One of the men, a sergeant, looked round and his eyes widened. ‘Christ! It’s Bonaparte . . . On your feet, lads!’

The soldiers rose wearily and shuffled to attention and Napoleon had to force himself not to rage at their slovenly and insolent manner.

‘Where’s General Desaix’s headquarters?’ he snapped.

The sergeant pointed to a side street leading off the square. ‘There’s a small mosque just down there, sir. It’s the big house opposite. Can’t miss it. Most of the officers in the army are there right now.’

‘Really? What’s going on, Sergeant?’

‘They’re debating whether or not to continue the advance. Least that’s the rumour that’s going round, sir.’

‘Then we’d better put an end to that rumour. There will be no retreat,’ Napoleon said firmly as he stared round at the group of soldiers. ‘We’re here to win this land for France. That is what we have been ordered to do and there will be no debate on the matter. Clear?’

The men nodded and saluted Napoleon as he turned and strode off in the direction the sergeant had indicated.The soldiers watched him for a moment, and then returned to tending their evening fire and began to mutter again.

When Napoleon found the building he strode past the astonished sentries outside and made for the sound of raised voices that echoed off the high walls of the interior. The officers were gathered in the courtyard garden and from the top of a covered well General Desaix was waving his hands to try to quiet them when Napoleon emerged from the entrance hall. As soon as he saw his commander Desaix froze and his hands sank slowly to his sides. Gradually the angry debate died away as the other officers became aware of Napoleon’s presence. When all was still Napoleon made his way through the crowd and nodded to Desaix to get down from the well. He climbed up and surveyed the officers with a hostile expression.

‘What is the meaning of this meeting, gentlemen?’

At first no one dared to answer him, and most avoided his gaze, until, at last, General Desaix cleared his throat.

‘Sir, the army cannot endure this godforsaken land. The heat and the lack of water are driving our soldiers mad. Nearly every well we have found has been fouled by the Bedouin. Some of our men have even been driven to take their own lives.And for what? There is nothing here but desert and a slow death. There is not even a proper enemy to fight. They flee into the distance the moment any of our lads turn on them, and then come back when it’s safe and wait to pick off any stragglers like a pack of vultures. The men have had enough. It’s the same with many of the officers.’

‘Which officers?’ Napoleon asked coldly. ‘You?’

The blood drained from Desaix’s face. ‘No. Not me. Never.’

‘Then who is it that wishes to defy me? Which of you fine men wants to take issue with your general?’

No one replied and Napoleon snorted with derision. ‘You cowards! You are officers in name only. It’s no wonder that your men are mutinous dogs. Not when they are commanded by such curs as you.’

One of the senior officers pushed himself forward. ‘Since no other will speak, then let me!’

‘Very well, General Mireur. Say your piece.’

Mireur stepped towards the well and looked up at his commander.‘The situation is as bad as Desaix said. If we continue any further into the desert our army will be little more than an armed rabble in a few days. I am no coward, sir. I would follow you anywhere.’

‘Anywhere but here.’

Mireur nodded warily. ‘This is no place for civilised men. There is nothing here of value to France, sir. We owe it to France to save our men further suffering so that they may fight another day.’

‘That’s your judgement, is it, Mireur?’ Napoleon sneered. ‘What the hell do you know, you fool? This land is everything to France. We take Egypt and we drive a wedge between England and her trade. Better still we open the way to India. Better minds than yours have considered the value of this campaign and decided what the army must achieve here, and how they must do it. And yet you would stop here, barely a day’s march from the Nile and an open route to Cairo. On the very cusp of victory you would let your courage fail you and stand there and whine like a child.You disgust me, Mireur.You offend the very idea of French manhood.You and every man like you.’

Mireur opened his mouth to respond but could not think of anything to say that would make his situation look less contemptible. He lowered his head in shame and Napoleon turned to the others, drew a deep breath and continued in a calmer tone.‘I know that most of you share my contempt for the cowards who would run back to France with their tails between their legs at the first sign of discomfort. Some of you might doubt that we can conquer Egypt. But what cause have you to doubt? Have I not won battles against greater odds and in more difficult circumstances? Those of you who were with me at Rivoli - have you forgotten the cold and the snow and the ice we endured that day? You endured hardship then - why not now? Would you return to your families, to your country, and tell them you had to retreat because you were thirsty? They will laugh in your faces. They will spit with contempt, and you would deserve it.’ Napoleon paused to let his words sink in and then his voice hardened. ‘Enough of this! This meeting is over.You will return to your units, and you will prepare them to march the moment the rest of my column has come up.Tell your men they will slake their thirst in the Nile tomorrow night. After that we will march on Cairo and make it ours.Anyone who refuses to carry out their orders will be shot. Is that clear?’

The assembled officers mumbled their assent and Napoleon turned to the hapless General Mireur. ‘Is that clear to you?’

‘Y-yes, sir.’

‘Then get out of my sight and re-join your units.’

As soon as word of Napoleon’s dressing down filtered through the ranks the men returned to their duties shamefaced and keen to prove themselves. Even before Berthier and the others arrived the army had formed up and started its march due east towards the Nile. At first they marched in the same fatigued manner, but as the night wore on so their resolve stiffened and there was no more abandoning of equipment or comrades. At last, as the dawn broke over the desert, a mounted patrol sped down the long column of troops snaking across the dunes. They reported to Napoleon that they had seen the village of Rahmaniya on the bank of the Nile, an hour’s march away. Word of this swept through the ranks and now they marched forward as eagerly as if they were on a parade ground.

Then, as the column passed over a tall dune, Napoleon saw a glittering ribbon of water ahead of them. The irrigated crops of small farmers stretched on either side. The soldiers broke ranks and ran the last steps down the bank and into the cooling, refreshing waters of the Nile, sinking to their knees as they drank from the river again and again.

Napoleon watched them with an amused expression for a while, until his attention was drawn by a squadron of cavalry galloping downriver from the direction of Cairo. As they reined in and the sergeant gave the word to dismount and tend to their precious horses, his officer approached Napoleon and saluted.

‘Sir, I beg to report we’ve found the enemy.’

‘Where?’

‘A day’s ride to the south. We found a rocky outcrop and climbed to the top for a better view . . .’ His voice faltered.

‘Go on.’

‘Sir, there must tens of thousands of them. More men than I have ever seen. Mamelukes, Arabs, peasants, as if they were on a crusade, sir.’

‘Hardly a crusade.’ Napoleon smiled. ‘But we’ll give them a battle all the same. Send word to every unit in the army, Berthier, we march to battle.’

Chapter 31

‘Over there, sir.’ Berthier handed him the telescope and pointed to the south. It took a moment for Napoleon to steady the instrument and then slowly sweep the horizon as he sought the feature that his chief of staff had indicated. For a moment the circle of vision passed along the front of the enemy line: thousands of Mameluke cavalry, gorgeously arrayed for battle in their turbans and silk robes. Between them and the Nile the Pasha’s general, Murad Bey, had stationed his infantry, perhaps fifteen thousand of them as far as Napoleon could estimate. Their flank was covered by the fortified village of Embabeh, garrisoned by a few thousand more Mamelukes. And there, on the far bank of the river, drawn up before the outskirts of Cairo, stood a vast mass of peasants armed with swords, spears, and antique firearms. Although there had to be nearly a hundred thousand of them, they were on the wrong side of the river and would take no part in the coming battle. A handful of French gunboats, anchored fore and aft, maintained a steady fire on the far bank to discourage any attempts to cross the river.