The men ran past him, heads hunched into their shoulders. Grim faced, they clutched their muskets vertically to avoid skewering their comrades. As they ran down the length of the bridge the Austrian infantry opened fire and the air filled with the low whip of musket balls, mixed with the splintering crack of shots striking the woodwork, and the soft thuds as they cut down men in the dense mass surging along the narrow bridge. Napoleon felt the concussion as one of the guns on the far side fired at the attackers and he stood up, craning his neck to see how his men were progressing. As before, the fire was murderous in the middle of the bridge and body piled upon body as the French were slaughtered. The charge faltered.

‘No!’ Napoleon shouted. ‘Keep going! Keep going and victory is ours! Stop and we all die!’

He strode forward, pushing his way through the men until the mass thinned out and those ahead were going to ground, trying to find whatever cover they could from enemy fire. Napoleon stepped amongst them and held the standard high.

‘Keep going!’

But the men around him refused to meet his eye and began to creep back.

‘Bastards!’ Napoleon screamed. ‘Would you let your general die alone?’

He was about to step forward when someone grasped his arm and spun him round, shielding his body from the far bank. Muiron glared into his face.

‘General! You will get yourself killed!’ the major shouted above the din. ‘If you fall we are lost! This is not your place. Get back!’

He pushed Napoleon through the men stalled on the bridge, just as some herd spirit made them all turn back towards their own lines.

‘Make way for the general!’ Muiron called out, and then his grip on Napoleon’s arm spasmed. Napoleon turned and saw a shocked expression on the major’s face. He was looking down and Napoleon followed his gaze and saw the hole in his jacket, over the heart, the blood pumping from the wound.

‘Muiron?’