For most of the last five days the two armies had been marching alongside each other, sometimes separated by no more than two hundred yards, as if they were in a race. And it had been a race of sorts, Arthur reflected. Marmont had been driving his men on in an attempt to pull ahead of the allies and then turn to cut them off from Salamanca, on ground of Marmont’s choosing. For his part,Arthur had been urging his men to reach Salamanca first, and keep open their line of communication to Ciudad Rodrigo.

In the end, the allies had won the race, crossing the river Tormes some miles east of Salamanca the day before. After a night’s rest, Arthur had given the order for the baggage train to take the road to Ciudad Rodrigo while the army covered the retreat. Escorted by a Portuguese cavalry unit, the baggage train was obscured by a haze of dust as it headed away. Arthur had given orders for his men to form up on the reverse slope of a roughly horseshoe-shaped hill overlooking a valley, on the far side of which was a corresponding hill formation that curved round the first. In between was a tall free-standing hill known as the Greater Arapil, as it was marginally taller than the hill upon which Arthur sat with his staff observing the movements of Marmont’s army. Earlier that morning a French division had seized the hill and now, as they saw the English commander and his staff, some of them waved.

Arthur did not feel in any mood for levity. The most recent report from his scouts revealed that King Joseph was little more than a day’s march to the east of Marmont, and another column of reinforcements was a similar distance to the north. Today would be the last chance to fight on roughly equivalent terms. After that, the allied army would have no choice but to retreat to the fortress of Ciudad Rodrigo. So far Marshal Marmont had shown no sign of wanting to fight and Arthur’s men looked like spending the whole day without shade on the reverse slope of the ridge.

A movement caught Somerset’s eye and he turned towards a nearby farmhouse, surrounded by a low wall. One of the junior staff officers was waving his hat. Somerset raised his in reply and then prepared to address his commander, somewhat unnerved by Arthur’s irascible mood.

‘My lord, Lieutenant Henderson has managed to secure a light meal for us.’

‘What?’ Arthur glanced round. ‘What’s that?’

Somerset pointed to the farm. ‘I sent Henderson to organise some food, my lord. Neither you nor the staff officers have eaten today, and it’s nearly two in the afternoon. We can eat and still keep an eye on the enemy from there.’