There was an audible gasp from the French officers as Napoleon emerged from his quarters wearing a turban and silk robes over his shirt, trousers and boots. A bright sash ran round his middle, over which was fastened a sword belt from which hung a jewelled scimitar. He strode across to the largest shelter, under which Sheikh Muhammad el Hourad and his followers watched him approach, rising at the last moment to bow and make their greetings.

‘General, you honour us,’ the sheikh smiled. ‘But I confess, I am a little confused by your attire.’

‘Why, sir?’ Napoleon glanced down at his robes, and the feather in the top of his turban dipped forward and bounced off his nose. A ripple of subdued laughter went round his guests, but when he glared at them they fell silent. Napoleon turned to the sheikh.‘I was merely trying to show you that we French are more than willing to adapt to your ways.’

‘I see.’ The sheikh smiled. ‘And of course we appreciate the gesture. But tell me, why do you wear the turban of a Mameluke and the robes of a Bedouin?’

Napoleon glanced over his shoulder and glared at Junot. His aide shrugged helplessly and Napoleon resolved to give him a firm dressing down when the guests had gone. He turned back to the sheikh, trying hard not to blush with embarrassment and anger. ‘I apologise. I was badly advised. Now, please, take your seats.The food will arrive shortly, and we can talk while Captain Conté makes his balloon ready for flight.’

Napoleon and his staff officers settled on to the divans prepared for them while the sheikh and his followers resumed their reclining positions. When everyone was settled Berthier nodded to one of the orderlies and the man hurried away to the kitchens.

The sheikh watched the officers and men laying the wood in the heavy cast-iron grate below the platform on which rested the round basket which would carry Captain Conté aloft. In the centre of the basket was a funnel which led up into the envelope of the balloon itself.

‘General, can that thing really fly?’

‘Yes. I have seen it myself, back in Paris.’

‘By what magic does it work?’

‘Not by magic, but by science.’ Napoleon smiled, and then continued in a lecturing tone.‘By the principle that hot air, being lighter than the air surrounding it, will rise, filling out the balloon, and then causing it to lift, taking both basket and passenger with it. The balloon will continue to rise until the air inside has cooled and then it will descend safely back to the ground.’

‘And you are sure you have seen this work, with your own eyes?’

‘Yes.’ Napoleon replied testily. ‘I give you my word.’

‘Then I am sure it will be so, if Allah wills it.’