He left the captain and ran over to the house he had indicated. A small party of soldiers stood guard at the entrance and they stiffened to attention as their commander swept past them.

‘Kléber?’ Napoleon called out.

‘Over here, sir!’

Napoleon turned and saw a surgeon gesturing to him as he crouched over a body stretched out on the tiled floor. Kléber stirred weakly as Napoleon squatted down beside him. He had been shot in the thigh and shoulder and his white shirt and trousers were stained with blood. His eyes flickered for a moment as he tried to speak, and then he passed out.

‘Will he live?’ Napoleon asked.

‘Yes, sir. If I can stop him losing any more blood.’

‘Carry on then.’

As Napoleon and Berthier emerged from the building a loud cheer echoed across the market square, and looking up Napoleon saw the body of the muezzin draped over the parapet of the minaret. The defenders of the mosque stopped firing when they became aware of their leader’s death and one by one they began to throw down their arms and wait to be taken prisoner.

‘Good.’ Napoleon nodded with satisfaction. ‘Seems we killed the right man. Let’s hope that’s how things work here.’ For a moment, seeing Berthier’s shocked look, he chided himself for such cold-blooded musing, then he shook the feeling off and began to issue his orders for the capture of the rest of Alexandria.

By noon the last pockets of resistance had been mopped up and Napoleon surveyed the town from the tower of the mosque. He had tipped the body of the muezzin unceremoniously over the edge of the parapet and it had tumbled on to the roof below, lying on the whitewashed curve like a broken doll. Napoleon stepped over the pool of blood and gazed round the horizon. To the north, the sea sparkled like a sheet of tiny diamonds, cool and inviting. He could even see the masts of Admiral Brueys’s fleet lying peacefully at anchor ten miles away, and hoped that the last elements of the expeditionary force had finally reached shore.To the south and east sand and dunes stretched away into the shimmering distance. In that direction, he knew, lay Cairo, and the Turkish overlord of Egypt - Pasha Abu Bakr. Even now news must have reached him that a French army had landed, and the Pasha would be gathering a host to overwhelm the French general and his men. Napoleon smiled. At least he would not have to hunt too far to find his enemy. If the maps he had were accurate Cairo was only a hundred miles away. An easy five days’ march if his good fortune held.

Chapter 30

Chapter 30