‘Really?’ Napoleon raised his eyebrows as he looked at his younger brother. ‘Why is that?’
‘Two hours ago I had a meal at an inn at Genappe. A waiter told me an interesting story. He claimed that Wellington and his staff ate there this afternoon. He overheard one of the staff officers say that Blьcher was at Wavre, and that he might move to support Wellington tomorrow.’
The other officers stirred at this news. Napoleon was silent until they settled down again. ‘I thank you for that intelligence, Jйrфme. But let us wait for Grouchy’s report. Then we shall know for certain.’
‘What if the waiter was telling the truth, sire?’ Jйrфme persisted.
‘I don’t see how Blьcher can present any danger, as long as Grouchy is forcing him back, away from Wellington.’ Napoleon waved his hand dismissively. ‘Blьcher is of no concern to us. All that matters is the army waiting for us at Mont-St-Jean.’
Colonel Frazer was standing stiffly before his commander in chief, trying not to show any expression as he endured the tirade.
‘It is bad enough having to contain the foolihardiness of my cavalry without my artillery blasting away at every shadow they see in the darkness,’ Arthur said bitterly.
‘Begging your pardon, your grace, but it wasn’t shadows my boys were shooting at. It was Frog cavalry.’
‘I don’t give a damn. It’s the job of the vedettes and the pickets to deal with such things. Not the damned artillery. Now Bonaparte knows where your batteries are sited, thanks to your gunners’ overeagerness. I’ve a damned good mind to break every sergeant back to private over this, d’you hear?’ Arthur leaned across his table, bearing his weight on his knuckles, and tried to moderate his tone.‘Now then, Frazer, you will have to see to it that the guns are repositioned. Perhaps a little hard work in the rain and the mud might help to clear the heads of your men, eh?’
‘Yes, your grace. I’ll give the order at once.’
‘I’d rather you oversaw the repositioning in person.’
‘Yes, your grace. Will that be all?’
Arthur nodded and his senior artillery officer turned smartly and marched to the door of the cottage. The sentry opened the door for him and Frazer disappeared into the rain. Once the door was closed, Arthur eased himself back down into his chair and gently rubbed his eyes. There was little doubt that Bonaparte knew that his army was in position on the ridge. Uxbridge’s cavalry patrols reported that more French troops were massing opposite the ridge with every passing hour. There was no question of further retreat. The position at Mont-St-Jean was the last decent defensive ground before Brussels, and there Arthur must stand and fight. His best hope was that Blьcher would respond to his request and send some portion of his army to support Arthur. As yet there had been no answer.
Napoleon stamped the mud from his boots as he handed the oilskin cape to a servant. He had just returned from a visit to his outposts to try to see if there was any sign that the enemy were withdrawing. The ridge was quiet and the sentries patrolling in front of the allied army were clearly visible against the dull hue of a multitude of camp fires burning on the reverse slope. Reassured that Wellington remained in position, Napoleon had returned to his headquarters. As he entered the dining room of the farmhouse Soult approached him.
‘Sire, a message has arrived from Grouchy.’
‘Ah, at last. What does he say?’
‘He has determined that the bulk of the Prussian army had retired on Wavre, and not towards Liиge.’
‘Wavre?’ Napoleon’s brow creased as he concentrated on the implications of this news. It seemed that there was some truth in the story told by the waiter in Genappe after all. If Blьcher was at Wavre then he needed to be watched closely to ensure that the Prussians did not intervene in the day’s business. ‘Does Grouchy say what his intentions are?’
‘Yes, sire. He intends to follow them in order to prevent them from reaching Brussels, and joining Wellington.’
‘Good. That is the right thing.’
‘Shall I acknowledge his message, sire?’
‘What? No . . . No, it’s not necessary.’ Napoleon shook his head and then crossed the room to sit on a bench by the rain-streaked window. He leaned his head back against the plastered wall and shut his eyes.
The rain finally stopped just before dawn and as the first glimmer of light stretched across the landscape the sodden men of the Army of the North stirred from beneath their drenched blankets and coats and built up their fires with whatever wood was left. Then, huddled round the blaze, as they tried to get warm and let their uniforms dry out, they quickly ate some of their remaining rations before packing their kit and forming up in their companies.
At the army’s headquarters Napoleon was having breakfast with his staff. Despite the hardships and lack of sleep in recent days the mood around the Emperor was light-hearted. One of the allied armies had been beaten and now another would share its fate. The only issue to spoil Napoleon’s mood that morning was a report from General Drouot that the ground was too wet for the artillery to be moved forward to a position where they would have the enemy line in range. The wet ground would also lessen the impact of any artillery fire since the shot would not be able to ricochet off the ground and would simply bury itself in the muddy soil. Therefore Drouot requested that the attack be delayed until late in the morning. After brief consideration Napoleon consented. He had a clear superiority in artillery and it would make sense to use that to best effect.
‘Well, then,’ he announced. ‘It seems that the army will be at leisure this morning.’ A distant bell began to toll. ‘Of course, it is Sunday, the day of rest. Most propitious, this rain.’
His officers smiled. Even Soult, whose usual energetic demeanour had been somewhat dampened by the burdens of his new position as chief of staff, relaxed a little. He waited a moment and then coughed before he addressed the Emperor.
‘Sire, since the start of the engagement is to be delayed, might we recall Grouchy and put the result of the battle beyond doubt?’
‘Doubt?’ Napoleon was taken aback. ‘You doubt the outcome? Why, we have ninety chances in our favour and not ten against. We do not require Grouchy. Soult, just because you were beaten by Wellington does not make him a good general. If he was, then he would surely not have chosen such poor ground to defend. His difficulties are compounded by the poor quality of his troops. I tell you, this will be a brief battle, not much more effort for us than eating this breakfast.’
‘Truly, I hope so, sire.’
‘What about you, Reille?’ Napoleon turned to another of his commanders who had faced Wellington. ‘Do you share Soult’s anxieties about the quality of our opponents?’
Reille recognised the change in his master’s mood and answered cautiously. ‘Wellington knows how to defend, sire. Attacked from the front his troops are all but impregnable. However, we have the advantage in cavalry. If we manoeuvre on his flanks, then he must surely be defeated.’
‘Rubbish!’ Napoleon barked. ‘A frontal attack is all that is necessary to break his line. You shall see. And this we can achieve,’ he turned back to Soult, ‘without Grouchy.’
Soult bowed to his master’s will. ‘Very well, sire. But may I at least communucate with Grouchy your desire that he should close up on the Prussians at Wavre?’
‘As you will,’ Napoleon replied carelessly. ‘Tell him to keep pushing the Prussians back before him. Now then,’ he rose from his chair, ‘since there is time, I will inspect my soldiers. Soult, you will establish the command post at that inn . . .’ He clicked his fingers.
‘La Belle Alliance, sire?’
Napoleon nodded. ‘It will provide a fine view of the destruction of Wellington’s army.’
