Berthier bowed his head and turned to leave the room. After he had gone, Napoleon returned to the fire, stoking up the embers and adding some more wood before he resumed his seat. As the fresh wood cracked and hissed he reflected on all that had been said during the evening. He was certain that he could defeat the armies of Alexander and Frederick William, but if Austria did enter the war on the side of his enemies it would be the greatest military test of his career. He had no doubt that he would be able to meet the challenge, but the question that troubled him greatly was whether the officers and the men of his army would match him in the pursuit of glory.

The next morning dawned bright and clear, with not a single cloud to be seen in the sky as Dresden woke to a fine summer day. After he had taken breakfast Napoleon went for a walk in the Great Garden that stretched out to the south-east of the old city where the palace was situated. Some of the townsfolk were out, following the gravel paths that divided the ornate rose gardens, flowerbeds and clusters of trees. The half-company of guardsmen that screened the Emperor made certain that no one could get within pistol shot, and so Napoleon walked head down, deep in thought, oblivious of the curious faces that watched him pass at a distance.

He reached the far end of the garden and turned back, returning the same way he had come, consumed with thought over the planning for every eventuality when the armistice inevitably came to an end.

‘Sire!’

Napoleon looked up and saw Berthier striding along the path towards him. He forced a smile and raised his hand in greeting.

‘Did you sleep well, as I ordered?’

There was no smile in the marshal’s face as he approached, and he spoke in a low voice. ‘Sire, we have received a despatch from Marshal Jourdan. His majesty the King of Spain was defeated a month ago, at a battle outside Vitoria.’

‘Another defeat?’ Napoleon shook his head bitterly.‘Can none of my marshals teach Wellington a lesson?’ He sucked in a sharp breath. ‘No doubt Joseph’s army will have to fall back to regroup.’

‘Sire, there is no army to regroup. Two divisions escaped from the battle and retreated to France; the rest were routed. Only two guns were saved, and the army lost its entire baggage train.’

Napoleon stared at him, anxiety twisting in his guts. ‘And my brother?’

‘He escaped, sire.’

‘Where is he?’

‘Bayonne.’

‘Bayonne,’ Napoleon repeated numbly. He cleared his throat and faced Berthier sternly. ‘Then he has abandoned his throne. From now, our affairs in Spain fall under military authority. Soult is in Paris. I will send him to take command. Joseph is to be kept away from Paris, out of sight, so that he cannot shame me.’

‘Yes, sire.’