The Fields of Death Read Free

made an agony of any movement of his right leg. He rested his hand on Lannes’s shoulder as the latter called for his horse. While one of the Emperor’s bodyguard held the reins Lannes carefully lifted Napoleon up into the saddle and placed his right foot into its stirrup. Napoleon took the reins and breathed in deeply.
    ‘Your orders, sire?’ Lannes looked up at him.
    ‘Continue the attack, until Ratisbon is taken.’ Napoleon clicked his tongue and touched his heels in as tenderly as he could, wincing at the fiery stab in his right ankle as he did so. The horse walked forward and Napoleon steered it along the front of the regiments forming up for another attack on the enemy defences. Berthier trotted up and drew alongside.
    ‘Do you wish me to have your carriage brought forward?’
    ‘No. I will stay on my horse. Where the men can see me.’ Napoleon held up his hand to greet the nearest battalion, and a cheer rose up, loud and prolonged. It was taken up by the next formation and continued down the line of Morand’s division. Napoleon continued riding along the front rank, forcing himself to smile at his men, and exchanging greetings with their commanders as he passed by.
    He reached the far end and turned to make his way back. Marshal Lannes had remounted his horse and trotted it forward so that he stood in full view of his soldiers. Napoleon reined in alongside, and forced himself to keep his expression impassive as another cannon ball grounded a short distance from the division’s band, took the head off a young drummer boy and smashed through the chest of the one behind.
    Lannes took off his plumed hat and raised it high as he filled his lungs and bellowed, ‘Volunteers for the ladder party step forward!’
    His voice resonated briefly in the warm air, then died away, but not a man moved. Those in the front rank stared ahead, refusing to meet the gaze of their marshal or their Emperor. Those who volunteered to carry the ladders would be advancing right behind the skirmishers and the enemy would be sure to concentrate their fire on such easy targets. The ground in front of the Austrian defences was already littered with the dead and wounded of the previous attack and the memory of the storm of fire from the walls was still fresh in the minds of the survivors.
    Lannes stared at the silent, still ranks with a surprised look on his face, which swiftly turned to scorn. ‘Is there no man amongst you willing to have the honour of being the first to scale the walls? Well?’
    No one moved and Napoleon was aware of a terrible tension building between the marshal and his men. If it was not resolved, and quickly, there would be no second attack. Lannes must have shared the realisation, for he glanced anxiously at his Emperor and then suddenly dismounted and strode towards the nearest of the ladders. As the soldiers looked on, Lannes picked it up and adjusted his position so that he could carry it by himself. He turned towards the men and called out contemptuously, ‘If no man here has the stomach for it, then I’ll do it alone. Before I was a marshal I was a grenadier - and I am still!’
    With that, he turned away and began to march towards Ratisbon, the unwieldy ladder held in a firm grip.
    ‘Good God,’ Berthier muttered. ‘What on earth does he think he’s doing?’
    Napoleon could not help smiling. ‘What else? His duty.’
    For a moment no man stirred, then one of Lannes’s staff officers ran forward and stood in his commander’s path.
    ‘Sir! You can’t do this. Who will command the corps if you are killed?’
    ‘What do I care?’ Lannes growled. ‘Out of my way, damn you.’
    He brushed the officer aside and continued towards the waiting Austrians. The other man stared after him, aghast. Then, recovering his wits, he hurried to catch up, took hold of the end of the ladder and fell into step with Lannes.
    ‘Wait, sir!’ one of the other staff officers called out as he and his companions ran