Napoleon felt his heart sink at the prospect of a long sea voyage. Worse still was the thought of being held captive on some primitive rock far from decent civilization.

‘How long does your government propose to keep me there?’

Waterman and Maitland exchanged a brief look before the former replied. ‘For the rest of your life, sir.’

‘What?’ Napoleon felt a stab of desperation at the prospect. ‘Surely the Prime Minister can’t mean it? Let me write to him. Better still, let me make my case in person. I swear that if I am granted a comfortable exile in England that her people need never fear for my actions again.’

‘I’m sorry, sir,’Waterman shook his head. ‘There’s no time for you to present your case. A fast frigate, the Northumberland, will convey you to St Helena as soon as she is provisioned. You are to select no more than six of your companions to join you in exile. You may take whatever possessions are left to you. Do you have any questions, sir?’

Napoleon was momentarily stunned by the swiftness with which his fate had been decided. There would be no semblance of a kingdom for him to rule this time. Only a dreary life eked out on an island prison far from Europe.

Waterman sniffed.‘You seem surprised, sir. What did you expect?You are an enemy of peace. Because of you a multitude have suffered. Europe will bear the scars of your influence for a generation, or more. You have proved to be too dangerous to be allowed to remain in proximity to Europe. Of course, should you wish to return to France, then I am sure that his majesty’s government would be inclined to look favourably on such a request.’

‘That would be a death sentence, and you know it.’

‘Quite. And as far as I am concerned, it is no more than you deserve.’ Waterman paused. ‘However, the choice is yours, General. You might find some comfort in a martyr’s death if you return to France and face your enemies. Or you live out the rest of your days, and end your life in unregarded obscurity. Which will it be?’

Napoleon glared sourly at the official. For a moment he was seized by the fire of defiance. Let him return to France. Let him face his enemies and show them how a soldier dies. Who would ever forget the name of Napoleon Bonaparte then? His fervid imagination pictured the scene of his execution. Firing squad or blade, each prospect filled him with a cold dread that he had never known on the battlefield. A glorious end would be denied to him for ever now. He did not want to die the death of a common criminal. He was afraid to, and that insight sickened him. He swallowed and looked down at the deck as he made his reply.

‘I will accept exile on your terms.’