‘I don’t give a damn. It’s the job of the vedettes and the pickets to deal with such things. Not the damned artillery. Now Bonaparte knows where your batteries are sited, thanks to your gunners’ overeagerness. I’ve a damned good mind to break every sergeant back to private over this, d’you hear?’ Arthur leaned across his table, bearing his weight on his knuckles, and tried to moderate his tone.‘Now then, Frazer, you will have to see to it that the guns are repositioned. Perhaps a little hard work in the rain and the mud might help to clear the heads of your men, eh?’

‘Yes, your grace. I’ll give the order at once.’

‘I’d rather you oversaw the repositioning in person.’

‘Yes, your grace. Will that be all?’

Arthur nodded and his senior artillery officer turned smartly and marched to the door of the cottage. The sentry opened the door for him and Frazer disappeared into the rain. Once the door was closed, Arthur eased himself back down into his chair and gently rubbed his eyes. There was little doubt that Bonaparte knew that his army was in position on the ridge. Uxbridge’s cavalry patrols reported that more French troops were massing opposite the ridge with every passing hour. There was no question of further retreat. The position at Mont-St-Jean was the last decent defensive ground before Brussels, and there Arthur must stand and fight. His best hope was that Blücher would respond to his request and send some portion of his army to support Arthur. As yet there had been no answer.

Le Caillou, 4.00 a.m., 18 June

Napoleon stamped the mud from his boots as he handed the oilskin cape to a servant. He had just returned from a visit to his outposts to try to see if there was any sign that the enemy were withdrawing. The ridge was quiet and the sentries patrolling in front of the allied army were clearly visible against the dull hue of a multitude of camp fires burning on the reverse slope. Reassured that Wellington remained in position, Napoleon had returned to his headquarters. As he entered the dining room of the farmhouse Soult approached him.

‘Sire, a message has arrived from Grouchy.’

‘Ah, at last. What does he say?’

‘He has determined that the bulk of the Prussian army had retired on Wavre, and not towards Liège.’

‘Wavre?’ Napoleon’s brow creased as he concentrated on the implications of this news. It seemed that there was some truth in the story told by the waiter in Genappe after all. If Blücher was at Wavre then he needed to be watched closely to ensure that the Prussians did not intervene in the day’s business. ‘Does Grouchy say what his intentions are?’

‘Yes, sire. He intends to follow them in order to prevent them from reaching Brussels, and joining Wellington.’

‘Good. That is the right thing.’