Fire and Sword Read online

  ‘Those are the best tidings I could wish to hear, Your Grace.’

  ‘Thank you, Daniel.’

  ‘What are my orders?’

  ‘I’ll come to those,’ said Marlborough. ‘First, I wish to tender my apologies for sending you away so brusquely when you last called. I’ve now read the correspondence you brought and it’s been enlightening.’

  ‘There was another matter I’d hoped to raise with you.’

  ‘Speak on. This is your opportunity.’

  ‘It concerns a harrowing incident, Your Grace.’

  Daniel told them about the destruction of the farm and the murder of its occupants. Marlborough was aghast when he heard that it was the work of British soldiers.

  ‘Are you sure about this, Daniel?’ he asked, bristling.

  ‘The farmer was very precise.’

  ‘No soldiers under my command would dare do such a thing.’

  ‘I can only report what I saw and heard.’

  ‘This is outrageous,’ said Marlborough, slapping his thigh. ‘I’m grateful that you brought this to my attention. I’ll institute a search for these devils at once. When you return to Flanders this week, you can bear a letter on the subject to General Cadogan.’

  ‘I’ll gladly do so, Your Grace,’ said Daniel, ‘and I’ll pursue the matter on my own account as well. I have a strong personal interest in seeing these men caught and hanged. Wearing our uniforms, they behaved like savages.’

  They came by night. While some of them rustled the cattle and seized the rest of the livestock, others set fire to the barn and to the stables. When the flames began to lick hungrily at the farmhouse itself, its occupants flung open the shutters to see what had caused the conflagration. They were instantly shot dead. As the fire roared on with deafening force, their bodies were soon burnt and blackened beyond recognition. The redcoats took on a deeper hue in the dazzling light. They had struck again. All that would be left behind him were sizzling embers. On a command from their leader, the men rode off with their booty, their harsh laughter echoing through the night.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  ‘Oh, you’re still alive then,’ said Welbeck with heavy sarcasm. ‘I thought you were either dead or that you’d run off to join the enemy.’

  ‘You know me better than that, Henry.’

  ‘In the old days, I did, but I saw a lot more of you then.’

  ‘Things have changed,’ said Daniel. ‘Since I joined His Grace’s personal staff, I can’t spend as much time with the regiment as I’d like. I have other duties.’

  ‘Yes…chasing women around the bedroom.’

  Daniel grinned. ‘There’s not much chance of doing that.’

  ‘You can’t fool me, Dan Rawson. I’ve got your true measure. You simply can’t resist a pretty face and a nice pair of bubbies.’

  ‘That’s where you’re wrong, Henry. My roving days are over. I’ve finally met the woman I want above all others.’

  Welbeck was sardonic. ‘That’s what you tell each and every one of them,’ he said. ‘But when you’ve had a gallop on your latest filly, you probably can’t even remember her name.’

  ‘I have a name that I’ll never forget,’ said Daniel as an image of Amalia Janssen popped into his mind. ‘And it’s very precious to me. But,’ he added, ‘I didn’t come here to discuss my private life. I’m here because I missed seeing your ugly old face.’

  ‘Flattery will get you nowhere, you damnable liar.’

  They shared a laugh and embraced.

  Spring had brought the army out of winter quarters and Daniel had returned to his regiment. He’d watched Welbeck drilling his men with a stentorian voice that cowed them into obedience. Those who fell below the sergeant’s high standards earned themselves some harsh criticism. They soon learnt to march in step and in line. Daniel had waited until his friend had dismissed the troops before he stepped forward to surprise him. Welbeck’s mockery didn’t offend him in the least because it was grounded in affection.

  ‘So,’ said the sergeant, ‘where have you been?’

  ‘Here, there and everywhere, Henry.’

  ‘And where might that be?’

  ‘Well, I spent some time in England at the start of the year.’

  ‘I doubt if I’ll ever do that again,’ moaned Welbeck. ‘This bleeding war will drag on for ever.’

  ‘Don’t be so pessimistic,’ said Daniel.

  ‘We take one step forward and two back. After we battered the Frenchies at Ramillies, I was rash enough to believe that the end might finally be in sight. But what happened?’ he asked, jabbing a belligerent finger in the air. ‘Last year we managed to lose almost everything we’d gained the year before. Marshal Villars stormed the Lines of Stollhofen before surging on into Germany and any hope we had of making headway in Spain vanished at the battle of Almanza. As for the naval attack on Toulon, it came to nothing – just like every other bloody thing we tried to do. I sometimes wonder if our so-called commanders have a clue how to win this war.’

  ‘Now that’s unfair, Henry.’

  ‘Is it? I don’t think so. We’re supposed to be part of the Grand Alliance but, if you ask me, it’s neither grand nor allied.’

  Daniel grimaced. ‘I’d have to agree with that.’

  ‘Time and time again, we’ve been let down by the Dutch or by some other foreign frigging idiots who are meant to be on our side.’

  ‘Be careful,’ warned Daniel, indulgently. ‘Bear in mind that my dear mother was Dutch. I’m one of those foreign frigging idiots you’re talking about.’

  ‘I knew there was something peculiar about you.’ He slapped his friend familiarly on the shoulder. ‘Nevertheless, it’s good to have you back in camp again, Dan.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘And while you’ve been gallivanting here, there and everywhere, I’ve not been idle. I’ve been thinking about those British soldiers who burnt that farm down.’

  ‘Yes, they’re still very much on my mind as well.’

  ‘According to Lieutenant Ainley, they’ve added some other victims to their list.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Reports came in of another farm razed to the ground. The people who lived there were burnt to a cinder and all the livestock was driven off. Whoever these buggers are,’ he went on, rancorously, ‘they obviously eat well. While they have fresh pork and as much beef as they want, we’re stuck on army rations.’

  ‘How do you know it was the same men?’

  ‘A witness saw them riding away from the blaze and claims they wore red uniforms. There can’t be two raiding parties of British soldiers who like killing people and starting bonfires.’

  ‘I agree,’ said Daniel. ‘It’s too big a coincidence. They must be from one of our cavalry regiments. What puzzles me is why they’re trying to spread terror throughout the countryside. That will only turn people against us.’

  ‘Corporal John is always telling us to be kind to local farmers. After all, we’re not fighting against them. We’re supposed to treat them well, not burn them to death in their homes.’

  ‘I mentioned the first incident to His Grace.’

  ‘What did he say?’

  ‘He was as shaken as we were, Henry. He’s determined to find out who brought such disgrace on a British uniform.’

  ‘And what else did he say?’ wondered Welbeck. ‘Did he have any idea at all how to achieve peace or are we going to keep floundering on for another year?’

  ‘We won’t flounder,’ said Daniel. ‘There’s a definite plan.’

  Welbeck raised a sceptical eyebrow. ‘Really…what is it?’

  ‘I’m not at liberty to tell you the full details but I’ve just come from The Hague where His Grace met with Grand Pensionary Heinsius and with Prince Eugene of Savoy.’

  ‘What did the three of them do – play cards together?’

  ‘Don’t be so cynical, Henry.’

  ‘I’d just like to know where the hell we’re going.’

  ‘Nowhere
.’

  ‘Oh, I see. We just stay here and twiddle our thumbs, do we?’

  ‘Of course not,’ said Daniel. ‘We remain in Flanders. This is where the decisive action will take place. It’s one of the things I found out while I was sniffing around in Paris.’

  ‘Which general’s wife did you seduce this time?’

  ‘That opportunity didn’t arise and, even if it had, I’d never have taken it.’

  Welbeck rolled his eyes. ‘You expect me to believe that?’

  While gathering intelligence, Daniel had a reputation for resorting to any means necessary. On a previous stay in Paris, he’d befriended and wooed Berenice, neglected wife of General Salignac. It never occurred to her that some of the things she confided about her husband’s commitments by way of pillow talk were duly passed on to the Duke of Marlborough. She’d been a useful, if unwitting, source of military information. In trying to combine espionage with pleasure, however, Daniel had taken an enormous risk, a fact later borne in upon him when the cuckolded general sent two men to kill him.

  ‘What else did you find out between nights of madness in someone’s boudoir?’ asked Welbeck.

  ‘I discovered that King Louis had personally chosen the ground on which this year’s battles will be fought. It’s right here in Flanders,’ said Daniel with a sweeping gesture. ‘We’ll be up against a strong French army of 100,000 men under the command of the duc de Vendôme.’

  ‘Vendôme!’ The name was spat out in disgust. ‘He’s no match for us. The Duke has outwitted far better soldiers than Vendôme. We beat Marshal Tallard at Blenheim and Marshall Villeroi at Ramillies.’

  ‘Both of them experienced commanders.’

  ‘Poxy old Vendôme is useless.’

  ‘Give him his due, Henry,’ urged Daniel. ‘He had a lot of success in Italy then kept us completely pinned down here last year. He’s a worthy adversary and we should respect him.’

  ‘I respect nobody in a French uniform.’

  ‘Not even royalty?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘It’s another little titbit that fell into my lap. Louis is sending his own grandson, the Duke of Burgundy, to put us to the sword. That shows you how seriously he’s taking this year’s campaign. Keep your men well drilled and ready for combat,’ said Daniel. ‘They may have the chance to spill some royal blood.’

  Louis de France, duc de Burgundy, was a well-bred yet mettlesome young man in his mid twenties, deeply religious, inclined to arrogance and confident that he had the ability to lead a huge army to victory against the Confederate forces. Notwithstanding a lack of experience, he felt able to make critical military decisions in the field. With so many troops gathered at the French camp in Valenciennes, he didn’t even contemplate defeat. Burgundy was a royal prince in every particular. Impeccably attired and courtly in manner, he was therefore highly offended when the scruffily dressed duc de Vendôme barged his way into the tent without warning. Burgundy turned away instinctively from the unpleasant smell that always accompanied the older man. Vendôme was over twice his age and had notoriously dirty habits. His shirt was badly soiled and hadn’t been changed for several days. There was tobacco on his cravat, wine stains on his coat and his periwig was beginning to unravel. He was brusque, irreverent and angry. Vendôme made little effort to show any respect.

  ‘I wondered if you’d come to your senses yet,’ he said.

  ‘I fancy that it’s your senses that are deficient, my lord Duke,’ said Burgundy with exaggerated courtesy. ‘I hoped that you’d come to appreciate the wisdom of my argument.’

  ‘Wisdom arises from experience.’

  ‘That’s why I’m careful to draw on the experience of older heads such as your own. I’ll always seek the best advice before I make a decision.’

  ‘Then why have you ignored it?’

  ‘In this case, I found your counsel unhelpful.’

  ‘Unhelpful!’ spluttered Vendôme. ‘That’s an insult. We’re in a position to take the initiative and I believe that we should do so.’

  ‘On that point at least we’re in agreement.’

  ‘Then give the order to besiege Huy.’

  ‘I’ve chosen another course of action.’

  ‘Think of its situation, for heaven’s sake! Huy sits on the Meuse. Those wide, open plains nearby will favour a cavalry engagement and we have a marked superiority there. Why not use it?’

  ‘Because I’ve conceived another strategy,’ said Burgundy, evenly. ‘I prefer our initial advance to be towards Brussels. There’s a clear dissatisfaction with Dutch rule among the Flemish population. We must exploit that. Brussels will welcome us.’

  ‘All of Flanders will welcome us if you follow my plan.’

  ‘The matter is settled, my lord Duke.’

  Vendôme turned away and muttered some expletives under his breath. Forced to accept Burgundy as the titular commander-in-chief, he was seething with rage. The previous year he’d skilfully defended French positions in Flanders and kept the Allies at arm’s length. As the new campaigning season began, he’d finally been allowed to risk a major battle, if it could be fought under advantageous conditions. To manoeuvre Marlborough and his army into the places where he wanted them, however, Vendôme needed a free hand but that was being denied him. Every decision had to be ratified by Burgundy.

  ‘Could I simply ask you to think again?’ said Vendôme, injecting a faint note of deference into his voice. ‘On reflection, you may well come to see that the siege of Huy is the better option.’

  Burgundy was peremptory. ‘It’s out of the question.’

  ‘Will you spurn my advice in such a cavalier fashion?’

  ‘We’ll move towards Brussels.’

  ‘May I remind you that I was in charge of operations in Flanders last year?’ said Vendôme, cheeks reddening. ‘I know the terrain well. I know how best to make use of its natural advantages. More to the point,’ he went on as if playing a trump card, ‘I understand the way that Marlborough thinks and acts. I can anticipate him.’

  ‘Then it’s a pity your anticipation wasn’t more fruitful last year,’ said Burgundy with a touch of condescension, ‘or the campaign would not have ended in an impasse. That will not happen under my command, I assure you. I’m working to achieve a decisive result.’

  Vendôme scowled. ‘All that you’re doing is to squander an opportunity to strike a telling blow.’

  ‘You’re entitled to your opinion, my lord Duke.’

  ‘It’s the advice of a veteran soldier.’

  ‘Nobody questions your long record.’

  ‘But that, by implication, is what you’re doing,’ said Vendôme with a hostile stare. ‘In rejecting my plan, you’re suggesting that it’s worthless.’ He pulled himself to his full height. ‘I’ve fought and won battles. I think you should remember who I am.’

  ‘It’s rather difficult to forget,’ said Burgundy, wearily. ‘Perhaps it’s you who should remember that I’m in command here. You are in the presence of a prince of the blood.’

  Biting back a reply, Vendôme stood there fuming and looked as if he was about to explode. Burgundy remained composed and that drove his visitor to an even greater pitch of fury. Unable to put his feelings into polite words, Vendôme simply spun round and stormed out. As he strode through the camp with his eyes blazing, nobody dared to approach him. Instead, they stepped quickly out of his way. When he reached his own tent, Vendôme thrust the flap aside and burst in, reaching for a flagon of wine and pouring a full glass. He flopped down onto his chair and took a long sip of wine. Brooding on the way he’d been rebuffed, he was oblivious to everything else. He didn’t even hear the tent flap open or see the head that popped tentatively in. Nor did he hear the deliberate cough made by the newcomer. It was only when the man stepped into the tent that Vendôme at last became aware of his presence.

  ‘What do you want?’ he growled, looking up.

  ‘You sent for me, Your Grace.’

  ‘The devil I
did! Who, in God’s name, are you?’

  ‘Lieutenant Valeran.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Raoul Valeran.’ With a slight bow, he moved backwards. ‘I can see that I’m intruding. Pray, excuse me.’

  ‘No, no,’ said Vendôme, looking at him properly for the first time. ‘Stay here. I do believe that I may have sent for you.’

  ‘If this is an inconvenient moment…’

  ‘Say no more, Lieutenant.’

  Vendôme put a finger to his lips to reinforce the order then he gave a lazy smile. He studied Valeran from head to toe and was delighted with what he saw. The lieutenant was a tall, slender, handsome young man with an air of boyish innocence about him. He had a natural elegance that had caught Vendôme’s attention and prompted him to find out the officer’s name. Anger slowly gave way to desire. Vendôme needed something that would help him forget the way his advice had been rejected by Burgundy. Here was the perfect distraction. Eyes never leaving his guest, he had a much longer drink then he reached for the flagon.

  ‘Come on in, Raoul,’ he invited, running a tongue over his lips. ‘I’d like you to join me in a glass of wine.’

  The last time that Daniel had disguised himself as Marcel Daron, he’d been hounded by a French patrol. He was more circumspect on this occasion, joining a group of other travellers who’d be passing through Valenciennes. They got him there without incident. Daniel sought out the best tavern within easy reach of the French camp and took a room there. Early that evening, some officers rolled in for a drinking bout. Daniel watched them carefully from a table in the corner. He picked up some of their names and heard snatches of conversation. There was a general air of optimism about the campaign ahead.

  Daniel soon selected his target. Major Crevel interested him for two reasons. The man was sufficiently senior to have some knowledge of any tactical decisions that had been made, and he couldn’t hold his wine. The more he drank, the more uninhibited Crevel became, laughing uproariously at the feeblest jokes and falling off his chair at one point. His companions hauled him upright again. Daniel chose his moment and crossed to their table.