Colonel Gordon disappeared into the night, galloping along the road to Sombreffe, and Arthur stretched his shoulders for a moment before settling down by one of the camp fires of the Ninety-second to await his return. The long hours of the night passed without incident as more soldiers arrived at the crossroads and were led to their positions by staff officers. At first Arthur’s spirits were high. It had been touch and go the previous afternoon, but his men had bested the enemy. Even if Blücher had not won at Ligny, he would be near enough for the armies to combine in the coming day. However, there was no sign of Gordon during the night, and as the first light appeared on the horizon a building sense of foreboding began to gnaw at Arthur’s heart. The sun rose, bathing the rolling landscape in a warm rosy hue. From the south came the faint sounds of trumpets as the French stirred, but there was no attempt to renew the previous day’s fighting.

Finally, at half past seven, Colonel Gordon returned. His horse was blown, its bridle covered in foam, and Gordon’s face looked gaunt as he dismounted and strode up towards Arthur.

‘Well?’

‘If you please, your grace, might we speak out of earshot of the others?’

Arthur frowned, but paced a short distance away from the headquarters staff, who exchanged a mixture of curious and anxious expressions.

‘Blücher was defeated yesterday, your grace.’ Gordon spoke softly. ‘Many of his formations were routed. The rest were forced to retreat.’

‘I see.’ Arthur felt his heart sink as he digested the news. ‘Then I take it he is no longer at Sombreffe.’

‘No, your grace. He has pulled his army back to Wavre. That’s why it took me so long to find them.’

‘Wavre?’ Arthur was momentarily stunned. ‘But that’s nearly twenty miles from here. By God, we are undone,’ he continued in a hushed tone as the full implication of the news struck home. Blücher was powerless to intervene if the French attacked Arthur’s army at Quatre Bras. Taking a deep breath, Arthur patted Gordon on the shoulder. ‘My thanks to you. I suppose in England they will say we have been licked. I can’t help it; as the Prussians have gone back, we must go too.’ He shook his head sadly. ‘Find yourself some refreshment. But first, send General Müffling to me.’

‘Yes, your grace.’

While he waited for the Prussian liaison officer Arthur glanced to the south and east, as if expecting to see the leading formations of the French army already advancing to attack him and seal their victory.

Müffling came up, hurriedly fastening his jacket buttons. ‘You sent for me?’

‘Yes. It seems that your countrymen were defeated yesterday.’

The Prussian’s jaw sagged in dismay. ‘I had not heard.’