'You're right!' Quenza's eyes gleamed. 'He'd be delighted by the idea! I know he would.'

When Paoli's response arrived, it was unequivocal. Quenza immediately sought out his subordinate in the Jacobin Club and thrust the letter in his hand.

'There! Read that!'

Napoleon took the letter and scanned the contents as Quenza stood impatiently bobbing up and down on his toes. 'Don't take all day, Buona Parte!'

Napoleon finished the letter and handed it back, forcing himself not to smile with satisfaction that Paoli had taken the bait. 'It seems the general doesn't think much of the idea.'

'Doesn't think much?' Quenza puffed with indignation, and he thrust a fat finger at the letter. 'Did you actually read it? He as good as accuses me of treason. And there! Look! He says that our men lack the competence to do the job properly… How dare he say that? The scoundrel. Selling us out to the French. My God, they're not even French, they're bloody Swiss! It's an outrage!'

Other members had gathered round to see what the shouting was about and now Quenza turned to them, brandishing the letter. 'An outrage, I tell you!'

The members looked back at him in confusion and incomprehension.

Napoleon gently took his sleeve. 'Sir, perhaps you had better explain. Or let me.'

'What?' Quenza glared at Napoleon and for an instant Napoleon feared that Quenza would speak for himself. But the man was so choked with rage that he merely nodded, and thrust Napoleon towards the rostrum.'Tell 'em.You tell 'em everything.'

With a show of reluctance Napoleon did as he was bid. The room was quickly filling up with an audience eager to hear what the charismatic young officer had to announce and he waited until the area in front of him was packed.

'Colonel Quenza has just received a letter from Pasquale Paoli. It seems that Citizen Paoli has no faith in the volunteer battalion of Ajaccio. He would prefer to trust the lives of our women and children to a mob of Swiss mercenaries. He thinks we are not competent enough, not brave enough, to defend our families.' Napoleon paused to let this sink in. As he had anticipated, the insult to the honour of Ajaccio's men produced expressions of outrage. He raised his arms to calm the audience. 'Will we let this man heap such shame upon us?'

The crowd roared out their defiance.

'Will we take this insult like cowards and curs?'

'NO! NEVER!'

'A true Corsican would die rather than suffer such an insult! We must protect our honour! We must avenge the great injustice done to Colonel Quenza and the fine men of the volunteer battalion!'

Quenza stiffened and tried to look like a hero as the members cheered him. Napoleon seized on the defiant mood and called for calm again.

'Only one action will suffice to save our honour.We must take the citadel into our own hands! We must take it now and prove that Corsicans can look after themselves! Officers of the battalion – summon your men! If Paoli is too afraid to liberate us from France, then we'll do the job ourselves!'

The room echoed with the cheers of the members of the Jacobin Club, and already the officers and men of the volunteer battalion were hurrying from the room to assemble their men. A few members who had remained silent during the debate slipped away with anxious expressions. Napoleon felt someone tugging at his sleeve and turned to see Quenza looking up at him with an anxious expression.

'I-I didn't mean for this to happen.'

'But, sir, he insulted you. He insulted every man in Ajaccio.'

'Yes, but-'

'It's too late now, sir. We must see this through or be branded cowards before the eyes of the whole of Corsica.'

Quenza winced, then bit his lip and glanced round the room. He nodded to himself and turned back to Napoleon, drawing himself up in an effort to look brave and soldierly. 'Come on, then, Buona Parte. To battle!'

In the pale gloom of the last hour before sunrise the streets of Ajaccio were cold. As the men of the volunteer battalion marched towards the citadel in silence their wispy breaths plumed into the air amongst the hard metallic ripple of fixed bayonets. Napoleon was pleased to see that the discipline he had drilled into them for months was paying off. Not a man spoke as they trudged past, faces grim with intent to do their duty. Napoleon had made sure that every officer had impressed upon his men that the action was necessary to redeem their honour and free Corsica from foreign occupation. Colonel Quenza had been only too happy to entrust the assault to his subordinate. He was waiting for news of the victory back in the Jacobin Club, which he had commandeered for his headquarters.

The battlements of the citadel were visible above the rooftops of the buildings ahead.Above the citadel hung the white and blue flag of the Bourbons, gleaming in the first rays of the sun as they crested the mountains. Napoleon motioned to one of his sergeants.

'Bring the assault party forward.'

'Yes, sir.'

Forty men, the best of the volunteers, stripped down to the bare uniform with just cartridge belts across their shoulders, advanced beyond the head of the column. They would seize the entrance to the citadel, and the moment Napoleon gave the order the rest would follow. The men looked to their young lieutenant colonel with eager eyes and he waved them on.

'Let's go.'

The party moved forward, along the shadows on one side of the street. At the end, the street turned sharply to the left and led onto the wide boulevard that ran alongside the citadel walls. Directly opposite lay the fortified entrance to the citadel, covered by two projecting bastions. As they approached the bend in the street Napoleon motioned to his men to stop. He crept forward and peered around the corner. Forty paces away a pair of sentries stood in front of the open gateway.They were leaning against the wall of one of the bastions and appeared to be talking. Napoleon smiled. This was going to be easy. A quick glance along the walls either side of the gate satisfied him that they were not manned, or at least that the sentries on the wall were as lazy as their companions on the gate. Napoleon fell back to the assault squad.

'Remember, no noise. When we make for the gate run as fast as you can. Don't stop for anything. It all depends on speed. Understand?'

Several men nodded back, some grinned. The sergeant stood at the street corner, ready to convey Napoleon's signal for the rest of the battalion to charge forward.

'Very well. Let's go.'

Napoleon turned back to the citadel, easing his sword out of its scabbard. He took a deep breath and launched himself into a trot. The rest of the squad followed immediately behind him. They turned the corner and immediately burst into a flat run across the open ground.

The two sentries saw them almost at once, but failed to react for a few seconds, startled by the sight of the armed men racing towards them in silence. Then the spell was broken. The sentries unslung their muskets, thumbed back the hammers, took hurried aim and fired.

One ball passed close by Napoleon with a sharp whup. The second hit a man to his left with a sound like a stick striking wet leather. The man spun round and pitched forward on to the boulevard with a groan. His comrades, true to their orders, ran past or jumped over him, and continued towards the gates. Ahead, the two sentries turned and fled for the safety of the citadel. The assault squad rushed on, passing between the flanking bastions, and with a stab of joy Napoleon realised they were going to succeed.

There was no point in keeping silent any longer. He filled his lungs and cried out, 'Come on! The gates are ours!'

The men gave a roar of triumph and charged home. Just before they reached the gate, Napoleon hung back ready to give the signal for the rest of the battalion to follow them in. Suddenly there was a harsh shout of command from inside the gate and the men hurrying past Napoleon stopped in their tracks.