‘If Ashton is alive, send word of his condition. In any case, you will take charge of the equipping, training and disposition of our troops in the area. If Tipoo attacks you will hold him back for as long as possible and then conduct a fighting withdrawal to Madras. As for Ashton’s shooting, I want the culprit confined to quarters and you’re to see if we have enough evidence to warrant a court martial. I will not have any more duelling amongst the officers in my command. A man’s honour is one thing, but if upholding it compromises his obligations to his country, then his honour must go and hang. Make sure they all understand that, Wellesley. There’s to be no more of it!’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Very well then. Now find a horse and go.’

Arthur rode alone through the night. Fortunately the moon was showing enough of its pallid face to light his way and he spurred his mount along the track from Madras towards the field headquarters of the army at Arnee. He rode through sleeping villages, silent and dark, and only the occasional sullen barking of a woken dog heralded his passing.

He reached Arnee early the next morning. Entering the army camp outside the town, Arthur made for the cluster of large tents that marked the headquarters and dismounted. A staff officer emerged from the nearest tent at the sound of his arrival.

‘Where’s Colonel Ashton?’ Arthur demanded.

‘This way, sir.’ The lieutenant beckoned and as Arthur followed him inside he continued,‘Have you come from Madras, sir?’

‘I’ve been sent to assume command. How’s the Colonel?’

‘Difficult to say, sir. He seems calm enough to me, but the surgeon’s concerned that the wound will go bad. If that happens he’ll be gone in a matter of days.’

‘Sounds like an optimistic fellow, your surgeon.’

The lieutenant turned and managed a grim smile. ‘Despair comes naturally to him, sir. He’s from Scotland.’

As Arthur entered his tent, Ashton struggled to prop himself up on his camp bed, and smiled weakly as he reached out a trembling hand. ‘Really . . . you shouldn’t have.’

‘Don’t be a bloody fool.’ Arthur shook the hand and found his friend’s flesh hot and sweaty. The fever was already taking hold then, he thought sadly. ‘Rest yourself, Henry.’

‘Rest?’ Ashton chuckled and then winced, gritting his teeth as he fought off a wave of agony. It passed and he looked up at Arthur, his face pale and glistening with perspiration. There was a dressing strapped round his stomach, on which a dark stain showed over his side. ‘I rather think I’ll be resting peacefully enough quite soon.’