Fire and Sword (7 page)

‘That sounds very plausible,’ said Marlborough, thoughtfully. ‘Burgundy and Vendôme know that we don’t enjoy the unqualified support of the Flemish population. We’ve yet to win their loyalty, let alone their affection. What better way to stir up enmity against us than to portray us as callous murderers? Thank you, Daniel. Your theory has the ring of truth about it.’

‘Yet it is only a theory, Your Grace,’ Daniel reminded him.

‘And it’s partnered with another,’ noted Cardonnel.

‘This one is not so reassuring, I’m afraid,’ cautioned Daniel, ‘because it puts the onus back on us. It would be very comforting to think that French soldiers have carried out the three raids, thereby lifting suspicion off British soldiers. However…’

‘Go on,’ Marlborough encouraged.

‘I incline towards my second theory.’

‘Which is?’

‘That these men are deserters from our own ranks,’ said Daniel, ‘hiding behind our uniforms and initiating another attack whenever they want a fresh supply of food or some more excitement.’

‘Ha!’ cried Marlborough, smacking the table. ‘What excitement can there be in shooting unarmed men and raping their womenfolk? What kind of warped minds take delight in the wilful destruction of property? They behaved like wild animals. If they really are British renegades, there’s all the more reason to track them down.’ He turned to Cardonnel. ‘When you send those letters, Adam, ask for a list of any deserters from our cavalry regiments.’

‘I will, Your Grace,’ replied Cardonnel, reaching for pen and paper, ‘and I’ll do it promptly.’

‘They may not all be from the cavalry,’ said Daniel. ‘Some of them could equally well have fled from regiments of foot and stolen some horses. May I suggest that we examine the lists of
all
deserters?’

‘That’s a wise precaution,’ agreed Marlborough, studying the map. ‘Meanwhile, I’ll send out patrols to search for them. So far, there have been three raids. The victims have all been roughly in this area to the west,’ he went on, tapping the map with his finger. ‘That’s where the search must start. The attacks are obviously planned with care. They always choose small, isolated farms where they can expect little resistance.’
He sat back. ‘Where will they strike next, I wonder?’

‘We can only hazard a guess, Your Grace,’ said Daniel. ‘With your permission, I’ll pursue another line of enquiry. The third attack is very similar to the others but there’s a significant difference.’

‘What’s that, Daniel?’

‘We have a witness.’

‘He’s only a frightened ten-year-old boy.’

‘Nevertheless, he may have seen something that could help us. When the lad has had a little time to recover, I’d like to talk to him. He may, for instance, have heard those men speak.’

‘That would be valuable evidence,’ said Cardonnel. ‘At least, we’d know what language they used. It’s a good suggestion.’

‘I concur,’ added Marlborough. ‘Take a patrol with you.’

‘I’d prefer to go on my own, Your Grace,’ said Daniel.

‘Why is that?’

‘The boy has had enough of a scare already. If he sees another troop of redcoats descending on him, he’ll be terrified. I’ll go on my own and I won’t wear my uniform.’

‘That’s very sensible.’

‘I have to win the boy’s confidence somehow,’ said Daniel, ‘and that will be difficult. Might I suggest that any patrols sent out are kept well clear of this farm where the lad is now staying?’

‘I’ll ensure that they are, Daniel.’

‘Thank you, Your Grace. I’d like to think that this is all part of some French plot to discredit us in the eyes of the local people. In my heart, however,’ Daniel went on, sadly, ‘I have a lurking suspicion that the men we’re after served in the British army and ran from their colours. That, in itself, is a heinous crime. What they’ve done since, I’m afraid, is quite monstrous. They soiled our reputation and stirred up hatred against us.’ Daniel’s face hardened. ‘That’s unforgivable.’

The farmhouse stood beside a stream in the shadow of a hill that protected it from the worst of the weather. The summit commanded views in all directions. A lookout posted on it could see anyone approaching across the plain from miles away so they always had advance warning of company. It was a paradox. Men who made a living by burning down farmhouses had actually restored this one. When they first found the place, it was little more than a shell, its walls crumbling, its roof collapsed, its
stone-flagged
floors overgrown with weeds. After stealing tools, timber and tiles, they’d set about repairing their new home, building a snug refuge to see them through the winter. There’d been no shortage of wood for the fire.

The roof was now sound, the rooms swept clean, the shutters mended and new doors kept out the wind and rain. They’d even made some crude furniture. Anything else they’d needed, they’d simply looted. From the ruins of the barn, a new one had risen, stocked with hay and straw.
Animals penned behind the farmhouse were killed and roasted when the need arose. A pig was turning on the spit today, the tempting aroma of pork wafting through the air. The men were already licking their lips.

There was another paradox. Soldiers who’d deserted from an army that imposed too much discipline on them had readily accepted an even stricter regimen. They knew that it was essential to follow orders now or forfeit their lives. There was, however, a difference. In the army, they were at the mercy of loathsome superiors against whom they had no redress. They were now part of a band that had elected their leader. Matthew Searle was one of them, a soldier from the rank and file, a strong-minded man who’d refused a chance to become a corporal out of sheer bloody-mindedness. Yet now he was wearing the uniform of a captain, albeit one that was stained with blood and ventilated by bullet holes. Searle was bold, cunning and decisive. He held the ragged band together by force of character.

Edwin Lock was a short, skinny, rat-faced man with bulging eyes and a twitching moustache. Sucking on his pipe, he sidled across to Searle, who was seated at the kitchen table, counting money.

‘I need to speak to you, Matt,’ he said.

‘Shut up,’ ordered Searle.

‘We’ve been talking, you see.’

‘I don’t care what you’ve been doing, Edwin. You can just hold your tongue until I finish. Open that big mouth of
yours again and I’ll halve your share. Is that what you want?’

Lock held his peace and waited impatiently as Searle put the money into a series of piles. It was the life savings of the family who’d occupied the last farm they’d raided. At the time, it had seemed like a reasonable haul. Divided between ten of them, however, it looked less substantial. Searle was a natural democrat. He expected no privileges because of his position as leader. Ten equal amounts stood on the table. His arithmetic lesson was over.

‘Well?’ he asked, glancing up at Lock. ‘What have you got to say for yourself this time?’

‘It’s really what the others have got to say, Matt. They get bored out here without women.’

‘The town is only two hours away. All they have to do is to ride over there and they can buy the juiciest slit they want. They have the time and the money.’

‘Wouldn’t it be easier to have the women here?’ said Lock with a sly grin. ‘The girl in that last farm, for instance. Why did we have to kill her? She’d have given us sport for days out here.’

‘Yes,’ conceded Searle, ‘but you’d all have been fighting each other over whose turn it was next. I want none of that here, Edwin. If they want to dip their wick, the men can ride into town. The whores are cheap and succulent there.’

‘Then why don’t we pay for some of them to come here?’

‘No, I tell you.’

‘They could cook and sew for us as well.’

‘They’d be too busy on their backs,’ said Searle, stroking his red beard. ‘I love my fucking as much as the next man but I know the dangers of having women under our feet. They’re a terrible distraction and they’d expect to be pampered.’ Rising to his feet, he towered over Lock. ‘We’re on the run, Edwin. Never forget that. There’ll be patrols out looking for us and it may be necessary for us to find another place to hide. That’s why I keep a man on top of that hill in daylight hours. We must always be on our guard.’

‘Women would help to pass the time.’

‘They’d encumber us and there’s an end to it.’

‘We
miss
them, Matt. It’s one of the reasons we deserted.’

‘You’ll have your share of cunny before too long,’ promised Searle with a grin. ‘I’ve picked out the next farm already. I went over there last week to get the lie of the land. There’s a buxom wife, two daughters and two servants. That’s five lovely women between us. Pass the news around to the men. We’ll take our pleasure with them before we send them up to heaven in dancing flames.’

Lock was thrilled. ‘I like the sound of that,’ he said, panting. ‘British soldiers will have another victory to enjoy.’

‘Not this time, Edwin.’

‘No?’

‘This farm is in enemy territory so we’ll change sides. Look out those blue uniforms we collected,’ ordered Searle. ‘When we burn down the next farm and swive the women, we’ll be troopers in the French cavalry.’

Conversations with Vendôme were usually unpleasant occasions but the duc de Burgundy found them almost unbearable when they took place early in the morning. While the devout Burgundy began each new day by offering up his prayers, Vendôme preferred to occupy his
chaise-percée,
his camp lavatory, writing letters, issuing orders and receiving visitors while seated with his breeches around his ankles. When Burgundy called on him that morning and saw him in his customary position, he took care to stand a few yards away. It was a revolting sight for such a fastidious man.

‘I need to speak to you about Major Crevel,’ he began.

‘There’s no such person,’ replied Vendôme, brusquely. ‘Crevel has been reduced to the ranks where he belongs.’

‘You are too hasty, my lord Duke. Crevel is a fine officer with a good record. More to the point, he comes from a family with a long history of military excellence.’

‘He besmirched that history and deserves his fate.’

‘That’s a matter of opinion,’ said Burgundy, noting the copious tobacco stains on Vendôme’s shirt. ‘I would have acted rather differently in this matter.’

‘Are you saying that you’d
promote
that imbecile?’

‘Major Crevel is not an imbecile. He’s an intelligent man.’

‘Then why did he let himself get ensnared so easily by an enemy spy? Why did he get so drunk that he could be kidnapped, stripped of his uniform and left in a ditch? What glimmer of intelligence can you perceive in that? No,’ Vendôme went on, ‘I stand by my action. When a man shows himself unworthy of his position – and when he lets himself be humiliated like that – he merits instant dismissal.’

‘That’s for me to decide.’

‘I disagree, my lord.’

‘The matter should have been referred to me.’

‘That was quite unnecessary. After all,’ said Vendôme with ill-concealed sarcasm, ‘you have a vast army to lead. You have to draw up a plan of campaign that will end in a famous French victory. Why should you bother about such trivialities as the demotion of a useless officer?’

‘I don’t regard it as trivial,’ retorted Burgundy. ‘In responding the way that you did, you set a bad example.’

‘I think I set a very good example. The best way to
preserve discipline is to crack the whip from time to time. And I’ve always believed that officers should be punished severely if their conduct warrants it. You, of course,’ he added with a patronising smile, ‘have much less experience of dealing with this sort of problem so you are bound to flounder.’

Burgundy blenched. ‘I am not floundering, my lord Duke!’

‘The matter is closed. Why not leave it at that?’

‘Because,’ said the other, ‘I do not choose to do so.’

‘Forget Crevel. I have.’

‘I can’t do that, I’m afraid. The major has appealed directly to me and shown true remorse. He admits his folly and has vowed to be more circumspect in future. Heavens!’ he exclaimed. ‘If every officer who gets involved in a drinking bout is to be punished, then we’ll have nobody left to lead the men.’

‘I’ve nothing against drink,’ said Vendôme, expansively. ‘I love it myself. However, I despise men who can’t hold their wine and make themselves vulnerable as a result. In his stupor, Crevel gave away valuable information about us.’

‘He concedes that and is duly repentant.’

‘So?’

‘I believe you should reconsider your decision.’

Vendôme gesticulated theatrically. ‘Why are we talking about the fate of one man,’ he asked, ‘when we have a hundred thousand to take into account? Why waste our
breath on a miserable wretch like Crevel? I thought that he’d at least accept his punishment with some grace but it was too much to ask. Instead, he goes crawling on his hands and knees to you.’

‘There’s a reason for that,’ said Burgundy.

‘Yes…he’s a snivelling toad.’

‘No, my lord Duke, he happens to be a distant relative of mine.’

‘Ah!’ said Vendôme, sitting back. ‘Now we come to it.’

‘I want him restored to his rank.’

‘Were he your own brother, I’d not do that.’

Burgundy recoiled slightly from this open challenge to his authority. Anger slowly built inside him, mingling with the revulsion he felt at having a discussion in such gross circumstances. There was a long, strained silence. It was eventually shattered by Vendôme who broke wind with such trumpeting violence that he forced Burgundy to take a few steps backwards.

‘May I remind you,’ said Vendôme, mustering what dignity he could from his undignified position, ‘that Crevel is under my direct command.’

‘And may I remind
you
,’ countered Burgundy with a sharp edge in his voice, ‘that I have overall command of the army. In short, my lord Duke, I am the final court of appeal here. My judgement is that Major Crevel should resume his rank.’

Vendôme was horrified. ‘Is he to suffer no penalty at all?’

‘Being admonished by you was a penalty in itself, I
suspect. When he left your quarters, he did so in the utmost disgrace and that, I believe, had a sobering effect on him. I fancy that he’ll be a credit to his uniform from now on.’

‘I insist that my decision is upheld.’

‘Protest is pointless,’ said Burgundy. ‘You’ve been overruled.’

‘I see,’ said Vendôme, simmering. ‘In that case, my lord, perhaps you’d be good enough to point out any other distant relatives you have in this army before I inadvertently rob them of
their
commissions as well. As for Crevel, what he did was tantamount to betrayal. He readily offered information to a British spy.’

‘He was tricked into doing so. Instead of taking out your spite on the major, you should be chasing the man who hoodwinked him.’

‘I am already doing so.’

Burgundy was startled. ‘Really?’

‘I take this lapse very seriously, my lord,’ said Vendôme. ‘I’ll not rest until we have full retribution. At this very moment, someone in the enemy camp is trying to identify the man who exposed Crevel as the inept, unguarded, drunken fool that he is. But then,’ he went on, acidly, ‘since the man is a relative of yours, you’d be familiar with the many flaws in his character.’

In spite of his many other commitments, Daniel Rawson made sure that he never neglected sword practice. The
weapon was much more to him than the difference between life and death. It had great symbolic value. It had marked his premature coming of age when, as a boy of ten, he’d used the sword to kill its owner, a cavalry sergeant trying to rape Daniel’s mother. Presented to him by the man who was now captain general of the Confederate army, it had been kept at Daniel’s home in Amsterdam for years until he earned the commission that allowed him to wear a sword. Long before that time, however, he’d learnt how to use the weapon, mastering the finer points of swordplay and developing the strength of his right arm. The blade was always kept clean and razor sharp.

Daniel had used the sword with lethal effect in many battles and skirmishes. It had been exceptionally deadly at Blenheim and had taken part in a cavalry charge at Ramillies. Now, however, it was put to less dangerous use as Daniel went through a practice routine with Jonathan Ainley. The lieutenant was a competent swordsman with a long reach that could trouble any adversary but he had neither the power nor the speed of Daniel. As the two of them fought on some open ground behind the officers’ quarters, the flash of blades was accompanied by the echoing clang of steel.

No matter how hard Ainley tried, he couldn’t put Daniel under any sustained pressure. Every thrust was deftly parried, every attack was repelled with comparative ease. After twenty minutes or so, the lieutenant was flagging visibly. Daniel’s superior stamina told. With a sudden increase of power, he
drove Ainley back so fast that his friend tripped and fell to the ground. After holding the point of his weapon playfully at Ainley’s chest, Daniel offered him a hand to pull him up. The lieutenant was panting.

‘I could never beat you in a duel,’ he gasped. ‘You seem to know exactly what I’m going to do before I do it.’

‘You fought well,’ said Daniel, hauling him to his feet.

‘But I came off worst yet again.’

‘It’s different in battle. There’s none of the formal swordplay that we’ve just enjoyed. It’s all slash, thrust and parry. Strength and agility are what you need there.’

‘Yes,’ said Ainley, ‘and you have too much of both for me.’

‘I intend to stay alive, Jonathan. That’s why I try to keep myself ready for action.’ He held his sword aloft. ‘This is my protector.’

‘Yet you wore no sword when you went to Valenciennes.’

‘It would have looked out of place on a wine merchant.’

‘You were very brave to travel unarmed.’

‘I carried a dagger with me,’ said Daniel, ‘in case of emergency. It was concealed under my coat. I’m a born soldier. I feel naked without some kind of weapon.’

Ainley laughed. ‘It was that French officer who felt naked after you’d finished with him.’

‘I thought I asked you not to talk about it.’

‘Even you are entitled to brag now and again, Daniel.’

‘I’d much rather that incident remained secret.’

‘It’s far too late for that.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Everyone seems to have heard of it somehow. Major Earnshaw was talking about it only this morning and so were some of the others. I daresay it’s filtered down to the ranks as well. It’s no use trying to keep these things to yourself,’ he said, clapping Daniel amiably on the shoulder. ‘Everyone wants to hear about the latest exploits of Captain Rawson. You have a
name
.’

‘His name is Daniel Rawson,’ said Valeran.

‘What rank does he hold?’

‘He’s a captain in the 24
^th
Foot.’

‘A British regiment,’ said Vendôme with contempt. ‘How, in the name of all that’s holy, could one of our majors be taken in by an Englishman?’

‘Rawson is something of a linguist, Your Grace. According to the report, he speaks French fluently enough to deceive anyone. Here,’ he went on, offering the letter. ‘Read it yourself. This is a copy, of course. I had the original decoded.’

Vendôme took the missive. ‘Thank you, Raoul.’

Not daring to interrupt, Valeran waited while the other man studied the letter. It had been sent by one of their spies in the British camp. The two men were in Vendôme’s tent, a place where the lieutenant spent more and more time. As a result, he’d had to endure the barbed comments and sly innuendoes of his friends but
he ignored them in the interest of winning favour. Given an opportunity, he’d decided to seize it at whatever cost. Part of that cost involved being compliant but there were other duties as well. He’d been put in direct contact with French intelligencers and that gave him a definite status. In bringing Vendôme the letter, he hoped for praise. It was not forthcoming.

When he read the last sentence, Vendôme let out a cry of rage.

‘Did you see this?’ he demanded.

‘Yes, Your Grace.’

‘This spy of theirs is no mere captain in a regiment of foot. He’s also a member of Marlborough’s personal staff. He’ll have been very popular after his little escapade. The Duke and his entourage are no doubt still slapping him on the back as they laugh at our expense.’

‘The only person they’re laughing at is Major Crevel.’

‘Don’t mention that abominable creature.’

‘As you wish,’ said Valeran, obediently.

‘I never want to hear his accursed name again.’

‘I see.’

‘
This
is the only name I’m interested in at the moment,’ stressed Vendôme, waving the letter in the air. ‘Captain Daniel Rawson. I want him here in front of me, Raoul.’

‘That may be difficult to arrange,’ warned Valeran.

‘Why?’

‘We can’t simply abduct a man from the British camp.’

‘We don’t have to do that.’

‘Then how do we get him here?’

‘We simply lure him to us.’

Valeran was puzzled. ‘Lure him?’

‘All it takes is a little imagination.’

‘Then I must confess that I lack it, Your Grace. I fail to see what could possibly lure such a man out of the safety of his army.’

‘Read this again,’ suggested Vendôme, thrusting the letter at him. ‘Rawson is clearly an adventurer. He’s ready to take chances and court peril. What we need to find is something that would tempt him to come here.’

‘And how do we do that?’

‘We gather more information about this fellow and we do so with some urgency. It’s clear that the bold captain has many strong points. But he’ll also have weaknesses.’

‘What sort of weaknesses?’

‘Does he have a wife, a lover, a family – or what about a favourite child? There must be
someone
for whom he’d risk his neck, someone who isn’t surrounded by an army and is therefore easier to get at. That’s where we need to strike. Who is the most important person in his private life?’

‘I have no idea,’ admitted Valeran.

‘Then find out. Send a coded message back to the British camp.’

‘What must it say?’

‘We need more detail about this Daniel Rawson. I don’t
care how brave and resourceful he is. Everyone has an Achilles’ heel. Discover what the captain’s is,’ said Vendôme, rubbing his hands together, ‘and he’s ours. That’s the message to send, Raoul. Whom or what does he love most?’

Amalia Janssen gazed longingly through the window. Most of the shops they’d stopped at were filled with the neat but plain dresses that were the fashion among the women of Amsterdam. This shop was different. It displayed a colour and cut that reminded her of the months in Paris yet there was no hint of vulgarity. All the dresses she could see had such style and beauty. Amalia simply goggled.

‘We always come here,’ noted Beatrix.

‘It’s the best way home.’

The servant smiled. ‘The best for you, maybe,’ she said, ‘because it lets you stare through that window for as long as you like. I’ve no call to be looking at dresses like that. I could never find one to fit me and, even if I could, I could never afford to buy it.’ She pointed a finger. ‘Can you imagine what your father would say if he saw me in something like that?’