impact driving the breath from his body. For a second he was staring up at the clear sky, dazed.Then he rolled over and tried to push himself up, but the mud sucked his hands down. With great difficulty Napoleon scrambled upright and tried to take a step, but his boots just churned up the filthy mire and he sank up to his knees, far enough to hold him in place.
‘General!’ a voice cried from above and Napoleon looked up at the bridge.
‘Sir? Where are you?’ Marmont cried out.
‘Here! Down here!’
A moment later Marmont’s head appeared over the rail.
‘Get me out!’ Napoleon shouted.
Marmont nodded and his head disappeared from view. A moment later he leaped over the rail a short distance further along, closer to the bank, and landed in the reeds. Louis jumped after him and they thrust their way through the rasping stalks until they emerged at the edge of the mud. Napoleon leaned towards them, stretching out his arms.
‘Shit! I can’t reach.’
Marmont turned to Louis. ‘Hold my legs!’
Then he fell forward on to the mud and grabbed at his general’s hands. As soon as he had a good hold he
