Marshal Jean Lannes died eight days after he had been wounded. The pain of his loss still burned in Napoleon’s heart. He had wept at the news, and the army had been stunned. Many had seen Lannes in the front rank in battle and had been steadied by his example. He had risen from amongst their ranks and had shared their perils and their wounds, and they openly grieved for him as the news spread through the ranks.

Jean Lannes would be avenged, Napoleon vowed silently as they approached a group of sergeants sitting beside the track running across the camp. The men had a small keg of brandy with them and a haunch of cured venison. One of them looked up as Masséna and Napoleon passed by.

‘Hey, friends, join us for a drink?’

Masséna was about to refuse the offer when Napoleon nudged him and smiled a greeting. ‘Why, yes. Thank you.’

Masséna shot him a surprised glance, but Napoleon simply pulled his cap down a bit further as he sat on the crushed grass. After a moment’s hesitation Masséna joined him. The sergeant who had invited them held out two battered copper cups and lifted the keg to pour a small measure into each. Napoleon raised his cup. ‘Good health!’

The other sergeants, ten or so of them, raised their cups to return the toast and then, after a sip of the fiery liquid, Napoleon wiped his lips and asked, ‘So what unit is this, then?’

‘First battalion, Eighty-second regiment of the line. In Friant’s division.’

Napoleon nodded. ‘Davout’s corps, then. Only just arrived.’

‘Not only that,’ the sergeant continued, ‘but only just formed. The battalion’s marched here from the depot at Lyons.’

Another sergeant cleared his throat and spat on to the ground beside him. ‘Most of the recruits are just boys.’

‘And what about you lot?’ asked Masséna. ‘What’s your service record?’

‘Us?’The first sergeant laughed.‘Up until a couple of months ago we were just customs officers. Then the call-up comes from Paris. The Emperor needs a new army and his recruiters are scouring France for discharged veterans, National Guard officers and NCOs, and finally, at the bottom of the barrel, us. That’s why I asked you to join us.’ He pointed at their jackets.‘You’re from the Imperial Guard. You must have seen a thing or two.’

Masséna nodded.

‘Then you must have been here when the army last went up against the Austrians.’

‘Yes.’

‘The army newspapers say that it was a tactical withdrawal after the enemy had been given a good hiding. Of course, no one believes a word of it. From what we’ve heard, it was a bloody disaster. Is that true?’