It was not just the thought of the dead that occupied his mind. He was worried about the terms of the armistice. Although it would mean that the Portuguese campaign was over for the present, with no further loss of life, the prospect of allowing Junot’s army to escape galled him. Worse still, he could imagine how people back in London might react to the news that a French army had been carried home in the holds of British warships.That was the kind of detail the newspapers and public opinion were bound to focus on, rather than the fact that the expeditionary force had achieved what it had set out to do, and expelled French forces from Portugal.

‘Sir!’

He turned and saw a staff officer beckoning to him. ‘Sir, the general wishes you to attend him.’

With a sigh Arthur rose to his feet and strode back across the top of the hill to General Dalrymple’s tent. Inside he saw that his superior and Kellermann were sitting side by side on the far end of the table. Dalrymple indicated the seat nearest Arthur.

‘Sit down,Wellesley.We have a draft for the armistice. Since you had the honour of winning the battle that led to this happy opportunity I feel it only fair that you should witness the fruits of your victory. So I will read the terms through to you and then you may comment on them, if you wish.’

‘Thank you, sir.’

Dalrymple proceeded in a dry monotone and when he had finished he laid down the draft. ‘Well?’

There was little deviation from the details they had discussed earlier, but there was one matter Arthur wanted clarification of. ‘I do have a question for General Kellermann, sir. What exactly constitutes the “property” the French wish to take home with them?’

Kellermann stirred uneasily. ‘Just a question of personal effects. The clause mostly concerns our officers, as you might imagine.’

‘And what is the precise nature of this property?’

‘It is hard for me to say.’ Kellermann shrugged. ‘I should imagine it comprises silverware, wardrobes, the odd painting or piece of statuary. Perhaps a carriage or two.’

‘I see.’ Arthur’s eyes narrowed.‘Can I take it that none of these items were acquired during the course of the French army’s campaign in Portugal?’

Kellermann stiffened. ‘Are you accusing me, or my brother officers, of carrying off spoils of war?’

‘Not if you can give me your word that your property is not loot.’

‘Enough, Wellesley!’ Dalrymple slapped his hand on the table. ‘I will not have you undermine the armistice by making such accusations. Now then, those are the terms. General Kellermann, will you do me the honour of signing first?’

‘I would be pleased to, sir.’

Kellermann reached for a pen, flipped open the inkwell, dipped the nib and signed both drafts with a flourish. He was about to hand the pen to Dalrymple when he paused, and for an instant Arthur saw a crafty expression flash across the French officer’s features before he composed his face into a respectful smile.

‘General, I think that it would be appropriate for an officer of equal rank to sign on behalf of the British.’

‘Really? Why is that?’

‘Out of respect for your rank, sir. It would not be seemly for your name to appear on equal terms with my own.’

‘Oh, I see. No, of course not.’

‘In that case, sir, may I ask General Wellesley if he would do me the honour?’

Dalrymple looked up at Arthur. ‘Well, what d’you say?’

Arthur was sorely tempted to refuse. He had had no hand in drafting the terms of the armistice, and some of the clauses were far too generous to the enemy. But if he refused it would only cause further ill will between him and his superior. He nodded, and took the pen offered to him by General Kellermann.Then the French officer slid the documents across the table and indicated the space beneath his own signature. Arthur dipped the nib in the ink, composed his hand and signed his name with neat, deliberate strokes. When he had finished he laid the pen down and sat back as the documents were whisked away. Kellermann handed one to Dalrymple and folded the other to tuck inside his coat as he stood up.

‘I must return to General Junot and tell him the good news.’

Dalrymple and Arthur rose to their feet and exchanged handshakes with the French officer before Kellermann strode out of the tent, mounted his horse, and galloped away. As Arthur watched him go, he could not help doubting the wisdom of what his commander had agreed to. But at least the French would quit Portugal. Once Portugal was established as a base of operations the British army could turn its attention to Spain, and the next, far more ambitious, phase in the campaign to eject the French from the Peninsula.

A week later General Junot surrendered the Portuguese capital to the British. Dalrymple, reinforced by Sir John Moore and another fifteen thousand troops, moved south to occupy the city. There was a brief celebration in the streets as the inhabitants cheered the departure of the French garrison, but joy soon turned to disbelief and anger when it became apparent that the ‘property’ that the enemy were taking with them, with British consent, included gold and silver plate from Lisbon’s churches and other loot taken from the royal palaces and homes of the wealthy. It was a bad business, and Arthur, who had signed the armistice, began to dread the manner in which it would be received in London. Worse still was the mood in the army. The plodding nature of Dalrymple, and the common knowledge that he had permitted the French to get the better of him, soured the mood of officers and common soldiers alike.The fact that they continued to report to Arthur in the first instance caused understandable resentment in his superiors. Arthur felt himself to be in a peculiar bind. On the one hand he had proved himself to be a fine commander who had the respect and affection of his men, which meant that it was impossible for him to serve with the army in a subordinate role. On the other, he did not wish to quit in case senior officers complained that he was unwilling to serve where he did not command.

The difficult situation was resolved for him late one afternoon in the middle of September when a message arrived from London. Somerset brought the despatch to Arthur’s office in the Lisbon house he was renting, where he had been reading through the latest correspondence from home. His brother William was full of news of the public outcry over the armistice, and his letter included a newspaper clipping that referred to Dalrymple, Burrard and Arthur himself as cowardly curs. William urged his brother to seek leave and return to London to clear his name.

Arthur looked up as Somerset rapped loudly on the door frame.

‘Come in!’

Somerset crossed the room, emerged on to the balcony and held out a sealed letter. ‘From Castlereagh, sir.’