Fire and Sword (21 page)

Unable to answer any of the questions that continued to besiege him, Welbeck asked himself another one. If their roles were reversed, what would Daniel Rawson do in the same circumstances?

It was tantalising. Seated in the cart with his hands securely bound behind his back, Daniel was only feet away from his sword. It was travelling with him and had been placed nearby as a visible taunt. He endured plenty of other taunts from the two soldiers riding behind the cart but he ignored their jeers. They would soon tire of mocking him. All that concerned Daniel were the whereabouts of his friend. He knew that Welbeck would have spent the night in the wood but wasn’t at all sure that the sergeant had witnessed the patrol as it passed by. His friend might still be in the clearing with the horses, wondering what had happened. Daniel couldn’t rely on him.

The sword was his only means of escape. Indirectly responsible for his capture, it might also be his salvation. If he could get close enough, its sharp blade would soon cut through his bonds. Somehow he had to distract the soldiers riding behind him. As long as they were there, he had no hope of reaching the weapon. The road was pockmarked with ruts and holes, making the journey a painful one. As the wheels of the cart explored each ridge or depression, Daniel was tossed helplessly to and fro. Whenever he fell sideways onto his shoulder, he had to haul himself upright again. His
antics provided endless amusement for the two soldiers.

Emerging from the wood, the patrol kept up a steady pace for the next few miles. Daniel saw nothing of what lay ahead. The only road that he could see was the one that he was facing. When he heard sounds of commotion behind him, therefore, he didn’t at first know what had caused them. Horses neighed, men shouted and the cart came to such an abrupt halt that Daniel was thrown sideways. He could smell smoke and hear the rumbling sound of a small avalanche that descended on the patrol. One of the horses behind him reared and unseated its rider. The other horsed neighed frantically and danced out of the way of the cascading stones.

Daniel responded swiftly. Rolling over, he reached his sword and angled the blade so that it sawed through the rope that held his wrists. Once his hands were free, he seized the weapon and was just in time to ward off an attack from the soldier who’d been unsaddled. Parrying the slash of the man’s sword, he flicked his wrist and took the soldier’s eye out, making him scream in agony. One glance told Daniel what had happened. As they came round a bend, the patrol had been confronted by a fire then pounded by rocks that came hurtling down the rocky incline to their right. Horses were frenzied, their riders unable to control them. Stones kept coming. When one of the soldiers dismounted and tried to scramble up the gradient, he was shot dead by Welbeck.

The driver of the cart was the next victim, hacked from
behind by Daniel then thrown bodily off the vehicle. Seizing the reins, Daniel snapped them hard and set the two horses off into a mad gallop, buffeting a soldier who’d been unsaddled and knocking him senseless. In the general mayhem, most of the patrol had been disabled because their mounts had been lamed by the vicious flurry of stones. Two of them, however, had the presence of mind to go in pursuit of the prisoner, riding through the flames and galloping along the road after the cart. When it veered off the track and went careering across a field, they went after it, sabres drawn and blood pumping.

Daniel could not outrun them. The most he could do was to put distance between himself and the rest of the patrol so that he was only up against two men. He had an advantage. Their orders were to take him to Versailles and hand him over alive. If they killed their prisoner, they’d have to answer to Vendôme and they’d have no wish to do that. Their instinct would be to maim him in order to disarm him. Daniel was still well ahead of them but they were gaining on him. It was time for a change of tack.

When he spotted a copse off to the right, he guided the cart towards it and vanished into the trees, swerving past their gnarled trunks, ducking low branches and seeing bushes thrash at the sides of the vehicle. For a few minutes, the canopy blocked out the light. As he emerged once more into the sunshine, he saw that he was in a field that rose gently towards a ridge. Going halfway up it, Daniel brought
his horses in a complete circle and headed back towards the copse. When the soldiers came galloping out of the trees, therefore, they saw the cart aimed directly at them. One of the horses flew into a panic, rearing up on its hind legs then bolting so uncontrollably that its rider struggled to stay in the saddle.

Daniel tugged on the reins and brought the cart skidding to a halt, sending clods of earth spinning into the air. Then he picked up his sword, jumped into the rear of the cart and beat off the attack from the other soldier. Hacking away at him, the man was trying to dislodge his weapon so that he could overpower him and take him prisoner. Daniel had no time for the niceties of swordplay. Snatching up the rope that had earlier held him, he lashed out at the horse’s head and made the animal neigh in terror. As it tossed its head sideways and came round in a half circle, Daniel ducked under the swishing sabre that was aimed at his shoulder then thrust upwards with his own sword. Its point went deep into the stomach of the soldier and caused him to drop his weapon.

Swearing loudly, he fell into Daniel’s arms and used the last of his strength to beat feebly at his chest. Daniel lowered him to the ground, withdrew his sword and thrust it through his heart to spare him a lingering death. Then he mounted the horse and rode off at a gallop with blood still dripping from his sword.

Vendôme was pleased to welcome Sophie Prunier back into the French camp and to hear a full account of her adventures. He was grateful for the detail she was able to provide of the enemy and was amused at the way she’d deceived even the Duke of Marlborough.

‘I’d be the first to admit that I never expected you to be rescued by Captain Rawson,’ he said, ‘but I feel that it worked out to our benefit in the end. You are to be congratulated.’

‘Thank you, Your Grace,’ she said.

‘I think you’ve earned a reunion with your husband now. You’ll find Lieutenant Bouteron waiting for you in his quarters.’

‘Before I go, I must give you a warning. Captain Rawson set out for this camp for the second time. According to what I was told, he’s anxious to retrieve his sword.’

Vendôme gave a throaty chuckle. ‘I assisted him,’ he said. ‘The captain was arrested and brought before me. Since he was so keen to have his sword, I sent it with him to Versailles. I’ve left it to His Majesty to determine the fate of Daniel Rawson. My guess is that we shall never hear of the fellow again.’

Henry Welbeck ate the last of the cheese then washed it down with a swig of wine. The loaded pistol lay beside him. He was sitting in the darkness on top of the hill near the farmhouse used by the deserters as their refuge. His thighs
were smarting and his crotch felt as if it were on fire. He’d never ridden so hard or so recklessly as he had when he fled from the scene of the ambush, and he vowed that he’d never do so again. One of the horses had had to be left behind. The other was now munching what was left of the hay stored at the farmhouse.

He heard the jingle of a harness first. The slow clip-clop of hooves followed. Pistol in hand, Welbeck was ready to shoot. Then he saw a familiar profile coming out of the gloom and laughed happily.

‘Here he is at long last,’ he teased. ‘What kept you, Dan?’

The first thing that Daniel did when they returned to camp was to seek out Amalia Janssen in her tent and assure her that he was safe. He gave her only an attenuated version of what had happened and – when he showed it to her – his sword had been wiped clean of blood. Daniel was shocked to learn that Sophie Prunier had fled and shaken to realise that he’d been taken in so completely.

‘I should have been more careful,’ he said.

‘It was my fault,’ said Amalia. ‘I was the one who urged you to bring her with us when we escaped from the French camp. The person who has really been left with a red face is Lieutenant Ainley.’

Daniel smiled tolerantly. ‘That’s not unexpected,’ he said. ‘The sight of a gorgeous woman usually makes Jonathan blush and so his judgement is impaired. Like the rest of us,
he was cleverly exploited by Mademoiselle Prunier. It took another woman to unmask her in the end. Your instincts were sound, Amalia.’

‘Where will she be now?’

‘Someone will have helped her to get back to Braine l’Alleud and she’ll be laughing at our expense. However,’ he went on, kissing her, ‘I can’t stay. His Grace will be expecting a report.’

Amalia smiled. ‘In the space of a couple of days,’ she observed, ‘he lost Sophie Prunier but gained Daniel Rawson. He’ll consider that a profitable exchange.’

Marlborough received a much more detailed account of what had happened in the French camp. While playing down his own role in the escape, Daniel emphasised how heroic and imaginative Henry Welbeck had been. Without the sergeant’s ambush, he stressed, he would have been taken all the way to Versailles for an unpleasant confrontation with the French king.

‘That’s an honour I’m happy to forego,’ said Daniel.

‘I’m sure that he’d have been very interested to meet you,’ said Marlborough. ‘Your escapades at the Bastille have made you a marked man, Daniel. Make no more visits to the enemy camp – that’s an order rather than a suggestion.’

‘It’s one that I’m happy to obey.’

‘We heard about your part in the arrest of the deserters,’ said Cardonnel. ‘Sergeant Welbeck featured there as well, I believe.’

‘He did indeed,’ confirmed Daniel. ‘Where are they now?’

‘Awaiting execution – they faced a court martial.’

‘Yes,’ added Marlborough. ‘Had you been here, they’d have been hanged already. We felt that both you and the sergeant would like to be present when those rogues dance on the scaffold. It will serve as a warning to anyone else contemplating desertion.’

‘What’s happened here in my absence?’ asked Daniel.

‘Nothing,’ said Cardonnel, pursing his lips, ‘absolutely nothing. It’s been a case of hesitation and inactivity. I fancy that the French are trying to
bore
us into submission. The impasse has been going on for weeks now.’

‘I had the dubious pleasure of meeting their
commander
-
in-chief
in company with the duc de Vendôme. My impression was that there was some discord between them,’ said Daniel. ‘If they are bickering about what strategy to employ, that could explain their indecision.’

‘It’s a mixture of indecision and natural caution, Daniel,’ said Marlborough. ‘We saw how Vendôme played his hand last year. He’d rather hold on to what they already have than risk a major battle. When I saw the size of his army, I hoped that he’d at last come out of his shell but he seems far too snug inside it.’

Daniel gave a hollow laugh. ‘Snug is not a word I’d apply to him, Your Grace,’ said Daniel. ‘He struck me as a man who’d prefer action. All that he requires is approval from Versailles.’

‘There’s the rub. The French have to get word from King
Louis before they can move and we must have our strategy ratified by our allies. Neither of us can act independently. It’s the besetting sin of war by coalition.’

‘We could never win on our own, Your Grace.’

‘I know,’ said Marlborough with a melancholy sigh. ‘Allies are a necessary evil. I’d find them less of a hindrance if they managed to arrive on time. After all these weeks, Prince Eugene has still not made an appearance. Latest reports put his troops somewhere between here and the Moselle.’

‘Their movements will at least distract the French.’

‘We need them here, Daniel.’

‘I agree, Your Grace.’

‘If we are to save Brussels, we require all our troops.’

‘Only if the French launch an attack, and there seems to be very little indication of that happening.’

‘There’s none at all,’ said Marlborough. ‘There was a time when their armies were the finest in Europe, sweeping aside all before them. Now they seem to have lost their stomach for a fight.’

‘We sapped their strength at Ramillies,’ observed Cardonnel.

‘We did, Adam. Their appetite for war has never fully been regained. What possible hope do we have of ever bringing this conflict to a satisfactory conclusion when the enemy simply cools its heels and watches us? It’s
soul-destroying
,’ said Marlborough, shaking his head. ‘The French refuse to budge.’

On 5 July, 1708 the French moved with speed and precision. After the long lull, they burst into life in the most unexpected way. While advance guards hurried on ahead of them, they left Braine l’Alleud with dramatic suddenness and marched westwards. Their first prize was the beautiful town of Bruges. Knowing of the general discontent felt towards the Confederate army, French sympathisers had worked hard to win over the citizens. They’d been forewarned of the dash to the west and, as soon as the army appeared before Bruges, its gates were flung open and the French were hailed as deliverers. A major prize had fallen into enemy hands without a shot being fired.

Ghent was a slightly more problematical target in that it had a garrison of three hundred British soldiers under the command of Major General Murray. They were not there merely to protect the city but to suppress any dissident elements within it. In the event of attack, they’d offer stout resistance. Careful planning was the secret of French success. General de Chemerault and his men infiltrated the city, disguised as peasants, with the aid of the former Grand Bailiff, M de Fouille. Its gates were firmly shut against the British. They were isolated in their castle and besieged by a French army whose numbers swelled by the hour. After holding out bravely for a couple of days, Murray and his men were forced to surrender.

Two places of great strategic importance had changed hands at a stroke. What the British had thought were
foraging expeditions were, in fact, armies with specific targets in mind. Marlborough had been completely outfoxed. The French had made themselves masters of the middle reaches of the River Scheldt and of the canals leading to the coast. Marlborough was decisively cut off from his North Sea base at Ostend, the port with the shortest route from England. Any supplies coming from there would henceforth be involved in a longer and more onerous voyage.