‘We shall see,’ Arthur responded quietly as he glanced at his watch. It was nearly six. Less than three hours had passed since the first shots had been fired and the sun hung low to the west, bathing the dust and smoke of the battlefield in a ruddy red-brown glow. To the south Arthur could see thousands of the French fleeing over the crest of the ridge, pursued by cavalry. The British infantry had all but given up the pursuit, and were wearily re-forming their ranks amid the enemy bodies that littered the rising ground.

A sudden crackle of gunfire from the Greater Arapil drew all eyes to its slopes as the French opened fire on Clinton’s division. For once, the French firepower was massed in such a way as to permit more than just the front rank sight of the enemy, and Arthur saw the leading British brigade stagger to a halt as the leading ranks were decimated by enemy musket balls. The men steadily dressed to the right, lowered their bayonets and continued forward, closing the last hundred or so paces to the enemy. Another French volley ripped out, cutting down more men, and then Clinton swept his sword forward and with a harsh roar his men charged through the smoke and threw themselves at the French. There was a short struggle before the French fell back and retreated down the far side of the hill, closely pursued by Clinton and his men, who were intent on driving them from the battlefield.

Arthur nodded his satisfaction. There was just one section of the French army remaining now, still covering the road leading from Salamanca, where the first skirmishes of the day had taken place. Leaving Somerset with orders to organise the pursuit of the rest of the French army until midnight, Arthur and General Alava rode across the hill to the Light Division, which had not moved since the battle had begun. General Alten was forward of his front line watching his skirmishers exchange fire with the enemy as Arthur and Alava rode up. Occasional musket balls passed by with a dull whirr before they slapped into the ground.

‘How goes the battle?’ asked Alten.

‘It is won,’ Arthur replied. ‘All that remains is for your division to follow the French up. Engage the rearguard and drive it back.’

‘That will be a pleasure, sir.’

Arthur reached his hand up to touch the brim of his hat. ‘You have your orders, General. Hang on their heels. Give them no respite. We have Marmont beaten; now we must ensure that his army is destroyed.’