His officers were silent for a moment and then Soult spoke up. ‘Sire, as we have lost contact with the Prussians any pursuit that we mount now entails the risk of marching in the wrong direction. If Blücher is making for Liège and we follow him, then we will have to extend our supply lines. If Wellington manages to elude Ney then he could cut our communications.’

‘If. If. If!’ Napoleon shook his head and continued acidly.‘Thank you for your advice, Soult.’

‘Soult is right to point out uncertainties, sire,’ said Grouchy. ‘We should have remained in contact with the Prussians and destroyed them at the second attempt. Now it is too late. We know where Wellington is, so we must strike at him, as soon as possible.’

Napoleon was angered by the slight on his judgement, yet there was truth in Grouchy’s words. It made sense to fall on Wellington. Yet there were other considerations. ‘Wellington’s army is still intact, whereas Blücher’s is battered and in retreat. Blücher was always the bigger threat. If the Prussians are annihilated then we will only have to face the weaker of the two allied armies.’ Napoleon stared at Grouchy.

Grouchy gritted his teeth and sucked in a breath before he responded as calmly as he could. ‘You are right, of course, sire. But the longer we spend looking for Blücher, the greater his chance to rally his troops and co-ordinate his efforts with Wellington. Whatever we do, we must do it quickly.’

Napoleon was still for a moment. Despite what Grouchy said, the prospect of the destruction of Blücher was too alluring and too valuable to dismiss. ‘I will give General Pajol a little longer to confirm the location of the main body of Blücher’s army. If there is no definite sighting, then we shall move on Wellington. Breakfast is over, gentlemen. Marshal Grouchy, you and I will ride to your command. I wish to congratulate your men on their efforts yesterday, while we wait for word of Blücher.’

For the next three hours Napoleon, Grouchy and a cavalry escort toured the battlefield. There were still thousands of bodies littering the ground about the villages where the fighting had been hardest. On the slopes lay the lines of the Prussian units torn to pieces by French artillery, and further up the scattered corpses of those who had been cut down by the cavalry charges with which the battle had concluded. Many of the French regiments had suffered grievously in the opening attacks, and Napoleon was careful to offer the survivors his praise, and hand out promotions and the promise of reward once the campaign was over. At his side, Grouchy did his best not to fret and surreptitiously checked his pocket watch whenever he could. Eventually he could bear it no more.

‘Sire, it is almost eleven, and no further word from Pajol. You must decide.’