Kings of the Boyne (14 page)

Jogging his horse back and forth, the duke kept an eye on the enemy. The cannons had done their job and cleared the south bank of the Jacobites who, he knew, would be ordered back to meet the Williamites clambering onto what had been their territory. Briefly the duke wondered about his son’s progress as he took in the impressive sight of so many men moving in formation together, the drums beating a steady rhythm and the different flags waving to signify those brave men and boys from Derry, the Dutch guards, the French Huguenots and the Danish boys, all bound together by their hatred of the Papist James and the tyrant King Louis of France. As they marched, they belted out their own battle songs, providing a gloriously chaotic chorus of different words and harmonies.

The Huguenots, those proud French Protestants who had been forced to leave their own country because of Louis, the dogmatic Papist king, hardly noticed that amongst their own commanders was another man who had moved in front of them, brandishing his sword and a pistol. Maybe some of them recognised him as an army chaplain, but all would have been ignorant of his identity as the best-selling author of
A True Account of the Siege of Londonderry.
The Reverend George Walker looked positively thrilled to have
involved himself in leading those noble Frenchmen down to the bank of the river. Every so often he stepped out to roar at those soldiers in the Derry regiments that had survived that dreadful siege: ‘Come on, boys, let us go and do the Lord’s work for him! I see you Sherrard lads, and Henry Campsie too!’

The boys that had closed the gates against James’s army cheered their Anglican minister and former governor. How thrilling it was to march together with all of these different nationalities.

Some of the battalions were obliged to hang back to allow the others to cross. They stood in their square formation – ten men wide and eight men in length – and began firing at the enemy over their colleagues’ heads, warning the Jacobites to leave their friends – who were in the water – alone.

Again the Duke of Schomberg fretted as the minutes passed.
How long before the water level rises again?

And again he cursed the river for its messiness. Grimly, he congratulated James for forcing it upon them as he watched the Williamite approach start to stumble under fire. The men in the water were stuck in limbo since they could not use their muskets or pistols and risk getting them wet. The duke scowled.
They are as helpless as ducklings
! However, it had to be said that the Jacobite infantry were inflicting little
actual damage because their muskets and pistols were too far out of range.

Once the men had crossed and got themselves out of the water they had to get back into position again, but this time in range of enemy fire.

This is a numbers game
, thought the duke.
I need all of them over there as fast as possible.

The landscape began to change, and Meinhard quickened his pace, worrying that they were slowing down because of the broken ground. He had sent his scouts ahead, which was how he knew that the bridge at Slane was smashed up, no doubt by Jacobites to prevent them from using it.

Interesting
, thought Meinhard,
James must have been concerned about an attack from the side.

The destruction of the bridge was a reminder that they were now in enemy territory. A long time ago his father had taught him that, in a situation such as this, caution was a soldier’s best friend and so Meinhard sent out scouts to scour the surrounding area, searching for signs of Jacobites. He would not risk leading his men into an ambush, even if that meant calling a halt while the scouts galloped off to check that they were safe for the next few miles at least.

Meinhard was scarcely aware of the land they were passing
through though he did notice a collection of odd-looking hills, or burial mounds, representing
Brugh na Bóinne
, the Palace of the Boyne, comprised of Newgrange, Dowth and Knowth. One of the English commanders smirked as he said, ‘We must watch out for the fairies, sir. The Irish believe that this area is haunted by them.’

If he had expected this to start an interesting conversation with his stony-faced general, he was wrong. Meinhard turned away from the man, ending the discussion right there and then.

The terrain was starting to cause problems for the wagons that carried their large artillery. Meinhard could not allow a gap to open up between the men and the cannons so it was necessary to keep sending scouts backwards to check on the progress of the wagons as their horses dragged them over the various bumps and dips.

On hearing that the next few miles were clear, he sent an advance guard ahead of them, fearing that they were taking too long on account of those heavily laden wagons. What was uppermost in his mind, apart from wanting to prove himself to William, was that he was leading the charge to help his father’s offensive. While the Jacobites were preoccupied with fighting the duke’s massive force, his son would sneak up behind those Jacobites and bite them in the rear and the side. At least this is how he would have described
it to his son, Charles, who, at seven years of age, had been bitterly disappointed not to be allowed to accompany his father and grandfather to Ireland.

It was nearly nine o’clock now; in other words they had taken three hours to cover almost four miles. At long, long last the advance guard reported back that they had spotted the windmills that proved that they were almost upon Rossnaree, where they would finally cross the Boyne.

That was the good news.

The bad news was that there was a welcome party, waiting on the other side, only they weren’t so much welcoming as utterly murderous.

J
ames had hardly slept a wink all Monday night and as soon as he managed to doze off he was roused by an anxious Lauzun. ‘Sire, we have received the most alarming news from our sentries!'

The king did not feel ready for the day ahead and craved to be allowed to sleep for another few hours at least.

‘It appears that William's army is on the move!'

‘WHAT?'

James was wide awake now.

‘Our sentries heard them set out about thirty minutes ago. You can still hear them marching outside: thousands and thousands of feet along with wagons carrying cannons, heading off to their right – that is, our left.'

James threw off his blankets and jumped out of bed, pointing at his clothes as he roared, ‘You know what this
means, don't you? The scoundrel is probably leading his entire army to that damned ford at Rossnaree – the ford that the Irish claimed to know nothing about. This nation may prove to be my undoing yet!'

Lauzun was busy grabbing at tunics while searching for James's left boot. He had little sympathy for the panicking king.
How long were we here before William arrived? William, who within moments of his arrival, set out to make a proper reconnaissance of the area, unlike us who just sat on our behinds and waited?

Lauzun kept his true opinions to himself. When he realised that James was looking at him, he quickly said, ‘Er, yes, sire. That is what we believe, that he's making his way to the ford. He must hope to surprise us with a flanking attack.'

‘Well,' said James, ‘it is we who will surprise him.'

There was a flurry of movement just outside the tent. Richard Talbot poked his head through and then bounded inside as soon as he saw the Frenchman. There was hardly enough room for the three of them.

‘So, you have heard the news, Your Majesty. It is a bold move, to be sure, but how could he hope to get away with it? The noise of those Protestant feet is remarkable and can surely be heard for miles around.'

He was free to continue while Lauzun stood by with the king's trousers and James fixed his shirt into place. ‘I suppose
the question is how many we should send to meet him. Neil O'Neill and his dragoons number about five hundred in total. It is they alone who are guarding Rossnaree so we must send reinforcements as fast as possible, although we really should leave some battalions in Oldbridge just in case an attempt is made here.'

The king snapped, ‘Really, Richard, of course I am sending reinforcements and I shall lead them myself.'

Turning to Lauzun, he ordered him to have his horse saddled and brought immediately, adding, ‘You are coming with me.'

Lauzun inclined his head. ‘Yes, Your Majesty!'

James gulped down some coffee, while Talbot waited, not daring to venture another word until the king's mood had improved. Outside he heard Lauzun shouting the king's orders.

James thought quickly. ‘Fine,' he said, complimenting himself on his plan, before he said it aloud to Talbot. ‘I will take sixteen thousand men with me. We have thirteen hundred holding Drogheda so that leaves two thousand cavalry and five thousand infantry to stay here with you and guard Oldbridge.'

Talbot quickly digested this while James added, ‘We can assume that William is leading most of his – if not his entire – army to Rossnaree. We must appear more impressive than
some of us think we do.'

His commander felt a little queasy as he wondered if Queen Mary Beatrice had informed her husband about his lack of trust in the outcome of the battle.
Why oh why did I send that stupid letter?
The truth was he had hoped that the queen might convince James to leave Ireland and return to France. Squashing down his guilt, Richard stood up and looked his king in the eye, saying, ‘I agree, sire. Take the majority with you to Rossnaree. Nobody, including – I'll wager – his own men, has ever been heard to describe William as a gifted general. He has made a most obvious choice, and a poor one.'

James gazed coolly at his second-in-command as he asked, ‘Are you sure about that, my friend, that you have
no
doubt?'

Talbot bristled at the question but only because it hit a nerve. In any case, it was much too late to admit that – yes – he, the Lord Lieutenant of Ireland, did doubt his king and friend. Of course Talbot would not prevent His Majesty from leading away two-thirds of the army to meet William in Rossnaree – that blasted ford.
God knows he needs as many as possible to compensate for the fact that most of those Irish boys have yet to fire a gun in battle and will have to wait a while yet since they only carry daggers and scythes.

Richard struggled to hide his feelings.
Oh, wouldn't it be
a grand thing altogether if I just said it out, just asked him how he thought that farming implements were going to fare against the latest in weaponry? Sure, he may as well have them plant some seeds at Rossnaree while they're waiting for the Williamites!

Well, it was not like he was being asked to place his hand on the Bible and swear to tell the whole truth. He opened his mouth to make a strong, positive reply, but James interrupted him to ask quietly, ‘Tell me honestly, am I leaving you enough men to hold Oldbridge?'

Richard Talbot was relieved to be able to say quite truthfully, ‘Yes, sire, you are. Thanks to Louis' generosity we have the finest cavalry in Europe. If there is an attempt to breach the ford in front of the village, we will be more than able to hold our own.'

James nodded, warning his commander, ‘It is as well to expect an attack at Oldbridge. It makes sense for William to try to distract us from the fact he is taking most of his men to Rossnaree. At least if you have any trouble, it will only involve whatever few men he has left behind.'

Outside, the men were gathering their weapons and finding out who was staying and who was leaving right now with James.

James had asked for the best of the cannon, the French cannon, to be loaded onto wagons and brought with them. Horses were led out of their pens to be either yoked up to
the few wagons or else saddled up for their riders.

Every passing minute was like a jab in James's side. The Williamites were already out of sight of his telescope; he had pointed it in the direction that the sentries had indicated but failed to see them.
Goodness, all those thousands of men, they move speedily enough
, he thought.

His nerves were jangling and he decided to take refuge in his tent until the men were ready. Sensing a familiar dampness, he prodded his nostrils to make sure that he was not having one of his nosebleeds. They almost always happened at the most inopportune moments. It would do his Irish and French generals no good to see blood spurting from him before he even got on his horse.

He paced the small interior of his tent, dabbing at his nose until Lauzun stuck his head in to tell him that his horse and the men were ready.

‘I'll be out shortly,' said James, dismissing the Frenchman with a curt nod.

So, this was it.

He gazed about him as if his tent was suddenly the most precious home he had ever known. This had been his substitute palace. There were his good blankets and pillows and there were his Bible and rosary beads, sitting on the stool beside his bed, along with the miniatures of his wife and father.

Fixing his sword and picking up his pistol, James steadied himself and prayed: ‘I do this in the name of my father, brother and my baby son. Dear God, I ask You to guide me to victory today, but if I should be defeated, I beg you to look after my family in France … and in England too.'

A drummer boy began to lightly tap out the heartbeat of the army that awaited their king.

James pulled back the canvas door of his tent and stepped out into the July morning.