Napoleon turned to look at the men of Bon’s division drawn up outside Embabeh. It was not long before he saw Marmont’s brigade, nearest the ramparts, turn to the right and begin quick-marching round the perimeter of the village. As it passed the section of the fortifications still in enemy hands the Mamelukes opened fire on the French column and Napoleon saw several fall before Marmont gave the order for his men to break into a run and the column hurried on, kicking up a billowing haze of dust as they made for the low ridge Napoleon had spotted earlier. Already, the Mamelukes had been pressed back to the far side of the village and the first of them were hurrying along the bank of the Nile towards safety.

Marmont deployed his men into line at once, and then marched down from the ridge to cut off the enemy’s line of escape. As the Mamelukes continued to emerge from the south end of the village they were confronted by a solid formation of French soldiers. One of the enemy commanders rallied his men and they charged Marmont’s brigade. He let them close to within fifty paces before he gave the order to fire and a bank of smoke instantly hid the French from view. Napoleon saw the Mameluke charge stumble to a halt as scores of the warriors were cut down, including the man who had led them.They stood their ground for a moment, drawing their pistols and firing into the smoke. Then another volley tore through them and they broke and ran, in their desperation heading for the only remaining means of escape, the Nile.

They streamed down the banks, discarding their weapons and as much of their heavy clothing as possible, then plunged into the muddy shallows, wading out to the deeper water before striking out towards the far bank. As Marmont’s brigade advanced towards the desperate fugitives a breathless Berthier re-joined Napoleon on the roof. He looked towards the river, glittering with the spray splashed up by the hundreds of men fleeing into the current. Many were cut down by musket fire from Marmont’s men.

Napoleon raised his telescope and through the magnifying lens he saw a dozen men chest deep in the muddy river. Some of them lurched forward, trying to swim to safety. A few strokes out and one began to sink, his arms flailing before the weight of his flowing robes and his equipment pulled him under. There was a brief swirl in the water and then no further trace of the man. Another got a little further before he too sank and drowned. Only one of the Mamelukes, more lightly burdened than the others, kept going. The rest, unable to swim, or not daring to, turned and raised their hands. But there was no mercy in the hearts of Marmont’s men.They had seen, or heard of, the terrible fate of those Frenchmen taken by the enemy and were out for revenge. So they lined the bank and shot down the Mamelukes in the river, calmly taking aim, firing and reloading, until finally, as the sound of musket fire petered out, the edge of the Nile was dotted with the glistening hummocks of dead men floating in muddy water streaked with vivid red.

‘May God forgive us,’ muttered Berthier.

Napoleon shrugged. ‘And may Allah forgive them. Do you really imagine they would have treated us any differently had they won?’

Berthier was silent for a moment and then shook his head.

‘Quite.’ Napoleon gazed to the right flank. ‘Besides, it isn’t over yet.’

Murad Bey was attempting one more attack on the French right, and the afternoon sun glittered on the curved blades of his horsemen as they thundered across the desert towards the French formations. As before, they were met with a shattering volley of musket and cannon fire, cutting down the foremost ranks and littering the ground with the bodies of men and horses, so that the impetus of the charge was broken. But still the Mamelukes came on, closing on the squares and then galloping at full speed along the sides of the formations as they brandished their swords and fired their pistols. All the time their numbers were thinned out by the solid ranks of French infantry firing from behind their impenetrable hedges of bayonets.

‘How much longer can they take such punishment?’ Berthier wondered. ‘Surely they must know they cannot win?’

Napoleon was silent for a moment before he responded. ‘They are as brave as any soldiers I have ever seen, but bravery is not enough to win a battle. As Murad Bey is in the process of discovering.’ He suddenly felt very weary. ‘Let’s hope that he has learned his lesson, before he squanders too many more of those fine men of his. Perhaps he is brave enough to accept defeat.’

‘I don’t think that’s possible, sir.’

‘Why not, Berthier?’

‘These are his lands he is fighting for. We’re the invaders. I doubt he’ll give in, any more than we would if we were defending France from an invader.’

Napoleon considered this for a moment. Berthier was right about Murad Bey, perhaps, but he had forgotten one thing. Napoleon was a Corsican, and even though he had bound his fate to that of France he knew that, if ever the time came, he would fight any invader with his brains and not his heart.

‘They’re breaking off,’ Berthier said in a relieved tone.

Sure enough, the Mameluke cavalry was drifting away from the French squares, the last to fall back turning and firing their pistols from the saddle before spurring their mounts out of range of the French muskets and cannon that had claimed the lives of so many of their comrades.They withdrew half a mile before re-forming, and for a moment it seemed they might yet charge one more time. But as Berthier and Napoleon watched, the mass of horsemen turned their mounts round and melted away into the large cloud of dust to the south.

Napoleon pulled his watch from its fob and glanced down. Not even five o’clock, he noted with surprise. The battle had been fought and won in less than an hour and a half. As the sun hung low in the sky, the French army stood their ground on a wasteland, surrounded by thousands of dead and dying enemies. A few hundred of their own lay about them. Yet there were no cheers of triumph, no spirit of elation, just an exhausted sense of relief at being alive, and awe at the vast number of those who had fallen to their guns. Most of all they yearned to slake their thirst in the bloodstained waters of the Nile, and loot the finely dressed corpses that lay all about them in the gathering shades of dusk.

Napoleon nodded to the far bank of the river. ‘It’s over. Tomorrow Cairo will be ours. Who would have thought that an empire could be won so easily? Wait until all France hears of this!’ He slapped Berthier on the shoulder.

His chief of staff forced a smile. ‘A battle is won, sir. But the campaign is not yet over.’

‘It might as well be.What can Murad Bey do now? Nothing. He is finished. I tell you, Berthier, this is the hour of my triumph. And nothing can diminish it.’

‘I hope so, sir. With all my heart.’

Chapter 32

The enemy abandoned Cairo during the following night and two days later, on 24 July, Napoleon entered the Egyptian capital. The imams and other leaders anxious to win favour had urged their people to come out on to the streets to welcome the French general and his army. As Napoleon and his staff rode up to the open gateway that gave on to the city’s main thoroughfare the religious leaders, the highest officials and the wealthiest merchants met him at the gate and formally offered him the surrender of the city. Napoleon listened to their speeches through an interpreter and then respectfully accepted the surrender. With the Egyptians leading the way and a smartly turned out battalion from each division following Napoleon and his staff, the procession wound its way through the main streets of Cairo towards the palace of the Pasha.The soldiers with their smart facings and brightly polished buttons marched to the tunes of their bands and sang as they tramped through the baking streets, made more uncomfortable still by the press of bodies of the city’s inhabitants who had come to see the spectacle.