Fire and Sword Page 10

  Searle tossed the dead man to the ground and surveyed the ring of frightened faces, content that none of them would dare to challenge his leadership now. He adopted a reasonable tone.

  ‘I’m sorry it’s taken so long,’ he said, ‘but we could hardly raid the farm when we were soaked to the skin. In any case, it’s not the best way to whet our appetites for rutting with the farm wenches.’ There was uneasy laughter. ‘The long wait is over, lads. We attack at nightfall.’

  ‘Why wait till then?’ asked Lock.

  Searle glared at him. ‘Do you have a better plan, Edwin?’

  ‘No, no, Matt. Forget that I spoke.’

  ‘The reason we wait for dark is this,’ Searle continued. ‘I’ve been to the farm three times now and watched it carefully. There are eight men working there as well as the five women. I don’t like those odds. However, four of the men don’t live at the farm. They walk home at night to the village a couple of miles away.’ He glanced at Lock. ‘Are you beginning to understand now?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Lock. ‘Four men won’t put up so much of a fight.’

  ‘I’m more interested in the five women,’ said Gregory Pyle, a sharp-featured man with a lopsided smirk.

  ‘There’s something else you should know,’ Searle told them. ‘The last time I was there, they drove some of the stock off to market. That means they came back with a lot of money. It’s ours for the taking, lads.’ He kicked the corpse aside. ‘Ianto won’t need his share now, will he? That means each of us will get more. How does that sound?’

  ‘I like it,’ said Pyle.

  ‘So do I,’ added Lock. ‘When do we leave, Matt?’

  ‘There’s a job to do first, Edwin,’ replied Searle, ‘and you’re just the man to do it. Find a spade and bury that stupid Welshman before he starts to stink. And if anyone else is thinking of pulling a dagger on me,’ he warned, ‘remember what happened to Ianto Morgan.’

  The Confederate army was on the move again, responding to French deployment by heading south of Hal, thereby blocking the approach to Brussels. Glad that the earlier rain had eased off, Daniel rode at the head of his regiment, proud that the 24th Foot was near the front of the long cavalcade. Somewhere behind him, Henry Welbeck and the other sergeants made sure that their men marched at a brisk pace. Jonathan Ainley rode beside Daniel, eyeing the woods in the middle distance with some trepidation.

  ‘That would be a good place for an ambush, Dan,’ he said.

  ‘Our scouts have reported nothing suspicious.’

  ‘They could have sent out troops to harass us.’

  ‘I doubt if they’d take the risk, said Daniel. ‘They won’t commit enough men to trouble an army this size. I think it would be suicidal. Vendôme never sacrifices manpower if he can help it.’

  ‘Neither does His Grace.’

  ‘Every soldier is important to him.’

  ‘Why can’t the French just come out and fight?’

  ‘It’s not in their nature.’

  ‘Not even when they have a numerical advantage?’

  ‘They’ll wait until they can choose the right moment. In the meantime, they’ll be manoeuvring for position. They want to test us out,’ said Daniel, ‘and play a few games with us.’

  ‘I still think they could be hiding in those woods.’

  ‘Then we’ll need to keep our wits about us.’

  When they got within a hundred yards of the trees, they slowed their speed, intending to proceed with caution. In fact, they never even reached the woods. There was a low, rocky outcrop to their left and it was from behind this that the French onslaught came. Scores of blue uniforms that had been lying flat on the ground suddenly appeared and muskets began to pop, sending up wisps of smoke. There was momentary bewilderment then Daniel ordered his men to spread out and return fire. While the 24th responded with its first volley, he tried to assess the size of the enemy, keeping his horse on the move so that he didn’t present a stationary target. French and British soldiers kept exchanging fire with deafening effect. A number of Daniel’s men had been wounded in the surprise attack and a few had been killed outright but the French were starting to suffer casualties as well. Indeed, when they saw the speed and accuracy of the British retaliation, they decided to beat a swift retreat. They’d done what they came for, using the woods as a decoy while lying in wait behind the rocks. They’d drawn blood. It was time to withdraw. After less than fifteen minutes, the skirmish came to an end and the French soldiers vanished from sight.

  Daniel led his men up the incline in pursuit but the enemy had too big a start. Horses had been waiting to spirit them away and they were riding hell for leather. There was no point at all in chasing them towards their camp because they’d have massive reinforcements to call upon there. It was all over. The regiment was left to lick its wounds and count its losses. Returning to the main track, Daniel was alarmed to see Ainley, kneeling on the ground with blood on his face. He dismounted and rushed over to the lieutenant.

  ‘Are you all right, Jonathan?’ he asked with concern.

  ‘Yes,’ replied his friend, gamely. ‘It’s only a scratch.’

  ‘You need to see the surgeon.’

  ‘No, Dan, I’d feel I was wasting his time when there are far more serious wounds for him to look at.’ He used a handkerchief to stem the blood. ‘I was grazed by a musket ball, that’s all.’

  ‘Then you were very lucky.’

  ‘It’s not a question of luck. I survived by willpower.’

  Daniel was amused. ‘Is such a thing possible?’

  ‘Yes, it is,’ said Ainley, seriously. ‘I have to stay alive for six months at least because I’m getting married at Christmas. Elizabeth would never forgive me if I let myself get killed. That’s why I’ve resolved that it won’t happen.’

  ‘I wish it were as simple as that,’ said Daniel. ‘Unfortunately, we don’t have our destinies in our own hands.’

  ‘I do, Dan. I promised Elizabeth that I’d meet her at the altar.’

  ‘Then I hope you’re able to keep that promise. Will you tell her about the narrow escape you had today?’

  ‘Oh, no – it would only upset her. When she reads my letters, she likes to hear good news.’

  ‘There’s been precious little of that recently.’

  ‘You’ve got a short memory.’

  ‘Have I?’ Seeing the other’s grin, Daniel understood what he meant. ‘I hope you haven’t been telling her tales about me.’

  ‘I just mentioned that one of our officers went behind enemy lines to abduct a French major, steal his uniform and return to camp with details of enemy plans. If that isn’t good news, then what is? You’re a hero, Dan.’

  ‘I don’t feel too heroic today, Jonathan,’ confessed Daniel. ‘I let us walk into a trap. When I saw those rocks, I should have sent scouts on ahead to take a look behind them. They seemed too low to conceal anyone. I hadn’t realised that the ground falls away sharply at the back of those boulders. Like you, I was too busy worrying about the potential danger in the woods.’ He glanced back along the line of soldiers. ‘As it is, we came off relatively lightly – and, whatever you may claim, it was not because of willpower.’

  ‘It was in my case,’ asserted Ainley. ‘I’ll tell Elizabeth that I came through the skirmish untouched. That’s the sensible thing to do. A white lie will prevent any tears from her. But what about the letters you send?’ he asked. ‘How much of the truth do you tell Amalia?’

  ‘Very little, I suppose.’

  ‘Women are such delicate creatures. It’s incumbent upon us to conceal the horrors of warfare from them. I’m just grateful that Elizabeth is hundreds of miles away from here. I need to feel that she’s completely safe.’

  ‘It’s the same with me,’ said Daniel, wistfully. ‘Because of my commitments here, my letters to Amsterdam are few and far between. Whenever I write one, however, I console myself with the knowledge that Amalia is out of harm’s way.’

  Respected by his men as
a brilliant soldier, Vendôme liked to review his troops at regular intervals. Simultaneously, it fed his sense of importance and kept the men on their toes. As he watched them march past in serried ranks, he was pleased with what he saw. Even though many new recruits were on display, the soldiers were well drilled and primed for action. When the parade was finally over, he turned round to find Valeran waiting patiently for him. The lieutenant offered him a letter.

  ‘We have the answer you wanted, Your Grace,’ he said.

  ‘Excellent,’ replied Vendôme, taking it from him.

  ‘I had it decoded for you.’

  ‘Well done, Raoul. Let’s see what we’ve discovered about the gallant Captain Rawson, shall we?’ As he read the letter, he smiled. ‘So his weakness has a name, does she? All we need to do now is to put a face to that name.’ His smile broadened into a grin. ‘I look forward to meeting Amalia Janssen.’

  CHAPTER NINE

  It was a long ride and they didn’t reach their destination until evening shadows were lengthening. Waiting under cover of some trees, they watched until the farmyard was completely deserted. Through the open shutters, they could see candles burning.

  Edwin Lock was impatient. He grabbed his cousin’s arm.

  ‘Let’s go, Matt,’ he urged.

  ‘It’s too early,’ decreed Searle.

  ‘But they’ll be eating their supper now. They’ll be off guard. Those four men left ages ago. We’ll soon deal with the ones still there. Then we can help ourselves to the women.’

  ‘I want the fat one,’ said Gregory Pyle, almost dribbling. ‘I saw her coming out of the byre with a pail of milk. She’s mine – I like plenty to hold on to.’

  ‘You’ll do as you’re told,’ cautioned Searle.

  ‘But you promised, Matt.’

  ‘All I promised was that you’d get your turn.’

  ‘Then I want it with that fat milkmaid.’

  ‘This is not a common whorehouse, Gregory. You can’t pick and choose. We have to kill the men, grab what we want then get out of there as quickly as possible.’

  ‘What about me?’ asked Lock.

  ‘You set fire to the barn.’

  His cousin pulled a face. ‘I did that last time.’

  ‘Then we know we can rely on you,’ said Searle. ‘When you’ve got a good blaze going, you check to see what livestock is worth rustling. They’ve still got some pigs left. We’ll have to slaughter them first. That’s another job for you, Edwin. The next thing we need is one of their horses. Hugh can take care of that. Tie the dead pigs together and sling them across the horse’s back.’

  ‘And where will you be all this time, Matt?’

  ‘Inside one of the women like me,’ said Pyle, sniggering.

  ‘You’ll obey orders,’ Searle told him, ‘or you’ll end up like Ianto Morgan. Each one of us must have a particular job and make sure we do it quickly. Edwin and Hugh know what they have to do – now for the rest of you.’

  Searle had planned the attack in advance. He gave his men their orders and reminded them that the village was only two miles away. When the fire was at its height, it would be seen from a long distance and help would soon arrive. They had to be well clear before anyone came galloping out from the village. Searle was wearing the uniform of a lieutenant in the dragoons. Like the ones donned by his men, it had been stolen from a corpse left behind after a skirmish. He ran a finger around the inside of the collar.

  ‘I don’t know how anyone managed to wear this,’ he complained. ‘It’s so tight, it’s almost strangling me.’

  ‘You’ve been demoted, Matt,’ said Hugh Davey.

  ‘What are you on about?’

  ‘Last time you were a captain in the British army.’

  Searle grinned. ‘Yes…that uniform could have been made for me. I know what it feels like to be an officer now.’

  ‘I hate officers,’ said Davey. ‘All they do is piss on the likes of us. I wasn’t putting up with it any more.’

  ‘That’s why you joined me, Hugh,’ said Searle. ‘I may make the decisions about where we strike but we have equal shares after that. Whatever the haul tonight, we’ll all get the same amount.’

  Lock grinned. ‘That goes for the women as well.’

  There was general laughter. They carried on bantering until the shutters were eventually closed and the occupants of the house had all rolled off to bed. At a signal from Searle, they came out of hiding and trotted towards the farm. Dismounting well before they actually reached it, they led their horses forward then tethered them to some bushes. They had an array of weapons, mostly filched from dead French soldiers. Some had pistols, others had muskets and a couple of them preferred daggers. When they reached the farmhouse, Searle waved them to their positions. Lock and Davey stayed outside while three of them went to the rear entrance of the building. Searle led two of the others to the front.

  Using the element of surprise, they suddenly forced their way in and went charging upstairs, flinging open the doors of the bedrooms without ceremony. One of the farmer’s sons was shot dead but another was only wounded and leapt naked from the bed to grapple with his attacker. A third son was stabbed to death but the farmer himself was unharmed. When Gregory Pyle fired a musket at him in the dark, he killed the man’s wife instead and found himself wrestled to the floor. The other women screamed at the top of their voices.

  Searle took it upon himself to finish off the two male victims still alive, cutting the throat of the one who’d been wounded so that his own man was released. Though he repeatedly stabbed the enraged farmer who was on top of Pyle, he was too late to save his friend from having the life strangled out of him. With their bloodlust sated, three of the other raiders chose a woman apiece and hurled them down onto their respective beds. Searle, meanwhile, hurried downstairs again, lighting a candle before searching for the place where the money was kept. Outside in the yard, Lock had set the barn ablaze and was trying to catch one of the squealing pigs in the sty. The creature kept slipping from his grasp and Lock had difficulty staying on his feet in the slimy, dung-covered sty. Davey harnessed one of the animals in the stables and brought it out to act as a packhorse.

  Things were not going well. On their previous raids, there’d been little resistance. The men were killed instantly and the women ravished. This time they had casualties. Pyle was dead and Regan, the man who’d grappled with the wounded son of the farmer, was badly bruised. When he tried to overpower one of the women, she fought back so hard that he could not subdue her. Searle was having no success downstairs. Though he searched every nook and cranny, he could find neither money nor any other valuables. He dashed back upstairs to continue the search there, using the candle to illumine each room and going past beds on which frantic women were trying to push their attackers away. None was submitting without a fight, shrieking, biting and using their nails to scratch.

  Through a gap in the shutters, Searle could see the flames from the barn as the fire really got a purchase. It would soon be spotted by someone in the village. Flying into a panic, his search became even more frenzied. He ran into the main bedchamber, stepped over the corpses of Gregory Pyle and the farmer then flung open the door of the little wardrobe. Nothing of value was in it or in the wooden chest under the window. Searle even dragged the dead body of the farmer’s wife off the bed so that he could lift up the mattress. No money was hidden beneath it. Panic mounting, he searched every inch of the room but to no avail. In his frustration, he kicked the farmer hard and swore under his breath. Then he used the candle to set light to anything that would burn.

  When Searle went back to the top of the stairs, Lock and Davey were pounding up them, their faces gleaming with hope.

  ‘Where are the women, Matt?’ asked Lock.

  ‘You’re too late,’ snapped Searle. ‘We’re leaving.’

  ‘But we haven’t had our turn yet,’ wailed Davey.

  ‘Get outside before I kick you back downstairs. Things have gone wrong. We have to ge
t out of here.’

  Protesting aloud, the two men retreated down the steps. Five minutes later, the whole band was riding away with the blood-covered carcases of the pigs slung across the packhorse. Behind them, in the burning farmhouse, nobody had been left alive.

  Since the 24th had borne the brunt of the attack, Daniel was called upon to deliver a report on the skirmish. He was in Marlborough’s quarters in the new camp. Adam Cardonnel was also present. Daniel’s summary was succinct and lucid.

  ‘That’s my opinion, Your Grace,’ he concluded. ‘I think that it was a foraging party. They saw us coming and couldn’t resist the opportunity to give us a bloody nose.’

  ‘What were our casualties?’

  ‘Eight men were killed and almost thirty wounded.’

  ‘That’s rather more than a bloody nose,’ said Marlborough. ‘How many of the attackers fell?’

  ‘Only three of them,’ replied Daniel, ‘because they had the cover of the rocks. However, several were wounded. We captured a handful of them. The rest got away.’

  Marlborough was philosophical. ‘It was ever thus,’ he observed. ‘The French are always inclined to turn tail and run. We seem to have spent most of this war looking at their retreating backs. This incident was highly regrettable,’ he went on, shrugging it off, ‘but of no real moment. There’ll no doubt be others like it during the campaign.’

  Daniel thought that their commander looked better than he had done for some time. He knew that Cardonnel was worried about him and had noticed the signs of weariness and pessimism. Customarily, Marlborough radiated a quiet confidence, something he imparted to the ranks as well as to his officers. Corporal John knew how to raise the morale of his troops, though he had yet to do so in the current campaign. The best judge of his condition was his secretary and, from Cardonnel’s face and manner, Daniel could see that he was less concerned about Marlborough. It was reassuring.