For the moment the Guard was holding its own and Napoleon turned his attention to the far right of the line. The sacrifice of the Guard had not only taken the pressure off the shaken survivors of Watrin’s division, but also given Monnier the chance to form his men up on the right flank, and now his fresh columns rolled forward towards Castel Ceriolo. As Napoleon had hoped, the Austrians began to break contact with Watrin and the remnants of the Consular Guard as they turned to face the new threat. The firing died away for the moment as the French soldiers fell back a few hundred paces and re-formed their line.

A rider approached Berthier, and leaned forward to hand him a note. Berthier glanced at it before turning to Napoleon.‘Victor is pulling back, before he is destroyed.’

For an instant Napoleon was on the verge of shouting an order that Victor should hold his line to the last man, but then cold calm reason asserted itself. Such an order would be madness. Inhuman madness. Instead he nodded. ‘He has done enough.Tell him to withdraw towards the main camp at San Giuliano. Pass the order down the line to all the other commanders.’

Berthier hurried back to his desk. Now that defeat seemed unavoidable, Napoleon felt a tired calmness fill his body. His men had done all they could to stem the Austrian assault, and it was his duty to try to save as many of them as he could. With luck, Desaix might arrive in time to cover their retreat.The loss of this battle would give heart to France’s enemies, and destroy his reputation. The fault, he accepted, was his own. He had misjudged the character of his opponent - the classic mistake of an arrogant commander blinded by faith in his infallibility. Once news of this defeat reached Paris, his days as First Consul were numbered. Bernadotte and Moreau would circle like vultures ready to pluck the power from his bones.