The mess servants cleared away the remains of the banquet and brought out the wine and brandy that had been landed from the ships safely anchored in Aboukir Bay and brought up the Nile to Cairo. With the warmth of the eastern night and several rounds of toasts, Napoleon and most of his officers were soon quite drunk. And why not, he thought. The campaign was as good as over. Only the remnants of Murad Bey’s army needed to be tracked down and crushed and Egypt would be the latest conquest to adorn the map of the French empire.

As the night drew on, the conversation became more reflective as the officers began to remind themselves of all the comforts that had been denied to them since coming ashore.

Berthier raised his glass. ‘A good bath, clean sheets and a woman to take your mind off soldiering. That’s my toast.’

The other officers chorused their agreement.Then they grew quiet as their commander held up his glass. ‘Gentlemen, to French women. They have no peer when it comes to beauty, grace and wit.And they make love with a passion that makes men their slaves.’

As his companions roared their approval and clashed their glasses together Napoleon felt his heart ache with longing for Josephine. His hand fumbled for the minature that hung round his neck and he stared at the image, gently caressing it with his thumb. The artist had captured her lively spirit in the eyes that seemed to glint mischievously as he stared at them. However, he knew that if he indulged in such reflection for too long he was in danger of becoming melancholy, so he forced himself to smile and raise his glass again.

‘To our lovers, to our wives and to my beautiful, adoring wife Josephine.’

Again the officers cheered and drank. Junot refilled his cup, and blearily turned to some nearby officers and said, too loudly, ‘To our wives, whoever they adore!’

Some of the officers exchanged embarrassed looks while others heedlessly drank to Junot’s toast. Junot turned to Napoleon with a broad smile, and froze. Napoleon was looking at him with an angry expression.

‘What did you say?’

‘Sir?’

‘Just now. What did you say?’

‘To our wives . . .’ Junot mumbled. ‘Whoever they adore.’

‘And what exactly do you mean by that?’

‘Nothing, sir. It was a joke. Nothing more.’