Drums of War

Chapter Sixteen

'Greetings to you, stranger!' said Welbeck, sardonically. 'This regiment is the 24 ^th Foot. It's always a privilege to welcome a new officer.'

'There's no need for sarcasm, Henry.

'How do you come to know my name, sir?'

'It was a lucky guess,' said Daniel.

'Wonders never cease.'

'Stop this horseplay, will you?'

'Why?' said the sergeant, pretending to recognise him for the first time. 'I do believe it might be our long-lost Captain Rawson.'

'You know bloody well it is.'

'We thought we'd never see you again, sir.'

'I haven't been away that long,' said Daniel. 'In fact, it seems like no time at all since I saw that hideous visage of yours. What's been happening in my absence?'

'There's been nothing of consequence, Dan.'

'Something must have occurred.'

'You know what winter quarters are like. We get up, visit the latrines, eat, drill, eat again, go back to the latrines, drill again then moan about the fools who're supposed to lead us. Whenever I look at our officers,' said Welbeck, mordantly, 'I think that a lot of villages back in England must be missing their idiots.'

'It's good to know that you have such faith in us, Henry.'

'Present company excepted, of course.'

Daniel laughed. "Thank you.'

It was months since he'd seen his friend. For most of them, he'd not even been in the same country as Welbeck. While it was rewarding to be one of Marlborough's aides-de-camp, it did distance him from so many friends in the regiment. Simultaneously, it also set him apart from his few enemies. One of them popped into his mind.

'How has Major Cracknell been treating you?' he asked.

'He's been the soul of kindness, Dan.'

'I refuse to believe that.'

'I was joking,' said Welbeck. The major is a conceited, spiteful, self-serving cunt but you already know that.'

'I've said as much to his face,' recalled Daniel, 'though not in those precise words. He tried to hit me.'

'Really — when was this?'

'The day I left here. I offered to fight but he thought better of it. To be honest, I expected him to challenge me to a duel.'

'He's not that stupid, Dan. The major has seen you practising with a sabre. He knows you'd cut him to shreds.'

'It's no more than he deserves, Henry. Is he still harassing your nephew?' Welbeck nodded. 'What's he been up to now?'

'He's still looking for another excuse to have the lad flogged again. Since he can't find one, he keeps reprimanding Tom for trivial bloody offences that were never committed in the first place. It's upsetting to watch,' said Welbeck. 'Can't the army find the major something more useful to do than hounding a harmless drummer?'

'It's going to find him something very soon.'

'What's that?'

'Fighting a battle,' replied Daniel. "That's the one thing Major Cracknell can do with any distinction. When he's fulfilling his duties against the Frenchies, he won't have time to bother Tom Hillier.'

Welbeck was cynical. "There's no earthly hope of a battle with those cowardly bastards,' he said. "They'd much rather just look over the ramparts and wave at us.'

"That's where you're wrong, Henry. His Grace has every reason to believe that Marshal Villeroi is prepared to engage us this time.'

'It will never happen.'

'It will,' said Daniel. 'The marshal is as eager to bring this war to an end as we are. According to our latest reports, he has an army of 74 battalions and 128 squadrons. I don't think he'll keep a force of that size sitting on its hands. Marshal Villeroi has two very strong incentives,' he continued. 'The first is that he wishes — like everyone else in France — to avenge the defeat at Blenheim. That still rankles at Versailles.'

'So it should, Dan. We kicked their arses hard that day.'

"The second thing that drives him on is that conviction that he's a better commander than His Grace. He thinks he proved that last year at the River Yssche.'

'We were betrayed once again by the fucking Dutch!' said Welbeck, angrily. 'Villeroi was lucky. If we'd been allowed to attack, we'd have smashed his army to smithereens.'

'We may have a second chance to do that, Henry.'

'I won't believe it till I see it.'

'You've every right to be sceptical,' said Daniel. 'We've been in this position before and nothing happened. This time, however, I'm certain that it will. Prepare for battle, Henry. Marshal Villeroi simply wants to avenge Blenheim — we have a chance to repeat it!'

Corswaren was a little village that lay in a hollow beneath the whirring sails of its windmill. The Allied armies camped nearby. It was country they knew well from previous campaigns. At their back, less than twenty miles away, was the River Meuse, curving its way south. Ahead of them were the French lines. At 1 a.m. on 23 May, Marlborough sent off Brigadier-General Cadogan, one of his most trusted men, with an advance guard. Their orders were to reconnoitre the high ground between two rivers, the Mehaigne and the Little Gheete. Conditions were poor. After three days of pelting rain, there was a thick fog that night. Two hours after dispatching Cadogan, his quartermaster, Marlborough led the main body out of camp. Captain Daniel Rawson was with him.

The advance guard had ridden beyond the village of Merdorp when they encountered a French patrol. As soon as they heard distant firing, the patrol withdrew. Though there was full daylight now, mist was still swirling unpredictably around. Cadogan could see very little at first then something uncannily reminiscent of their experience at Blenheim occurred. The mist began to thin and lift. What he saw through his telescope was a wide sweep of open country with hardly any trees and hedges to impede movement. On a high ground some four miles off, he picked up clear signs of movement. Guessing that it was Villeroi's advance guard, Cadogan promptly sent a galloper to alert Marlborough. It was not until 10a. m that the brigadier- general and the commander-in-chief were able to survey the scene together. Marlborough was astonished at what he saw.

'It's just like Blenheim,' he said. 'It's a natural battlefield.'

He scrutinised it through his telescope. The vast expanse of land would allow huge numbers of soldiers to be aligned in rigid mass formation. It was a perfect arena for war. The rolling acres bore such a resemblance to the plain near Blenheim that Marlborough's spirits soared. As in all battles, his strategy was dictated by the nature of the terrain. Little discussion was required. It was obvious to him, his staff and the accompanying Allied officers that the engagement had to take place on the undulating plain between Taviers and Ramillies. All that remained was to deploy his cavalry and his troops. Three hours later, they were all in position. The battle of Ramillies was imminent.

'What are we waiting for?' asked Tom Hillier, holding his drum.

'Reinforcements,' said Hugh Dobbs. 'Some of our allies are late.'

'Where are they?'

'Shitting with fright behind a hedge, I expect. You can never trust foreigners, Tom. They always let you down.'

'Will there really be a battle this time?'

'That's what it looks like.'

'Who's going to win?'

'We are,' said Dobbs with a strained laugh.

He expected a comment from Hillier but his friend's attention had already wandered in a way that was wearisomely familiar. Since his flogging, Hillier had been withdrawn. Though he went through the drills with the other drummers and slept in the tent with his friends, he was no longer the fresh-faced, earnest young recruit. Eighty lashes had taken something out of him and replaced it with a brooding sadness. Instead of enjoying the company of the others, he was detached and melancholy. Nudging him in the ribs, Dobbs tried to bring him out of his dejection.

'This is what you joined the army for, Tom,' he said.

Hillier woke up. 'What's that?'

'You want to kick seven barrels of merde out of the Frenchies.'

'All we can do is to beat our drums.'

'Where would the rest of them be without us? We control the battle. It's the drum calls that tell the soldiers what to do.'

'It's not the same as holding a musket, Hugh.'

'Your time for doing that will come.'

'No, it won't,' said Hillier, flatly.

'I thought that was your ambition.'

'I don't have ambitions now.'

Once again Hillier's eyes glazed over as his mind drifted away. He was surrounded by thousands of men on the verge of battle yet he might have been somewhere entirely on his own. Dobbs had given up trying to understand his friend, still less hoping to talk him out of his prolonged misery. Even Hillier's uncle, Sergeant Welbeck, had failed to do that. The drummer was beyond help.

Dobbs didn't have to nudge his friend again. Someone rode up on a horse and turned the animal so that its flank knocked Hillier sideways, making him struggle to retain his balance. Looking down from the saddle was Major Cracknell.

'Watch where you're going, you numbskull,' he barked.

'I'm sorry, Major,' said Hillier, dully.

'I hope you keep your eyes open when battle commences.'

'Yes, Major.'

'You have a job to do.'

'Yes, Major.'

'Only time will tell if you've the stomach for a fight. I doubt very much if you have. It's always the same with the dregs of humanity we have to endure in our ranks. They're all cowards.'

'Begging your pardon, Major,' said Dobbs, defensively, 'but that's unfair on Tom. I know how brave he can be.'

'I don't see any bravery in dropping his breeches for a whore,' said Cracknell. 'Bravery is what a man shows in battle.' 'Yes, Major.'

'Did you hear that, Hillier?'

There was a long, considered pause. 'Yes, Major,' he said.

Daniel had never admired the Duke of Marlborough as much. He'd fought under his command in major battles before but had never been near him during the action. As part of his staff, he now had the privilege of watching him at close quarters. The person beside him was very different to the suave, urbane, congenial diplomat who was at ease in the courts of Europe. What he saw now was John Churchill, Duke of Marlborough, a soldier to his fingertips, bold, calm, decisive, vigilant, unflustered and bristling with energy, a supreme commander at the height of his powers. Despair and disappointment were behind him now. Marlborough had a golden opportunity for glory.

His army had been drawn up in standard battle formation. British battalions and squadrons were positioned in a double line near the Jeuche stream, their scarlet uniforms resplendent in the sun. The bulk of the Allied infantry — some 30,000 or more — occupied the centre ground opposite Offus and Ramillies. On their left were 69 squadrons of Dutch and Danish horse under the command of General Overkirk. Battalions of Dutch Guards were stationed on the extreme left. Daniel had noted the meticulous care with which Marlborough had sited his artillery. In all, he had 100 cannon and 20 howitzers at his disposal. A battery of 24-pounders was gathered in a cluster facing Ramillies. Other batteries overlooked the Gheete and a couple of pieces were attached to the Dutch Guards on the far left. On a battlefield as wide as this, artillery could never dictate the outcome because whole areas were beyond its reach. Marlborough had put his guns where they could do most damage and offer most protection to the cavalry and infantry.

Against this array of Allied power, Villeroi had marshalled his men along a concave line. On his extreme right were five battalions in Taviers and Franquenee. The main right wing of the Franco-Bavarian army consisted of 82 squadrons, interlined with brigades of infantry, facing the open plain. In the centre were 20 battalions and a dozen of the lethal triple-barrelled cannon were placed around Ramillies with additional foot in the rear. Overlooking the Little Gheete further north were more battalions and guns. As a final part of his deployment, Villeroi had put 50 squadrons of horse around the village of Autre- Eglise which, with Offus, was intended to anchor the left flank. There was one serious oversight. Because he deemed the marshes around the rivers impassable, the French commander had sent no troops to defend them.

Daniel was tingling with anticipatory delight as he scanned the battlefield. He felt certain that a momentous victory could be achieved. Of the two armies, neither had a marked numerical advantage but he knew that the Allied artillery was far superior. Marlborough had deployed his men in a more compact formation. While Daniel had been impressed by this, he didn't underestimate the enemy. Marshal Villeroi was an experienced and able commander, determined not to repeat the mistakes made by Marshal Tallard at Blenheim. His army was strongly posted but, as Daniel was quick to observe, in deciding to stand on the defensive, he'd surrendered the initiative. It was left to Marlborough to make the opening moves.

Early in the afternoon, the guns fired and the battle began. The extremities of the Allied line were called into play first. Attacking in the south, the Dutch Guards used their two cannon to smash a way through houses and walls. Within a couple of hours, they'd overrun both Taviers and Franquenee. Alarmed by this development, Villeroi launched a counter-attack, sending squadrons of dragoons and battalions of Swiss troops, supported by a Bavarian brigade. It was a calamitous exercise. When the dragoons dismounted among the marshes, they were at the mercy of an advancing Danish cavalry that swept quickly through them. The Swiss took to their heels in panic and most of the Bavarians joined in the retreat. There was now a serious threat to the French on their right wing.

Meanwhile, Marlborough was also probing on the other flank. Under the command of General Lord Orkney, a redoubtable Scot, the massed British battalions were dispatched in the direction of Offus, near which the enemy command post had been set up. Villeroi's judgement had failed him. Having believed the marshes on that flank to be impassable, he now watched with growing consternation as waves of British soldiers trudged through them over fascines. Every time the smoke of gunfire cleared, the lines could be seen getting ever closer, marching to the beat of the drums. With each new burst of cannon or musketry fire from the French, scores of redcoats toppled to the ground with fatal wounds or gruesome injuries. They were immediately used as stepping stones through the quagmire, dead bodies or stray limbs being gathered up indiscriminately and pressed into service as auxiliary fascines. French gunfire was unrelenting but the battalions kept surging on and the drums never faltered. Tom Hillier, Hugh Dobbs and the others kept their nerve in the hail of musket balls and maintained their line. In spite of the pounding it took, the advance continued with a sense of inevitability, climbing the slope to the ridgeline until it passed the outlying farms. It reached the very walls of Offus and Autre-Eglise, dispersing the garrisons in each village and hunting them from building to building.

Observing it all from a vantage point, Daniel was thrilled by the apparent success of the thrust on the right. He was therefore amazed when Marlborough handed him a dispatch for Orkney.

'They must withdraw immediately,' said Marlborough.

Daniel gaped. 'Withdraw?' he said. 'When they clearly have the advantage?'

'Deliver my orders, Daniel.'

'At once, Your Grace.'

'And please don't question them again.'

'No, Your Grace.'

Daniel spurred his horse into a gallop down the slope. Though he preferred to be in the thick of the fighting, he was given a taste of its ferocity as he sped across the plain. Cannon were still booming and muskets still popping. Smoke was everywhere. Wounded horses neighed in agony as they threshed about on the ground. Despairing cries of dying soldiers swelled the pandemonium. When he rode up the slope towards the main action, Daniel had to evade mounds of corpses. Lord Orkney's troops were outnumbered yet they still continued to advance, engaging in fierce hand-to-hand fighting against French and Walloon infantry. Locating the commander amid the fray, Daniel handed him the dispatch and waited for him to read it.

Orkney was outraged. 'Pray, what's this?' he yelled. 'His Grace wishes us to retire across the Gheete? I've no mind to give ground while we're giving no quarter.'

'Those are your orders, my lord,' said Daniel.

'And damn vexatious orders they are! We're on the point of occupying Offus. We fought our way here through a blizzard of bullets and round shot. Are we to abandon what we've gained?'

'I'm sure the decision has great merit.'

Daniel left him fuming and galloped off in the opposite direction. On his way back, deafened by the noise of battle, he recognised another of Marlborough's ADCs riding towards the right flank and he wondered if the orders he'd just delivered had been countermanded. In fact, they were being reinforced. To make sure that his commands were obeyed, Marlborough sent no fewer than ten consecutive dispatches to Orkney. He even sent Cadogan, to make sure that the withdrawal was swift and orderly. The attack was called off. Angry, bewildered and feeling let down, Orkney retired with exemplary skill, sustaining losses in doing so but beating off any attempts by the French to pursue them. In obedience to Marlborough's orders, the battalions drew up on the other side of the Gheete, wholly at a loss to understand why their incisive strike had been suddenly halted.

Villeroi, meanwhile, was congratulating himself on having repulsed a dangerous attack but, as a result, he'd had to withdraw substantial forces from the centre of his line. Rather than send them back, he kept them on his left flank to counter the menace of the British battalions lined up beyond the Gheete. Marlborough's bluff had worked. Because Orkney's attack was clearly not a feint, Villeroi had unbalanced his dispositions. In strengthening the left flank, he'd seriously weakened the centre. Solid lines of infantry and cavalry had been drastically thinned down across two miles of open plain between Taviers and Ramillies.

From their position on high ground between the two villages, Marlborough had an excellent view of the entire battlefield. When Daniel realised what their commander-in-chief had done, he regretted his temerity in questioning the decision. It was a brilliant strategy.

Ramillies itself now came under attack. A dozen battalions under the command of General Schultz advanced against heavy resistance until they reached the village itself, forcing the garrison to look to its own defence rather than being able to offer support elsewhere. The grand attack on the French centre was led by General Overkirk with Allied cavalry supported by Dutch, German and Swiss infantry in the pay of the Dutch. They moved inexorably forward in four dense ranks along a line that extended from Ramillies to the Mehaigne. The real test was now coming.

Daniel was able to look down on four miles of unremitting warfare. Smoke billowed, cannon roared, cavalry charged, sabres clashed, foot soldiers traded fire, drummers beat out their calls and all the unstinting savagery of battle was released amid the tumult. Longing to be involved in it all, Daniel was forced to be an onlooker, trying to decide at which point the fighting was most intense and where the Allies were gaining the upper hand. Hurling themselves against the French centre, the Allied cavalry crashed easily through the first line of enemy horse. When they tried to penetrate even further, however, the infantry which interleaved Villeroi's cavalry responded with such a sustained volley that they were stopped in their tracks.

Of more significance was a counter-charge by the Maison du Roi, the French household cavalry, 13 squadrons in all. It was so swift, controlled and powerful that Overkirk's cavalry wilted before it. Patently, the Allied centre needed much more support. Marlborough supplied it in person.

Are you ready for action, Daniel?' he said, taking out his sabre.

'Yes, Your Grace.'

'Then let's not miss the fun.'

'I'm with you,' shouted Daniel above the hullabaloo.

With the rest of his staff at his heels, Marlborough led the way. Having already anticipated heavy resistance in the centre, he had withdrawn some of the squadrons from the right flank to act as reinforcements to Overkirk. Because of the undulations in the terrain, the additional horse had departed from Orkney's force without being seen by Villeroi. Thinking he was still threatened by a sizeable army on his left flank, he kept several battalions away from the centre where they would have been far more use. Once again, Villeroi had been tricked by Marlborough, leaving a sector of his line vulnerable.

The arrival of their commander-in-chief at the head of fresh squadrons rallied the troops and horse in the centre. In his long scarlet coat with the sky-blue sash of the Garter, he was recognised at once by his men. Unfortunately, in making himself so visible, he also became a target for the French. Rejoicing at the chance to kill the one man who could contrive their defeat, they tried to run him down. Before Marlborough went very far, his horse stumbled at a ditch and threw its rider, leaving him defenceless on the ground. The French cavalry tried to hack their way towards him. It was a critical moment and Daniel was acutely aware of it. To lose Marlborough would be to lose the presiding genius of the Allied army. Leaping from his horse in the middle of the melee, Daniel held its bridle and stirrup while Marlborough heaved himself up into the saddle.

There was more help at hand. Seeing their captain-general in difficulties, Major General Murray marched up rapidly with two Swiss battalions to cover his escape. Some of the pursuing French cavalry were unable to check their galloping horses and rode straight on to the gleaming bayonets of the Swiss infantry. Daniel was a grateful beneficiary While many of the horses were impaled, it was the riders who mostly felt the thrust of cold steel and writhed in agony on the ground. Loose horses were everywhere, neighing in fear, kicking out, bumping into each other and trying to escape the burning cauldron of battle. Seizing a passing bridle, Daniel steadied the prancing stallion enough to mount it. He was now able to wield his sabre to cut a swathe through the enemy. The action was hot and he revelled in it.

Everything turned on the cavalry engagement at the heart of the battle. The elite French squadrons held the early advantage. As the battle raged on, however, and as Marlborough fed more squadrons from the right flank into the action, the balance tilted in favour of the Allies. By late afternoon, when the plain was red with blood and littered with corpses, they had built up a superiority of eight to five. There was marked progress elsewhere as well. On the extreme left of Marlborough, the Danish cavalry beyond Taviers cut through the French anchoring force on the Mehaigne and swung north to threaten Villeroi's flank.

At 4 p.m. Marlborough deemed it the moment to order his final charge. Massing his cavalry, he sent them off at a trot to gain impetus as they went along. The Maison du Roi re-gathered and formed a line to meet them. Two large, proud, urgent, tiring, bloodstained, sweat-covered bands of horsemen charged forward with murderous intent. When they met once again, there was an ear-shattering clang of sabres as they tried to cut down each other like so much human timber. Neither side gave ground. In the mounting frenzy of battle, gaping wounds were opened up, eyes gouged out, hands and arms severed, horses slashed to death and, in one case, a Dutch head cut clean from its shoulders. The French held the charge at first but the numbers told steadily against them. Bursting through the gaps in the enemy squadrons, the Allied cavalry was able to attack from the rear. The end was at last in sight.

Responding to orders, Orkney marched his men forward over the crest of a hill, deploying his forces in such a way as to give the appearance of a sizeable army. In fact, it had been seriously depleted but Villeroi was unaware of that. What preoccupied him was the threat of a second attack on his left flank. The French commander was so fearful of the phantom army beyond the marshes that he did not realise what was happening on his extreme right. The Danish cavalry had encircled the French flank from the south. At the same time, with an irresistible surge, the Allied infantry finally captured Ramillies and drove its garrison out. When the French line broke, its nerve broke with it. The panic-stricken cry of sauve qui peut swept through the whole army and entire brigades ran for their lives.

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

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

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

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

Later on, Daniel discussed it all with Henry Welbeck.

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

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

'He must have picked up a discarded musket.'

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

'Tell her the truth, Henry.'

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

'What of our own casualties?' wondered Cadogan.

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

'God be praised!'

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

'The situation is hopeless.'

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

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

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

'He's always surrounded by people.'

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

'It would never work, Johannes.'

'The Duke is only human.'

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

'And so shall I.'

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

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

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

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

'All the plaudits should go to His Grace.'

'Have you enjoyed being part of his staff?'

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

'That must have been very exciting.'

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

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

'Nothing would keep me away from you.'

'Good evening, Captain Rawson,' said Emanuel Janssen as he joined them. 'I had a feeling you'd try to monopolise my daughter. Not that I have any objection to that, mind you.'

'I'm glad to hear it,' said Daniel.

'I've just had a brief word with your commander-in-chief. He tells me that you distinguished yourself on the battlefield yet again.'

'I was only one of thousands.'

'You're always so modest,' said Amalia.

'Would you rather I told you that I'd won the battle single- handed and that I deserved — at the very least — an earldom for my services to Queen and country?'

They shared a laugh but it was the last thing they were able to do. A gong sounded and guests were directed to their seats. Daniel was on the top table, seated beside Marlborough. He was sorry that Amalia and her father were so far away from him. It was difficult to see them properly at the far end of the table. Simply having Amalia in the same room, however, had transformed the occasion. What he'd envisaged as a dull, formal event now took on the aura of a very special day in his life. The meal was excellent, the wine plentiful and the speeches interminable. Some were in English but those in Dutch required translation.

Toasts were even more plentiful than the speeches. A number of civic dignitaries felt it incumbent upon them to rise to their feet, glass in hand, and blurt out a toast. Daniel took particular interest in a member of the States-General who proposed a toast, noting that his name was Johannes Mytens. His interest sprang not from the fulsome remarks made by the man but from his dazzling companion. Mytens sat next to a handsome, poised, full-bodied woman in her twenties. At an assembly dominated by men, she had real presence. Dressed in the French fashion, she turned many heads in the course of the evening, Marlborough's included. She looked too young to be Mytens' wife and he would hardly parade a mistress at such a function. Daniel was certain that she wasn't his daughter. In appearance and manners, she stood out from the more restrained and staid Dutch women around her. At one point, she caught his eye and gave him a quizzical smile.

When the dinner was over, guests adjourned for drinks in an adjoining chamber. Daniel was desperate to speak to Amalia but at first he couldn't see her in the crowd. Only by standing on his toes did he finally pick her out. Before he could make his way to her, a hand grasped him firmly by the wrist. He turned to face the woman whom he'd noticed during the dinner. She was even more striking at close quarters and her perfume had a bewitching aroma. She spoke in French.

'Captain Rawson?' she asked with another quizzical smile.

'Yes,' he replied.

'I couldn't help noticing that you were acting as the Duke of Marlborough's interpreter this evening. I took the liberty of asking for your name.'

'I see.'

'I'm Helene du Vivier and I have a special reason to be grateful to the Duke. Thanks to his success against the Lines of Brabant last year, I recovered a sizeable estate commandeered by the French. Several hundreds of acres were involved as well as a fine mansion. I was able to move back into my own home again. I only wish that my dear husband — who was somewhat older than I — had still been alive to experience the joy of regaining what was ours. Until it was occupied by the French, the estate had been in his family for generations.'

'I'm glad that we were able to help you, Madame,' he said.

'Is there any way that I might be permitted to speak to the Duke?' she went on, talking now in passable English. 'As you can hear, I do have some knowledge of his language.' She squeezed his wrist. 'I would love to have the opportunity of thanking him in person. It would only take two minutes, if that. Would you be so kind as to introduce me to him, Captain Rawson?'

'I'd be happy to do so, Madame.'

'Thank you.'

Her voice was a soft purr and she momentarily stroked the back of his hand before releasing it. Daniel was stirred. Had he not met Amalia and come under her spell, he would certainly have tried to develop this new acquaintance. Helene du Vivier was patently a woman of the world. Though her husband had died, he decided, she was no grieving widow but someone leading an independent existence. She searched his eyes. In any other woman, he would have found it almost brazen. In her, however, it seemed teasingly sophisticated. Daniel was curious.

'May I ask how you come to be here?' he wondered.

'My uncle, Johannes, brought me,' she explained. 'He was one of the many people who proposed a toast. He's a member of the States-General.'

'That would be Johannes Mytens, then.'

'You know him?'

'I remember him introducing himself when he gave us the toast.'

'Then you have an excellent memory, Captain.'

'Some things are impossible to forget,' he said with a smile. 'If your uncle is here, why doesn't he take you to meet His Grace?'

'Uncle Johannes had to leave, I'm afraid,' she said. 'My aunt is not well and he was anxious to get back to her. This was an occasion he could not miss so I took Aunt Jenifer's place at his side. Her loss was my gain.'

People were already departing and the crush had thinned out considerably. Daniel could see Marlborough in a corner, talking to his brother and a couple of Dutch officers. It seemed like a convenient moment to interrupt him. He took Helene du Vivier across to the group and introduced her. When she began to tell Marlborough why she held him in such high esteem, Daniel slipped away. He didn't get very far. Amalia had come looking for him.

'I thought you'd sneaked off,' she said.

'I'd never do that without speaking to you first, Amalia.'

'That's what I hoped.'

'You've made a tedious event into a joyful one.'

She giggled at the compliment. 'Thank you, Daniel.' She glanced towards Helene du Vivier. 'I saw you talking to that lady.'

'I was talking to her but thinking of you.'

'Then you were the only man in the room doing so. All the others were staring at her — even Father. In fact, he was the one who recognised her eventually. I thought there was something familiar about her but I couldn't put her name to her face.'

Daniel was interested, 'You recognised Madame du Vivier?'

'That wasn't her name when we saw her in Paris.'

'What was it?'

'I can't remember and neither could Father. What was carved into our memory, however, was her performance. I'd never been to the theatre before,' she admitted, 'and had no idea what a wondrous place it could be. Most of their names have gone but I do recall that the playwright was a gentleman called Moliere.'

'Let me understand this, Amalia,' he said, wanting the facts confirmed. 'You went to the theatre in Paris and saw Helene du Vivier onstage?'

'Yes, Daniel — she's an actress.'

The startling news made him swing round to look at the woman. Marlborough was clearly enthralled by Helene du Vivier. Whatever she was saying, it made him smile graciously and nod enthusiastically. His companions were equally fascinated. Daniel wondered how many other women would, on first acquaintance, have the elegance and aplomb to hold the attention of such important military figures. They hung on every word and reacted to every gesture. She was giving another well-rehearsed performance. It was abruptly interrupted. A loud scream rang out on the other side of the room and there was general commotion. Everyone looked in the direction from which the sound had come. Daniel and Amalia were among them. Word quickly spread that someone had just fainted, causing a shocked woman nearby to scream. The tension slowly faded away.

Daniel looked back at Marlborough in time to see him placing a kiss on Helene du Vivier's hand before she withdrew. After a salvo of farewells, she flitted off into the crowd. Daniel was suspicious. His mind was racing. What was a Parisian actress doing at such a function? If she really was there with her uncle, why had she not left with him to return to a sick aunt? Or why had her Uncle Johannes not remained for the few minutes it would have taken her to meet the evening's honoured guest? The scream had been unusually piercing from someone who'd merely seen someone faint. A gasp of surprise would have been more likely and it would have been muffled by the hubbub. Daniel came swiftly to the conclusion that the scream was a way of diverting attention. He had no idea of the purpose of the distraction until he saw Marlborough raise his wine glass to his lips.

'Your Grace!' yelled Daniel, charging across to him to take him by the elbow. 'I crave a moment with you.'

'Need the request be quite so dramatic?' said Marlborough as he was led aside. 'Is there a problem?'

'I believe that there could be. May I have your glass, please?'

'You surely do not wish to drink my wine?'

'I want to make certain that nobody drinks it, Your Grace.' He took the glass and sniffed it. Daniel pulled a face at the sour smell. "This wine has been poisoned,' he said.

"That's absurd, Daniel. Who could possibly wish to poison it?'

'It was the lady to whom you were speaking.'

'What — Madame du Vivier? She was utterly charming.'

'Her charm was very practised, Your Grace,' said Daniel, 'and her name was not Helene du Vivier. She's an actress from Paris and I believe she was here to assassinate you.'

Johannes Mytens raised a glass of wine to offer a very different toast.

'Let's drink to the death of the Duke of Marlborough!'

The others were quick to join in the celebration. Willem Ketel sucked his teeth, Gaston Loti grinned in triumph and the woman who'd assumed the name of Helene du Vivier congratulated herself on one of her finest performances. In her private life, she was Loti's mistress and the two Dutchmen were very envious of him. The four of them were in Mytens' house, relishing what they believed would be a critical turning point in the war. Even though the Allied army had secured a resounding victory at the battle of Ramillies, the death of their commander-in-chief would sap their determination to continue fighting against the French. Peace negotiations would be inevitable.

'Our decision was wise,' said Loti, complacently. 'Cut off the head and the body lacks any direction. Remove the Duke, as we did this evening, and his army will collapse.'

'The person we have to thank,' said Mytens, 'is my beautiful niece, Helene du Vivier.' The men laughed and raised their glasses to her. 'You were so convincing that I really thought I was your uncle.'

'You were equally convincing,' she told him. 'It was rather amusing to hear you propose a toast to a long and happy life for the Duke when you were actually involved in a plot to kill him.'

'It was one of many nice touches, I feel. Inventing a sick aunt for you was another one. In fact, my wife is in rude health and staying with her sister in Utrecht.'

'I'm relieved to hear it. I was very concerned about her.'

'I know that you share our commitment to peace, my dear,' said Ketel, taking the chance to slip a sly hand around her waist, 'but what you did deserves rich reward.' He offered her a purse. 'This will show you how eternally grateful we are to you.'

'Thank you,' she said, taking the purse.

'When our countries are no longer at war, I'll make a point of visiting Paris in order to see you perform in the theatre.'

'There's been no greater stage than this,' put in Loti. 'How many other actresses have the opportunity to end a wasteful conflict and restore peace to Europe?'

'Someone should write a play about it,' said Mytens. The bell rang at the front door. "That will be the report for which we've been waiting — certain news that the Duke of Marlborough died in agony from poison. Pray, excuse me.'

Setting his glass aside, Mytens went off to greet the messenger in person. It was too important a task to delegate to a servant. When he reached the front door, he drew back the bolts and threw open the door with a flourish, expecting to see the man appointed to bring the glad tidings. Instead he was looking at the drawn sword of Daniel Rawson. Four soldiers were at Daniel's back.

'What's the meaning of this?' demanded Mytens.

'You are under arrest,' said Daniel, pushing past him to enter the house. He went into the parlour and saw the woman. 'I have sad news for you, Madame du Vivier,' he announced. 'His Grace, the Duke of Marlborough, is alive and in good health. The poison you slipped into his wine is being examined by an apothecary. His Grace never touched it.' He looked at the others. 'You are doubtless parties to this conspiracy so I have the pleasure of placing you all under arrest.'

'You mistake us, Captain Rawson,' said the woman, producing her most charming smile. 'We have no reason to wish the Duke dead.'

'In that case,' he said with an answering smile, 'we have no reason to execute you but your execution will nevertheless take place.' He brandished his sword. 'Seize them!'

Mytens was already being held by one of the soldiers. The other three each moved to arrest one of the conspirators. Ketel gibbered wildly as he was grabbed and the woman protested by trying to smack the soldier away. Loti had no intention of being taken. From inside his coat, he pulled out a pistol and cocked it.

The soldier trying to arrest him immediately moved away. The other soldiers also took a cautious step backwards. Only Daniel had the courage to approach him.

'There's no escape,' he told Loti. "The house is surrounded.'

Loti aimed the pistol at him. 'Put your sword aside,' he ordered. When Daniel obeyed, he found the gun jammed against his temple. 'Stand back, all of you,' Loti went on, 'or the captain will have his brains blown out.'

'Do as he says,' advised Daniel.

The soldiers released their captives at once. The woman immediately moved across to Loti's side. She was gloating.

'You don't look quite so pleased with yourself now, Captain Rawson,' she said. 'I should have poisoned your wine as well. Who came to suspect me?'

'I did,' replied Daniel, 'though I had significant help from a young lady named Amalia Janssen. She happened to be in Paris some months ago and saw you appearing in a play. Your performance was memorable, it seems. Because of that, the life of our commander-in-chief was indirectly saved.'

'This is no time for conversation,' said Loti, taking control. 'You are our means of getting out of here, Captain Rawson. As long as we have you at our mercy, nobody will dare to touch us.'

'What about us?' bleated Ketel. 'We can't stay here now.'

'Let us come with you,' said Mytens. 'We're in this together.'

'This gentleman is going nowhere,' said Daniel, turning to face Loti. 'I'm refusing to budge an inch.'

'Would you rather I pull this trigger?' Loti threatened, pressing the barrel against Daniel's forehead. 'Would you rather have your skull blown apart?'

Daniel was calm. 'Yes,' he replied, levelly. 'When you're a soldier, you expect to die at some stage. If my time has come, I'd much rather be dispatched with a merciful bullet than by a more agonising means. Pull the trigger if you must, sir,' he continued, 'but remember this. You can only kill me. As soon as you've done that, these soldiers will hack you to death with their swords. An empty pistol will be no defence against excruciating pain.'

Loti's eyelids fluttered and the corner of his mouth twitched. His confidence was seeping away. Daniel held his gaze defiantly. He could see the doubt, fear and hesitation in the Frenchman's eyes. While Loti was unsure what to do, the woman made a positive decision.

'Shoot him, Pierre!' she cried 'If we must die, take him with us.'

The brief distraction was timely. In urging Loti to shoot Daniel, she'd inadvertently rescued him. As the Frenchman looked at her, Daniel's hand came up in a flash and knocked the weapon aside, causing it to go off with a bang and fire its bullet harmlessly through a window. Before Loti could move, Daniel felled him with a punch to the chin and stood over him. The soldiers took hold of the other three prisoners. Having heard the gunshot and the noise of shattered glass, other soldiers rushed into the house. Daniel motioned two of them over to haul Loti to his feet. He then turned to the woman.

'You're a fine actress,' he said with unfeigned sincerity, 'and it was a privilege to watch you at work. I'll be interested to see what kind of performance you manage to give on the scaffold.'

The dinner in The Hague was only a short interruption to the more serious business of conquest. Though the battle of Ramillies had draped the Allies in glory, the French army had not surrendered. They were rapidly regrouping in order to return to the fight. There were still months of campaigning ahead. Marlborough was keen to get back to action. On the day after the dinner, therefore, he gathered his party together. Daniel was allowed only a limited time to bid farewell to Amalia Janssen.

'Where will you go next?' she said.

'We'll go wherever we can be of most use, Amalia.'

'You're of most use when you're beside the Duke. Had it not been for you, Daniel, he might now be lying in a coffin.'

'We must both share the credit for that,' he said. 'It was only when you identified that lady for me that I became suspicious. If you and your father had not attended the theatre in Paris, then we'd all be grieving His Grace's death. The worst part of it would be that those responsible would have got away with it.'

'They reckoned without Captain Daniel Rawson.'

'We were lucky this time, Amalia. I've no doubt whatsoever that there'll be other attempts to assassinate His Grace. The more success we achieve on the battlefield, the more danger he'll be in. We must heed the warning we had last night and protect him carefully.'

'I hope you'll remember to protect yourself as well.'

'I will, Amalia.' The sound of horses made him glance across at Marlborough and the others. 'It's time to go, alas. Seeing you again, if only for a fleeting moment, has been an absolute delight.'

'The feeling is mutual.'

'I've no idea when we shall meet again. When the campaign is over for this year, I'll be returning to England with His Grace.'

'Then that's where we shall have to see each other.'

'How can that be? You'll be with your father in Amsterdam.'

'Not for the whole winter,' she explained. 'The Duke is a true connoisseur. He was telling Father about this wonderful palace that's being built for him.'

'Blenheim Palace will take years to complete.'

'I know, Daniel. "We'll visit it when we're in England.'

'Why should you do that?'

'The Duke has kindly commissioned Father to weave a tapestry that celebrates the battle of Ramillies. It will hang in a place of honour at the palace. Father will need lots of advice, of course, from someone who actually took part in the battle.' She smiled gleefully. 'The Duke suggested that you might be the ideal person.'

Daniel was thrilled. Needing to leave with the others, he had no time to tell her how pleased he was. He simply enfolded Amalia in his arms and expressed his joy in a long, sweet, succulent kiss.