At a sharp word of command the company of grenadiers lining the approach to the tent snapped to attention and presented arms. The French officer pulled his sleeves down and straightened his jacket before striding towards Dalrymple. As he approached Arthur saw that the man was about the same age as himself and, judging from the proliferation of gold braid on his blue uniform coat, a general officer. His hair, streaked with grey, was tied back in a short tail, and though his features were heavy there was an intelligent spark in his eyes. He smiled slightly as he stopped in front of Sir Hew and bowed.

‘General Kellermann at your service, sir.’

His English was good, Arthur noted, though there was a faint accent to it that he could not immediately place.

‘Sir Hew Dalrymple at yours.’ The British commander returned the bow with a nod and gestured to the two men at his side. ‘May I present Sir Harry Burrard, my second in command, and Sir Arthur Wellesley.’

Kellermann’s eyes fixed on Arthur for a moment before he turned his gaze back to Dalrymple. ‘May I offer my congratulations on your fine victory yesterday, sir? I have never seen such magnificent troops as yours in battle. Steady as a rock and yet handled with a lightness of touch that does full credit to you, sir. I only wish our men had been equal to the occasion.’

‘Ah, yes . . .’ Dalrymple replied awkwardly. ‘The truth is that I have only just arrived, General.You were defeated by General Wellesley.’

Kellermann glanced at Arthur with an appearance of surprise. ‘I am confused. Surely in your absence General Burrard would have been the ranking officer.’

‘General Burrard did not reach the field until after the battle was as good as won,’ Dalrymple explained.

‘Ah, I see.’ Kellermann nodded, then turned very deliberately to Arthur and bowed. ‘Then it is to you that I offer my congratulations.’

Arthur bowed in return, sensing the irritation of both his superiors.

Dalrymple cleared his throat. ‘Yes, well, you’d better come inside the tent, General Kellermann.’

He led the way inside and the three British officers took their seats behind the table while Kellermann settled opposite them.

‘Now then,’ Dalrymple began, ‘you wish to discuss terms for an armistice.’

‘Yes, sir. My superior, General Junot, has authorised me to negotiate for the complete withdrawal of French forces from Portugal.’

Dalrymple’s eyebrows rose. ‘The surrender of Portugal?’

‘In effect, sir, yes.’ Kellermann nodded, then drew a folded sheet of paper from his pocket.‘The detailed terms are set out here. I have taken the liberty of translating them into English.’

‘Your command of our tongue is commendable,’ said Arthur. ‘But I cannot quite place the accent.’

Kellermann smiled.‘I had the honour of representing my country at our embassy to your former colonies in America.’

‘Ah!’ Burrard nodded. ‘That explains the coarseness of the accent.’