Napoleon took a last look at the dark mass of the fortress looming above the ravine. The roar of cannon fire from the French lines rumbled across the valley, echoing back from the sides of the surrounding mountains. More than enough noise to help conceal the sound that the gun carriages and their limbers would make in the next few minutes.

‘Time to go,’ he muttered to Junot. ‘Ready?’

Junot nodded.

Around them were the men of the hussar squadron Napoleon had chosen to act as his bodyguard while he rode to join Lannes at Ivrea. Behind the mounted men, two four-pounder horse-guns were ready to move off, harnessed to the best horses that could be found in the artillery train. This time Napoleon had decided to gamble on speed, rather than subtlety. His heart beat against his breast like a caged eagle as he lifted his chin from the fur collar of his coat and called out, ‘Advance!’

He spurred his horse forward. Junot and the hussars followed him, and behind them the tackle and timber of the guns jingled as they slowly gathered speed and caught up with the trotting cavalry just as they emerged from the village on to the track running into the gorge. Napoleon glanced up at the fortress, and could just make out the line of the battlements against the sky. They rode on, into the gorge, and the rocky spur jutting out from the cliff opposite the fortress forced them towards the enemy. Just as they came to the point closest to the walls there was a faint shout, audible even above the boom and echo of the French guns.

Napoleon steered his mount to the side and reined in.

‘Go! Go!’ he shouted to the hussars and then again to the artillery riders as they came up. Above them, flames flared up and once more a wicker bundle roared down the cliff. This time Napoleon was almost beneath it, and the sight was terrifying. He kicked his heels in and raced after the others, and there was a crackling thud and explosion of sparks as the bundle landed close behind him. Shots cracked from the wall above and he heard them whip down into the snow on either side as he leaned forward and rode on, urging his horse to gallop as fast as it could until he had passed beyond the loom of the burning wood and caught up with the others. More blazing bundles roared down towards them like fiery comets as they passed through the ravine, but they stayed just ahead of where the enemy guessed they must be and only one of the shots fired wildly into the darkness from the fortress struck home, into the haunch of one of the hussars’ horses. It reared up with a shrill whinny before its rider regained control and urged it on with whispered curses.