So it was that on a fine bright day in the middle of June Arthur was strolling briskly along Whitehall to the War Office.Turning through the gates at Horseguards he passed between the sentries at the main entrance and presented himself at the desk at the end of the hall.

‘Major-General Sir Arthur Wellesley. I have an appointment with the minister.’

The clerk glanced down the list of names and then nodded to one of the orderlies seated behind him. ‘Take the general upstairs. Minister’s office.’

‘Yes, sir.’ The orderly bowed his head. ‘If you’d follow me, sir?’

As they climbed the staircase and passed along corridors Arthur was aware of a good deal more activity than had been the case on his previous visit. Clerks and officers were busy at their desks in each room they walked by. Others hurried along the corridors with sheafs of paper clutched tightly to their sides.

‘It would appear that the War Office is engaged in planning something rather grand.’

‘Yes, indeed, sir.’The orderly glanced back and nodded, before lowering his voice. ‘Word is that there are plans to invade France itself, sir.’

‘Really?’ Arthur doubted it. There was no sense in such a direct approach to the enemy. Not when there was no earthly chance of success against the numbers the French could bring to bear against a British army setting foot on their soil. ‘Any news from the continent?’

The orderly nodded. ‘I heard from a clerk upstairs that the latest despatch says that Boney has forced the Russians to make peace. The beggar’s unbeatable.’

Arthur glanced at him sharply. ‘No general is unbeatable, it is just a question of time. Bonaparte will be beaten one day.’

‘Really, sir?’

‘You have my word on it.’

‘That’s a comfort,’ the orderly replied and Arthur felt a brief spark of anger at the man’s tone, before his mind fixed on the news. So Bonaparte had defeated the Russians.Arthur shook his head at the Tsar’s rashness. He was doing Bonaparte’s work for him.This was the price an army paid when it was led in person by a monarch, rather than a professional soldier. Arthur smiled wryly. France was indeed fortunate that her ruler and the very best of her generals were one and the same man. Fortunate for France, but a curse to her enemies.