Arthur completed his inspection of his battle line and joined his staff officers on the ridge a short distance above the chateau and grounds of Hougoumont. ‘Good morning, gentlemen!’ he called out cheerfully.

They returned the greeting and touched the brims of their hats in salute. A figure at the rear of the press of officers edged his mount through and Arthur saw that it was General Müffling. He trotted forward to Arthur’s side.

‘Sir, I have been looking for you this last half-hour. I have received a message from Marshal Blücher, sent at seven this morning.’

Arthur composed himself before he responded. ‘Well?’

‘He promises to support you with at least two corps of his army. And he will lead them in person.’

Arthur felt a lightness of spirit fill his heart and he allowed himself a faint smile as he spoke to Müffling. ‘I thank you, my friend. That is the very best of news.’

Arthur tugged on the reins and Copenhagen, his favourite mount, edged round to face the enemy, less than a mile away. As he surveyed the French, clearly massing for a frontal attack, Arthur realised quite how small the battlefield was. No more than three miles by two, within which the best part of two hundred thousand men were preparing to contest the ground. The French were manhandling the last of their guns into position, in the middle of their battle line.

‘There’s Napoleon, your grace,’ a voice called out.

Arthur glanced to his side. ‘I’ll thank you not to get carried away by your enthusiasm, de Lancey.’

His young quartermaster-general flushed. ‘I apologise, your grace.’ Arthur turned to gaze across the vale separating the two armies. Napoleon was clear to see, mounted once more on his snow-white horse, and escorted by a squadron of Polish lancers. As he made his way steadily between the massed formations of infantry his soldiers cheered wildly, some raising their shakos up in the air on the end of their muskets.

‘They put on quite a show,’ Uxbridge mused. ‘Doubt we’ll ever get the damned battle started at this rate.’

Arthur said nothing as he continued to watch his opponent. He was quite content for the French to waste time. Every minute that passed bought more time for Blücher’s soldiers to reach the battlefield. Bonaparte seemed wholly unconcerned by the passage of time as he paraded through the formations of his army for the best part of an hour before returning to his command post beside the Brussels road. A few minutes later a signal gun boomed from close by the Emperor’s position.

There was a faint click as Somerset opened his fob watch. ‘I make it close on eleven thirty, your grace.’

Arthur nodded. ‘Note it down.’ He cleared his throat. ‘The battle has begun, gentlemen. To your positions!’