The Gascon beamed with pleasure at his Emperor’s praise and then nodded. ‘Yes, sire. I shall never let you down.’

‘I am counting on that, old friend. But please do me one favour.’

‘Anything, sire.’

‘Try not to get yourself wounded, or killed.’

Lannes laughed. ‘That rather depends on the enemy.’

‘Well don’t give them any assistance, Lannes. You are a marshal of France. Your men will need you throughout the coming campaign. I will need you.You can let your subordinates lead the charges.’

‘But sire!’ Lannes protested. ‘I was a grenadier long before I was a marshal.’

‘No buts. I cannot afford to lose any of my best officers.’

Lannes frowned, and replaced his hat firmly before grumbling. ‘Very well, sire. If that is your order.’

‘It is. Make sure you obey it. Now you may return to your corps, Marshal.’

‘Yes, sire.’

Lannes bowed his head and turned his horse away, then spurred it into a trot as he descended the slope and rejoined his staff. Berthier watched him go for a moment before muttering, ‘A fine man, that.’

Napoleon watched the retreating figure of the marshal before he responded. ‘One of the very finest.’

The Grand Army’s columns tramped swiftly east. The soldiers rose before dawn, shivering as they shouldered their packs and shuffled into their companies, their breath pluming in the first grey glimmer of light. Around them came the snorts and whinnying of horses being saddled and harnessed for the day’s march. Then, one by one, the regiments, brigades and divisions of each corps began to tramp forward. The infantry marched on either side of the route, with the wheeled traffic of wagons and artillery moving along the tracks and roads. As the sun rose the men cast an eye over the surrounding countryside, the youngest amongst them looking earnestly for any sign of the enemy, while the veterans turned their experienced gaze on the small villages and farms they passed through, minds focused on foraging, and, if the opportunity arose, a discreet looting expedition under cover of darkness.

Every two hours the order was given for a brief rest and the men lowered their packs and muskets and slumped down. Those that had pipes lit them while the air filled with animated conversations about the coming battles and the prospects for victory. Then an order would be barked out and the men hurriedly re-formed ranks and waited for each brigade’s band to strike up a tune to get them on their way again. Sometimes it was a rousing patriotic piece, but more often a song that had become popular in the ranks, and the soldiers sang lustily as they marched on. Then, at noon, the army halted, and once the men had fallen out and made the best of whatever shelter was available, they were free to forage for the remainder of the day.