Of all the forts that guarded the routes leading from Portugal into Spain, Badajoz was the most formidable by some margin, Arthur reflected as he rode past. Protected on two sides by the wide Guadiana and one of its tributaries, the city was surrounded by a massive curtain wall, with powerful bastions at regular intervals. On a rock, in one corner of the city, the citadel was defended by yet another tough wall. The choice facing the British was whether to reduce San Cristobal and then use that as a platform to bombard the city, or to attempt to breach the walls from the other side, and then assault the defences. Either would be a costly affair. Casting his eye over the fort across the river, Arthur considered that it was all but impregnable and decided that he must instruct Beresford to abandon his designs on San Cristobal and concentrate his efforts directly on Badajoz.

The subdued spirits of the men of Beresford’s column were readily apparent. The pickets covering the approaches to the camp made little effort to patrol their ground, but sat in the shade, muskets leaning against the trunks of the nearest tree. Further on, the tents and shelters sprawled across the rolling hills in makeshift clusters, rather than the neat lines that Arthur insisted on. The men, stripped down to shirtsleeves, patched trousers and felt caps, were resting in small groups as they talked quietly or slept. The lively ambience of a normal camp was absent.

As some of the men spied the new arrivals a handful stood up.

‘Why, it’s Nosey!’ a voice cried out.‘It’s Nosey! He’s ’ere! Hurrah for old Nosey!’

Scores more of the men rose to their feet and most of them cheered. Others, Arthur noted sadly, did nothing but stare as their commander in chief and his escort rode through the camp.

Arthur sensed Somerset stiffening by his side. The aide cleared his throat. ‘Er, want me to shut them up, my lord?’

‘No. It’s not necessary. If it pleases them, then it serves my purpose, for the present.’

‘Yes, sir.’

They rode on through the camp, accompanied by a ripple of cheers so that by the time they reached the farmhouse that served as Beresford’s headquarters several officers had stirred to witness his approach. Arthur’s heart sank a little further as he saw that some still wore the bloodied and dirty uniforms they had on the day of the battle. None the less, they made an effort to stand to attention as he rode up and dismounted, handing the reins over to one of Beresford’s grooms.