Arthur and Somerset exchanged a brief look, then Arthur grasped the handle and opened the door. The room was dimly lit; a single narrow shaft of light entered through a window. Adjusting his eyes to the gloom Arthur saw that they were in the dining room. Beresford sat on a plain wooden chair on the far side of a long, sturdy table. A pile of reports and other papers lay to one side. To the other side were two bottles of claret and a glass. Beresford sat in his shirt and breeches, pen in hand as he leaned over a document on the table. He stared at Arthur for a moment and frowned.

‘I wasn’t expecting you, my lord.’

‘Evidently.’Arthur crossed the room, drew up a chair and sat opposite General Beresford. ‘I was on my way to assess the progress of the siege when we received the first report of the battle. I take it that you have written a full account for me?’

Beresford nodded towards the papers immediately before him. ‘I was just writing the conclusion. Rather, I was rewriting it. It’s been hard to relate precisely what happened. They will not understand back in London. Nor forgive.’

‘That remains to be seen, my dear Beresford.’ Arthur smiled gently. ‘Now then, if I may read your report, while Somerset finds us something to eat. It’s been a long, hard ride and I am famished. See to it, Somerset.’

‘Yes, sir.’

Once the aide had left them, Arthur gestured towards the report. ‘I’ll look at it while I wait.’

Beresford glanced down at the slim sheaf of papers and bit his lip. Then he lowered his pen and slid his report across to Arthur. ‘Yes, of course.’

Arthur turned in his chair to let the light fall across his lap and began to read. It was as he feared. Beresford had been badly shaken by the mauling he and his men had endured. It was evident in the dark tone that pervaded his description of the conflict and Arthur could readily imagine the stir it would cause if the document reached the London papers in its current form. Especially the conclusion, where Beresford dwelt on the heavy losses he had endured, and the large number of men who had been injured, and the savage blow that had been dealt to the men’s spirits.

Somerset returned with a servant carrying a tray of cold chicken, bread and a jug of watered wine which he set down at one end of the table before quitting the presence of his superiors. Arthur finished reading the report as the others waited in silence. He placed the papers on the table and eased himself back in his chair as he stared across at Beresford.

‘You had a hard fight of it, that much is clear. But you won the day, and that is what counts.’

‘Won the day?’ Beresford sniffed. ‘I hardly think that is of any comfort to the families of the dead men, nor those who will have a cripple return home from the war.’