Caulaincourt approached the sledge, a small cabin with glass windows perched on a heavy set of iron-rimmed runners. There was a small bench for the driver and six horses were harnessed to the pinion just below the front of the vehicle. At the sight of Caulaincourt the driver hurried to the door and opened it with a neat bow. Napoleon managed to stop himself from getting in first and waited deferentially as the general climbed in before him. The driver shut the door behind them and Napoleon found himself squeezed in beside Caulaincourt on an upholstered leather seat. There was a narrow-lipped shelf opposite and Napoleon placed his satchel on it. Caulaincourt pulled a thick bearskin from under the shelf and placed it over their legs, drawing the edge up to their chests.

‘We won’t be able to move much and we need to stay warm. One of the officers at headquarters told me it had dropped to twenty degrees below zero last night.’

Napoleon nodded, huddling down under the covering, trying hard to draw himself to the kernel of warmth that still remained in his torso.

Outside there was a sharp cry and a crack of a whip and the sledge lurched forward. Once it was in motion the ride was surprisingly smooth, and apart from a faint hiss from the runners the only noise was the soft beat of the horses’ hooves on the fresh snow. The dawn was cold and the snow had a blue tinge. Already the leading elements of the army had set out. The lieutenant commanding the escort called out for those ahead to clear the way. Looking out of the window Napoleon could see the men lining the road, ice crusted on the scarves wrapped over their faces, as little plumes of exhaled breath swirled around their heads. Within the hour they had passed through the vanguard and the way ahead was clear. The sledge slowed as the horses struggled up a small rise and Napoleon leaned towards the window and opened it to look back down the road. A blast of freezing air knifed through his headgear and he narrowed his eyes.

Some distance behind the sledge was the head of the column, and beyond that a thin trail of figures which wound its way back to the east. The soldiers shuffled along in a motley collection of small bands, interspersed with handfuls of men and even the odd isolated figure. Napoleon shut the window and settled back down on to his bench, glad at last to be quitting Russia, the graveyard of the Grand Army.

Chapter 38 - Arthur

Chapter 38

Arthur

Ciudad Rodrigo, April 1813