Josephine’s entourage was everything Napoleon had feared. A string of brightly dressed women, all big mouths and small talk - some of the smallest talk he had ever encountered. They proved to be an unwelcome distraction for his staff officers and senior generals, who found every excuse to visit the army’s headquarters and stay long after the briefings and meetings were over. In addition to her female coterie a number of young men had travelled to Milan with her. Some were on official business: art specialists sent to select the finest works of art to be shipped to Paris under the terms of various treaties that had been imposed by France; scientists and topographers to select various papers and maps from the most prestigious academies of Italy; and a handful of officers in glittering uniforms that had never been near a battlefield, or a field of any kind, Napoleon mused. There was one in particular who caught his eye. A tall, fair lieutenant of hussars who seemed to follow Josephine everywhere, carrying her pug, Fortuné, tucked under his arm.

‘Who is he?’ Napoleon nodded towards the hussar as they walked with a small crowd of guests around the ornate gardens of the mansion he had chosen for his quarters.

Josephine turned to look in the direction her husband had indicated and smiled. ‘That’s Hippolyte Charles. Rather elegant, don’t you think? Quite a catch for my salon in Paris. The ladies adore him.’

‘Why is he not on active service?’

‘He’s incompetent as a cavalry officer, by all accounts - despite being what one might describe as a fine mount in other ways. Anyway, he has a private fortune, very few duties, and a desire to see how well my husband and his army are performing. So I invited him along. You don’t mind? He’s devoted to my dog.’

‘No, of course not, my dear,’ Napoleon replied evenly, though he could think of better uses to which he might put a cavalry officer than looking after a lap dog. On the other hand, anyone who kept that wretched pug away from him should be considered a blessing, he reflected, recalling a nasty bite that Fortuné had once inflicted on him when the little beast had refused to give up his space on Josephine’s bed to him. Napoleon frowned at the memory. ‘Would you like me to find a place for him on my staff ?’

Josephine shrugged. ‘If you like. But I warn you, the man has air for brains. I can’t think that he would be of any value to you.’

‘Perhaps not, but if it would please you?’

‘You’re very kind.’ Josephine smiled. ‘But I think a man of his intellectual pedigree is best suited to serving as my dog groom.’

Napoleon laughed. ‘Very well. I cannot think of a man I’d rather wish Fortuné on.’