Arthur wheeled his horse round and headed back in the direction of Busaco. Below, to the east of the brow of the hill on which the convent stood, he could see more enemy columns making for the road that led up the slope. This would be the main attack, he realised. The assault on the ridge to the south of Busaco was a diversion. Masséna intended to draw off allied forces to protect their flank, before throwing his main blow at the convent.

By the time Arthur and Somerset returned to the brow of the hill overlooking the village of Sula, the riflemen and the battery positioned there were already engaging the French skirmishers advancing up the road. Puffs of smoke from the scattered trees and boulders on either side of the road marked their advance as they picked their way towards the village. The British returned fire from the buildings they had fortified on the edge of Sula and every so often one of the guns would boom out as their crew spotted a cluster of enemy skirmishers that merited a blast of case shot. Even as Arthur watched he saw that the French were steadily advancing and would soon reach the village.

‘Those men cannot hold position, sir,’ said Somerset.

‘No, I suppose not.’

There was a brief pause before Somerset cleared his throat and continued. ‘Shall I order Craufurd to send men to reinforce Sula, sir?’

Arthur shook his head. ‘Craufurd knows his business. He will act in good time.’

Arthur had spoken confidently, but he hoped that he had not misjudged the commander of the Light Division. While generally a fine officer, Craufurd had an unnerving tendency towards over-confidence on occasion. Fortunately, the gun crews had ceased firing, and they begun to limber their cannon as the riflemen intensified their covering fire to slow down the enemy skirmishers. Then, as the horse teams trundled out of the village and up the road towards the convent, the green-jacketed riflemen fell back in pairs to re-join their division. From where he sat on his horse Arthur could see the men of the Fifty-second lying down just behind the crest of the ridge as they waited for orders. Before them stood Craufurd on horseback, calmly watching as the French skirmishers swept through the village and then waited as the main column climbed up to join them. There was a pause before Arthur heard the faint rumble of thousands of boots scraping over the dried ruts of the road, and then the main body of the enemy emerged from the trees a short distance from Sula. There were three columns in the attacking force, each advancing on a company frontage of little more than a hundred men.

With standards held high, but breathing heavily from their effort to ascend the ridge, the French marched steadily over the open ground just before the crest. Ahead of the middle column Craufurd held his ground, defiantly facing the enemy.