Arthur trotted over to Mackenzie’s side. ‘Make sure your men don’t fire until they are certain they see the enemy. Donkin, and what’s left of his men, will appear first.’

‘Yes, sir.’ Mackenzie hurriedly briefed two officers and sent them down the line in each direction to pass on the instruction. There was not long to wait. The uneven crackle of muskets quickly drew closer and then the first British soldiers could be seen, some helping wounded comrades while others fired their muskets and fell back to take cover behind trees where they reloaded and fired again at their pursuers. The first of the French skirmishers were not far behind, flitting through the sunlit shafts of powder smoke that hung in the still air of the olive groves. As the last of Donkin’s men passed though the gaps in the line, Mackenzie bellowed out the order.

‘Present arms! Make ready to fire!’

There was a muted shuffling as his men raised their muskets and waited for the next command.

‘Cock your weapons!’

A sharp clatter passed down the line as the men thumbed back the firing hammers of their primed muskets.

‘Take aim!’

Up came the muzzles as the soldiers pointed them in the direction of the enemy soldiers who had halted and now flinched as they faced the first volley.

‘Fire!’

The command merged with the crash of volleys fired by each company along the length of the British line. A dense cloud of smoke instantly filled the air beneath the trees. From his vantage point in the saddle Arthur saw the withering hail of lead slash the French ranks, cutting down a score of men and sending others reeling, while leaves, twigs and bark exploded off the trees.

‘Reload!’ Mackenzie shouted. ‘Fire by companies!’

The shaken French fired a few hurried shots in return before a second British volley struck home, and then Mackenzie gave the order to fix bayonets. There was a brief clatter as the men slid the bayonets over the end of their muskets and twisted them into the locked position.

‘Advance!’

The British line paced forward into the slowly dispersing powder smoke and became spectral figures in the gloom before they emerged on the far side, scarcely twenty paces from the nearest Frenchmen. The grim faces of the redcoats and the deadly glimmer of their bayonets were enough to send a ripple of mortal terror through the enemy ranks, and those nearest edged back, then turned and hurried away, despite the shouted encouragement and threats of their officers and sergeants.

Satisfied that Mackenzie had the situation in hand, Arthur let out a deep sigh of relief and nodded with satisfaction. ‘That will do for now. Come, Somerset.’