The brandy was making her sleepy now. She made a huge effort, drawing from the deepest wells of reserve. ‘How will I leave? I have no horses. The looters who killed–’ She swallowed. ‘They took the last of the horses.’

‘Yes, I know.’ He thought for a moment. ‘Listen, love. I have to report back to Kutuzov. Then I’ll find some horses, and come back for you. Don’t be afraid. It will take all night for the army to march through, and the rearguard will hold off the French until they’ve all passed. Pack your valise with whatever you need. Take your jewels, if you can, and any gold you have about the house. And when you’ve got everything ready, try to get a little sleep. I’ll be back for you early in the morning.’

He stood up, setting her on her feet. She swayed wearily, and turned towards him, clinging to him.

‘Nikolasha–’ she said desperately.

He gripped her shoulders hard. ‘I have to go now. But I’ll be back. Do you trust me?’

She looked up at him, gathering herself together out of scattered fragments. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Yes, of course.’ He was all there was now; in a way, he was all there had ever been. Her focus, her anchor – nothing else mattered. She would go with him wherever he led her. ‘I’m all right. You can go now.’

He smiled. ‘That’s my brave girl.’

He was at the door when he remembered, and turned, almost shyly, to say, ‘Anna – Pauline said – is it true? Are you with child?’

A slow smile came into her eyes which strengthened him, fed him as nothing had these months past. ‘Yes,’ she said softly.

‘When–?’

‘At Vilna.’

He smiled too, and then he was gone.

Once he had reported back, it was not easy to get away again. There was a great deal to be done, and Kutuzov seemed to find him just one more and just one more task. Shortly before dawn, he was sent off to find General Miloradovich, who was still holding the Hill of Salutation with his rearguard Hussars, and a company of Cossacks.

‘What does the Prince say?’ the General asked anxiously. ‘Murat’s cavalry are just over the ridge now. I don’t want to be fighting a desperate rearguard action that’s going to cost me all my men, and lose me my horse artillery into the bargain.’

‘His Excellency agrees, sir, to your negotiating a cease-fire or a truce with the French, while we get through Moscow. If they hesitate, you are to tell them we’ll destroy the whole city and leave them with nothing but a heap of ruins.’

‘Thank God for that! I was afraid he’d say – but the sooner the better. We’ll go and do it this minute. You’d better come with me, Nikolai Sergeyevitch, and then you can report back what they say to the Prince. Akinfov! Over here, man! You’ve got a white handkerchief about you, haven’t you?’

As soon as they reached the crest of the hill, they saw a detachment of French light cavalry riding cautiously up towards them, evidently nervous about the possible presence of Cossacks. The King of Naples himself was amongst them, easily recognisable by his splendid feathered shako, and the quantity of gold embroidery on his uniform. The French party halted. Akinfov rode forward, waving his white handkerchief. They saw Murat say a few words to the cavalry commander, and then come cantering forward alone to parley.

There was no difficulty. It was plainly in the French interest to take Moscow without resistance, and to receive it intact. Murat felt confident in pledging his Emperor’s word, and when Kirov rode back to report to Kutuzov, he had an unexpected bonus to offer: Murat had suggested that the Grand ArmCe should delay its entry into Moscow until seven the next morning, in order to allow the Russians time to get clear, and to remove some of the wounded if they wished.

‘Good. Excellent. That’s just what we need. He’s a decent fellow, Murat. Wasted on the French. Pity he’s not a Russian,’ said the Prince. ‘Eh? What’s that? Yes, yes, take a few hours by all means! No hurry now we know we’ve got the whole day. You should get some sleep, Kirov – you’re looking all in!’

Getting hold of horses was the hardest part. Kirov had to resort to a mixture of bullying and bribery to persuade two young, wealthy officers from the Prince’s own suite to part with their spare mounts. Most of the field officers had lost theirs already, either in one of the two battles or on the long, punishing march.

When he and Adonis finally rode over the crest of the Hill of Salutation, heading for the city again, they paused in sheer surprise to look down at the extraordinary scene on the road below. The advancing French were so close to the retreating Russian rearguard, that they seemed to be all part of the same army. Now and then the French had to halt to allow stragglers and the last of the Russian baggage train to stay ahead of them, and when they did, the Cossacks rode back to stand beside their opposite numbers, chatting in a friendly way and exchanging stories. Even as they watched, they saw four Cossack riders canter up to Murat’s suite and circle it for a better look at the legendary King of Naples; and Murat himself raised a friendly hand to them in greeting.

‘All going according to plan, Colonel,’ Adonis remarked.

‘Yes. I hope they don’t overdo it,’ Kirov said.

Kutuzov had given orders to Ataman Platov that his Cossacks were to get friendly with the French advance guard, express their admiration for Murat’s leadership, and convince them that they were angry and disillusioned with the Russians, owed them no loyalty, and were on the point of changing sides. Having lulled their suspicions, the Cossacks would then let slip to the French that the army was making for Ryazan.

When they marched through Moscow and out at the other side, the Cossacks were to hold back the French and let the Russian army get ahead. Once clear of the city, the main force would turn aside off the road and begin to double back south and west. The Cossacks would continue along the road to Ryazan, and with luck, the French would follow, thinking they still had the whole Russian army in front of them. This would gain valuable time, and allow the army to establish itself in a key position to the south of Moscow before the French knew what was happening.

Avoiding the main road over the Dorogomilov bridge, which was choked with army baggage waggons, Kirov passed into the city by one of the more southerly gates, and trotted by a series of back streets towards Byeloskoye, bis mind busy with plans. He didn’t think he would be able to get Anne very far on horseback, or that he ought to try, in view of her condition. The town of Podolsk, twenty miles to the south on the Tula road, ought to be far enough from Moscow to be safe; and if the doubling-back plan worked, it would become the Russians army’s base, which would afford her protection and allow him to be near her. Later, when she had rested and regained her strength, he would have to see about getting hold of some kind of conveyance, and sending her to Tula, to his sister.

There was a great deal of noise coming from the main route through the city which the army was taking. They no longer marched through empty streets: more and more citizens had come out to line the route, believing at first that they were witnessing the arrival of their saviours. When it became known that the army was merely passing through before abandoning them to the French, the cheers changed to shouts of anger and hostility. There was a good deal of drunkenness, too. The taverns ought to have been closed, but there seemed to be no policemen around to enforce the closure. Kirov didn’t like to think how many of the soldiers were slipping away from the ranks into the crowds as the army passed through.

As they turned into the street which led to the gate of Byeloskoye, Adonis said, ‘What’s this then, Colonel? Looks like trouble!’

Two men were slinking along in the shelter of the wall. As soon as they saw the horsemen, they tried to make a run for it, but Kirov and Adonis, moving as one man, blocked the way and drew their pistols.

‘Stop! Stand still, both of you, or I’ll shoot,’ Kirov snapped. The two men stood still, watching warily, eyes everywhere, ready to take any opportunity of bolting. Adonis had dismounted, holding the horses behind him with one hand, covering them with his pistol in the other.

The two men were dressed in rough peasant clothes, and wore woollen caps pulled down close to their eyes. They had a furtive look about them, as would be expected of ne’er-do-wells; yet Kirov felt oddly that they didn’t seem as worried as they ought to have been, if they had been looting.

‘What are you doing here? You’re looters, aren’t you? Turn out your pockets!’

They didn’t move, watching him warily.

‘We’re not looters, master,’ one of them said. ‘We’ve not touched anything.’

‘Then what are you doing here?’

‘We’re on the Governor’s business.’

‘Nonsense! Governor’s business – you?’

Adonis suddenly shot out a hand and snatched off the hat of the nearest man, revealing his shaven scalp.

‘Well, well! Escaped convicts!’ he said with quiet triumph, levelling his pistol at the man’s head.

‘Not escaped!’ the man cried hastily. ‘I swear to you, master. We were let out on purpose – free pardon – to do a job!’

Kirov saw the other give him a look of warning. Making himself sound indifferent, he said, ‘I don’t believe you. What job?’

The second man looked at him cannily. ‘Beg pardon, master, but we don’t know who you are. You might be anyone. You might be a French spy.’

Adonis growled at that, but Kirov gave a grim smile and pulled open his cloak, showing his uniform. ‘What job? You’d better tell me, or I’ll shoot you anyway, just to be on the safe side.’