His face was lit in the blood-red hue as he stared towards the great swathe of Moscow that was on fire. He had reached the city shortly after noon, a day after the first of Murat’s cavalry had cautiously made their way through the abandoned streets. The road junctions had been plastered with copies of a proclamation issued by Moscow’s governor ordering the population to evacuate, or face arrest and possible execution for treason. Naturally, many had refused to leave and had gone into hiding, emerging later to enjoy the freedom to break into the wealthiest houses and steal whatever valuables they could find. They had scuttled away, back into concealment, the moment they caught sight of the French troops entering the city. For their part, the hungry, tattered figures of the Grand Army took over where the native looters had left off. ‘Who started the fires?’ Napoleon asked. ‘We haven’t discovered that yet, sire,’ Murat replied. ‘None of the infantry had penetrated that part of the city before the fires broke out, so it might have been the work of some of the cavalry patrols.
