Unless the fortunes of war changed and the political situation in France stabilised, then the revolution would fail, and all that had been gained, and all that might be gained, for the common people would be lost. Then the retribution of the monarchists, the aristocrats and the church would be even more terrible than the very worst of the excesses of the early years of the revolution.

Carnot leaned back in his chair and tugged at the collar of his shirt. The heat had made his skin feel prickly and a trickle of perspiration ran down his back. Even though he wore a dark coat over his shirt there was no question of removing it. Carnot was a soldier of the old school and discomfort had always been part of the profession.

A soft knock at the door broke his concentration and he sat up stiffly as he responded. ‘Yes?’

The door opened and through the gap Carnot could see to the far end of the much larger office outside. His staff sat on stools behind their desks in neatly regimented rows. Carnot’s secretary was a thin man with cropped grey hair, who had worked in the War Office since he left school and still served his new masters with the deference he had learned under the old regime. He stepped into Carnot’s office and creased into a bow.

‘Sir, Brigadier Bonaparte has arrived.’

‘Bonaparte?’ Carnot frowned.‘Does he have an appointment?’

‘So he says, citizen.’

‘Does he now?’ Carnot could not help smiling. Though he had never met the young brigadier, he had dealt with a steady stream of correspondence with the man ever since Napoleon Bonaparte had taken command of the artillery outside Toulon nearly two years ago. The quality of Brigadier Bonaparte’s mind shone through the operational plans he had drafted for the Army of the Alps and the Army of Italy. So, too, did his impatience and his insistence on having his way. For a moment Carnot was tempted to make the officer wait. After all, his time was precious and Bonaparte had not made an appointment to see him through the proper channels. Perhaps the young pup should be reminded of his place in the grand scheme of things, Carnot mused. Then he relented, partly from a desire to see if the man matched the mental image Carnot had constructed from Bonaparte’s voluminous correspondence.

‘Very well.’ He shrugged. ‘Please show the brigadier in.’

‘Yes, citizen,’ the secretary replied and automatically bowed again on his way out, closing the door quietly behind him. Carnot had time to scan another requisition and was dashing off his signature when he heard the door open again and the scrape and creak of boots on the floorboards.

The secretary coughed. ‘Brigadier Bonaparte, sir.’

‘Very well,’ Carnot replied without looking up.‘You may leave us.’