Fire and Sword (12 page)

‘There may be another way out of this,’ suggested Cardonnel. ‘We could request that Miss Janssen is exchanged for one of our French prisoners.’

‘They’d never agree to that,’ said Daniel.

‘They might do if the request came directly from me,’ argued Marlborough. ‘And we do have some high-ranking officers in custody.’

‘It would be pointless even to make the offer, Your Grace. The only person for whom they’d exchange Amalia is me. It’s only a matter of time before they propose it.’

‘We can’t just surrender you, Daniel.’

‘You won’t have to – I’ll devise a plan.

Cardonnel was sceptical. ‘How can you rescue someone when she’s surrounded by a massive French army?’

‘There has to be a way.’

‘If anyone can find it,’ Marlborough commented, ‘then Daniel is the man to do it. On the other hand, this may pose rather more of a challenge than the Bastille. How many men will you need?’

‘I won’t need any, Your Grace.’

Marlborough gaped. ‘You’ll go
alone
?’

‘I went alone to Paris.’

‘That was different. You could hide among the civilian populace there. It won’t be so easy to get inside the French camp.’

‘I think it will,’ said Daniel, confidently. ‘Though he didn’t realise it, someone has given me a good idea how to go about it.’

‘Really?’ said Cardonnel. ‘Who was that?’

‘Ralph Higgins.’

Amalia was in despair. She wasn’t only afraid of what might happen to her. It was Daniel’s situation that troubled her even more. The love that had brought them together might well turn out to be fatal. She sensed that he couldn’t resist a rescue attempt and that a trap would be laid for him. One or both of them could be put to death. Amalia believed that she’d been safe in Amsterdam but war had suddenly taken on a frightening immediacy for her. She also feared for Beatrix and for her father. When she was hurled into the coach, Amalia had heard the scream of pain from her servant. Had Beatrix been badly hurt or even killed? Either way, Emanuel Janssen would be deeply upset but he’d reserve even more anxiety for his daughter. Amalia was his only child and, since his wife had passed away, he’d grown very close to her, cherishing her, nurturing her and planning for her future. She knew how mortified he’d be by the turn of events.

Thinking about others helped to distract her from contemplating her own predicament. Her confrontation with Vendôme had been truly harrowing. Amalia had never been looked at in such an unashamedly lecherous way. The memory of it was enough to give her a hot flush. She was at the mercy of a man who might have dark designs on her and she was completely vulnerable. Though she was no longer bound and gagged, she was being held in a tent with guards outside. Escape seemed impossible. Against two armed men, she stood no chance. Against the lustful Vendôme – should he take advantage of her – she’d have no
defence. Amalia had never felt so alone in all her life.

When she heard raised voices outside the tent, she drew back instinctively, afraid that someone was coming to get her. In fact, the guards were not interested in Amalia. They’d taken charge of someone else. The tent flap was opened and an attractive young woman was pushed roughly into the tent. Her hair was tousled, her dress torn and her arms wrapped protectively across her chest. Her large, brown eyes were pools of dread until they noticed Amalia. The newcomer stared at her in surprise.

‘Who are you?’ she asked.

Councils of war with his Dutch allies were often tedious affairs and the Duke of Marlborough approached them without enthusiasm, knowing that any strategy he recommended was likely to be criticised, amended and delayed. On this occasion, however, he found the Dutch generals in a more cooperative mood. This was largely due to the influence of their commander-in-chief, General Overkirk, who could always be relied upon to support Marlborough. When the meeting broke after comparatively short deliberation, Adam Cardonnel was pleased. He watched the last of them leave the tent.

‘Why can’t it be like that every time?’ he asked. ‘Everybody was of the same mind for once.’

‘It makes things so much easier,’ said Marlborough. ‘I was bracing myself for endless arguments over some trivial detail.
Yet here we are with the whole matter settled.’

‘Then we need to deal with the correspondence, Your Grace.’

Marlborough grimaced. ‘Must we?’

‘I know we’re both tired but it has to be done.’

‘You’re right, Adam. Grand Pensionary Heinsius will expect an account of the latest developments – not that there’s much to report. Then there are dispatches to be sent to England.’

‘I think that we need to respond to General Vendôme first.’

‘Why?’

‘You were too engrossed in the council of war to see the letter that was passed to me. It bears Vendôme’s seal.’

‘Then let me see it,’ said Marlborough, taking it from him.

‘I think we both know what it will contain.’

‘You’re right,’ said the other, opening the letter and reading it. ‘An exchange is being offered.’

‘We can have Amalia Janssen in return for Captain Rawson.’

‘Yes, Adam – Daniel warned us that the offer would be made.’

‘What do we do, Your Grace?’

‘Well, we certainly won’t comply with the request.’

‘It’s impossible to do so,’ said Marlborough. ‘Daniel has already left camp.’ After thinking it through, he handed the
letter to his secretary. ‘That must be our response,’ he went on. ‘Tell Vendôme that we can’t consider his offer because Captain Rawson is unavailable. That will at least buy us some time.’

‘At least we know for certain where Miss Janssen is.’

Marlborough sighed. ‘I just hope that no harm has come to her.’

‘I was tricked,’ said Sophie Prunier, mournfully. ‘One of the officers befriended me and invited me to look at the camp. He was charming until we actually got here. Then I realised my mistake.’

‘What happened?’ asked Amalia.

‘I was taken to see the duc de Vendôme.’

‘Yes, I met him as well.’

‘Then you’ll know what a beast the man is,’ Sophie told her. ‘It was he who tore my dress. The handsome young lieutenant who brought me here was acting on his commander’s orders. He had to provide a woman – and it turned out to be me.’

‘That’s disgusting!’

‘I come from a good family. They’d be horrified if they knew that I’d ended up here.’

‘Didn’t you tell them that you were visiting the camp?’

Sophie looked sheepish. ‘No,’ she admitted. ‘My parents are away. They would have objected and I was so pleased to be asked. I’d always wanted to see inside an army camp.
How was I to know that it was all a ruse?’

‘The way you were deceived was cruel,’ said Amalia.

Sympathy welled up inside her. The sudden and unheralded arrival of Sophie Prunier had done something remarkable. It had taken Amalia’s mind off her own troubles. Instead, she was caught up in the plight of the Frenchwoman. Though she could not understand every word that Sophie said, there was no mistaking the look of fear on her face or the horror in her voice. Amalia had been abducted as a means of ensnaring Daniel Rawson. Sophie, on the other hand, was being held captive until Vendôme chose to send for her. Having been alone with him, Amalia sensed that he’d be ruthless and malevolent.

‘My uncle was once the Mayor of Mons,’ resumed Sophie. ‘When the army passed through, he invited some of the officers to dinner. That’s how I came to meet Lieutenant Bouteron. He was so kind and attentive to me. It’s only now that I realise why.’ Taking out a handkerchief, she used it to wipe away her tears. ‘But I’m so selfish, Amalia,’ she said. ‘All that I can think about are my own troubles. You’re a prisoner as well. Who enticed you here?’

‘I was kidnapped.’

Sophie was startled. ‘That must have been terrifying for you.’

‘It was, Sophie.’

‘What exactly happened?’

‘To be honest, I’m not entirely sure.’

Amalia told her about the incident and about how she’d been smuggled out of the country by her abductors. Since she’d been bound, gagged and blindfolded most of the time, she was never quite sure where they were or how they’d eluded border patrols. The only violence she encountered was during the kidnap. From that point on, Amalia had not been maltreated in any way. It was a concession that helped to make her ordeal bearable.

‘Oh, you poor thing!’ said Sophie, putting a tender arm around her. ‘You’ve suffered far more than I have. I’m only here because of my own stupidity. Against your will, you were dragged here all the way from Amsterdam.’

‘My father will be sick with worry.’

‘I still don’t see
why
they picked on you, Amalia.’

‘It’s not me they want. They’re trying to capture a friend of mine in the British army. I’m simply a worm on the hook. When he knows where I am, you see, he’ll try to rescue me.’

‘How on earth could your friend do that?’ said Sophie, mystified. ‘Lieutenant Bouteron told me that they have 100,000 soldiers here. No man has a chance against those odds.’

‘No ordinary man, perhaps,’ agreed Amalia, warmed by the thought. ‘But then, Captain Rawson is far from ordinary.’

Shedding his uniform once more, Daniel had put on the coarser attire of a sutler, wearing a wide-brimmed hat that
concealed some of his face. He borrowed the wagon that had once belonged to Ralph Higgins. Instead of travelling in a direct line to the French camp, thereby signalling his starting point, he went in a wide arc so that he could reach Braine l’Alleud from the south-west. His route took him past the ruins of the farm where he’d once hidden from a French patrol in a pigsty. The sight of the blackened remains served to stir up his anger at those responsible and to reinforce his determination to hunt them down.

For the moment, however, he had other concerns. Travelling alone through a country ravaged by war was always hazardous. Daniel had a dagger hidden beneath his coat and his sword was within easy reach under the seat. He hoped that he’d have to use neither of the weapons. The first part of the journey was uneventful. He even sold a few items in a village he passed through. It was when he was back out in open country that he encountered trouble. As the road dipped down an incline, a small forest appeared on his left. Out of the trees, moving at a leisurely pace, came two riders. When they got close, they waved their hands in a friendly greeting. Daniel replied with a smile and brought the wagon to a halt.

The bigger and older of the two men did the talking.

‘Good day to you, friend,’ he said, speaking in French.

‘And good day to both of you,’ replied Daniel.

‘How far do you mean to travel?’

‘I’ll be on this road for the rest of the day.’

‘Then you need to be warned,’ said the man. ‘You could be in danger if you don’t turn off.’

‘That’s right,’ added his companion. ‘There’s a band of redcoats somewhere ahead of you. We’ve seen them twice now. There’s a rumour that they burnt down a farm. They’d certainly have no hesitation in stealing your wagon.’

‘Thank you for the warning,’ said Daniel, keen to know more. ‘Someone has already mentioned these men to me. What exactly did you see? How many of them were there?’

The big man inhaled deeply. ‘Eight or nine, I suppose.’

‘And they were British soldiers?’

‘Yes. They were only a few miles away from here.’

‘How close did you get?’

‘We kept well away from them,’ said the second man. ‘As soon as they came into sight, we galloped away both times. They’re preying on travellers. You’d best avoid them.’

‘How can I do that?’

‘We know a track through the forest that will get you safely past them. Follow us and we’ll show you where it is.’

‘That’s very kind of you,’ said Daniel. ‘Lead on.’

‘This way, my friend,’ invited the big man.

Swinging his horse round, he headed towards the forest with his companion at his side. Daniel was not deceived by their offer of help. Though their manner was pleasant and unthreatening, he sensed that they were highwaymen. What they’d told him about the marauding redcoats was probably true and he was grateful for an indication of the whereabouts
of the band. At the same time, he didn’t believe for a moment that the two men were going to show him a path through the forest. They’d use their sighting of the redcoats as a convenient excuse to lure Daniel off the road. Their intention was clear. Once inside the trees, they planned to kill him.

As the two men rode ahead of him, they were deep in conversation. The rattle of the cart prevented Daniel from overhearing what they were saying but he knew they were discussing his fate. When they reached the forest, his fears were amply justified. Once they were covered by the leafy canopy and shielded by the tall tree trunks, the younger of the two guides broke away from his friend and dropped back behind the wagon. Certain that it would be needed, Daniel used one hand to ease his dagger out of its sheath. It was only a question of waiting now.

The wagon rumbled on along a rutted track until it came to a clearing. When the big man raised a hand, Daniel pulled on the reins and his horse stopped. The next moment,
a pistol was being held on him. There was no friendliness in the voice now.

‘Get down,’ he ordered.

Daniel mimed confusion. ‘Why?’

‘Just do as you’re told.’

‘I thought you were helping me.’

‘Get down or I’ll shoot you where you are.’

‘There’s no need to kill me,’ said Daniel, hand tightening on the blade of the dagger. ‘If you want the wagon, take it.’

‘We can’t leave you alive to tell your tale.’ He levelled the gun. ‘I won’t tell you again – get down
now
.’

Daniel pretended to obey and the man lowered his weapon. He never lived to regret his mistake. In a move he’d practised many times, Daniel hurled the dagger with speed and accuracy. It buried itself deep in the man’s chest, knocking him from the saddle and making him drop the pistol. With a yell of rage, the other man dismounted at once and clambered on the back of the wagon to take revenge. Daniel was ready for him, whisking his sword out from its hiding place under the seat. Armed only with a dagger, the man was at a disadvantage but he was resourceful. Grabbing a wooden bucket from among the provisions, he used it to flail away at Daniel, dislodging some of the hoops over which the sheet of canvas was spread to protect the wagon from bad weather.

The confined space made it difficult for Daniel to evade him and the sword was no match for a bucket being wielded
frantically by a wild young man. When he tried a thrust at him, the weapon was buffeted out of Daniel’s hand and landed on the ground. He jumped down to retrieve it but his adversary was too quick for him, throwing the bucket at him and dazing him slightly with a glancing blow to the head. In the seconds it took for Daniel to recover, the other man had leapt to the ground and seized the weapon for himself. Dagger in one hand and sword in the other, he let out a roar of anger.

‘You killed my brother!’ he shouted.

‘He deserved to be killed,’ replied Daniel, edging his way towards the dead body. ‘Both of you are thieves and murderers.’

‘I’ll cut you to threads!’

‘Stay back,’ said Daniel, stooping down swiftly to pick up the discarded gun and aiming it at him. The man laughed derisively. ‘What’s so amusing?’

‘It’s not loaded. We have no ammunition.’

‘Then you’d better have it back,’ said Daniel, throwing it at him and hitting him full in the face.

Nose streaming with blood, the man staggered back a few paces. In the brief time he was given, Daniel pulled his dagger from the chest of the corpse and picked up the bucket as well. He was now able to defend himself and circled his attacker warily. The bucket was a crude but effective weapon. Every time his adversary tried to thrust or hack at him, Daniel used the bucket to ward him off. Time and
again it was a life-saving shield even though splinters were hacked off it by the sharp blade. The longer the fight went on, the more frustrated the man became and the less careful. Hoping to overpower Daniel by the sheer force of his attack, he suddenly lunged at him with the sword flashing through the air.

Daniel was far too agile for him. Leaping nimbly sideways, he swung the bucket hard against the side of the man’s head, knocking him to the ground. Howling in pain, the highwayman sat up and flung his dagger with murderous force, only to see it embedded in the bottom of the bucket that Daniel held up in front of him. Daniel tossed away his improvised shield and dived on top of him. At close quarters, the sword was useless. It was the blood-stained dagger that made the difference. Though the man grabbed Daniel’s wrist and tried to twist the weapon from his grasp, he lacked the strength to hold out for long. His breathing was heavy, his grip weakening. The stink of his breath was foul. After punching him repeatedly with his free hand, Daniel pulled his other wrist free and stabbed the man through the heart, holding the dagger up to the hilt inside the body as the life drained slowly out of him and the frenzied resistance finally stopped.

‘How long have you known Captain Rawson?’ asked Sophie.

‘It must be well over two years now,’ said Amalia, fondly.

‘Do you see much of him?’

‘Not as much as I’d like, Sophie.’

‘My sister married a soldier. He’s away for months on end. She’s worried to death in case he’s injured or even killed in battle. The danger is always there. I suppose,’ Sophie went on, ‘you must have the same fears.’

‘I try not to think about such things.’

‘That’s very sensible.’

‘Daniel – Captain Rawson, that is – always claims that he has the luck of the devil. But there’s more to it than that. I think he’s just a very fine soldier.’

‘I thought that of Lieutenant Bouteron. He looked so wonderful in his uniform – so wonderful and so trustworthy.’ Sophie’s head sagged. ‘I didn’t realise that he was misleading me. When he handed me over to the duc de Vendôme, I was shocked. I’ve never been looked at like that before. It was horrible.’

‘He looked that way at me as well.’

‘The man is so revolting.’

Since they supported opposing sides in the war, they were unlikely friends but adversity made light of their differences. They were both victims and their fate would be determined by a man they’d both detested on sight. Amalia was glad to have company. In talking about her situation, she’d gained a small measure of relief. Listening to Sophie, she realised that they lived in very different worlds. The other woman seemed so much more sophisticated and her beautiful dress made Amalia feel dowdy. Sophie’s father was a wealthy merchant
who was away from home a great deal. His daughter was bored and restless. When invited to dine at her uncle’s house in Mons, she’d accepted with alacrity and revelled in the company of soldiers. It was there that she met the man who’d brought her to the camp under false pretences.

‘Isn’t it strange?’ said Sophie, musing.

‘I don’t follow.’

‘Well, by rights, we ought to be trying to tear each other’s hair out. You support one army and I’m loyal to another. In my heart, I want the whole British and Dutch armies to be defeated.’

‘I want the French to be beaten,’ confessed Amalia.

‘Yet none of it matters now, does it?’

‘No, it would be silly for us to argue. In some ways, we’re on the same side now. We’re both at the mercy of that dreadful man.’

‘Mercy?’ echoed Sophie, resignedly. ‘I don’t think he knows the meaning of the word.’ She wrung her hands. ‘I should have stayed at home where I belong.’

‘Does anyone else know that you’re here?’

‘No, that’s the trouble. Nobody can come to my aid.’

Amalia felt another upsurge of sympathy. Before she could put a consoling arm around her, however, the tent flap opened and two guards stepped in. One of them pointed at Sophie.

‘You’re wanted – now.’

‘Where are you taking me?’ asked Sophie, tremulously.

‘You’ll soon find out.’

He grabbed her by the arm and took her out of the tent. When Amalia tried to follow, the other guard raised his musket at her and she drew back instantly. He, too, then went out of the tent, leaving her to worry about what might happen to her new friend and whether or not she herself might also be the victim of the commander’s lust.

Though they’d tried to kill him, Daniel nevertheless believed that the two men were entitled to a decent burial. After digging two shallow graves, therefore, he lowered each of them into the ground and covered them with earth. He mouthed a silent prayer then turned to see what they’d bequeathed him. The two horses were a valuable acquisition and might come in useful if he was unable to sneak Amalia out of the French camp in his wagon. The saddlebags yielded up some welcome surprises. Apart from food and wine, they contained a telescope, a tattered map of Flanders and lots of stolen money. Evidently, other travellers had not been as cautious as Daniel. After pocketing the money, he kept the telescope and the map. He also put his sword back in the wagon and, after wiping it clean in the grass, he slipped his dagger into its sheath. The weapons belonging to the two men were concealed beneath the upturned bucket. Daniel repaired the wooden hoops then pulled the canvas back over them so that the contents of the wagon were hidden from view.

With the horses tied to the vehicle, he climbed up to the seat again and set off, driving back along the track he’d taken to reach the clearing. When he emerged from the shadows of the forest, he blinked in the bright sunshine until his eyes became accustomed to the glare. While they’d lied about most things, Daniel believed that the men had told him the truth about the band of redcoats. If they roamed the area in search of prey, they may well have heard rumours about burnt farmhouses and butchered people. It was more than possible that they’d actually caught sight of the marauders.

As a result, Daniel kept his eyes peeled as he moved along, using the telescope to scan the landscape ahead. He saw other travellers a mile or more before he actually passed them but it was when he crested a hill that he spotted something of real interest. Far off to his right was a copse. At first glance, he noticed nothing and the telescope swept on. When it returned to the copse, however, Daniel saw something glinting in the sun. Concentrating his gaze on the trees, he watched for a couple of minutes until he realised what he was looking at. The object that glinted was a sabre and the man wearing it was in the uniform of the British army.

Matt Searle was enjoying a wrestling contest with one of the men when he heard the call from the lookout on the hill. The combatants immediately broke off and used the back of their hands to wipe away the sweat on their brows. The lookout descended the hill.

‘It’s Edwin,’ he told them, ‘and he’s in a hurry.’

Searle tensed. ‘Is anyone after him?’

‘No, Matt.’

‘He’d better not be leading anyone here, that’s all I can say.’

The thunder of hooves got closer then Lock came galloping into the yard before reining in his horse. He remained in the saddle.

‘I’ve just seen a wagon, Matt,’ he announced.

‘Where was it?’ asked Searle.

‘It was only a couple of miles from here.’

‘How many people were on it?’

‘There was just the one,’ said Lock, pleased that he was able to pass on good news. ‘The wagon was pulling two horses along.’

‘Which way was it heading, Edwin?’

‘It was going south, towards French territory.’

‘Then we’d better catch it before it gets there,’ decided Searle. ‘Mount up, everyone! It’s time for some highway robbery.’

When all seven of them had climbed into the saddle, Lock led them back in the direction from which they’d come. Burning a farmhouse after ravishing the women inside it was a more exciting venture for them but a lone wagon was too good a windfall to resist. Spare horses could always be sold at market for a high price and the wagon was bound to have something of value aboard. Searle rode beside his cousin
who, after so many months with the band, had become such a competent horseman that he could be sent out on foraging expeditions. This particular one had delivered a prize.

‘Who was driving the wagon?’ asked Searle.

‘It was too far away for me to see that,’ said Lock. ‘All I know is that there was only one person.’

‘Well done, Edwin.’

‘He won’t try to run away from us. When he sees us coming, he’ll think we’re going to offer him our protection. We’ll have a sitting target, Matt.’

‘We will – and you can have the pleasure of killing him.’

They rode on until they reached the copse in which Lock had been hiding then veered off to join the road far beyond. Once on that, it was only a case of maintaining a steady speed and they’d overhaul the wagon. Searle yelled a command and the riders who’d been spread out behind him moved in to ride in twos. Seen by the driver of the wagon, they’d look like a British patrol. Mile after mile went by until they finally caught a glimpse of their quarry. Yet even as he came into view, they realised that their journey had been futile. A line of wagons was rolling along and the man they were after was about to join the convoy. The prize had slipped through their fingers.

‘Shit!’ exclaimed Searle before spitting on the ground. ‘Let’s go back, lads. There are far too many of them now. He was lucky.’

Sophie Prunier was away for almost half an hour and Amalia feared that she might not come back. If she’d been taken to Vendôme, she reasoned, the woman might be forced to spend the night there. What would happen to her in those circumstances was unimaginable. While she clearly had some spirit, she could not hold a strong man at bay. Amalia was just about to give up all hope of seeing her again when the tent flap opened and Sophie stumbled back into the tent. She was even more dishevelled than before and was close to tears. Amalia helped her to one of the stools.

‘What happened?’ she asked.

Sophie was panting. ‘It was awful,’ she said.

‘Did they take you to the commander?’

‘No, Amalia.’

‘Then where did you go?’

‘I went to Lieutenant Bouteron’s quarters. He apologised for bringing me here and said it was a big mistake. He begged me to forgive him.’

‘You should have asked for his help,’ said Amalia. ‘You should have appealed to his sense of honour.’

‘That’s exactly what I did.’

‘How did he react?’