‘Saving your fucking life, sire,’ the guardsman replied through clenched teeth.‘You trying to get yourself killed? Then where would we be?’
Napoleon opened his mouth to protest, but the soldier firmly steered him away from the fight.
‘Leave the fighting to us as gets paid for it, sire,’ he said firmly, and turned away to re-join his companions as they faced a steadily growing number of enemy pressing into the church, forcing the barricade and its defenders back. Napoleon could see that it was only a question of time before the Russians’ superior numbers forced Berthier and his men to give way and then the defenders would be quickly overwhelmed and cut down. He tightened his grip on the musket and prepared to step back into the fight.
There was a crash from outside the church as a volley was fired. Both sides started momentarily and stared out into the street.Then there was a cry from one of the men at the windows.
‘It’s the Guard! The Imperial Guard is here!’
The men of the bodyguard and the staff officers cheered and flung themselves back against the Russians who had made it into the church. Already panic had seized the enemy and they backed away, cramming themselves through the entrance and into the street. Another volley ripped through their ranks and then, with a roar, the men of the Imperial Guard charged down the street, scattering the Russians who stood before the church. There was a brief skirmish as the guardsmen killed those who resisted and then chased after the stream of enemy soldiers running back down the street.
Inside the church the defenders cheered and clapped each other on the shoulder. Napoleon drew a deep breath as he handed his musket to one of the guardsmen. Berthier came up to him, grinning like a boy, bloodied sword in hand.
‘Haven’t seen action like that in years, sire.’
‘Let’s hope we never have to again,’ Napoleon replied. ‘Now then, we must act quickly. Those two battalions aren’t going to restore the centre of the line by themselves.As soon as the enemy re-form they will counter-attack and sweep them aside.’ He thought for a moment and then nodded grimly to himself.‘There’s only one thing I can do to save the army. Murat must charge the Russian centre.’
‘But he will be needed for the pursuit, sire. Once the battle is won.’
‘It won’t be won. Not now. Not without Murat. He must charge. Murat must buy us the time to re-form our line and for Ney and Davout to move into position. He must charge at once. See to it.’
The snow had almost stopped as Murat’s cavalry, eighty squadrons of superbly mounted men, trotted forward to the right of the town in a vast column of brilliant uniforms and gleaming horseflesh.The officers in the church tower gazed on the spectacle with awe, and desperate hope. Only Murat could save the Grand Army now. The chasseurs led the charge, carving a path through the re-forming infantry column that the two battalions of the Imperial Guard had driven out of Eylau. Across the front of the French centre the enemy recoiled and then fled, running for the main Russian line stretching across the ridge one and a half miles away. Murat’s cavalry chased them down without mercy, sabres flashing as his men struck again and again at enemy fugitives, leaving bodies scattered across the battlefield to add to the corpses of Augereau’s men.
As Napoleon watched the charge through his telescope he could just pick out the flamboyant uniform of Murat at the head of the second wave of cavalry, brandishing his riding crop as he urged his men on.The vast column of horsemen charged, through the remnants of the first Russian line and up the slope towards the ridge. The crews of the cannon that had cut Augereau’s men to ribbons fired a few last shots at the oncoming French cavalry and then turned and ran for the safety of the squares that were forming along the Russian centre. The cavalry raced on, engulfing the squares and passing on through the heart of the enemy army. A handful of men paused by the abandoned guns to drive iron spikes into the vents with small mallets to make the cannon unusable for the rest of the battle.
Even Napoleon was taken aback by the grandeur and shock effect of the cavalry charge. Europe had seen nothing like it, and mounted as they were on the pick of the Prussian horses captured after Jena the French riders were invincible.The enemy’s cavalry attempted a counter-attack but their mounts were lighter and easily brushed aside. The last wave of French horsemen disappeared over the ridge and for a moment a brief lull hung over the battlefield as the battered French soldiers took full advantage of the respite Murat had bought them and began to re-form their line. A message arrived from Davout informing the Emperor that the marshal’s corps was in position and ready to begin its flanking attack.
‘But where is Ney?’ Napoleon fumed. ‘Does he not know that he is needed if we are to deliver a fatal blow to the enemy? Where the devil is Ney?’
As noon passed and the skies began to clear, there was a sudden flurry of activity along the ridge and a moment later the French cavalry reappeared over the crest, scattering some of the enemy soldiers before they rode back down the slope, cutting down any Russians that remained in their path, and returned to the flat area south of Eylau where they had been positioned at the start of the battle.
The sound of cannon fire from the right flank announced that Davout was beginning to launch his attack on the Russian left and all eyes in the church tower turned in that direction.As the afternoon wore on and the sounds of fighting intensified the first reports from Davout claimed that the enemy to his front was steadily being forced back. Still there was no sign of Ney and Napoleon’s frustration and anger at his subordinate’s tardiness tore at his self-control so that he stamped a foot angrily.
‘Why does Ney not march to the sound of the guns? Has he not learned the first principle of command?’
Berthier finally brought news of Ney late in the afternoon, just as word arrived from Davout that the Russians had heavily reinforced their left flank and were pressing Davout’s men back in the gathering dusk.
‘Sire, report from Marshal Soult’s headquarters,’ Bethier panted after his hurried climb up the stairs.‘Ney’s corps is arriving on the left flank. He intends to attack at once.’
‘How good of him,’ Napoleon replied acidly.‘He may be just in time to save us from defeat rather than complete the victory that should have been mine.’
The rolling thunder of artillery sounded from the north, and as the Emperor and his staff waited for further news the winter night drew in and darkness crept across the battlefield, punctuated by squibs of bright light as cannon and musket volleys from both sides were fired into the gloom.As Napoleon hoped, Ney’s attack forced the Russians to ease the pressure on Davout. Slowly, as the night dragged on, the firing on both sides petered out. By midnight the battlefield was silent, save for the pitiful cries of the wounded still lying on the frozen, snow-covered ground.
Napoleon had descended from the tower and stood in the nave warming himself at a fire that had been made
