Drums of War Read online

  Drums of War

  Edward Marston

  EDWARD MARSTON was born and brought up in South Wales. A full-time writer for over thirty years, he has worked in radio, film, television and the theatre, and is a former Chairman of the Crime Writers' Association. Prolific and highly successful, he is equally at home writing children's books or literary criticism, plays or biographies, and the settings for his crime novels range from the world of professional golf to the compilation of the Domesday Survey. Drums of War is the second in a new series of adventure novels featuring Captain Rawson.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter One

  France, 1705

  Daniel Rawson saw him coming. From his vantage point high up in the tree, he could command a view that stretched for almost a mile. With the aid of his telescope, he was even able to identify the man's regiment. The rider had a blue knee-length coat with red cuffs. He wore a cravat, a tricorne hat and black leather boots that glistened in the sun. The weapon holstered beside him was a rifled carbine. Daniel knew that he must therefore belong to the Royal-Carabinier corps. The horse was keeping up a steady canter, its hooves sending up clouds of dust from the dry track. At that pace, it would reach Daniel within a matter of minutes. It was time for him to climb down to a lower branch.

  Though he was a captain in the 24th Foot, a seasoned British regiment engaged in fighting Louis XIV's mighty army, he was not in uniform now. Indeed, he would have been unrecognisable to most of his fellow-soldiers. Dressed in the nondescript garb of a French peasant, he'd grown a beard, dirtied his face and found a cap that hung low across his forehead. Since he was fluent in French and had the broad shoulders of someone accustomed to hard labour, he was confident that nobody would see through his disguise. What set him apart from other churls was that he had money in his purse and weapons under his smock. He also had a pretty accomplice.

  When the rider got closer, Daniel gave the signal and Marie nodded in reply. Picking up her basket, she came out of her hiding place in the copse, walked across to the track and began to saunter along it. She was young, fresh-faced and buxom. Her long brown hair trailed down her back from beneath her bonnet. As her hips swayed rhythmically, her skirt swished to and fro. Hearing the clack of hooves behind her, Marie stopped and turned. The rider came round the angle of the trees and she had her first sight of him. He was tall in the saddle and, from what she could tell, passably handsome. The closer he got, the broader became her smile. He, in turn, was appraising her carefully and he liked what he saw. He took her for a farmer's daughter on her way to market in the next village. She stood obligingly aside as if to let him go past but - urgent as his business was - he felt that he could tarry for a short while. It was too good an opportunity to miss.

  He slowed his horse to a trot and gave her a friendly greeting. Marie giggled in reply and flashed her eyes. It was all the invitation he needed. Tugging the animal to a halt, he dismounted, removed his hat and enjoyed a long, luscious kiss. Her lips were sweet and warm. He looked around to make sure that they were alone. The place seemed utterly deserted. Marie led him to the shelter of the trees. After tethering his mount, he discarded his hat, removed his sash then took off his coat. Tumbling a country wench on a bed of green grass was just the fillip he needed after several hours' ride on a hot day. She was clearly willing and far too wholesome to be a whore. He would not even have to pay for her favours. Setting her basket aside, she put her hands on her hips. When she giggled again, her breasts trembled irresistibly.

  Daniel waited until the trooper lowered his breeches. It was the moment when his quarry was completely off guard and at his most vulnerable. Eyes fixed on the girl and loins already on fire, the man did not hear the branch creak or the leaves rustle above his head. Daniel timed his jump perfectly, hitting his target with such force that he knocked all the breath out of him, and using the butt of his pistol to club the man into unconsciousness. Letting out a gasp of fear, Marie turned away, horrified at the sudden violence. There had been no mention of murder when she agreed to help Daniel. He had told her that it was merely a jest played on an old friend yet he had just struck the so-called friend on the head. She could not bear to watch and was frightened that she might also be in danger.

  Working swiftly, Daniel stripped the man of his remaining clothes then tied him securely to a tree with some rope he'd concealed nearby. When Marie dared to look again, she saw that the trooper she'd enticed from his horse was now bound and gagged, seated upright against a trunk with his head slumped forward on to his chest. What really caught her eye and banished her anxiety at once, however, was the fact that Daniel was naked from the waist up, clearly intending to put on the man's shirt and coat. She studied his slim, smooth, lightly tanned, muscular body with gathering interest. He was so different from the potbellied oafs she served at her father's inn. Though it bore the scars of war, his physique was truly impressive, hardened by combat and combining a sculptured beauty with latent power. Marie was roused and entranced. She forgot all about the victim of the assault. Her mind was on something else now. As Daniel reached for the shirt, she raised a hand.

  'Wait!' she cried.

  'Don't worry,' he said, taking some coins from his purse. 'I always honour a debt. You did well, Marie. Here's your reward.'

  'I care nothing for the money, good sir.'

  'But you earned it.'

  'Begging your pardon, sir, I'd rather take my wages another way.'

  'Then you shall have my horse - I need to ride his.'

  'That's not what I meant, sir.'

  'Oh?'

  'I want neither payment nor the horse,' she said, stepping a little closer.

  'Then what can I give you?' Even as he asked the question, he guessed the answer. Daniel grinned happily. 'Ah, I understand now.'

  He had chosen the ideal accomplice. When he had spent the night at a nearby inn, Daniel sensed that Marie would be able to help him. She was comely and eager. He had told her a plausible tale about playing a trick on a friend in the army. Dressing up as a peasant, he'd explained, was all part of the jest. All that he'd hired her to do was to cause a distraction and she'd done that with surprising skill, unaware that she was actually assisting the enemy in the theft of royal dispatches. The giggle that had bewitched the trooper was now directed solely at Daniel and it was very tempting. As it grew louder, her whole body shook with sheer delight. Marie spread her arms wide to claim her reward, at once offering herself and pleading to be taken. Daniel needed only a second to reach his decision. Having got what he wanted, he could afford a little distraction.

  'Let's find somewhere more private,' he said, glancing at his captive. 'We don't want to make him jealous, do we?' 'Confound it!' exclaimed the Duke of Marlborough, pacing up and down. 'Can there be anything worse than leading a coalition army? I'm fighting with one arm tied behind my back and both feet lashed together. Bickering and delay will be the ruination of me. I'm not allowed to move one solitary inch without a council of war beforehand.'

  'The Dutch are awkward bedfellows, Your Grace,' agreed Cardonnel.

  'They're the bane of my life, Adam. But for their caution, we could have won a decisive action on the Moselle and occupied French soil. We could have been giving nightmares to King Louis. Instead of that, we're back where we star
ted.'

  'The blame cannot be laid entirely on the Dutch.'

  'No,' said Marlborough, heaving a sigh. 'We also have to contend with the problem of the Margrave of Baden. I ride all the way to see him in order to apprise him of my plans and what does he tell me? Not only is he unable to supply me with wagons, guns and horses but his wounded foot makes it impossible for him and his men to undertake the siege of Saarlouis. Yet another project has to be abandoned.'

  'It's very frustrating, Your Grace.'

  'It's positively infuriating!'

  Marlborough and Adam Cardonnel were alone in the tent that acted as their headquarters. It was only because he could trust his secretary that Marlborough was able to vent his anger so openly. Most of the time, he had to conceal it behind soft words and a polite smile. As commander-in-chief of the Confederate army, he was hampered at every turn by his supposed allies. His triumph at the battle of Blenheim the previous year had sent tremors through France and been marked by wild celebrations in England, Austria, Germany and Savoy. Even the Dutch hailed

  Marlborough as a hero, though praise was tempered with criticism of the high number of casualties among their regiments. On his return to England in December, he was greeted by cheering crowds and honours were heaped upon him.

  When 1705 dawned and the campaigning season neared, there was justifiable optimism in the air. It was felt by many that Marlborough would build on the success of Blenheim, achieve other startling victories in the field and bring the War of the Spanish Succession to an end on terms dictated by the Allies. Optimism, however, was short-lived. The first setback occurred during the voyage to the Netherlands in April. Caught in a squall, Marlborough's yacht ran aground on the sandbanks of the Dutch coast. He had to endure a gruelling four-hour pull in an open boat against wind and tide. There were moments when it looked as if the elements would destroy a man who had survived fierce battles against the finest army in Europe. He was fortunate to reach dry land alive. The ordeal left him with a fever and a pounding headache.

  There was worse to come. When he reached The Hague, he found the Dutch army unready to take the field and unwilling to fight far beyond its immediate borders. Always thinking ahead, Marlborough had arranged during the winter for his supply depots to be fully stocked so that his army never had to forage while on the march. To his dismay and fury, he discovered that the depots were half-empty owing to neglect, corruption and betrayal. Instead of being able to nourish his army's advance up the Moselle, his depleted stores were a huge problem. There were few opportunities to forage in the stark countryside and unseasonably cold weather was another distinct hazard. Marlborough complained bitterly that they were much more afraid of starving to death than of the enemy.

  The loss of Huy, a citadel on the Meuse, had forced him to abandon his bold scheme to strike across the French border and he had to lead his entire army north. He did so with great reluctance but Marshal Overkirk - the one Dutch commander in whom he could confide - was desperate for reinforcements. It was almost two years since Marlborough had captured Huy from the French and it had both strategic and symbolic importance for him. It could not be left in enemy hands. Though the fortress was soon retaken, Marlborough remained depressed.

  'We were out-manoeuvred, Adam,' he admitted.

  'Circumstances conspired against us, Your Grace.'

  'Fearing an attack up the Moselle valley, the French diverted us by attacking Huy. They knew that General Overkirk lacked the numbers to defend it. We simply had to retire in order to rescue them. Yet another plan of campaign was wrecked. With enough money, men, horses, artillery and commitment from our allies, I could bring this war to a satisfactory conclusion by the end of the summer.'

  'It's not destined to be the summer of 1705,' noted Cardonnel, sadly.

  'Nor any other, I fear. How can I attack the French where it will really hurt them when I'm trapped in the Low Countries?' He gave a weary smile. 'I'm sorry to rant on like this, Adam,' he went on. 'You know the difficulties we face only too well. Nothing can be gained by endless protestation. Forgive me.'

  'There's nothing to forgive, Your Grace.'

  Adam Cardonnel was extremely able and intensely loyal. He was the son of Huguenot refugees who had fled from the atrocities in France that followed the Revocation of the Edict of Nantes twenty years earlier. Sickened by the persecution, he had vowed to fight against the all-conquering army of Louis XIV; and Cardonnel's mastery of French was a potent weapon. Marlborough relied heavily on him and his secretary was never found wanting. The captain-general of the British forces was a striking figure even though he was now in his fifties. He was known for his grace, natural authority and infinite charm. Only close friends like Cardonnel were allowed to see him in blacker moods and to know his innermost feelings.

  'We must be satisfied with more modest gains this year,' said Cardonnel. 'It's foolish to hope for another Blenheim every time we take up arms.'

  'I know, I know,' said Marlborough, shaking his head. 'We must be patient. The trouble is that patience requires time and I'm fast running out of it. Most commanders have retired before they reach my venerable age.'

  Cardonnel was about to point out that Marlborough looked far younger than he really was when he was interrupted by a noise outside the tent. A guard entered.

  'There's a French prisoner who insists on seeing you in person, Your Grace. He says that he has something of great value.'

  'Has he been relieved of his weapons?'

  'He handed them over when he arrived in camp.'

  'Then let's see the fellow.'

  The guard withdrew for a few moments then entered again with a blue-coated trooper who wore a neat moustache and pointed beard. The prisoner bowed and released a stream of French, gesticulating with both hands as he did so. Marlborough was mystified but Cardonnel burst out laughing.

  'I hope that you understand the rogue, Adam,' said Marlborough, 'because I could only translate one word in ten.'

  'He was deliberately teasing you, Your Grace,' explained Cardonnel. 'Ask him to introduce himself and you'll understand why.'

  'Captain Daniel Rawson, at your service,' said the prisoner, doffing his hat.

  'Is that you, Daniel?' asked Marlborough, peering at him. He let out a cry of recognition. 'By Jove, I do believe it is! Since when did you join the Royal-Carabinier regiment?'

  'It was a temporary enlistment, Your Grace. Luckily, the man who loaned me this uniform was close to my own height and build. I'll be happy to tell you the full story. First, however,' he added, reaching into his right boot to extract something, 'here are some dispatches sent to Marshal Villeroi. I had the good fortune to intercept them on the way.'

  'Tell us how,' said Marlborough, dismissing the guard with a flick of his hand and taking the missives from Daniel. 'Are these from King Louis himself?'

  'They're copies of his orders,' said Daniel. 'I had to deliver the originals. I broke the seals on them, noted their contents then sealed them up again with care. Only by handing them over in person to Marshal Villeroi could I be certain of being entrusted with his reply.'

  Cardonnel was amazed. 'You went straight to the heart of the French camp?'

  'It seemed a shame to waste this uniform.'

  'And you have Villeroi's reply?'

  'In his own fair hand,' said Daniel, fishing it out of his other boot and holding it up. 'He's expecting it to be opened in Versailles and not here.'

  'You took a terrible risk, Daniel.'

  'It was all in a good cause, sir.'

  'This is wonderful,' said Marlborough, reading the two copies before passing them to his secretary. 'Villeroi has orders to retire to Tongres and adopt a defensive attitude. It was ever thus - defend, defend, defend. That's all they do. Bringing the French to battle is more difficult than passing through the eye of a needle with a herd of camels. What was the marshal's reply?' He took the sealed dispatch from Daniel and opened it, translating it as he ran his eyes over the looping calligraphy. 'He congratula
tes the King on the wisdom of his decision and promises to abide by it. Villeroi is far too circumspect to do anything as rash as to mount a major attack.' After giving the dispatch to Cardonnel, he turned his attention to Daniel. 'You promised us the full story,' he went on. 'When I sent you into enemy territory to gather intelligence, it never occurred to me that you'd bring back a haul like this. I congratulate you.'

  'Did you undertake the enterprise alone?' asked Cardonnel.

  'No, sir,' replied Daniel. 'I had the assistance of a young lady.'

  Marlborough laughed. "There's no surprise in that, Daniel,' he said. ’You're the scourge of the fairer sex. You have a tradition to maintain. Dressed like that, you could win over any woman.'

  'Oh, I had a full beard when I persuaded this one to help me and I was disguised as a peasant at the time. It was only afterwards that I became a trooper in a French regiment. I shaved off most of the beard and kept what you see now.'

  Daniel gave them a lengthy account of his adventures on the other side of the French border. Listening intently, Marlborough and his secretary were torn between amusement and admiration, smiling at the comical elements in his tale and struck yet again by his bravado. Daniel Rawson had patently enjoyed every moment of his escapades. He was now ready for more action.

  'What must I do next, Your Grace?' he wondered.

  'Await orders,' answered Marlborough. 'Since we've been prevented from piercing French defences along the Moselle, we'll attack them elsewhere.'

  And where will that be?'

  'The Lines of Brabant.'

  Daniel was surprised. 'But they're virtually impregnable.'

  'Are they?' asked Marlborough, and there was a twinkle in his eye.

  Chapter Two

  The friendship between Captain Daniel Rawson and Sergeant Henry Welbeck was an example of the attraction of opposites. Apart from the fact that they served in the same British regiment, the two men had nothing whatsoever in common. While Daniel was an eternal optimist who could pluck hope out of the direst circumstances, Welbeck was so deeply sunk into melancholy that he foresaw nothing but disaster. In appearance, too, the contrast between them was stark. While one was tall, strikingly handsome and debonair, the other was stocky, round-shouldered and decidedly ugly, the long scar down one cheek turning an already unprepossessing face into an almost hideous one. Daniel loved women yet Welbeck hated them. Son of a soldier, the captain was a devout Protestant, keen to fight a Roman Catholic enemy. The sergeant, on the other hand, was an unrepentant atheist, wondering what he was doing in the army and incessantly bemoaning his fate.