Fire and Sword (13 page)

‘He gave me his word that he’d get me out of the camp.’

‘That’s marvellous – when do you leave?’

‘I’m not going anywhere, Amalia.’

‘But you just said that you were.’

‘There’s something I haven’t told you,’ said Sophie. ‘My
freedom came at a price. Lieutenant Bouteron promised that he’d secure my release but on one condition.’

‘And what was that?’

‘I had to give myself to him.’

She buried her face in her hands. Amalia was too shocked to speak. The other woman had been cruelly betrayed. Brought into the camp in order, as she thought, to be shown around, she was unable to leave without sacrificing her virginity. Amalia felt desperately sorry for her and alarmed about her own position.

‘There was something else he told me,’ said Sophie, uncovering her face. ‘The lieutenant swore that he’d be considerate to me but that I wasn’t to look for the same consideration from the duc de Vendôme. He has a terrible reputation where women are concerned, it seems. There’s no way out, Amalia,’ she went on, helplessly. ‘If I stay here in the camp, then sooner or later, I’ll be summoned to his tent to let that monster have his way with me.’

The council of war held in the French camp was relatively brisk. Since they were approving royal commands sent from Versailles, none of the generals present raised any objection. Hoping to bask in the sun of supreme command, the Duke of Burgundy was irritated when he wasn’t allowed to do so. Instead, people kept deferring to Vendôme and putting the questions to him. When the meeting had ended and everyone had dispersed, Burgundy was left alone with his
second in command. He was in a bad mood.

‘There was no need for you to speak so much, my lord Duke,’ he said, tetchily. ‘We could have done without your lectures.’

Vendôme smiled. ‘When answers are requested from me, it would be impolite not to provide them. I said nothing with which you disagree, my lord, did I?’

‘That’s beside the point. They all kept looking at you.’

‘I’ll be the first to acknowledge that you are a more handsome spectacle. Why they stared at me, I simply can’t imagine.’

Burgundy was piqued by the complacency in his voice. Trying to hide his displeasure, he tackled Vendôme on another matter.

‘I hear disturbing rumours about you,’ he began.

‘Ignore them,’ advised Vendôme. ‘They’re bound to be lies.’

‘They concern the business with Major Crevel. It’s come to my attention that you won’t consign the matter to the past and have taken steps to identify the man who actually humiliated Crevel.’

‘His name is Captain Rawson of the 24
^th
Foot.’

‘So?’

‘He must be punished for what he did.’

‘Our aim is to punish the armies of the Grand Alliance not to single out an individual member of them. This fellow can surely not deserve the time and attention lavished upon him.’

‘Your grandfather might think otherwise, my lord.’

‘Why ever should he do that?’ asked Burgundy.

‘Because this same Captain Rawson was the instrument of great annoyance to His Majesty,’ said Vendôme. ‘Emanuel Janssen, a tapestry maker of renown, was commissioned to work at Versailles. Instead of devoting himself to the weaving of the tapestry, he acted as a spy and sent intelligence to the enemy. Janssen was imprisoned in the Bastille for his crime. Captain Rawson rescued him.’

‘Nobody ever escapes from the Bastille.’

‘Janssen is living proof to the contrary. I fancy that His Majesty would be extremely interested to meet the man who achieved that astonishing feat.’

‘I do believe he would,’ conceded Burgundy. ‘I’d be curious to see the fellow myself but he’s hardly likely to oblige us by coming here of his own volition.’

‘That’s where you’re quite mistaken.’

‘Oh?’

‘A stratagem has been set in motion,’ said Vendôme with a self-important smirk. ‘My guess is that Captain Rawson is on his way here at this very moment.’

Travelling as part of the cavalcade gave Daniel the safety of numbers. The other wagons were taking supplies and munitions to the camp at Braine l’Alleud and were protected by a detachment of soldiers in the blue uniforms of the French army. Daniel hadn’t been accepted without close
questioning. He’d had to show his forged papers and explain why he was on his own. Only after he’d given satisfactory answers was he told to fall in at the rear of the column. While progress was slow, he at least had the reassurance that he’d be admitted to the camp without undue interrogation. Certain that Amalia Janssen was there, he prayed that she was unharmed.

After a long journey, he finally saw the canvas tents spreading endlessly across the fields and got ocular proof of the sheer size of the enemy army. What particularly interested him were the positions of the picquets and the proximity of trees. Leaving the camp with Amalia, he knew, would be far more difficult than entering it in his wagon. His hopes of success rested on careful preparation. The telescope enabled him to inspect all of the outposts on the western approach and he resolved to study the map he’d inherited from the highwaymen in order to have a clearer sense of the local geography.

When he got to the area where the other camp followers were drawn up, he made sure that his wagon stayed on the outer edge so that it could slip away easily in the night. He then fed and watered the three horses. His arrival had been noted by some of the other sutlers and they were not pleased to have competition. Daniel was confronted by three of them. Their spokesman was a wizened old man with a goatee beard and a single, inflamed eye.

‘Who are you?’ he demanded, pointing a skeletal finger.

‘My wagon should tell you that,’ replied Daniel.

‘We don’t need another sutler.’

‘Why do you say that? In an army this size, there’s surely enough trade for us all.’

‘We were here first.’

‘Then you’ll already have regular customers who rely on you. I’m not here to take them away.’

‘We don’t want you here at all,’ said a short, wiry individual who, from his close resemblance to the old man, was obviously his son. ‘We think you should leave camp.’

Daniel smiled defiantly. ‘Thank you for your advice,’ he said, ‘but that’s a decision I’d like to make for myself.’

‘We’re making it for you.’

‘Leave now,’ ordered the old man, folding his arms, ‘or we’ll have to persuade you.’

Daniel looked at each of them in turn. The old man posed no problem in a fight but his son was a very different matter. The real challenge, however, would come from their companion, a big, broad-shouldered man in his thirties with a drooping black moustache. If he was to survive a brawl, Daniel would have to tackle the bigger man first. Pretending to accept their warning, he offered his hand.

‘I bid you farewell, gentlemen,’ he said, meekly.

The big man reached out to shake the hand and found himself yanked forward, tripped up by Daniel and kicked so hard in the groin that he lay writhing in agony on the ground. Shocked by what he’d seen, the young man came
at Daniel with both fists swinging but none of the punches landed where they were intended. Daniel dodged or parried them with his arms, using clever footwork to put his attacker off balance. At one point, when his back was to the old man, Daniel felt a blow to the nape of his neck. He responded by digging a sharp elbow into the old man’s stomach, taking all the wind out of him and making him stagger back.

The son was already puffing and panting, his energy depleted and his confidence waning when he realised that he was now fighting alone. As a last resort, he aimed a violent kick at his opponent’s groin, only to be upended as Daniel grabbed the foot and pulled hard. A relay of punches to the son’s head quickly subdued him. But the brawl was not over. The big man was sufficiently recovered to be able to get to his feet. One hand on his tender genitals, he circled Daniel and threatened to tear him apart. When he finally launched himself, however, he was far too slow and ponderous. Daniel ducked and dodged every wild punch. Growling with rage, the big man flailed away with his massive fists and had to take a number of well-directed counter punches to the face and stomach. Fatigue eventually got the better of him and Daniel was able to jump in and fell him with an uppercut to the chin.

Seeing his other attacker rise to his feet, Daniel seized him by his collar and was about to dash him against the side of the wagon when the old man cried out.

‘That’s enough!’ he said. ‘Don’t touch Alphonse. The fight is over. You can stay.’

Daniel released the son then turned to his other adversary. Dazed and sobered, the man held up a hand to indicate that he’d had enough. Daniel helped him to his feet and apologised for hitting him so hard. The three men laughed ruefully. Having come to evict him, they now gave him a warm welcome. Daniel was one of them. After introducing himself as Gustave Carraud, he brought out a flagon of wine and they were soon chatting together as friends.

‘I haven’t come to take away your business,’ said Daniel. ‘In fact, I’ve got provisions that I can sell to you at very low prices.’

‘I like the sound of that,’ said Alphonse.

‘Do you have any ointment for sore balls?’ asked the big man, still rubbing his testicles.

‘Find a pretty woman to kiss them better, Victor.’

Victor guffawed. ‘She can do more than that while she’s down there, Alphonse.’

The wine flowed, the laughter increased and the friendship slowly deepened. Daniel was quick to enlist them as allies. They told him how the camp was laid out and where best to sell his goods.

‘You obviously know your way around,’ he said.

‘It’s part of our job,’ Alphonse told him. ‘We stay close to regiments who’ve bought from us in the past. We have a reputation.’

‘A
good
reputation,’ added the old man. ‘If you want to take a look at the camp for yourself, Alphonse will show you the way.’

‘I’d appreciate that,’ said Daniel.

‘Wait till this evening,’ advised Alphonse, ‘when the light fades. There won’t be so many soldiers about then so we’re less likely to be stopped.’

‘That suits me.’

‘Watch him, Alphonse,’ warned Victor, chuckling. ‘If he offers to shake you by the hand, refuse or you’ll have a boot in your bollocks.’

‘I’m sorry I had to do that,’ said Daniel. ‘I was up against unfair odds so I had to disable one of you.’

‘The brawl is over now, Gustave,’ said the old man. ‘We’re all friends.’

‘Let’s drink to that.’

Daniel found another flagon of wine in his wagon and passed it round. The mood became even friendlier and the sutlers began to reminisce about the years they’d spent trailing after French armies. It was interesting to hear their descriptions of battles in which Daniel had fought. When they cursed the Duke of Marlborough in colourful language, Daniel didn’t object. It was a perverted form of flattery. What was evident was that all three of them felt that a French victory was now inevitable.

‘Why do you believe that?’ asked Daniel.

‘We’ve talked to the soldiers,’ said Alphonse. ‘They’ve told us they can’t fail this time.’

‘That will depend on their commanders.’

‘Vendôme is a good general,’ said the old man,
knowledgeably. ‘He made a fool of Marlborough last year. We know – we were there.’

‘What about the duc de Burgundy?’

‘He’s young but he has royal blood. That counts for a lot. His Majesty wouldn’t have put him in charge if he didn’t have faith in his grandson. The duc is a fine-looking man.’

‘You’ve seen him, then?’

‘We’ve seen them all,’ boasted Alphonse. ‘I’ll show you where his quarters are, if you wish.’

‘Thank you,’ said Daniel. ‘I’d like that. And I’d very much like to see where Vendôme has his quarters as well.’

‘Then you will, Gustave. You can count on me.’

Daniel was grateful. If Amalia was in the camp, he surmised that she’d be kept somewhere close to Vendôme. Thanks to his friendship with the three men, he wouldn’t have to grope around in the dark, trying to locate the right area of the camp. Alphonse would lead him right to it. Unaware that they might be aiding and abetting an enemy soldier, the sutlers talked and joked for hours. They told Daniel everything he needed to know. It was a good omen.

With every hour that passed, Emanuel Janssen became more anxious. Unable to sleep, he was so concerned about his daughter’s safety that he was also unable to work. All that he did during the day was to pace the house restlessly then dash to the front door whenever someone rang the bell. However, the good news for which he yearned never came. Beatrix was equally despondent and kept blaming herself for the abduction. She’d been Amalia’s chaperone at the time and felt that she’d let her down badly. Janssen had to reassure her constantly.

‘It was my fault,’ she wailed yet again.

‘Don’t think that for a moment,’ he said. ‘You were up against strong and determined men. You had no chance.’

‘I should have fought back.’

‘How could you when you’d been shoved to the ground?’

‘I failed.’

‘That’s nonsense!’

‘Wherever Miss Amalia is,’ said Beatrix, stricken by remorse, ‘she’s probably blaming me for letting her get kidnapped.’

‘Amalia would never do that. She’s more likely to be wondering how you are. According to your story, you let out such a scream when you were thrown to the ground that she must have heard it.’ He peered solicitously at her. ‘How
are
you now, Beatrix?’

‘The bruises still hurt.’

‘You were lucky that no bones were broken.’

‘Forget me,’ she said, bravely. ‘The only person we should both be thinking about now is Miss Amalia.
Why
did someone do that to her? I just can’t fathom it out.’

‘No more can I,’ admitted Janssen, running a nervous hand across his furrowed brow. ‘I keep returning to the notion that it must somehow be connected with me.’

‘Oh, I don’t believe that.’

‘The French must have been very angry when I slipped from their grasp in the Bastille. This could be a means of revenge.’

‘Then why wait so long to take it?’

‘Who knows?’

‘Besides,’ she went on, face puckered in concentration as
she thought it through, ‘if they wanted revenge, why didn’t they kidnap
you
instead? I think there’s another reason, sir.’

‘I’ve been racking my brains trying to think what it is.’

‘So have I.’

They were in the
voorhuis
, the entrance hall to the Janssen house. While he was continually on the move, rubbing his hands and chewing his lip, she was standing in a corner, her face still bruised from the fall. Beatrix kept searching through her memory of the fateful day for a forgotten detail that might shed some light on the motives of the kidnappers. Because she could find no explanation, her fears became more and more extreme.

‘We’re not even sure that Miss Amalia is still alive,’ she said.

Janssen was firm. ‘Don’t say that, Beatrix. We
have
to believe that she’s alive. If they intended to kill her, then they’d have done so when they attacked the pair of you. No,’ he decided, fighting off a rising despair, ‘I won’t entertain the idea that my daughter is dead. Amalia is alive.’

‘But where is she?’

‘I wish I knew.’

‘My fear is that she may have been smuggled on board a ship and taken off to be sold into slavery. You hear tales of beautiful young women being handed over to Turks or Arabs so that they can…’

Her voice tailed off but her expressive face completed the sentence. Janssen refused to consider the possibility. Once he
let such terrible thoughts into his mind, he’d be in torment. He was an intelligent and rational man. Having to calm his servant’s nerves helped him to keep his own demons at bay. Unlike the fretful Beatrix, he was no martyr to a vivid imagination.

She suddenly remembered the letter he’d sent.

‘Have you heard from the Duke of Marlborough?’ she asked.

‘Not yet, I’m afraid.’

‘Will he pass on your message to Captain Rawson?’

‘I’m sure of it, Beatrix.’

‘The captain will be as anxious as we are. He adores Miss Amalia.’ She gave an involuntary shiver. ‘He’ll probably think it was my fault that this happened.’

‘He’s far too sensible to do that.’

‘Then why do I feel so
guilty
?’

‘For the same reason that I feel guilty,’ he replied. ‘We both feel a duty of care to Amalia. Yet at the very time she needed us most, we weren’t able to save her. You’re not the only one to feel responsible. I lie awake at night, squirming with guilt. I keep telling myself that, as her father, I should have been there.’

‘Amsterdam is such a safe city as a rule,’ said Beatrix, dolefully. ‘When we walked the streets, we never sensed any danger.’

‘That’s why you and Amalia were caught off guard.’

‘Where on earth can she
be
?’

As if in answer to her plea, the bell rang and they both turned to the front door. Beatrix rushed to open it wide, only to meet with grave disappointment. Instead of word from Amalia, it was a delivery of wool and silk. Janssen asked the servant to take it into the workshop. Left alone, he clasped his hands in prayer and looked upward.

‘Dear God,’ he said, ‘
please
keep Amalia free from harm.’

‘Father will be driven insane by worry,’ said Amalia, ‘and so will Beatrix. She’s been like a second mother to me. But then,’ she went on, looking at Sophie, ‘your parents will be suffering as well.’

‘They won’t,’ said Sophie, ‘because they have no idea that I’ve gone astray. Father had business in Paris so he took Mother with him. I thank heaven that they know nothing at all about this.’

‘If they did, they could come to your rescue.’

‘They’d be shocked that I let myself get into this position.’

‘You were deceived. They can’t blame you for that.’

‘Yes, they can, Amalia. They think that I’ve always been too headstrong. Mother will be horrified but Father will chastise me. He brought me up to be wary of invitations from men. To be honest, I hope that my parents never learn the truth.’

‘But they’re
bound
to, Sophie.’

‘Only if I tell them and I’m too ashamed to do that.’

It was evening and the two women were talking in
their tent over the remains of the meal they’d been served. Candles cast flickering shadows on the canvas. Seated on a stool apiece, they sipped cups of wine. The food had been good and the wine was more than tolerable so they were at least being cared for properly. Amalia still clung to the hope that Daniel would somehow come for her but Sophie had lapsed into a dull resignation. Accepting what she feared was inevitable, she stared at the ground. Amalia was upset at the way her companion’s spirit seemed to have drained out of her.

‘All may yet be well,’ she predicted.

Sophie was inconsolable. ‘How can it be?’

‘You must never give up hope.’

‘What possible hope
is
there for me, Amalia?’

‘I can’t say for certain. What I can tell you is that, when my father disappeared in Paris, I never gave in to horrid thoughts. Difficult as it was, I simply kept faith that it would somehow all come right in the end.’ Amalia smiled at the memory. ‘And it did.’

‘That was only because you had someone to ride to your rescue. I have nobody in my life like that. Captain Rawson treated you with respect,’ said Sophie, enviously, ‘but I’ve had little of that. Lieutenant Bouteron is more interested in capturing me than helping me escape.’

‘He may yet relent.’

‘You don’t know him, Amalia.’

‘He can’t keep you here against your will.’

‘Yes, he can,’ said Sophie. ‘I’m not the first woman to be tricked like this and I don’t suppose I’ll be the last. The lieutenant told me that the last one was glad to offer herself to him in return for her freedom – though I’m not sure that I believe that. Quite frankly, after what’s happened so far, I can’t trust anything he says.’

Sophie fell silent. Wanting to comfort her new friend, Amalia couldn’t think of anything to do or say. Her fear was that both of them might be victims of the duc de Vendôme’s lechery. Whenever she thought of the way that he’d looked her up and down, she felt nauseous. It was a new and unsettling experience for her. Though Amalia had been brought to the camp to act as a hostage, it might not be her only function. She, too, could be forcibly deflowered. The very notion made her feel faint. Amalia was highly sympathetic to Sophie’s plight but she was now even more in dread of what might befall her as well. Her hopes began to wane. Even if Daniel did eventually come for her, he might well be too late to save her from molestation. As the evening wore on, Amalia felt increasingly defenceless.

When the summons finally came, it was not for her. The tent flap was pulled abruptly back and two men stepped into the tent. One was an officer and the other a guard. Amalia and Sophie rose to their feet and retreated a few paces. The officer stood with both hands on his hips.

‘Well,’ he said to Sophie, ‘have you made your decision yet?’

‘Leave me alone,’ she pleaded.

‘Since you reject me, I’ll hand you over to someone else.’

‘Is this how you treat guests to the camp, Lieutenant Bouteron?’

He grinned. ‘That depends how pretty they are.’ His eyes flicked to Amalia. ‘And it’s a long time since we’ve had two visitors as pretty as both of you.’ He extended a hand to Sophie. ‘Are you coming?’

‘No,’ she retorted with a show of defiance.

‘Then you’ll need some assistance.’

Bouteron nodded to the guard. Moving quickly, the man took Sophie firmly by the arm. When Amalia tried to stop her from being dragged off, she was brushed aside by the lieutenant who then followed the others out. Fired by a mixture of fear and anger, Amalia tried to go after them, only to find that she was staring down the barrel of the musket that the outside guard aimed at her. All that she could do was to withdraw into the tent. Sophie had gone. It might be Amalia’s turn next. Dropping onto a stool, she burst into tears.

The tour was very thorough. As they walked through the camp, Alphonse was able to make clandestine deliveries of tobacco and wine to some of his customers. He’d been following French armies all his life yet had somehow managed to avoid being recruited. He told Daniel that he came from a family of sutlers who’d spent the best part of a
century meeting the needs of soldiers on the march. Daniel was less interested in this personal history than he was in the way that the camp was laid out. Everywhere they went, he made a mental note of what he saw. When campfires pierced the gloom from time to time, they kept to the shadows to evade attention. Eventually, they came to the quarters occupied by Vendôme. From inside the tent came sounds of revelry.

‘He likes to enjoy himself,’ said Alphonse.

‘I see.’

‘There’s no trade for us here, Gustave. Commanders have their own source of supplies. We do our business with the lower ranks. Victor, of course, is always in demand.’

‘Why is that?’ asked Daniel.

‘He’s a blacksmith. The cavalry always have need of him.’

‘Then he had no call to attack me.’

‘You’re lucky that it was Victor and not his wife,’ said Alphonse with a chortle. ‘She’s even bigger and stronger than he is. While Victor is shoeing horses, Josette sells from the back of their wagon. He didn’t want you to take away any of her trade.’

Daniel let him babble on, only half-listening to Alphonse’s mixture of advice, reminiscence and crude humour. Eyes now accustomed to the darkness, Daniel kept looking for the most likely place where Amalia might be detained. There were guards outside Vendôme’s quarters but few other people were about. What he was looking for was another tent protected
by armed guards but none presented itself. He and Alphonse were about to move on when two figures emerged like ghosts out of the murky heart of the camp. A woman was being hustled along by a soldier with a musket. Daniel’s stomach lurched. Suspecting that it was Amalia, he instinctively took a few steps forward before checking himself. To attack her escort now would be foolish. He’d be giving himself away. He and Amalia were certain to be caught. Alarmed as he was at the way she was being manhandled, Daniel had to bide his time.

As the couple approached a tent in the shadows, another guard came out of it. He and the first man pushed the woman inside then remained where they were on sentry duty. Daniel was at once angry and grateful, incensed by the rough treatment he’d witnessed yet indebted to the soldiers for the guidance they’d given. The trip around the camp with Alphonse had yielded a bonus.

He knew where Amalia was being held.

In fact, the woman he’d seen only in outline had been Sophie Prunier. Thrust into the tent, she had difficulty staying upright at first and Amalia had to steady her. Something had clearly happened. Sophie had a hunted look to her. Sinking down on to a stool, she put her face in her hands and sobbed quietly. Amalia didn’t disturb her. The other woman patently wanted to be alone with her thoughts. To ask her to describe her ordeal would be unkind and improper. When
she was ready to talk, she would. Amalia therefore kept a silent vigil beside her, noting the way that she hunched her shoulders and kept her face hidden. Sophie had been away from the tent for some time so her fellow prisoner was bound to speculate on where she’d been. Having met Lieutenant Bouteron – albeit fleetingly – Amalia was in a position to make a judgement. Compared to Vendôme, he was definitely the lesser of two evils.

It was well over twenty minutes before Sophie lowered her hands and sat up. She was too embarrassed to meet Amalia’s gaze. All she did was to mumble a few words.

‘Please don’t ask me.’

‘No,’ said Amalia. ‘I promise.’

‘I’m so tired, so very tired.’

‘Then you must rest.’

It was difficult to tell if Sophie was genuinely fatigued or simply unable to bear the weight of humiliation. At all events, she stretched herself out on one of the camp beds and turned her face away. Amalia placed a blanket gently over her. Nothing more was said. Sophie either fell asleep or went off into a reverie. Amalia decided to get what rest she could while she still had the opportunity. There was always the possibility that she, too, might be hauled out during the night to satisfy someone’s lust. As she lay on the other camp bed, she pulled the blanket up over her head in the vain hope that it might shield her from her worst fears. They continued to gnaw at her brain.