Napoleon smiled sourly. ‘I suspect that it would make no difference to his resolve. Besides, our communications are already stretched enough and it is four hundred miles from here to St Petersburg. It is out of the question.’ He drew a breath. ‘Our position in Moscow is already growing tenuous. The Cossacks have started attacking Murat’s patrols and they are gradually closing in around the city. The road to Smolensk was cut three days ago, and has only today been cleared by General Sulpice . . . The danger is clear enough. I have made my decision. We will quit Moscow and fall back to Smolensk. There are enough rations there to last the army through the winter. It is possible that General Kutusov might feel bold enough to try to block our retreat. If so, he will hand us another chance to crush his army. In any case, that must be the explanation that we give to the army. They must not be allowed to think of this as a retreat. As far as the soldiers are concerned, we are marching out to find and destroy Kutusov. Is that clear?’

The marshals nodded. Then Davout spoke.

‘Sire, whatever the soldiers believe, we can be sure that our enemies in Europe will present this as a defeat. We have to be careful that defeat is not turned into catastrophe.’

‘What do you mean?’

Davout folded his hands and stared down at them thoughtfully. ‘It is no secret that many of our allies contributed their contingents under duress. We know that we can’t trust the Prussians. If this campaign goes against us, then I fear that Frederick William may well change sides and join the Tsar. If he does, then he will not be the only one.’ He looked up.‘Sire, the overriding priority now is no longer to defeat the Russians. It is my conviction that that is no longer possible. What matters is survival. That means we must save as many men, horses and guns as we can. They will be needed to hold our ground in Europe when this campaign is over.’

There was a silence around the table, before Ney laughed. ‘Ever the optimist, Davout! Damn it, man, you paint the blackest of pictures.’

‘Sometimes the picture is black,’ Napoleon replied, glancing at the portrait at the end of the room. ‘In any case, the decision is made. The army is to abandon Moscow, on the nineteeth. Return to your commands and prepare your men to march. Berthier will send each of you your orders for your place in the line of march.’