Throwing down his weapon in disgust, the Emperor stalked back up the hill towards his carriage. The first of the rabbits had reached the tables and the more hysterical of the female guests were rushing for the shelter of the carriages, some screaming. Berthier looked round, mouth agape, as picnic tables were upset and men and rabbits ran hither and thither in the chaos.

Reaching his carriage, Napoleon climbed the steps and threw himself down on the seat, slamming the door behind him. And then froze. Sitting on the opposite seat was a small rabbit, watching him warily.

‘Bastard,’ Napoleon muttered, launching himself across the gap and grasping a handful of writhing fur and kicking feet. Holding it at arm’s length, he thrust the rabbit towards the carriage window and dropped it on the ground. ‘Driver!’

‘Sir?’

‘Take me back.’

‘To Fontainebleau, sir?’

‘Where else, you idiot?’

The driver cracked his whip and the carriage lurched forward. Ignoring the scene outside, Napoleon slumped down, arms crossed, the darkest of expressions on his face.

He did not move until the carriage stopped in front of the entrance to his country house, and then he climbed down from the coach as swiftly as possible and strode up the stairs to the door being held open for him by a footman. Inside, the hall seemed dark and cold after the dazzling light and warmth of the summer day, and Napoleon paused to let his eyes adjust. Halfway down the hall a figure abruptly rose from one of the padded benches outside the Emperor’s suite of offices.

‘Who’s that?’ Napoleon called out as the figure marched towards him.

‘Courier from Paris, sire.’ The figure halted and dimly Napoleon made out the features of a young dragoon officer. The officer saluted crisply and held out a despatch. ‘From the War Office.’

Napoleon tore open the seal and opened the document out. He moved back into the light beaming from the entrance and read the contents through quickly, then the main points once more, before he folded it up again and thrust it towards the courier.

‘Take this. Do you know the estate at Cerbière?’

‘Y-yes, sire. I think so.’

‘Well, do you or don’t you?’

‘I do, sir.’

‘Then ride there as fast as you can. Ask for the shooting party, and then find Marshal Berthier.Tell him I want him back here immediately. Tell him the British have landed an army in Denmark. Got that?’

‘Yes, sire.’ The officer nodded. ‘Denmark.’

Denmark, Napoleon mused. Why Denmark? The Danes were not allied to France; they were neutral. So why invade them? He frowned, and muttered, ‘What are they thinking? What are the British devils up to now?’

Chapter 34 - Arthur

Chapter 34

Arthur

Sheerness, 31 July 1807