‘Very well,’ Napoleon stood up and held out his hand.‘My dear Ney, I have never needed you more than at this hour. You have no idea how much it comforts me to know that I will have the bravest of my marshals fighting at my side when we face the enemy.’

Ney puffed out his cheeks at such brazen flattery. Yet he took the emperor’s hand and shook it firmly. ‘I can think of no higher honour, sire.’

‘Then it is settled.’ Napoleon releaded his grip. ‘Given the time we have left before the advance begins, I suggest that you collect your orders from Soult and ride to join your men.’

‘Yes, sire!’ Ney stood stiffly and bowed his head, then turned and strode out of the office.

The soldiers of the Army of the North spent the remainder of the day, and the first part of the night, resting in the fields and woods close to the peaceful flow of the Sambre. Then, at midnight, the sergeants and corporals quietly crept down the lines of sleeping men and shook them awake. In the cool night air the dark figures formed into columns and moved forward to their start positions. Elsewhere, in the artillery camps, the gun crews harnessed the horse teams and limbered the cannon before they too rumbled forward. Ahead of the dense columns of infantry and artillery the cavalry mounted and fanned out along the bank, and then waited for the order to cross the frontier. At three in the morning the sentries silently fell back and on the far bank the Prussians were puzzled when there was no reply to the usual greetings they called across the water.

At headquarters Napoleon sat with his staff. Some of the officers conversed in low tones, but most sat in silence, glancing at the hands of a large clock perched on the mantel above the fireplace in the map room. The orders had been sent out to every formation hours earlier and the desks, stools and document chests had been packed on to the wagons allocated to Soult and his officers. There was a lull in the frantic activity of the last few days as everyone waited for the army to be unleashed against the allies. The hour hand of the clock crawled towards three and then, finally, Napoleon eased himself on to his feet, and his officers scrambled up from their chairs and faced him expectantly.

‘Gentlemen! The attack begins. God willing, this time in a week we shall be celebrating in the streets of Brussels.’

Soult raised his fist and punched the air. ‘Long live France! Long live the Emperor!’

His officers repeated his cry, again and again, while out in the night tens of thousands of men and horses rippled forward, advancing across the frontier.

Chapter 56 - Arthur

Chapter 56

Arthur

Brussels, 15 June 1815