The Army Prepares

Napoléon Ier Bonaparte dans les bivouacs à la veille de la bataille de Waterloo en 1815.
Jacques Marie Gaston Onfray de Breville dit JOB¹
Source

Berthier set his quill aside, then leaned forward onto the table, his hands covering his face. He had managed to get what he thought was the Emperor's intent onto paper. His staff was busy making up the copies to be dispatched to the corps commanders. He had entered the days events into his record of staff activities for this day in early June, in the year 1815.

Truth be told, he was exhausted, he had just turned 61 years of age, and he felt every month of that span of time, in his bones, and in his spirit. He almost wished that he had not heeded his Emperor's call to return to his service. He would still be at home, with his family.²

He looked up as he heard a tap at the door.

"What is it?"

"Sir, Maréchal Ney and his, ahem, 'entourage' are said to be close by." The young staff officer had smirked when he had said "entourage," in truth, Marshal Ney was traveling with only two aides, having left Paris in haste to join the campaign.

"Your sense of humor would not be appreciated by the Marshal, nor the Emperor for that matter. I certainly understand, but control yourself, Antoine."

"Oui, Monsieur." Suitably chastised, the young staff officer returned to his duties.

Berthier shook his head then muttered, "I'd best get some sleep while the Emperor visits the bivouacs."

Napoléon Bonaparte bit into the half-cooked potato, it was hot, nearly burning his mouth, but he gave no sign of pain.

"So caporal, where are you from?"

The man in the brown overcoat looked up from the pot he was stirring and said, "Normandy, Sire. Just outside Caen."

"How many years have you followed my eagles?"

"Twelve, Sire. Much of that in Spain. Though I was with you at Austerlitz and Jena."

"And still a corporal?" the Emperor asked, with some amusement.

"I only learned to read during your time, uh, away. Sire."³

Nodding, the Emperor said, "Ah, while I ruled oved Elba, I'm glad you kept busy in my absence."

"Well, there were no jobs, Sire. Not for a former soldier. So an officer of grenadiers took me under his wing, taught me to read, write, and cipher. Upon your return, I rejoined my regiment. When the captain discovered I could read, he made me a corporal."

Before Napoléon could respond he turned to see what the commotion behind him was, a rider, horse lathered, caught his eye. Looking to Maréchaux Davout and Soult, who stood nearby, he remarked, "News I think, of the enemy or of Paris, I do not know."

The horseman, a man of Berthier's staff, approached and handed the Emperor a message.

Napoléon snatched it, his stomach growling as he did so, more from the anticipation of bad news than of the undercooked potato. Quickly he read, then his stern visage cracked a smile.

"Le Rougeaud⁵ it seems, has arrived. Let us return to headquarters gentlemen."

Le voyageur (Le maréchal Ney à cheval luttant contre le vent)⁴
Jean-Louis-Ernest Meissonier (PD)

Michel Ney had ridden hard, he was soaked to the skin by intermittent rain showers and his cloak and horse were mud spattered, the horse lathered with sweat. Upon arrival at headquarters he had told his two aides to find something to eat for themselves and for him. He went into the headquarters to report to the Emperor. Only to find that Napoléon was not there, only Berthier.

He had stormed into Berthier's office, shedding his wet cloak and hat as he did so, spattering Berthier's precious maps with muddy water.

"Where is the Emperor?" he demanded imperiously.

Berthier looked up and sighed, "And a good morning to you as well. The Emperor is in the field, Ney, where one might expect him to be. Where have you been?"

Casting a dirty look at the man he considered to be nothing more than a glorified clerk, Ney answered, "In Paris, settling my affairs. His Majesty's message, commanding me to report to the army, only arrived two days ago. I have no staff, only two aides, and no command that I am aware of. Why the urgency?"

Berthier stood, he went to a decanter sitting on a table nearby and poured a glass of brandy, he lifted the glass in Ney's direction. "You must be thirsty after such a hard ride."

Ney took the offered drink and gruffly thanked his fellow marshal. Then he looked down at the maps on the table in front of him.

"So the Prussians are in the east and Wellington sits astride the road to Brussels, what is my assignment?"

Both men turned as the voice of Napoléon overrode that of Ney, "My dear Ney, nice of you to join us."

Ney's face went even redder than usual, "Sire, I ..."

Napoléon raised his hand and smiled gently, "I don't have a job for you as yet, perhaps the Guard as Maréchal Mortier is unable to take the field, his back you know."

"The Guard? I've never ... What about either of my old corps, the III ..."

"Commanded by Vandamme."

"The VI ..."

"Mouton has that command, besides which, it is a smallish unit, barely a corps. The Guard seems more suited to your talents." Napoléon watched Ney's reaction.

"Well, um, I'm honored Sire, but the Guard rarely fights and ..."

"On this campaign, every man fights Ney. I will knock the Prussians back on Liege, no doubt the Guard will be called upon there. Then when I turn on Wellington, to inflict the coup de grâce on this latest coalition, the Guard will be there at the kill. Still hesitant?"

"But Sire, I had hoped for ..."

"What Ney? An independent command? Like you had in Spain? You didn't exactly cover yourself in glory there, now did you? Or as a Peer of France, as Louis named you, do you feel the command of my Guard is beneath you?"

Ney looked at the Emperor, he knew he was on dangerous ground. Many in the army never forgave him for leading the "Marshals Revolt" which led to the Emperor's abdication in 1814 Many considered him, if not quite a royalist, then a turncoat, willing to sell his talents to whoever was then in charge.

Ney bowed his head, "Forgive me, Sire. I will go where you send me, I will fight whomsoever you point me at. To the death ..."

Napoléon clapped both hands on Ney's shoulders, "Excellent."

Turning to Berthier, he saw that his chief of staff was already formulating the orders appointing Michel Ney commander of the Imperial Guard. He wondered if he would have cause to regret such an assignment. The Guard was his trump card, only to be thrown in to recover a losing battle, or do put the seal on a victory. The Guard attacked, Ney understood attacking, and he was damned good at it.

"Berthier, see to the arrangements. Ney, dine with me tonight, won't you?"

"Certainly, Sire."

¹ Napoleon I Bonaparte at the bivouacs on the eve of the Battle of Waterloo in 1815. The artist, de Breville, went by his initials "JOB." In French when one has a pseudonym, that pseudonym is preceded by the word "dit," which means "known as." So in English it would be "Jacques Marie Gaston Onfray de Breville known as JOB." Similar to how we use "aka" in English, "also known as."

² In point of fact, Berthier died on the 1st of June 1815, a fall from a window killed him, whether he fell or was pushed remains open to debate. But had he stayed home, he would have died. At least that's what happened in reality.

³ Napoléon insisted that his non-commissioned officers be able to read, only in extraordinary circumstances would a man be promoted if he was illiterate, then his regiment would undertake to teach him to read, write, and do simple arithmetic.

⁴ The Traveler (Marshal Ney on horseback battling the wind)

⁵ Various meanings, "the ruddy" or "the redhead." French troops nickname for Michel Ney, also known as "the bravest of the brave" by many.

Editor's Note: So my moratorium on historical fiction didn't last long, did it?