Soldier of Fortune Page 10

  Mainz and were prepared to go much deeper into Germany than they had ever done before. Daniel finally got a clearer idea of what was in the Duke of Marlborough's mind.

  As usual, their commander rode on ahead with the cavalry squadrons, leaving the infantry, artillery and supply wagons to follow at a more sedate pace. Mounted on his horse, Daniel was near the front of a multi-coloured column of soldiers that stretched back into the distance. Having marched through open country at a steady pace, they now entered woodland. The farther they went, the darker it got as overhanging branches blocked out the light or filtered it through their leaves to throw dazzling patterns on the ground. Birds sang in the trees, undisturbed by the tramp of many feet and rumble of supply wagons. There was no sense of danger.

  When it came, therefore, it took them completely by surprise. As the leading regiments reached a large clearing, they stepped into the sunlight and became open targets. A volley of musket fire rang out, scattering the birds in a squawking cacophony, and hitting a number of men in Daniel's regiment. He reacted swiftly and ordered those under his command to fan out and take cover before the next hail of lead was discharged. Dismounting from his horse, he led it quickly into the trees for safety. From the sound of the attack, he guessed that somewhere between two and three dozen weapons had been fired. A couple of his men had been killed outright, many more had been injured.

  Since there was no second volley, Daniel knew that the French snipers must have fled and he signalled his men to move forward in pursuit of them. Mounting his horse again, he drew his sword and kicked it into a canter. Other officers followed his example but he was way ahead of them, furious that they had been caught off guard and lusting for revenge. He soon caught the sound of many horses, pounding their way through the undergrowth until they came out of the woodland. Daniel emerged from the trees to see the familiar French uniforms strung out in front of him as they galloped away. His estimate had been fairly accurate. He counted thirty of them.

  Spurring his horse on, he slowly began to gain on the stragglers. Two of them were dropping behind the other riders and they veered off to the left in an attempt to shake off the pursuit. Daniel left it to others to chase the main body of snipers and followed the pair who had become detached from it. His horse was fleet of foot and he was soon within thirty yards of the two men. Glancing over his shoulder, one of them was alarmed to see how close Daniel was but reassured by the fact that he was completely isolated from his fellows.

  The musket slung around the Frenchman's shoulders had been discharged but he was also carrying a loaded pistol. Pulling it out, he waited until Daniel got closer then raised it to fire. Even at a short distance, accuracy was impossible from the saddle of a galloping horse and the ball went harmlessly past Daniel's ear. The next moment, Daniel drew level with him and slashed at the man's outstretched hand, slicing it off at the wrist and sending it tumbling to the ground with the pistol still in its grasp. The man gave a howl of pain and held the bleeding stump under his other arm in a vain attempt to stem the flow.

  The other Frenchman had seen enough. He put his own safety before that of his comrade, abandoning him without a second thought as he rode away. Daniel was therefore able to sheath his sword, grab the reins of the wounded man's horse and bring round in a circle as he slowed it to a halt. He promptly dismounted. Swearing at his attacker, the Frenchmen tried to kick at him but Daniel hauled him unceremoniously from the saddle and pushed him to the ground. When he tried to examine the wound, however, a gob of spit hit him full in the face. Daniel wiped it away then punched the man hard on the chin to subdue him before he pulled off his coat, easing the blood-soaked sleeve gently over the wounded wrist. He had seen too many hideous injuries on the battlefield to be distressed by the sight of blood. It was an emergency. Daniel turned army surgeon.

  'You need a tourniquet, my friend,' he said affably, pulling at the man's shirt and tearing it into strips. 'We have to keep you alive so that you're able to talk to His Grace, the Duke of Marlborough. I'm sure you have a lot of interesting things to tell him.'

  When the Allied armies crossed the River Main, it became certain to the enemy that the march on the Moselle valley had been a cunning ploy to mislead them. They set up camp and Daniel handed over his prisoner for interrogation. The ambush in the woods had inflicted serious injuries on some of his men, one of whom had been blinded while another had had to suffer amputation as a result. After checking on their condition and trying to cheer them up, he went back to his tent. Daniel was about to enter it when he saw Henry Welbeck in conversation with a tall, slim man in the uniform of a private. The sergeant was pointing at Daniel. His companion nodded. After studying Daniel for a moment, the man gave a nod of thanks to Welbeck and walked away. The sergeant strolled over to his friend.

  'Who was that?' asked Daniel.

  'A new recruit,' replied Welbeck. 'He joined us yesterday. The bugger has too many airs and graces for me but he was keen to serve in the ranks and he looks fit enough.'

  'What's his name?'

  'Will Curtis.'

  'Why did he choose this regiment?'

  'He says that his father served in it when it was first raised in 1689 by Colonel Sir Edward Dering. Curtis's father was killed in action against the French.'

  'What was his name?'

  'You'll have to ask him, Dan,' said Welbeck. 'All I see is another stupid Englishman willing to throw his life away in this pointless war. Besides, Eve got more important things to worry about than Private Will Curtis. He's simply target practice for the enemy.'

  'Why were you pointing me out?' wondered Daniel.

  'He'd heard about this hare-brained officer who went charging off alone after those Frenchies and brought back a prisoner single-handed.' He bared his few remaining teeth in a grin. 'It seems the poor man lost his other hand somehow.'

  'I hacked it off, Henry.'

  'That was the rumour Curtis heard. He wondered who this intrepid Captain Rawson really was. Now he knows. He also knows how crafty these Frenchies can be,' he went on. 'That ambush killed two men, blinded a third, took a leg off a fourth and left another ten unfit for action. It cost me fourteen soldiers, Dan.'

  'The French just wanted to let us know they are here.'

  'I thought they'd all be waiting for us in the Moselle valley.'

  'Marshal Villeroi might be,' said Daniel, 'so he's behind us now. Somewhere in front of us are Marshal Marsin and the Bavarians. We'll have them to contend with them before the summer is over.'

  'Will we have enough men to take them on?'

  'When we cross the River Neckar, the hope is that we'll be joined by 14,000 Danes and Prussians. That's what I've been told.'

  'The River Neckar!' echoed Welbeck. 'Are we going that far south? What's Corporal John playing at, Dan? Does he mean to march us all the way to Italy?'

  'No, Henry,' said Daniel. 'He means to win a pitched battle against the French that will leave them in tatters. Where it will be, I can't tell you but there'll be a huge butcher's bill to pay.'

  'There always is. We only lost a handful of men today. Thousands more will be killed or maimed before we're done.'

  'That's why you should be grateful when people like Will Curtis volunteer to join us. We need every last soldier that we can get.'

  Private Will Curtis, meanwhile, had found himself a quiet spot under a tree where he could draw a diagram of part of the camp with a pencil. Each tent was a tiny square that he numbered carefully so that no mistake would be made. Beside one tent, he put a large cross. Slipping the diagram into his pocket, he went to the corner of the camp that he had just sketched and paced out the distance from the first tent he had drawn and the one with the cross. He made a mental note of the number of paces. Charles Catto was content. He could find his way there in the dark.

  As a result of the ambush, additional pickets were posted around the camp but the evening passed without incident. Knowing that they would be up again at dawn, most of the men took to their be
ds early but Daniel Rawson stayed up late to give Richard Hopwood a chance of retrieving some money at backgammon. They played in Daniel's tent by the light of two candles. Hopwood was a fresh-face young man who had recently bought a commission in the regiment and who - in spite of his enthusiasm - had almost no experience of battle. While Daniel liked him immensely, it did not stop him from making an assault on the lieutenant's purse.

  That night, however, it was Daniel's turn to lose. Though he was by far the more skilful player, his mind was filled with the image of Abigail Piper, struggling to reach him. Wondering what had happened to her, and feeling guilty that he had unwittingly prompted her to follow him, he had several lapses of concentration. Hopwood was quick to seize the advantage, earning back some of the money he had lost in previous games. No matter how hard Daniel tried to oust Abigail from his thoughts, she kept coming back to trouble him. He knew that he would never forgive himself if any harm came to her.

  'Another game?' asked Hopwood, winning yet again.

  'It's late, Richard.'

  'One more - your luck may change this time.'

  'Very well,' agreed Daniel, 'but you'll have to excuse me for a minute while I answer the call of nature.'

  Daniel stood up, the sudden movement creating a draught that made both of the flames dance crazily. He went out of the tent and made his way to the latrines that had been dug some distance away. A fire was burning to give him some guidance. When he had relieved himself, he chatted for a few moments to some of the guards who were patrolling the camp, then he returned to his tent. As he pulled back the flap, he was surprised to see that both candles had been blown out, leaving a haunting smell of smoke.

  Assuming that Hopwood had decided against playing again and had instead gone back to his own tent, Daniel moved forward in the dark. Before he could stop himself, he tripped over something and fell to the ground. He got up quickly, groped his way to a candle and managed to light it after a few attempts. The sight that it illumined made him gape in horror. Richard Hopwood had not only been killed.

  Someone had removed his head.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The alarm was raised at once. Captain Daniel Rawson gathered his men together and formed them into search parties to scour the camp. With flaming torches to guide them, they went off quickly in different directions. Sergeant Henry Welbeck added a few barked expletives to help them on their way.

  'What exactly happened, Dan?' he asked, turning to his friend.

  'I wish I knew,' replied Daniel, heaving a sigh. 'Richard Hopwood and I were playing backgammon. I went off to the latrines. By the time I got back, he was dead.'

  'How was he killed?'

  'Stabbed then decapitated.'

  'Jesus!'

  'The head has disappeared. What kind of monster wants that as a trophy? And why pick on someone as harmless as Richard?'

  'Can I see him?'

  'Yes, of course - come in, Henry.'

  Daniel pulled back the flap of the tent and went inside.

  Welbeck followed him. The second candle had been lit now and the combined light of two flames showed the body of Richard Hopwood, lying on his back with a pool of blood where his head had once been. The rear of the tent had been slit open from top to bottom. Welbeck was aghast. He was accustomed to gruesome sights in battle but not in the safety of the British camp. Such a brutal murder was unprecedented.

  'Poor devil!' he murmured.

  'I think that the killer came in through the front,' said Daniel, trying to reconstruct the crime. 'Richard was at the table with his back to the flap. Thinking it was me, he wouldn't have turned round when he heard someone entering the tent. If he saw someone cutting his way in through the canvas, however, he would certainly have defended himself. The noise alone would have alerted him. He'd have been on his feet in a flash. Instead of which,' he went on, indicating a stool, 'he sat there without the slightest fear of danger.'

  'So he was stabbed from behind then his head was cut off.'

  'That's the way it looks, Henry. The stool was on the floor as if it had been knocked over. Once he'd got what he wanted, the killer made his escape through that slit in the canvas.'

  'How long were you away, Dan?'

  'Too long, I'm afraid.'

  'It's so unfair,' said Welbeck lugubriously. 'Lieutenant Hopwood had only been in the army five minutes. Until that ambush today, he'd never seen action. I pity him.'

  'I feel sorry for the Duke as well,' said Daniel. 'He'll have to explain to Richard's family what happened. It won't be an easy letter to write. The Duke hates losing men in combat even though that's inevitable. To lose an officer this way will really upset him.'

  'It's upset me as well, Dan.'

  'We'll find the bastard who did this.'

  'Who on earth can it be?'

  'There are only two possibilities in my view, Henry. It's either one of our own, someone from inside this camp, or it's someone from outside who was helped by a British soldier.'

  'I find that hard to believe.'

  'Look at the facts,' reasoned Daniel. 'The killer had to know the precise location of this tent. No outsider would have that information. Nor would he know where the pickets were posted. And there's another thing,' he went on, crossing to open the slit in the canvas. 'This escape route was planned. There are no tents behind this one but hundreds in front of it. Anyone leaving here could be in the trees within seconds.' He looked at his friend. 'We have a traitor in our midst, Henry.'

  'Give him to me,' said Welbeck. 'I'll cut off more than his head.'

  'We have to find him first.'

  'I'll soon sniff the bugger out, Dan.'

  'You may be too late to do that, I fear,' said Daniel, looking down sorrowfully at the corpse. 'After a murder like this, the villain would never risk staying in camp. I think the bird will have flown.'

  Charles Catto had made all the necessary preparations. Having taken the trouble to inspect the camp thoroughly, he knew exactly where he could smuggle Frédéric Seurel in past the sentries and how to conduct him to Daniel Rawson's tent without being seen. When the murder had been committed, Seurel followed his orders and slit open the back of the tent, darting through the gap with a severed head in the small sack he had brought with him. Catto was waiting to lead him out of the camp. The hue and cry was raised faster than he had expected but Catto had allowed for that contingency. Having taken Seurel to a secure hiding place within the perimeter of the camp, he joined in the search, making sure that nobody went anywhere near his accomplice.

  It was over an hour before the commotion finally died down. Catto was at last able to slip away, liberate Seurel from his refuge and escape from the camp with him. Their horses had been hidden over a mile away. When they had reclaimed them, they rode off until they were a long way clear of the army encampment. It was only then that they were able to congratulate each on the way that their plan had worked. They stopped near an abandoned cottage and dismounted. Seurel was grinning at his triumph.

  'It was so easy,' he boasted, holding up the blood-soaked sack. 'I took him from behind. I put an arm round his neck and stabbed him through the heart.' He mimed the action. 'His head was soon off.'

  'You did well, Frédéric,' said Catto.

  'Does that mean I get more money?'

  'You get what we agreed.'

  'I should have equal payment,' argued Seurel, tapping his chest. 'I killed him, after all.'

  'Yes,' countered Catto, 'but who got inside the camp to make it possible? You could never have done that. Besides, it wasn't you that General Salignac chose for this assignment. He picked me and told me to choose my own accomplice and pay him what I thought fit. That's how you come to be here, Frédéric. You agreed to my terms.'

  'That was before I knew what I had to do.'

  'There's no going back on our arrangement now.'

  'I think I deserve some reward,' said Seurel.

  'I'll mention that to the General,' said Catto. 'You'll certainly get no more from
me than we decided at the outset. But let's not haggle over money at a time like this,' he went on, adopting a more amiable tone. 'Our work is done. All we have to do is to present this little gift to General Salignac then we can go off to spend our money.' He nudged his friend. 'Take him out - I want to see Captain Rawson.'

  Their eyes had become accustomed to the dark by now so they were both able to get a reasonable idea of what the face looked like as the head was hauled out of the sack by Seurel.

  'Well,' he said, expecting lavish praise, 'what do you think?'

  Catto peered at the face. 'I think you must be even more stupid than I feared,' he said harshly. 'That's not Daniel Rawson.'

  'Yes, it is!'

  'I've seen the man and he looks very different.'

  'But he was in his tent. You took me there.'

  'I expected him to be alone at that time of night.'

  'And so he was - that's why I killed Captain Rawson.'

  'No, you buffoon,' yelled Catto, 'you killed someone else. We went to all that trouble and we end up empty-handed. You're an idiot, Frédéric, a brainless, blundering imbecile.'

  'I obeyed your orders, Charles, that's all.'

  'My orders were for you to kill Daniel Rawson, not some nameless individual who's no use to us at all. This man probably held a different rank altogether. Didn't you look at his uniform to make sure that he was a captain?'

  'He wasn't wearing a jacket,' recalled Seurel. 'He'd taken it off to play backgammon. The board was set out on the table.'

  Catto snarled. 'Who cares about that?'

  Seurel was hurt. Having been brave enough to enter an enemy camp, he had committed a murder under the very noses of the British troops and felt entitled to admiration. Instead, he was being reviled by his partner. There was no hope of an immediate return to the camp. Now that Catto had deserted, he would be shot on sight by any soldier who recognised him. After staring at the head once more, he dropped it back into its sack. Seurel's brow was corrugated by thought. A few moments later, he snapped his fingers.