Drums of War

Chapter Fourteen

Fortune could not favour them indefinitely. After the shock of being ambushed and held captive, they'd enjoyed a relatively clear run along the French roads. Three of them were on horseback and, though Amalia was accustomed to riding side-saddle, she was coping well in a less ladylike sitting position. Dopff provided the real surprise. His initial reluctance to act as coachman had given way to a positive relish for the task. He improved steadily and, with only two people on board, the vehicle was no strain for the powerful animal between the shafts. Dopff had overcome his natural fear of horses to develop a close relationship with this one. Whenever they rested, it was the little Dutchman who fed his horse or led it to water and he spent a lot of time simply standing beside the animal and patting it.

They encountered their first setback that afternoon. Riding ahead of them, Daniel spotted a detachment of soldiers marching towards him along the main road. He immediately galloped back to the others and diverted them on to a meandering track through a forest, hoping that it would take them in the right direction. Dopff's inexperience soon told. On a proper road, he could handle the coach with assurance but a bumpy track that constantly twisted and turned was another matter. He began to lose confidence. What broke his nerve completely was the appearance of a wild boar that darted suddenly out of some thickets and sped across their path. The coach horse neighed in alarm and bolted. Dopff tried manfully to keep hold of the reins until the overhanging branch of a tree swept him off his seat altogether.

The other horses had also been scared by the boar. Amalia and her father were struggling to control their mounts but it was Beatrix who was in most danger. As the coach careered on madly without a driver, brushing past thick bushes and bouncing off trees, she was thrown helplessly from side to side. Daniel responded at once. With a sharp dig of his heels, he galloped after the vehicle, praying that he could reach it before it overturned or was badly damaged. Beatrix's life was at stake. She was screaming hysterically. The track was narrow but there was just enough room for Daniel to pass. As he drew level, however, the coach lurched sideways and buffeted his horse, forcing him to pull back and wait until a better chance presented itself. Beatrix's howls grew more desperate by the second.

Bushes and trees then vanished magically as the coach entered a large clearing. Daniel didn't waste his opportunity. Kicking more speed out of his mount, he overtook the coach, came up alongside the horse and reached out to grab its bridle, pulling hard as he did so. The coach described a wide semicircle in the grass before finally coming to a halt. Daniel dismounted and made sure that the coach horse was sufficiently calmed before he ran to the vehicle itself. The moment he opened the door, Beatrix fell out gratefully into his arms, blubbering like a child. She was heavily bruised and frightened out of her wits but no bones had been broken.

Dopff had been less fortunate. Knocked from the driving seat, he'd tumbled to the ground and banged his head against the solid trunk of a tree. He was unconscious for several minutes and blood oozed from the gash in his skull. Amalia quickly tore off part of her petticoat to use as a bandage. She and her father crouched over Dopff until his eyelids at last flickered. They praised him for his bravery and assured him that he was not responsible for what had happened. He was still far too dazed to understand them.

Having sat Beatrix on the grass and given her a sip of water from a flagon they'd providentially filled, Daniel was able to inspect the damage to the coach. It consisted largely of scratches and dents though something had smashed a hole in one door. Daniel was more concerned about the coach horse, going over it carefully for signs of injury. Apart from several grazes, some of them spattered with blood, the animal had come through unscathed. It was now nibbling at some grass. Daniel was relieved. He'd learnt his lesson. From now on, he wouldn't foist the job of driving the coach on to Dopff. The risk was too great.

When the others eventually joined them, he reached a decision.

'I think it might be wise to break our journey for a while,' he said, 'don't you?'

Alone in the tent, still wearing the uniform soiled from his antics on the previous night, Tom Hillier had ample time for reflection. He was musing on the unfortunate turn of events that had landed him in his predicament when the tent flap was drawn back and Welbeck came in. Hillier was startled to see him.

'What are you doing here, Sergeant?' he asked.

'I might ask the same of you, lad.'

'I was absent without leave,' admitted the drummer.

'Why?'

'I was very foolish.'

'That's patently obvious. The question is why? You must be aware of the regulations by now. Why deliberately break them?'

'It was an accident, Sergeant.'

'Oh, I see,' said Welbeck with heavy sarcasm. 'You were strolling round the edge of the camp and you accidentally stepped outside its limits. The fact that it was in the middle of the night was also purely accidental, I'm sure.'

'I accept that I did wrong,' said Hillier, shamefaced.

'What use is that? You knew that you were doing wrong before you even set out. That should've deterred you.'

'I hoped that I wouldn't be caught.'

Welbeck grimaced. 'I've lost count of the number of times I've heard that pathetic bloody excuse. It's the reason that thieves steal or men commit murder. They hope they won't be caught. It's a hope that can justify any crime and — make no mistake about this, Tom — being absent without leave is a serious crime. If you disappear from camp while we're engaged in a campaign, you could be seen as a deserter.' He shook Hillier hard with both hands. 'Do you know what the army does to deserters?'

'I do, Sergeant.'

'Are you quite sure?'

'Deserters are shot.'

'Only the lucky ones,' said Welbeck. 'I can remember seeing a deserter given five hundred lashes. He was flayed to death. Is that how you want to end your time in the army?'

'No,' said Hillier in distress. 'I can't tell you how sorry I am for what I did. It won't ever happen again.'

'It shouldn't have happened this time. The only saving grace is that it wasn't your own idea. You were talked into it by others.'

'Nobody else was to blame.'

'Do you expect me to believe that?'

'I got myself into this mess alone,' affirmed Hillier.

'Where did you go? Come on, lad,' he went on as his nephew hesitated. 'I've been in the army a very long time and I know there are only a few reasons why soldiers are absent without leave. So please don't tell me you went fishing at night or collecting birds' eggs. You sneaked off to the town, didn't you?'

'I left camp without permission, Sergeant. That's all I can say.'

'And what am I to say to your mother about this incident? Am I to tell her that it took you less than six weeks in the army to catch the pox and earn yourself a flogging?'

'Please don't mention any of this to her,' begged Hillier.

'She'll want to know how you're getting on.'

'I know I'm in disgrace. Give me a chance to make amends for it.'

'And how are you going to do that, lad?' asked Welbeck with a mirthless laugh. 'You're about to be flogged. If you caught something nasty between the legs of some doxy last night, you'll spend the next couple of weeks wondering which itches most — your back or your balls.' Hillier blanched. 'Who went to the town with you?'

'I left here on my own, Sergeant.'

'Was it Dobbs, for instance?'

'Hugh Dobbs is nothing to do with this.'

'What about the other lads?'

'They were not involved,' said Hillier, firm under pressure. 'I was very stupid and I'm ready to pay the penalty for my stupidity.'

Welbeck appraised him. 'That's fair enough,' he concluded with the first whisper of sympathy. 'How are they treating you, Tom?'

'I've been under armed guard since I was caught.'

'Have they given you food and water?'

'No, Sergeant.'

'Have they allowed you to use a latrine?'

'No, Sergeant.'

'That's not right.'

'I've no complaints,' said Hillier, bravely. 'I brought this on myself. If my parents got to hear about this, it would be far worse than any punishment the army can inflict.'

'They'll hear nothing from me, Tom,' said Welbeck.

Before his nephew could thank him, the tent flap lifted and Major Cracknell stepped in. Hillier and Welbeck stood to attention.

'If you've come to plead on your nephew's behalf,' said the major, curtly, 'you're wasting your breath.'

'That isn't why I'm here, sir,' said Welbeck.

'Were he your own son, I wouldn't change my decision.'

'Nor would I expect you to, Major Cracknell.'

'He's let your family down badly.'

'He knows that only too well.'

'What he did was indefensible,' said Cracknell. 'Private Hillier was absent without leave and compounded the offence by refusing to name his companions.'

'I went out of the camp alone, Major,' said Hillier.

'Others were heard running away.'

'That may well be so but I wasn't with them. They must have been returning to camp at the same time.'

Cracknell turned to Welbeck. 'You have an accomplished liar in your family, Sergeant. Do you condone his misconduct?'

'No, sir,' replied Welbeck. 'He's broken army regulations and must be disciplined. At the same time, however, he's entitled to privileges such as food, water and access to the latrines. I feel it my duty to report this mistreatment of him to your superior officers.'

'Damn you, man!' yelled Cracknell. 'Hillier is the offender here, not me. He doesn't deserve any privileges. He should count himself lucky that he's not been shackled. As for you, Sergeant, I'm ordering you to stay away from him.'

'Yes, Major.'

'And if there are any other members of your family who wish to join the army, keep them away from this regiment. We have certain standards to maintain. Hillier has fallen well below them.' He regarded the drummer with contempt. 'You're a disgrace to everyone,' he added. 'Even the sergeant must admit that.'

'Tom Hillier is my nephew,' said Welbeck, stoutly, 'and I'm proud to acknowledge that fact.'

They needed a long rest before they pressed on. When they did so, Daniel drove the coach with Beatrix and Dopff as his passengers. Both were still shaken by their experience. They came at length to a river, enabling Daniel to have a more accurate idea of where they actually were. He called them to a halt.

'We need to cross it,' he told them.

'Is there a bridge?' asked Janssen.

'It's three or four miles away, I fancy. You can all wait here while I ride ahead to see if it's safe to use it.'

'Shall I come with you?' offered Amalia.

'That's a kind offer but I'll be quicker on my own.'

'Take care, Daniel.'

Mounting his horse, he rode off at a canter with the river on his right. He soon vanished around the bend. The others sat on the bank and ate some of the food they'd brought with them. Dopff was too jaded to touch anything but Beatrix had a voracious appetite. Of the two of them, she was the more resilient. Dopff was detached and pensive, still blaming himself for losing control of the coach. It was a long time before Daniel returned and his news was not encouraging.

'There are guards on the bridge,' he said. 'That suggests to me that the police have decided that we managed to escape from Paris and are throwing their net wider.'

'We have false passports,' argued Janssen. 'Won't they see us safely past any patrol?'

'Not when everyone along the north-east frontier has been warned to look out for four Dutch fugitives. Even dressed as a woman, you won't deceive guards a second time.'

'Is there any other way to cross?'

'Yes,' said Daniel. 'I found a shallower spot further upstream. The water came up to my feet when I rode into it. Had it been much higher, the horse would have had to swim.'

'What about the coach?' asked Amalia.

'That could pose a problem.'

With Daniel as coachman once more, they rode along the bank until they reached the place he'd seen earlier. The river was wide but the current was not strong. A gentle gradient would allow the coach to enter the water when it was fairly horizontal but the vehicle wasn't tall enough to clear the surface. Water was bound to seep in through the doors. Realising that, an anguished Dopff waved his arms frantically. Daniel understood his concern.

'Yes, we know,' he said. "There's a chance that the tapestry will be soaked and we can't have that. I suggest we take out everything of value. Apart from anything else, we need to lighten the coach as much as possible.'

All five of them set about emptying the coach, removing their baggage as well as the booty stowed under the seat. Daniel put some of the items in his saddlebags and took hold of the tapestry. Watched by a nervous Janssen and a trembling Dopff, he rode into the river and let the water climb inexorably up the horse's legs. At the deepest point, he was still able to remain in the saddle and kept on until he reached the other bank. Janssen and Dopff clapped their hands with glee. Heartened by what she'd seen, Amalia went next, riding more slowly but contriving to get to the other side without even wetting her shoes. She gave the others a wave of triumph. It was Janssen's turn to cross but he had more enthusiasm for the venture than his horse. The animal refused to enter the water at first and, even when it did, twice tried to turn back, threshing about as it did so. When Janssen finally emerged on the other side, his legs were soaking wet.

Riding his own horse, Daniel borrowed Amalia's mount and tugged it behind him as he headed back towards the coach. Beatrix was helped into the saddle so that Daniel could tow her across the river, taking the rest of the baggage at the same time. The exercise was repeated with Dopff in the saddle of the other horse. Pulling on the rein and urging both horses on, Daniel got them safely to the bank. There was no baggage left now. Only the coach remained.

'Are you certain that it's safe?' said Amalia, worriedly.

'There's only one way to find out,' replied Daniel. "The trick is to have a good run at it so that we hit the water at speed. If the coach is allowed to stop at any point, then I could be in difficulty.'

'Can I help in any way?'

'Yes, please. Ride with me then lead my horse back here again. When I'm driving that coach, I don't want to worry about having to pull another horse behind us.'

'Let me come instead,' volunteered Janssen.

'I'll go, Father,' insisted Amalia.

'Well, I certainly wouldn't,' said Beatrix to herself.

Dopff put both hands over his eyes to show his unwillingness. As it was, Amalia accompanied Daniel, riding beside him and getting splashed this time. Once on the other bank, he dismounted and handed the reins to her, waiting until she'd gone all the way to the other bank before he even climbed up on to the coach. As he viewed his task, he began to have misgivings. Water would certainly flood into the vehicle, making it much heavier to pull. On the other hand, the horse was strong and, if kept on the move, should reach the opposite bank without undue stress. Whip at the ready, Daniel judged the line he'd take down the slope.

Biting their lips in consternation, his friends watched. While they didn't doubt his courage, they began to question his wisdom. From where they stood, it looked like a perilous undertaking. So it proved. Daniel cracked his whip to sting the horse's rump and off it went. Plunging into the water, it pulled valiantly and the coach made good progress until it reached the middle of the river. One of its wheels then struck a submerged rock with enough force to snap it away from the axle. The whole coach tipped sideways, hurling Daniel into the water. When he surfaced again, he saw the broken wheel floating off down the river. Of more immediate importance was the fact that the coach horse was trapped between the shafts, kicking madly and neighing loudly as it tried to regain its feet and keep its head above the water.

Daniel swam swiftly to its rescue. Trying to keep clear of the flashing hooves, he undid the harness to release the animal from the shafts then held on tight to the reins as he was literally hauled along by the frantic beast. While Beatrix and Dopff jumped out of the way in fright, Amalia and her father stood firm. They knew that the horse had to be stopped before it could get up any speed. The two of them therefore waded into the water and, as the horse reached them, took hold of either side of the bridle. Scrambling to his feet, Daniel added his own strength on the reins. The animal reached dry land and, though still tossing its head and neighing in protest, it slowed down. Dopff came forward to pat it on the neck and help to calm it.

Are you all right, Daniel?' cried Amalia.

'I'm a little wetter than I intended to be.'

'You're not hurt in any way?'

'No,' he said, winding the harness up. 'If truth be told, it was rather bracing. When I've dried off a little, I can address my mind to the thorny problem of how we carry on without our coach.'

The delay was deliberate. Hillier soon realised that. If he'd been punished on the morning he'd been caught, he would now be nursing his wounds but at least the worst would be over. By postponing the event until the following day, Major Cracknell guaranteed a sleepless night for the drummer. The longer he waited, the more fearful loomed his sentence. He could almost feel the skin being stripped from his back.

There had been some relief. Thanks to Sergeant Welbeck's intervention, he had now been given a meal and allowed to visit the latrines. Even more encouraging was the fact that his uncle had finally recognised his existence. In front of a vindictive officer, the sergeant had defended his nephew. That meant a lot to Hillier.

He was a scapegoat, receiving the punishment that Dobbs and the others should be sharing. Yet he refused to yield up their names. It was not simply out of fear of repercussions. They were his friends. If one of them had been caught in his place, Hillier felt certain that his own name wouldn't have been volunteered. Those in the lower ranks looked after each other. When he thought of what lay ahead for him, he shuddered. Flogging was a barbaric punishment and he'd seen its effects. One of the other drummers, flogged for drunkenness, still had livid marks across his back months after he'd received his lashes. Hillier had seen them. He wondered how long he'd bear his own gruesome souvenirs.

The most troubling aspect for him was not the physical agony but the sheer humiliation. Hillier would be flogged in front of the whole regiment. Since it was a first offence committed by a new recruit who'd obviously been misled, some officers would have been inclined to leniency. Major Cracknell wasn't one of them. He wanted Hillier to suffer and Sergeant Welbeck to suffer with him. Under the guise of imposing discipline, the major was also able to work off his grudge against Daniel Rawson, the sergeant's close friend. Cracknell would doubtless go out of his way to inform his enemy of Hillier's fate when the captain returned to his regiment.

He was pacing the tent anxiously when he heard a low whistle. At first he had no idea where it came from then he saw something protruding under the canvas at the rear of the tent.

It was a small bottle of brandy held by someone.

'Tom?' whispered a voice. 'Are you there?'

Hillier crouched down. 'Hugh — is that you?'

'Yes. Take a swig of this. It might help.'

Taking the bottle, he uncorked it and took a long sip. It burnt his throat and coursed through his body but it gave him new strength to face his ordeal. He corked the bottle and slipped it back into Dobbs' hand.

'Thank you,' he said.

'Don't thank me, Tom. It belongs to Sergeant Welbeck.'

Hillier had another reason to be grateful to his uncle. The brandy was starting to take full effect now. His head began to swim. Minutes later the guard came in. The prisoner was taken under escort to a patch of land behind the camp where the regiment was drawn up in a hollow square. It was a spectacle that the rank and file hated but they were forced to watch. The flogging of one soldier was also a dire warning to others. Writhing with shame, Hillier kept his eyes down. He stopped beside a wooden triangle and was ordered to remove his coat and shirt. When his wrists were tied to the triangle, he was quite defenceless. His naked back looked pale and stringy.

Major Cracknell issued the command for the punishment to begin. A burly drummer took a cat-o'-nine-tails from out of a bag and had a couple of practice swings through the air. Hillier tensed, hoping that the brandy would dull the pain in some way. If nothing else, he'd discovered that his uncle could be considerate. When the first stroke came, it made his whole body convulse, biting into his flesh like so many vicious teeth. Hillier recovered quickly, promising himself that, however searing the pain, he'd hold back any cries. Another set of hungry teeth sank into his back to be followed by a third and a fourth. Eyes closed and body already covered with blood, he tried to count the strokes but he drifted off into unconsciousness long before the tally had been completed.

They were no longer able to stay overnight at an inn. If, as Daniel suspected, the search for them had spread outside the capital, it would be too dangerous to stop. Roads were patrolled, bridges were guarded and sentries were on duty at key points on the frontier. Evading them all was paramount. What slowed the fugitives down was that they no longer had the coach at their disposal. Five of them now shared four horses. Since he was the only person able to ride bareback, Daniel sat astride the coach horse with much of their baggage. Janssen reserved the right to carry the tapestry. He and Amalia retained a horse each while Dopff led the third horse by its reins so that Beatrix could sit on it. While progress was tardy, they were able to hide more swiftly whenever someone approached.

It was a fine night with stars twinkling in the sky like distant candles. Instead of stumbling along in complete darkness, they had a modicum of light. As ever, Daniel led the way, relying on an inner compass to take him in the right direction. They stopped by a brook to refresh themselves. Janssen had grown weary.

'I think we should snatch a few hours' sleep,' he said.

'We must press on,' argued Daniel.

'But we're all dog-tired.'

'It's better to move at night than in the day when we're more likely to be seen. We're being hunted like animals. Do you want to be caught and sent back to the Bastille?'

'Perish the thought!'

'I don't think you'd be offered a comfortable cell next time.'

'I'm certain of it,' agreed Janssen. 'I'm just worried about Amalia. She almost fell off the horse at one point and Kees must be exhausted, going on foot all the time.'

'It's tiring for all of us, I know,' said Daniel, 'but we simply must persevere. It would be folly to stop now.'

'What happens when dawn breaks?'

'We'll simply have to be more circumspect.'

'How far away is the border?'

'I'm not sure.'

'Have you any idea where we actually are?'

Daniel was honest. 'No, I'm afraid not.'

Growing increasingly fatigued, they forced themselves to move on, keeping to a track that took them on a winding route through open countryside. Whenever they reached a village or a hamlet, they went around it. At one point, they went through a stand of trees and heard rustling noises in the undergrowth. An owl hooted above them and startled the horses. Nocturnal creatures were all round them. Daniel was used to marching through the night and going without sleep. For the others, however, it was a wholly new and debilitating experience. Every time he glanced at them, Daniel could see them flagging badly.

They were at the bottom of a hill when he caught sight of some riders silhouetted against the sky as they came over the crest. Daniel waved to the others to pull off the track. They dismounted and led their horses behind some bushes. Not daring to move or speak, they crouched behind the foliage until they heard the sound of hooves and the jingling of harness. The riders were getting ever closer. Eyes now accustomed to the darkness, Daniel peered through a gap in the bush and saw that there were six of them. Certain that they were soldiers on patrol, he hoped that they would ride past and go on their way without being aware of the presence of the fugitives. His fear was that one of their own horses would whinny or shift its feet in the long grass and make a noise. Daniel and the others were on tenterhooks. To have come so far and to be caught when they were so close to safety would be devastating. They could look for no mercy whatsoever.

Ironically, it was Dopff who gave them away. The man with no voice had been sneezing and coughing for the last couple of miles. Hand clapped over his mouth, he was doubled up as he tried to suppress the urge to sneeze again. When the impulse passed, he thought it was safe to remove the restraining palm. Before he could stop it, he was overcome by a secondary urge and sneezed aloud. Dopff put both hands penitently across his mouth but the damage had already been done. Hearing the noise, the soldiers came around the angle of the bushes to see what had caused it. Six loaded muskets were pointed at the cowering group. They'd been caught. Daniel's heart was a drum. Amalia shivered, Janssen's legs threatened to give way and Beatrix burst into tears. Dopff was reciting his prayers and begging the Almighty for forgiveness.

'Who are you?' demanded one of the soldiers.

It was a miracle. The man had spoken in Dutch. Fearing that they'd been captured by French soldiers, the fugitives had never considered the possibility that they'd already crossed the border. Overwhelmed with relief, they started laughing and hugging each other. Daniel held Amalia in a warm embrace.

'What's the jest?' asked the soldier.

'We'll be happy to explain it to you,' said Daniel, beaming. 'My name is Captain Rawson, attached to the staff of His Grace, the Duke of Marlborough, and I admit that I've been critical of the Dutch army in the past. Let me say before witnesses that I've never been so grateful to see some members of it as I am at this moment in time.'

The meeting was held at the home of Johannes Mytens. The visitors arrived punctually and were shown into the parlour. After greeting his friend, Willem Ketel introduced him to Gaston Loti. The Frenchman was tall, lean and well-dressed. His full-bottomed wig framed a face that was pitted with age but softened by a ready smile. Loti was intelligent, watchful and devious. As a merchant, Ketel had learnt to speak French fluently and Mytens had a sound knowledge of the language. They were therefore able to converse in French. Loti began by making some flattering remarks about The Hague, hinting that it would be a tragedy if such a fine city were ever to be under direct attack. Mytens bridled slightly.

'It would be equally unfortunate if Paris were to be under siege,' he said. "The destruction of the magnificent French capital would be a sad sight to behold.'

'It's one that will never be seen,' said Loti with easy confidence. 'No enemy would ever get within striking distance of Paris.'

'Don't be so complacent, Monsieur Loti.'

'It's not complacency, sir, but common sense.'

'Even the best armies can be beaten,' asserted Mytens, 'and yours has been humbled on the battlefield more than once.'

'Gentlemen,' said Ketel, diving in quickly before the argument became more heated. 'Paris and The Hague are both wonderful cities. We are here to discuss how we can ensure their mutual well-being in every conceivable way.'

'I agree, Willem,' said Loti, 'and I apologise to my host if I appeared a trifle arrogant. It's a fault of my nation, alas, and none of us is entirely free from it.' His smile broadened. 'I'm sorry, sir.'

Mytens nodded. 'I accept your apology,' he said, 'and tender my own in return. This is an opportunity to bargain rather than bicker.'

'Bargain!' echoed Ketel, sucking his teeth. 'That word is music in my ears. You two are politicians and talk of compromise. I'm a merchant and therefore seasoned in haggling.'

'There's no need for haggling here, Willem,' said Loti. 'We have common needs and a common aim. All we have to discuss is how best to achieve that aim.'

'Johannes and I have already done that.'

'I and my fellow-politicians have been debating the issue since this war first started. It's not one that we sought, let's be clear about that. All that King Louis did was to confirm the right of his grandson, the Due d'Anjou, to inherit the Spanish throne.'

'It was viewed elsewhere, not unreasonably, with great alarm,' said Mytens, jowls wobbling. 'If France is allowed to annexe Spain, it would create an empire that would hold us all in thrall. Does King Louis never tire of conquest?'

'It's not his intention to conquer Spain,' replied Loti, calmly, 'but merely to supervise the rightful succession. Your fears of a vast and aggressive French empire are much exaggerated, Monsieur Mytens. What you seem to forget is that Louis XIV is an old man. In a few years' time, he'll be seventy. At his age, he has no appetite for a long and damaging war. He'd much rather live in peace and enjoy the splendours of Versailles.'

'In his position, I'd probably wish to do the same.'

'I'm sure that we all would,' said Ketel, worried that his two friends were not getting on as well as he'd imagined. 'What better life is there for a man than to inhabit paradise and be able to select his mistresses from among the greatest beauties of France?'

'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.'