‘Perhaps,’ Arthur mused. He had seen enough of the British cavalry in action to know how hot-headed they were. Far in advance of the rest of the army it would be rash indeed to permit them to mount any wild charge against the enemy. Besides, Soult’s men were hardened veterans of the Grand Army. Even now they would still form square and repulse any attempt by the British cavalry to break their ranks. He stiffened his posture in the saddle and continued to address his aide. ‘There is much to be risked in an unsupported attack, and little to gain. Soult’s men are beaten; he has abandoned every one of his guns. It will be quite some time before those men of his are ready to fight again.We have done our work, Somerset. Now it is time to retire. Time to turn and deal with Marshal Victor should he attempt to advance across the frontier.’

Somerset’s expression was bitter and crestfallen as he stared longingly at the retreating enemy column. Then he composed himself and nodded. ‘Yes, sir.’

‘Then give the order for the cavalry to turn back.’

‘Yes, sir.’ Somerset wheeled his mount round to ride over to the colonel of the nearest regiment of dragoons. Arthur remained alone for a moment, staring out across the Galician countryside. For a moment his heart was heavy with the thought of giving up the pursuit. But for his orders he might have contemplated charging Soult’s exhausted soldiers. He could imagine the excitement of the charge, the mad thrill of pounding across the open ground towards the enemy. Yes, it would have been exhilarating, he thought. But he was a general now and his army needed him.There was no one better able to defeat the French in the Peninsula. He had added to his reputation with victories at Vimeiro and Oporto, and had humbled two of Bonaparte’s most valued commanders.

A fine start, he told himself.Yet there was more to do, much more, before Portugal and Spain were finally set free from their French oppressors.Arthur took one more look at the land of Spain and resolved in his heart that soon, very soon, he would lead his army into the heart of the Peninsula and succeed where General Moore had failed. He had no doubts about the magnitude of the task that lay ahead of him. Bonaparte had poured some quarter of a million of his men into Spain. But even though the British were outnumbered they had proved that they were the masters of Europe’s battlefields. They had shown the whole of Europe that the blue-coated legions that marched under Bonaparte’s eagles could be beaten time and again.