Drums of War (36 page)

Marshal
Villeroi had lost the battle. As a last resort, he ordered the largely unused
cavalry along the Gheete to form a line in order to cover the retreat. Naked
fear was the only command they obeyed. To Villeroi's disgust, all 50 squadrons
deserted him and rode hell for leather through the fleeing French infantry,
knocking many of them over and pummelling some to death. It was a complete
rout. The whole plain was a scene of undiluted chaos as thousands of French and
Bavarian troops struggled madly to get past abandoned coaches, carriages and
carts, running through the mud to escape the flashing blades of the pursuing
Allied cavalry. To all intents and purposes, the battle of Ramillies was over.

Behind
the victory lay thousands of individual stories, none more remarkable than that
of Kit Davies, a tough and spirited woman who'd disguised herself as a man in
order to pursue an errant husband into the army. For twelve years she'd enjoyed
the life of a roving soldier without once arousing the suspicions of her
fellows. Only her husband knew her secret. Ramillies exposed the truth. Davies
was injured by a shell that bounced off a church steeple and fractured her
skull. When the surgeons examined her, they were dumbfounded by what they
discovered. Expecting to treat a wounded man, they had incontrovertible proof
that she was a woman.

Marlborough
himself would have tales to tell. Apart from being rescued by Daniel Rawson
when in the path of the French cavalry, he had had another lucky escape. As he
mounted a horse at one point, a round shot fired from a French battery passed
under his cocked leg and skimmed the saddle before decapitating Colonel
Bringfield who was holding the stirrup for him. A few inches higher and the
missile would have killed Marlborough. The result of the battle might then have
been different.

One
of the incidents that would stay locked in Daniel's mind for ever occurred when
the battle was over. He found a moment to congratulate the men from his
regiment on their part in the triumph. As he approached them, he saw Major
Cracknell lording it over a group of junior officers, boasting about his
exploits during the battle. The major was holding a glass of wine and lifting
it high. He never got to drink it. A shot rang out and a musket ball burrowed
deep into his brain, killing him instantly and making his fist tighten around
the glass until it broke apart. The person who'd fired the shot was Tom
Hillier. Daniel ran towards him but he was too slow to prevent the drummer from
using the bayonet to stab his own heart. When he fell forward, the weapon hit
the ground hard and went right through him, piercing the flesh and protruding
from his back. Hillier had taken leave of army life altogether. Turning him
over, Daniel was astonished by what he saw. It was incredible. In spite of a
grotesque death, there was a contented smile on Hillier's young face.

Later
on, Daniel discussed it all with Henry Welbeck.

'How
did he learn to shoot like that?' asked the sergeant.

'You
forget that Tom grew up on a farm like me. He'd have been taught to hunt for
game. You quickly learn to shoot straight when you want to put food on the
table.'

'He
must have picked up a discarded musket.'

'There
were thousands of those to choose from,' said Daniel.

'Tom
has been biding his time, waiting for his chance.'

'Yes,
Henry. I don't think he was acting on impulse. He'd taken all he could from the
major and simply had to hit back. When he saw his opportunity, he couldn't
resist it.'

'He's
not the first soldier to shoot an officer he despised.'

'I
daresay he won't be the last.'

'In
one sense,' decided Welbeck, 'I suppose he did us all a favour. Everyone will
be glad to see the back of Major Cracknell.'

'I'd
rather have the major and Tom still alive.'

'The
lad was never made for the army, Dan.'

'I
disagree,' said Daniel. 'He had all the attributes. His problem was to fall
into the clutches of someone like Cracknell.

From
that point on, he was a marked man. The major took a delight in baiting Tom. If
he'd been able to, I fancy he'd have wielded the cat-o'-nine-tails himself.
Ideally, of course,' he went on, sadly, 'he'd have preferred to have
me
strung up on that triangle. Punishing Tom was a means of working off his hatred
of me.'

Welbeck
was distressed. 'What am I going to write to my sister?' he asked. 'She
expected me to look after the lad.'

'Tell
her the truth, Henry.'

'That
Tom shot an officer then killed himself with a bayonet?'

'No,'
said Daniel, 'I think there's a better way of putting it. Your nephew died in
action at the battle of Ramillies. That's all his parents need to know. They'll
think he was a hero.'

'He
was, Dan,' said Welbeck. 'That's exactly what he was.'

Pursuit
of the enemy continued well into the night. Stragglers were overtaken, killed
or taken prisoner. Marshal Villeroi and the Elector of Bavaria narrowly missed
being captured by the Allied cavalry. Their brilliant army had been reduced to
a frightened rabble. Marlborough himself joined in the pursuit, determined to
press home his advantage to the hilt. When darkness came, he lay on the ground
under a cloak to snatch some sleep. It was not until the next day that the true
scale of his triumph was known. He was at his headquarters with Cadogan and
Cardonnel when Daniel Rawson brought in the details. He gave the document to
Marlborough.

'Have
they finished counting the numbers?' he said.

'Not
quite, Your Grace,' replied Daniel, 'but I understand that you'll have a fairly
accurate idea of them from that list.'

Marlborough
read it out. 'Villeroi lost at least 15,000 men, killed or wounded,' he said,
happily, 'and as many again have been taken prisoner. That's half their
strength, gentlemen. We've crushed the French army to a pulp.'

'What
of our own casualties?' wondered Cadogan.

'We
lost less than 2,500 men, William.'

'God
be praised!'

'Save
some of that praise for our soldiers,' said Marlborough. "They showed rare
courage and endurance. The French officers lacked both. That was the essential
difference between the two sides.'

'The
essential difference was our commander-in-chief,' said Daniel, setting off a
loud murmur of approval from the others. 'You completely outwitted Marshal
Villeroi, Your Grace. In many ways, this victory was even greater than that at
Blenheim.'

'There's
no doubt about that, Daniel. Blenheim lasted for seven or eight hours and we
lost 12,000 men. The battle of Ramillies was over in two hours and our losses
were considerably smaller.' He waved the paper in his hand. 'According to this,
we also acquired 50 cannon and 80 standards and colours. Huge numbers of
abandoned weapons have also been recovered.'

"The
victory will reverberate throughout Europe, Your Grace,' said Cardonnel. 'Our
detractors will no longer be able to claim that Blenheim was merely an instance
of good fortune. Ramillies has attested your superiority as a commander once
and for all. And the real beauty of it is,' he added, 'that the triumph comes
so early in the campaign.'

'Quite
so, Adam,' agreed Marlborough, beaming. 'The summer lies before us. With God's
help, we'll make the best of it.'

News
of the victory was greeted with celebrations all over Europe. Not everyone,
however, was pleased by the tidings. Three people were especially dismayed.
Johannes Mytens, Willem Ketel and Gaston Loti found the news disconcerting.
When they met at Mytens' house in The Hague, they were furious.

'There's
no hope of peace now,' said Ketel.

'None
at all,' said Mytens, gloomily. 'Encouraged by what he achieved at Ramillies,
the Duke will want to fight on regardless. The drain on our national finances
will be greater than ever.'

'Think
of the loss of our soldiers, Johannes. Many more of them will be killed in
battles to satisfy the Duke's craving for warfare.'

'The
situation is hopeless.'

'I
think not,' said Loti with smiling determination. 'Remember what we agreed, gentlemen.
We have to cut the Gordian knot. Since the Duke is an insuperable barrier to
peace, we have to be ruthless. He must die.'

'That's
easier said than done,' remarked Ketel, scratching his head under his wig. 'I
hired a man weeks ago to find out the best way to assassinate the Duke. He said
it couldn't be done because it's impossible to get close enough.'

'Then
we hire someone to shoot from a distance,' said Mytens.

'He's
always surrounded by people.'

'In
that case, we devise a way to kill him and his staff. If they can be lured into
the right place, they can all be blown up in the same explosion.'

'It
would never work, Johannes.'

'The
Duke is only human.'

'Not
if you listen to common report,' said Ketel, bitterly. 'He's being acclaimed as
some kind of god. Wherever he goes, he'll be feted. That means the Duke will
always have the protection of a crowd.'

'We
are to hold a dinner in his honour here in The Hague,' said Mytens, 'and I'll
be forced to cheer the Duke and fawn like all those obsequious fools in the
States-General. If only we could use the occasion to have him shot dead.'

'He'll
be far too well protected. Besides, if the bullet goes astray, it might kill
someone else by mistake. Do you want Heinsius to be shot in place of the Duke?'

'No,
Willem. The risk is too great. It's also difficult to see how an assassin could
escape after firing a shot. Guards would be on him in a flash and our names
would be tortured out of him. Our own lives would then be in danger. Well,' he
continued, fingering his double chin, 'if it's not possible to shoot him, then
we must find another means of killing him.'

'What
we really need is the right man to do it.'

'You're
chasing the wrong fox, gentleman,' said Loti, shrewdly. 'I fancy that there's a
very simple way to dispose of the person who stands between us and a peaceful
settlement to this ruinous war. I suggest that you leave the arrangements to
me. I have the perfect assassin in mind.'

'Do
you know of a man capable enough? ' asked Ketel.

'I
wouldn't even bother looking for one, Willem. This is not a task for any man,'
he went on. 'I propose to engage a woman.'

The
dinner was held in the city hall and was attended by the Grand Pensionary,
members of the States-General, civic worthies and invited guests. Daniel Rawson
was included in the Duke of Marlborough's party. When they arrived at the
venue, they wore their dress uniforms and were given an ovation by the large
crowd gathered outside to welcome them. Inside the building, they were greeted
in order of seniority by Grand Pensionary Heinsius. Daniel waited patiently
behind Marlborough,

Overkirk,
Churchill, Cadogan, Orkney and other senior officers to shake Heinsius' hand.
When he entered the hall where the long tables were in a horseshoe pattern, Daniel
had a surprise that took his breath away. Amalia Janssen was there. She was
wearing a gorgeous blue dress with a bell-shaped skirt, a high-necked bodice
and tight sleeves, ending in a cuff above the elbow. On her head was a fontage
of upright lace, pleated and in tiers. The whole effect was stunning. Daniel
had never seen her looking so enchanting. He rushed across to greet her.

'I
never expected to see you here, Amalia,' he said.

'Father
and I were invited at the Duke's suggestion,' she told him. 'I hoped against
hope that you might be here as well, Daniel.'

'His
Grace wanted me beside him as an interpreter. There'll be lots of worthy but
rather boring speeches that I'll have to translate from the Dutch. To be
honest, I wasn't looking forward to the occasion at all. Now,' he said, gazing
adoringly at her, 'I'll enjoy every second.'

'And
so shall I.'

'What
have you been doing since we last met?'

'Nothing
of any importance,' she said. 'Nothing that could possibly compare with winning
a famous victory as you did.'

Daniel
grinned. 'There were one or two other people who helped to achieve that
victory,' he said. 'It wasn't entirely my doing.'

'I'm
sure that you played a crucial part.'

'All
the plaudits should go to His Grace.'

'Have
you enjoyed being part of his staff?'

'Yes
and no,' he replied. 'Yes, in the sense that it's placed me at the very centre
of events.'

'That
must have been very exciting.'

'It
was, Amalia, but it also kept me away from you for a long time and that was
irksome. The months I spent in England seemed like years.'

'I'm
just so pleased to see you again,' she said, touching his arm. 'When I heard
about the battle, I feared that you might have been injured or even killed.'