He turned back to the palace and mounted the steps, stained with blood and covered with more bodies. On the threshold of the massive entrance hall he paused. The shouts of those inside echoed round the cavernous space and there was still sporadic musket fire. The last of the Swiss Guards defending the royal apartments had made a final stand on the staircase where their bodies lay in an untidy heap. Around them lay the bodies of some of their attackers, many entwined with their victims, killed while fighting with their bare hands. Napoleon did not want to risk being mistaken for a royalist in his artillery uniform, and hurried away to the terrace at the back of the palace.The doors at the far end stood open.

Emerging on to the terrace he found himself confronted by a nightmare scene. The vast expanse of the ornate flowerbeds and lawns of the Tuileries gardens was covered with figures running in all directions. Men in scarlet uniforms were fleeing for their lives. Small groups of civilians and men of the National Guard were chasing them down and slaughtering them without mercy. A flash of scarlet in the branches of a tree a hundred or so paces away drew Napoleon's eye and he saw that one of the Swiss Guards had climbed into the highest branches to try to escape his pursuers. A small crowd was shouting angrily and beckoning to the man to come down. Then a National Guardsman approached. He raised his musket and calmly took aim on the Swiss soldier as if he was out shooting fowl. There was a flash and a puff of smoke before the crack reached Napoleon's ears.The man in the tree convulsed, and he balanced on his branch for a moment as a bright red patch spread across the white facings of his uniform. Then his legs collapsed, his grip failed him and he tumbled through the branches like a rag doll before he hit the ground and was instantly lost from sight as the mob surged over his body.

A crunch of gravel on the terrace behind him made Napoleon flinch and he spun round. A National Guardsman was staring at him down the barrel of a musket, but he smiled as he saw Napoleon's cockade, and lowered his weapon.

'Sorry, sir. Thought you were a royalist… Looks like it's all over,' the man said as he came and stood beside Napoleon and stared out across the gardens. 'We've won, then. Paris belongs to us now.'

'Some victory,' Napoleon muttered as he gazed out across the killing fields of the Tuileries. 'Do you know what's become of the royal family?'

The man snorted. 'Louis gave in the moment we breached the first gate.Took his family and ran for shelter in the riding school. Didn't bother to tell his men until it was too late to do any good. There's a lot of blood on his hands today.'

'I suppose so.' Napoleon nodded towards the mob in the gardens. 'I don't imagine the deputies will be able to protect the King for long.'

'King? He's not King any more. Not after today.You mark my words, Lieutenant. The monarchy's finished, and not even the Duke of Brunswick can do anything about it.'

Napoleon remembered the fate the Prussian commander had promised for the city if the Tuileries was attacked. 'I pray that you're right, citizen.'

Napoleon had seen enough – more than enough. When he had joined the army, he had never imagined that his first sight of a battlefield would be here amid the grandeur of Europe's finest palace. And he had never imagined it would look like a vision of hell. So this was what happened when the people ran out of control. Despite his sympathy for the suffering of the poorest classes of French society he could find no justification for the scene before him. Nor could he staunch the bitter feeling of disgust that swelled up inside him. Napoleon nodded farewell to the National Guardsman and turned to walk away, leaving the man to his victory.

Two days after the massacre of the Swiss Guards, Saliceti sent for Napoleon. When he arrived at the deputy's office Napoleon was kept waiting for over an hour before Saliceti finally appeared, looking exhausted. He swept past Napoleon, beckoning to the lieutenant to follow him into the office, then he closed the door behind them and slumped in his seat behind the desk.

'Those fools at the Assembly want to suspend the King.'

'Suspend?' Napoleon looked astonished. 'How do they expect to do that?'

'By a rope ideally.' Saliceti laughed. 'If only! No, I mean they refuse to depose him. They still can't see that it's him or us at the end of the day. In any case, it's out of their hands now.'

'What do you mean?'

'The Paris Commune has taken charge of the King. The Assembly can say what it likes, but Louis is a prisoner of the Commune and they're not going to hand him over until they get what they want.'

Napoleon stirred uneasily. 'What's going to happen to the King?'

'He, and the rest of the royal family, are being held in one of the towers at the Temple. Until their fate is decided. If the Jacobins win the day, he'll be dethroned, tried as a traitor and then…' Saliceti waved his hands. 'And then, he'll be disposed of.'

Napoleon bit his lip. Despite the angry cries of denunciation he had heard in the streets since the massacre, there had been few demands for the King's death, just his removal from the throne. But that was wishful thinking. As long as he lived, Louis would pose a danger to the new order in France.

'Anyway,' Saliceti broke into his thoughts,'I didn't send for you to discuss the fate of kings. That'll be my job. It's time for you to repay my favour. I have a tricky mission for you.You won't like it, and it is dangerous. Both for you and your family. You must understand that before I explain anything else to you.' Saliceti's dark eyes bored into Napoleon. 'Despite our desperate need for professional officers in the army I'm not sending you back to your regiment.'

Napoleon opened his mouth to protest. He had been kept idle in Paris while his regiment had no doubt been called forward to fight in the defence of France, and he longed to join them. To prove himself as a soldier and – if he was honest with himself – to win himself some glory.

Saliceti raised a hand to forestall Napoleon's complaint. 'I've made up my mind. It has to be you. One artillery officer more or less is going to have little effect on the outcome on the war. But one Buona Parte in the right place is going to be invaluable to me, and to France.'

Napoleon looked at him warily. 'What exactly is it that you want me to do?'

'Your promotion to captain will be effective immediately. Then I want you to return to Corsica. I want you to find out what Paoli is up to. If you can, I want you to destabilise him by any means that come to hand.'

'You want me to be a spy?' Napoleon replied quietly.

'Is that so terrible?' Saliceti smiled faintly. 'Please put aside that look of distaste, young man. Whatever you may think of me, I have one attribute that is unquestionable: I am an excellent judge of character. After I read the report on your activities at Ajaccio, I sent for your records at the War Office.They make for interesting reading. Clearly you are an outstanding officer. But one other thing was very evident to me when I pieced together all the information about you.You are the kind of man who possesses a personal ambition that overrules his patriotism.That's the kind of man I need right now. What? Do you think I have misjudged you?'

Napoleon stared back at him. At first he felt insulted. Then he realised that Saliceti had seen through him and that the deputy was right. Napoleon had felt the touch of destiny on his shoulder and when a man had had that experience, the rules and values that tied the hands of normal men no longer applied.

'Very well. I'll return to Corsica. I'll be your spy.'

Saliceti slowly smiled. 'Of course you will.'