The army had slipped away from Burgos a few days earlier, under cover of darkness. With the wheels of the guns and the wagons muffled by straw, they passed over the bridge at Burgos and then marched south-west towards Valladolid and the river Douro. It was Arthur’s intention to put as much distance as possible between his men and the French Army of Portugal. Any hope that the enemy was still too demoralised to fight after the defeat they had endured at Salamanca was soon dashed. They pursued the allied army with all the speed they could muster and pressed forward with the sturdy confidence of those who had the bigger battalions on their side. As the month had drawn to a close it had become clear that the French were too strong for Arthur to risk battle and he would be forced to give up any hope of keeping his forces in central Spain ready to renew the campaign the following year. Now, it seemed that he was in danger of being trapped here.

He looked up at Somerset. ‘There is no question over what we must do. Hill is to quit Madrid at once. I had hoped that we might join forces north of there, but it’s too late for that now. Send an order to him to meet me at Salamanca. Meanwhile he is not to engage the enemy.’

Somerset looked surprised. ‘It is your intention to allow the French to retake the capital, my lord?’

‘What would you have me do? Hill cannot stand against Soult alone.’

‘I agree, sir, but what will our Spanish allies make of this? They will say that we have betrayed them.’

‘By God, they can say what they damn well like!’ Arthur thumped his fist down on the table. At once he relented, furious with himself for having succumbed to the foul temper that had been brewing within him ever since the army had failed to take Burgos. He drew a deep breath and opened his fist, forcing himself to continue in a calmer tone. ‘I am sure that our Spanish allies will pour scorn on us for this. However, that is the cross we must bear. After all, we owe them little. I have learned never to expect much from the efforts of the Spanish grandees, even after all that we have done for them. They may cry viva, and they are friendly towards us, and hate the French, but in general they are the most incapable of useful exertion of all people I have known, and the most vain. So in balancing the good of my army against the goodwill of the Spanish, there is no question about which side my sympathies lie, Somerset.’ He looked at his aide, his eyes dry and sore from lack of sleep, and his head aching for the same reason. ‘Now, will you please be so kind as to send the order to Hill?’