He nodded at Berthier’s words. ‘Yes. But it will be as nothing compared to today’s fight. I am sure it will snow again at any moment.’

The sky was overcast and an even darker band of clouds was already edging over the town as the first tiny flakes began to drift through the still air.The thick snow on the ground already muffled most sounds and Napoleon was struck by the quiet as the men, horses and guns of the Grand Army took up their positions east of the town, opposite the enemy spread out along a low ridge. The most recent reports from Davout and Ney indicated that they would reach the battlefield later in the morning. Until then Napoleon would be outnumbered, and he had taken the precaution of having the Imperial Guard brought forward to strengthen the French line.

The snowflakes began to fall more heavily and within minutes the last of the bodies lying in the street had disappeared under a white mantle to become little more than vague lumps beneath the snow. Occasional breezes swirled the thick white flakes and obscured the view of the Russian lines as the sun continued to rise unseen and unwarming in the gloom.

As the bells in the church chimed eight there was a muffled thud from the direction of the enemy line. Looking up, Napoleon saw a brief flickering glow in the blizzard and then heard a dull rumble as the Russian guns opened fire.With thick snow on the ground there would be no ricochet as the balls struck home and the men would be spared the worst of the preliminary bombardment. Even so, the tower shuddered momentarily as a lucky shot hit it halfway down. A moment later bright stabs flared out along the French line as the Grand Army’s guns returned fire, trusting to the accuracy with which they had been laid before the blizzard closed in over the battlefield.

Napoleon’s plan depended on Davout’s corps arriving on the enemy’s left flank once the battle was under way.With good timing he should be able to roll the enemy line up and fall on their rear.Then the Russians must surely break and be crushed under the hooves of Murat’s cavalry as they were chased down. Meanwhile the artillery duel continued as both sides fired blindly into the swirling snow. As Napoleon gave up trying to penetrate the gloom and lowered his telescope with a curse there was a faint whistling noise.

‘Mortar shell!’ Berthier yelled. ‘Down!’

Before Napoleon could duck there was a bright orange flash to one side as the shell burst in the air. Fragments of iron rattled off the masonry of the tower and the slates of the church’s roof as the concussion from the blast struck the Emperor and his staff. For a moment Napoleon was deaf, and he shook his head to try to clear his ears. His hearing began to return as voices and the continuing cannonade cut through the ringing sensation in his head. He glanced round.

‘Anyone injured? Berthier?’

His chief of staff shook his head and the other officers in the tower seemed dazed but otherwise unharmed.

‘Lucky shot,’ someone said loudly as he rubbed his ears.

‘Lucky for who?’ replied Napoleon, wincing from a stabbing pain in his own ears.‘Still, ten paces closer and it would have killed us all. Given a choice, I’ll take being deafened every time.’

Some of the officers laughed and smiled, then all of them flinched as another mortar shell detonated down in the streets. As the morning continued some of the shells landed in the wooden buildings in the town and set fire to them. Smoke billowed into the leaden skies, adding a grim pall to the clouds that hid the sun.

‘Time to draw the enemy’s attention to their right,’ Napoleon said to Berthier as he glanced at his watch. ‘Order Soult and Augereau to advance. They must draw the enemy into a fight while Davout approaches from the south. Go.’

Once Berthier had sent the orders off Napoleon and his staff strained their eyes to follow the progress of the attacks.The snow deadened the sound of the drums as they beat the advance and the cheers of the men were muted as they set off through the snow towards the Russians waiting silently along the ridge. For a moment the enemy’s guns ceased their bombardment of Eylau as their crews brought forward and loaded case shot to meet the approaching French infantry.There was a palpable tension on the church tower as Napoleon and his staff waited for the Russian guns to open fire again. Then there was a rippling glow from the direction of the ridge and a dull rumble like distant thunder as grapeshot blasted into the advancing French columns, before a fresh blizzard obscured the view.

‘What is the latest news from Davout?’ asked Napoleon. ‘How long before he reaches the battlefield?’

Berthier consulted his log book. ‘Marshal Davout estimates that he will be able to commence his attack at eleven o’clock, sire.’

‘That’s not soon enough. Send a message. Tell him to attack as soon as he can.’ Napoleon chewed his lip as the cannonfire from the Russian lines intensified. He could well imagine the destruction being visited on his infantry as they tested the Russian centre.‘Tell him to attack even if it means he cannot deploy his entire corps at first.’

‘Yes, sire.’

A short while after the order was given the snowstorm began to thin out and then stopped, to reveal the battlefield stretching east of the town.

‘Good God almighty,’ Berthier muttered as he and the other staff officers stared towards the Russian lines. ‘What the hell’s happened?’

In front of the main Russian battery stood the remnants of Augereau’s corps. Thousands of men lay sprawled and heaped in snow where they had been cut down as they marched blindly through the blizzard straight into the teeth of the enemy’s cannon. Napoleon felt an icy fist clench round his heart at the sight. It was clear what had happened. Augereau and his men had lost their sense of direction and blundered to the left, straight into the path of the enemy’s guns. Worse still, they had come under fire from their own guns, still engaging the enemy artillery. Mercifully, the French gunners had ceased fire the moment the blizzard cleared to reveal the carnage spread across the frozen ground between the two armies.

‘Sweet Jesus,’ one of Napoleon’s officers said. ‘What a bloodbath.’

‘It’s not over yet,’ another officer added and pointed to a movement behind the Russian guns. ‘Look there!’

A dense mass of cavalry was forming up to charge the disorganised survivors of Augereau’s corps. The Frenchmen had already seen the danger and had begun to fall back, pacing away at first, then breaking into a fast walk across the bloodied ground, then running straight for the handful of regiments in the reserve line.As the fugitives fled past the reserves the enemy cavalry charged, sweeping past their guns and surging down the slope towards the shattered corps, cutting down those wounded who could not keep up with their comrades. Augereau’s reserves hurriedly formed square, the foremost regiment edging up on to a small hillock directly in the path of the oncoming enemy cavalry. Their brave move served to halt the charge long enough for the survivors of the first line to reach the safety of Eylau’s cemetery, where their officers attempted to rally their terrified men and force them to man the walls of the cemetery to defend it against their pursuers.