‘Hah!’ Masséna called out as he handed his weapon to one of his bearers and took a loaded replacement. ‘First strike to me!’

A moment later a bird erupted from the reeds directly ahead of Napoleon and flew straight into his line of sight. He tracked it for a second and then began to lead the target before he squeezed the trigger. Instantly a cloud of smoke obliterated his view and the butt kicked savagely into his shoulder. As the breeze swept the smoke away Napoleon saw that he had winged the duck and it flapped pathetically for a little distance, losing height before it dropped into the marsh.

‘One!’ he shouted to Masséna, and reached for another gun.

As the day wore on more and more birds were frightened into the sky and were shot down by the imperial hunting party. When the beaters had exhausted the supply of birds in the marsh, they began to release those in the cages. Napoleon had become locked into a fierce competition with Masséna as each strove to score the most kills, and late in the afternoon Masséna was two birds ahead. Napoleon’s arms were beginning to ache from holding his weapon as an uncaged pheasant flapped into the air slightly to his right, warbling in panic. Knowing that Masséna would be bound to claim the bird unless he shot first, Napoleon raised his gun and tracked the bird to his right. It flew low and fast and before he realised it Napoleon had turned almost ninety degrees to the side.

‘Careful, sire!’ one of the bearers cried out in alarm.

Napoleon snatched at the trigger and the weapon went off with a loud report. Almost at once there was a cry of pain and rage and when the smoke cleared Napoleon saw that Masséna was staggering back, hands clasped to his face as blood dripped through his fingers. After an instant’s hesitation Napoleon began to run across to him, and behind came Berthier, racing towards the sound of Masséna’s shouting. When the Emperor reached Masséna the marshal was down on his knees, groaning, and his bearers were standing over him. Napoleon brushed them aside. ‘Get some bandages and water!’

‘Yes, sire.’

‘And see if there is a physician in the party.’

The bearer nodded and ran back up the hill as the shooting continued on either side. Berthier came running up, panting.

‘What happened?’

‘An accident,’ Napoleon muttered. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and began to wipe away the blood on Masséna’s face.