As Arthur had hoped, the main strength of the French army had been drawn opposite the British. Over forty thousand of them, he estimated, while a few thousand faced the Spanish. It was an odd thing to have wished for, he mused, but the situation was such that the battle could only be won if the French were persuaded to concentrate their efforts on the British alone. Cuesta’s army was largely a spent force, and most of his men would only be onlookers in the day’s fighting.

‘Sir?’

He turned and saw Somerset approaching with a stoppered jug and a loaf of bread.

‘Thought you might like some breakfast, sir.’

‘Yes, yes I would. Thank you.’

As he watched the French gunners bring forward the first rounds of ammunition Arthur tore off small chunks of bread and chewed quickly. He swallowed, pulled the stopper out of the jug and took a swig. Instantly his face screwed up and he spat to one side. ‘By God, what is this?’

‘Wine, sir. I found it in a tavern outside the town. The French must have overlooked it when they passed through.’

‘Small wonder.’ Arthur put the jug down and nodded towards the enemy. ‘This is going to be a hard-fought battle, and the men know it.’ He glanced at Somerset. ‘I’ve seen their faces. They know the odds are against us.’

‘Then they will fight all the harder for it, sir.’

Arthur looked at him again and smiled. ‘I only hope they have as much spirit as you do. We shall know soon enough.’

A dull thud sounded and both men stared across the battlefield to where a plume of smoke eddied in the faint morning breeze as the French fired a signal gun. A moment later the main battery of enemy cannon sited opposite the ridge opened up, spitting flame and smoke before the roar carried up the slope like an uneven peal of thunder. The ridge was defended by General Hill’s division, formed up across the slope in two lines. The first shots began to strike home, smashing men into bloody fragments as they tore through the British ranks. The outnumbered British guns fired back, exacting a smaller toll of their own amongst the French infantry massed on the far side of the Portina. Arthur watched for a moment before he turned to Somerset.

‘Ride over to Hill and tell him to withdraw his men back over the crest of the ridge. Have them lie down, but be ready to rise up and advance at once.’

‘Yes, sir.’