‘I will try to,’ she replied softly. ‘But do come back to me, to your son, as soon as you can.’

‘I will endeavour to do so with all my might,’ Arthur replied, forcing a smile.

It felt good to be back in London again, even though it had only been a matter of months since he had departed for Dublin. The streets, the coffee houses and the halls of Parliament itself were buzzing with news from Europe. With the coming of spring the French Emperor had renewed his campaign in the east and was marching towards the Russian armies in pursuit of a decisive battle. Few people in London seemed to doubt that he would achieve it. For his part Arthur was not so convinced. It all depended on how far Bonaparte was prepared to advance from his supply depots. If the Russians laid waste to the countryside behind them, then the French army must starve the further east it advanced. In time the Russians could pick their ground and turn on the tired, hungry and demoralised remains of the Grand Army. At least, that is the strategy that should be employed, Arthur reflected. Whether Tsar Alexander would see things the same way was another matter.

As soon as he had returned to the house in Harley Street,Arthur sent a message to Castlereagh at the War Office to request a meeting. He had already written to the minister at the start of June explaining his wish to be included in any army sent to fight the French, even if that meant giving up his current post and all the political prestige that went with it. Castlereagh’s response had been swift and he had promised to discuss the matter in person if Arthur came to London.

So it was that on a fine bright day in the middle of June Arthur was strolling briskly along Whitehall to the War Office.Turning through the gates at Horseguards he passed between the sentries at the main entrance and presented himself at the desk at the end of the hall.

‘Major-General Sir Arthur Wellesley. I have an appointment with the minister.’

The clerk glanced down the list of names and then nodded to one of the orderlies seated behind him. ‘Take the general upstairs. Minister’s office.’

‘Yes, sir.’ The orderly bowed his head. ‘If you’d follow me, sir?’

As they climbed the staircase and passed along corridors Arthur was aware of a good deal more activity than had been the case on his previous visit. Clerks and officers were busy at their desks in each room they walked by. Others hurried along the corridors with sheafs of paper clutched tightly to their sides.

‘It would appear that the War Office is engaged in planning something rather grand.’

‘Yes, indeed, sir.’The orderly glanced back and nodded, before lowering his voice. ‘Word is that there are plans to invade France itself, sir.’

‘Really?’ Arthur doubted it. There was no sense in such a direct approach to the enemy. Not when there was no earthly chance of success against the numbers the French could bring to bear against a British army setting foot on their soil. ‘Any news from the continent?’

The orderly nodded. ‘I heard from a clerk upstairs that the latest despatch says that Boney has forced the Russians to make peace. The beggar’s unbeatable.’

Arthur glanced at him sharply. ‘No general is unbeatable, it is just a question of time. Bonaparte will be beaten one day.’

‘Really, sir?’

‘You have my word on it.’

‘That’s a comfort,’ the orderly replied and Arthur felt a brief spark of anger at the man’s tone, before his mind fixed on the news. So Bonaparte had defeated the Russians.Arthur shook his head at the Tsar’s rashness. He was doing Bonaparte’s work for him.This was the price an army paid when it was led in person by a monarch, rather than a professional soldier. Arthur smiled wryly. France was indeed fortunate that her ruler and the very best of her generals were one and the same man. Fortunate for France, but a curse to her enemies.

‘Here we are, sir.’The orderly stood aside at a doorway and bowed as Arthur passed inside. He rang a bell further down the corridor and then left Arthur alone.The anteroom was the same small room where he had met Nelson nearly two years before. As he recalled the moment and vividly pictured the admiral sitting there that day, Arthur felt a sudden sense of what the man’s loss meant to those who had met him, however briefly, and to the nation as a whole. King George and all his subjects had slept more easily since Trafalgar.While that great battle had not won the war, it had made Britain’s defeat unlikely. As the thought came to him,Arthur wondered on whose shoulders it would fall to complete the great project that Nelson had given his life for.

‘Sir? If you would come in.’

Arthur looked up and saw a thin-faced young man in a neat dark coat standing in the doorway to Castlereagh’s office.

‘I’m twenty minutes early.’

‘The minister wishes to see you at once, sir.’

‘Very well, then.’ Arthur strode across the room and followed the man inside. Castlereagh rose and stretched out a hand as soon as he saw Arthur. The young man settled himself at the side of the table and picked up a pencil and notebook.

‘Good to see you again,Wellesley!’

‘Thank you, sir,’ Arthur replied as he took the man’s hand and gave it a firm shake.

‘Sit you down, man!’ Castlereagh smiled.‘How are things in Ireland?’

‘I am sure you have seen my reports, sir. I believe I have been thorough enough in those documents.’

‘I’m sure you have.They are models of clarity and conciseness. And like any such things, they lack the personal perception that the reader so often craves. So I ask you again.’

Arthur smiled back, pleased by the minister’s candour.Yet he knew that whatever admirable qualities Castlereagh possessed, he was still a politician and needed to be spoken to in a circumspect manner. For a moment he wondered if he should speak frankly in front of the third man, whom he assumed to be the minister’s personal secretary. But if Castlereagh asked such frank questions in front of the younger man, then Arthur should answer them in a similar fashion. He cleared his throat.

‘Sir, we hold Ireland, as a strong man holds a weaker one - by the throat. We can keep Ireland under control as long as we don’t grow weary of the strength it takes to subdue the natives. Unless we can make Englishmen of them there will never be peace there, except under the muzzles of British guns.’

Castlereagh was still for a moment as he stared directly at Arthur. Then he nodded. ‘I see. No peace, then.’

‘No peace, but order. And that can be maintained as long as we have the will to do it, however forcefully it needs to be carried through.’

‘Spoken like a soldier.’ Castlereagh smiled. ‘Alas.’

‘Alas?’