The first evening the army camped in the hills. Arthur was hunched over a map in his tent when Somerset entered in the company of a naval officer. Outside, the army was setting up camp in the cool evening air. Row upon row of the new white tents were being erected on the more level stretches of the surrounding slopes. An exhausting day’s march had left the men quieter than usual and many had not bothered to light a fire, eating their rations cold before sorting out some bracken to lie on and promptly falling asleep.

Arthur was in a fine mood and he grinned as he looked up at his aide. ‘Twenty-one miles today, Somerset! Fine progress, eh? We’re advancing faster than the French can retreat.’

‘Fine progress indeed, my lord. But progress towards what, exactly?’

‘All in due course. Who is that with you?’

Somerset stood aside and ushered the officer into the tent. ‘Lieutenant Carstairs, of His Majesty’s Ship Apollo. He landed on the north coast and was escorted here by a band of partisans.’

Carstairs stepped towards Arthur’s table and swept off his hat. ‘I’ve been sent by my captain to find you, my lord. He commands the frigate squadron escorting the supply convoy from Southampton. We had orders to land your supplies in Oporto but found that you had left instructions to land them at Santander instead, and if the port was still in enemy hands we were to make contact with you for fresh orders. So, here I am.’

‘Good work, Carstairs. I like an officer who takes the initiative. How was your journey?’

‘Surprisingly easy, my lord. I have not seen a single French patrol between the coast and your camp.’

‘I’m not surprised. Joseph Bonaparte is pulling every spare man back to the Ebro. The French are in a complete flap.’ Arthur laughed, the customary whooping bark that Somerset had grown used to, but the naval officer looked at him in some alarm.

‘Now then,’ Arthur continued. ‘As to the matter of my supplies, I want your captain to have the convoy heave to off Santander until such time as we have taken the port. I take it that will not cause the Navy any difficulty.’

‘No, my lord. The escort squadron is provisioned for another two months. I am uncertain as to the arrangements of the merchant vessels, but we can feed their crews from our stores if need be.’

‘Good. I would be obliged if you would ask your captain to advise the admiralty that all supplies and reinforcements are to be sent to Santander from now on.’

Carstairs looked surprised. ‘Do you mean every convoy, my lord?’

‘I do. We are cutting our communications with Portugal once and for all. Henceforth we shall be supplied from the north coast of Spain.’

‘Forgive me, my lord, but from what I understand the admiralty has not been informed of such rerouting of the convoys.’