‘A joke?’ Napoleon sat his glass down with a sharp rap. He felt light headed and his mind concentrated with difficulty. Slowly the conversation of the other officers died away as they turned towards their general with curious faces. Napoleon stepped up to Junot and stabbed a finger into his chest. ‘Are you insulting my wife, Junot? You dishonour her. How dare you say that about her?’ The fond affection of a moment earlier had gone. In its place was an injured drunken pride, and Napoleon clenched his fist and thrust it behind his back where it could not be so readily used. ‘Say it again, if you dare.’

Junot shook his head as the blood drained from his face. ‘Sir, I wasn’t thinking. I meant no offence.’

‘No offence!’ Napoleon spat. ‘You imply my wife is being unfaithful, and you say that you mean no offence.’

‘I’m sorry, sir.’ Junot attempted to stand stiffly to attention. ‘I beg you to accept my apology.’

‘No. I will not.You slander the woman I love, who loves me, and you think a mere apology will suffice? I think not, Junot. I think that you should leave me. Leave my staff. Leave my army and take yourself home. I will not have you near me.’ Suddenly, his temper snapped and his clenched fist swept out, and he punched Junot hard in the face.

Everyone stood quite still, shocked by the confrontation and the sound of the impact that echoed back from the walls. Napoleon was drawing his arm back to hit him again when Berthier intervened, thrusting Junot aside and standing between him and Napoleon.

‘Sir! That’s enough!’

Napoleon glared at him, wide eyed. ‘You dare to come between me and this foul-mouthed brute? I’ll break you with him. You and anyone who dishonours my wife with such lies. Anyone who can think that of Josephine.’

‘Then you will have to find a replacement for every man at headquarters,’ Berthier said desperately.

‘What?’ Napoleon felt a sick feeling well up in his stomach. ‘What are you saying? What are you saying about my wife?’

Berthier’s face twisted into a pained expression and for a moment words failed him.Then he swallowed and spoke.‘Sir . . . she has a lover.’

‘A lover?’

‘Yes.’

Napoleon thought he was going to be sick, and bit down, clamping his lips together. His first instinct was to reject the idea, but then doubts rushed in to fill his mind like winter shadows. ‘Who, then? Who is this lover? Tell me!’

‘His name is Hippolyte Charles.’

‘Charles? The cavalry officer who came with her to Italy?’

Berthier nodded.

Napoleon’s mind instantly leaped back to those times where he had encountered Josephine in the young officer’s company, and his heart felt as if it was locked in a cold vice. Doubt edged towards certainty and he looked round the hall at the other officers. ‘Who else knows?’