Arthur felt his stomach tighten as he watched. The battalion could not possibly hold its ground for long, and when it gave way the French could charge into Cole’s flank and begin to roll up the allied line. Another French volley ripped through the battalion, cutting down scores of redcoats. Now it seemed that more lay crumpled on the ground than still stood, steadily reloading and firing into the oncoming French formation.

Arthur was aware that General Alava was watching him, trying to gauge his reaction, and he determined not to show the Spaniard any sign of the anxiety that gnawed at his heart. He looked to his left and saw that Clinton’s men had reached the crest and begun to descend the slope. But they would not reach the hill in time to prevent the collapse of Cole’s division.

‘Who’s that?’ Somerset asked, then hurriedly lifted his telescope to examine a formation approaching the hill. It had been hidden from Arthur and his staff by a spur reaching out from the Lesser Arapil. ‘It’s a Portuguese brigade! Must be from the reserves, sir.’

Arthur was watching them now, and saw a general in a heavily gold-braided uniform leading them from the front. He smiled.‘Good for you, Beresford.’

The fresh Portuguese brigade marched swiftly across the intervening ground and formed a firing line on the flank of the French division that had been poised to crush General Cole and his men. With a dull crash the brigade fired into the the French flank, cutting it down almost to a man. The French advance abruptly stopped, and hurriedly began to swing back the right of its line to face the new threat.

Cole’s division had been saved and Arthur breathed a sigh of relief as he exchanged a quick glance with General Alava. ‘That was close.’

‘Indeed?’ Alava laughed. ‘I would never have guessed it from your demeanour, my lord.’

Arthur turned back to observe the battle and saw that Cole had withdrawn one of his brigades from the crumbling French line to his front and sent it to reinforce his flank, stabilising his position. Caught in the angle between two allied brigades, the French began to pull back towards the protection of the hill’s summit. Clinton’s men began to climb the hill, the red line wavering slightly as the soldiers struggled across the boulders and patches of scrub that covered the slope. Above them the enemy re-formed, and such was the gradient that Arthur could see that the rear ranks would have a clear shot over the heads of those before them.

‘General Clinton will find the going hard,’ Alava mused as he watched the redcoats slowly advancing upon the waiting French men.