‘We try to keep them warm and comfortable, and alleviate the pain when the sickness gets to its most advanced stage. The men with the strongest constitutions might survive, but their recovery will be slow. If they show arrested symptoms they are moved to another room where we can minimise the risk of further infection - in theory.’

‘Aren’t you at risk, doctor?’ Junot asked.

‘Of course. So is any man in close contact with the sick.’

‘Then why haven’t you caught it?’

Desgenettes smiled. ‘How do you know I haven’t?’

Some of the men were still well enough to recognise their commander and tried to sit up.

‘No!’ Napoleon waved his hand at them.‘Lie still, soldiers.You must conserve your strength, or I’ll have you back on latrine duty in double time.’

Some managed a smile at that, but most stared at Napoleon with a lucklustre expression of despair and even resignation to their awful fate. He stopped at the foot of one of the makeshift beds and stared at the man lying there.

‘This one’s dead.’

Desgenettes came over and knelt beside the man, and felt for his pulse. After a moment he rose up and called out, ‘Stretcher bearers! Here!’

Two men came from outside carrying a stretcher and set it down beside the dead man. One took the body by the heels while the other lifted him under the shoulders and they hoisted him awkwardly across on to the stretcher. The blanket slid from his body, and there was a sharp intake of breath from Junot as the bare flesh of his torso was revealed.

‘Good God, look.’

Some of the buboes had burst and the discharge was smeared across his neck and chest.

‘Shit . . .’ muttered one of the orderlies, turning his nose away from the foul odour and instinctively stepping back a pace. His companion had already grasped his end of the stretcher and looked up angrily.

‘Come on, we have to get him out.’

‘Wait,’ Napoleon interrupted. ‘Let me.’

He pushed the reluctant orderly aside and grabbed the stretcher handles. ‘Ready? Let’s go then.’

The body was heavier than he expected and Napoleon strained his muscles to hold up his end of the stretcher.The other orderly backed out slowly and the staff officers followed behind them, looking at their general in surprise and awe.

‘Over there, sir.’ The orderly nodded towards a mound of earth to one side of the main hall, and they set off across the broken ground. As they drew closer, Napoleon breathing heavily from the strain and fighting the nausea threatening to well up in his stomach, it became apparent that the mound was the spoil from a large open grave. They paused at the edge and Napoleon glanced down on half a dozen soldiers sprawled in the pit.

‘Sir, when I say, we tip the stretcher. Ready? One . . . two . . . three!’