A month after he arrived, the morning dawned clear and crisp and Arthur rose early to dress for a hunt that was to take place in the vast park that stretched out across the landscape to the west of the palace. He breakfasted, and was waiting for his horse to be saddled and brought to the courtyard at the rear of the British delegation’s mansion when there was a sharp rap on the door of his private dining room. Arthur lowered his coffee and called out, ‘Come!’

The door opened and a tall, thin-faced man entered. He wore a thick coat, spattered with mud. It was unbuttoned and revealed the gold braid across the red jacket of a British army officer. He strode across the room, halted in front of the breakfast table and saluted. Arthur frowned.

‘Who the devil are you?’

‘Colonel Sir Neil Campbell, your grace.’

‘Campbell?’ Arthur repeated, then his eyes widened. ‘The resident in Elba?’

Campbell nodded anxiously. ‘Yes, your grace.’

‘What are you doing here?’

‘Your grace, I beg to report that Napoleon Bonaparte has escaped from Elba.’

‘Escaped? Where to?’

‘I know not. All I know is that when I returned to the island he was gone.’

‘You left the island?’ Arthur frowned. ‘In God’s name, why?’

‘I - I was invited to Florence for a ball, your grace.’ Campbell’s gaze faltered. ‘I was gone for a matter of days. Nothing seemed amiss when I left. When I returned, Bonaparte had vanished, together with his men. I made for Italy at once and sent a message to London, and now I have come to Vienna to inform the powers at the Congress.’

Arthur glared at the man. The monster of Europe was loose again, thanks to Campbell’s lack of diligence. ‘Stay here. I will question you more closely when I return.’

‘Yes, your grace.’

Arthur rose from his chair and strode towards the door. He walked quickly to find one of his aides waiting in the hall to join Arthur at the hunt. ‘You can send the horses back to the stable.’

‘Your grace?’

‘Another has bolted,’ Arthur responded. ‘Run to the other delegations. Tell them we must meet at the Schönbrunn at once, on a matter of the gravest urgency. Run, man, as if the very devil himself were at your heels!’

‘Escaped?’ Metternich shook his head, and then laughed. The other delegates in the room joined in, though their laughter was more nervous than humorous, Arthur noted.

‘Where does he think to hide?’ the King of Prussia snorted. ‘He is the most notorious figure in Europe. Who would dare harbour him?’

‘I do not know where his ships were headed, your majesty,’ Arthur replied. ‘But I suspect that he would most likely make for Italy.’

‘Why Italy? Why not France?’