They found dead men, too. It was a grim sight. Some had evidently died of exhaustion and starvation; others told another, harsher tale. Bandaged or treated wounds suggested that they had been brought along in hospital carts, and had either fallen out, or been dumped like the excess baggage. More than once they found clear evidence that the unfortunate, in falling or being thrown from the cart, had been run over by the vehicle following.

The path of the Grande Armée cut a great swath across the land, spreading out far to either side of the road. Beyond it, in the fringes of the woods and what remained of the fields, they found evidence of the work of Cossacks, picking off men who strayed out of line, possibly foraging or perhaps wandering in delirium. Adonis, scouting further into the woods, found in a clearing evidence of a grimmer sort. The trunk of a fallen tree lay across the clearing, and lying in a line along it were the bodies of seven French soldiers. They had evidently been captured and handed over to the peasants, who had obliged them to place their heads on the tree trunk, and had then, with great thoroughness, smashed their skulls to pulp with clubs.

He returned to the road and rejoined Kirov and Anne and said nothing about what he had seen. He had been ready to propose leaving the road, so that Anne might not have to witness any more unpleasant sights; but he had an idea that what had happened in the clearing to the seven Frenchmen was amongst the more merciful ends that the peasants were likely to mete out; and he did not think his master would want her to be exposed to that kind of reality.

They reached Viasma, and skirted the town, which, despite the biting cold which had set in over the last couple of days, they could smell a good way off. Outside the town, they came across the remains of a bivouac camp: more abandoned carts, rudely hacked to provide firewood; a score or more dead horses, which presumably had succumbed to the bitter cold of the night; and at least a dozen human corpses, some of which seemed to have been stripped of their clothing, presumably by colleagues desperate for warmth. Two of them were bare-footed, but those who still had shoes revealed that suitable footwear had not been provided for them any more than for the horses.

They hurried past this grim sight, and beyond the town they were intercepted by a group of four Cossacks, who plainly knew of their approach.

‘Best stay off the road now, Colonel,’ they told him. ‘It’s not a nice sight up ahead. And you’re not far behind the stragglers now.’

‘We’ve caught up with them?’

‘Only the back end. The French army’s spread over such a distance now, it takes ’em three days to pass through a place. Most of ’em wouldn’t notice if you rode right past ’em, but one or two are still armed, and all of ’em are desperate enough for a horse and a warm coat to kill you with their bare hands.’

‘How far ahead is Napoleon himself?’

‘He and his party are at the head of the column. They’re travelling fast. You won’t catch ’em up on this road. You’ll need to take some short-cuts.’

‘Can you direct us?’

‘Better than that, Colonel – we’ll take you. We’ll head straight for Smolensk – you’ll catch him there all right.’

There had been light flurries of snow on and off for several days now, but not enough to settle, though the ground was hard with cold, and the air was bitter. Then for two days it grew milder, and the grey clouds threatened, but did not release their load. Nikolai, Anne and Adonis were passed along the line, from one set of guides to another, sleeping at nights in peasant izby, either inhabited or deserted, and one night in a half-ruined barn.

Then on the 5th of November the wind changed and blew from the north. The temperature plummeted, and the first serious snow fell. By the afternoon of the 6th it was snowing in earnest, and out of the shelter of the trees it was hard to see more than a yard in front through the dazzling whiteness of the air. Remembering what they had seen of the soldiers’ clothing and shoes, they had no difficulty in imagining what state they were in now. The Cossacks brought them reports of what they had found: soldiers whose light clothing soaked through and then was frozen stiff on their bodies like a carapace; their beards and moustaches hung with the icicles of their breath. They stumbled along in their thin, worn-out shoes, and when they slipped or fell over a hidden stone or branch, they had no strength to rise again. The snow quickly covered them; the road, the Cossacks said, was a series of such mounds, small ones for the men, large ones for the horses. The snow undulated with them like a quilt.

The Cossacks rejoiced in these stories, but Nikolai and Anne received them silently. It was impossible to feel much rancour for these ordinary soldiers, who had been brought to Russia against their will, and had probably never understood what they were doing here. Nikolai was also forced to wonder about Lolya, and how she had fared. From what he knew of Duvierge, he was sure that he would contrive to make himself comfortable, and Lolya would therefore be comfortable too. He pinned his hopes on the news that came down the line that Napoleon and his immediate circle were at the head of the column and still provided with horses and carriages. Duvierge would be one of that circle. They were closing the gap.

The weather brightened a little on the 7th, but on the next day the temperature dropped again, and went on dropping, freezing the surface of the snow so that even the Cossack ponies had some difficulty in getting along. They were not far, now, from Smolensk, approaching it across country from the south-east, where they had cut off a long bend of the road, but as the temperature dropped ever lower, Kirov decided they must take shelter well before the sun went down: once it grew dark, they might easily freeze to death.

They spent that night in an abandoned hut in the woods. They brought the ponies in and tethered them at one end, and dragged in the entire stock of firewood from under the eaves, and built the fire up as high as it would go. Even so, and huddled together, it was miserably cold, and Anne, who had held up so far better than any of them, longed for home and warmth and comfort, and came close to wishing she had never left Tula. What were they doing here? she wondered, close to tears, feeling her bones ache as the cold ground sucked the vitality out of her. They didn’t even know that Lolya was with Duvierge. She might be anywhere. She might be already dead. It was hopeless. They would all die of the cold, and what use would that be to anyone?

It was hard to get up the next morning – easier to remain lying huddled together in the warmth of each others’ bodies. Adonis dragged himself up first and loaded more logs on to the fire. Once it burned up, everything seemed better – but then it was hard to bring oneself to leave the fire and go out into the bitter morning. The thermometer outside the window registered minus fifteen.

When they got outside, they found that the wind had dropped, and the air was sparkling clear. Anne’s spirits rose again. Today they would reach Smolensk for sure, and since Napoleon was bound to rest for several days in the city, they would be sure to find him there. They would find Duvierge; they would find Lolya.

‘Best have your pistol at the ready, Colonel,’ Adonis said as they led the ponies out. ‘And you, mistress – you’d better have mine. I’ll keep my musket to hand. There’ll be some starving soldiers between us and the city, I dare say. Stick close and don’t stop for anyone, no matter what he says. Got your white handkerchief ready, sir?’

They had to get on to the road in order to get over the bridge, for Smolensk sat on the river Dnieper. Soon they saw the golden domes and spires gleaming in the sunlight against the pale sky; then the stout fortifications reared above the horizon; then they saw the road.

It looked like a battlefield. That last bitter night had killed thousands, and thousands more had survived by some miracle, only to collapse in the last desperate effort to reach the shelter of the town. The road was littered with dead men, over many of whom the still-living crouched, stripping off their clothing to add to their own inadequate coverings. Dead horses lay along both sides of the road; and the men who still moved looked like tattered ghosts, their haggard faces and ice-hung beards unnaturally white above the motley rags they were wrapped in, as they stumbled in terrible silence towards the city.

The Kirov party did not need their white flag or their arms. The men they passed were too weak to threaten them, too desperate to reach safety themselves to care who it was that was passing them. One or two threw them frightened looks when they heard the sound of horses, evidently fearing that they were Cossacks, and then stumbled on gratefully when they found they were left alone.

By mid-morning they were clattering over the bridge to the town gate, and there they met the first real soldiers they had seen – a detachment of the Old Guard, haggard and weary, but still in uniform and under discipline, holding the gate and watching the relics of the army straggle in.

‘Hold up!’ a sergeant commanded sharply. ‘Who are you? What do you want?’

They halted.

‘I am Count Kirov, formerly of the Russian Embassy in Paris. I am known personally to your Emperor, and to General de Caulaincourt.’

‘The devil you are! And what do you want, sir?’ the sergeant said, his eyes going over Anne and Adonis with equal astonishment and suspicion.

Kirov realised that to try to explain now would delay matters considerably, and this was not a good place to delay.