‘Your men look as formidable as ever, Marshal Mortier,’ Napoleon called out as he approached the commander of the corps. ‘It would be a shame to sully such a fine turn-out by sending them into action.’

‘Don’t you dare hold us back!’ a voice bellowed from the rear of the leading battalion. ‘We’ve earned a chance for glory.’

‘And you shall have it!’ Napoleon called back. His smile faded as he turned to Mortier. ‘The Austrian attack has failed. It is time to throw them back. The Guard is to retake the Great Garden.’

‘Yes, sire.’

‘And I shall be joining you for the attack.’

Mortier knew better than to question the Emperor’s judgement and he nodded. ‘It will be an honour to be at your side, sire.’

‘Then let’s be about it,’ Napoleon replied. ‘The Guard will advance.’

Mortier shouted the order and the drums began to beat the advance, a deep rhythmic rattle that echoed off the surrounding buildings. Then, at the command, the Guard began to march out of the square, down the broad avenue that led to the road leading out of Dresden towards Pirna. As they drew near to the edge of the old town, they passed the wounded being treated in the side streets and they cheered the Guard as they marched past. Now shots were flying overhead with a light zipping sound. The glass in the upper storeys of the houses was shattered and the masonry was pockmarked by musket balls. There were also gaping holes in walls and roofs where Austrian cannon balls had smashed through.

Then, as the avenue bent a little to the right, Napoleon saw that they had reached the edge of the town. A barricade lay across the road and a line of infantry, three deep, were taking turns to fire over it, then duck back and reload. Several bodies had been dragged to the side of the road so as not to encumber their comrades. A thick smog filled the open ground ahead of them, but little blooms of light marked the positions of the Austrians a short distance away, returning fire. A shot whipped by Napoleon’s horse and one of the guardsmen bent forward under the impact, and then crumpled to one side of the column, dropping his musket as he clutched a hand to his stomach.

‘Make way for the Guard!’ Mortier bellowed, then he turned to Napoleon. ‘Sire, if you please, wait here for the colour party. It will be the obvious place for the men to look for you.’

‘And keep me safe, eh?’

‘Yes, sire.’ Mortier nodded sombrely.