Arthur nodded, but inside he felt himself shudder at the prospect. The affections of the mob were as changeable as the winds, and just as lacking in substance. So much had happened in the space of a month, he reflected. It was hard to measure the passage of days when each was so filled with events. The pace had been delirious, yet Arthur knew that he had an obligation to his soldiers to ensure that they were able to reap the profits of peace as soon as possible.

Once the celebrations in Paris were over Arthur returned to the army’s new headquarters at Bordeaux to oversee the dispersal of the soldiers who had served him, and England, so well during the war in the Peninsula and southern France. The British regiments were bound for a variety of destinations. Most would return to Britain, but some were destined for Ireland, the West Indies and the ongoing war in the American colonies.

The first formations to leave the army were the remaining Spanish troops, and then the Portuguese, setting off towards the Pyrenees, cheering Arthur as they marched past. The only ticklish business was what to do with the small army of camp followers, especially the ‘soldiers’ wives’ - the women who had attached themselves to many of the British soldiers, and borne them children. Very few were allowed to accompany their men back to England, and not a few of the soldiers simply refused to accept responsibility for them. So it was that Arthur watched a third column, weighed down by misery and the fear of an uncertain future, as it tramped away towards the border along with a motley collection of mules and carts.

It remained for Arthur to draft the last of his General Orders before the army was broken up. As he wrote, late into the evening of his last night with his soldiers, Arthur was well aware that he had honed the finest army in Europe and his men would have marched anywhere and done anything at his command. For all the desire for peace that burned in his heart he could not help feeling regret over the loss of such a formidable body of soldiers. Soon, all that was left to them would be the memories of their campaigns, the slowly dwindling impressions of battles that had shaped history. These would be tales recounted by stooped veterans to generations yet to be born, few of whom would ever grasp the significance of what Arthur’s men had achieved, outnumbered and far from home.

While he was certain to have won his place in the memory of his nation Arthur was saddened to think that those lesser in rank who had fought at his side were destined to slip into his shadow. He paused a moment to collect his thoughts before penning the last paragraph.