‘Ashton’s dead.’

‘Yes, sir. I’m afraid so.’

‘When did it happen?’

‘A moment ago. He lost consciousness an hour or so earlier.’

‘Thank God.’ Arthur lowered his head to conceal the grief that theatened to break down his calm expression. ‘Thank you. I’m grateful to you for doing what you could for him. I’ll give the orders to prepare for his burial.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Now please go.’ Arthur waved him away, then went back to his desk and covered his face with his hands. Ashton had died needlessly . . . pointlessly. His promise had been evident to all who knew him. One day he might have been a great general. Instead he had died for no better reason than hurting a man’s pride. It was too cruel, especially at a time when his country needed its finest officers more than ever. Arthur swore to himself that, as far as it was in his power to make it so, he would never permit such a waste of life and potential to occur again while he held a military command.

As the new year of 1799 dawned, Arthur received news that Richard and Henry had arrived in Madras to oversee the preparations for the war with Tipoo and to be ready to respond to any military or diplomatic emergency that might occur. Even though Richard had instructed Lord Clive to continue running the presidency as if Richard was still in Calcutta, he sent a coded message to Arthur to see what his younger brother felt about the idea of Richard’s accompanying General Harris on the coming campaign, in an advisory role.Arthur read the letter with a sinking heart. Much as he respected Richard’s administrative abilities, his brother was no soldier, and had little appreciation of the niceties of etiquette as regarded the military hierarchy. Harris would need to concentrate all his efforts on manoeuvring his army and fixing and destroying Tipoo’s forces. The last thing the general needed was a civilian official looking over his shoulder and offering helpful suggestions.

He picked up a pen and flicked open the cap of his inkwell, and paused. How should he phrase his response to Richard? Then he smiled to himself. Richard was family, and deserved to be addressed as such. He neatly wrote a brief note:

My dear Richard, all I can say is that if I were Harris, and you joined the army, I should quit it!

There, he thought, that summed it up nicely. He folded the paper, sealed it and added the letter to the correspondence to be sent back to Madras the following day.

Throughout January Arthur continued to drill his troops regularly and gave instructions that the men were to practise live firing. This at once drew down the wrath of the Military Board in Madras who fired off an angry complaint, copied to Lord Clive and General Harris, about his wanton profligacy with the property of the East India Company. With more than a hint of delight in the poetic justice of the situation, Harris wrote to Arthur to tell him that Richard had referred the matter back to Parliament and the Company’s board of directors for a decision.

Richard made one last attempt to negotiate with Tipoo, and sent him a letter warning him of the perils of being allied to France and earnestly entreating him to keep peace with England and the East India Company.There was no reply and the army of Madras continued to prepare for war throughout January. At the end of the month General Harris arrived in Arnee to take command of the army, and relieve Arthur.

‘No officer could have done more to prepare his men in so little time,’ he concluded after Arthur had briefed him on the measures he had taken to ensure that the army was ready to march against Tipoo.

‘Thank you, sir.’ Arthur was proud of his achievement, but now that Harris and his staff had arrived Arthur was seventh in seniority amongst the higher-ranking officers and it galled him that others would take credit for his labours. Worse still, he was now commanding only the men of his regiment, once again. A lowly line officer far removed from the direction of the war.

General Harris was watching him closely, and could not help smiling.‘You will have your chance to win recognition,Wellesley. Sooner than you think. I will not say any more at present, for fear that it might cause bad feeling amongst some of the other officers.’

‘I don’t understand, sir.’

‘You will. But you must be patient for just a little longer.’

Two days later General Harris summoned his senior officers to his headquarters. When all were present he produced a dispatch from inside his jacket.

‘Gentlemen, I have today received orders from the Governor General. The army is to break camp tomorrow and march on Seringapatam. The war has begun.’

Chapter 39

Napoleon

Alexandria, August 1798

Aboukir Bay reeked of death and destruction even several days after the battle.The beach was littered with shattered timbers and severed cordage. Bodies were still being washed up on the shore, blotched and bloated and often mutilated by the effects of cannon fire and explosions. What was left had been worried by the fish gorging themselves in the bay. In the now calm waters, wreckage floated on the surface and the masts of the ships that had been sunk rose stark and bare from their watery grave.

‘Sweet Jesus . . .’ Berthier muttered as he gazed across the scene. He opened his mouth to continue and then closed it again with a slight shake of the head.There were no words to describe the scale of the defeat that France had suffered at the hands of Lord Nelson and his fleet.

‘What was the final cost?’ asked Napoleon.

Berthier took a moment to collect his thoughts and reached for his pocket book. He flicked the pages open to the notes he had made earlier that morning after consulting the army’s chief surgeon, Dr Desgenettes. ‘Nearly two and a half thousand killed or wounded. Over three thousand taken prisoner when their ships were captured.’

Napoleon waved his hand dismissively. ‘What about the ships? How many did we lose?’

‘The L’Orient blew up.Three ships of the line were taken and burned by the Royal Navy, another nine ships of the line were captured and two frigates were sunk.’

‘And how many survived?’

‘Two ships of the line and two frigates. They escaped to the east. We haven’t heard anything from them yet.’

Napoleon shut his eyes for a moment. With one blow the English had shattered French naval power in the Mediterranean, and severed the link between Napoleon’s army and France.Very well then, he concluded, that was the situation. What mattered now was surviving the consequences. His eyes flickered open.

‘Berthier, take a note.’

His chief of staff hurriedly opened a fresh page of his pocket book and fumbled in his jacket for a pencil. He sat down on a rock and waited for Napoleon to begin.

‘Tell Kléber to have some boats armed to patrol the harbours at Alexandria. If the Royal Navy is still out there, it’s possible they will attempt a cutting-out raid against what is left of our fleet. Have Marmont’s brigade moved up to Rosetta in case the English attempt any landings there. Then find a small ship, something fast, and have a warning sent to our forces in Malta. The ship is then to continue to France to convey the news of Admiral Brueys’s defeat. Got all that?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘There’s one other matter to deal with. I must write a letter to the Sultan in Constantinople. Talleyrand should be close to concluding a treaty with Turkey by now. If I can reassure the Sultan that we are operating in his interests, then he might not be tempted to take advantage of this temporary setback.’

Berthier paused and looked up. ‘Temporary setback, sir?’

‘This.’ Napoleon gestured vaguely towards the bay. ‘The fleet had already served its purpose, in getting my army here safely.We can, and shall, manage without them.’