He glared at the young woman before him, his conniving smile growing into a smirk...

"So where is your God now... So answer me, are you in God's grace?" Eager sycophantic faces leered in dark recesses within the room, and the girl saw the trap...

Unhesitatingly, the woman replied " If i am not, may God put me there; and if i am, may God so keep me"

There was a gasp of surprise from all-round. They had clearly been expecting a simple yes or no. The King's face burned with the imminent prospect of defeat...

The young woman, standing tall, her fire undiminished. The king realised he would have to douse the flames of her insolence to reassert his authority which was clearly threatened. He rose from his regal seat, approaching the woman who to his dismay gazed back at him not with fear as he hoped. Drawing himself to his full height, he hoped that the woman might waver, to reveal a chink in the armour of her faith that he could exploit. Instead she held his stare with an intensity that seemed to look into the heart of his soul... suddenly he felt naked, violated, as if his own dark deeds might be exposed for all to see, and it was he himself that faltered and broke eye contact, fleeing from those all seeing eyes.

A low nervous murmur resounded around the chamber. Exasperatedly, he motioned for silence, composing himself... This had gone on far enough. He needed to impose his will upon this girl, this woman that represented a challenge not only to his authority, but to his respect amongst his court; this woman that had humbled so many of his lords upon the field of battle.

Deep within himself he grudgingly respected this woman, although he would not and could not admit it out loud... This proud woman that spoke her mind so freely, her clarity of speech untainted by the deviousness of adulthood, her words truthfull like the pure innocence of a child and so unlike the spineless sycophants that surrounded him. He found himself wondering.. Why did it have to be this way? He felt pushed into a corner, a victim of fate against his own free will. He had witnessed many men crumble before his imperious gaze, powerful, self confessed hard men that wilted before his wrath, crying out for mercy like a child... But not this young woman who spoke up like a real man, and was indeed attired like one. Unlike many men however she was ungoverned by the laws of egotism, she lacked that achilles heel and thus would be harder to break. He reflected a moment...To have a warrior; one such as this at the head of his armies...He could conquer the world! He would crush her yet he mused...

What about honour then? Perhaps the answer lie in dishonouring her virtue... Her innocence stolen, she would be broken and humiliated and then her anguished soul would repent; she would surely confess then to which she was charged. He did not find this an appealing thought, but a necessary evil that he would grant unflinchingly if events conspired otherwise.

He thus tried again... Motioning to a guard, menace dripping with every word, the threat of physical violence implicit, he demanded imperiously " Kneel before your king"

" My lord" began the woman.

His battered confidence soared that she was about to confess her sins after all. A forlorn hope then, to be shattered as she continued.... "I kneel only before the eternal father. Be it known to all the inhabitants of the world that the power of kings is empty and superficial, and that no one is worthy of the name of king except for Him whose will is obeyed by Heaven, earth and sea in accordance with eternal laws"

The king reeled, struck as if by a physical blow, his mouth jerking up and down spasmodically and his power of speech rendered temporarily impotent. A terrible hush descended over the court, a silence that was deafening in it's impact.

This was outright blasphemy! Outraged and against his better judgement the king gave a nod to the guard who stepped forward, delivering a cruel blow that sent the young woman sprawling to her knees. Now she knelt before the king, bloody and yet... Her head was unbowed, and that defiance still shone undiminished in it's intensity. After all this there had been a subtle shift in the king's perceptions. He was uncertain now, faced with a dilemna to which he had no easy answer. If he showed weakness now... The thought was unthinkable. The noblemen demanded blood, their revenge for their humiliating defeats upon the battlefield, bested by a woman... While the common masses only respected the firm hand of power...

In the solitude of his power he felt that the responsibility, the final decision over life and death, his alone, was an unfair burden. He took in at a glance the multitude of faces around the court; expectant faces, ugly in their desire for retribution. They were gleeful, almost maniacial in their scent of victory. The trial had already reached a verdict... Charged with heresy she had been found guilty, the punishment, Death. Yet still they looked eagerly to him for the final say on her fate, fully expectant that justice would be done this day. Yes, he must be strong... In these turbulent and violent times, a show of weakness on his part could only encourage ambitious men, men that sought to usurp the crown for themselves.

With a resigned air he turned away, allready distancing himself from what he knew must come as he gave an almost imperceptable nod of his head that she should be led away, while he secretly prayed that God might have mercy upon his soul.

Beaten and physically violated they had not been able to steal away her faith to which she clung. She knelt in prayer upon the flagstones of her cell. She prayed not for herself, for she knew full well her fate; she prayed for her captors and that of her countrymen that had betrayed her. She cast her thoughts back to her past life as a simple peasant girl, the voices that had came to her and urged her to take up arms against the English. Voices that she needed to hear now, but yet remained silent... And then a shaft of sunlight broke through the bars of her cell, a slant of light to the floor. She reached out to feel it's caress, the warmth on her hand, the touch of Heaven. She smiled.

She was still in prayer when they came for her, the soldiers roughly hauling her to her feet, this young woman that had humbled many.

As she was led to the wooden stake that dominated the square she felt no bitterness or regret at what was to pass. She shed no tears, for that time had passed. Before her a man of the church stood with a large crucifix; one last concession to which she had been granted, while clasped toightly in her hands she held a miniature wooden cross.

Bound to the stake she scanned the sea of eager faces and expectant faces that surrounded her. Common people that had travelled far and wide to witness this event, if that's what it was, an event.

A soldier stepped forward little older than herself, a chosen executioner. He approached the pyre hesitatingly, sadness stamped in his every move. He held a flaming torch tight within in his grasp. The young girl looked into his eyes and saw the burning turmoil within, a man that was himself a victim of circumstance as he struggled and fought to keep his own tears at bay. She held his eyes kindly and indicated that he had nothing to fear, that he should step forward and perform his task to which he had been ordered. She could not escape her fate, but she could choose how she met her end; she was determined that it should be with dignity, a defiance to the last.

The flaming torch touched the kindling, the flames at once leaping up hungrily to devour all. At this, Joan shouted the lords name, Jesus Christ, a name repeated over and over, a chant that only grew louder as the flames took purchase, drowning the silence from a stunned and somewhat dissapointed crowd. As the flames began to sear her flesh, before the darkness closed in, Joan lifted her head skyward, she reached up and she grasped the light.

We sat side by side Lucy and I, holding hands high in the hills above the town where we had made a home, fleeing from the cruelties of the civilised world.....Holding hands as lovers do, bathed in the ethereal glow of the evenings twilight, embraced by the last light of the suns rays, we sat in comfortable silence. There was no need for conversation, mere words were not necessary between us because in each others arms we had all we needed.

Thats how it is when you are in Love.

Far below me i watched a shepherd bringing in his flock, his black and white dog bounding energetically alongside, while a car lazily traversed the winding road that wound round the valley like a snake, glittering in the fading light. It was a tranquil scene of a world at peace.

Over the distant horizon, the sun hung in the sky, a huge blood-red disc bleeding the last vestiege of it's fire across the crimson vault of heaven, before surrendering to the inevitability of night. Come tommorrow our sun would spread it's wings of light across the earth like a phoenix reborn from the ashes, to banish the darkness that had stolen it's glory.

It was a dependable cycle, one that had continued without pause for millennia, and would doubtless continue for many more, a cycle that we as human beings perhaps took for granted...Yet it could not last indefinately.... nothing lasts forever, and one day the sun must take a final bow and die too.

It would be a long process, a drawn out affair, the suns energies increasing in intensity as it began to feel the effects of it's own aging, as it fought to stave of it's own demise. Then the end would come... The sun would swell many times it's present size, expanding into a blood-red giant to fill the earths horizons; one last defiant stand before night snatched it's victory.

A earth burnt to a cinder; a lifeless dead world that would be plunged into darkness forever as the sun shrank to a tiny pinprick of light in the sky; a remnant slowly fading over a millienia. Gone.

As human beings we are still in our infancy, learning to walk, and still to reach our maturity. One day perhaps we might learn to put aside our differences, stop fighting, these futile quarrels and learn to live in peace with one another. If we could achieve this then maybe we might live to escape this fate, to reach out across the stars on wings of our imagination to find a new home, a youthful corner of the universe where our traditions might be kept alive.

Of course it would only be a temporary reprieve.... As i said, nothing is eternal and one day the universe itself must confront it's own mortality and stare it's own death in the face....One by one those pinpricks of light in the velvet fabric of night would wink out; the light slowly being extinguished, the stage of the cosmos into it's final act as the curtains on the play were finally drawn forever...

Maybe that is mankinds destiny; to wander a dying cosmos like a nomad race, seeking a safe haven, a sanctuary in denial of the finality of the end. Yet, as long as the spark of life flickered, hope would remain alive.

I felt myself shivering as i became aware of Lucy beside me, tugging at me, pulling me from my dark reverie...Darkness had descended upon the land and high above, the stars twinkled in the night sky as we sat side by side still, feeling the warmth of each others bodies.

"You were miles away" She accused me, a smile playing over her lips. It was a smile which had the power to carress my soul.

Her statement threw me. How far away is One and thirty five zeros?

" Thought i was going to have to call search and rescue..." She mocked me with that delightfull giggle that she knew had the power to enthrall me.

I grinned at her, loving her even more at that moment. I held her hand, gazing deep into her eyes. Then she threw me some more...

" I know it's a long process" She began.

Had she been reading my thoughts? I must have looked like a total berk, sitting their open mouthed in astonishment.

She smiled again, that smile that spoke more than words ever could. She continued...

" Yes, i know it's a long process but after the operation we can truly be together at last, as a man and wife"

We sat for a long time in each others arms Lucy and I, gazing up at the stars that still shone with the vitality of youth. We lived for the moment, the here and now regardless of what the future might hold. We embraced the light. At the end of the day we had each other. We were in love and when all is said and done at the end of the day, that was all that really mattered.

18th November 1812

Yesterday, the Old Guard tore through the Russian roadblock at Krasnoe, that impeded our retreat westwards. Hurling the defenders aside, the Guard opened a corridor, forcing a passage through which the stricken remnants of this once great army might pass through to safety...

At the time we were delirious with joy, exhultant at our success, but as is the way with human nature, happiness is a fleeting thing. Gloom and defeatism once again began to pervade our ranks, strangling our brief found optimism as we plunged onwards towards Orsha.

Unable to maintain the corridor in the face of mounting Russian pressure, we'd been obliged to abandon Marshal Ney and his army corps to an uncertain fate. We justified this action upon sound military logic, convincing ourselves in order to salve our own conscience that Ney himself would not think twice about pulling the same manoevre.

To us, it was easy to imagine that Ney, arriving at the Krasnoe battlefield and finding his way barred by superior enemy forces would seek a warriors death amongst his men, rather dying sword in hand than surrender to the indignity of captivity or worse.

The loss of Ney hit us all hard, shaking our already fragile morale. Some men's will collapsed at the news, believing that it was a portent of doom that spoke disaster for the whole army.

It was at around this time that i first became aware that many men in the army were going blind or if not weak sighted. This was an awful realisation to see men stumble, lose their footing, collapsing in the snow. Many men were content to abandon them, to leave them to die a lonely death. Some of the more conscientious took hold of them guided them along, and these were the lucky ones...I saw their eyes, red bloodshot eyes gazing out unseeing. Massage with snow sometimes aleviated the problem and some improved. I felt the smoke from the campfires, coupled with the harsh glare of the sun upon the whiteness of the snow contributed to this greatly, as well as malnutrition.

With Marie between us, Myself with Jasmine and Seriot on either side, we shambled slowly westwards. Our strength lay in companionship. Sharing the dangers, the hardships, witnessing all the horrors of the retreat made them seem less real and severe.

A jingling sound caught our attention sometime later in the day. Our column slowed... Preceeded by a mounted escort of Chasseurs a' Cheval of the Guard, Napoleon looking less than majestic seated on a sleigh, pulled by a team of six horses glided by... The Emperors face was sullen, impenetrable as to what new designs his genius might be scheming. " Hey up, it's Father Christmas!", i blurted out in an effort to raise a smile and boost our flagging spirits. " No doubt his majesty is wondering how to extricate himself from this disaster, distance his reputation from it and sneak back to Paris leaving us all in the lurch" replied Marie. Seriot showing that his wit was undiminished, cut in. " Aye, he'll want to rush back to Paris alright; to get back to his home comforts and to wake up Christmas morning to find he has some brand new toy soldiers to play with!" I countered... "Is that what we are then Seriot, toy soldiers?" Seriot delivered his response. " Heck no! We're outworn tools, ready for the knackers yard!" Myself and Marie, we both stared at Seriot somewhat stunned, but we both knew the truth when we heard it, bitter as it might be.

I wondered if i would ever see my own family again. At this moment it seemed a very remote possibility. Oh to see Lucille, my daughter Elisa as well as Michel... To see their smiling faces again. How would they receive me? Would it be with joy and open arms or with harsh words and rejection? I could not kid myself, it would most likely be the latter and well... Had i not deserved it?

In my minds eye i pictured happy times together, the rich aroma of dinner cooking, Elisa's face of wonderment and delight that only a child could have. Then there was my wife's gaze, a look of love and warmth. I heard a knock at the door; Michel stood grinning ear to ear, full of greetings and good cheer for all.

Inevitably i saw the other side of the coin, the years of misery, of neglected promises and promises broken. I shrivelled within at the recollection of such memories, yet i also somewhat perversely revelled in playing out the most unsavoury scenes over and over, as if that alone might atone for my misdeeds. I knew this to be nonsense, but still this train of illogical thought persisted.

21st november 1812

I looked out across the sea of devastation before me. The appearance of two bridges, their structures twisted, broken and burnt, spanning a river frozen to it's bottom dominated. All along the shores of this river, great and immense riches lay scattered: furs, silks, fine carriages as well as military equipment of all kinds lay scattered. Amongst this wash of abandonment the corpses of men of all arms, women, even children lay heaped in a grotesque mockery of life. Scavengers darted within this distressing scene, plundering items of value or whatever took their fancy, while high above, sillhouetted against a slate grey sky, carrion crows wheeled.

I picked my way between the wreckage as naked, dying men reached out, clutched at me, beseeching me for help... " For the love of god, spare a piece of bread and a scrap of cloth to cover myself with" I could do nothing for these unfortunate wretches.

Upon one of the shattered bridges, a woman sat, quietly sobbing, her legs dangling over the side with her feet trapped in the ice. I approached her with trepidation and dread in my heart... She was in great pain and unable to die. Her arms held out an infant to me, imploring me to save it, unaware that the infant was a corpse, frozen and as hard as wood. I was powerless to help her and her eyes betrayed not a flicker of recognition as i placed my pistol to her ear and pulled the trigger....

I collapsed and fell beside her, the implications of my act heavy on my soul, with my spirit unable to continue. I lay unmoving, waiting for deaths embrace, feeling a welcoming warmth enfold me. Hands pulled at me, sought to pull me away and deny me the peace I so craved and i resisted.

The harsh glare of sunlight stung my eyes, Seriot and Marie rousing me from my slumber. My friends peered down at me concerned, but I recognized relief too. To sleep is to die. To fall asleep for long periods in this extreme cold was to invite death. I'd seen it before: men falling into a slumber, never to wake again, and I was very glad of Marie and Seriots vigilance.

In actual fact there had been a thaw these past few days. Certainly, it was still cold, but the teeth of winter had for the moment at least been blunted, and for that we found much relief.

At Orsha we had found supplies as well as a little rest which bode us well. It was widely recognised however that to linger for any length of time would be to court disaster for the whole army, what remained of it anyhow. To give you an idea of our losses.... Yesterday our regimental commander held an head count of men still capable of bearing arms... Barely four hundred of us still stood under the colours. Four hundred men! The rest, casualties of this mad campaign, dead, dying or captured by the enemy... And this total from a muster of over one thousand, five hundred men that had crossed the river Niemen so confidently and enthusiastically in June. If this logic is applied on a larger scale to an army in excess of half a million men you might get a scale of the larger picture, of the apalling and wasteful loss of life.

Inevitably with the thaw came the stench of filthy bodies, unwashed since our leave of Moscow. Only god knew the state of my underwear! Our bearded faces matted with filth and black from the smoke of the wood fires... From out of this frightful visage there stared out reddish, bloodshot eyes. Some time back i had made a decision to slice a small slit in my breeches. I had made this resolution upon the observation of other soldiers who after performing their natural functions were unable to pull up through frozen, numb fingers, while their comrades stood either unwilling or unable to help... Yes, i considered this small sacrifice a small price to pay for dignity. Seriot also had followed my example, much to Maries amusement. Fortunately our pride was held intact by the fact that our greatcoats fell to our knees.

The stench of filth however paled into insignificance next to the nauseating stink of rotting, festering and diseased flesh; men with gangrenous limbs or missing fingers or limbs; men staggering along, clinging to life despite awful injuries. Indeed one retched upon breathing such pestilent air, while high above carrion crows circled hungrily waiting for our shambling columns to pass, so they could feast upon our misfortune. Ironically, i thought with grim humour of how life fed upon death and indeed was sustained by it. In deaths throes, life triumphed.

23rd november 1812

From Orsha this rabble of dying men shambled westwards resembling a funeral procession. We'd become indifferent to human suffering, our compassion for a fellow human being surrendering itself to self preservation. Silent with downcast gaze and almost without hope, we staggered through mud, a result of the thaw, cursing inwardly. We listened with half an ear, answering curtly or not at all, whilst turning a blind eye....

I quote some examples of which by no means are the worst....

A young woman, naked from her waist down, sat upon the ground hystericaly imploring for help. She had given birth during the night and her child had been subsequently stolen from her. Her pleas went unheeded as our columns rolled past. I myself was guilty of neglect of duty and in more fortunate circumstances i would have felt ashamed, but sefishly i thought of myself and the safety of companions , my friends...We seemed to quicken our pace even as we passed; out of sight out of mind...

A man collapsed and unable to rise to his feet by himself he called for assistance, declaring that if someone would take him as far as the next village, he would pay his benefactor a large sum of money. One soldier took him up on this offer, searching him beforehand. Finding no money on his person he abandoned this man to his fate.

I'm being unfair... here and there good deeds still shone out, showing that human kindness and compassion was still a force that could not be fully extinguished...

Another man fell out, starving and weakened by the rigours of the march. He was clearly near death. One kindly soldier stepped out, unselfishly giving him some biscuit for which he had designed for himself. The look of gratitude in the dying mans expression is something i will never forget.

Some instances were humorous...

A private of the line took it upon himself to relieve his superior officer of clothing, thinking him dead and evidently believing himself the rightful heir. At this the officer groaned weakly... Startled, the private saluted his superior while respectfully and dutifully stepping back, declaring " I can wait a few moment's my officer!"

This incident raised a smile when we needed it most. This war sure is crazy!

24th november 1812

Heads bowed, like a gang of prisoners, almost utterly devoid of spirit, we marched into the seemingly endless wastes. Somewhere along the road that led home, fresh reinforcements joined our column. These were troops from Marshal Victor's division... Fresh that is because they had not made the march to Moscow and back, having been left behind in the vicinity of Smolensk by the Emperor to cover our line of communications. I see their eyes, wide eyed, staring at us in disbelief and shock at the moral and physical disintergration that had befallen us. While some stared with tears in their eyes, others bore a look of loathing and disgust...

Our spirits should have been lifted with the news of Marshal Ney's safe return. Our hearts did lift, although only momentarily. Here is what i gathered from word of mouth...

Ney and his men reached the Krasnoe battlefield late on the afternoon of the 18th, to find their way barred by the Russian army drawn up in strength.

Confident in their apparent superiority perhaps, they had invited Ney to surrender, to which Ney had bluntly refused. With night falling the Russians held their positions, perhaps believing that come daybreak and realising the futility of his situation, Ney would capitulate without unecessary bloodshed... One can only imagine their faces, their looks of outrage and dismay to look down at the scene come daybreak, only to find Ney and his men vanished!

Sometime during the night, leaving their campfires burning to lull the Russians as to their true intentions, Ney's men slipped away... Following a stream northwards by moonlight, and purely by chance they came upon the Dnieper river. The thaw had caused it's frozen surface to melt and only with much difficulty and cracking of ice, creating anxious moments had they been able to leap from ice floe-to ice floe to reach the far bank, abandoning all guns, carriages as well as all those that refused to make the crossing.

Force marching the next day and night they came under observation by a large body of cossacks, which were content to just observe. On the next day these cossacks became more agressive, raking Ney's column with cannon fire, prompting many men under Ney's command to cry in despair that they must surrender. Ney's reply was only what one would expect... Pointing towards the enemy, then towards the direction of France he declared " Captivity or freedom?" The men rallied, pressing on. Come evening, Ney's formation again came under attack and forming up into squares managed to hold off all attacks till nightfall.

In the early hours of the next morning, the 21st, Ney's command reached Orsha and the relative safety of our lines , although much reduced in numbers. Understandably, Napoleon had been jubilant, undoubtedly having written off Ney and his corps as casualties of war, as did we all. Napoleon in his exhultant mood had promptly dubbed Ney, "The Bravest of The Brave", a title that along with his amazing tale rapidly spread through our ranks.

Yes, Ney's achievement against the odds did fire our mood, making us believe that with such men in our ranks, anything was possible. For the first time in many days we saw light at the end of the tunnel, if only briefly for it was an illusion.

Clouds of doubt gathered and negative thoughts intruded... Dark rumours spread amongst us of multiple Russian armies converging on us, threatening our line of retreat home. These rumours steadily gained sustenance and we all heard of the loss of Minsk, and now Borisov, instinctively understanding the implications. The words "Chichagov" and "The Beresina" passed between us....

I remembered just how contemptuously we had crossed the river in June. Now the prospect of having to fight our way across the river in the face of enemy fire was an unappealing and daunting one.

"Hey up lads, look sharp it's Bony himself!" This came from a low murmur behind me. I raised my downcast gaze to see Napoleon standing to one side with his staff, rgarding our passing column as we shambled past...

Napoleon stood in his characteristic pose, hand thrust into a fold of his coat. He did not seem the great Emperor that i had once seen... Gone was the stamp of supreme confidence that set him apart from other men. Now he appeared tired and ill at ease.

"Got belly ache he has..." Seriot piped up. With Napoleons hand thrust inside his coat we caught the connection. " Eyes bigger than his belly" Marie dug him gently in the ribs. "Bitten off more than he can chew this time..." he continued "Shhh Seriot, he'll hear you!", admonished Marie. As is Seriots way when he was ahead he continued... " Nah, he wont hear, he's got bigger things on his plate!" I grinned at this, especially as Marie got in on the act too.." Unlike us, his Majesty don't look short of a meal or two" I replied to calm their doubting.. "Ole Nap will see us through, you'll see. we'll get back across the Nieman and they'll be food for plenty" Seriot snorted at this and i might have known he'd get the last word in... " Fat lot of good it will do us Armand, if we are all blownaparte is it?"

Sometimes i wondered about Seriot.

As i say, we should have felt inspired by Napoleon's presence, yet his apparent anxiety undermined our confidence further. Despite this i feel that Napoleon will pull something out from his hat yet, a great manoevre that will enable us to reach safety and quit Russia with some honour. One should not lose hope while the Emperor is at the head of the army. Does not The Emperor always deliver?

26th November 1812

The present thaw continues. As a result, the River Beresina which had looked so insignificant on the March to Moscow was now swollen.... Spanning this wide chasm, two bridges had been constructed... Their very appearance filled me with dread and a terrible foreboding. At the time, i had not placed much significance upon upon my dream, believing after all that a dream was just that; a dream. Now these terrible images burst into my thoughts with awful clarity.

Even now infantry marched across the lighter bridge, taking up defensive positions on the far bank, while Napoleon himself stood at the foot of the bridgeheads, surveying the scene with an air of impatience, his attention rapt upon the larger bridge still under construction.....

Hundreds of men toiled on this bridge, upto their necks in the icy waters in places. I watched stirred by their heroic, unselfish sacrifice as they strove to complete this lifeline, thus saving the army from complete destruction.

From under my greatcoat, Jasmine as if sensing my apprehension and turmoil stirred. I allowed myself the luxury of pulling open my coat somewhat to gaze at her. Looking at her wide innocent eyes, the yearning for life flickered within me. Bouriennes dying words intruded in my thoughts " To be born is not enough, a man must also die" The bridge beckoned, and with much courage in my step, together with Marie and Seriot, we approached the bridge in an orderly line....

At last we reached the lighter bridge and I clutched Jasmine ever more tightly. We all held onto one another, there being no handrails as we shambled slowly, yet orderly across the bridge, offering up a prayer to providence that the bridge would not collapse beneath us; such was the creaking and trembling beneath our feet that accompanied our passage.

We reached the far bank without incident, congratulating ourselves and one another on our good fortune.

I glanced back towards the heavier bridge, cursing myself for my impeccable timing as i saw one of the heroic sappers pitch forward, face first into the icy water. As he was carried away amongst the ice floes by the current, his comrades barely gave him a glance, furiously struggling on so that his death might not be in vain.

We took up defensive positions along the perimeter, which thickened and was reinforced as more troops arrived after making the crossing. Soon the heavy bridge was also completed and wagons, artillery guns, and carriages began to cross to rejoin their respective units.

Some heavy 12 pounder artillery pieces began to come our way...... " Here come the Emperors beautiful daughters!" says Seriot. Unthinking, because Marie was standing behind me, i shot back.... " Yeah, like women the world over, once they open their mouths to shout, a man will never be able to get a word in edgeways to make himself heard!" Marie then made herself known..." You'll not be wanting to continue to hold little Jasmine then will you, for fear of not hearing yourself think?" I felt my face burning, as i stuttered stupidly, while Seriot took great pleasure in my discomfort.

I could not help but wonder what kind of noise Jasmine might make in the world, provided we got away with our lives.

In darkness i heard a loud groaning, followed by a frenzied yelling amidst a crashing sound " That'll be one of the bridges collapsing said Seriot....

We had deceived the Russians as to the point of our crossing and yet none dared entertain hopes that this passage across the Beresina would continue unopposed... The Russians would surely realise that they had been duped.... Then they would come. Of that we are certain and waiting for the hammer to fall we prepared for war.

27th November 1812

Dawn broke, revealing to us that the heavy bridge had in fact collapsed during the night, twice it was ascertained.... Each time the sappers whose bravery was beyond all praise, plunging into the freezing waters to repair it. It was humbling to watch these men, so many of whom had already given their lives so freely in order to keep the hopes of the many alive

At noon, Napoleon and the Guard crossed. Even the Old Guard itself was much thinned in its ranks. Yet they still presented a splendid sight.

By now much of the army was across on the home side; the organized units still fit to fight from the remnants of Oudinot's, Eugene's, Murat's, Ney's and our own corps under Davout; adding to this the Guard which stood in reserve.

Impressive as this sounds, at least twice this number still stood on the far bank by the bridges waiting to cross. These i gathered for the most part were the non-combatants. More were still arriving too, creating a press, a bottleneck. I overheard someone say that Marshal Victor's corps had been instructed by the Emperor to remain on the far bank also, to hold defensive positions in readiness for the expected enemy attack upon the bridgeheads.... I watched this horde on the far bank: Great masses of stragglers, wounded men, women and children that had been held up by the collapse of the bridges during the night, unable to cross. Now they tried to surge forward, an undisciplined rabble, threatening to swamp the bridges, creating confusion and more delays as armed soldiers sought to restore order, pushing them back at bayonet point, whilst other organised units still tried to cut a way through to cross. Chaos is the order of the day.

On this side of the river a steady stream of non-combatants stream away towards the Zembin highway and ultimately to Vilna and safety, while we attempt to hold the line here. Marie together with Jasmine has joined that column too...

She did so much against her will, pleading to stay with us amongst the battleline and face come what may, stating her wish that "Should we fall, we should all fall together" It took myself and Seriots powers of persuasion to dissuade her from this stubborn notion. Eventually logic and common sense prevailed and tearfully she joined the line slowly moving out, as we assured her that we would catch up and find her once our duty was done here.

We watched her hurry away, our own tears in the balance, afraid that she might turn and see the anguish in our own eyes too. As if reading our thoughts, Marie huddling Jasmine to her, hurried away without a backward glance....

She was gone. I felt an awful emptiness, alone without Jasmines comforting innocence from which i drew strength from.

As soldiers we do not carry our own fate in our hands; our destinies for better or worse are already spoken for. Soldiers.... We tread the same path that countless others before us have trod before, and without a doubt will tread long after we have gone. Perhaps this is an unenviable life to some, this life of uncertainty, of placing one's life in others hands. a soldier can only offer up a prayer to providence and hope that he pulls through.

But then, most men will never know the intense bonds of friendship that are forged between men thrown into battle together. To stand shoulder to shoulder together with his friends, sharing the dangers, staring death down together, whilst gaining his friends acceptance and trust as a man to be relied upon. It is this that enables a soldier to fight, to rough it through when all hope seems lost..

Call it what you will: comradeship, camaradie, kinship... it's all the same, this rite of passage to manhood that has been familiar to all soldiers since the dawn of time. Reading this then, you might understand why myself and Seriot could not follow Marie.

Of course we might run like fugitives from this field of battle. We might die old in our beds...But there is honour too, and what is a life without honour? To die is to die, but to live defeated is to die every day.

This battle to be fought will not be one of conquest, but one of survival, to bring out as many as possible to safety. We were damned Seriot and I, if we would run when so many decent men would have to die in order to achieve this.

A new mood of defiance was in the air too, amongst all us fighting men, in stark contrast to the defeatism of previous days, a feeling that we simply must prevail, coming this far after so many weeks of want and hardship. We owed a bit of this to the heroic example of the sappers as they'd strove to build the bridges, sacrificing their own lives to make all this possible at all.

Another example was in the person of Napoleon himself who seemed a new man, indeed reborn as he cut a dynamic figure, riding up and down the line bolstering our confidence in ourselves with a look of unmatched fire. With such a man as he, in such a mood, how can we fail? So let the Russians come, we'll give em a taste of it!

28th November 1812

A single enemy cannon boomed somewhere, echoing along the front... Many men heaved a sigh of relief, their apprehension draining away, for nothing is worse to a fighting man than the agonizingly slow march of time before battle, a time when a man's imagination could work against him as he dreamt himself a dozen imaginative deaths.

Our own guns, pitifully few in number replied, their shout defeaning as they spat fire. The enemy cannon intensified.... There was nothing you could do but hope that you were not hit, or that you would not suffer the indignation of breaking before your neighbours under this fire.

Most shells screamed harmlessly overhead, bursting in the rear. Off to my right one cannonball hit the line, ploughing through, smashing and scattering men as if they were ninepins. This indiscriminate killing and maiming frayed the nerves. It seemed to violate the rules of war, to be shot at by an enemy unseen.

Extreme danger sometimes brought out the best in a man... A cannonball fell short, rolling along the ground, it's fuse spitting. A soldier stepped forward from the line, plucking the fuse free and tossing it casually to one side, before stepping back into the line gently cradling the ball as if it were his first newborn. " He shut that little nipper up allright!" shouted Seriot above the cannonade....

Then an officer strode along our front, seemingly oblivious to the danger... " Can't hurt you, only if they hit you!" ... He strode along the front as if out for a Sunday stroll; a little dance... Finishing with a bow as a final flourish. We cheered him madly. These two brave soldiers did wonders for our morale. We were all glad though when the cannonade fell silent and we heard the sound of thousands of tramping feet, heralding the Russian advance.

Beside me Seriot was yelling "C'mon yer Bolshie buggers!" The Russians advance in column formation. They looked formidable, solidly marching forward as if they owned the place, but we knew better...We were in line with our muskets loaded. Before they could press home their own attack, they would have to deploy into line to bring the full weight of their muskets to bear.

Our artillery loaded with cannister poured a lethal hail of lead into them as they advanced, carving huge bloody swathes in their formation, but they closed up ranks, soaking up the punishment, coming on still, seemingly unstoppable.

A few of their muskets are firing now, sending a few men in our line toppling forward, their active service over. With our raised muskets we hesitate, even as the column begins to deploy, spreading outwards, a line to overwhelm ours...

Finally the order is given " Fire!" Muskets crack all along the line. We step back to reload, the man behind stepping forward, musket raised "Fire!" And when the gunsmoke begins to clear we can see that the Russians are reeling, wavering. Many men, scores of them lie upon the ground, at peace now, their war over. Many Russians are still on their feet however, but they look uncertain now, a fear in those eyes... A few of the bravest recover their wits sufficiently to take potshots at us, even as we launch ourselves in a bayonet charge against them. These brave men hold their ground, even while their own comrades flee, and they pay for it with their lives. I was saddened to witness this as these brave fellows deserved better.

Screaming and yelling to strike fear into the enemy, but also to drive the fear from ourselves too, we charged after the fleeing mob, even as the enemy cannonade started up again, raining projectiles down amongst us, seeking out those less fortunate, throwing up huge geysers of earth, rock, which rains down upon us too, along with mens blood.... It's a game of chance war; luck of the draw...

Our footfalls crunching on the frosty ground we pursued a broken enemy. One minute victory was ours for the taking, then men are running back, gesturing wildly at a fresh Russian column emerging from the gunsmoke, advancing to the rescue. It's our turn to flee, run for our lives....

An agonized shout, Seriot is down. It's bad... A shell fragment has shattered his knee which hangs open, a wide ragged bloody hole, splintered bone thrusting out, while rich crimson blood wells forth copiously.

Seriots face is a grimace of pain as he indicates that i should go, run and save myself. I realise the awfulness of his predicament even now, but despite his curses i hauled him to his feet and began to stagger backwards, as men raced past amid frenzied shouts that render the air " Fall back! Fall back to form a new line!"

Then horsemen are galloping past in fury, French cavalry, their lance points outstretched, swords held aloft. I am sent spinning.... Disorientated and separated from Seriot i looked furiously around, seeing no trace of him as still they thundered past. Yelling his name out loud, I was caught up in the tide of retreating infantry, reluctantly carried away against my will. I fought to swim against it for a brief time, but at last my mind accepted the inescapeable fact that Seriot was dead and i allowed myself to be carried away by the tide after all.

From our new line i watched with detachment, a certain dislocation the battle on the far bank, a panic stricken mob fighting to get across the bridge, creating a jam in their frenzied confusion. Organised units beat the crowd back with anything at hand in order to force a way across as Russian shells fell overhead, crashing into the river either side of the bridges, showering up huge spurts of icy water.

We held the line, repulsed each successive Russian attack throughout the afternoon by a combination of infantry and cavalry charges, and as evening approached the firing gradually died down...

In darkness i searched for Seriot's body. I could not rest until i had peace of mind. For a long time i searched amongst the ruins that had once been living human beings.... Friend and foe alike that had shot and sabred one another, but who now lie upon the ground at peace together in death. I stepped between men with no faces, decapitated bodies, men with no limbs, hideous stomach wounds....Here and there a wounded man cried out and i noticed that the usual scavengers were absent this night. In desperation i cried out Seriots name and to my utter shocked surprise was rewarded when a weak voice answered with own name.

I hurried towards the source finding my friend lying broken and bloody. Apart from his hideous leg wound, his right arm hung uselessly at an unnatural angle. But, as i saw in the wan light of the moon, this was nothing.... His bloody face peered up at me, at me, yet without seeing, and horrified i saw that a blunt edged weapon had smashed into the bridge of his nose breaking it, before bludgeoning his eyes into a bloody ruin, effectively blinding him. He was in a great deal of pain but was unable to die....

Seriots left hand quested for my face, feeling it's way across my features and i fought back my tears, adamant that even if he could not see them, he should not feel them.

Seriot spoke, his voice quavering... " I felt so afraid Armand, so afraid lying here... and so alone." I sat cross legged upon the ground cradling his head in my arms, rocking backwards and forwards, feeling at once so helpless. He spoke again then, his hoarse voice racked with pain. " I knew you would come.... yet i ask one favour from you now, as a man of honour..." And with these words he thrust a pistol into my hand, the meaning clear. I could not do this. I wavered, appalled at his request as he reached out to steady me. Even now he attempted a joke, his spirit unbroken, indomitable. " Wonder how long the the line is?.... to get in those gates i mean..." His attempt at humour in these circumstances threw me. After a long moment he began again, his voice cracking ... " You waiting for something perhaps?." I thumbed back the hammer; Seriot smiled and i closed my eyes, pulled the trigger.

29th November 1812

During the night, Victors corps on the far bank, finding themselves encircled, had with some difficulty crossed the bridges to rejoin the comparative safety of our positions, being obliged to hack a path through the mass of refugees that had laid siege to the bridgeheads.

This great mass of non-combatants even now refused to cross the bridges to safety, despite all appeals to do so, being content to sit in a torpor around the flames of their camp fires....

The bridges were torched as the Russians closed in. Only now did the horde on the far bank seem to awake as to their awful predicament that awaited them, as they were stranded....As one they gave out an awful cry of despair, a howling that grew steadily in intensity to a high pitch... It was too late....The flames rapidly gained hold of the bridges, beginning to devour them. Frantically the horde assaulted the heavy bridge. The bridge collapsed, sending those in the middle tumbling into the icy waters, those directly behind being pushed towards the same fate, as those behind pushed relentlessly forward, unaware of the collapse in front of them......As the Russian guns moved in, the mob then attackled the lighter bridge with the energy of desperation. They fought one another to cross, only to be beat back by the flames. Some tried to dash through the fire; none emerged the other side. People lost their footing, fell or were pushed into the icy water. Some tried to swim across.... Few made it. I saw mothers holding small children aloft amongst the ice floes as they were swept downstream to drown....

Then the cossacks descended into this madness slaughtering everyone with no mercy given, even the women and children.

The whole army witnessed these horrors from the safety of our line.

3rd December 1812

A huge fire burns, a bonfire around which dying men sit. Now and then one man comes away from the heat of the flames, his nose and other extremities turning blue as the intense cold reaches the warmth of his flesh. At the fire, as a man died his comrades clambered over his body to reach the warmth, and when the fire died so would they.

I had never told Seriot the truth.... I had been hit too.... I recall a feeling, a little like a hard punch to the shoulder, though without the pain. But i can feel it now, the musket ball lodged deep, grating against bone, a constant throbbing ache.

I'm not afraid to die, but to die alone without witness or comfort truly terrifies me, that and things left undone, or unsaid.... I wonder how long that queue is? Perhaps i shall rest here a while longer first, gather my strength together, then maybe i will rejoin the columns. If i'm lucky i may reach Vilna after all and find a surgeon to dig the ball from my shoulder. Marie and jasmine should be there too. All these maybe's... One has to live by hope in order to banish the night...

Michel turned the page.... Armand had written no more. Deep within himself Michel knew Armand had perished in the frozen wastes of Russia. michel had new this all along but had not wanted to accept this until the finality of the final page. Michel shut the journal, picking up the letter which he began to read once more....

Michel thought of many things; the past, the present and the future. At once all were entwined, inseparable, and yet... They also raced ahead, independent of one another. A man could by his will alone upset the pattern of destiny that had been ordained, intervene to send the echoes of his actions reverberating through time, like ripples on a lake. Yes, a man could not truly master his own destiny, but he could at least be captain of his own soul.

For long moments Michel sat, his mind adrift, cast back to the previous evening to the man who had knocked upon his door to place Armand's journal in his hands, a man with the clearest blue eyes; eyes alive with love and compassion. A man whose very being radiated wisdom and power. Michel wondered.... Seas might wax and wane, mountains would crumble to dust, conquerors would come and go, while empires would rise and fall. In the end only the written word would remain. Indeed the pen was mightier than the sword.

Michel threw open the door, revealing in the dawn light a blanket of snow that had fallen during the night. Stormclouds might be gathering on the distant horizon and Europe may well be at war once again soon, but today was Christmas, a time for peace and goodwill, a time for family and for forgiveness.... Clutching Armand's journal to his heart, with a doll for Elisa under his arm, Michel strode down the road, the snow crunching underfoot. He turned the corner and was gone.

Epilogue. January 1814

Far away in East Prussia, the shambles of the pitiful remnants of the Grande Armee slowly filtered in. Carts and wagons arrived almost every day, bringing in gruesomely disfigured men, men missing limbs, suffering from frostbite, afflicted with gangrenous festering wounds and men with their minds, if not their health forever destroyed.

In one such town the townspeople gazed at these poor wretches that the evil of war had afflicted so cruelly. They forgot their loathing; hatred gave way to pity and many of them broke ranks to lend assistance.

In the shadows a young woman stood, shivering against the cold. At her feet stood a bowl, which passers by dropped a coin in, while she cradled in her arms the only joy she had left in the world, an infant.

The woman was wrenched from her reverie of better times as an imposing figure fell across her. Her heart trembling, though not from fear, she gazed into a mans eyes that were the most beautiful shade of blue that she had ever seen. Eyes that spoke power and compassion. The man placed his gift in the bowl at the womans feet with a tinkling sound.

With her heart soaring, the woman snatched up the bowl, gazing in disbelief and astonishment at what lay within... Two gold rings shimmered. Rings that she had been obliged to trade in for food in order to stay alive amid the ruins of Smolensk. They were the wedding rings of herself and her husband. With tears of joy in her eyes she gazed down upon her child and for the first time in many weeks she allowed herself the faintest of smiles. In her arms Jasmine smiled back at her... The smile of an Angel

13th November 1812

The Cossacks still shadowed us, content to wear us down by their mere presence. By this strategy they are succeeding most admirably, since we are forced to keep on the move, it being considered too risky to halt, to rest, forage for food, ect.......Forage parties, once separated from the main body of the army are ruthlessly ambushed ....

I myself, along with countless others, saw with my own eyes the handiwork of the enemy. In a large clearing we came across such a detachment of men that had wandered off in search of provisions.... Fifty bound naked men, laid out in a row, their necks laid across a felled tree. The bloodied sticks that had stove their skulls in, shook us all to the core. Even hardened soldiers that had seen all of wars atrocities, were moved to tears at such a gruesome discovery. It was here, in this place that i witnessed many men cross themselves, utter a small prayer; the act done almost absent mindedly. Who is the man that exclaimed "There are no atheists in a foxhole"?

It occurred to me, that maybe our short stay in Smolensk had been a huge mistake, when we should have continued marching. It seemed to me that the mounting enemy pressure would be the final straw that would break the camels back, so to speak.

The intolerable strain of the march, as exhaustion, sickness, disease and starvation cut sad inroads into our already thinned ranks. With our staggering files shuffling westwards, starving men cut strips of flesh, steaks from the haunches of horses that were still on the move. The poor beasts gave no indication whatsoever that they had felt the knife, that they were in any pain as this was done. This was due to the extreme cold....The wound itself, in almost -20 degrees of frost, instantly froze, the blood flow being arrested instantly, preventing the poor animal from bleeding, haemmoraging to death. I've seen many horses with huge strips of meat cut from their hind quarters still on their feet, walking even after two or three days, only still clinging to life because of the numbing effects of the extreme cold.... After a couple of days the wound turn to a yellowing, festering pus. Of course the horse would die from the effects of these horrenddous wounds, but it would be a slow, lingering death.

But this was not the most awful thing that i witnessed, that spoke of our decay.... I noticed human corpses lying along the route of our passage... From their naked bodies, stips of flesh had been cut from their thighs. I was filled with the utmost utter revulsion. Indeed i could not come to terms with this, the mind rebelled, and i refused to believe that we could have sunk so low, down to the depths of animals. The awful truth was made whole when we passed a cottage that had been set alight. In the ashes of it's dying embers, a group of dying, wounded men sat around a fire, their features stamped with death, without hope, as they roasted and ate the charred remains of a comrade.

Thirst is a major handicap on this march. Surrounded by all this snow, you would not think this so. Some soldiers in desperation swallowed snow in an attempt to quell not only their raging thirst, but also to ease the gnawing agonies of hunger. These unfortunate men perished as soon as the icy water reached their stomachs, the cold leaching what little body warmth remained. I especially noticed how quickly horses succumbed after eating snow.

If we could halt a while, melt some snow in a small receptacle.... Our halts are infrequent, and it is not allways possible in these circumstances to do this, not only for fear of attracting the Russians, but also for lack of combustable materials

14th November 1812

This morning, under cover of darkness, we laid a powder trail for the Cossacks, a little surprise for them, something to give them food for thought....

Boom! Timed to perfection, the leading elements of the Cossack raiding party, blew apart in a welter of blood and gore. Horses and riders, tumbled down together in a tangle of broken flesh. Panicked by the explosion, more horses threw their riders, the following cavalry, unable to check their forward momentum, crashed into the bloody melee, kicking and writhing on the floor.

The tables were turned!

It was then that we launched our own attack on the confused mass of Russian cavalrymen... Around fifty or sixty able bodied men, breaking ranks to finish of the dying and wounded, kicking in the snow. As the ran screaming and yelling onto the scene, the remaining horsemen turned tail and fled, leaving their unfortunate comrades to our wrath.

As the baying, bloodthirsty mob closed in, screaming vengeance, a Russian rider scrambled frantically at the reins of a passing horse. He succeeded in pulling himself into the saddle, kicking furiously to take him out of harms way... To late, he was pulled from his mount by the baying mob, bent on retribution. His shrill screams of mercy were paid no heed, as he was silenced, engulfed by the crowd.

Some distance away a young Russian horseman, having rose groggily to his feet, stood rooted to the spot, petrified with fear at the mobs approach. RUN! I mentally commanded.... If he had made a break for it, he may have stood a good chance of escape. It was not to be. He allowed himself to be cut off, whimpering as the jaws of the vice snapped shut around him... There was a brief pause, the bloodthirsty mob evidently savouring the distress of their intended victim.

I found myself in the grip of a morbid fascination, unable to look away. I was put in mind of the climax of a fox hunt , as the hounds cornered their quarry....

Now awfully aware of his predicament, the Russian made to raise his hands in a futile bid to surrender. It was in vain.... The tide rushed in, swallowing him from view as he disappeared from sight. A few moments later, his decapitated head was hoisted high on a bayonet point in triumph.

Beside me, Marie clapped her hand to her mouth, her eyes wide at the horror's unfolding before our eyes. Seriot, was as pale as the fallen snow as he fell to his knees.... There were other terrible scenes played out this day, but i will not mention them here, so repulsive were the scenes... Maybe one day, if i come out of this alive, i may write of such things.

So this was how it was; one atrocity fuelling the flames of another. Do two wrongs make a right?

Our Cossack escort had vanished, undoubtedly to lick their wounds. Perhaps they had gone to get reinforcements, to return seeking vengeance, a chance to redress their wrong. I found this a chilling prospect.

We resumed the march, each one of us lost in our own private thoughts...

I broke my bonds with that of the earth. By sheer force of will i demonstrated my mastery over the laws of nature, as unbound i ascended over the crisp white landscape. From these lofty heights, i danced to the tides of the wind, thrilling to the exultation coursing through my veins.

The world!

The horizons of my freedom stretched away before me across the snow bound landscape... Below me, strung out like a snake winding it's way across the countryside, a long, winding, column of men. From here they looked like toy soldiers, seemingly insignificant against the majesty of the earth... Up close, the seeds of the death were evident in their enfeebled bodies. Silent and downcast, they staggered on, largely indifferent to suffering, and i could see the pain and misery etched on each and every face, indeed upon the whole wretched scene... Yet here and there, certain individuals bore their misfortunes with a calm, heroic solitude. The spirit of these individuals shone that little more brightly, and it would be these individuals that would bring triumph from the wreckage of this catastrophe.

One trio of figures intrigued me, sought out my attention, and as i drew closer to them, as my eyes gazed upon the bearded, filthy figure, central to the group, i felt i knew him... As the shock of my own recognition hit me, i fell. My body jerked as if iwere a mannequin whose strings had been cut. If Marie and Seriot had not come to my aid, i would surely have collapsed...

As my vision cleared, i saw my friends worried glances and i hurriedly reassured them that i would be okay. As we continued our trek westwards, i felt someones eyes upon me. I turned swiftly around, yet met no-ones eyes. I still felt this intense gaze upon me, but i felt that my watcher meant me no harm, no malicous intent. In fact i felt quite the reverse, but i cannot say how i know this. As i relaxed in this knowledge, i thought about my dreamlike experience... The memory of it was still vivid, as real as anything i had ever known.

I was interrupted from my thoughts by a clamour of voices around me... A lone horseman was approached us over the snowbound fields. As yet, this rider was some distance away. A single horseman would have to be suicidal, surely to attack on his own...

As he came nearer, it was seen that he was wearing the uniform of a dragoon of the Guard. He halted some distance away, clearly taking no chances alongside men with itchy fingers. With an air of mischief, he introduced himself as Melet, of his Majesty's Guard.

How he came to fall in with our little group i do not know, though i suspect that Marie's good looks caught his eye... Who could blame him? Judging by the way Marie brushed her hand through her hair, tossing her head back, i'd say that she's quite took with him too. Perhaps i'm jealous, yes? No, but i do feel protective towards Marie. I reckon under different circumstances, and if she had not lost her husband so recently, a romance could well be blooming there... God help him, if he mucks up. Hell, i liked him as soon as i set eyes on him, and i think that i'll trust my instincts on this one. Never seen the pair of them, that is Marie and Seriot, laugh so much.

Cheeky little bugger! His first words to me were- " When's it due mate?" I looked at him perplexed, clueless. A broad smiled played on Maries lips, while Seriot's smirk threatened to break his face apart... " Eh?" I replied stupidly to Melet, hoping for enlightenment... " Tell us who did it, and i'll go sort them out for you!" Melet replied with a wink. As i looked down at the bulge under my coat, Jasmine kicking, it dawned! " I'll come knock you up in a minute!" i retorted. Quick as a flash, he fired back... " Thanks but no thanks, i'm not that way inclined!" with an air of mock indignation.

There were gales of laughter all round as he clapped me on the shoulder, and this was how he broke the ice with us, and made his entrance into our lives.

I felt like i had pulled the short straw as i became lumbered with his horse, who he affectionately introduced as Cadet. Here i was, saddled with a horse with a long face for company while Melet strode alongside Marie and Seriot upfront. I'd even been relieved of Jasmine; Marie eager to show her off to Melet, even allowing him to carry her little way. I'd been outmanoevered, thats for sure!

Cadet was'nt up for much conversation, but he was somewhat useful in protecting me from the chill wind. I could not help it, i felt envious... I shot Seriot a steely glance as he quipped with a smirk" Don't think much to yours Armand!" He did offer to take Cadet a while, so i took the opportunity to chat to our new friend...

As i said, i liked him as soon as i saw him and i could not help but like him. Melet told me that he was a native of Conde-Sur-l'Escaut, near Valenciennes. When we'd spotted him earlier he was returning from a foray into the Russian camp. He had penetrated the camp in the night in order to procure sustanance for his horse and himself, taking this risk not for himself, but for "Poor Cadet" as he put it, stating that " If i save my horse, then he in turn will save me" He spoke of Cadet with obvious affection and told me that they'd allready shared the dangers of several campaigns under the Emperor together.

I had an idea...

15th November 1812

Me and my big mouth! What have I got myself into? I sit here gazing at the moon; clouds slowly scudding across it's surface. I wonder as i gaze upon that pale disc up high, that maybe Lucille and elisa might be gazing upon it too, at this very moment. Sitting here waiting for Melet to show up, the butterflies in my stomach dancing a ryhthm, I found it a comforting thought that somehow we might be linked together by this simple act.

" You writing love letters to your wife or your bit on the side?" enquired Melet, bursting upon my thoughts. " You married?" I countered. "Just to my horse" Melet piped back, throwing me a wink.

It was time to go...

We stole out of our camp, thieves in the night to break into the camp of another; keeping into the shadows as the moon danced in and out of the clouds. I felt a pang of guilt. A conscience that gnawed at me that i had left Marie, Jasmine and Seriot behind me, unaware that i had left them behind. Clueless as to what me and Seriot were about to do. I pushed negative thoughts of them waking, panicking upon finding me gone to one side. To late for regrets now. With my heart hammering so much i thought we would be discovered, we reached the Russian camp all too soon...

Over the morning camp fire myself and Melet, recouted our adventure to an incredulous Marie and Seriot. With rapt attention they listened to our tale

This is our story...

As i rode pillion with Melet, my imagination did overtime, playing out all the things that could happen or go wrong. Indeed, by the time we neared the Russian camp, i,d allready died a dozen imaginative deaths. Melet's advice was a soldiers advice: "Don't think, just do"

From our place hidden in the shadows of the treeline, we saw our way barred by a couple of alert looking sentries. It was decided that the wisest course of action would be the direct appoach. With much trepidation, i allowed Melet to bind my hands behind me, and with my life now in his capable hands i was led forward, like a lamb to the slaughter. Perhaps the sheer audacity of our action threw them off guard. By the time they realised their error, that we were in fact frenchmen, it was allready too late for them...

In one fluid movement, Melet ran the first through , then backswung his sword in a viscious arc, bringing the second down even as he was trying to turn to run. Melet.... God the guy was slick!

Melet quickly cut my bonds. The gates were open and we were in. As we quickly striped the dead sentries of the uniforms and donned them over our own, not for the first time i could not believe we were doing this, and also not for the first time i cursed myself for suggesting this rash adventure.

We quickly ascertained where the stables were, which quite conveniently were located next to the stores, which were guarded by yet another sentry. Melet once again showed his worth as a seasoned cavalryman of the Guard yet again, knocking him cold with a sharp lunge of his musket butt, dragging him to the inside of the stable. Throwing a pair of saddlebags to me, Melet indicated that i should enter the stores, filling the bags with as much essentials as possible, whilst wasting no time. Not that i intended to hang about!

By the time i rejoined Melet in the stables, he'd allready saddlied up another horse, while in a corner Cadet was happily munching a bucket of oats. " You ride?" enquired Melet, saying it more as astatement. What could i say? It had allready been decided for me.

So far good fortune had smiled upon us. No alarm had been sounded, but anxiety still tore at me, that at any moment we would be discovered. Then it happened...

A young soldier, very young perhaps sixteen or seventeen entered the stables. at first he did not seem to see us, but then his wide eyes took in the prostrate body of the sentry lying against the wall. At around the same time he became aware of us. No matter, Melet was allready advancing towards him, dragging his huge blade free from it's scabbard. The boy stood stock still, transfixed, immobilised by fear. As Melet was about to deliver the boy his death blow, i stepped between them, gently placing my hand on Melets upraised arm to restrain him. Melet looked at me in disbelief, anger and perhaps i also saw a hint of respect in his eyes. For a long moment this boy's life hung in the balance. With a scowl, fixing me with a hard glance that said, we'll talk about this later, Melet lowered his sword, motioning with a abrupt nod of his head that the young Russian should go... He did not need a second bidding, bolting as if he thought Melet might yet change his mind.

With Melet leading the way, scowling at his supposed moment of weakness, we made our way out of the Russian camp, expecting any moment the alarm to be raised, hurried footsteps, horses hooves. The silence remained as quiet as the grave as we made it to the cover of the trees. It was just as well that we were not pursued, bouncing around like a sack of potatoes on my stolen horse as it were! We melted into the trees and made our way back to our own camp, which we reached before dawn. Melet said it was best to let my horse go, reasoning that it's sudden appearance amongst our straggling column might arouse suspicion and envy. He also pointed out that i would be a target by those greedy, envious eyes. I had no desire to see myself, Marie and Seriot, as well as Jasmine too, involved in a fight in which we might come to harm. Reluctantly i watched my mount disappear into the trees.

I could not deny that i felt elated at our success and safe return, and as i sat there telling our story over the campfire, to Marie's and Seriot's astonished expressions, with Melet sometimes cutting in to embellish a particular part, Jasmine seeming to regard me with those wide, innocent eyes, I recognized the true significance , the meaning of living for the moment. So much could have gone wrong last night. I might not be here now, basking in the warmth of my friends.

I feel that this is one of the biggest problems that afflict mankind, the inability to live for today, the moment. We become bogged down in the mire of yesterday. Like footprints washed away by the tides of the sea, yesterday is gone. Forever. We cannot return to relive or right the wrongs of yesterday. The tides of time wait for no man. Indeed, even this present moment, wondrous at it might be, passes by, is consigned to history, to yesterday. We can certainly analyse yesterday, learn from our mistakes, but the only certainty is today. Therefore we should seize the moment, embrace it, yet recognize that today will pass and that tommorrow is influenced by the decisions of today.

I must heed my own advice however back to the moment..

I could see my friends faces flicker through a wide range of expresions as i told the story, although they did not interrupt me till i had finished. When i had finished, i could tell Marie was angry with me, with Melet, hurting too. She admonished us as if we were a pair of naughty schoolboys, telling us how foolish we had been, putting not only our own lifes in danger, but of us all. I could see relief etched on her face too. As her expression softened, with tears in her eyes she hugged us tightly, telling me that i was needed here. Jasmine needed me as well as Seriot too. She gave me a right dressing down, making me promise that i would never attempt anything so selfish and rash again.

It had been a long time since anyone had told me i was wanted, and as i gazed at my friends, i fought to keep my own tears at bay.

Seriot broke the long awkward silence that ensued. " You know Armand, if you had mentioned you were breaking into the Russian camp, i would have placed an order for a bottle of Vodka!" We broke into laughter all round at that. I lived for the moment. Cherished it.

From my and Melet's little jaunt we had procured some bread, biscuit, tea, coffee and Melet had also come away with some oats for Cadet. We distributed our stolen gains equally between baggage, doing this act furtively so as not to attract attention.

Our spirits were dampened somewhat when Melet announced that he would be leaving us. Marie was particulary down. I noticed that there was some kind of chemistry between them, but after losing her husband, Bourienne, she was not ready to become involved. Melet like a true gentleman, accepted this and respected her feelings on this.

I'd thought about the young soldier whom we had spared on our foray, of how Melet had looked at me. A look that said- We,ll talk about this later. I thought of how the young soldier had failed to raise the alarm, allowing us to escape unhindered. -So far Melet had mentioned nothing of this incident. So when i reminded him before he took his leave of us, his eyes took on a faraway, thoughtfull look. He spoke one word to me "Thankyou" shaking my hand warmly as he did so

Melet said he must return to his own regiment, his comrades as he called them. He spoke of them as brothers. We truly understood how he felt. Nonetheless, we were sad to see him go, watching him ride away. He paused some way up the line to wave at us. To me he was a mans man- Loyal, dependable, honourable and courageous. The kind of man another man would gladly give his daughters hand in marriage to.

17th November 1812

Yet again we all heard the sounds of war as our ragged columnn staggered west. Hours later, as we approached Krasnoe, topped the rise and gazed at the crossroads ahead of us, which were now occupied by a large Russian force, drew up in battle order barring our route to safety, we all knew we were in deep trouble.

The area before us had allready seen blood spilt on it. Dead and dying men lay between us and the Russian positions. Obviously the sounds of battle had been Eugene's corps, which had with some difficulty been able to extricate itself.

It was determined that we should mount an attack immediately to attempt to force our way through the enemy line, which although allready formidable, was becoming even more as more Russians arrived with the passing of time. Now was definately not a time to procrastinate.

Our initial assault was bloodily repulsed with heavy loss. Subsequent attacks suffered the same fate, being hurled back. For their part, the Russians made no moves to budge from their positions to counterattack us, content to jeer and hurl insults at us while awaiting our attacks or our surrender.

The corps of Marshal Ney was still some way behind us. Thus we could not count on his support that we would be reinforced. It seemed as if we were truly on our own. The situation seemed hopeless, and oddly i began to wonder if we might have done better to remain in Smolensk. There to become innebriated with liquor, whilst awaiting the Russians to close in. Our desparate situation spoke surrender. After all the trials, hardships, the heartache, it was to end here. Now.

Yet as turned out, events conspired to prove otherwise... We were all roused from our defeatist, downcast mood by the rhythm of the beating of drums. I Marie and Seriot, we joined the crowd, trying to locate it's source, and what i saw filled us all with elation. Our hearts swelled and our morale soared...

For the first time in this miserable campaign, the Old Guard was marching to war, and what is more was that they were being led forward by the Emperor Napoleon himself at their head!

Napoleon on foot, led them forward now in person, not as an Emperor, but as a general. The Old Guard... These grizzled warriors, standing tall radiating soldierly pride and veterans of a dozen campaigns, marched purposefully and confidently straight at the Russian centre.

A few brave Russian cavalrymen, brave but foolish, trying to prove their mettle buzzed around the advancing columns of the Guard. They were swiftly swatted away.The Guard cheered, we cheered and then they struck the Russian line. Allmost contemptuously they hurled the Russian defenders aside, as they tore a hole in the Centre of the enemy line.

For our part we surged up behind the Guard as they consolidated this position, opening up a corridor through which we might pass safely. We passed through admidst bitter fighting on the flanks as the Russians recovering from the initial shock of the attack began to fight back... As a comrade to my left put it afterwards- " The Guard passed through the Russian lines like a hundred gun warship through a fleet of fishing boats"

The stench of war, smell of blood thick in our nostrils, the screams of dying men, flashing blades, the thick gunsmoke; allmost blinding us, disorientating us. The confusion was unimaginable, yet we passed through the corridor being held open by the Guard safely, elated, even if this was tempered somewhat by the knowledge that Marshal Ney's corps were still some way east of the roadblock. There was nothing we could do for him... It being considered suicidal to linger in the vicinity as more and more Russian troops were arriving by the hour. Our only hope of salvation lie in keeping our columns on the move.

Thus it was we continued our trek westwards, the whole army mourning the loss of Marshal Ney, who was now isolated, on his own.

Next: Marshal Ney, the Bravest of the Brave and the Crossing of the Beresina.