The order was relayed down the line and the air was thick with the rasp of blades scraping from their scabbards. When the noise had died away, Arthur raised his blade high and then swept it forward towards the enemy to signal the advance.

He nudged his heels in and Diomed paced forward. On either side the line rippled into motion as the horses began to cross the open ground, half a mile from the waiting enemy.The officers and their sergeants kept shouting orders to keep the line dressed, and Arthur noted with professional satisfaction that the men were maintaining their positions almost as well as if they had been on an exercise at Horseguards.

Ahead he could see the enemy infantry raising their muskets, no more than four hundred yards away.

‘At the trot!’

The line lurched forward, slightly more uneven now as the pace increased. Ahead, the first of the enemy opened fire, flashes and puffs of smoke pricking out along the face of the mass of men awaiting the British cavalry. At that range Arthur knew the chances of any ball hitting a target were remote, but he felt his pulse quicken none the less, and as soon as they had closed to within three hundred yards he raised his sword again.

‘Gallop!’

Beneath him the ground shook as the iron-shod hooves thundered over the baked soil. The air was alive with flashes of sunlight glinting off blades and buttons and buckles. Before them the enemy line disappeared behind a curtain of gunfire and out of the corner of his eye Arthur saw a horse pitch forward as blood burst from a wound in its skull. Then it was gone, and Arthur guessed that they must be within a hundred paces of the enemy.

‘Charge!’