Fire and Sword (20 page)

‘Do you still deny that you are Captain Daniel Rawson?’ said Vendôme, walking across to confront him.

‘I do,’ replied Daniel.

‘Then perhaps it’s time for you to meet an old friend.’

Vendôme gave a nod and Valeran went briskly out of the tent. Though he showed no sign of it, Daniel was profoundly alarmed. He feared that Henry Welbeck had been apprehended as well. A spasm of guilt shot through him. In bringing his friend, he’d imperilled him. Daniel could speak French fluently but Welbeck had only a limited grasp of the language. He could never pass for a Frenchman. If caught, his disguise would be useless. Daniel’s face was impassive. Yet inwardly, he was berating himself.

As the tent flap was drawn back, he braced himself for the sight of his friend but it was not the sergeant who was led in by Valeran. It was a big man in the blue uniform of a major. Strutting across to him, the newcomer snatched off Daniel’s hat so that he could take a good look at him. He required only a couple of seconds. Satisfied, he drew back his hand and delivered a resounding slap across Daniel’s face.

‘That’s him,’ he said with leering certainty. ‘Marcel Daron.’

‘Thank you, Major Crevel,’ said Vendôme. ‘You’ve proved his identity beyond doubt. Henceforth, however, you must call him by his real name – Captain Daniel Rawson.’

Amalia Janssen spent most of her time wondering where Daniel was and worrying that he might be in danger. But she also found herself recalling the inspection of the camp that she and Sophie Prunier had made in the company of Lieutenant Ainley. Something about the other woman had troubled her deeply yet she was not quite sure what it was. Sophie had never been less than friendly and confiding towards her. During their imprisonment, they’d been able to offer each other mutual support. Even in so short a time together, a trust had built up between them. It was the reason that Amalia had felt able to talk so freely to Sophie about her relationship with Daniel.

Something had changed and it disturbed Amalia so much
that she lay awake that night, trying to solve the puzzle. Why had Sophie been so anxious to see the entire camp? What had made such a difference? Why had a woman who’d sworn that she’d never trust a soldier again been so ready to talk with Lieutenant Ainley? Why did she now seem at ease? What exactly was behind Sophie’s ambiguous smile? As the questions multiplied in Amalia’s mind, they combined eventually into one – who
was
she?

Amalia was confused. Part of her felt guilty that she should even question the character of a woman who’d endured such maltreatment in the French camp. At the same time, another part of her began to entertain nagging doubts. Jonathan Ainley had trusted Sophie implicitly and, in the course of their tour of the camp, had shown polite interest in her. Amalia was tempted to accept the lieutenant’s judgement and to dismiss her feelings of unease about the woman. Yet they still persisted. Indeed, by morning they were beginning to plague her. She resolved to speak to someone.

Since Daniel was not there, Amalia had to find someone else who’d offer a sympathetic ear. Ainley was an interested party so she ruled him out at once and she didn’t want to bother Marlborough with what might well turn out to be a mistaken assessment on her part. The person to whom she turned, therefore, was Cardonnel, a man of surpassing discretion and one on whom she could rely to be wholly dispassionate. After she’d eaten breakfast in her tent, she went in search of the secretary.

Amalia intercepted him on his way to Marlborough’s quarters. When they’d exchanged greetings, she asked him for a few moments of his time. Cardonnel could not have been more agreeable.

‘Take as much time as you wish,’ he invited, ‘though if you’re hoping for news of Captain Rawson, you’ll be disappointed. We’ve heard nothing from him.’

‘I just wanted to mention something to you,’ she said. ‘I could be speaking out of turn here and, if that’s the case, I apologise in advance. But I felt I must raise the matter with somebody.’

‘And what matter might that be, Miss Janssen?’

‘It concerns Sophie Prunier.’

‘I understand that she’s remaining with us for a few days.’

‘That’s one of the things that worries me,’ admitted Amalia. ‘She says that she’d rather stay here until her parents return from Paris. Yet, when we were held in the French camp, she was adamant that she’d never tell her parents a word of what had happened to her because it was too shameful. If that’s the case, surely Sophie would be eager to return home
before
her mother and father do. She’d want to give the impression that she’d been there all the time.’

‘That’s a reasonable point,’ said Cardonnel.

‘It only popped into my mind yesterday.’

Amalia told him about the way that Lieutenant Ainley had conducted them around the camp and how Sophie – who’d expressed a hatred of the army when in custody – had suddenly developed a curiosity. Cardonnel was a good listener,
giving her full rein then gently pressing for more detail.

‘I mean no criticism of the lieutenant,’ said Amalia. ‘It was very kind of him to act as our guide. He found nothing untoward in Sophie’s manner, but then, he didn’t know her before she came here. This could all be nothing but silliness on my part,’ she added with a diffident smile, ‘and I’d be grateful if you’d tell me so. Then I could stop it from buzzing around in my head.’

‘I’m very glad that it
did
buzz around, Miss Janssen.’

‘Do you really mean that?’

‘I do,’ said Cardonnel. ‘This is something that should be taken seriously and I’m grateful to you.’

‘What would you advise?’

‘Are you expecting to see Mademoiselle Prunier today?’

‘Yes, I am.’

‘Then I’d urge you to carry on as if nothing had happened. You must give her no indication at all that you’ve been harbouring any suspicions. Meanwhile,’ said Cardonnel, ‘I’ll make His Grace aware of what you’ve told me. He might well want us to contrive a casual meeting with the lady so that we can sound her out a little.’

‘It’s strange,’ said Amalia, gripped by remorse. ‘I feel as if I’m betraying a friend.’

Before he could reassure her, Cardonnel saw someone walking rapidly towards him. After giving him a salute, the soldier handed him a message. Cardonnel read it then dismissed the man with a nod.

‘Your fears were far from groundless, Miss Janssen,’ he told her. ‘It seems that Sophie Prunier is no longer in the camp. Somehow, she left during the night.’

Bound hand and foot, Daniel had found it impossible to sleep. All that he could do was to lie on the bare ground while two armed guards occupied the tent with him. It had been a time for recrimination. He rebuked himself for letting his search for the sword blind him to the hazards of such a quest. In thinking that the weapon would still be in the wagon, he’d been misled. In imagining that Alphonse and his father were friends of his, he’d not even considered that one of them might report him. In bringing Henry Welbeck – then getting himself caught – he’d stranded his friend in enemy territory. The momentary relief of actually seeing his sword had been completely erased by the confrontation with Major Crevel. He was in dire straits. Daniel had been captured, identified and exposed for what he was. He could look for no quarter from the enemy.

‘So this is the infamous Captain Rawson, is it?’ said Burgundy, regarding him with distaste. ‘His audacity has finally got the better of him, it seems.’

‘Too true, my lord,’ said Vendôme, delighted to be able to show off his captive. ‘He felt that he could walk in and out of the French camp with impunity. His calculations went awry this time.’

‘I’m pleased to hear it.’

‘I daresay that you’re also pleased that you spurned my wager.’

‘That’s immaterial, my lord Duke.’

‘Your purse would have been seriously lightened.’

With his hands tied behind his back, Daniel stood in Vendôme’s quarters while the two commanders looked at him as if he was an animal in a cage. He was taunted, laughed at and humiliated. What made his suffering more intense was the fact that his sword was on a table over a yard away. The weapon with which he’d killed so many Frenchmen in battle was now in the possession of the enemy.

‘What do you intend to do with him?’ asked Burgundy.

Vendôme grinned. ‘I know what I’d like to do,’ he said, ‘and that’s to flay him alive for all the trouble he’s given us.’

‘That would be ignoble and improper.’

‘It would also be wasteful. The captain is a worthy prize. I’m sending him to Versailles where he can be sternly interrogated and where His Majesty can appraise him.’

‘My grandfather will be intrigued to meet him.’

‘I’m sure that he’ll devise a suitable punishment. It may even be,’ he went on with a vindictive laugh, ‘that he sends Captain Rawson to the Bastille.’ He turned to Daniel. ‘You’ll not find it so easy to escape from there when you’re kept in chains.’

Retaining his composure, Daniel was determined to show no fear. While the two commanders were gloating over him, he was taking their measure, noting the sharp contrast
in their age and appearance, and the occasional moments of friction between them. Burgundy was nominally in command, but since the prisoner was in Vendôme’s hands it was he who’d assumed control and was effectively boasting about it. As he looked into Vendôme’s unforgiving eyes, Daniel could see why Amalia had been so frightened of him.

After goading the prisoner for a few minutes, Vendôme signalled to the guards to take him out. Burgundy blocked their exit.

‘Wait there,’ he said, a regal hand bringing the guards to a halt. ‘Aren’t you forgetting something, my lord Duke?’

‘I don’t think so,’ replied Vendôme.

‘What about his sword?’

‘I thought to keep that as a souvenir.’

‘There are much finer trophies with which to remember this war. I feel that the sword should travel to Versailles with its owner. After all, it was his pursuit of the weapon that brought about his downfall. My grandfather may be amused to hear the tale.’

‘I’d rather it stay here,’ said Vendôme.

‘Then I must overrule you,’ insisted Burgundy, taking the sword and examining it before handing it to one of the guards. ‘See that this goes with Captain Rawson,’ he said, curtly. ‘It may well be that His Majesty uses it to cut off his head.’

Henry Welbeck had spent the night in a tree before. Accustomed to sleeping rough, he’d always done so in the
company of other soldiers. Now that he was alone, he was more aware of danger. Darkness brought the wood alive and he heard all sorts of threatening noises in the undergrowth. Perched on one of the lower branches of a tree, he eventually managed to doze off. He was roused from his slumber at dawn by melodic birdsong and was immediately aware of the cramp in his limbs. Descending to the ground, he stretched himself to ease the pain then searched for breakfast in a saddlebag.

There was a rivulet nearby and he allowed the horses a drink before using the water to wash his face and to bring himself fully awake. Tethering the horses once more, he returned to the thickets adjoining the road and maintained his vigil. On the previous day, he’d been irritated by Daniel’s failure to return swiftly. Any irritation was now swamped beneath his concern for his friend’s safety. Welbeck used the telescope to scan the road in both directions then pointed it in the direction of the French camp.

It was hours before his patience was rewarded. A patrol came round the bend towards him, a dozen soldiers riding in pairs at a brisk trot. It was not their disciplined riding that interested the sergeant. His attention was fixed solely on the cart that rattled along with them. Trussed up, and seated in the rear of it, was Daniel.

‘A pox on it!’ muttered Welbeck, removing his eye from the telescope. ‘What the devil am I supposed to do now?’

Jonathan Ainley was writhing with embarrassment. Summoned to Marlborough’s quarters, he’d hoped for an assignment that showed how much he was valued by the captain general. Instead, he was being admonished for his lack of perception.

‘When did this happen, Your Grace?’ he asked.

‘Some time during the night,’ replied Marlborough. ‘Clearly, Mademoiselle Prunier could not escape without assistance. It remains to be seen who actually provided it.’

‘Are you certain that the lady was a spy?’

‘Why else would she depart so abruptly?’ said Cardonnel. ‘It seems that we were all duped by her.’

‘Not all of us,’ observed Marlborough. ‘Miss Janssen was deceived by her at first but it was she who actually sensed that our French guest was not the harmless victim she claimed to be. Her suspicions were communicated to my secretary but, by that time, it was too late. The bird had flown.’

Ainley winced. ‘I feel such a fool, Your Grace.’

‘You were not to know her true intentions. We, too, accepted her at face value and so did Captain Rawson. The lady was devious.’

‘I should have been more alert when Mademoiselle Prunier asked to see our artillery. What woman likes cannon?’

‘One who’s offered the chance to count their number for the benefit of the enemy. In future,’ said Marlborough, ‘make it a rule never to conduct any stranger around the camp.
I’m sure that you did it out of courtesy and – because the stranger in this particular case was a beautiful woman – no whisper of doubt was heard in your ear.’

‘No,’ confessed Ainley. ‘I was gulled.’

‘Learn from the experience, Lieutenant.’

‘I will, Your Grace. What can I do to make amends?’

‘I can tell you that,’ said Cardonnel. ‘You can help to find the person or persons who aided her escape. Since Mademoiselle Prunier had quarters near your regiment, the likelihood is that someone from the 24
^th
Foot was also in the pay of the French. Find out who is missing and report back to us.’

‘I’d sooner lead a patrol in pursuit of the lady,’ said Ainley.

‘One has already left camp,’ Marlborough told him, ‘but I suspect that she will have too good a start to be overhauled.’ Seeing his extreme discomfort, he felt a pang of sympathy. ‘Comfort yourself with this thought, Lieutenant,’ he went on. ‘Sophie Prunier learnt nothing that Ralph Higgins had not already discovered. She will merely confirm intelligence already supplied.’

‘That’s no consolation to me, Your Grace. I failed.’

‘You were misled by a pretty face,’ said Cardonnel. ‘That is all.’

Marlborough gave a wry smile. ‘It’s happened to every one of us at some time or other, Lieutenant,’ he remarked. ‘You suffered the fate of all mankind.’

Because he had so few advantages, Henry Welbeck made the most of them. The map that Daniel had given him was accurate enough to spark an idea. He should be able to get well ahead of the patrol. It was keeping to the road and moving at a moderate pace. By riding across open country at a gallop, Welbeck believed that he could rejoin the road at a point where it looped south, and arrange some kind of ambush. His pistol could only account for one soldier and there were a dozen guarding Daniel, not to mention a driver who would have some sort of weapon. An indifferent horseman, he didn’t even notice the pounding of the saddle in his crotch and the lurching sensation in his stomach. The hectic journey gave him thinking time and that proved critical.

How could he stop and disable a French patrol? How could he rescue his friend? How could he ensure that Daniel was unharmed? How could he retrieve the sword? How could they get back to the safety of the British camp? These were the questions he kept firing at himself but the answers were elusive. As he sped along, his eyes were raking the terrain ahead for a suitable place, somewhere where he could make use of natural features. Occupying his mind like a dead weight was the image of Daniel, tied up, defenceless and bouncing in the rear of the cart. He knew that the one thing sustaining the prisoner in his hour of need was the conviction that Welbeck would come to his aid. The sergeant couldn’t let him down.