Drums of War (2 page)

The
loss of Huy, a citadel on the Meuse, had forced him to abandon his bold scheme
to strike across the French border and he had to lead his entire army north. He
did so with great reluctance but Marshal Overkirk - the one Dutch commander in
whom he could confide - was desperate for reinforcements. It was almost two
years since Marlborough had captured Huy from the French and it had both
strategic and symbolic importance for him. It could not be left in enemy hands.
Though the fortress was soon retaken, Marlborough remained depressed.

'We
were out-manoeuvred, Adam,' he admitted.

'Circumstances
conspired against us, Your Grace.'

'Fearing
an attack up the Moselle valley, the French diverted us by attacking Huy. They
knew that General Overkirk lacked the numbers to defend it. We simply
had
to retire in order to rescue them. Yet another plan
of campaign was wrecked. With enough money, men, horses, artillery and
commitment from our allies, I could bring this war to a satisfactory conclusion
by the end of the summer.'

'It's
not destined to be the summer of 1705,' noted Cardonnel, sadly.

'Nor
any other, I fear. How can I attack the French where it will really hurt them
when I'm trapped in the Low Countries?' He gave a weary smile. 'I'm sorry to
rant on like this, Adam,' he went on. 'You know the difficulties we face only
too well. Nothing can be gained by endless protestation. Forgive me.'

'There's
nothing to forgive, Your Grace.'

Adam
Cardonnel was extremely able and intensely loyal. He was the son of Huguenot
refugees who had fled from the atrocities in France that followed the
Revocation of the Edict of Nantes twenty years earlier. Sickened by the
persecution, he had vowed to fight against the all-conquering army of Louis
XIV; and Cardonnel's mastery of French was a potent weapon. Marlborough relied
heavily on him and his secretary was never found wanting. The captain-general
of the British forces was a striking figure even though he was now in his fifties.
He was known for his grace, natural authority and infinite charm. Only close
friends like Cardonnel were allowed to see him in blacker moods and to know his
innermost feelings.

'We
must be satisfied with more modest gains this year,' said Cardonnel. 'It's
foolish to hope for another Blenheim every time we take up arms.'

'I
know, I know,' said Marlborough, shaking his head. 'We must be patient. The
trouble is that patience requires time and I'm fast running out of it. Most
commanders have retired before they reach my venerable age.'

Cardonnel
was about to point out that Marlborough looked far younger than he really was
when he was interrupted by a noise outside the tent. A guard entered.

'There's
a French prisoner who insists on seeing you in person, Your Grace. He says that
he has something of great value.'

'Has
he been relieved of his weapons?'

'He
handed them over when he arrived in camp.'

'Then
let's see the fellow.'

The
guard withdrew for a few moments then entered again with a blue-coated trooper
who wore a neat moustache and pointed beard. The prisoner bowed and released a
stream of French, gesticulating with both hands as he did so. Marlborough was
mystified but Cardonnel burst out laughing.

'I
hope that
you
understand the rogue, Adam,' said Marlborough,
'because I could only translate one word in ten.'

'He
was deliberately teasing you, Your Grace,' explained Cardonnel. 'Ask him to
introduce himself and you'll understand why.'

'Captain
Daniel Rawson, at your service,' said the prisoner, doffing his hat.

'Is
that
you,
Daniel?' asked Marlborough, peering at him. He let
out a cry of recognition. 'By Jove, I do believe it is! Since when did you join
the Royal-Carabinier regiment?'

'It
was a temporary enlistment, Your Grace. Luckily, the man who loaned me this
uniform was close to my own height and build. I'll be happy to tell you the
full story. First, however,' he added, reaching into his right boot to extract
something, 'here are some dispatches sent to Marshal Villeroi. I had the good
fortune to intercept them on the way.'

'Tell
us how,' said Marlborough, dismissing the guard with a flick of his hand and
taking the missives from Daniel. 'Are these from King Louis himself?'

'They're
copies of his orders,' said Daniel. 'I had to deliver the originals. I broke
the seals on them, noted their contents then sealed them up again with care.
Only by handing them over in person to Marshal Villeroi could I be certain of
being entrusted with his reply.'

Cardonnel
was amazed. 'You went straight to the heart of the French camp?'

'It
seemed a shame to waste this uniform.'

'And
you have Villeroi's reply?'

'In
his own fair hand,' said Daniel, fishing it out of his other boot and holding
it up. 'He's expecting it to be opened in Versailles and not here.'

'You
took a terrible risk, Daniel.'

'It
was all in a good cause, sir.'

'This
is wonderful,' said Marlborough, reading the two copies before passing them to
his secretary. 'Villeroi has orders to retire to Tongres and adopt a defensive
attitude. It was ever thus - defend, defend, defend. That's all they do.
Bringing the French to battle is more difficult than passing through the eye of
a needle with a herd of camels. What was the marshal's reply?' He took the
sealed dispatch from Daniel and opened it, translating it as he ran his eyes
over the looping calligraphy. 'He congratulates the King on the wisdom of his
decision and promises to abide by it. Villeroi is far too circumspect to do
anything as rash as to mount a major attack.' After giving the dispatch to Cardonnel,
he turned his attention to Daniel. 'You promised us the full story,' he went
on. 'When I sent you into enemy territory to gather intelligence, it never
occurred to me that you'd bring back a haul like this. I congratulate you.'

'Did
you undertake the enterprise alone?' asked Cardonnel.

'No,
sir,' replied Daniel. 'I had the assistance of a young lady.'

Marlborough
laughed. "There's no surprise in that, Daniel,' he said. ’You're the
scourge of the fairer sex. You have a tradition to maintain. Dressed like that,
you could win over any woman.'

'Oh,
I had a full beard when I persuaded this one to help me and I was disguised as
a peasant at the time. It was only afterwards that I became a trooper in a
French regiment. I shaved off most of the beard and kept what you see now.'

Daniel
gave them a lengthy account of his adventures on the other side of the French
border. Listening intently, Marlborough and his secretary were torn between
amusement and admiration, smiling at the comical elements in his tale and struck
yet again by his bravado. Daniel Rawson had patently enjoyed every moment of
his escapades. He was now ready for more action.

'What
must I do next, Your Grace?' he wondered.

'Await
orders,' answered Marlborough. 'Since we've been prevented from piercing French
defences along the Moselle, we'll attack them elsewhere.'

And
where will that be?'

'The
Lines of Brabant.'

Daniel
was surprised. 'But they're virtually impregnable.'

'Are
they?' asked Marlborough, and there was a twinkle in his eye.

The
friendship between Captain Daniel Rawson and Sergeant Henry Welbeck was an
example of the attraction of opposites. Apart from the fact that they served in
the same British regiment, the two men had nothing whatsoever in common. While
Daniel was an eternal optimist who could pluck hope out of the direst
circumstances, Welbeck was so deeply sunk into melancholy that he foresaw
nothing but disaster. In appearance, too, the contrast between them was stark.
While one was tall, strikingly handsome and debonair, the other was stocky,
round-shouldered and decidedly ugly, the long scar down one cheek turning an
already unprepossessing face into an almost hideous one. Daniel loved women yet
Welbeck hated them. Son of a soldier, the captain was a devout Protestant, keen
to fight a Roman Catholic enemy. The sergeant, on the other hand, was an
unrepentant atheist, wondering what he was doing in the army and incessantly
bemoaning his fate.

Notwithstanding
their differences, the two men were very close. Daniel appreciated his friend's
ability to turn raw recruits into efficient soldiers by cowing them into
submission and making them fear their sergeant's wrath far more than the enemy.

For
his part, Welbeck had a sneaking admiration for Daniel's daredevil streak, even
though it sometimes threatened to bring a distinguished military career to a
sudden end. He was also grateful to find one officer with whom he could talk on
equal terms instead of having to adopt a deferential tone. When the two men
were alone together, no rank existed between them. It was one of the few
consolations in Welbeck's army career.

They
were standing outside Daniel's tent on a warm July evening amid the routine
clamour of camp life. When he heard the orders for the next day, Welbeck was
contemptuous.

'We're
attacking the Lines at Brabant?' he asked, eyes bulging.

'That's
right, Henry.'

'Why
doesn't the Duke simply issue us with razors so that we can all cut our
throats? That's a much easier way to commit suicide than trying to storm
well-defended French positions. They'll pick us off like so many rabbits.'

'The
whole of the Lines are not fortified,' Daniel pointed out.

"That
doesn't matter, Dan. As soon as we attack any part of it, Villeroi will rush
troops to that particular spot and repel us.'

"They
didn't repel us at Blenheim.'

'We
had luck on our side that day.'

'I
didn't think you believed in luck.'

'I
don't believe in
anything
,' said Welbeck, gloomily. 'And I
certainly don't believe in walking to certain death by leading my men against
the Lines of Brabant.'

'You've
led them into fierce skirmishes before now.'

"That
was different. There was always a faint chance I'd come out alive, give or take
a few nasty wounds.'

'You've
certainly had your share of those, Henry.'

Whenever
they'd bathed together in a river, Daniel had seen the injuries that Welbeck
had collected over the years. Fearless in battle and driving his men on in the
teeth of enemy fire, he had acquired many grotesque mementoes, including the
marks on his thigh where a French musket ball had passed clean through and
miraculously missed the bone. The slash of an enemy sword had been responsible
for the gash on his cheek and the missing finger on one hand. His chest, back
and shoulders were crisscrossed with other souvenirs of enemy blades. Only a
strong man with a capacity to tolerate intense pain could have survived the
battering taken by Henry Welbeck. He was a walking portrait of the perils of
warfare.

'The
Duke has finally taken leave of his senses,' he declared.

'He
has a plan,' Daniel told him.

Welbeck
sneered. 'Oh, yes, he always has a plan. He had a plan to strike into the heart
of France through the Moselle valley but it came to nothing. All we did was to
shiver in the cold and eat short rations because there wasn't enough food for
us or the horses - so much for
that
brilliant fucking plan!'

'Have
faith in him. As a soldier, he has no peer.'

'He's
getting old, Dan. His judgement is starting to falter.'

'I
disagree.'

'That's
because you're so loyal to the Duke, you won't admit that he makes a wrong
decision. I know he likes to give the impression that he's one of us and enjoys
being called Corporal John, but we in the ranks pay for his mistakes. He gets
off without a scratch.'

'His
Grace is always ready to share our privations.'

'Yes
- from the comfort of his coach.'

'You're
being unfair, Henry.'

'I
speak as I find,' said Welbeck, stoutly. 'You weren't there when we had to
leave the Moselle in a hurry and charge all the way back up here to rescue the
mutton-headed Dutch yet again. You went gallivanting off somewhere.'

'I
was gathering intelligence on French soil.'

'Between
the thighs of some trull, I daresay.'

Daniel
chuckled. 'Well, yes,' he admitted. 'Except that she was no trull. Marie was a
gorgeous young woman with a fondness for someone in a French uniform. Though,
as it turned out, she was very reluctant to let me put it on.'

Welbeck
raised a palm. 'Spare me the details, Dan. You know my view of females - they
should be strangled at birth.'

'In
that case, the human race would die out.'