Napoleon glared at him a moment and then turned his attention back to the battlefield. The smoke from the cannon of both sides was eddying above the landscape in dense clouds, threatening to blot out the view of the surrounding countryside. A sudden anxiety caused him to raise his telescope and sweep the horizon from the south round to the north-east. Fields, farmhouses and small woods glided past the eyepiece, and then a dark shadow just beyond the edge of a treeline caused Napoleon to stop. He blinked his eye and called one of the headquarters staff to stand in front of him so that he could use the man’s shoulder as a rest to steady the telescope. Soult, and a handful of others, had seen his worried expression and now turned in the same direction and scrutinised the dark line that was gradually emerging from the trees.

‘There is a column of soldiers over there,’ Napoleon announced. Then he lowered the telescope and hurried across to the map weighted down on a table outside the inn. He scanned the map and then stabbed his finger down. ‘The woods near Chapelle-St-Lambert.’

Soult exchanged a worried look with the other staff officers gathered about the map. One of them swallowed and asked, ‘Could it be Grouchy? Marching to the sound of the guns?’

Napoleon shook his head. The distant column was coming from the direction of Wavre. ‘Prussians. There is no doubt about it.’

There was a brief silence as the staff officers digested the information and then Soult raised his telescope towards the distant woods and spoke quietly. ‘I can see more columns, sire.’

Napoleon stroked his chin. ‘The Prussians are still two hours’ march from the battlefield. They cannot support Wellington for a while yet. There is time enough to win the day.’

‘And what of Grouchy, sire?’ asked Soult. ‘Shall I send for him?’

‘By all means.’ Napoleon shrugged, as he considered the last known position of Grouchy’s thirty thousand men: advancing towards Wavre from the south.‘Though I fear that he is too far away to intervene, even if he were to wheel towards us at once.’

Nevertheless Soult hurriedly wrote the order and thrust it into the hand of one of his aides. ‘There. Take that to Marshal Grouchy. Tell him that the fate of France in is the balance.’

As the officer swung himself up into his saddle and spurred away Napoleon sighed. ‘The fate of France will be decided by those who are already on the field, Soult.’ Turning his attention back to the ridge in front of the French battle line Napoleon pointed to the stretch of the slope to the right of the Brussels road.‘We cannot delay the main attack any longer. Soult, tell d’Erlon to prepare his corps to advance. It is time to see if these Englishmen you are so afraid of can really stand before our columns.’

Chapter 61 - The Ridge of Mont-St-Jean, 1.30 p.m.