The marshals settled back into their chairs and looked at him expectantly. Napoleon was too weary to waste time with any preamble praising their efforts and promising rewards when they all returned to France. He drew a deep breath and began in a flat tone.
‘It is my conviction that the army has made good its escape. Though it is hungry, there are more than enough rations at Vilna to feed the men and provide sufficient supplies to reach the Niemen. Therefore, I am no longer required here. I am, however, urgently needed in Paris where our enemies are trying to stir up sedition and revolt against all that we have fought for. With that in mind, I have decided to leave the army. A covered sledge, together with a small escort of Guard cavalry, stands ready to convey me to Warsaw. From there I should be able to continue the journey to Paris by carriage.’ He looked round at them, waiting for a reaction.
‘Bless my bloody soul.’ Ney shook his head. ‘I don’t believe it. You’re abandoning us.’
‘I have no choice.’
‘Really?’ Ney smiled thinly. ‘It seems to me that you do.’
‘Then it is a choice that is forced on me by circumstance. Does that please you better?’
‘Oh, it makes no odds to me, sire. It is you who will have to live with the decision.’
‘I do what I must for France,’ Napoleon replied testily.
‘Who will take command of the army?’ asked Davout.
‘The King of Naples.’ Napoleon nodded at Murat.
‘Me?’ Murat looked surprised, and then could not help smiling that he had been singled out from the other marshals, even if the command was little more than an empty title.
Davout puffed his cheeks. ‘Might I ask your majesty why Murat is chosen for this honour? I would imagine he has enough responsibility already, co-ordinating the army’s cavalry.’
‘What’s left of it!’ Ney barked, then poured himself another glass of brandy. ‘Shouldn’t tax his mind too much, eh?’
Murat scowled at him as Napoleon explained.
‘As King of Naples, Murat is the ranking officer. My decision has been made, Davout. You and the others will accept it.’
‘As your majesty commands.’ Davout bowed his head.
‘That’s right.’ Napoleon looked round the room. ‘Gentlemen, it is vital that you do not breathe a word of this to anyone outside this room. The army’s morale is already as low as it can be. It would be dangerous to let them know that I have left. As far as the men are concerned I have fallen ill, nothing too serious, and am confined to my campaign wagon. The truth can be told only once the army has reached Vilna. By then it should make little difference. The Russians are having to endure the same hard conditions and I doubt they will be in any shape to attempt to bring us to battle. The only danger will come from the Cossacks. But if the men are fed and armed and stick together they will come to no harm. Those are your orders.’
He paused. ‘Now the hour is late and I must prepare to leave. There is no time for any questions. It only remains to say that it has been an honour to be your commander, gentlemen. There is no finer body of officers in the world. I am sure of it. When the history of this campaign is written, you can be sure that your heroic deeds will be remembered long after the last of us is dead.’ He stood up and raised his glass to them. ‘My friends, I salute you. When I next see you, I hope it is somewhere warmer.’
The marshals rose from their chairs, and one after the other they came forward to grasp the Emperor’s hand. Ney was last.
‘I wish you a safe journey, sire.’
‘And I wish you would take greater care of your life, Ney. On the battlefield you are my right hand. I have already lost too many friends. Don’t give me further cause to grieve.’
‘I will do my best to survive. I always have, sire.’
Napoleon could not help smiling. ‘If only all the politicians in Paris shared your capacity for dishonesty, my dear Michel.’
Ney frowned until he got the point and then smiled back.‘Sort them out, sire. Then come back to the army. It’s where you really belong.’ He released the Emperor’s hand, strode over to the side table to collect his coat and left without looking back.
The sledge was waiting at the edge of the village, in a private yard guarded by the ten-man escort. Napoleon left headquarters before dawn, dressed in a plain coat and wearing a thick woollen cap in place of his familiar bicorne. A scarf was tied round his face to conceal his features and he carried a large satchel as he followed General Caulaincourt through the dark streets, crunching across the snow. Napoleon had decided it was best if he travelled in disguise, posing as Caulaincourt’s secretary. That way they would be able to pass through French units without arousing any undue attention. More important, if they passed by any allied troops of dubious loyalty they would not be tempted to take Napoleon prisoner and offer him to the Russians in exchange for some reward.
Capture by the enemy was a possibility, if the Cossacks were bold enough to take on the escort. In that event, Napoleon had resolved to kill himself. A phial of poison hung from a chain round his neck, and it would be the work of a moment to snap the top and pour the contents down his throat. The imperial surgeon had assured him his death would be certain, and swift.
Caulaincourt approached the sledge, a small cabin with glass windows perched on a heavy set of iron-rimmed runners. There was a small bench for the driver and six horses were harnessed to the pinion just below the front of the vehicle. At the sight of Caulaincourt the driver hurried to the door and opened it with a neat bow. Napoleon managed to stop himself from getting in first and waited deferentially as the general climbed in before him. The driver shut the door behind them and Napoleon found himself squeezed in beside Caulaincourt on an upholstered leather seat. There was a narrow-lipped shelf opposite and Napoleon placed his satchel on it. Caulaincourt pulled a thick bearskin from under the shelf and placed it over their legs, drawing the edge up to their chests.
‘We won’t be able to move much and we need to stay warm. One of the officers at headquarters told me it had dropped to twenty degrees below zero last night.’
Napoleon nodded, huddling down under the covering, trying hard to draw himself to the kernel of warmth that still remained in his torso.
Outside there was a sharp cry and a crack of a whip and the sledge lurched forward. Once it was in motion the ride was surprisingly smooth, and apart from a faint hiss from the runners the only noise was the soft beat of the horses’ hooves on the fresh snow. The dawn was cold and the snow had a blue tinge. Already the leading elements of the army had set out. The lieutenant commanding the escort called out for those ahead to clear the way. Looking out of the window Napoleon could see the men lining the road, ice crusted on the scarves wrapped over their faces, as little plumes of exhaled breath swirled around their heads. Within the hour they had passed through the vanguard and the way ahead was clear. The sledge slowed as the horses struggled up a small rise and Napoleon leaned towards the window and opened it to look back down the road. A blast of freezing air knifed through his headgear and he narrowed his eyes.
Some distance behind the sledge was the head of the column, and beyond that a thin trail of figures which wound its way back to the east. The soldiers shuffled along in a motley collection of small bands, interspersed with handfuls of men and even the odd isolated figure. Napoleon shut the window and settled back down on to his bench, glad at last to be quitting Russia, the graveyard of the Grand Army.
Chapter 38
It was a fine spring day and the trees in the garden courtyard of the town’s monastery were covered in new leaves. Though the air was cool, it was dry and refreshing and Arthur breathed it in deeply before turning away from the window to begin briefing his generals. He felt vitalised as never before since he had arrived in the Peninsula. He knew it was true of his men as well. Once in winter quarters they had begun to recover from the retreat that concluded the previous year’s campaign. Their morale was further enhanced by the issue of brand new tents throughout the army, as well as a surfeit of food, wine and tobacco. More reinforcements had arrived to swell the ranks and every ranker and officer was fortified by the news of Bonaparte’s crushing defeat in Russia.
