At once, his men on the drawbridge threw down their snowballs and seized the startled sentries, snatching away their muskets and knocking them to the ground. At the same time more French soldiers, fully armed, burst out of a side street and crossed the plaza at a dead run, surging across the drawbridge and into the citadel.The officer watched for a moment, hearing muffled sounds of shouted protests and harsh commands.Within a matter of minutes it was all over, and as the first of the bewildered Spanish prisoners emerged on to the drawbridge to be marched to a holding area in the plaza, the flag of the Bourbons fluttered down from the flagstaff on the central tower of the citadel. A moment later a new flag was hoist, and as it reached the top of the flagstaff a faint breeze caused it to ripple out. The blue, white and red colours of the French flag gleamed in the bright rays of the morning sun.

In the days that followed, many more towns and fortresses fell into French hands through similar ruses and more French troops poured across the frontier until, by the end of February, over a hundred thousand French soldiers were on Spanish soil. In Madrid many members of the junta and supporters of Prince Ferdinand were outraged by the French and openly cursed Godoy and the King for their complacency over such an affront to Spanish national pride. Napoleon read the reports of these events with glowing satisfaction. Everything was going according to plan.There remained only one last piece to fall into place: the final humiliation of King Charles, his Queen and their scheming Prime Minister, Manuel Godoy. A message from Napoleon was sent to the latter, via Fouché’s agent in the Spanish court, suggesting that the court would be well advised to quit Madrid before the mob gave vent to their anger.At the same time, the agent hinted to Ferdinand that his father was planning to quit Spain altogether and flee to Spanish possessions in the Americas.

One night early in April Napoleon was woken in the early hours by a servant. He blinked his eyes open and winced as he stared into the bright flame of the candle the man was holding over him.

‘Get that away from me,’ he grumbled, and the servant hurriedly retreated a couple of paces as his master stirred irritably.‘What time is it?’

‘Past two in the morning, sire.’

Napoleon turned his back to the man and instinctively reached his arm across to the other side of the bed. But there was no one there. Josephine had refused to sleep with him since that night in Malmaison, and a frosty cordiality often divided them when they were together now. Napoleon thrust her from his mind.

‘What is the reason for waking me at this ungodly hour?’

‘Sire, there is a messenger from Marshal Murat waiting in your study. He bears urgent news from Madrid.’