With a last deep intake of the cold air, Napoleon paced forward, into Notre-Dame.The instant he crossed the threshold a choir began to sing from the far end of the cathedral and with a rustle of robes and gowns and scraping of chairs the audience rose to their feet. A length of dark green carpet stretched out before him towards the dais where the Pope stood waiting before the altar.The Emperor’s smile withered at the sight of the Holy Father. Despite his efforts to reduce the role of the Catholic church in France, the common people were stubbornly attached to their religion, and Napoleon had needed the Pope’s blessing to give his coronation the appearance of divine sanction.

Both dais and altar were new.Two old altars and an intricately carved choir screen had been demolished to create a more imposing space at the heart of Notre-Dame. On either side, statesmen, ambassadors, military officers and scions of Paris society bowed their heads as the Emperor passed by. His hand slipped to the pommel of the sword of Charlemagne that had been fetched from a monastery at Aix-la-Chapelle to swell Napoleon’s regalia. Another part of the effort to lend the coronation the authority of royal traditions stretching back across the centuries. A new Charlemagne for a new age, Napoleon mused as he emerged from the avenue of silk and ermine picked out with the glittering jewellery of the ladies and the gold braid and gleaming decorations of the generals and marshals of France. At their head stood Murat, the flamboyant cavalry officer who had fought with Napoleon at Marengo, and later married his general’s sister, Caroline. They exchanged a quick smile as the Emperor passed by.

Pope Pius VII sat on a throne in front of the altar. Beside and behind him were his retinue of cardinals and bishops, brightly illuminated by the shafts of light that angled down from the windows piercing the great stone walls high above. Napoleon stepped towards the three steps leading up to the dais. Glancing to his left he saw his brothers and sisters. Young Louis could not suppress a smile but Joseph nodded gravely as his brother passed. It was a shame that not all the family could be present, Napoleon reflected. Jérôme and Lucien were still in disgrace, having refused Napoleon’s demand that they abandon their wives in favour of women he considered more suitable to be included in the imperial household. Napoleon’s mother, Letizia, was also absent, protesting that she was too ill to leave Italy and attend the coronation. Napoleon had not been taken in by her excuses. She had made her dislike of Josephine quite clear from the outset and there was little doubt in her son’s mind that Letizia would be damned rather than witness the crowning of Josephine alongside Napoleon. If only his father had lived long enough to see this day. Carlos Buona Parte would have talked some sense into his prickly wife.

A flicker of movement drew his eye to the other side of the cathedral and he saw the artist, Jean-Louis David, shuffle a fresh sheet of thick paper on to his draughting board as he prepared to start another sketch of the event. A monumental painting had been commissioned by Napoleon to record the coronation and David had told him that he would require as long as three years to complete the work. Truly, Napoleon thought, the spectacle of this day would shine down the years for centuries to come.

The Pope rose from his throne and extended a hand towards Napoleon as the Emperor went down on one knee, resting his white-stockinged leg on a heavily embroidered cushion that had been set in front of the pontiff. As the sound of the choir died away and stillness settled over the audience and participants the Pope began his blessing in a thin, high-pitched voice, the Latin words carrying down the length of the cathedral and echoing dully off the walls.

As the Holy Father continued with his incantations Napoleon stared fixedly at the carpet in front of him, seized by a sudden urge to laugh. In spite of all the pageantry, the gaudy costumes, the elaborate set-dressing, the months of preparations and weeks of rehearsals, it was this moment of religious ceremony that struck him as the most ridiculous aspect of it all. The notion that he, of all men, required divine sanction was not only laughable, but insulting. Almost all that he had achieved had been the result of his own efforts. The rest was down to blind chance. The idea that God was directing the trajectory of every bullet and cannonball on the battlefield was absurd. Religion was the affliction of the weak-minded, the credulous and the desperate, Napoleon decided. It was a shame that the vast majority of mankind held to such superstitions. But it was also to his advantage. As long as he paid lip-service to religious sensibilities he could use the church as yet another means of dominating the minds of those he ruled. The only difficulty lay in reconciling his needs with those of the papacy.

For the present Napoleon was content to be seen to have reached an accommodation with the church, and he knelt with bowed head while the words of an outdated language washed over his head. He shut out the noise as he once again concentrated on the part he had to play in the ceremony, once the Pope had finished his blessing. There would be no mass; Napoleon had been adamant about that. All that remained would issue from his personal authority. None but Napoleon was fit to crown Napoleon. And Josephine, for that matter. She too would receive her crown from his hand.

For a moment his mind turned to the other crowned heads of Europe. He despised them for possessing such power merely on the basis of birth. Just like all those aristocrats who had made Napoleon’s school years so miserable. But there was the paradox, he thought, gently chewing his lip. It was only through the hereditary principle that states enjoyed any kind of stability.The ferocious blood-letting of the French Revolution had proved the need for such stability and it was only when Napoleon had seized power and begun to rule with an iron grip that order had started to reappear in France.Without Napoleon there would be a return to chaos and that was why the people had been only too pleased to approve him as Emperor. In time there must be an heir. He shifted his head a fraction to stare briefly at Josephine. She caught his eye and winked.

Napoleon smiled, though he felt a heavy sadness in his heart. He had sired no children so far and the years were catching up on Josephine. Soon she would be too old to bear children. The sudden fear that he might be impotent struck him. If that turned out to be true then the dynasty that was being founded on this day would perish with him. It was a chilling thought and Napoleon hurriedly diverted his mind from it, fixing instead on the more immediate difficulties that threatened his position. Even though there was an uneasy peace on the continent France was still at war with her most implacable enemy.

Across the Channel the British still opposed him, protected from his wrath by the thin wooden screen of her warships, constantly patrolling the sea lanes and denying Napoleon the triumph that would complete his mastery over Europe. Already his mind had turned to the prospect of invasion and plans were being made for the construction of a vast number of barges in the ports and naval bases stretching along the French coast opposite Britain. When the time came, Napoleon would assemble a great battle fleet and sweep the British navy aside from the path of the invasion barges.