Napoleon at last turned to Talleyrand, his face twisting slightly into a cold sneer of contempt. His finger stabbed out as he raised his voice. ‘You, Talleyrand, are a traitor and a coward.You believe in nothing but yourself. For that you have deceived us all and betrayed your country. You have taken the coin of our enemies and sold your soul to them. Is there nothing you would not sell for your own personal gain? You have failed me, failed your people and failed yourself.You are contemptible. Even as you have enjoyed all the honours I have lavished on you, you have been attacking my achievements in Spain, lying to the people of Paris about what has been happening there.’ He glared at Talleyrand. ‘Well? What have you to say for yourself, you miserable cur?’

Talleyrand returned his gaze steadily and did not utter a word. Napoleon felt a genuine rage well up inside him at the man’s insouciance. ‘You heinous little cripple! You faithless husband! For all your pretensions you are nothing more than a pile of shit in silk stockings! You hear me? You turd! I ought to have you shot like that scum the Duke of Enghien. Shot, or hanged, or guillotined, and then have your body thrown to the crows.That is the least punishment you deserve. You and any other man who commits treason against his Emperor.’

As Napoleon shouted at his former foreign minister, the other members of the council were cringing in their seats, none more so than Fouché, who had slumped down and swallowed nervously throughout the tirade. Napoleon drew some comfort from that. As he had hoped, by turning the main weight of his rage against Talleyrand he had scared the others, and left Fouché in no doubt over the fate that might await him if he was ever again suspected of plotting against his Emperor.

With a last glare of contempt at Talleyrand, Napoleon abruptly turned and marched out of the audience chamber, slamming the door behind him so that the jarring crash made his advisers jump in their chairs.

‘Do you think it has worked?’ Napoleon asked Lucien two weeks later as they sat in the same room, on either side of the fire. Outside, rain lashed down on Paris so that the tiled roofs gleamed like fish scales.

‘As well as it could,’ Lucien conceded. ‘Talleyrand has not made any more comments about your policy in Spain, or any form of criticism. The same goes for Fouché, who has even refused to be seen in the same room as Talleyrand for fear of being associated with him. People are being very careful about what they say in public at the moment. I think you can rest easy.’

‘Good.’

‘The thing is, I still don’t see why you don’t at least have them quietly sent into exile. They are dangerous men and should not go unpunished.’