At a sharp word of command the company of grenadiers lining the approach to the tent snapped to attention and presented arms. The French officer pulled his sleeves down and straightened his jacket before striding towards Dalrymple. As he approached Arthur saw that the man was about the same age as himself and, judging from the proliferation of gold braid on his blue uniform coat, a general officer. His hair, streaked with grey, was tied back in a short tail, and though his features were heavy there was an intelligent spark in his eyes. He smiled slightly as he stopped in front of Sir Hew and bowed.
‘General Kellermann at your service, sir.’
His English was good, Arthur noted, though there was a faint accent to it that he could not immediately place.
‘Sir Hew Dalrymple at yours.’ The British commander returned the bow with a nod and gestured to the two men at his side. ‘May I present Sir Harry Burrard, my second in command, and Sir Arthur Wellesley.’
Kellermann’s eyes fixed on Arthur for a moment before he turned his gaze back to Dalrymple. ‘May I offer my congratulations on your fine victory yesterday, sir? I have never seen such magnificent troops as yours in battle. Steady as a rock and yet handled with a lightness of touch that does full credit to you, sir. I only wish our men had been equal to the occasion.’
‘Ah, yes . . .’ Dalrymple replied awkwardly. ‘The truth is that I have only just arrived, General.You were defeated by General Wellesley.’
Kellermann glanced at Arthur with an appearance of surprise. ‘I am confused. Surely in your absence General Burrard would have been the ranking officer.’
‘General Burrard did not reach the field until after the battle was as good as won,’ Dalrymple explained.
‘Ah, I see.’ Kellermann nodded, then turned very deliberately to Arthur and bowed. ‘Then it is to you that I offer my congratulations.’
Arthur bowed in return, sensing the irritation of both his superiors.
Dalrymple cleared his throat. ‘Yes, well, you’d better come inside the tent, General Kellermann.’
He led the way inside and the three British officers took their seats behind the table while Kellermann settled opposite them.
‘Now then,’ Dalrymple began, ‘you wish to discuss terms for an armistice.’
‘Yes, sir. My superior, General Junot, has authorised me to negotiate for the complete withdrawal of French forces from Portugal.’
Dalrymple’s eyebrows rose. ‘The surrender of Portugal?’
‘In effect, sir, yes.’ Kellermann nodded, then drew a folded sheet of paper from his pocket.‘The detailed terms are set out here. I have taken the liberty of translating them into English.’
‘Your command of our tongue is commendable,’ said Arthur. ‘But I cannot quite place the accent.’
Kellermann smiled.‘I had the honour of representing my country at our embassy to your former colonies in America.’
‘Ah!’ Burrard nodded. ‘That explains the coarseness of the accent.’
‘For which I apologise.’ Kellermann smiled again as he passed the sheet of paper across the table. ‘Now, if you wish to consider the terms proposed by General Junot.’
Dalrymple looked at the document before passing it on to Burrard, and then Arthur read through it. Junot proposed to surrender every fortress and town in Portugal and evacuate the country. In return he asked that his gallant and generous British opponents should permit the repatriation of his army to France, together with all its equipment and property. When he had finished Arthur lowered the document and looked up at Kellermann with a feeling of concern. If Dalrymple accepted the offer, then the French army would be spared to fight another day. To be sure, lives would be spared, but the opportunity to truly humiliate the French would be lost. Junot had shrewdly calculated that he could at least save his army if he offered to quit Portugal without a fight.
Dalrymple slid the document back in front of him. ‘This would appear to be a reasonable basis on which to proceed. Of course the precise details would need to be discussed.’
‘Indeed,’ Arthur added, fixing his gaze on Kellermann. ‘To begin with, precisely how do you propose to repatriate your forces?’
‘Alas, since the French fleet was defeated by your Lord Nelson our navy has not been equal to the tasks requested of it. So it would seem most reasonable to ask that the army is conveyed to a home port by British ships.’
‘British ships?’ Arthur was astonished. ‘In British ships? Out of the question.’
‘Restrain yourself, please,Wellesley,’ Dalrymple said firmly, and spoke to Kellermann again. ‘And why should we agree to such a suggestion?’
The Frenchman shrugged. ‘It is the quickest way to remove our soldiers from Portugal. Of course, if you would be prepared to wait until a sufficient force of French warships was ready to carry them away . . .’
That would delay the surrender of Portugal for at least a month, Arthur realised. Plenty of time for fresh French columns to arrive from Spain and continue the struggle. The point was clear to all, and Dalrymple nodded.
‘Agreed. There is a convoy of merchant ships, as well as Admiral Cotton’s squadron, lying at anchor. They should suffice for the task.’
‘That is good.’ The Frenchman smiled. ‘I am sure your navy will carry out the task with their customary efficiency.’
‘You can count on it.’
‘Now, is there anything else you wish to query, sir?’ Kellermann continued. ‘If not, then perhaps you and I might draft the armistice now.’
‘Now?’ Dalrymple was taken aback by the sudden challenge.
‘I see no reason why not, sir. There is no need to delay the completion of your conquest of Portugal.’
‘Liberation,’Arthur interrupted.‘We are here to liberate Portugal, not conquer it.We are not Frenchmen.’
‘Tsk, Wellesley,’ Dalrymple muttered. ‘There’s no call for that.’
‘I disagree, sir. There is a world of difference between liberation and conquest. Or at least there should be.’
‘Liberation then,’ Kellermann conceded and turned his attention back to the British commander. ‘May we commence with drafting the agreement?’
‘Yes.Yes, I suppose so.You may leave, Burrard, and you too,Wellesley. Wait for us outside.’
‘Perhaps it would be better for us to remain here, sir,’ Arthur suggested. ‘In case any of the finer points require further discussion.’
‘I am quite capable of making my own decisions, thank you,’ Dalrymple said coldly.‘Now be so good as to leave General Kellermann and myself to draft the document.’
Arthur stared back at him for a moment and then nodded slowly. ‘Yes, sir.’
For the next hour Arthur sat in the shade of an awning a short distance from the tent. From there he had a good view over the slope that had been so hotly contested the day before. Today all was quiet, but the traces of the battle were plain to see: gouges in the earth and rock where cannonballs had thudded home, and the bodies of hundreds of men strewn across the stubble and clumps of gorse and myrtle. Most were French, and only a handful of British corpses had not yet been removed by burial parties. The French dead would have to wait until the last of the redcoats were interred. Some of the bodies were naked, their clothes and other belongings taken in the night by camp followers and the local peasants. A faint breeze stirred and carried the sickening stench of decay up to Arthur and he felt his stomach clench in revulsion.