Soldier of Fortune

CHAPTER SEVEN

The alarm was raised at once. Captain Daniel Rawson gathered his men together and formed them into search parties to scour the camp. With flaming torches to guide them, they went off quickly in different directions. Sergeant Henry Welbeck added a few barked expletives to help them on their way.

'What exactly happened, Dan?' he asked, turning to his friend.

'I wish I knew,' replied Daniel, heaving a sigh. 'Richard Hopwood and I were playing backgammon. I went off to the latrines. By the time I got back, he was dead.'

'How was he killed?'

'Stabbed then decapitated.'

'Jesus!'

'The head has disappeared. What kind of monster wants that as a trophy? And why pick on someone as harmless as Richard?'

'Can I see him?'

'Yes, of course — come in, Henry.'

Daniel pulled back the flap of the tent and went inside.

Welbeck followed him. The second candle had been lit now and the combined light of two flames showed the body of Richard Hopwood, lying on his back with a pool of blood where his head had once been. The rear of the tent had been slit open from top to bottom. Welbeck was aghast. He was accustomed to gruesome sights in battle but not in the safety of the British camp. Such a brutal murder was unprecedented.

'Poor devil!' he murmured.

'I think that the killer came in through the front,' said Daniel, trying to reconstruct the crime. 'Richard was at the table with his back to the flap. Thinking it was me, he wouldn't have turned round when he heard someone entering the tent. If he saw someone cutting his way in through the canvas, however, he would certainly have defended himself. The noise alone would have alerted him. He'd have been on his feet in a flash. Instead of which,' he went on, indicating a stool, 'he sat there without the slightest fear of danger.'

'So he was stabbed from behind then his head was cut off.'

'That's the way it looks, Henry. The stool was on the floor as if it had been knocked over. Once he'd got what he wanted, the killer made his escape through that slit in the canvas.'

'How long were you away, Dan?'

'Too long, I'm afraid.'

'It's so unfair,' said Welbeck lugubriously. 'Lieutenant Hopwood had only been in the army five minutes. Until that ambush today, he'd never seen action. I pity him.'

'I feel sorry for the Duke as well,' said Daniel. 'He'll have to explain to Richard's family what happened. It won't be an easy letter to write. The Duke hates losing men in combat even though that's inevitable. To lose an officer this way will really upset him.'

'It's upset me as well, Dan.'

'We'll find the bastard who did this.'

'Who on earth can it be?'

'There are only two possibilities in my view, Henry. It's either one of our own, someone from inside this camp, or it's someone from outside who was helped by a British soldier.'

'I find that hard to believe.'

'Look at the facts,' reasoned Daniel. 'The killer had to know the precise location of this tent. No outsider would have that information. Nor would he know where the pickets were posted. And there's another thing,' he went on, crossing to open the slit in the canvas. 'This escape route was planned. There are no tents behind this one but hundreds in front of it. Anyone leaving here could be in the trees within seconds.' He looked at his friend. 'We have a traitor in our midst, Henry.'

'Give him to me,' said Welbeck. 'I'll cut off more than his head.'

'We have to find him first.'

'I'll soon sniff the bugger out, Dan.'

'You may be too late to do that, I fear,' said Daniel, looking down sorrowfully at the corpse. 'After a murder like this, the villain would never risk staying in camp. I think the bird will have flown.'

Edward Marston

Soldier of Fortune

Charles Catto had made all the necessary preparations. Having taken the trouble to inspect the camp thoroughly, he knew exactly where he could smuggle Frederic Seurel in past the sentries and how to conduct him to Daniel Rawson's tent without being seen. When the murder had been committed, Seurel followed his orders and slit open the back of the tent, darting through the gap with a severed head in the small sack he had brought with him. Catto was waiting to lead him out of the camp. The hue and cry was raised faster than he had expected but Catto had allowed for that contingency. Having taken Seurel to a secure hiding place within the perimeter of the camp, he joined in the search, making sure that nobody went anywhere near his accomplice.

It was over an hour before the commotion finally died down. Catto was at last able to slip away, liberate Seurel from his refuge and escape from the camp with him. Their horses had been hidden over a mile away. When they had reclaimed them, they rode off until they were a long way clear of the army encampment. It was only then that they were able to congratulate each on the way that their plan had worked. They stopped near an abandoned cottage and dismounted. Seurel was grinning at his triumph.

'It was so easy,' he boasted, holding up the blood-soaked sack. 'I took him from behind. I put an arm round his neck and stabbed him through the heart.' He mimed the action. 'His head was soon off.'

'You did well, Frederic,' said Catto.

'Does that mean I get more money?'

'You get what we agreed.'

'I should have equal payment,' argued Seurel, tapping his chest. 'I killed him, after all.'

'Yes,' countered Catto, 'but who got inside the camp to make it possible? You could never have done that. Besides, it wasn't you that General Salignac chose for this assignment. He picked me and told me to choose my own accomplice and pay him what I thought fit. That's how you come to be here, Frederic. You agreed to my terms.'

'That was before I knew what I had to do.'

'There's no going back on our arrangement now.'

'I think I deserve some reward,' said Seurel.

'I'll mention that to the General,' said Catto. 'You'll certainly get no more from me than we decided at the outset. But let's not haggle over money at a time like this,' he went on, adopting a more amiable tone. 'Our work is done. All we have to do is to present this little gift to General Salignac then we can go off to spend our money.' He nudged his friend. 'Take him out — I want to see Captain Rawson.'

Their eyes had become accustomed to the dark by now so they were both able to get a reasonable idea of what the face looked like as the head was hauled out of the sack by Seurel.

'Well,' he said, expecting lavish praise, 'what do you think?'

Catto peered at the face. 'I think you must be even more stupid than I feared,' he said harshly. 'That's not Daniel Rawson.'

'Yes, it is!'

'I've seen the man and he looks very different.'

'But he was in his tent. You took me there.'

'I expected him to be alone at that time of night.'

'And so he was — that's why I killed Captain Rawson.'

'No, you buffoon,' yelled Catto, 'you killed someone else. We went to all that trouble and we end up empty-handed. You're an idiot, Frederic, a brainless, blundering imbecile.'

'I obeyed your orders, Charles, that's all.'

'My orders were for you to kill Daniel Rawson, not some nameless individual who's no use to us at all. This man probably held a different rank altogether. Didn't you look at his uniform to make sure that he was a captain?'

'He wasn't wearing a jacket,' recalled Seurel. 'He'd taken it off to play backgammon. The board was set out on the table.'

Catto snarled. 'Who cares about that?'

Seurel was hurt. Having been brave enough to enter an enemy camp, he had committed a murder under the very noses of the British troops and felt entitled to admiration. Instead, he was being reviled by his partner. There was no hope of an immediate return to the camp. Now that Catto had deserted, he would be shot on sight by any soldier who recognised him. After staring at the head once more, he dropped it back into its sack. Seurel's brow was corrugated by thought. A few moments later, he snapped his fingers.

'I have it, Charles!' he exclaimed.

'Don't you dare tell me that you intend to stroll back into the camp, ask for Captain Rawson then cut off his head,' said Catto with scorn. 'That's just the kind of lunatic idea you'd think of.'

'We don't need Captain Rawson. We already have him.'

'We have someone else, I tell you.'

'We know that,' said Seurel slyly, 'but the General doesn't. All we have to do is to give him the head and tell him that I cut it from the shoulders of Daniel Rawson.' He grinned inanely. 'Don't you think it's a clever ruse?' Catto turned away in disgust. 'It is, Charles. It solves our problem. General Salignac has never seen Rawson so he'll be none the wiser.'

'If I thought that,' said Catto, rounding on him, 'I'd chop off your useless head and swear that it belonged to Captain Rawson. The ruse would never work.'

Seurel was dejected. 'Why ever not?'

'Don't you realise what he'll do?'

'Give us a reward, I hope.'

'No, Frederic. He'll want to taunt his wife. When he gets back to Paris, he'll wave the head of her lover in front of her. Madame Salignac will see at a glance that this is not Rawson.'

'Oh,' said Seurel, scratching his cheek. 'I never thought of that.'

'Evidently.'

'What are we going to do, Charles?'

'To begin with,' said Catto, grabbing the sack, 'we'll get rid of this fellow.' He hurled the sack and its grisly contents into the ruins of the cottage. 'Then we follow the army again and bide our time. If and when we do get a second chance, try not to make a mess of it again.'

'It wasn't my fault,' bleated Seurel.

'Of course, it was.'

'How was I to know what Rawson looked like?'

'I described him to you, Frederic.'

'It was dark in that tent. There were only two candles and I blew those out as I left. I did what I was told to do, Charles.'

'Nobody told you to kill the wrong man.'

'That was an accident.'

'It was a ruinous mistake,' said Catto nastily. 'Let's make sure it's the last one you ever make. And this might be the time to warn you that General Salignac does not tolerate failure. If we don't give him what he wants, he'll have us skinned alive.'

Edward Marston

Soldier of Fortune

A report of the incident reached the Duke of Marlborough immediately upon waking. He summoned Daniel Rawson in order to hear the full details. Amid the bustle of a camp preparing to move on, they stood outside the Duke's tent as it was being taken down. The first gesture of light was appearing in the sky.

'This is extremely distressing,' said Marlborough, stroking his chin. 'Lieutenant Hopwood was a promising young officer.'

'He was also very unlucky, Your Grace.'

'That goes without saying.'

'I didn't mean it in the obvious sense,' explained Daniel. 'The fact of the matter is that Richard Hopwood died as a result of mistaken identity.'

'What do you mean, Daniel?'

'The intended victim was me, Your Grace.'

Marlborough was shocked. 'Is there any evidence of that?'

'On reflection, I think there is. When the killer went into my tent, he expected me to be there. How would anyone know that I had a visitor inside with me? If someone had wanted to kill Richard Hopwood, they would have gone to his tent and not mine. It was sheer misfortune that the lieutenant was alone when the man struck.'

'This is far more worrying than I thought,' said Marlborough. 'The death of any officer is a sad loss. The murder of Daniel Rawson would have been a disaster. No disrespect to Hopwood — he had all the makings of a fine soldier — but he could never have matched your achievements. You're an outstanding asset to us, Daniel,' he went on, 'and that was why you were singled out.'

'I'm not sure about that, Your Grace,' said Daniel. 'In an army of such magnitude, the deeds of one man will hardly stand out unless his name is the Duke of Marlborough. I don't flatter myself that the enemy consider me that important. If they wanted to disable our cause, why did the assassin not strike at you?'

Marlborough nodded. 'I accept the logic of that argument.'

'There was personal animus behind this outrage.'

'Whom do you suspect?' 'I don't know who his paymaster is, Your Grace, but I've found out the name of his creature. He's called Will Curtis, though I have no doubt that that was a false name. Private Curtis joined the regiment recently, claiming that his father had once served it.'

'Why do you suspect him of the murder?'

'He's deserted in the night.'

'Are search parties out looking for him?'

'Yes,' said Daniel, 'but they've had no success. He's a cunning man and he planned the crime with meticulous care.'

'But he would need to have known which is your tent,' said Marlborough. 'How could he find it among so many?'

'Sergeant Welbeck has the answer to that. Private Curtis asked him to point me out and I was standing outside my quarters at the time. It would not be difficult to memorise the exact spot.'

'Was this villain operating alone, Daniel?'

'Who can say?' asked Daniel. 'If he had assistance, I fancy that there would only have been one accomplice, someone who did the foul deed while Curtis — or whatever his real name is — kept watch. It would have been difficult to sneak more than one man into the camp.'

'The accomplice might already have been here.'

'Then he, too, would have deserted by now, Your Grace.'

'I take your point,' said Marlborough pensively. 'In the wake of the murder, inquiries would be very searching. It would be tempting fate for anyone to remain within our ranks and court discovery.'

'My belief is that the killer probably came from outside the camp,' said Daniel, 'or he would not have confused me with Richard Hopwood. Private Curtis wouldn't have murdered the wrong man, which is why I feel that his hand was not on the dagger.'

'But he's an accessory.'

'Oh, he's more than that, Your Grace. He organised the whole thing. It could only be done by someone inside the camp who knew our routine and our picket arrangements.'

'He must be called to account,' said Marlborough sternly.

'He will be. At least I know what to expect next time.'

'Next time?'

'Yes, Your Grace,' said Daniel philosophically. 'A man who's gone to such lengths to kill me will not give up after one failure. And, by now, he'll have realised that there was a terrible mistake.'

'Keep men around you at all time,' Marlborough urged. 'We can't afford to lose you, Daniel, especially now that we're getting closer to a confrontation with the French.'

'I'll take sensible precautions from now on but I won't surround myself with an armed guard. I want this man — or these men — to come in search of me again. It's the only way to be sure of catching them, Your Grace.'

'What — by acting as bait on the hook?'

'By giving the appearance of doing so,' said Daniel with a grim smile. 'Richard Hopwood was a friend of mine and a keen soldier. His family deserves some consolation. They need to be told that we've caught and punished the villains responsible for his death.'

Edward Marston

Soldier of Fortune

The Confederate army continued its march south. Crossing the River Neckar, a tributary of the Rhine, they were joined by the expected reinforcements from Denmark and Prussia, thereby adding 14,000 soldiers to the army and instilling fresh confidence in it as a result. French spies watched the army's progress and sent regular reports to the King in Versailles as well as to his two leading commanders, Marshal Camille d'Hostun, Comte de Tallard and Marshal Francois Villeroi, a royal favourite but an uninspiring soldier. Early fears that Marlborough intended to invade Alsace had proved groundless as had the anxiety over a potential attack on the French fortress of Landau. When these objectives were discounted, observers concluded that the armies of the Grand Alliance were doing something considered to be unthinkable. They were heading for the Danube.

It was not a forced march but neither was it leisurely. Marching early each morning, they went on for three or four days then rested for a day. They were travelling through the countries of allies who had been forewarned of their approach. Commissaries had therefore been appointed to see to the needs of both men and horses. Whenever they reached the site of their next camp, everything was in readiness. All that the soldiers had to do was to pitch their tents, boil their kettles and sit down to rest. They were in good heart

Louis XIV received news of developments in a towering rage.

'Marlborough had this planned in advance,' he roared at the group of advisers gathered around him at Versailles. 'Why did we know nothing about it?'

'The Duke has been very guileful,' ventured one man, electing to speak on behalf of the others.

'That's no excuse. We have enough spies in his army. Surely, one of them could have found out what his true intentions were. How can we stop him if we do not know where he is going?'

'But we do know, Your Majesty. His destination is the Danube.'

'What does he propose to do on the way?' demanded the king.

'That remains to be seen.'

'I can't wait for it to be seen, man. I want it anticipated now. What's the point of military advisers if they haven't the intelligence or the foresight to give me good counsel? Not one of you guessed what Marlborough's strategy was,' he said, glaring accusingly around the group. 'Not one of you ever mentioned the possibility of a march to the Danube. French armies should dictate events as they've always done in the past, not be forced to respond to them as we're doing now.'

'Marlborough has finally shown his hand, Your Majesty,' said the spokesman, an elderly man with a pock-marked face, 'and we can therefore take appropriate action.'

'What do you believe that should be?'

'Strengthen our army between them and their destination.'

'We can't just build a barrier against their approach,' said Louis. 'There's always the chance they can march around it. Just look how steadily they are moving — almost 250 miles in a bare five weeks. Each time they reach camp,' he added irritably, 'they find food, drink and all other necessaries awaiting them. In short, they are expected — by everyone except us, damn it!'

The advisers exchanged nervous glances. They were used to making decisions about a French army whose power and expertise had made it universally feared. Since they were not acquainted with major failures and setbacks, they did not instantly know how to deal with them. Their spokesman was tentative.

'What would you suggest, Your Majesty?' he asked.

'I'd suggest that I need some new advisers.' There was a flurry of protest from the others but he waved them into silence. 'My strategy is this. We must separate Marlborough from his ally, Prince Eugene of Savoy. To that end, I will send Marshal Villeroi, with 40 battalions and 70 squadrons to keep Eugene occupied.'

'A wise decision,' said the spokesmen amid a chorus of approval from the others. 'What of Marshal Tallard?'

'He'll take an army of 40 battalions and 50 squadrons through the Black Forest to join Marshal Marsin and the Elector of Bavaria.' He saw the reservation in the man's eyes. 'Do you have any objection that that?'

'Not in the least, Your Majesty.'

'Tell the truth, man. I sense reluctance.'

'It's consent tempered by a slight anxiety,' explained the man. 'The Black Forest is a mountainous area. Our army would have to march through hostile territory under the most difficult conditions.'

'It's the most direct route.'

'Then you must prepare for losses along the way.'

'Don't tell me about losses,' snapped Louis, smacking the arm of his chair. 'I've controlled my armies for decades now so I know all about the losses they are bound to sustain. Marshal Marsin and the Elector need reinforcements and that's what they will get.'

The man nodded obsequiously. 'Yes, Your Majesty.'

'Whatever happens, Marlborough must not be allowed to cross the Danube. That's an article of faith with me.'

'The best place to cross is Donauworth,' said another of the advisers, 'where the Wornitz river meets the Danube. 'I've been there, Your Majesty. It's guarded by a fortified hill called the Schellenberg and that's almost impossible to storm. Of one thing I believe we can be assured,' he continued, looking around his colleagues with a smug smile. 'The Allied armies will never be permitted to cross the Danube.'

Edward Marston

Soldier of Fortune

'We must cross the Danube,' said Marlborough, poring over the map laid out on a table in his tent.

'It will not be easy, Your Grace,' warned Eugene. 'Marshal Marsin and the Elector have established a camp in Dillingen — right here.' His finger prodded the map. 'A smaller force is guarding Donauworth and the heights above it. Even as we speak, they will be improving fortifications on the Schellenberg.'

'We shall have to take the hill.'

'You'll have to pay a high price in blood to do so.'

'It will be worth it.'

'I agree,' said Eugene. 'It is bold, brave and unexpected. The French never dreamt you would come this far into Germany. You have kept them guessing at every point, Your Grace. That's the mark of a great commander.'

Prince Eugene of Savoy spoke with authority, having been a keen student of military history. He was a slim, pale, almost effeminate man of forty with protruding front teeth and a misshapen nose. Notwithstanding his ugliness and his unwillingness to wash as often as he should, he was a skilful general. The irony was that he had been brought up in the French court where his ambitions to be a soldier were ridiculed by King Louis who decreed that the puny youth of sixteen, as he had once been, should enter the church.

Forced to receive a tonsure and wear a cassock, Eugene sought succour in the work of Plutarch and others who wrote about heroes of the Ancient World. He remained in France until he could endure the king's arrogance no more, seeking a military career elsewhere and vowing that he would only ever return at the head of an army. An unlikely soldier, he nevertheless turned out to have great skill in the field and his support was prized by Marlborough. Had he been allowed to join the French army, as he had once wished, Eugene would now be fighting against the Grand Alliance. In treating him with such disdain, Louis XIV had created a dangerous enemy with an army of 28,000 men at his back.

'What are my orders, Your Grace?' asked Eugene.

'Marshal Tallard is coming through the Black Forest,' said Marlborough, 'and he will meet up with Marshal Villeroi's army. We need you to guard the Lines at Stollhoffen against their advance.'

'Consider it done.'

'Thank you, my friend. I cannot tell you how delighted we are to have you as our ally. Your successes against the Turks have earned you many plaudits. Three years ago, you also had notable victories at Carpi and Chiari against superior French armies.'

'I lost the battle of Cremona,' confessed Eugene, 'but I fought the French to a draw at Luzzara. They are not as invincible as they like to believe.'

'I know,' said Marlborough, looking up. 'They are rightly proud of their military achievements but pride can lead to complacency. We must exploit their self-satisfaction.'

'How many men do you have at your disposal?'

'The best part of 80,000 — on the long march here, we lost only a thousand or more to sickness. That was a blessing.'

'The French will lose many men as they come through the Black Forest. The mountains always claim some victims.'

'Their horses are suffering as well,' Marlborough told him. 'The latest intelligence is that a virulent disease has spread among them. If many of their horses die, they will be slowed down.'

'We will be waiting for them at the Lines of Stollhoffen,' said Eugene, a broad grin revealing the rest of his teeth. He brushed back his unkempt fair hair. 'We'll test the French to the utmost.'

'May good fortune attend you,' said Marlborough, exchanging a warm handshake with him. 'The next time we meet, it will be near the Danube.' He studied Eugene quizzically. 'Do you have no qualms about fighting a country in which you spent so much time?'

Eugene became serious. 'None at all, Your Grace,' he said. 'King Louis treated my mother shabbily and mocked me with the name of le petit abbe. He will soon see that I am no little priest.' He rested a hand on his sword. 'I'll make him rue the day that he made me quit France to follow my true calling as a soldier.'

Edward Marston

Soldier of Fortune

Daniel Rawson had always enjoyed being in a camp preparing itself for action. The sense of expectation was exciting. He found the sight of men being drilled, weapons being cleaned or sharpened, and artillery being made ready, thrilling even after all his years in the army. Additional soldiers were coming in every day. They had met the Margrave of Baden and the Austrian army at Launsheim and there was a steady trickle of recruits. After their unfortunate experience with the man calling himself Will Curtis, the British army questioned any newcomers very closely, especially if they were deserters from the French or Bavarian forces. Once accepted into the ranks, they were still watched in case they turned out to be enemy spies.

Characteristically forthright, Sergeant Henry Welbeck expressed misgivings about what awaited them. He and Daniel were watching a small detachment of Dutch soldiers arriving in camp.

'What are those moon-faced fools grinning at?' he asked with scorn. 'Don't they know they are on their way to their death?'

'Death or glory,' corrected Daniel.

'There's not much chance of glory, Dan. The rumour is that we're going to cross the Danube. If we try to do that, most of us will end up as corpses floating on the water.'

'Your job is to inspire your men. If you tell them we're facing defeat before battle even commences, you plant seeds of doubt in their minds. They have to believe victory is possible, Henry.'

'I'm not sure that I do.'

'You refused to believe that we'd get this far,' Daniel reminded him. 'Yet we've managed it without too many problems.'

'Then your memory is very different from mine,' said Welbeck tartly. 'What about the days when it rained so hard, we could hardly see a hand in front of our faces? What about those mountains we had to climb? And what about Lieutenant Hopwood being murdered in your tent — that's what I'd call a real problem.'

'I haven't forgotten that,' said Daniel soulfully. 'I still feel guilty. Richard Hopwood died in place of me.'

'Then his sacrifice was not in vain. We need you, Dan.'

'We needed the lieutenant as well. I know he was untried but he had some fire in his belly. He wanted to fight the French. When they see urgency and commitment in an officer, the men respect him all the more. Richard Hopwood will be mourned.'

'Do you think we'll ever find his killer?'

'We must,' replied Daniel. 'It's a sacred duty.'

'It will be like finding a pin's head in a cart-load of hay.'

'I have a feeling it will be a lot easier than that, Henry.'

'We'll never see Will Curtis again.'

'He'll be back one day. If he's clever enough to get inside our camp the way he did, he won't give up. Sooner or later, he'll make a second attempt at killing me.'

'Why?'

Daniel smiled. 'I'll remember to ask him before I shoot him.'

'Take care, Dan,' said Welbeck with gruff affection. 'If anything happened to you, I'd miss you a lot. You're an ugly bugger but I'd still prefer to see your head staying on your shoulders.'

'Thank you.'

'I must go. Bear in mind what I said.'

'Do the same for me,' said Daniel. 'Remember what I said about imparting confidence to the men. Glow with optimism, Henry. We could be on the verge of a tremendous victory.'

'Oh, I agree,' said Welbeck gloomily. 'But will either of us still be alive to celebrate it?'

Daniel watched him go, knowing full well that his friend would not pass on his private fears to his men. Soldiers drilled by Sergeant Henry Welbeck were among the best-disciplined in the British army. Daniel knew they would acquit themselves well in combat. How the Dutch, Danish, Prussians, Italians, Austrians and other nationalities in the allied force would behave in action was an open question. As he considered it, Daniel's eye fell on the new arrivals. Like the main army, they had made the long and arduous journey from Holland. They looked exhausted and bedraggled.

Two wagons rolled in at the rear of the column and came to a halt. Daniel could not understand why they had sought out the British section of the camp instead of that of their countrymen. The answer came in the shape of two female figures who were helped down from the second wagon. One of them spotted Daniel immediately.

'Captain Rawson!' she called, waving joyfully.

It was Abigail Piper.