He paused. ‘Now the hour is late and I must prepare to leave. There is no time for any questions. It only remains to say that it has been an honour to be your commander, gentlemen. There is no finer body of officers in the world. I am sure of it. When the history of this campaign is written, you can be sure that your heroic deeds will be remembered long after the last of us is dead.’ He stood up and raised his glass to them. ‘My friends, I salute you. When I next see you, I hope it is somewhere warmer.’

The marshals rose from their chairs, and one after the other they came forward to grasp the Emperor’s hand. Ney was last.

‘I wish you a safe journey, sire.’

‘And I wish you would take greater care of your life, Ney. On the battlefield you are my right hand. I have already lost too many friends. Don’t give me further cause to grieve.’

‘I will do my best to survive. I always have, sire.’

Napoleon could not help smiling. ‘If only all the politicians in Paris shared your capacity for dishonesty, my dear Michel.’

Ney frowned until he got the point and then smiled back.‘Sort them out, sire. Then come back to the army. It’s where you really belong.’ He released the Emperor’s hand, strode over to the side table to collect his coat and left without looking back.

The sledge was waiting at the edge of the village, in a private yard guarded by the ten-man escort. Napoleon left headquarters before dawn, dressed in a plain coat and wearing a thick woollen cap in place of his familiar bicorne. A scarf was tied round his face to conceal his features and he carried a large satchel as he followed General Caulaincourt through the dark streets, crunching across the snow. Napoleon had decided it was best if he travelled in disguise, posing as Caulaincourt’s secretary. That way they would be able to pass through French units without arousing any undue attention. More important, if they passed by any allied troops of dubious loyalty they would not be tempted to take Napoleon prisoner and offer him to the Russians in exchange for some reward.

Capture by the enemy was a possibility, if the Cossacks were bold enough to take on the escort. In that event, Napoleon had resolved to kill himself. A phial of poison hung from a chain round his neck, and it would be the work of a moment to snap the top and pour the contents down his throat. The imperial surgeon had assured him his death would be certain, and swift.