Fire and Sword (17 page)

He consulted briefly with the officers seated either side of him. They agreed wholeheartedly with what he proposed. Marlborough rose to his feet and looked hard at each man in turn before speaking.

‘You have been found guilty of heinous crimes,’ he declared, ‘and you’ve brought disgrace to the uniforms you once wore. The sentence of this court is that each and every one of you will be hanged by the neck until you are dead.’

‘No, no,’ cried Edwin Lock. ‘We’d rather be shot, Your Grace.’

‘It’s more honourable,’ said Searle.

‘For that reason alone, it’s denied you,’ said Marlborough. ‘You have no right to talk of honour. What you did was so dishonourable that it defies belief. How could British soldiers behave with such unconscionable barbarity? How could you sink so swiftly to the level of savages?’ He snapped his fingers. ‘Take them away and hold them in custody until a gallows has been built.’

Now in chains, the prisoners were dragged away, two armed guards to each of them. Marlborough thanked the other members of the court martial and they began to disperse. Adam Cardonnel had been watching the whole event. He walked across to Marlborough.

‘You showed too much compassion, Your Grace,’ he said.

‘I certainly felt none, Adam.’

‘Hanging is too good for them. Those men were
evil
. They should have been burnt alive at the stake.’

‘That sentence is not permitted, alas,’ said Marlborough, sadly, ‘though I can see that it would be a form of poetic justice.’

‘What will happen now?’

‘Word must be sent out to other farms to assure them that the culprits have now been caught and will answer with their lives. We must try everything we can to win back their goodwill.’

‘It may already be too late for that, Your Grace.’

‘Then there’s the boy who survived the raid on his farm. When you write to the people who are looking after him, send them my personal apology. I hope they’ll take some consolation from the fact that the deserters will be put to death.’

‘When will the sentence be carried out?’

‘Not until Captain Rawson and Sergeant Welbeck have returned. According to the report, it was they who led the attack on the place where those vile men were hiding. We must wait,’ said Marlborough. ‘Rawson and Welbeck would hate to miss the occasion.’

‘You’re assuming that they will come back,’ said Cardonnel.

‘Do you harbour any doubts about that?’

‘One is bound to feel some qualms, Your Grace.’

‘I don’t,’ said Marlborough. ‘If I did I’d never have sanctioned the enterprise. To be candid, Daniel Rawson is one of the few people in the Confederate army who
doesn’t
give me qualms. Somehow – and some day – he’ll come safely back to us.’

It was not the most comfortable way to enter the camp. Hanging under the wagon, Daniel had had to put up with persistent noise, choking dust and an intense ache in every muscle. To add to his problems, one of the horses ahead of him rid itself of several pounds of manure and Daniel’s back grazed it as he passed over the stinking pile. It would have been easier for him to have sneaked into the rear of the wagon and hide among the provisions but he would certainly have been discovered that way. As it was, he was carried into the camp and was able to loosen his hold, drop to the ground and roll over swiftly before the horse pulling the next wagon trampled on him.

Getting to his feet, he stepped behind one of the tents so that he could gather his strength, dust himself off and take his bearings. He also spared a thought for Henry Welbeck, wondering if he’d managed to descend the tree without hurting himself. In Daniel’s view, the sergeant was the ideal person to take on such a hazardous errand. He’d always choose his friend before anyone. Welbeck was tough, reliable and a veritable tiger in combat. He’d also been desperately keen to help in the capture of the deserters and had acquitted himself well when they’d been arrested.

The sword took precedence now. Daniel knew that it was in the camp somewhere and that fact sent a thrill through his entire body. Making light of his aches and pains, he began his search. The first person he needed to speak to was Alphonse, the helpful young sutler who’d shown him around
the camp. Daniel headed for the area where he was likely to find him. Alphonse was at work, seated on the ground while he repaired a shoe. When Daniel approached, the sutler didn’t recognise him at first because he was wearing different apparel. Then he looked at the newcomer more carefully.

‘It’s Gustave!’ he said, getting up to welcome him. ‘Where have you been? We thought something must have happened to you.’

‘I had to leave the camp for a while, Alphonse.’

‘Where did you go – and where are those horses of yours?’

‘I’ll tell you later.’ He glanced at the shoe. ‘I didn’t know that you were a cobbler.’

‘You have to learn all trades to make a living these days.’

‘I’m sure. Now, what I’m looking for is my wagon.’

Alphonse sighed. ‘I thought you might be.’

‘Where is it?’

‘I don’t know, Gustave.’

‘It seemed to vanish in the night.’

‘So did you, if it comes to that.’

‘Well, I’m back now and I want my wagon.’

‘Then you’ll have to speak to Victor’s wife,’ said Alphonse, ‘because she’s the one who took it.’

‘What possessed her to do that?’ asked Daniel.

‘Josette wanted revenge. You kicked her husband so hard that his balls swelled up and turned black. He couldn’t bear to let anyone touch them. Josette is a woman who likes her pleasures,’ he went on, ‘and you deprived her of them. She’s
had long, cold nights with Victor. That made her angry.’

‘Where is she, Alphonse?’

‘Be nice to her. If you try to bully Josette, she’ll turn nasty.’

‘I just wish to get what’s mine,’ said Daniel.

Alphonse tossed the shoe, the hammer and the nails into the back of his wagon before zigzagging between the other vehicles. The woman they were after was not far away. Daniel had been warned that Josette was big but he’d not expected the gargantuan proportions that greeted him. She was a positive mountain of flesh with bulging arms, flabby legs, a massive belly and a bosom so large, heavy and volatile that it threatened to burst through her bodice. Being married to a blacksmith was appropriate inasmuch as her face had the gleaming hardness of something hammered out on an anvil. When the two men arrived, she was sitting on the ground and smoking a pipe.

‘Who’s this?’ she asked, giving Daniel a hostile glance.

‘This is Gustave, the man I told you about,’ said Alphonse.

She got to her feet at once. ‘So you’re the villain who kicked my husband, are you?’

‘It was only in self-defence,’ said Daniel.

‘Then I’ll knock your frigging teeth out in self-defence.’

‘Gustave is a friend,’ said Alphonse.

‘He’s no friend of mine.’

‘Victor forgave him for what happened.’

‘Well, I haven’t. Take him away before I hit him.’

‘I simply want to know where my wagon is,’ said Daniel, politely. ‘After what I did to Victor, you were right to take it. I deserved that. But I think that we’re even now.’

‘Oh, do you?’ she said, hands on her hips.

‘I did apologise to your husband.’

‘That means nothing to me.’

‘Listen,’ said Daniel, trying to mollify her, ‘I’ll be happy to let you have some of the goods in my wagon by way of compensation.’

‘We don’t need your charity!’ she snarled. ‘What I want is a proper husband not someone with a purple prick that hangs between his legs all night like a dead snake.’ Raising a fist, Josette advanced a few steps. ‘That was your doing!’

Daniel moved back and bumped into Victor, who came up behind him. The blacksmith was in an affable mood.

‘Are you brawling again, woman?’ he said to his wife with a laugh. ‘Who are you battering this time?’ He took a closer look at Daniel. ‘Why, it’s Gustave!’ he exclaimed, embracing him. ‘It’s good to see you again, my friend. We’d given you up for dead. Where have you been?’

‘I had to go away on business,’ explained Daniel. ‘When I tried to take my wagon with me, it had disappeared.’

‘That’s right. Josette took it – but only in jest.’

‘Jest!’ she howled. ‘I’ll tell you what my idea of a jest is. I’d like to bury this bastard up to his neck in horse dung and throw stones at his ugly face.’

Victor chuckled. ‘My wife has a bit of a temper, Gustave,’ he said. ‘You mustn’t take offence – it’s only her way. I’ll show you where the wagon is, if you wish.’

‘Yes, please,’ said Daniel. ‘I’d be very grateful.’

‘There might not be much left in it, mark you. This camp is full of scavengers. If it had stayed where it was, Alphonse could have kept an eye on it.’

‘That’s what I was doing,’ said Alphonse, ‘until Josette came.’

‘I should have torn that wagon to pieces,’ she growled.

‘I’m very glad that you didn’t,’ said Daniel. ‘Please take me to it, Victor.’

‘Get him out of here,’ roared Josette, ‘before I sit on his head and fart in his mouth.’ As the blacksmith led Daniel away, she fired a Parthian shot. ‘And I hope his rotten wagon has been stolen and used as firewood.’

Glad to get out of her reach, Daniel was disturbed by the news that the wagon might have been pillaged. His sword had been hidden under the seat and held in place with some nails. Most people who searched the wagon would not even see the weapon but there was always the possibility that someone might chance upon it.

‘Where did your wife drive it?’ asked Daniel.

‘Down by the stream,’ replied Victor. ‘It was all I could do to stop Josette from tipping it into the water. You upset her, Gustave.’

Daniel looked over his shoulder. ‘Yes, I gathered that.’

‘She likes to get her own back.’

They picked a way between the wagons until they came to a grassy incline. At the bottom of it, perched on the very edge of the stream, was the wagon taken from Ralph Higgins. There was no sign of the horse. When he saw what had happened, Daniel grimaced. Most of the canvas had been torn away from the hoops and the back of the wagon was almost empty. Whoever had stolen the provisions had been very thorough.

Daniel ran quickly down the hill and climbed onto the back of the wagon. Reaching under the seat, he felt for the sword but all that he found was a sharp nail that drew blood from his finger. Daniel was impervious to the pain. He was too numbed by a horrible realisation. His precious sword had gone. He might never find it again.

Still courting his commander’s favour, Captain Raoul Valeran delivered his report with the quiet smile of someone expecting praise for his efforts. Seated at a table in his tent, Vendôme was leafing through some papers as he listened.

‘I believe that I’ve found how he got into the camp,’ said Valeran. ‘Posing as a sutler, he joined some wagons that came here a few days ago. I’ve spoken to some of the soldiers who guarded them.’

‘Do we know what name he used?’ asked Vendôme.

‘It was Gustave Carraud.’

‘How can you be sure of that?’

‘I made enquiries among the other sutlers, Your Grace. A man of that name came and went, leaving his wagon behind him.’

‘Why should he do that?’

‘I can only imagine that he had no need of it.’

‘Then how did he escape?’ pressed Vendôme, looking up at him. ‘He could hardly have walked all the way back to the British camp, especially as he had two women with him.’

‘I have the answer to that,’ said Valeran, eager to impress. ‘It seems that he arrived here with two horses. They vanished at the same time as Captain Rawson and the women.’

‘I see. You’ve done well, Raoul. I congratulate you.’

Valeran beamed. ‘Thank you, Your Grace.’

‘It’s a pity that your investigation into the burning down of that farm was not so fruitful. That crime remains unsolved. However,’ he continued as Valeran’s face crumpled, ‘you’ve made amends here. At least we now know how Captain Rawson entered the camp. What is not clear is how he left it during the night.’

‘That takes us into the realm of guesswork.’

‘Quite so,’ said Vendôme, standing up. ‘I assume that you searched this wagon of his?’

‘I did, Your Grace,’ said Valeran, ‘though, by the time I got to it, most of its contents had been stolen. What was left behind, however, confirms my belief that Gustave Carraud was indeed Captain Rawson.’ Lifting up the sword that he
was carrying, he showed it to Vendôme. ‘This was concealed beneath the seat of the wagon.’

‘How interesting,’ said Vendôme, taking the weapon and examining it. ‘This has seen good service, by the look of it. I think your supposition is correct – it must belong to Rawson. What use would a sutler have of an army sabre?’

‘That was exactly the question that I asked.’

‘Did you get a description of this Gustave Carraut?’

‘He’s a well-built man in his thirties who can fight like a demon.’

‘How did you find that out?’

‘He had a brawl with some of the other sutlers. I spoke to witnesses who saw him overpower them with relative ease. Evidently, he’s very fit and strong.’

‘That accords with what we already know of Captain Rawson.’ Vendôme studied the sword again. ‘He’s fit, strong, daring and imaginative. He can pass himself off as a wine merchant or a sutler with equal facility. For all that, the captain is not infallible.’ He tapped the sword. ‘This proves it, Raoul.’

‘Does it, Your Grace?’

‘Most assuredly,’ said Vendôme. ‘I don’t need to tell you how soldiers cherish their weapons. They grow to have a superstitious reliance on them.’

‘I’d certainly never part with my sword, Your Grace.’

‘I dare swear that Captain Rawson has the same attitude. He’d never have abandoned this unless he was forced to do
so. That’s what I mean about his fallibility,’ said Vendôme. ‘He made a mistake. I suspect that he’s the sort of man who’ll take steps to rectify it.’

Valeran was dubious. ‘Surely, he’d never try to retrieve it.’

‘I think that’s precisely what he might do, Raoul. Perhaps we don’t need Mademoiselle Janssen, after all.’ He brandished the sword in the air. ‘I could be holding a far better hostage in my hand.’