Berthier shook his head. ‘Marshal Murat reports that his cavalry are too weary to mount a pursuit, sire. Nearly all his force was committed today. His horses are blown.’
Napoleon was still for a moment as he thought. Crushing as his victory had been, the Russians might not have lost heavily enough to persuade them to consider peace. If they could only have been pursued and forced to abandon their artillery, if they had left behind a long tail of stragglers for Murat to deal with, then their spirit would have been utterly broken. Napoleon shrugged. ‘A pity. But then we are all tired.’
Thought of his men’s weariness served to remind the Emperor of his own exhaustion, and he could not help shivering for a moment. Berthier saw the tremor and his eyes widened in concern.
‘Sire, are you all right?’
‘I’m fine. I need some rest. Is there a bed in here?’
Berthier gestured to a small arched door opening on to a small cell. ‘In there, sire. A bunk belonging to the local priest.’
‘Good. I’ll sleep now. Wake me before the third hour. Have the reports ready to present to me then.’
‘Yes, sire.’
Napoleon wearily made his way into the priest’s humble sleeping quarters, where a single candle guttered in a bracket on the crudely plastered wall. There was a small table and stool, a cupboard, and the bed: a simple straw mattress covered in worn blankets. Napoleon undid the buttons of his greatcoat and spread it out on top, then sat down and pulled off his boots before easing himself under the blankets and laying his head on the rough hessian of the bolster. He was asleep almost as soon as he shut his eyes and Berthier smiled to himself as his master began to snore. Then he turned back to his reports and began calculating the cost of victory.
‘The enemy losses are over fifteen thousand killed; another twelve thousand are prisoners. In addition we have captured nearly two hundred cannon and fifty standards,’ Berthier read from the summary he had prepared.
Napoleon stretched his shoulders until he felt the muscles crack, then straightened his spine and clasped his hands firmly behind his back as he braced himself for the other side of the balance sheet. ‘And our losses?’
‘One thousand three hundred dead, six and a half thousand wounded and a few hundred taken prisoner.’
Napoleon breathed a sigh of relief and nodded. ‘Better than I had feared.’
‘Yes, sire.’
‘Very well, make provision for the wounded to be taken to Vienna. The prisoners can follow.They can be held there until the campaign is over. Now, I want you to issue orders for the army to re-form and be ready to march by noon.’
Berthier nodded and made a note. Outside, the first rays of dawn pierced the church windows with hazy orange shafts of light. Napoleon was grateful for the clear skies and cold air, which would aid his pursuit of the Russians. He was determined to drive them far to the east before the surviving Austrian forces could concentrate and re-join their allies.
The sound of hooves on cobbled stones came from outside the church and there was an excited challenge from one of the imperial guardsmen protecting headquarters. Napoleon glanced at one of Berthier’s clerks. ‘See what that is.’
While the man hurried off to do the Emperor’s bidding Napoleon sat down on one of the pews that lined the walls of the church and buried his face in his hands to rest his eyes for a moment. There was a brief exchange of voices in the street before the clerk returned, with another man.
‘Sire?’
Napoleon took a deep breath and puffed his cheeks as he sat up and regarded the clerk. Behind him stood Count Diebnitz.The Austrian was no longer scrupulously neat. His cheek was covered with bristles and his uniform was spattered with mud and there was a tear in one sleeve. He eyed Napoleon with a sullen, bitter expression.
‘Well, Count Diebnitz, I am glad that you survived yesterday’s encounter. Many of your countrymen did not, alas.’
Diebnitz’s nostrils flared angrily but he kept his mouth shut and reached inside his jacket and pulled out a folded and sealed document.
Napoleon cocked an eyebrow at it. ‘What is that?’
‘A message, sir. From the Emperor of Austria.’
‘Tell me what it says,’ Napoleon continued wearily.‘I am a busy man, Count. Spare me the need to read it.’
Diebnitz swallowed his pride and lowered the document on to the pew beside Napoleon before he spoke. ‘His imperial majesty wishes to discuss an armistice.’
‘An armistice?’ Napoleon smiled thinly. ‘And why should I agree to one now, when I hold every advantage? Unless, of course, this is merely a preparatory step . . .’
He waited for the Austrian nobleman to get over his discomfort and come to the point.
Diebnitz spoke in a monotone. ‘His imperial majesty requests an armistice, in order to negotiate a peace agreement.’
‘Ah! I thought so.’ Napoleon smiled triumphantly. ‘Then you may tell the Emperor that I would be happy to discuss peace, on my terms.’
‘Yes, sir.’ Diebnitz bowed his head stiffly. ‘I will inform him at once.’
‘Wait.’ Napoleon narrowed his eyes as he stared at the Austrian. ‘Before you leave, you must know that there can be no peace while Russia is still your ally.’
