‘Not yet. They are sure to appear soon. Meanwhile, it is time that we attacked the front of the French line.’ Arthur gestured to the wooded slopes to his left where the Light Division was waiting for the order to advance.‘Order Alten to move forward to the river. They are to take the bridge at Villodas and begin crossing to the far bank. Cole’s division is to cross here at Nanclares.’

By the time that the orders had been given and the two divisions were advancing, the sound of cannon fire was echoing across the valley from the east. Through his telescope Arthur could see banks of powder smoke forming either side of the river as Graham’s column began to contest the crossings north of Vitoria. He swept his telescope to examine the hills to his left and muttered a curse when he could still see no sign of Dalhousie’s men. If they did not appear soon and divert the enemy’s attention then Marshal Jourdan would be able to meet the attack of the Light Division and Cole’s division with every available man and cannon.

‘Somerset, send an officer to find Dalhousie. Tell the general to cross the river and engage the enemy at once. I’m riding forward to that knoll there, by Villodas.’

Somerset stared towards the village and saw that there were still Frenchmen defending the small cluster of houses that made up the village. Pairs of riflemen were rushing from cover to cover as they closed in on the Frenchmen amid a steady, uneven crackle of gunfire. Somerset cleared his throat. ‘My lord, isn’t that a little too close to the fighting?’

‘Can’t be helped,’ Arthur replied as he grasped the reins and urged his horse forward. ‘I must have a better view of the battlefield.’

He nudged his spurs in and the horse cantered forward across the lush green grass of a meadow, where a handful of goats that had evaded the French foragers scattered at his approach. He passed between two regiments of the Light Division and the men raised a hearty cheer as he rode by. Shortly before he reached the knoll he came across General Alten and his small staff.

‘Good day, my lord.’ Alten touched the brim of his hat.

Arthur returned the greeting and indicated the top of the knoll. ‘Ride with me, Alten.’

They urged their horses up the slope and reined in at the top where they had a clear view of the village below and the old stone bridge over the Zadorra. No more than two hundred yards ahead the rifles were still duelling with the French skirmishers. At the sight of the two British officers a number of muskets were pointed in their direction and a handful of shots whipped through the air close by. Arthur felt the familiar tightening of his guts but forced himself to retain his calm facade.