‘Yes, tonight. Hill’s men are pursuing him, and I’ll not have one more life lost through any avoidable delay in getting the news through to Soult. Go now.’

‘Yes, sir,’ Cooke said, and gestured to Colonel St-Simon to follow him as he strode from the banqueting hall.

Most of the French soldiers in the south were eager to believe the news, but Soult refused to accept that his master had fallen until he received confirmation from the hand of Berthier. Having allowed his men to celebrate the victory, Arthur soon began to issue the orders for their withdrawal to Bordeaux, from where they would be shipped home to Britain in due course. While the men were excited by the prospect of returning home, their officers were less sanguine once the initial delight over the great victory had faded. For many of them peace would mean half-pay and no chance of further promotion.

While the army began to adjust to the prospect of peace after two decades of war, Arthur travelled to Paris to take his place amongst the victors as they led the parade through the streets towards the Tuileries. There, the new King of France would review the soldiers and offer his gratitude for the sacrifices made by the allies in ridding Europe of the scourge of the Corsican Tyrant.

On 3 May, the day before the parade, Somerset presented Arthur with a letter from the Prince Regent as he sat eating his breakfast in his rooms in the suite provided for him and his staff in the Tuileries. Arthur lowered his knife and fork and finished chewing a morsel of lamb chop as he broke the seal and read through the contents. At length he lowered the letter on to the table and picked up his knife and fork to continue his breakfast. Somerset let out a low sigh of frustration.

‘Well, sir?’

Arthur cut off another chunk of lamb and glanced up. ‘I have been offered the embassy here in Paris. Oh, and it is confirmed that I am officially gazetted as the Duke of Wellington.’

Somerset beamed. ‘And not before time. May I be the first to offer my congratulations, your grace?’

‘I thank you, Somerset. It is, as you say, overdue, in as much as it honours all those who have served under me these last years.’

It might have sounded like a platitude from another man, but Somerset knew his commander well enough to know that the sentiment was heartfelt. For his part, Arthur felt a pang of resentment that this recognition of the army’s achievement should have been delayed by the enemies of his family in Parliament. The wretchedness of petty political intrigue had constantly threatened to undermine him and his men throughout their campaigns in the Peninsula. Well, it was better that reward came late than not at all.