The Russian left, commanded by Bagration, had also been reinforced with fortifications – three redoubts, which were very close to one another. They were dubbed the ‘Three Flèches’. Lastly, large numbers of reserve troops were stationed behind the Russian position.

Napoleon came face to face with the Russian army on 5 September but the battle did not commence until 7 September. The two armies made good use of this respite to observe each other. The French rounded up as many laggards as possible and awaited the arrival of part of the artillery, whose progress had been impeded by the rain. The Russians were also gathering their troops and fortifying their entrenchments.

On 6 September the Russians held a spectacular religious ceremony. It consisted of a procession of icons, including the Madonna of Smolensk, which was reputed to make armies invincible. Priests in full ceremonial vestments marched at the head, followed by generals and soldiers singing hymns or saying prayers. Kutuzov, like many others, knelt as the holy images went past. The effect on the Russians was to rouse them to a frenzy. It was no longer a war but a crusade against the devil himself. And, during the night, the large doses of vodka that had replaced the holy water made the troops more euphoric still.

The Russian plan was essentially defensive: to hold their positions and to bleed the French army dry with their artillery. Decisions would then be made according to the enemy’s actions and reactions. The plan was that General Tuchkov, on the left of the army, would go around the enemy’s right wing to attack it on the flank and to the rear, but that proved unworkable.

In fact, since the Russian left flank had received reinforcements and was defended by the Three Flèches, Napoleon deduced that it was the weak spot of the Russian strategy. This, then, was where he decided he would try to break through. Initially, Prince Eugène would attack the Russian right as a diversion. He would be ‘content’ to take the village of Borodino, to contain the Russians and to surround the Great Redoubt. Ney, Junot and Murat would attack the centre and Davout and Poniatowski the left flank. When the French right wing had broken through the enemy left, it would fall back on the centre and sweep away everything in its path. These were the plans of the two camps. But nothing went according to plan.

The night before the battle, the soldiers talked or got drunk. On the French side there was the dull rumble of troops moving around to take up position. Latecomers kept arriving and then going off in search of their regiments.

The 84th had already taken up its position and was making the most of the night’s respite. Margont was visiting the men of his company, sitting with them around the campfires. Despite the slaughter to come, morale remained high. At last they were going to confront the Russian army! No more marching until they were exhausted or tramping through mud or nearly going mad from hunger … They had faith in Napoleon’s genius and no one doubted that the Russians would be annihilated. Margont was making sure that all was well, giving instructions, reassuring his men … They liked him and were always pleased to make room for him.

‘Captain, what runs faster than a galloping horse?’ asked an old corporal whose right eye was permanently watching the left one since a bullet had deformed its socket.

‘No idea.’

‘A Prussian after the battle of Jena!’

There were roars of laughter. Margont himself merely smiled. When soldiers told one another this sort of nonsense, they were in a really good mood.

‘Begging your pardon, Captain, but what’s that scar on your cheek?’ enquired a soldier who had just about enough teeth left to bite open his cartridges before pouring the powder into the barrel of his musket. If it hadn’t been for his three incisors and one canine, he would have been discharged from the army.

Margont absently ran his finger along the scar. He didn’t like talking about it.

‘Well, let’s just say that like everyone else involved in the Spanish campaign, I brought back a little souvenir …’

A cuirassier appeared in the light of the campfire. The flicker of its flames was reflected in his breastplate and helmet.

‘Do you know where the 5th Regiment of Cuirassiers is?’

‘Yes.’

‘Easy.’

‘Are you sure it’s so simple?’

At that, all the infantrymen pointed their fingers in different directions and shouted out amidst general laughter: ‘It’s that way!’

The cavalryman wanted to leave but Margont held his mount by the bridle.

‘Where’s your greatcoat? In one of your saddlebags? Roll it up and place it across your saddle in front of your private parts. Because tomorrow when you charge, the Russians will riddle you with bullets. Your breastplate and your helmet will protect your body well but not down there. Your rolled-up greatcoat will prevent you from being castrated. What would your pretty filly think if, after letting her young stud go off to war, she saw only an ugly fat gelding come back?’

The cuirassier set off without answering.

Margont got up, gave his apologies and went to the next campfire, despite the request to ‘stay a bit longer’. There, some soldiers were listening to Second Lieutenant Galouche read extracts from the Bible. Margont remembered prayers at Saint-Guilhem-le-Désert. He put his hands together and entwined his fingers, as he used to do. He silently asked Heaven for the battle to cause as little bloodshed as possible, for the Russians to be defeated and for the war to end. And if the Tsar capitulated, then England would be forced to negotiate. Probably. Then at last there would be peace.

A little further on, Saber was busily cutting the Russian army to pieces. With the aid of a stick he was drawing a plan on the ground for the benefit of his supporters – soldiers who swore by him and already imagined themselves colonels of the future marshal of France. There were arrows in all directions; the Great Redoubt had already fallen – rather too quickly in Margont’s opinion – and the Russian Guard was rushing into this ‘death trap’. Saber had in fact ordered the French right wing to fall back to make the Russians think that there had been a rout on that side. The Russians had been quick to send in all their reserves, including the Guard, to finish smashing through the right enemy flank. Then Saber ordered the cavalry of the Guard to charge at their flank and break up their columns. The Old Guard followed and finished them off. It was obviously very effective in the sand since Saber was energetically wiping out Russian squares and columns. But he was taking no account of the human factor. Even if the Russians actually believed they had broken through the French right, how could anyone be sure the French would not think the same? And if they did, then the left wing and the French centre, thinking the right wing had been routed, would in turn break up in disarray … Any movement towards the rear was dangerous because it very soon led to all sides following suit.

Piquebois was smoking his pipe some distance from the others. Lying on his back, with a treatise on astronomy resting against his knees and his head on his knapsack, he was gazing up at the sky. His eyes were full of stars.

‘Why do you have such a passion for them?’ Margont asked him.

‘Because they’re so far away.’

Margont then caught up with Lefine, who was selling phials containing a greenish liquid. It was his ‘remedy for fear’, an infusion of verbena and eucalyptus. Margont grabbed him by the collar and, when they saw the expression on the sergeant’s face, all his potential customers immediately realised that the product was a swindle.

‘Ripping people off again!’ thundered Margont.

‘It works. It’s been scientifically proved, Captain. The truth is that you’re against progress.’