Delacorte looked at his Emperor in surprise for a moment, then nodded. ‘Yes, sire. I imagine you are right. Will that be all?’

‘What?’ Napoleon looked directly at him. ‘Yes, you may go. And I thank you for your efforts, Delacorte.’

The general left the study, closing the door softly behind him. Napoleon read the letter once again, then smiled faintly before screwing it up and tossing it into the fire.

There was still no further word from the Tsar three days later and Napoleon summoned Delacorte again and tasked him with leading another delegation to Kutusov. This time they were not permitted to hand over any letters, and Kutusov brusquely informed them that no further delegations would be received. Once he had dismissed the officer Napoleon sank into his chair and stared down the room towards the portrait of Alexander. He had spent many hours gazing at it already, trying to read the expression the artist had caught.

Napoleon knew that portraits rewarded close study. The sitter would be conscious of how they wished to be presented to those who would view the completed portrait down the years. So they crafted a pose which would embody their virtues, as they saw them. It was the task of the artist to study and amplify his subject’s qualities, yet at the same time a good artist could not resist subtly inflecting his depiction according to his opinion of the person sitting before him.

It might have been a trick of the light, but for the first time Napoleon saw a glint of cruelty in the eyes of Alexander, and the lips were not set in a faint smile of beneficence any more. It was another man who stood before him, no longer the impressionable young ruler who had only recently taken the throne and wanted to improve the lot of his people and be loved by them. An icy chill rose up in the nape of Napoleon’s neck and he shuddered.

A knock at the door startled him out of his thoughts and he sat forward and called out, ‘Come!’

The door clicked open. Berthier entered and crossed the room to stand before the Emperor’s desk.

‘What is it?’ Napoleon asked hopefully.

Berthier pulled out a loose leaf folder from under his arm and flicked it open. ‘There are a few issues that I need to bring to your attention, in accordance with your order to prepare the army to march, sire.’

‘Oh?’ Napoleon sank back in his chair.

‘I’ve spoken with the cartography staff, sire, and they calculate that it will take a minimum of fifty days to return to the Niemen.’

‘I did not say that we would be retreating to Poland,’ Napoleon cut in.

‘No, sire, but as chief of staff it is my duty to prepare for all contingencies. ’

Napoleon was silent for a moment before he nodded.‘You are right. Continue.’