4 Under Siege Read online

  They were all too aware of it. Having talked to other soldiers in the regiment, they’d learnt about Sergeant Welbeck’s reputation as a merciless taskmaster. Everyone had suffered under him. At the same time, however, there were those who spoke up for him. He might be hard, they conceded, but he was scrupulously fair. There was no favouritism shown. He was also courageous under fire, leading his men into battle with exemplary commitment and risking his life along with theirs. Even among those who hated him, most had a grudging admiration for Henry Welbeck.

  He drilled them for another two blistering hours before he dismissed them. Ben Plummer was detained for a final word.

  ‘How do you like army life, Benjamin?’ he asked.

  Plummer grimaced. ‘I’d sooner have gone to prison.’

  ‘You’ll learn to love it in time.’

  ‘Do you love it, Sergeant?’

  ‘I do my duty, lad.’

  ‘That’s not the same thing,’ said Plummer. ‘Do you like being a soldier and having someone trying to kill you all the time?’

  Welbeck grinned. ‘The trick is to kill them first.’

  ‘Is that what you enjoy doing, Sergeant?’

  ‘I enjoy staying alive, Plummer, and meeting people like you.’

  ‘This is a living hell to me.’

  ‘Wait until the firing starts. What’s happened so far will seem like heaven then.’

  ‘How can you have a heaven with no women here?’

  ‘Curb your fleshly desires, man. Cleanse your soul.’

  ‘Even you must want a woman sometimes, Sergeant.’

  ‘That’s none of your business.’

  ‘Have you never been married?’

  ‘The army is my life,’ said Welbeck, briskly.

  Plummer smirked. ‘You don’t know what you’re missing.’

  Welbeck shoved him backwards. ‘Do you want another visit to the dentist, Ben Plummer?’ he threatened, holding up a fist. ‘I can knock out every one of your ugly teeth, if you wish.’

  ‘No, no, Sergeant – please don’t hit me again.’

  ‘Join the others before I lose my temper.’

  ‘I will,’ said Plummer, stepping out of range before delivering his parting shot. ‘But I still feel sorry for you, not knowing what it’s like.’

  ‘Don’t say another word!’

  Welbeck’s howl of rage made Plummer turn tail and scuttle away like a frightened rabbit. He’d caught the sergeant on a raw spot and would pay for his impudence. The truth was that, even in his youth, Welbeck had never been at ease with the opposite sex. There had been friendships with young women but they’d never matured into anything else because he had no inclination for them to do so. The rough-and-ready world of the army was much more appealing to him, a natural milieu for a man with great physical attributes and a love of danger. Nothing else mattered to him. While he was eager for the war to come to an end, it wouldn’t mark his departure from the army. He was a soldier to his fingertips. Even in peace time, that is what he’d continue to be. Others managed to combine marriage with service to their country but Welbeck didn’t believe such a thing was really possible. A woman was bound to influence emotions. Even someone as single-minded as Daniel Rawson could be distracted.

  Welbeck took comfort from the fact that such a thing would never happen to him. He could concentrate all his efforts on his duties and ignore the taunts of people like Ben Plummer. When the muskets starting popping and the artillery booming, there was no place in a man’s heart for a woman. Those who went into battle worrying about wives and children were bad soldiers. Welbeck made certain that he never suffered from their affliction.

  As he entered his tent, he congratulated himself on the way that his recruits were responding to his instruction. Only one of them, Ben Plummer, hadn’t yet been quelled into instant obedience. That would soon change. Reaching for his pipe, Welbeck filled it with tobacco and tamped it down with a finger. After setting it alight, he inhaled deeply and felt a surge of satisfaction run through his body. The aroma of the tobacco was itself a delight to him. It was only after a few minutes that he remembered who’d given him the pouch. This time, however, he didn’t toss it away. Rachel Rees’s tobacco was good. Smoking it laid no obligation on him. Adjusting the pipe in his mouth, he took another long, pleasing pull on it.

  The market in Lille opened early and Rachel Rees was there not long after the first customers began to drift in. Wanting to see more of the town, Daniel accompanied her and helped her to unload some of the items from the saddlebags and pouches on the back of her donkey. Rachel was in her element, haggling, laughing and joking her way through hour after hour. Much of what she had was sold at a profit and she promptly bought more wares from other stallholders in order to sell it again at a higher price. Daniel was impressed at the effortless way she drew people in by chatting to them before even trying to interest them in what she had to offer. In the busy market, few were as relentlessly busy as Rachel Rees.

  ‘I’ll leave you to it now,’ said Daniel.

  ‘Where are you going?’ she asked.

  ‘I need to make some enquiries.’

  She folded her arms in mock disapproval. ‘Well, I hope you don’t make them of other women. You’re a married man, Alain Borrel. Bear that in mind.’

  ‘I will,’ he said with a conspiratorial smile, ‘though you’re the one who should be mindful of her marriage vows, Rachel. Who was it who enticed a French soldier into her bed last night?’

  ‘I did nothing of the kind. He came unbidden.’

  ‘He also came with no clothing on. Madame Lizier found his uniform under the stairs. He’d have had a lot of explaining to do when he got back to his regiment.’

  ‘You saved my virtue,’ she said, kissing him, fondly.

  ‘That’s what husbands are for, Rachel.’

  Leaving her to cope with fresh customers, Daniel began his second tour of Lille, looking at all the landmarks pointed out by Raymond Lizier and paying particular attention to the town hall. It was an imposing structure with decorative architecture and a steep roof pierced by a series of dormer windows. In order to get inside the building, Daniel somehow had to mountaineer to its very top. A daunting task in daylight, it would be even more difficult at night. He walked slowly around it four times before he decided which approach to take. There was no certainty that the plans were there but Daniel felt that he nevertheless had to investigate the archives.

  He switched his attention from past fortifications to those that were now being constructed. Additional defences were being hastily thrown up around the perimeter of Lille and Daniel needed to know their nature and extent. He walked to a tavern near the main gate, reasoning that it was likely to be frequented by soldiers from the garrison. He’d guessed right. When he went into the bar, there were blue uniforms on every side. Talk was exclusively of the impending siege and he listened intently to various conversations. He eventually fell in with a group sitting near the window.

  ‘I think we should surrender,’ said one soldier, dolefully.

  ‘Never!’ retorted another.

  ‘We lack the numbers to hold out long. Marlborough will starve us to death. What happens when our ammunition runs out? All we can do then is to hide behind the walls until he smashes them down.’

  ‘We fight back. Nobody has ever taken this town and nobody ever will. Vauban saw to that.’

  ‘I agree,’ said Daniel, easing his way into the discussion. ‘The walls will hold. We’ll never be forced into surrender. However, we’ll suffer a terrible bombardment from the enemy.’

  ‘We’ll give as good as we get,’ said the second man. ‘You should be ashamed to talk of surrender, Martin!’

  ‘I want to save bloodshed,’ said Martin.

  ‘It sounds like cowardice to me.’

  ‘It’s plain common sense, Bernard. Unless you’ve forgotten, we haven’t been paid for a long time. How can we fight on with empty pockets? How can we support our families without any money?�
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  ‘That is a problem,’ agreed Bernard.

  ‘But it’s no reason to hand over Lille,’ argued Daniel. ‘I was a soldier myself for many years and I fought under commanders who wouldn’t yield one square yard of ground without a fight. We mustn’t make it easy for Marlborough.’

  ‘Well said, my friend!’

  ‘The enemy not only have to contend with Vauban’s brilliance: there are fresh ditches and barricades being added all the time. It will take the Allied army weeks to surround us properly.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Martin, ‘then they’ll crack us open like an egg.’

  ‘I very much doubt that.’

  ‘So do I,’ said Bernard. ‘The siege will last for months.’

  ‘And then we’ll be forced to give in,’ insisted Martin.

  ‘Or they’ll be forced to withdraw.’

  ‘It’s more likely to be the latter,’ said Daniel, aligning himself with Bernard. ‘The longer the siege goes on, the more difficult it will be to sustain. It will be bad enough moving troops and supplies in autumn. In winter, it will be well nigh impossible.’

  ‘We’ll never hold out that long,’ said Martin.

  ‘You will if you get reinforcements.’

  ‘It’s not reinforcements I need, it’s my pay!’

  Some of the others shared his sentiments. Like soldiers everywhere, they were full of complaints but most of them were prepared to fight on in defence of the town. Daniel worked the conversation around to the subject of the additional fortifications being erected and he gained a lot of useful information from them. Bernard offered him more than a description.

  ‘If you come up on the ramparts,’ he said, affably, ‘you’ll see exactly what they’re doing.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Daniel, ‘I’d appreciate that.’

  ‘I’ll take you there when we go back on duty.’

  ‘That’s very kind of you.’

  Martin was adamant. ‘I still think we should talk of surrender.’

  ‘You’re being defeatist,’ chided Daniel.

  ‘Marlborough is a gentleman. He’ll offer us good terms. There’s no dishonour in saving a beautiful city from ruin. Do you want Lille to be running with blood?’

  ‘It won’t come to that, I’m sure.’

  ‘So am I,’ said Bernard. ‘You’re getting soft, Martin.’

  Martin stiffened. ‘I’ve never walked away from a fight.’

  ‘Then why do you want to do so now?’

  ‘Because I don’t want to see Lille turned into a pile of stones.’

  ‘That will never happen,’ said Daniel. ‘They’d first have to make a breach in the walls and you’d never let them get close enough.’

  ‘Listen to him,’ urged Bernard. ‘What’s your name, friend?’

  ‘Alain Borrel.’

  ‘You talk like a true soldier, Alain – unlike some people.’

  Martin was enraged. ‘Do you mean me?’ he demanded. ‘I’m as true a soldier as anyone here and you should know it, Bernard. If we decide to withstand the siege, I’ll be ready to fight until I drop.’

  ‘Then no more talk of surrender,’ said Daniel. ‘Let us drink to victory instead.’

  When he bought a round of drinks for them, they had a toast to success. Daniel mixed easily with the group, convincing them that he’d fought in the French army by being able to talk on their level. By the time they tumbled out of the tavern, he was looked upon as a friend. It was Bernard who took care of him. They went up onto the ramparts near the main gate and Daniel was given a privileged view of the defences from above. He gazed down on what was a geometrical work of art, sculpted in stone.

  Lille was the most complex of all of Vauban’s fortress cities. It consisted of zigzagging outer ramparts studded with massive jutting bastions that enclosed a broad moat drawing its water from the River Deûle. Within the moat itself were triangular island defences, from which defenders could fire at any attackers who’d managed to breach the outer walls. On the far side of the moat was another towering wall of ashlar, flanked at regular intervals by more bastions. From high and well-defended positions, the garrison could shoot at the enemy, treat them to an avalanche of stone or drench them in a waterfall of boiling oil. Daniel’s mind was like a sponge as he surveyed the scene. Every detail was sucked in.

  Beyond the existing defences others were being constructed. To ensure a good view of any attackers, trees and copses within half a mile of the town were being cut down. Even from that distance Daniel could hear the thud of axes and the crash of timber. Once felled, the trunks were hauled off to form fresh palisades. Nothing was left to offer the enemy even the semblance of protection.

  ‘There you are,’ said Bernard, proudly. ‘We are completely safe.’

  ‘You could hold out for ever,’ said Daniel.

  ‘We can now.’ He gestured excitedly towards the horizon where clouds of dust were billowing. ‘Do you see them, Alain? They’re here at last. Marshal Boufflers is bringing reinforcements. With luck, he’ll bring enough money to pay the arrears of our troops as well. Even Martin will not be able to complain then. We are saved, my friend,’ he went on, slapping Daniel on the back. ‘The marshal has defended many towns that have been invested. He’s reckoned to be a genius at it. All at once the balance of power has shifted in our favour.’

  Daniel was afraid that the man’s optimism was justified.

  England was so dramatically different to Holland that the visitors gaped at it in wonder. They had never seen so many hills and woods and vast expanses of fertile land. Coming from a relatively flat and featureless country, they were amazed at the varying contours of the areas through which they travelled. It took them two days to reach Oxfordshire, another verdant county fed by sparkling rivers and containing quaint villages, fields of crops or livestock and occasional houses so grand that they took the newcomers’ breath away.

  ‘There’s another one,’ said Amalia, pointing.

  ‘It makes our own home seem so absurdly small,’ opined her father. ‘The estate must be huge.’

  ‘How many servants would a house like that need?’ asked Beatrix, counting the windows. ‘And how ever do they find their way around a place that big?’

  Amalia giggled. ‘The only way to find out is to work there.’

  ‘No, thank you. I’m very happy where I am, Miss Amalia.’

  ‘That’s good because we’d never think of letting you go.’

  Having marvelled at so many sights, they still had enough open-mouthed awe left to be completely overwhelmed by Blenheim Palace itself. The scale of it was immense. As their carriage rolled up the long, arrow-straight drive, they got some idea of the size and design of the place. Even in its still unfinished state it was truly inspiring, a home of baroque magnificence that was fit for royalty. A veritable army of stonemasons, carpenters and other tradesmen were crawling over what seemed to be miles of wooden scaffolding. Carts were bringing in fresh materials that were swiftly unloaded and stacked ready for use. There was a general sense of urgency. In the grounds, too, there was great activity as a host of gardeners worked manfully away to transform the landscape into a model of scenic beauty.

  ‘In some ways,’ said Janssen, ‘it’s even better than Versailles.’

  Amalia was nervous. ‘I can’t believe that we’re guests here.’

  ‘I don’t belong in a place like this,’ said Beatrix, trembling.

  ‘It is rather daunting, I agree.’

  ‘I think it’s wonderful,’ said Janssen, studying it with the eye of an artist. ‘There’s a perfect blend of ornamentation and symmetry. The effect is astonishing.’

  When they got close enough to see the architectural detail, they were deprived of speech. Janssen could create superlative designs on his tapestry but he lacked the vision to conjure a whole palace into being. Wherever they looked, there was something else to praise. It was only when they rolled into the Great Court with its view of the north front that they regained their voices.


  ‘I feel so privileged,’ said Amalia, eyes shining with delight.

  ‘How do you think I feel?’ asked her father. ‘My work is actually going to be on display here. What greater blessing could there be?’

  Amalia could think of one and it involved Daniel Rawson. Before she could put her thoughts into words, however, she was diverted by an argument on the other side of the courtyard. A middle-aged man in fashionable attire and a periwig was being berated by a strikingly handsome woman in her late forties. When he indicated something on the plan he was holding, she shook her head decisively and continued her rant. Admitting defeat, the man eventually gave a polite bow and withdrew. Her gaze swept across the courtyard until it alighted on the three figures descending from the carriage. She crooked her finger to beckon them over to her.

  Beatrix stayed beside the carriage while Amalia and her father set off on the long walk. Standing in the terrace above them, Sarah, Duchess of Marlborough, was a commanding figure, poised, dignified, potent and immaculately dressed. Amalia felt that she was in the presence of a queen. After bowing to the duchess, Janssen performed the introductions.

  ‘I’ve brought the design of the tapestry with me, Your Grace,’ he said. ‘You may see it whenever you wish.’

  ‘Well, it won’t be for some time,’ said Sarah, tartly. ‘My attention is needed here. The moment I turn my back, they start to change things without my permission. I’ve just had to put that irritating architect in his place,’ she went on. ‘Mr Vanbrugh doesn’t seem to realise that we will have the palace we choose and not one that he foists upon us.’