On the fifth day of the month Napoleon abruptly gave orders for a delegation headed by General Delacorte, who had once served in the Russian embassy, to be sent to Kutusov to request an audience with Alexander. They returned six days later and Delacorte was brought before the Emperor to make his report. Napoleon greeted him warmly.

‘I am glad to see you have returned safely.’

‘Thank you, sire.’ Delacorte bowed his head.

‘So tell me what happened.’

‘We found Kutusov’s army easily enough and were escorted through his picket lines and on to his field headquarters. He welcomed us, insisting that we dine with him and his officers before we discussed the purpose of our mission. I gave him your letter first, sire, asking that an armistice be agreed while I was given safe conduct and taken to the Tsar. Kutusov refused to let me proceed. He took your letter and said that he would ensure that it was delivered safely into the Tsar’s hands.’

Napoleon frowned. ‘I gave you strict orders to deliver that letter in person.’

Delacorte shrugged. ‘I didn’t see what else I could do, sire.’

Napoleon stared at him for a moment. ‘Very well. Continue.’

‘Yes, sire. We were kept at Kutusov’s headquarters while we waited for the reply. He continued to treat us well, and claimed that he and his men would like nothing more than peace between Russia and France. Then, yesterday morning, there was a reply from the Tsar.’

‘A reply? Then where is it?’

Delacorte hesitated, and then reached into his jacket and extracted a single sheet of paper, folded, without any seal. He handed it to Napoleon, who opened it out and read the short message, written in French in a neat small hand.

To his imperial majesty, Napoleon of France, greetings.

I thank you for your letter requesting me to state my preliminary terms for discussing a peace treaty between our nations. However, I am resolved not to discontinue the state of war between us, and therefore I regret that I must refuse your request. Sadly, I refute your claim that the campaign is concluded. Indeed, this is the moment when my campaign begins. Alexander,Tsar of Russia.

Napoleon lowered the note. ‘Is that all there is? Is there nothing more?’

‘No, sire.’

Napoleon read the note again. ‘This must be a joke.’

‘I don’t think so, sire. I recognise the Tsar’s hand from my days in the embassy. That’s his signature, I am sure of it.’

Napoleon shook his head. ‘Then he mocks me . . . Or his mind is troubled. Yes, perhaps that’s it. After all, his father was reputed to be insane. He must have written this in haste. After the defeat at Borodino and the loss of Moscow his mind is bound to be disturbed. When he has had time to think it over he will write again and accept my offer.’