‘If we cannot attack the enemy then we must lure him into attacking us. That is why I have given orders for the construction of the defence lines to the north of Lisbon. For the moment Napoleon has fashioned a peace with the other powers on the continent. That means he will be able to concentrate a large army in Spain, tasked with crushing my forces here in Portugal. So, I will make a show of preparing to fight the French, while the land in front of the lines is cleared of people and stripped of food, shelter and forage. Then I will fall back into the defences and wait there for the enemy. The French will face the choice of trying to starve us out, or retreating back into Spain. Since we can be readily supplied by sea we shall not go hungry. The enemy on the other hand will begin to starve, yet they will not retreat for fear of incurring the Emperor’s wrath. That dilemma will destroy them.’ Arthur eased himself back into his chair. ‘That, Henry, is my strategy. We may not be able to win the war here, but we certainly won’t lose it, provided England is patient and generous with its supplies of men and money. It may seem perverse, but I would welcome a French attack. I only hope it arrives before the government in London loses its nerve and orders me to withdraw.’

Henry was silent for a moment and then nodded. ‘I will do what I can to prevent that, but you must realise that England expects victories, sooner rather than later.’

‘Victories we will have, when I am ready to deliver them.’ Arthur refilled their glasses and looked closely at his brother. Henry’s face was lined and his hair was streaked with grey. His duties in the service of his nation had aged him.

There was a tap on the door and Arthur twisted round towards the noise. ‘Come!’

The door opened and Somerset entered. Behind him, in the corridor, stood another junior officer, waiting in the shadows.

‘What is it, Somerset?’

‘Sir, I have to report that Captain Devere has returned.’

‘Ah, good! Show the man in.’

Somerset stood aside and beckoned to the officer outside. He strode into the room, the firelight gleaming off the braid adorning the pelisse of his hussar’s uniform. Devere was a recent arrival. He had been assigned a position on Arthur’s staff as a favour to one of Richard’s allies in Parliament. He was competent enough, but his arrogance was yet to be tempered by experience. Arthur had sent him out at dawn to negotiate the sale of a herd of cattle from a Portuguese landowner. The sound of his footsteps echoed off the walls as he strode across the tiled floor and halted in front of Arthur with an elaborate salute.

‘Sir, beg to report that I have returned from my assignment.’