Our Eternal Curse I (30 page)

At precisely eleven on the clock
Napoleon started his bombardment of the British lines.  Hundreds of his heavy
gun crews began rapid fire and Wellington ordered the British artillery to
respond immediately.  Cannons were booming on both sides of the battlefield;
each sending clouds of toxic smoke billowing with every blast.  Before long,
one side could no longer see the other.

Due to the cunning of Wellington
the British took very few casualties in the first barrage because he had
prepared for Bonaparte’s love of heavy guns.  Knowing that Napoleon had started
his career in the army as a brilliant young artillery officer the Duke knew
that his bombardment would be very effective.

In order to counter this skill
with the barrage, Wellesley had masterfully moved his army to this field after
their brief encounter at Quatre Bras.  This daring maneuver placed the majority
of his regiments on a raised strip of land which looked directly down on the
field below.  Apart from forcing the enemy to march up a hill the platform had the
added advantage of falling slightly back from the lip and when the troops moved
to the rear of this shelf they could no longer be seen by Napoleon or his
cannon balls.

Just as planned, when the first
shot passed over their heads Wellington simply gave the order for his troops to
pull back forty paces and lay down.  Miraculously his army was almost
completely untouched by Napoleon’s shot.  He himself was in a raised position
at the back of the field and out of range of the French guns, allowing him time
to watch events unfold through his telescope.   The Duke loved battle and this
one was going to be a big one.  Everything was in readiness.  To his rear stood
the tiny village of Mont St Jean, his staff officers were in position around
him and his messengers were standing by.

On the ground below lay Robert
with his new unit snoring loudly.  He was completely oblivious to the crashing
noise of the guns and the choking smoke which swirled around them.  He had seen
so many battles begin like this and he knew it would be some time before the
hand-to-hand combat began.  His bravado was not built on courage or stupidity
it was just that he treated death with complete contempt.

A soldier close by said in a
whisper to his mate, “He is a weird one and no mistake,” and the offending
soldier was immediately chastised by his Sergeant Major for insubordination.

At one hour past midday, when
the sun had dried the field, the French army started marching across the valley
and up the hill.  As they approached in formation between the farm buildings
which had been under constant siege from the very beginning of the battle the
British army lying in the mud was ordered to stand and face them.  Convinced
that his guns had weakened their regiments Napoleon was surprised to see the lines
of red form on the top of the slope his men were now climbing.

The wall of British muskets let
go at once tearing into the French battalions with terrible effect.  Time and
again Robert ordered his unit to reload and fire.  The vast group of men walking
towards them simply reshuffled to repair the many gaps and continued on.

British cannon shot began firing
into the French ranks at a furious pace taking out as many as twenty lines at a
time but still they kept coming.

As the French marched over the
lip of the hill they seemed like indestructible automatons and some of the
British troops started to fall uneasily back.  Seeing this weakness the Duke
rode down to steady them himself.  Reinvigorated by his words of courage the
soldiers braced themselves and after many minutes of extremely fierce fighting
the French turned to withdraw.

Running down the slope to get
out of range, the French were hit in the back by driving musket balls and
cannon shot and to the shock and horror of his men Robert ran after them waving
his sword.  Only when the British heavy cavalry passed him did he stop and turn
back.

While Robert walked back up the
hill with a look of total frustration the cavalry did its gruesome work well. 
The horsemen ripped into the fleeing French but instead of returning as ordered
they carried on towards the French lines where they were massacred by cannon
fire, the muskets of the infantry and the sabers of the French cavalry. 
Wellington was furious because he needed those mounted regiments to complete his
plan.

“
We will have to do the job with light cavalry and
on foot now then!” he said, inwardly cursing the insubordinate heavy cavalry
who were always taking things into their own hands in the pursuit of glory. 
“Bring the men back to their laying position!” he ordered as the French cannons
started firing again.  He did not know it but Robert was snoring in less than a
minute.

“
Did you see what Mad Bob did?”  said Private
Howatson to no one in particular.

“
Yes I bloody did!”  replied a very worried Braithwaite.

“
He’s a bloody nutter!”  said another.

“
It’s just our luck to be lumbered with a suicidal
maniac; no wonder they call him Mad Bob!” said even another.

Robert had only a few minutes in
which to sleep before the French cavalry began to form lines ready for a full
frontal charge. He was woken by the sergeant majors shouting: 

“
Get into squares!  Form your squares!”

Every regiment in the British
army had practiced this maneuver over and over again and in double time the
field that the troops had been laying on looked like a vast checkerboard.

Officers walked around outside
the twenty squares of men arranging them in a pattern that would allow the
cavalry to ride between them and be fired upon without hitting another square. 
When the field was ready the officers returned to the safety of their
formations.

The artillery pieces had also
been rapidly moved to form a line in front of the forward squares and the gun
crews stood ready looking directly down the slope at the oncoming French
horses.

Wellington rode between the
squares repeating the same words to the men as he went, “Be ready for them my
lads; they will come to us; let them do all the work; steady now my brave lads;
remember that you are the cream of the British army.”

Robert looked admiringly into the
familiar face of his father’s friend as he went by and realized there was
something about him that he had never noticed before.  As hard as he thought
about what he saw he could not work out the strange feelings being roused from
somewhere deep inside him.

Completely lost in his thoughts
Robert’s mind searched in vain until the boom of the British cannons brought
his mind back to his square.

The big guns were tearing the
mounted Frenchmen apart as they came and at the last possible moment the gun
crews stopped firing, ran to their nearest square and squeezed between the
tightly packed front line of soldiers who knelt with their musket butts driven
hard into the ground.

Directly behind the kneeling
men, standing shoulder to shoulder, was a rank of men holding their muskets
outwards at the ready.  In the middle of the square stood all of the other
members of the regiment waiting to plug the holes as their comrades in front
fell.

At the end of each musket was a
highly polished eighteen-inch bayonet and viewed as a whole the formation
looked like a huge steel hedgehog bristling with deadly spines.  This structure
was effective against cavalry because no horse could be made to charge at such
an inhospitable defense.

As the brave horsemen thundered
by, Robert stood inside his square shouting, “Shoot the bastards!” 

The unfortunate French could not
penetrate any of the squares and found themselves in the disastrous position of
having to ride back through the British regiments.  Riding over their own dead
and wounded they were cut to pieces by the volley fire coming at them from
every side until they passed down the hill and out of range.

Having taken a terrible beating
the obvious thing for the French cavalry to do was return to the safety of
their own lines and regroup but, of course, these were men of great pride and
that is not what happened.  Unfortunately, all cavalry are driven by the
concept of honor and the shame of defeat overrode the logic of impossibility.
So it became Bonaparte’s turn to watch his cavalry destroy itself with a second
charge at the steel hedgehogs.

Observing these events Robert
found Wellington’s tactics somehow familiar.  The squares themselves brought to
the forefront of his memory an image of the Roman legions which he had read
about on so many occasions and he realized that defense had been the particular
skill of Marius.  In that thought a connection was made with a shock of
realization and time seemed to stand still as his subconscious mind gave up the
information that his conscious mind had been searching for.

“
It’s the eyes!”

“
Sorry Sir?” said Braithwaite wondering what Mad Bob
was up to now.

“
The eyes!” Robert was taking two well-worn pieces
of paper out of his wallet as he spoke.

“
Whose eyes, Sir?”

Without answering Robert looked into
the tatty portrait of Marius and Sulla on the pages that he had carried since
tearing them from the book at Cambridge.  There before him were the eyes of
Wellington in the faded face of Marius and in the sockets of Sulla lay a pair
of eyes that were clearly those of Napoleon himself.

“
I am caught between Marius and Sulla once more!” 
said Robert with no idea what he was saying.  He was in a trance and all he
could feel was the pain of his life and that of someone else whose emotions
felt completely familiar whilst at the same time completely strange.

Pushing through the ranks of
surprised men Robert wandered out among the bodies still clutching the crumpled
pages, oblivious to the pleading of the French wounded as he walked between
them with his eyes glazed over.

Arriving at the midpoint between
his square and the next, Robert stopped and turned to face the French and
everyone on the field wondered what the hell he was doing.

“
That’s Pishiobury’s boy isn’t it?” exclaimed
Wellington mounted and standing deep within one of the distant squares. 
Without waiting for a reply to his question the Duke started shouting, “Get him
back in!”

Within no time, everyone was
repeating his words, “GET HIM BACK IN!”

Hearing the commotion behind him
Somerset turned and started running to the other side of his defensive position
to see what was happening.  As he ran he heard his trusted Sergeant Major
calling out a question to one of his soldiers.

“
Private Braithwaite.  What did that officer say to
you before he left the square?”

“
He said he was caught between Mary’s ass and a
sailor Sarn’t Major.”

“
If I find rum in your canteen, you’ll get another
flogging my lad!”

“
What’s happening Sergeant Major?”  interrupted
General Somerset relieved that the French had not breached his square.

“
Mad Bob … sorry Sir.  That is, the Young Officer
has walked out Sir!”

“
I can see that man, go and get him back in!”

“
You heard the Officer, Braithwaite take two of your
mates and go and get him!”

“
Me, Sir?  Why me?”

“
Because you let him go lad!  And don’t call me
Sir!”

“
Yes, Sarn’t Major.”  Braithwaite had resigned
himself to being trampled under flailing hooves.  Touching two of his mates on
the shoulder he added, “Come on lads let’s go and get Mad Bob!”

The square opened as Braithwaite
spoke and then closed as he and his unfortunate friends ran out into no man’s
land.

Robert stood motionless, simply
staring at the French cavalry who had turned to regroup for their second
charge.  His face like everyone else’s was blackened by powder residue from the
flintlocks but unlike most his had two perfectly straight white lines running
from the base of each eye to the edge of his jaw.

Oddly the tears which poured
uncontrollably from Robert’s eyes were those of someone else someone in even
greater pain than himself.  It felt as though he was being given a glimpse at
the very thing that caused his lifetime of insecurity, and totally confused by
his apparent madness, a rapid death seemed to be the only logical escape from
this unknown character’s all engulfing torment.

“
Be a good Officer and come back with us please
Sir!” said Braithwaite in a pleading voice.

The silence on the field where
they stood was made more eerie by his Officer staring at the French saying in a
distant voice, “Come on Sulla.  Let’s make an end of it here and now.”

“
We can’t go back without you Sir!”  added Private
Howatson and his words seemed to break the young officer’s spell.

“
What the bloody hell are you men doing out here?” 
shouted Robert amazed at the position he found himself in.