Soldier of Fortune (3 page)
Read Soldier of Fortune Online
Authors: Edward Marston
In
the ensuing days, two names were heard on every side - those of Major-General
John Churchill and Colonel Percy Kirke. Nothing bad was spoken of the one and
nothing good of the other. While Churchill had enhanced his reputation as a
soldier and gentleman, Kirke had added to the long record of unrelieved cruelty
he had compiled while stationed in Tangier. Kirke's Lambs, so called in ironic
tribute to the atrocities they committed after the battle and in mocking
reference to the Paschal lamb emblazoned on their regimental crest, consisted
mainly of musketeers with a sprinkling of pikemen and grenadiers. Wherever they
went, they left a trail of misery and destruction behind them, torturing and
executing their captives at will.
It
was not long before a third name was on everyone's lips and it soon eclipsed
the other two. George Jeffreys was a notably handsome man with a flair for
vicious cross- examination and a fondness for low company. Though still in his
thirties, he had risen to the exalted position of Lord Chief Justice and was
accordingly dispatched to the West Country by King James to supervise the
trials of those who had dared to raise their hands against their monarch. Under
the strict and merciless control of Judge Jeffreys, the Bloody Assizes
commenced.
The
circuit began in Winchester and the trial of Dame Alice Lisle was a stark
warning of the horrors that were to follow. A widow of eighty, Dame Alice was
accused of harbouring two rebels, even though she had no idea who the men were
and had little sympathy for the Duke of Monmouth's cause. In a bruising
six-hour trial, Jeffreys frightened and confused the old woman so much that she
was unable to muster a proper defence. A reluctant jury was bullied into
bringing in a guilty verdict and Jeffreys gleefully sentenced her to be burnt
at the stake, the penalty for women convicted of high treason. Five days later,
after an appeal to the King, she was spared incineration and was instead
beheaded by an axe.
Everyone
quaked when they heard the news. If an innocent old woman could suffer such a
fate, what would happen to those who had actually fought beside Monmouth? The
answer soon came. Gallows were erected successively in Winchester, Dorchester
and Exeter as the judges continued their assize circuit. When they reached
Taunton, Jeffreys and the rest of his judicial team had still not slaked their
thirst for blood. With a blatant disregard for any evidence in favour of the
defendants, Judge Jeffreys continued his reign of terror. Plagued by a kidney
stone, he was sometimes in such agony that he turned into a ranting tyrant,
moved to even greater extremes of savagery. Those who trembled in the dock
before him did not realise how much money the Lord Chief Justice was making out
of the Bloody Assizes by selling pardons and profiting from the traffic of
those he sentenced to transportation. Suffering was a lucrative enterprise.
Nathan
Rawson faced him with great courage and endured his cross-examination with calm
defiance. His trial was brief. He was one of five hundred or more prisoners who
were rushed through the court in a mere two days. Since Taunton was seen by the
authorities as a hotbed of revolt, Jeffreys and the other judges were
especially severe. Along with many others, Nathan was condemned to death. His
wife and son were in the large crowd that gathered on the day of execution to
watch their family members and friends being hanged. As her husband was taken
up on to the scaffold, Juliana Rawson could not bear to look but Daniel did not
take his eyes off the grisly proceedings. Most of the rebels showed fear and
one pleaded aloud for mercy but Nathan Rawson met his end with fortitude, even
managing a farewell smile to his son as the noose was put around his neck.
Daniel had never felt so proud of him.
Later
that night, when the guard had dozed off to sleep, Daniel cut down his father
with the help of two friends and drove him away in the cart. They buried him
with dignity in the churchyard of the village where he had been born. As dawn
was breaking, Juliana and Daniel Rawson were driving away from the farm towards
the coast. The cart was loaded with their possessions. Mourning the death of
her husband, Juliana sat in silence with a shawl wrapped around her shoulders.
All she could think about was returning to the safety of her native country.
As
he drove the cart along the winding track, Daniel wrestled with a welter of
emotions. He was hurt, sorrowful, shocked, indignant, vengeful and bristling
with rage. Too young to understand the full implications of what had happened,
he knew one thing for certain. He was no longer a boy. Indirectly, the battle
of Sedgemoor had turned him into a young man. He had killed a soldier with the
sword that had now been presented to him. It was a weapon he could not wait to
hold in his hand again.
March, 1704
Daniel
Rawson had always disliked Paris. As he rode through its streets in the
gathering darkness, he was reminded why he hated the place so much. It was the
noisiest, dirtiest, most foul-smelling city in Europe. It was also the most
crowded. Broad avenues and magnificent public buildings had been introduced to
give it status and splendour but they could not hide the fact that the majority
of Parisians lived in tiny, squalid, ugly, vermin-ridden houses or tenements.
But the main reason why Daniel loathed it so much was that it was the capital
city of a country against which he had been fighting ever since he had joined
the army. He was at the heart of enemy territory.
In
his opinion, however - and it was an opinion based on long experience - Paris
had one redeeming feature. It was the home of some of the most beautiful women
in the world, exotic birds of paradise with wonderful plumage, gorgeous ladies
who were steeped in the arts of love and eager to pass on their secrets to the
select few. That was what had enticed Daniel to enter the city in disguise and
to ride with an anticipatory smile of delight on his face. He had an
assignation.
Thoughts
of what lay ahead did not distract him from the ever-present danger in the
streets. Beggars had accosted him at every turn and prostitutes had tried to
lure him brazenly into hovels where he could be overpowered and robbed. When he
went down a narrow lane and saw two ragged men ahead of him, therefore, he knew
instinctively that trouble was at hand. Though they were lounging against a
wall on opposite sides of the lane, they were not really engaged in casual
conversation. They had been waiting for someone to fall into their trap. As
soon as Daniel drew level with them, they pounced. One man seized the reins of
his horse while the other tried to haul him roughly from the saddle.
They
had chosen the wrong victim. A swift punch from Daniel broke the nose of the
man who had grabbed him and sent him reeling to the ground with blood streaming
down his chin. Slipping a foot out of the stirrup, Daniel kicked the other man
so hard in the chest that he yelled in agony and let go of the reins, thudding
against the wall with a force that knocked the breath out of him. Daniel urged
his horse into a brisk trot and left them to nurse their wounds and rue their
mistake.
His
destination was the fashionable Faubourg Saint-Germain, an area renowned for
its countless inns and cabarets but replete as well with fine houses and
imposing hotels. It was Daniel's second visit to the address so he had no
difficulty in finding it. As before, he was met with a welcoming signal. A
candle burnt in an attic window to assure him that the coast was clear. He
needed no more invitation. Riding down the side of the house, he dismounted in
the courtyard at the rear and tethered his horse beside the stables.
The
maid was waiting for him. As soon as he reached the rear door, she opened it
for him, her pretty face glowing in the light from the lantern in her hand. She
looked at the visitor and exchanged a conspiratorial nod with him before
leading the way up the backstairs. After shutting the door behind him, Daniel
followed, blessing the day when he had first made the acquaintance of Madame
Berenice Salignac and learnt how often her husband was away from his lovely
young wife.
The
maid reached a landing and checked that nobody was about before she conducted
him furtively along it. When she came to her mistress's boudoir, she gave a
coded tap on the door then stood back. When he heard the expected three knocks
from inside the room, Daniel dismissed the maid with a smile of thanks before
opening the door and going through it. Berenice had moved back to the middle of
the room where light from the fire and from the flickering candelabra combined
to show her at her best. Daniel feasted his eyes on her.
Removing
his hat with a flourish, he gave a low bow before putting his hat on a chair
and tossing his cloak over the back of it. When she offered her hand, he held
it lightly between his fingers and bestowed a loving kiss upon it. Berenice
noticed his glove.
'Oh!'
she exclaimed. 'That looks like blood.'
'It
is,' he said, examining his knuckles, 'but you need have no fear, my love. It's
not mine. It belonged to a man who was foolish enough to try to stop me
reaching you this evening.' He pulled off his gloves and dropped them on a
little table, holding out both hands for inspection. 'There you are - not a
mark on them, as you see.'
Berenice
was fully reassured. Still in her early twenties, she was a shapely woman of middle
height with exquisite features and complexion. Her blond hair, parted in the
middle, fell down both sides of her head in ringlets. Though she was
entertaining her lover, she was not wearing night attire in readiness. Her
costly blue satin dress had a close-fitting bodice with a trained skirt worn
open in the front. The sleeves were short to the elbows with turned-up cuffs
and deep ruffles emerging from below. Hitched up at the back to give a bustle
effect, the skirt revealed a decorative petticoat. Shimmering jewellery
enhanced an already complete portrait of feminine beauty.
Daniel
had learnt the rules on his previous visit. Berenice Salignac liked to take her
time and savour each moment. They began with wine, poured from a decanter, then
sat beside each other on an ornate settee. Daniel kept up a steady stream of
compliments in the fluent French he had taken pains to master. He was no longer
the sturdy boy from a Dorset farm but a tall, slim, handsome, urbane gentleman,
not far short of thirty, with a soldier's bearing that was offset by his
natural charm and tenderness. He had courted Berenice studiously for some weeks
before she had finally succumbed to his advances.
'You
have neglected me,' she said, pouting slightly.
'I'll
make amends for that this evening,' he promised.
'Where
have you
been?'
'I
told you, my love. I had business to attend to.'
'What
kind of business?' she pressed. 'I know that you are a merchant with interests
all over the world but your work surely does not take precedence over me.'
'Nothing
could ever do that, Berenice,' he said, taking the opportunity to plant another
kiss on her hand. 'But let's not waste time talking about trade. The only
person with whom I'm interested in having commerce at this moment is the one I
adore.'
Her
eyes flashed coquettishly. 'How do I
know
you adore me?'
'I
could give you at least ten good reasons.'
'What's
the first?'
'That
would be telling,' he said with a teasing smile. 'And I'm not sure that you're
in the right mood to hear them.'
She
stamped an impatient foot. 'I want to be
told,
Daniel.'
'Let
me refill your glass.'
'No,'
she said, grasping him by the wrist. 'Stay here and recite these ten good
reasons for me.' She lowered her voice to a purr. 'There may be a reward in
store for you.'
He
sealed the bargain with a laugh then he began. As he worked his way unhurriedly
through the list, he was allowed to take a liberty each time, unhooking part of
her dress or delicately removing an item of jewellery or even taking off a
whole garment. At the end of his recitation, she stood before him almost naked,
exuding a bewitching fragrance and making a visible effort to hold back her
passion.
'Now,
it is my turn,' she said, helping him off with his coat. 'I must tell you the
source of my adoration for
you.'
Berenice
did so with deliberate slowness, undressing him at intervals, heightening their
mutual pleasure by delaying its release until they both reached a point of
explosion. Daniel could wait no longer. Picking her up in his arms, he carried
her to the bed and placed her gently down beneath its richly embroidered
canopy. No more words were needed. Their writhing bodies continued the dialogue
in a much more expressive language. Berenice surrendered herself completely and
he responded with characteristic vigour, kissing her, caressing her and filling
her with the urgency of his love. She matched his ardour at every stage,
letting out a cry of ecstasy when she reached the peak of her pleasure and
taking him into Elysium with her. They lay panting happily in each other's
arms.
'Your
husband is stupid,' he said at length.
