Fire and Sword (6 page)

‘What you’ve told me accords with my own instincts,’ said Cadogan. ‘I sensed that Burgundy was a complete novice. Why march towards Brussels when he could test our horse near Huy? That’s the direction he should be taking.’

‘It’s exactly what the duc de Vendôme suggested,’ said Daniel, ‘but he was overruled. His plan was to lay siege to Huy.’

‘That’s because he’s an experienced soldier. It must be galling for him to have to listen to a posturing ninny like Burgundy. I’ll wager that the pair of them have some rare old arguments.’

‘Vendôme is known for his blunt speech.’

Cadogan chuckled. ‘That’s not
all
he’s known for! If rumours are correct, he has a taste for pretty young officers.’

‘Then Major Crevel is safe from his attentions,’ said Daniel with a grin. ‘Even his own mother would never describe him as pretty. After a night in a ditch, he must have looked a sorry sight.’

The duc de Vendôme read the report with gathering fury. When he’d finished, he tossed it on the ground in disgust then rounded on Lieutenant Valeran who was alone with him in the tent.

‘Can this be true?’ he demanded.

‘I fear that it is, Your Grace.’

‘Were there witnesses to this disgrace?’

‘Yes,’ replied Valeran. ‘Major Crevel was hauled out of a ditch by a patrol. At first, they refused to believe he was what he claimed to be. They took him for some kind of madman.’

‘I can well understand that. Send for him, Lieutenant.’

‘I took the liberty of doing so. The major will be here directly.’

‘Crevel may arrive as a major but he certainly won’t leave as one,’ said Vendôme, vengefully. ‘I don’t reward
incompetence.’ He looked meaningfully at his companion. ‘Those who displease me get short shrift. Only those who impress me can look for promotion.’

‘Thank you, Your Grace,’ said Valeran, obsequiously.

Hearing the sound of footsteps outside, they turned towards the tent flap. A guard entered, ushered Major Crevel in, then withdrew. Vendôme glowered at the newcomer. Valeran made as if to leave but the general signalled that he was to remain. Crevel, meanwhile, was standing to attention as he braced himself for the onslaught. Now restored to a uniform, he was uneasy and shamefaced.

‘Major Crevel,’ began Vendôme.

‘Yes, Your Grace?’ answered the other.

‘Is it your habit to sleep unclothed in a muddy ditch?’

‘No, no, it’s most uncharacteristic of me but I had no choice. I was set on by three villains. When they’d beaten me black and blue, they stole my uniform and left me unconscious.’

‘I see no bruising on your face.’

‘They punched and kicked my body,’ claimed Crevel, ‘then left me to die of my injuries. As you see,’ he continued, straightening, ‘I returned to duty at the earliest possible opportunity.’

‘Yes,’ said Vendôme, ‘but only after the patrol had rescued you. According to the report, you behaved like a raving lunatic.’

‘I deny that, Your Grace. I may have been a little
outspoken but I was entitled to be in the circumstances. The truth is that I was still distracted after my beating.’

‘Is that the beating administered by those three rogues?’

‘Yes, it was.’

‘Then where did they suddenly spring from?’

‘They were lying in wait in the privy,’ said Crevel, trying to brazen it out. ‘As I approached, they ambushed me. I had no chance against such odds.’

‘Ah, I see…and what about your friend, Lieutenant Jauzion?’

‘Sebastien?’

‘At the time you say you were set on by three men, his dead body was in the privy.’ Crevel gulped. It was news to him. ‘Are you asking me to believe that it was big enough to conceal four human beings?’

‘Sebastien is dead?’ croaked Crevel. ‘How could that be?’

‘If you’d stayed awake long enough, you might have saved his life. He was stabbed to death with his own dagger. When they found his corpse in the privy, your friends were certain that the killer was a wine merchant whom you befriended in the course of the evening.’ He snapped his fingers and Valeran retrieved the report from the ground before handing it to him. Vendôme glanced at it. ‘The man’s name was Marcel Daron. Do you have any memory of him?’

‘Yes, I do. He was good company.’

‘Lieutenant Jauzion might not agree with that judgement.’

‘Poor Sebastien…I can’t believe he’s dead!’

‘It’s more than probable that he was murdered under your very nose. And not by three ruffians,’ Vendôme went on, curling his lip. ‘He was stabbed by this so-called wine merchant, the same man who stripped you of your uniform and tossed you into a ditch.’ He took a step closer. ‘Why did you lie to me?’

‘I was telling the truth,’ bleated Crevel.

‘The only person you told the truth to was that crafty wine merchant, who will no doubt convey everything you divulged to his masters in the Confederate army. You were duped by a spy, Major Crevel. And you allowed a fine officer like Lieutenant Jauzion to be killed because you were too drunk and incapable to save him. What have you to say for yourself?’

Crevel’s head drooped. ‘It won’t happen again, Your Grace.’

‘Oh, there’s no danger of that,’ said Vendôme, vindictively. ‘Nobody will be able to filch the uniform of a major in the French army again because you, sir, are no longer entitled to wear it. Take it off.’

‘I must protest,’ howled Crevel. ‘I hold my rank with honour.’

‘Take it off!’ roared Vendôme. ‘Or I’ll tear it from your body with my bare hands.’

‘The matter must be referred to the duc de Burgundy.’

It was an unwise moment to remind Vendôme that he was not the commander-in-chief. Losing his temper, he
lashed out with a hand and slapped Crevel hard across the cheek. He then unleashed such a gushing stream of vituperation that the erstwhile major cowered before him and plucked hastily at the buttons of his coat. When it had been removed, Vendôme snatched it from him and hurled it into the corner of the tent.

‘Get out of my sight!’ he yelled, quivering with rage. ‘You’re confined to your quarters until I can decide on your punishment.’

‘At least, give me leave to apologise,’ pleaded Crevel.

But there was no chance of that. Vendôme raised his hand to strike again and Crevel gave up. Waddling ridiculously, he hurried out of the tent. It was some minutes before Vendôme’s ire gradually subsided. Lieutenant Valeran, meanwhile, lurked silently in his corner, too frightened to venture an opinion lest the ducal anger be turned on him. He was relieved when the older man seemed to calm down. Vendôme lowered himself onto a chair and was deep in thought for a while. Making a decision, he suddenly got up again.

‘I want him,’ he said.

‘Shall I fetch Major Crevell back?’ asked Valeran.

‘I don’t want
him
, Raoul. I never want to see that buffoon again. No,’ he went on, ‘the man I’m after is that venomous wine merchant. I won’t allow anyone to humiliate us like this. I want Marcel Daron – or whatever his real name is – standing before me in chains.’

‘How can we arrange that?’

‘Use your imagination, man. We have intelligencers in the enemy camp. Let them earn their money for once. Someone will have boasted of how they stole the uniform of a French officer. I want to know who he is.’ He put a hand on Valeran’s shoulder then lifted it to brush back a wisp of the lieutenant’s hair. ‘I need a name, Raoul,’ he said, eyes glinting, ‘then the hunt can begin.’

Lieutenant Jonathan Ainley was a tall, thin, pale-faced man with a long, beaky nose competing for facial dominance against an unusually large and dimpled chin that curved upwards. An efficient officer, he’d settled well into army life and learnt to accept its many shortcomings without complaint. Set against its defects, however, there were definite advantages. One of these was the warm camaraderie that existed and Ainley relished this aspect of his chosen lot. Drawing on their support, he was excessively friendly and obliging to all his fellow officers. In the case of Daniel Rawson, he hovered close to hero worship.

‘Tell me the story in your own words,’ he urged.

Daniel shook his head. ‘There’s nothing to tell, Jonathan.’

‘Nothing to tell?’ echoed Ainley. ‘If I’d abducted a French officer then used his uniform as a disguise, I’d be crowing about it from the rooftops.’

‘That’s perhaps why you’re not involved in espionage,’ said Daniel. ‘When you gather intelligence, discretion is everything. How did you come to hear about it?’

‘A little bird told me, Daniel.’

‘Then he’s been singing too loud. You might warn him that if I find out who he is, I’ll tie his beak shut.’

‘You’re among friends. Why not share your adventures?’

‘Loose tongues can cause trouble,’ said Daniel. ‘I’m sure that the major who loaned me his uniform has found that out by now. My guess is that he’s been severely punished.’

‘Whereas you should be feted for what you achieved.’

‘I did what I was told to do, Jonathan – no more, no less.’

‘You ought to take some pride in your exploits.’

‘Oh, I do,’ admitted Daniel, ‘but only in private.’

They were standing outside Ainley’s tent in the British camp, surrounded by activity and forced to raise their voices above the routine clamour. Drums were beating nearby as soldiers were being drilled. Supply wagons were rolling noisily past. Distant orders were being barked out. Artillery was arriving. Nobody took any notice of the light drizzle that started to fall. After the heavy rain that greeted the arrival of spring, it was a relief.

‘I’m surprised that His Grace could spare you,’ said Ainley. ‘You’re such an important member of his personal
staff that he must want you constantly by his side.’

‘You overrate my importance, Jonathan,’ said Daniel. ‘I’m a very junior member of the staff. I’m far more useful if I gather intelligence than I would be if I sat in endless meetings with His Grace.’

‘I thought you acted as his interpreter.’

‘I do on occasion. My command of Dutch, French and German has been put to good use. But I’m not needed when Major General Cadogan is there, because he speaks all three languages.’

‘Heaven knows how he mastered Dutch. It’s so complicated.’

Daniel smiled. ‘That’s exactly what the Dutch say about English because they find it so fiendishly difficult to learn.’

‘All I’ve ever managed are a few phrases in French,’ said Ainley, scratching his chin. ‘Not that it matters, I suppose. On the battlefield, we speak the universal language of brute force.’

‘It is tempered with some subtler tones,’ replied Daniel.

He was about to explain what he meant when he spotted the unmistakable frame of Henry Welbeck coming towards him and hailed his friend with a wave. Since Daniel was in the company of another officer, the sergeant spoke with more formality.

‘Good morning, Captain,’ he said. ‘Good morning, Lieutenant.’ The two men exchanged greetings with him. ‘I was wondering if there was any news about those men who
raided two farms then burnt them to the ground?’

‘I’ve heard nothing more,’ said Daniel.

‘Neither have I,’ added Ainley. ‘What I can tell you is that nobody has been arrested for those outrages. To all intents and purpose, the villains got away with it.’

‘Yes,’ said Welbeck, sourly, ‘and they did so in British uniforms. That’s what irks me. We rarely get permission to forage and, even if we do, we try to show respect to any civilians. Word must have spread by now. Every time people see redcoats coming towards them, they’ll shrink back in fear.’

‘The raiders will be caught sooner or later,’ said Daniel.

Ainley was doubtful. ‘I fear that they’ve gone to ground,’ he said. ‘They could take more chances during the winter when very few people were on the roads. They could strike then disappear very quickly. That’s no longer the situation.’

‘No,’ agreed Daniel. ‘There’s a lot more traffic about now and the evenings are drawing out. It’s not so easy to escape being seen.’

‘Those devils have probably returned to camp now,’ said Welbeck. ‘Without knowing it, one of our cavalry regiments is harbouring ruthless killers.’

‘Some people might say that all soldiers are ruthless killers,’ remarked Ainley with a half-laugh. ‘It’s an occupational necessity at times. However,’ he went on, ‘I’m sure that you didn’t come to talk to me, Sergeant. I’ll leave you to Captain Rawson.’

‘Thank you, Lieutenant.’ Welbeck waited until Ainley was
out of earshot before turning to Daniel. ‘How ever did that blinking idiot get to become a lieutenant?’

‘He did what most officers do, Henry – he bought a commission.’

‘You didn’t do that.’

‘No,’ said Daniel, ‘but, then, I could never have afforded it. If I hadn’t been promoted on merit, I’d still be stuck in the ranks being bullied by some black-hearted sergeant like you. As for Jonathan Ainley, he’s better than some I could name. He’s a competent officer and respected by his men.’

‘Well, he’ll get no respect from me.’

Daniel laughed. ‘None of us can expect plaudits from you, Henry,’ he said. ‘I sometimes think that you joined the army for the express purpose of despising its officers. According to you, we’re all complete dolts.’

‘There are a few exceptions.’

‘Does that mean we’re slowly winning you over?’

‘There’s not a chance of that, Dan,’ asserted Welbeck. ‘I’ve spent too many years taking stupid orders from well-bred fops who simply want to shoot game, drink wine and play cards all day.’

‘That sounds like an attractive prospect to me. I only wish it were truly like that but we both know that it isn’t. Since we’ve been involved in this war,’ Daniel told him, ‘every spring and summer has consisted of nothing but marches, sieges, skirmishes and occasional major battles. That’s the pattern we’ve been following.’

‘So when will we be on the move this time?’

‘We have to await orders.’

‘You must know what they’re going to be.’

‘I wish I did, Henry, but His Grace hasn’t confided in me as yet. There are a number of elements to be considered before any final decisions can be made. However,’ added Daniel, ‘I can tell you this. The likelihood is that we’ll have an opportunity to meet the French on the battlefield again. They’re eager to avenge their defeat at Ramillies with a decisive victory. That’s why they’ve mustered such a large army against us.’

‘We’ve beaten large armies before. The Frenchies hold no fears for me, Dan. I’ve killed too many of them. What I’m worried about are some of the people fighting on my side.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘The heartless bastards who destroyed those farms,’ said Welbeck, bitterly. ‘They’re hiding somewhere in our ranks and that makes my blood boil.’

‘They won’t stay here indefinitely,’ decided Daniel. ‘I fancy that the temptation will be too strong. It won’t be long before we hear of a marauding band on the rampage again.’

The boy was ten, old enough to do his fair share of the chores on the little farm yet young enough to yearn for childish pleasures. When he’d finished work that afternoon, therefore, he ran off to the stream nearby to dangle his bare feet in the water while he carved a boat out of a piece of wood. Happily
engaged with his knife, he didn’t even look up when he heard the clatter of hooves on the road behind him. After shaving the prow of his vessel, he held it up to examine it from every angle. Deciding that it was still not ready, he carved the stern into a more rounded shape then ran a finger over it. Primitive as it was, the boat felt smooth and capable of staying afloat. At the exact moment when he launched it on the water, however, shots rang out from the farm and he jumped to his feet in alarm.

He was less than forty yards away but shielded by the bushes growing along the bank of the stream. As he peered around them, he saw the most horrific sight. Three bodies lay on the ground. They belonged to his father and two elder brothers. Blood-curdling screams from the house were recognisably those of his mother and sister. His first instinct was to run to their defence, but what could he do against armed soldiers in red uniforms? There was an additional shock for the boy. He heard the crackle of fire and saw smoke rising from the barn. The next moment, he was forced to watch the livestock being driven off by some of the men. When the horses had been taken, the stables were set alight. His whole world was suddenly aflame.

If he couldn’t stop them, he thought, he could at least get close enough to see who they were. Keeping low, he crept furtively towards the farm. The raiders didn’t even look in his direction. They were too busy seizing what they wanted. The fire had taken a firm hold now and the crackle had turned
into a deafening roar. The boy moved steadily forward until he hit a wall of blistering heat that stopped him dead. When he glanced at the farmhouse, telltale wisps of smoke were now coming through the windows. His mother and his sister had stopped screaming but they were still inside. Desperate to help them, he was held back by the billowing flames.

The attackers were pleased with their work and started to mount their horses. The last man to join them seemed to be their leader because he bellowed orders as he emerged from the farmhouse, doing up his belt. Throwing a glance over his shoulder, he cackled happily before putting his foot in the stirrup and heaving himself up into the saddle. A sudden gust of wind then blew the flames away from the boy for a second. It was as if a curtain had been drawn back. What he saw, and what he would always remember, was the red beard and mad eyes of their leader, a big man with an evil laugh, who took one last look at the bonfire before giving the command to ride off with the day’s spoils. The wall of flame returned to block his vision and the boy could see no more.

Somewhere downstream, his boat sailed bravely on.

The Duke of Marlborough sat tight-lipped in consternation as Daniel delivered the report. Adam Cardonnel was the only other person in the tent and he was equally appalled at what he’d heard. Daniel tried to translate a garbled version of events into something more articulate. When the recitation was over, Marlborough wanted answers.

‘This happened this very afternoon, you say?’

‘Yes, Your Grace,’ replied Daniel.

‘And where exactly was the farm?’

‘It’s about ten miles west of here. If I may look over your shoulder for a moment,’ he said, standing behind Marlborough then pointing with his index finger at the map on the table, ‘it would be close to here.’

‘Then it’s on territory held by us,’ said Marlborough, worriedly. ‘Every farm on it has a right to our protection. The last thing we need to do is to turn the civilian population against us.’

‘Where did this information come from?’ asked Cardonnel.

‘The protest was made by another farmer,’ said Daniel. ‘I was there when he came into camp. He was too agitated to make much sense at first but I managed to tease the relevant details out of him. It seems that the boy ran four miles barefoot to the next farm to tell his tale. The lad was in a terrible state, and who can blame him? He lost his home, his parents and his siblings in one dreadful swoop. As soon as the farmer heard what had happened, he galloped here to demand that we punish the culprits.’

Cardonnel nodded. ‘I’d say that was a very legitimate demand.’

‘They’ll be punished,’ vowed Marlborough, frowning deeply. ‘I’ll supervise their execution myself. First, however, we have to identify them.’ He turned to Cardonnel. ‘Send
word to every cavalry regiment, Adam. I want to know details of every patrol that rode out of here.’

‘I’ll draft letters immediately, Your Grace.’

‘Ask for a description of where the patrols went and the names of those men involved. We may have to do this by a process of elimination but we’ll catch them in the end. They’re not British soldiers – they’re vicious criminals.’

‘And they wear our uniforms,’ said Cardonnel, ruefully.

‘I’m not certain about that,’ Daniel put in.

‘You just told us that redcoats committed this atrocity.’

‘They did, but that doesn’t mean they belong to us. I’ve been thinking how difficult it would be for one of our patrols to rustle livestock then burn down a farm. Where would they keep the animals? They could hardly bring them back here to camp. Nor could they rely on being sent out on patrol again at a time of their choosing. Do you see the problem here?’ he went on. ‘The boy talked of nine or ten soldiers who raided the farm. When patrols are sent out, they vary greatly in size. It’s unlikely that the same group would be dispatched together each time.’

‘That’s true,’ agreed Marlborough, grasping at the possibility that his men might not, after all, be responsible. ‘We may have a smattering of god-forsaken rogues in our midst but we also have thousands of honest, decent, responsible men who’d draw back at such horrors. If they had the faintest whiff of it, they’d report it to their superiors.’

Daniel became pensive. Cardonnel watched him carefully.

‘I know that look in your eye, Daniel,’ he said at length. ‘You’ve been meditating on this, haven’t you? I suspect you have a theory.’

‘As it happens,’ Daniel answered, ‘I have two.’

‘If either exonerates our soldiers, let’s hear it.’

‘The first theory does that. I believe that these redcoats might actually be French soldiers, deliberately wearing our uniforms to give the impression that we’ll slash and burn for the sheer love of it. It would be easy for them to get hold of uniforms,’ Daniel continued. ‘After any engagement, the battlefield is littered with them.’