Fire and Sword Read online

  ‘So?’

  ‘I believe you should reconsider your decision.’

  Vendôme gesticulated theatrically. ‘Why are we talking about the fate of one man,’ he asked, ‘when we have a hundred thousand to take into account? Why waste our breath on a miserable wretch like Crevel? I thought that he’d at least accept his punishment with some grace but it was too much to ask. Instead, he goes crawling on his hands and knees to you.’

  ‘There’s a reason for that,’ said Burgundy.

  ‘Yes…he’s a snivelling toad.’

  ‘No, my lord Duke, he happens to be a distant relative of mine.’

  ‘Ah!’ said Vendôme, sitting back. ‘Now we come to it.’

  ‘I want him restored to his rank.’

  ‘Were he your own brother, I’d not do that.’

  Burgundy recoiled slightly from this open challenge to his authority. Anger slowly built inside him, mingling with the revulsion he felt at having a discussion in such gross circumstances. There was a long, strained silence. It was eventually shattered by Vendôme who broke wind with such trumpeting violence that he forced Burgundy to take a few steps backwards.

  ‘May I remind you,’ said Vendôme, mustering what dignity he could from his undignified position, ‘that Crevel is under my direct command.’

  ‘And may I remind you,’ countered Burgundy with a sharp edge in his voice, ‘that I have overall command of the army. In short, my lord Duke, I am the final court of appeal here. My judgement is that Major Crevel should resume his rank.’

  Vendôme was horrified. ‘Is he to suffer no penalty at all?’

  ‘Being admonished by you was a penalty in itself, I suspect. When he left your quarters, he did so in the utmost disgrace and that, I believe, had a sobering effect on him. I fancy that he’ll be a credit to his uniform from now on.’

  ‘I insist that my decision is upheld.’

  ‘Protest is pointless,’ said Burgundy. ‘You’ve been overruled.’

  ‘I see,’ said Vendôme, simmering. ‘In that case, my lord, perhaps you’d be good enough to point out any other distant relatives you have in this army before I inadvertently rob them of their commissions as well. As for Crevel, what he did was tantamount to betrayal. He readily offered information to a British spy.’

  ‘He was tricked into doing so. Instead of taking out your spite on the major, you should be chasing the man who hoodwinked him.’

  ‘I am already doing so.’

  Burgundy was startled. ‘Really?’

  ‘I take this lapse very seriously, my lord,’ said Vendôme. ‘I’ll not rest until we have full retribution. At this very moment, someone in the enemy camp is trying to identify the man who exposed Crevel as the inept, unguarded, drunken fool that he is. But then,’ he went on, acidly, ‘since the man is a relative of yours, you’d be familiar with the many flaws in his character.’

  In spite of his many other commitments, Daniel Rawson made sure that he never neglected sword practice. The weapon was much more to him than the difference between life and death. It had great symbolic value. It had marked his premature coming of age when, as a boy of ten, he’d used the sword to kill its owner, a cavalry sergeant trying to rape Daniel’s mother. Presented to him by the man who was now captain general of the Confederate army, it had been kept at Daniel’s home in Amsterdam for years until he earned the commission that allowed him to wear a sword. Long before that time, however, he’d learnt how to use the weapon, mastering the finer points of swordplay and developing the strength of his right arm. The blade was always kept clean and razor sharp.

  Daniel had used the sword with lethal effect in many battles and skirmishes. It had been exceptionally deadly at Blenheim and had taken part in a cavalry charge at Ramillies. Now, however, it was put to less dangerous use as Daniel went through a practice routine with Jonathan Ainley. The lieutenant was a competent swordsman with a long reach that could trouble any adversary but he had neither the power nor the speed of Daniel. As the two of them fought on some open ground behind the officers’ quarters, the flash of blades was accompanied by the echoing clang of steel.

  No matter how hard Ainley tried, he couldn’t put Daniel under any sustained pressure. Every thrust was deftly parried, every attack was repelled with comparative ease. After twenty minutes or so, the lieutenant was flagging visibly. Daniel’s superior stamina told. With a sudden increase of power, he drove Ainley back so fast that his friend tripped and fell to the ground. After holding the point of his weapon playfully at Ainley’s chest, Daniel offered him a hand to pull him up. The lieutenant was panting.

  ‘I could never beat you in a duel,’ he gasped. ‘You seem to know exactly what I’m going to do before I do it.’

  ‘You fought well,’ said Daniel, hauling him to his feet.

  ‘But I came off worst yet again.’

  ‘It’s different in battle. There’s none of the formal swordplay that we’ve just enjoyed. It’s all slash, thrust and parry. Strength and agility are what you need there.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Ainley, ‘and you have too much of both for me.’

  ‘I intend to stay alive, Jonathan. That’s why I try to keep myself ready for action.’ He held his sword aloft. ‘This is my protector.’

  ‘Yet you wore no sword when you went to Valenciennes.’

  ‘It would have looked out of place on a wine merchant.’

  ‘You were very brave to travel unarmed.’

  ‘I carried a dagger with me,’ said Daniel, ‘in case of emergency. It was concealed under my coat. I’m a born soldier. I feel naked without some kind of weapon.’

  Ainley laughed. ‘It was that French officer who felt naked after you’d finished with him.’

  ‘I thought I asked you not to talk about it.’

  ‘Even you are entitled to brag now and again, Daniel.’

  ‘I’d much rather that incident remained secret.’

  ‘It’s far too late for that.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Everyone seems to have heard of it somehow. Major Earnshaw was talking about it only this morning and so were some of the others. I daresay it’s filtered down to the ranks as well. It’s no use trying to keep these things to yourself,’ he said, clapping Daniel amiably on the shoulder. ‘Everyone wants to hear about the latest exploits of Captain Rawson. You have a name.’

  ‘His name is Daniel Rawson,’ said Valeran.

  ‘What rank does he hold?’

  ‘He’s a captain in the 24th Foot.’

  ‘A British regiment,’ said Vendôme with contempt. ‘How, in the name of all that’s holy, could one of our majors be taken in by an Englishman?’

  ‘Rawson is something of a linguist, Your Grace. According to the report, he speaks French fluently enough to deceive anyone. Here,’ he went on, offering the letter. ‘Read it yourself. This is a copy, of course. I had the original decoded.’

  Vendôme took the missive. ‘Thank you, Raoul.’

  Not daring to interrupt, Valeran waited while the other man studied the letter. It had been sent by one of their spies in the British camp. The two men were in Vendôme’s tent, a place where the lieutenant spent more and more time. As a result, he’d had to endure the barbed comments and sly innuendoes of his friends but he ignored them in the interest of winning favour. Given an opportunity, he’d decided to seize it at whatever cost. Part of that cost involved being compliant but there were other duties as well. He’d been put in direct contact with French intelligencers and that gave him a definite status. In bringing Vendôme the letter, he hoped for praise. It was not forthcoming.

  When he read the last sentence, Vendôme let out a cry of rage.

  ‘Did you see this?’ he demanded.

  ‘Yes, Your Grace.’

  ‘This spy of theirs is no mere captain in a regiment of foot. He’s also a member of Marlborough’s personal staff. He’ll have been very popular after his little escapade. The Duke and his entourage are no doubt still slapping him on the
back as they laugh at our expense.’

  ‘The only person they’re laughing at is Major Crevel.’

  ‘Don’t mention that abominable creature.’

  ‘As you wish,’ said Valeran, obediently.

  ‘I never want to hear his accursed name again.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘This is the only name I’m interested in at the moment,’ stressed Vendôme, waving the letter in the air. ‘Captain Daniel Rawson. I want him here in front of me, Raoul.’

  ‘That may be difficult to arrange,’ warned Valeran.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘We can’t simply abduct a man from the British camp.’

  ‘We don’t have to do that.’

  ‘Then how do we get him here?’

  ‘We simply lure him to us.’

  Valeran was puzzled. ‘Lure him?’

  ‘All it takes is a little imagination.’

  ‘Then I must confess that I lack it, Your Grace. I fail to see what could possibly lure such a man out of the safety of his army.’

  ‘Read this again,’ suggested Vendôme, thrusting the letter at him. ‘Rawson is clearly an adventurer. He’s ready to take chances and court peril. What we need to find is something that would tempt him to come here.’

  ‘And how do we do that?’

  ‘We gather more information about this fellow and we do so with some urgency. It’s clear that the bold captain has many strong points. But he’ll also have weaknesses.’

  ‘What sort of weaknesses?’

  ‘Does he have a wife, a lover, a family – or what about a favourite child? There must be someone for whom he’d risk his neck, someone who isn’t surrounded by an army and is therefore easier to get at. That’s where we need to strike. Who is the most important person in his private life?’

  ‘I have no idea,’ admitted Valeran.

  ‘Then find out. Send a coded message back to the British camp.’

  ‘What must it say?’

  ‘We need more detail about this Daniel Rawson. I don’t care how brave and resourceful he is. Everyone has an Achilles’ heel. Discover what the captain’s is,’ said Vendôme, rubbing his hands together, ‘and he’s ours. That’s the message to send, Raoul. Whom or what does he love most?’

  Amalia Janssen gazed longingly through the window. Most of the shops they’d stopped at were filled with the neat but plain dresses that were the fashion among the women of Amsterdam. This shop was different. It displayed a colour and cut that reminded her of the months in Paris yet there was no hint of vulgarity. All the dresses she could see had such style and beauty. Amalia simply goggled.

  ‘We always come here,’ noted Beatrix.

  ‘It’s the best way home.’

  The servant smiled. ‘The best for you, maybe,’ she said, ‘because it lets you stare through that window for as long as you like. I’ve no call to be looking at dresses like that. I could never find one to fit me and, even if I could, I could never afford to buy it.’ She pointed a finger. ‘Can you imagine what your father would say if he saw me in something like that?’

  ‘He’d be amazed, Beatrix.’

  ‘He’d order me to take it off at once.’

  ‘Well, you could hardly do any chores wearing that. And – I don’t mean this at all unkindly – you don’t really have the shape for any of the dresses on display here.’

  ‘But you do, Miss Amalia.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Amalia with a sigh. ‘I believe that I do.’

  ‘Then ask Captain Rawson to buy one of them for you.’

  Amalia giggled. ‘Oh, I couldn’t do that.’

  ‘Why not?’ asked Beatrix. ‘I’m sure that he’d oblige.’

  ‘That’s not the point.’

  ‘He’s bought you gifts before.’

  ‘Father might not approve.’

  ‘That’s not true at all, Miss Amalia. Your father dotes on him almost as much as you do – and with good cause. But for Captain Rawson, all three of us would be lying somewhere in a French grave. And the same goes for Kees.’

  ‘I know all that,’ said Amalia. ‘What I meant was that Father wouldn’t approve of my choice. He adores colour in his tapestries yet prefers sober hues in everything I wear. I still have dresses in my wardrobe that belonged to my mother.’

  ‘Your mother was always very smart,’ said Beatrix with a nostalgic smile. ‘You are very much like her in that respect.’

  Amalia was about to point out that she was developing rather different tastes but she broke off instead. Talking about her mother always brought back unhappy memories of her untimely death. If the conversation had continued, Amalia knew that she and Beatrix would eventually end up in tears. Turning away from the shop, she put aside any thoughts of a new dress and set off for home. Beatrix, a servant, friend and chaperone, fell in beside her.

  ‘How much longer will this war drag on?’ she asked, wearily.

  ‘I wish I knew, Beatrix.’

  ‘What does Captain Rawson say?’

  ‘He has no more idea than the rest of us.’

  ‘Yet he’s very close to the Duke of Marlborough. He must know what’s going on.’

  ‘The fighting will continue until one side gives in,’ said Amalia with a helpless shrug, ‘and that’s an unlikely prospect at the moment. There was talk of peace after the battle of Ramillies but, as usual, it came to nothing.’

  Beatrix was morose. ‘I think it could go on for ever.’

  ‘Oh, don’t say that, Beatrix. We must never give up hope.’

  ‘It’s the same thing every year – more killing, more misery. I’d hate to be the mother of sons in the army. You’d never know if they’d come back alive. To be married to a soldier would be even worse. You’d spend all your time worrying and…’ Her voice tailed off as she realised what she was saying. She became apologetic. ‘I’m sorry, Miss Amalia. I didn’t mean to upset you. I wasn’t talking about Captain Rawson.’

  ‘Let’s just change the subject, shall we?’ said Amalia, firmly.

  ‘He rides beside the Duke of Marlborough so he’s in no danger at all. Captain Rawson is safe. That must be a comfort to you.’

  But Amalia was no longer listening. She had drifted off into a private world where there was no comfort at all. As long as the war continued, no British soldier was completely safe, especially one who took on the hazardous assignments that fell to Daniel Rawson. At any moment, his luck might finally run out. Filled with apprehension, she kept asking herself the same question.

  ‘Where are you now, Daniel?’

  Because Daniel had changed out of his uniform, the farmer didn’t recognise him at first. When it dawned on him who his visitor was, however, he became hostile and ordered Daniel to leave at once. After what had happened at the neighbouring farm, he wanted nothing to do with British soldiers. It took Daniel a long time to calm him down and an even longer one to persuade him to bring the boy down from his room. Only when the farmer was convinced of Daniel’s sincerity did he agree that his visitor could talk to Jules, the young lad who’d witnessed the atrocities at his farm.

  The boy came downstairs reluctantly. Since the outrage, he’d been weeping into his pillow, convulsed by a grief that was shot through with a burning desire for revenge. Daniel saw something of himself in Jules and was reminded of a time when his own world had been turned upside down by the arrival of soldiers. Daniel had at least been able to defend his mother. Jules had been utterly powerless and was plagued by guilt as a consequence. In the boy’s face, Daniel saw the same anger, hatred and confusion that he’d felt in the wake of the battle of Sedgemoor. The one consolation was that Jules had not actually seen his family being murdered. Daniel, by contrast, had watched his father being hanged.

  When the farmer explained that their visitor was a British soldier, Jules lost his temper and hurled himself at Daniel, managing to land a few punches. He had to be restrained for a while. Daniel took his time, letting the boy’s rage die down a little.

  ‘I come as
a friend, Jules,’ he said at length. ‘I want to catch the soldiers who attacked your farm. They were not acting on orders. I’m as anxious as you to make sure that they’ll pay for what they did to your family.’

  ‘Go away!’ said the boy.

  ‘Listen to him, Jules,’ coaxed the farmer. ‘I believe what he says. He wants to stop these men from killing anyone else.’

  ‘He’s lying. I don’t trust him.’

  ‘Hear him out.’

  ‘No…he’s just as bad as the others.’

  Daniel was grateful that the farmer was present. Though he had a good grasp of their Flemish dialect, Daniel found it easier to talk through the farmer than directly to Jules. It spared the boy from the feeling that he was being interrogated by an enemy. Daniel whispered the first question into the farmer’s ear.

  ‘Tell him what you saw, Jules,’ urged the farmer.

  ‘I don’t want to speak to him,’ retorted the boy.

  ‘Do you want those soldiers to get away with what they did?’

  ‘No…I want to kill them myself!’

  ‘I can understand why you feel like that,’ said Daniel. ‘But you need us to hunt these fiends down.’

  ‘Tell him everything,’ said the farmer.

  Jules scowled. ‘He already knows what his soldiers did.’

  ‘He doesn’t. Captain Rawson says that they were not part of a British patrol. He thinks they were renegades.’

  ‘They wore red uniforms,’ asserted the boy, sullenly.

  ‘That doesn’t mean they were British,’ said the farmer then he paused to take a prompt from Daniel. ‘Did you hear them speak? Did you recognise their language?’

  ‘I’m saying nothing.’

  ‘You must help the captain.’

  ‘He’s like all the rest of them.’

  ‘Just tell us, please. This is important, Jules. You want these men hunted down, don’t you?’

  ‘I want them burnt alive!’ shrieked the boy.

  ‘Captain Rawson tells me that, if they’re British soldiers, they’ll face execution. Now, what language did they use?’

  Jules glowered at Daniel then spat out his reply.

  ‘English,’ he said. ‘They spoke in English.’