Napoleon wearily made his way into the priest’s humble sleeping quarters, where a single candle guttered in a bracket on the crudely plastered wall. There was a small table and stool, a cupboard, and the bed: a simple straw mattress covered in worn blankets. Napoleon undid the buttons of his greatcoat and spread it out on top, then sat down and pulled off his boots before easing himself under the blankets and laying his head on the rough hessian of the bolster. He was asleep almost as soon as he shut his eyes and Berthier smiled to himself as his master began to snore. Then he turned back to his reports and began calculating the cost of victory.

‘The enemy losses are over fifteen thousand killed; another twelve thousand are prisoners. In addition we have captured nearly two hundred cannon and fifty standards,’ Berthier read from the summary he had prepared.

Napoleon stretched his shoulders until he felt the muscles crack, then straightened his spine and clasped his hands firmly behind his back as he braced himself for the other side of the balance sheet. ‘And our losses?’

‘One thousand three hundred dead, six and a half thousand wounded and a few hundred taken prisoner.’

Napoleon breathed a sigh of relief and nodded. ‘Better than I had feared.’

‘Yes, sire.’

‘Very well, make provision for the wounded to be taken to Vienna. The prisoners can follow.They can be held there until the campaign is over. Now, I want you to issue orders for the army to re-form and be ready to march by noon.’

Berthier nodded and made a note. Outside, the first rays of dawn pierced the church windows with hazy orange shafts of light. Napoleon was grateful for the clear skies and cold air, which would aid his pursuit of the Russians. He was determined to drive them far to the east before the surviving Austrian forces could concentrate and re-join their allies.

The sound of hooves on cobbled stones came from outside the church and there was an excited challenge from one of the imperial guardsmen protecting headquarters. Napoleon glanced at one of Berthier’s clerks. ‘See what that is.’

While the man hurried off to do the Emperor’s bidding Napoleon sat down on one of the pews that lined the walls of the church and buried his face in his hands to rest his eyes for a moment. There was a brief exchange of voices in the street before the clerk returned, with another man.

‘Sire?’

Napoleon took a deep breath and puffed his cheeks as he sat up and regarded the clerk. Behind him stood Count Diebnitz.The Austrian was no longer scrupulously neat. His cheek was covered with bristles and his uniform was spattered with mud and there was a tear in one sleeve. He eyed Napoleon with a sullen, bitter expression.

‘Well, Count Diebnitz, I am glad that you survived yesterday’s encounter. Many of your countrymen did not, alas.’