The nearest men roared with laughter and Arthur stifled a grin as he leaned forward and urged his mount on. Once they had passed the Third Division, they came up to the rearmost battalion of the Light Division marching down a straight section of road. To their right was a steep line of hills that gradually fell away. Nearly two miles ahead Arthur could see a small village basking in the afternoon sunshine. A faint haze of dust showed on the far side of the village as an enemy column marched east. At first Arthur thought that the French division had escaped, but then the ensign thrust his arm out and pointed up the hill. On the crest stood a small group of officers staring down the far slope.

‘That’s General Alten, my lord.’The ensign led the way as they passed between two infantry companies and began to climb the slope. By the time they reached Alten the horses were blown, and Arthur swung himself down from the saddle, heart pounding.

‘Where is this enemy division of yours, Alten?’

‘Over there, sir.’ Alten gestured down the slope. Below, another road converged on the village. A long line of French soldiers and wagons was marching along at a quick pace. Hurrying down towards them were the green-jacketed men of the Ninety-fifth.

‘What is your plan?’ asked Arthur.

‘The Ninety-fifth will open fire on them as soon as they are within range. The Fifty-second are double-timing down our side of the hill to get ahead of the last brigade and form a firing line. My Portuguese lads are marching to the right before dropping down the slope to the road to cut off their retreat. It’s too late to catch the first two brigades,’ he nodded towards the haze of a distant column beyond the village, ‘but this one is in the bag.’

‘Very good.’ Arthur nodded approvingly.

Just then, the first of the riflemen opened fire on the French column, and the crackle of rifles spread along the slope. Several of the enemy were quickly struck down, and the others began to break ranks to look for cover. Their officers struggled to rally them and re-form their ranks ready to return fire at the Ninety-fifth. Just as they had been trained to, the riflemen targeted the officers and one by one they were cut down as they gave their orders. The survivors ordered their troops to fire a volley where they they could see the puffs of smoke, but the riflemen had plenty of time to take cover and the storm of musket balls tore up the stunted bushes and glanced off rocks and not one of the greenjackets was hit. As soon as the French lowered their muskets and began to reload they were steadily whittled down, falling in twos and threes, until, unable to bear the massacre any longer, the survivors broke and ran, streaming along the road towards the village. The riflemen continued to fire on the fugitives as quickly as they could reload and take aim, and soon the road was littered with dead and wounded men and a number of horses, shot in their traces, forcing the drivers to abandon their wagons.