Serurier’s eyes widened angrily and he thumped his hand down on the table. ‘You insult me, sir! Let me remind you I was a soldier long before you were born, and these other generals were fighting the enemies of France while you were still a schoolboy.What makes you think you have the right to question my judgement?’

Napoleon glanced at all three of his divisional commanders. ‘It’s simple, gentlemen. I obey the Directory . . . and you obey me. The Directory has told us to take the war to the Austrians and that is precisely what we shall do. If you wish to protest, Serurier, then you must resign your command and take the matter up in Paris. Is that clear?’

Serurier glared at him for a moment, before nodding mutely.

‘Very well then,’ Napoleon continued in a warmer tone. ‘Then let’s discuss the details. And tomorrow, Serurier, I will inspect one of your brigades.’

It was a dull morning, and a faint drizzle speckled the hats and uniforms of the men assembled on the field a short distance outside Oneille. At first it was difficult to believe that these men belonged to an army. Only a handful of them still had their complete kit; the rest were missing backpacks, gaiters, and boots, and some even lacked muskets and bayonets. Several were coughing badly and the majority were thin and gaunt for lack of food.

‘Hardly the stuff of victories,’ Junot said quietly as they approached. Napoleon had temporarily dismissed the senior officers of the brigade and a sergeant major called the soldiers to attention as the commander of the army and his aide marched towards them. The men did their best to straighten their backs and thrust their chests out, but it was as miserable a display of drill as Napoleon had ever seen and for the first time he felt a stab of fear that the command of the Army of Italy was going to be the death of his ambitions. He shook off the doubt as he approached the front rank. He walked slowly past the first dozen soldiers and then stopped in front of an older man, who still had his full kit, albeit worn out.

‘Name?’

‘Private Dunais, General,’ the man replied, with a pronounced accent that Napoleon picked up at once. He smiled.

‘You are a Gascon, then. Good. I need men with the fighting spirit of Gascony. How long have you served in the army?’

‘Four years in this army, General, then twelve years in the Russian army, and before that eight years in the Bourbon army.’

‘I see.What kind of trouble were you in, Dunais? To make you quit France for Russia?’

‘I didn’t like my officers, sir. All breeding and no brains.’

‘And you thought it would be better in the Russian army?’

‘I hoped it would be. I was wrong, General.’