He reached the ridge behind the small village of Barroilhet at noon, just as a single brigade of redcoats rushed into line to reinforce the Portuguese soldiers who had been holding off a series of French attacks all morning. The enemy had already gained possession of the village and were pouring forward, ready to assault the ridge. Arthur found General Hope sitting on a bench outside an inn giving orders for the defence of the new position. A bloodstained dressing had been tied round his left calf and his uniform jacket and hat had been shot through by musket balls. He rose stiffly to his feet to greet Arthur as he dismounted.

‘Glad to see you, sir.’

‘Lucky, more like.’ Arthur gestured to his wounded leg.

‘Indeed, sir. I went forward to Barroilhet the instant I heard the French had attacked. They were on us in a trice. My staff and I had to fight our way out.’

Arthur was tempted to comment that such an escape would not have been necessary if Hope had obeyed his orders. But there was no time for recrimination, and at least Hope had thrown himself into the fight the moment he recognised his peril.

‘What strength have you available to counter Soult?’

‘The remains of the two Portuguese brigades holding the village, and Aylmer’s brigade. I sent for the First Division at once. They should reach us before two in the afternoon.’

‘Good.’ Arthur nodded. ‘Until then, we will have to make do with what is here. At least the ground favours us.’

As at Arcangues the French were obliged to attack on a narrow front. Half a mile either side of the muddy road lay two small lakes, surrounded by bogs. If the line could be held long enough for the First Division to arrive then Soult could be contained and his audacious plan would fail. For an instant Arthur felt his heart warming to the enemy marshal. It must have been sorely tempting to attempt an attack on the stronger half of the allied army as it crossed the Nive. But Soult had seen that his foes were playing into his hands by straddling the army across the river. Instead of fighting, he had lured Hill’s column away from the crossing, and then marched his forces across the bridges at Bayonne to achieve an overwhelming advantage against the allied soldiers remaining on the west bank of the Nive.

‘Clever,’ Arthur muttered under his breath. ‘Very clever. Soult is a man who knows how to wait.’