might be right. Nudging his spurs in, he trotted over to the commander of a battery of howitzers of the Royal Horse Artillery that stood limbered up and ready to move.
‘Major Bull, isn’t it?’
The battery commander saluted. ‘Yes, your grace.’
‘I need the services of your battery. Follow me.’ Arthur turned and trotted down the slope towards the chateau. Bull and his howitzers followed, the gun carriages rumbling over the ground. Arthur drew up a hundred yards from the chateau. From the far side the din of the desperate struggle filled the air. ‘Have your howitzers fire over the chateau. We must take the pressure off the defenders. But be sure to get the range right, Major.’
‘Yes, your grace. I understand.’
Arthur watched as Bull’s men swiftly unlimbered the howitzers and loaded the fused iron spheres into the stubby barrels. Bull carefully ensured that each gun’s elevation was adjusted so that the shells’ trajectories would clear the chateau by a safe distance. The battery opened fire and Arthur looked up to follow the faint smears of the sputtering shells as they arced over the chateau towards the wood beyond, bursting amid the branches and blasting the attackers with small iron shards.
‘Very good,’ Arthur called out to Major Bull. ‘Remain here to support the chateau as long as you can.’ He turned and galloped back up to his vantage point to watch the attack. Hundreds of French soldiers were crowded about the chateau and its walled courtyard, but as far as Arthur could see, none had succeeded in gaining entry. The relentless fire from the defenders was cutting the enemy down in droves and bodies steadily piled up around the building. Further back, those still in the woods were being savaged by the howitzer shells. The attack raged for ten more minutes before Arthur saw the enemy begin to fall back, fading into the trees before they retreated over the field beyond the wood. The firing in the chateau ceased and a moment later Bull’s battery followed suit.
Arthur nodded with satisfaction. ‘First blood to us, I think.’
‘What is Prince Jйrфme doing?’ Napoleon snapped as he watched fresh troops advancing towards Hougoumont from a second division. ‘He is only supposed to be making a feint against the chateau. He was supposed to force Wellington to draw on his reserves, not me.’
‘Sire, do you wish to order the Prince to cease his attack?’
Napoleon watched as the fresh wave began to enter the woods. A moment later the air above them was dotted with the white puffs of exploding shells. He shook his head. ‘No. Jйrфme may still force Wellington’s hand, and if the Duke does not take the bait then we shall take the chateau, and use it to harass the allied line.’
Once again, Hougoumont was shrouded in powder smoke as Napoleon’s men made their assault. He watched the ridge for any sign of movement and then pointed triumphantly as a column of redcoats doubled down the slope towards the chateau.‘There! I knew Wellington would have to send in more men.’
Soult watched for a moment and then said quietly, ‘I make that no more than four companies, sire. Prince Jйrфme has committed the best part of two divisions so far.’
Napoleon glared at him a moment and then turned his attention back to the battlefield. The smoke from the cannon of both sides was eddying above the landscape in dense clouds, threatening to blot out the view of the surrounding countryside. A sudden anxiety caused him to raise his telescope and sweep the horizon from the south round to the north-east. Fields, farmhouses and small woods glided past the eyepiece, and then a dark shadow just beyond the edge of a treeline caused Napoleon to stop. He blinked his eye and called one of the headquarters staff to stand in front of him so that he could use the man’s shoulder as a rest to steady the telescope. Soult, and a handful of others, had seen his worried expression and now turned in the same direction and scrutinised the dark line that was gradually emerging from the trees.
‘There is a column of soldiers over there,’ Napoleon announced. Then he lowered the telescope and hurried across to the map weighted down on a table outside the inn. He scanned the map and then stabbed his finger down. ‘The woods near Chapelle-St-Lambert.’
Soult exchanged a worried look with the other staff officers gathered about the map. One of them swallowed and asked, ‘Could it be Grouchy? Marching to the sound of the guns?’
Napoleon shook his head. The distant column was coming from the direction of Wavre. ‘Prussians. There is no doubt about it.’
There was a brief silence as the staff officers digested the information and then Soult raised his telescope towards the distant woods and spoke quietly. ‘I can see more columns, sire.’
Napoleon stroked his chin. ‘The Prussians are still two hours’ march from the battlefield. They cannot support Wellington for a while yet. There is time enough to win the day.’
‘And what of Grouchy, sire?’ asked Soult. ‘Shall I send for him?’
‘By all means.’ Napoleon shrugged, as he considered the last known position of Grouchy’s thirty thousand men: advancing towards Wavre from the south.‘Though I fear that he is too far away to intervene, even if he were to wheel towards us at once.’
Nevertheless Soult hurriedly wrote the order and thrust it into the hand of one of his aides. ‘There. Take that to Marshal Grouchy. Tell him that the fate of France in is the balance.’
As the officer swung himself up into his saddle and spurred away Napoleon sighed. ‘The fate of France will be decided by those who are already on the field, Soult.’ Turning his attention back to the ridge in front of the French battle line Napoleon pointed to the stretch of the slope to the right of the Brussels road.‘We cannot delay the main attack any longer. Soult, tell d’Erlon to prepare his corps to advance. It is time to see if these Englishmen you are so afraid of can really stand before our columns.’
Chapter 61
The massed guns of the French had been firing for the last half-hour, tearing up the hedge that ran along the road stretching across the ridge. The British skirmishers had lain down and pressed themselves into the earth as roundshot whirred overhead and canister hissed through the rye stalks like a sudden squall. Just in front of the ridge, spread out in line across the slope, were the Dutch soldiers of Bylandt’s brigade. Arthur had not ordered them to withdraw to the reverse slope for fear that Bonaparte might think that the allied centre was retreating, cut short his bombardment and order his infantry forward. The brigade would have to be sacrificed to buy time. Word had reached Arthur that the Prussians had been sighted, but would not reach the battlefield for some hours yet. Arthur’s heart was heavy as he watched the Dutchmen stand their ground and endure terrible punishment as the French guns tore bloody gaps in their ranks again and again.
Beside him, Somerset watched the sickening slaughter and turned to his commander. ‘Your grace, I beg you, allow me to recall Bylandt.’
‘No. They must stand and take it.’
Somerset shook his head. ‘They will not endure it much longer. No men could.’
‘They must. We must snatch at every chance for delay, until Blьcher arrives.’
The French fire began to slacken and in less than a minute the last of the guns had fallen silent.
‘What now?’ Somerset wondered. ‘Cavalry or infantry?’
His question was answered by the faint rattle of drums. Arthur trotted forward towards the large elm tree that grew close to the junction of the Brussels highway and the lesser road running across the ridge. Below, perhaps six hundred yards away, a dense bank of powder smoke obscured the French on the other side of the valley. The surviving British skirmishers were cautiously rising to their feet and peering into the smoke. Behind them the remains of Bylandt’s brigade closed up and advanced ten paces to clear the shattered bodies and limbs of their fallen comrades.
Arthur strained his eyes, trying to penetrate the smoke as the sounds of the French drums drew closer. Then he saw the first of them, dim figures edging through the smoke as the skirmishers advanced ahead of the main columns. As they emerged into clear sight Arthur saw that the line stretched from in front of La Haye Sainte to his right for over half a mile across the battlefield towards the farmhouses of La Haie and Papelotte on the left.
‘This is no feint, Somerset,’ Arthur decided.‘They mean to break our centre at one stroke. From the frontage, I would think Bonaparte is sending three divisions against us.’ He looked to his left, where the men of Picton’s
