With a secure base to his rear, garrisoned by a battalion of Company soldiers, Arthur moved north across the Godavery river, while Colonel Stevenson marched towards him across the territory of Hyderabad. As the summer sun baked the landscape the two British columns marched deeper into enemy territory, closely following reports of the movement of Scindia’s army. Such was the heat during daytime that the army broke camp while it was still dark and covered as much ground as possible before late morning, when they made camp and rested in whatever shade they could find. Then, late in September, news came that Scindia was at the village of Borkardan, two days’ march away. Arthur hastily sent a message to Stevenson instructing him to join Arthur’s column there to confront the enemy and force a battle. As word spread through the ranks that the enemy was close to hand the sense of excitement and tension was palpable.

On the morning of the 23rd the army ended their march at the village of Naulniah. If their intelligence was good, the enemy was camped another day’s march away, but already the soldiers were scanning the surrounding landscape for any signs of enemy horsemen. While the dusty columns of infantry, gun limbers and cavalry tramped into the area marked out for the camp the usual cavalry pickets were sent out to cover the approaches to the camp.

Arthur had just retired to his tent for some refreshment when he saw through the tent flaps a patrol from the 19th Dragoons come galloping up to the array of tents that formed the army’s headquarters. Their cornet hurriedly dismounted and beckoned to a brinjarri merchant riding with them. Arthur set down his cup of tea and rose to meet the dragoon officer.

‘What is it?’

‘Sir, this man ran into our patrol three miles from here. He says he was on his way to sell food to Scindia’s troops in their camp, nearby.’

Arthur’s attention snapped to the brinjarri merchant. He questioned him in Hindoostani. ‘Where is Scindia?’

‘Two or three coos from here, sahib.’

No more than six miles, Arthur calculated, his pulse quickening.

‘How many men are in this camp?’ he asked, and then realised that there was no question of the merchant’s being able to judge the number accurately. He tried another tack. ‘How big is this camp, then?’

The merchant paused a moment before he replied, struggling to work out the scope of what he had seen. ‘Sahib, they are camped along the Kaitna river, for a stretch of three coos.’