‘I told you the Tsar would fight.’ Napoleon smiled grimly as he surveyed the Russian lines before him. It was a strong position, and the enemy had made good use of the time to prepare some formidable earthworks to protect the centre of their line. Their right flank was protected by the Kalatsha river, and the town of Borodino on the far bank, and the left by a dense wood and the town of Utitsa beyond. Solid blocks of infantry and cavalry were clearly visible on the slopes overlooking Schivardino and a thin line of skirmishers dotted the brown grass at the foot of the slope, a short distance from their French counterparts. All morning, a group of priests had been parading religious artefacts up and down the ranks of the Russian army and the distant formations had shimmered in the sunlight as they went down on their knees and bowed their heads as the priests passed by.

Even with the latest replacements the French army was now only a hundred and thirty thousand strong. The Russians were estimated to be fielding almost as many men, but still Napoleon felt confident of another triumph for the Grand Army. The Tsar had already handed the initiative to Napoleon by choosing to defend this ground rather than continue his retreat.

Raising his arm, Napoleon pointed towards the centre of the Russian line. ‘That’s where we will strike at dawn tomorrow. We’ll mass our guns in front of those earthworks and pound them to pieces before sending the infantry forward. Prince Eugène’s corps will drive in their right flank while Poniatowski deals with the left.’ He turned to face his officers. ‘That is the battle plan.’

His subordinates glanced at each other in surprise and Napoleon could not help frowning. The heavy cold of the last few days had left him feeling even more weary than usual. His head was throbbing painfully. He clasped his hands behind his back and tapped a foot impatiently. ‘Comments?’

Eugène nodded. ‘A frontal attack on those earthworks is going to be bloody work, sire.’

‘Of course. But once we have the redoubts we can crush the Russian centre and destroy each flank in turn.’

‘Sire.’ Davout spoke up. ‘A frontal attack is too dangerous. If we lose too many men then there won’t be any chance of a breakthrough. Even if we did achieve that, there is a danger that we would be too weak to mount an effective pursuit.’

‘I see. Then what would you suggest, Davout? That we wait for the Tsar to attack us? He has shown little sign of any offensive spirit so far.’

Davout shook his head. ‘No, sire. Of course we must attack. But the ground is open to the south. There is nothing to stop us outflanking the Russians beyond Utitsa. Let Murat take his cavalry round the flank and attack the rear of their line while the main assault goes in.’