Drums of War (31 page)

'We
have
our
share of beauties, Willem,' said
Mytens with a touch of patriotic lechery. 'Paris has nothing to compare with
some of the ladies you'll find in The Hague and Amsterdam.'

'Dutch
women are a little dour for my taste,' said Loti.

'That's
because you judge them by their appearance, my friend. They cannot match their
French counterparts in flamboyance, I grant you, but in passion they are far
superior.'

Ketel
was exasperated. 'Why are we talking about women when we should be discussing
the war?' he asked, adjusting his wig. 'If we can find our way to a peaceful
settlement, we'll
all
have time for the pleasures of
the flesh.'

'Well
said, Willem,' agreed Loti.

'Yes,'
added Mytens, 'we're rightly chastised. Once again I apologise, Monsieur Loti.
It's a poor host who argues with a visitor.'

"Then
let's proceed to a friendly debate,' said Ketel. 'Gaston knows the very nerves
of state in France. He knows what the King and his advisors intend before they
even put their thoughts into words. Why don't we let him enlighten us?'

Mytens
turned to Loti. 'You have a rapt audience, sir.'

'Then
I'll try to give a performance worthy of merit,' said the Frenchman. 'Not that
this is a theatre in which all the lines have been rehearsed, mind you. I'll be
speaking from the heart.'

'We'll
be doing the same,' promised Ketel.

'Good.'

'What
news do you have for us, Gaston?'

"The
best news possible,' answered Loti, 'though it must remain between the three of
us for the time being. France is weary of this pointless and inconclusive war.
It serves no purpose other than to be a constant drain on the national coffers
of everyone involved. We are all stupidly fighting our way into poverty.'

'That's
been my contention throughout,' said Ketel.

'When
winter comes and we all have time to sit back and view the situation
dispassionately, we'll see the lunacy of resuming the war next spring. If
wisdom prevails,' he went on, 'and if the Dutch are as ready to come to terms
as the French, then there can be a formal end to the hostilities between us.'

'There'll
be a definite offer of peace?' said Mytens, hopefully.

'Yes,
my friend. I'll be part of a deputation that makes it.'

'What
are its details?'

'They've
yet to be finalised,' said Loti, 'but I assure you that they'll have considerable
appeal. France will recognise your objectives and you, by the same token, must
acknowledge ours.' He looked from one man to the other. 'How strong is the
desire for peace here?'

'Very
strong,' said Ketel. 'Johannes has been working hard to convince his friends in
the States-General that the war should be abandoned. His support grows every
day.'

'That's
very gratifying.'

'One
must not overstate it,' warned Mytens. 'Many of us long for peace but it must
be on terms that we can accept. And no matter how tempting those terms may be,'
he went on, 'we must be braced for a measure of resistance.'

'From
whom would it come?'

'Grand
Pensionary Heinsius would lead the opposition.'

'Could
he not be won over?'

'Not
as long as we're allied to England.'

'Aye,'
said Ketel, sucking his teeth, 'there's the rub. We have to dance to England's
tune. They've provided soldiers, supplies, money and our redoubtable
commander-in-chief.'

'How
close are he and Heinsius?' asked Loti.

'Too
close, Gaston.'

'Could
their friendship be blighted in some way?'

'It's
difficult to see how.'

"The
situation is this, Monsieur Loti,' explained Mytens. 'What we most covet is the
security of our boundaries. If that could be guaranteed by France, then peace
negotiations would be welcomed.'

'They'd
be conducted in the utmost secrecy,' said Loti, tapping the side of his nose.
'Diplomacy is best done in the dark, gentlemen.'

'Like
certain other pleasures,' noted Ketel, smirking.

'France
would be prepared to make serious concessions.'

'We'd
be minded to make a positive response, Gaston.'

'The
eternal problem,' said Mytens, 'is the intransigence of the Duke of
Marlborough. Until France renounces interest in the Spanish throne, the Duke
will not hear of peace.' He tossed a shrewd glance at the Frenchman. 'Is there
any possibility that that will be among the terms you offer?' he continued.
'Could the name of the Due d'Anjou be withdrawn?'

'You're
referring to King Philip V of Spain,' said Loti with a disarming grin, 'but,
yes, anything is possible. Whether it's desirable from our point of view, of
course, is another matter. To answer your question, Monsieur Mytens, the terms
of any peace treaty will be negotiable. And let me remind you that I'm only
talking about a parley between France and Holland.'

'Our
allies must be taken into account.'

'Even
if the Dutch army withdraws from the contest,' said Ketel, 'the Duke is likely
to fight on. He's the enemy here.'

'Then
we must join forces to remove him,' declared Loti.

'Let's
wait until formal negotiations have taken place this winter. If they falter
because of the obduracy of one man, the solution stares us in the face.' He
tilted his head to one side. 'We must assassinate the Duke of Marlborough.'

It
was almost a fortnight before Daniel Rawson was able to rejoin his regiment. In
the interim, he'd been in The Hague with Amalia and her father, then had
escorted them back home to Amsterdam. Daniel had been their guest for a couple
of days. After his visit to Paris, he found it a treat to be in a city so clean
and free from noisome smells. Not only were the streets washed regularly, they
were also sprinkled with sand on occasion. What he did miss were the wide
boulevards at the heart of the French capital. Amsterdam had narrow thoroughfares
infested with fast- moving carriages and carts that could maim or even kill. It
was a place where pedestrians had to be on constant guard.

The
other advantage of the visit was that he was able to go back to the house where
he and his mother had lived after their enforced flight from England twenty
years earlier. In the wake of the battle of Sedgemoor, his life had suddenly
been transformed. Daniel moved from a small farm to a large city, from rural
tranquillity to a thriving port. Instead of speaking English, he grew up
talking his mother's native language. Instead of envisaging his future as a
farmer in Somerset, he nursed an ambition to join the Dutch army. It was only
by a quirk of fate that, by doing so, he found himself back in the very country
he'd deserted.

It
was a wrench to take his leave of Amalia Janssen. Events had drawn them
ineluctably together into a friendship that balanced the excitement of novelty
against a feeling of permanence. Sad to part from her, he promised Amalia that
he'd write whenever he could. The presence of Emanuel Janssen made it a less
touching farewell than Daniel could have wished but the older man clearly
approved of the friendship between the captain and his daughter. There was an
unspoken commitment between Daniel and Amalia. It was sealed by a simple
exchange of glances. Riding away from Amsterdam, his abiding memory of her was
the night they'd shared in the privacy of the coach.

When
he finally joined his regiment in winter quarters, he first reported to Marlborough's
brother, General Churchill. Letters from The Hague had already informed
Churchill of the captain's heroics in France but he insisted on a first-hand
account. Daniel obliged readily though his version of events said nothing about
an incipient romance with Amalia. Since the general was in regular
correspondence with his brother, Daniel was given the latest news about the
commander-in-chief, still courting allies in foreign capitals. The minute he
was free to leave, he went off to find Henry Welbeck. The sergeant was in his
tent. Daniel was shocked to hear what had happened.

'When
was this?' he asked.

'Weeks
ago, Dan.'

'How
many lashes did the lad receive?'

'Eighty,'
replied Welbeck.

'That
was cruel.'

'It
was typical of the major.'

'Did
nobody intervene on his behalf?'

'Nobody
had a loud enough voice.'

Daniel
was deeply upset. 'If only I'd been here,' he said with compassion, 'I could
have challenged Major Cracknell. At the very least, I might've got the number
of lashes reduced.'

'I
doubt it.'

'Why
do you say that, Henry?'

'You
and I are two of the reasons why the lad was punished so severely. The major is
green with envy at your promotion, Dan. He'd do anything to strike back at
you.'

Daniel
had already discerned the connection to him. In having the hapless drummer
flogged, the major would be hurting Welbeck and, by extension, the sergeant's
best friend. Indirectly, Cracknell was trying to put salt on the tail of a bird
whose fine plumage was now on display in Marlborough's personal staff. It
grieved Daniel that Hillier had suffered additional pain because of him.

'How
did he bear up?' he said.

'Very
well, considering,' replied Welbeck. 'He didn't cry out or beg for mercy. Every
inch of skin was stripped from his back but he didn't make a sound.' He gave a
half-smile. 'I like to think that the brandy helped.'

'Did
you give him that?'

'I
slipped a bottle to his friend.'

'That
was thoughtful.'

'He
is
my nephew, Dan.'

'You've
remembered that at last, have you?'

Welbeck
told him about all the other things that had occurred during his absence but
they were eclipsed, in Daniel's mind, by what he'd heard about Hillier. He kept
wondering if the flogging would break the drummer's spirit or simply deprive him
of any interest in remaining in the army. Harsh discipline had turned many
zealous soldiers into potential deserters. Daniel resolved to speak to him.

'What
about you, Dan?' asked Welbeck. 'Where have you been all this time - or is it
still a secret?'

'I've
been to Paris,' said Daniel.

'To
take tea with King Louis, I daresay.'

'No,
Henry. In point of fact, the King hates the city and prefers to live well away
from it in Versailles. He did invite me to dinner, as it happens, but I felt
that I had to decline.'

Welbeck
laughed. 'Tell the truth, you bugger.'

'The
truth is that I was sent to rescue someone.'

Daniel
gave him an abbreviated account of his time in France, concentrating on the
escapes from the Bastille and from the three highwaymen. There was no mention
of Amalia and Beatrix. It was an omission on which Welbeck soon pounced.

'What
was her name?'

'Whose
name?'

'Her
name,' said the sergeant. 'I refuse to believe that Dan Rawson spent a week or
so in France without meeting a woman.'

'I
met two as it happened - Janssen's daughter and his servant.'

'Which
one did you seduce first?'

'You're
getting very coarse in your old age, Henry.'

'All
right,' said Welbeck, searching for another way of asking his question, 'which
one of them first studied the bedroom ceiling over your shoulder?'

'Neither
of them,' said Daniel, firmly.

'You
made them lie face down, did you?'

'I
was too busy trying to save their lives to think about anything else. Besides, I
had Emanuel Janssen and his assistant with me all the time. It was like being
part of the family.'

'I
still think there was a naked woman in the story.'

'You
can think what you like, Henry. If you want a naked woman, I'll put in half a
dozen for you. A dozen, if you prefer.'

'I've
no need for them,' said Welbeck, tartly. 'They spell danger. Look what happened
to Tom. He was so keen to see a pair of naked tits that he forgot he wasn't
supposed to leave camp.'

'I'd
like to speak to the lad.'

'Be
warned, Dan. He's changed.'

'It
takes a long time to recover from a flogging.'

'I'm
not talking about the pain he's in. The change is inside his head. He seems to
have gone off into a world of his own. If you want to know the truth,' Welbeck
admitted, 'I'm worried about him.'

It
was a paradox. In taking punishment on behalf of his friends, Tom Hillier had
become their hero. At the very time when they wanted to show their gratitude by
spending time with him, he preferred to be on his own. The flogging had
isolated him in every sense. He was pleasant to Dobbs and the others but he
avoided their company when he could. Being alone was his only solace. It gave
him time and space to revalue what he'd suffered. The physical pain was
constant. The regimental surgeon had offered him a salve for his wounds but the
application of it was so agonising that he only endured it once. Various other
remedies were suggested to him. None of them worked and even though the fire on
his back gradually burnt less persistently, the inferno inside his head roared
on with undiminished rage.