‘Time to draw the enemy’s attention to their right,’ Napoleon said to Berthier as he glanced at his watch. ‘Order Soult and Augereau to advance. They must draw the enemy into a fight while Davout approaches from the south. Go.’

Once Berthier had sent the orders off Napoleon and his staff strained their eyes to follow the progress of the attacks.The snow deadened the sound of the drums as they beat the advance and the cheers of the men were muted as they set off through the snow towards the Russians waiting silently along the ridge. For a moment the enemy’s guns ceased their bombardment of Eylau as their crews brought forward and loaded case shot to meet the approaching French infantry.There was a palpable tension on the church tower as Napoleon and his staff waited for the Russian guns to open fire again. Then there was a rippling glow from the direction of the ridge and a dull rumble like distant thunder as grapeshot blasted into the advancing French columns, before a fresh blizzard obscured the view.

‘What is the latest news from Davout?’ asked Napoleon. ‘How long before he reaches the battlefield?’

Berthier consulted his log book. ‘Marshal Davout estimates that he will be able to commence his attack at eleven o’clock, sire.’

‘That’s not soon enough. Send a message. Tell him to attack as soon as he can.’ Napoleon chewed his lip as the cannonfire from the Russian lines intensified. He could well imagine the destruction being visited on his infantry as they tested the Russian centre.‘Tell him to attack even if it means he cannot deploy his entire corps at first.’

‘Yes, sire.’

A short while after the order was given the snowstorm began to thin out and then stopped, to reveal the battlefield stretching east of the town.

‘Good God almighty,’ Berthier muttered as he and the other staff officers stared towards the Russian lines. ‘What the hell’s happened?’

In front of the main Russian battery stood the remnants of Augereau’s corps. Thousands of men lay sprawled and heaped in snow where they had been cut down as they marched blindly through the blizzard straight into the teeth of the enemy’s cannon. Napoleon felt an icy fist clench round his heart at the sight. It was clear what had happened. Augereau and his men had lost their sense of direction and blundered to the left, straight into the path of the enemy’s guns. Worse still, they had come under fire from their own guns, still engaging the enemy artillery. Mercifully, the French gunners had ceased fire the moment the blizzard cleared to reveal the carnage spread across the frozen ground between the two armies.

‘Sweet Jesus,’ one of Napoleon’s officers said. ‘What a bloodbath.’

‘It’s not over yet,’ another officer added and pointed to a movement behind the Russian guns. ‘Look there!’