‘I should imagine so. Tell this man that I am General Lord Wellington, Marshal of Portugal and commander of the allied army. I must speak to his master on a matter of some urgency.’

The introduction was translated and the servant looked at Arthur closely and then opened the door and waved him inside. There was a large hall within, and Arthur could just make out the forms of picture frames and tapestries adorning the walls. The servant indicated some benches on either side of the door and muttered a few words.

‘He tells us to wait here, sir,’ said the translator, ‘while he wakes his master.’

‘Very well.’

Arthur sat on one side, and the Portuguese translator respectfully took the other bench. Removing his hat, Arthur wiped his sodden locks of hair aside and made a mental note to have his hair cut short again, as soon as opportunity permitted. He unbuttoned his coat, setting it to one side so that his uniform jacket would be visible, with the star of his knighthood and other decorations pinned to his breast.

Don Roberto did not keep his unexpected visitors waiting long. The loom of a lamp appeared in a corridor off to one side of the entrance hall, and a moment later the servant returned, holding the lantern high to light the way for his master. Arthur and the translator rose to their feet and bowed their heads in greeting.

The Portuguese landowner was an elderly man with a thin, haughty face. A neatly trimmed beard of snowy white lined his jaw and he regarded Arthur with piercing brown eyes. He gestured to the bench and muttered to the translator.

‘His honour bids you sit down, while his servant fetches a chair.’

The servant put the lantern on the floor and hurried to the side of the hall, returning a moment later with a heavy oak chair, inlaid with ivory in a geometric Moorish design. Arthur waited for his host to sit before taking his place on the bench again. The translator remained standing.

‘The hour is late,’ Arthur began,‘so please excuse me if I speak to the point.’

Don Roberto inclined his head in assent as he heard the translation.

‘I have come to apologise for the behaviour of the officer I sent to buy your cattle. Captain Devere is newly arrived from England. He is unused to the ways of foreign people, and he is young enough to not consider the impression he creates. I would have you know that he is not typical of English officers. I have also come to ask that you reconsider your refusal to sell your cattle.’

As the translator began to convey Arthur’s words, Don Roberto held up his hand.

‘That is not necessary. I understand perfectly well, thank you.’

Arthur could not help letting a brief look of surprise cross his face, and the Portuguese noble smiled. ‘What? Did you think that I only spoke the local . . . lingo?’