‘It is my intention to attack Wellington tomorrow. He has chosen the very worst of positions to defend. Behind him lies the forest of Soignes. If his army breaks, they will not be able to retreat and we shall annihilate them. The opportunity we lost earlier today will be set right.’ He shot a cool glance at Ney and the Marshal pursed his lips angrily. ‘It is therefore vital that as many of our men as possible are in place before dawn. I have no time for excuses, gentlemen. You will do whatever you must to ensure that your formations reach the field in time. Questions?’

‘Sire.’ D’Erlon raised his hand. ‘Will Grouchy be close enough to take part in the battle?’

‘I don’t know. I am still waiting for him to report his progress. We must assume that he will not reach us in time to intervene. That need not concern us. We are strong enough to carry the day.’

‘And what of the Prussians?’ asked Prince Jérôme. ‘There is a danger that they might intervene, sire.’

‘Not if Grouchy contains them. Besides, as far as we know, their line of retreat will take them away from Wellington. I think we can discount the prospect of the Prussians’ causing us any difficulties.’

Jérôme shook his head. ‘I am not so certain, sire.’

‘Really?’ Napoleon raised his eyebrows as he looked at his younger brother. ‘Why is that?’

‘Two hours ago I had a meal at an inn at Genappe. A waiter told me an interesting story. He claimed that Wellington and his staff ate there this afternoon. He overheard one of the staff officers say that Blücher was at Wavre, and that he might move to support Wellington tomorrow.’

The other officers stirred at this news. Napoleon was silent until they settled down again. ‘I thank you for that intelligence, Jérôme. But let us wait for Grouchy’s report. Then we shall know for certain.’

‘What if the waiter was telling the truth, sire?’ Jérôme persisted.

‘I don’t see how Blücher can present any danger, as long as Grouchy is forcing him back, away from Wellington.’ Napoleon waved his hand dismissively. ‘Blücher is of no concern to us. All that matters is the army waiting for us at Mont-St-Jean.’

Waterloo, 10.00 p.m.

Colonel Frazer was standing stiffly before his commander in chief, trying not to show any expression as he endured the tirade.

‘It is bad enough having to contain the foolihardiness of my cavalry without my artillery blasting away at every shadow they see in the darkness,’ Arthur said bitterly.

‘Begging your pardon, your grace, but it wasn’t shadows my boys were shooting at. It was Frog cavalry.’