‘Prepare to receive cavalry!’The order passed along the British lines and the men instantly moved to rejoin their formations and close ranks, well aware of the dangers of being caught out in the open by enemy cavalry. Once the British battalions stood ready, in lines three deep, a stillness settled over the battlefield. Two hundred yards away, the dragoons stood equally still, glinting swords resting against their shoulders.

‘Why don’t they charge?’ asked a staff officer close by Arthur.

‘Because they don’t have to,’ Somerset explained nonchalantly. ‘They know we won’t risk charging again and breaking ranks. Not in the face of their cavalry. Equally, they won’t risk attacking formed infantry. So we have something of an impasse. While the rest of their army escapes.’

‘Impasse be damned,’ Arthur growled. ‘Order the line to advance! Close formation . . .’

Once again the redcoats stepped forward, at a measured pace so that the dragoons continued to face an unbroken line of bayonets. As the redcoats closed to within a hundred paces of the enemy a bugle call pierced the hot air, blasting out a series of notes, repeated three times, and then the dragoons sheathed their blades, wheeled round and began to trot away towards the track leading up to the mountain pass through which the rest of the army had escaped.

Arthur gave the order to halt and watched the retreating dragoons in frustration. The enemy had been broken, and had Arthur had a single cavalry brigade to unleash they could have been utterly destroyed in the ensuing pursuit. As it was, Delaborde would soon rally his men and they would be ready to fight the British again in a matter of days.

‘A terrible waste,’ Arthur muttered as he surveyed the thick carpet of bodies surrounding the mouth of the gully. Dusk was gathering over the battlefield and a working party from the Rifles was gathering up the bodies of Lake’s battalion and carrying them to a mass grave that had been dug a short distance away.

‘Indeed, sir.’ Somerset sighed. ‘And to such little effect.’

‘Have they found Lake?’

‘Yes, sir. He was near the bottom of the pile. Must have been killed almost as soon as he emerged from the gully.’

‘Where is he?’

‘I’ve had the body taken to Roliça for burial in a private grave, sir.’

‘Very well.’ Arthur nodded and then asked the question he had been avoiding. ‘And the final butcher’s bill?’

‘Four hundred and fifty confirmed dead so far. Mostly from the Twenty-Ninth. Over seven hundred French accounted for, sir.’

‘Not quite a pyrrhic victory then,’ Arthur mused and then smiled bitterly.‘Here we are, somewhat less than fifteen thousand of us in Iberia against over a hundred thousand Frenchmen. Unless our soldiers can account for theirs at a ratio of one for ten, we have scant prospect of victory as things stand.’

Somerset shrugged. ‘Then it is up to our generals to improve the odds, sir.’

Arthur looked at him and smiled. ‘You are right. I will do my best.’

‘I would expect nothing less, sir.’

Arthur awoke with a start as someone shook his shoulder. A figure with a lantern was standing over his camp bed. Arthur blinked and then squinted past the flare of light to see Somerset in a loose shirt and breeches.

‘What time is it?’ Arthur mumbled.

‘Just past three in the morning, sir.’

‘What’s happened?’ Arthur sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed.

‘Just had word from the fleet, sir. Reinforcements have arrived. Four thousand men.They will begin landing the day after tomorrow.’

‘Where?’

‘At the mouth of the Maceira river. Near the village of Vimeiro, sir. A day’s march from here.’

Arthur smiled. Somerset must have been roused only shortly before he had come to wake his commander and had already marshalled the important details.

‘Very well. We will move the army towards Vimeiro at first light to cover the landing.’

‘Yes, sir.’

There was something in Somerset’s tone that made Arthur realise there was more news, something altogether less agreeable. He looked up at his aide. ‘Well?’

‘There’s a sloop following a day behind the reinforcements. Sir Harry Burrard is aboard.’

Arthur nodded wearily. So that was it then. It seemed his short tenure of command was about to come to an end. He sighed.

‘Have my steward prepare my best uniform. I will need to report to Sir Harry the moment his ship arrives.’

Chapter 45

The sun was low in the sky and streamed straight into Arthur’s face as he sat in the stern of the small launch. The last of the reinforcements had been landed hours earlier and was marching up to join the rest of the army encamped about Vimeiro. Anchored amidst the transports was the sloop Brazen, carrying Lieutenant-General Sir Harry Burrard. As soon as the sloop had arrived Arthur had ridden down to the shore and ordered the crew of the nearest launch to take him out to the Brazen.With weary obedience the sailors helped him aboard and then heaved the launch back into the surf, battling to get it some distance before clambering over the sides, unshipping the oars and rowing hard to propel the boat clear of the pounding surf and out to sea. The spray had drenched Arthur’s uniform, but he made the best of a bad job by brushing off any sand and shingle that remained on his boots and the salt that had dried on the gold lace and black facings of his jacket.

As the launch approached the side of the sloop a naval lieutenant cupped a hand to his mouth and asked if she was bound for the Brazen.

‘Aye, sir!’ the coxswain called out. ‘General Sir Arthur Wellesley comin’ aboard!’

The launch pulled in towards the side of the sloop and the sailors shipped oars as a man in the bows caught the chains with the boathook. Arthur rose from his bench and worked his way awkwardly forward until he reached the boarding ladder.Two sailors stood by ready to help him up, but Arthur judged his moment and stepped on to the ladder as the launch rose on top of a small wave. He was greeted on deck by the lieutenant.

‘The name’s Swinton, sir. Welcome aboard the Brazen.’

‘Good evening to you, Swinton.Would you be kind enough to take me to General Burrard?’

‘Indeed, if you’d follow me, sir.The general has been given my cabin.’

Swinton led him down a narrow gangway and knocked at the small door at the end.

‘Come!’

Opening the door, the lieutenant ducked inside and briefly announced Arthur before he stepped aside. Arthur ducked through the door frame and stood with his neck bent forward under the low deck overhead.The cabin stretched the full width of the sloop, and was perhaps ten foot in depth, barely enough to accommodate the desk and chairs that seemed to take up most of the available space.The stern windows were hooked open to admit a cooling breeze that stirred the grey locks of the officer seated behind the desk. Sir Harry Burrard had taken part in the Danish expedition and smiled a greeting at Arthur as he dismissed the lieutenant with a curt wave of the hand.