Drums of War

Chapter Three

On 17 July, 1705, Marshal Overkirk led the Dutch forces towards the fortress of Namur at the southernmost tip of the Lines of Brabant. Allied engineers worked hard to build twenty pontoon bridges over the River Mehaigne so that the army could cross with its equipment. As soon as French scouts became aware of the operations, they sent urgent dispatches to Marshal Villeroi. He responded by marching a substantial part of his army — 40,000 soldiers, in all — to a position between Merdorp and Namur. The first part of Marlborough's plan had worked perfectly. He had read the French commander's mind like a book. Instead of being distracted by what he assumed was a deliberate feint in the north, Villeroi hastened to repel an apparent attack in the south. He had swallowed the bait dangled so temptingly before him.

Marlborough acted promptly. Gathering his army of British, German and Danish troops, he hurried them north through the night in the direction of Elixhem. The advance was led by General Ingoldsby and Count Noyelles with 38 squadrons and 20 battalions supported by 600 pioneers. The cavalry carried large trusses of hay to serve as makeshift fascines when they met ditches or rivulets. Wider streams compelled them to make diversions.

Many complained about the rigours of a forced march through heavy mist and persistent drizzle but Captain Daniel Rawson was not one of them. Riding as part of Marlborough's staff, he was aware of the genius behind his commander's strategy. A double bluff had been used. Because there had been a feint near Leau in the north, Villeroi had been tricked into believing that the real danger lay in the south and the whole Dutch corps — with the exception of Marshal Overkirk — had also been misled. When they crossed the Mehaigne, they thought that they truly were the main strike force against the French. In fact, they merely acted as a decoy and would soon receive orders to withdraw.

By dawn on 18 July, Marlborough had reached his destination, a section of the Lines where the topography greatly favoured the French and where it had been reinforced with a series of fortifications. Had the defences been properly manned, it would have been virtually impossible to breach them. As it happened, they were more or less deserted. Scrambling over them, the advance guard sent the picquets scurrying away like startled animals. Pioneers laboured strenuously to level some of the ramparts to the ground and it was not long before Marlborough could take his cavalry and a detachment of foot soldiers over them. They dealt swiftly with any resistance and overwhelmed the defenders along a three-mile front, killing them, taking them prisoner or forcing a retreat. The dreaded Lines of Brabant, deemed impassable by the Dutch, had been broken apart with comparative ease. Progress had so far been rapid and largely unimpeded. It was a good omen.

Daniel Rawson was riding beside the commander-in-chief.

'We've put them to flight, Your Grace,' he said.

'They'll be back when they've had time to regroup and call up their reserves,' warned Marlborough. 'We'll be up against a strong French and Bavarian counter-attack. I daresay they'll have some Spanish horse as well.' He allowed himself a smile. 'But it was satisfying to draw first blood.'

'Where will Marshal Villeroi be now?'

'My hope is that he's still in the vicinity of Namur, wondering what happened to the Dutch army threatening his stronghold. By the time he realises that they stole away in the night to support us, it will be too late for him to get here in time.'

'It was a cunning strategy, Your Grace.'

'We've yet to bring it to a conclusion.'

'Do you have any accurate details of their numbers?'

'No, Daniel, but my guess is that we'll have an advantage.'

'Good.'

'If and when Marshal Overkirk gets here, of course, we'll have markedly superior numbers but the fighting may be over by then.'

'As long as I can play my part in it,' said Daniel, eagerly. 'I've seen no action in the field since Blenheim.'

'You've not exactly been idle,' noted Marlborough.

'I know, Your Grace, and I always enjoy the assignments you've given me. Gathering intelligence behind enemy lines is an adventure but it will never compete with the exhilaration of combat.'

'Sound intelligence helps to win battles.'

'Not on its own. It has to be backed up by heavy artillery and well-trained soldiers. And those troops have to be carefully deployed. I've watched you do that so many times. You're a master tactician.'

'My skills come from long experience.'

'It takes more than experience, Your Grace,' argued Daniel. 'Marshal Tallard had just as much experience as you and yet he was trounced at Blenheim. What he lacked was your instinct for victory.'

'Thank you, Daniel.'

'That's why he's now a prisoner in England while you're free to continue the fight. One day, under your command, we'll bring this war to an end and give Europe a taste of peace for once. Yes,' he added with a grin, 'and, while we're about it, we'll kick the Due d'Anjou off the Spanish throne and give it to its rightful heir, Archduke Charles of Austria.' He raised a fist and recited the rallying cry of the Allies. 'No peace without Spain!'

Marlborough was practical. 'No peace without more battles.'

'Oh, yes — France is far from beaten yet.'

As they talked, their eyes were scanning the horizon ahead. It was Marlborough who first picked up the warning signal from one of his scouts. He turned to Daniel.

'When were you last involved in a cavalry charge?'

'Such opportunities don't exist in a foot regiment.'

'One may present itself very soon.'

'What makes you think that?' asked Daniel.

'Listen carefully.'

Marlborough knew that a counter-attack was at hand. It was only a matter of time before it took place. Minutes later, there was a distant rumble that built steadily until it became a roll of thunder. Bavarian cavalry then rode into sight, their black helmets and cuirasses glinting. Seeing themselves outnumbered, the enemy generals decided on an immediate attack. A charge was signalled. Marlborough took up the challenge at once. The order was given, the drums started to beat and the red-coated British cavalry kicked their horses into action. Battle was joined.

Daniel made sure that he was involved in it. Drawing his sword, he rode with the cavalry and felt the familiar surge of excitement. It never palled. He had first experienced the thrill when he was only a youth, fighting for King William III in the Dutch army. Now that he was in a British regiment, holding the rank of captain, the thrill was somehow intensified. Many soldiers were driven by a crude lust for blood. Others had enlisted out of blind patriotism. It was different for Daniel Rawson. He fought with a sense of mission and a kind of jubilation. War was his element.

The Allied force comprised 16 squadrons of British cavalry as well as the Hanoverian and Hessian horsemen of the advance guard. At their back were the infantry, drawn up in two lines near Elixhem, more troops arriving every minute. Facing them were 33 squadrons of French, Bavarian and Spanish horse with 11 battalions of foot. Though they had some triple-barrelled cannon at their disposal, there was little opportunity to use it. The battle was essentially a cavalry engagement with no quarter given. Both sides flung themselves at each other with determination, blood racing and sabres flashing.

In the first brush, Marlborough led the charge himself and Daniel rode alongside him. The first Bavarian line was routed, the Scots Greys going on to capture several cannon. When a second line of enemy cavalry approached, there was a renewed charge by the Allies with Marlborough once again leading by example. He and Daniel were everywhere, controlling their mounts with one hand while they hacked and thrust away with their swords. The earth was soon stained with gore and strewn with bodies. The frantic neighing of wounded horses added to the general cacophony. Because there was no large tract of open ground, most of the fighting took place along the narrow sunken lanes in the area. Daniel was embroiled in a series of individual duels. As one Bavarian fell from his saddle, another replaced him and Daniel had to hack him to death before taking on a third adversary. He was indefatigable. The weariness of the long march through the night was replaced by a frenetic energy.

Marlborough, too, was fighting with great vigour, scorning danger and inspiring his men. He almost paid the penalty for his audacity. Singling him out, a Bavarian trooper came at him and swung his sabre with murderous force. Had it made contact, the Allied army would have been mourning its commander-in-chief. As it was, the trooper put so much effort into his swing that, when his weapon missed its target, he lost his balance and fell to the ground. Cursing his misfortune, he quickly hauled himself up and tried to strike at Marlborough again but Daniel Rawson was now in his way. Parrying the sabre, Daniel kicked the man hard under the chin and sent him somersaulting backwards. Then he dismounted long enough to thrust his sword right through the man's heart, impaling him briefly on the ground. Back in the saddle, Daniel rejoined the ferocious melee with enthusiasm.

Though his men fought valiantly, Count Caraman, one of the enemy commanders, could see that there was no hope of victory. His second cavalry charge had failed and Allied infantry were arriving to swell the numbers against him. They were being demolished. A retreat was sounded. Daniel was able to knock one more Bavarian from his horse before the beaten cavalry turned tail. No signal was given for pursuit. The Allied army was left to savour its triumph. Marlborough was cheered to the echo by officers and troopers alike because they appreciated the significance of what he had done in crossing the Lines of Brabant at one of its strongest points. The defences were no longer an indestructible barrier. By skilful strategy, they had finally been smashed wide open.

The spoils of victory were heartening. French losses of almost 3000 dwarfed the number of Allied casualties. Many prisoners were taken, including the wounded French general, the Marquis dAlegre, along with cannon, colours, standards and kettledrums. Marlborough did not let his men rest. He ordered them to raze the barricades to the ground so that the French could never again hide behind them in complete safety and taunt him. The battle of Blenheim had shattered the myth of French invincibility. During the engagement at Elixhem, another telling blow had been inflicted on Louis XIV's army.

Daniel was always ready to give credit to an enemy. Their cavalry might have been chased from the field but the Bavarian infantry was not. Abandoned by their horse, the battalions withdrew by forming themselves into a hollow square. Even though they were surrounded by Allied horse and dragoons, they marched steadily on, maintaining their shape and sweeping the squadrons out of their way as they did so. Having fought exclusively in foot regiments throughout his career, Daniel was full of admiration for the discipline shown by the Bavarians. Not for the first time, he saw that well-drilled infantry could be a match for horse.

When he rode back to join Marlborough, he arrived in time to witness an argument. General Slangenberg had galloped ahead of the labouring Dutch columns to take part in the battle. He was aggrieved that it was all over and that Marlborough had not pressed home his advantage by harrying the enemy.

'We must pursue them,' he urged. 'This is nothing if we lie here.'

'I disagree, General,' said Marlborough, urbanely. 'In breaching the Lines, we've made a powerful statement this morning. It will make King Louis a very frightened man.'

'We achieve a greater victory if we deprive him of more soldiers.'

'My men are exhausted. They marched through the night.'

'So did we,' said Slangenberg, resentfully. 'Why was I not told that we were simply a decoy? We spent all that effort crossing the Mehaigne, only to be recalled by your orders. It was maddening.'

'The strategy worked, General,' said Marlborough. 'Surely that deserves congratulation even from you.'

'I congratulate nobody who gives up when the job is half- done.'

Slangenberg added some unflattering comments in Dutch and was amazed when Daniel answered him back in his native language.

'Pursuing the enemy is too dangerous,' he said, 'because we have no idea how close Marshal Villeroi is with his main army.'

The general blinked in annoyance. 'Who are you?'

'Captain Daniel Rawson, attached to His Grace's staff.'

'And working as his interpreter, I see.'

'Do you think you could speak in English?' said Marlborough, understanding nothing of the exchange.

'I'm sorry,' said Daniel. 'I was just explaining that Marshal Villeroi will have marched north as soon as he realised that he'd been duped. It would be folly to confront him when our men are so weary.'

'Captain Rawson is right. That's my view exactly and I suspect that it will accord with Marshal Overkirk's opinion. A long march over difficult terrain will not have whetted his appetite for pursuit of the enemy. We've achieved our objective, General, and must be satisfied with that.'

Slangenberg fumed for a few moments then swore in Dutch.

Daniel caught Marlborough's eye. 'I don't think I need to translate that, Your Grace,' he said. 'Do I?'

Having burst through the French defences, Marlborough steadily consolidated his position. Within a few days of the victory at Elixhem, the Allies had control of almost fifty miles of the Lines, including the towns of Aerschot, Diest and Leau. The success helped to atone for the disappointments in the Moselle valley. During a lull in activities, Daniel Rawson found time to return to his regiment and seek out Henry Welbeck in his tent. The sergeant had just finished dressing down two errant soldiers who crept away with their tails between their legs. Daniel saw the look of shame and anguish on their faces.

'What was their crime, Henry?' he asked.

'They upset me.'

'I'll wager they don't do that again in a hurry. I've heard men say that they'd rather be flogged than feel the lash of your tongue.'

'They have to be kept in line, Dan,' said Welbeck. 'If they can't control themselves in camp, how can they control their muskets in the heat of battle? We both know that obedience is everything in the army. I'll brook no waywardness in my ranks.' He looked his friend up and down. 'So you've deigned to visit us at last, have you? I thought you'd deserted us and joined the cavalry.'

'Only for one engagement,' Daniel told him. 'I happened to be in the right place at the crucial moment. And I can tell you now that your criticism of His Grace the other day was very unjust. Whatever you may think, he doesn't expect the lower ranks to do all the work. He led the charge against the enemy and fought like a demon.'

'So I heard and I take my hat off to him.'

'At his age, most commanders have long retired.'

'It's only poor buggers like us who keep going into our dotage.'

'That's because we love army life so much,' teased Daniel, giving him a slap on the shoulder. 'Without it, we'd probably die of boredom.'

Welbeck grimaced. 'War has its own kind of boredom, Dan. What can be more boring then trudging all night long then being denied a chance to fight? At least, you managed to see some action. All that we could do was to wait and watch.'

'That was probably a relief to young Tom.'

'Who?'

'Tom Hillier, that nephew you choose to ignore. He didn't get a baptism of fire in his first battle, after all. That will steady his nerves.'

'The lad will have to get by on his own.'

'You might show some sort of interest in him.'

'I will, Dan,' said Welbeck, coolly. 'I'll check every few weeks to see if the young fool is still alive.'

'I'm glad you're not my uncle.'

Before Welbeck could give a tart reply, they were interrupted by the arrival of Major Simon Cracknell. Slim, straight-backed and of medium height, he cut a fine figure in his impeccably tailored uniform. His boots had an almost pristine glow to them. When he stepped out from between some tents to confront them, neither man was pleased to see him. Welbeck thought the major supercilious and overbearing while Daniel found him difficult to like. Cracknell was a highly efficient officer but he and Daniel would never be soulmates. While one hailed from a wealthy family and had been able to buy his commission the other had worked his way up slowly from the ranks. It annoyed Cracknell that Daniel was a favourite of Marlborough's and had now joined his staff. Though he treated the captain with surface politeness, he was seething with jealousy inside.

'What are you doing here, Captain Rawson?' he said, archly. 'I thought you'd moved on to higher things.'

'I do whatever I'm called upon to do, Major,' replied Daniel

'Then why aren't you doing it at this moment?'

'I took the opportunity to call on a friend.'

'There's no such thing as friendship between a captain and a mere sergeant. Fraternise with the ranks and you lose their respect.'

'Captain Rawson will never lose my respect, sir,' said Welbeck.

Cracknell was curt. 'Your opinion is irrelevant here,' he said 'I don't remember inviting it and I'll certainly pay no heed to it In any case, Sergeant, you should reserve your respect for officers who remain with their regiment. Now that the captain has seen fit to leave us, he has no real function here.'

'His Grace gave me express permission to come, Major'

'Really?' Cracknell lifted a patronising eyebrow. 'Given the way that you're indulged, I'm surprised that His Grace could spare you.'

Daniel bit back a reply. There had been unresolved tension between the two men since they had first met and he could do little to alleviate it. Though he admired Cracknell as a soldier he loathed him as a man, finding his manner offensive and disapproving strongly of the way he treated those beneath him All of the other officers in the regiment accepted that Daniel had unique qualities that gained him preferential treatment from their commander-in-chief. Major Cracknell was the sole exception. A mocking note came into his voice.

'What does it feel like to be the Chosen One?'

'I think you exaggerate my importance, Major,' said Daniel.

'Captain Rawson was promoted for one simple reason,' said Welbeck, bluntly. "The Duke knows the difference between a good officer and a bad one.'

Cracknell bristled. 'Hold your tongue, Sergeant!'

'Yes, Major.'

'You're not part of this conversation.'

'No, Major.'

'You see what happens when you befriend someone from the ranks?' said Cracknell to Daniel. 'They get above themselves.'

'I've never found that in Sergeant Welbeck's case,' said Daniel. 'He's been in the army long enough to learn respect for the chain of command. How many years has it been now?'

'Twenty-five, sir,' answered Welbeck. 'My former regiment was disbanded and I joined this one when it was first raised in 1689.'

'There you are, Major — a quarter of a century of sterling service.'

'I'm not interested in him', said Cracknell, dismissively. 'In fact, I'd prefer it if he went away so that we can talk in private.'

'I'll speak to you later, Henry,' said Daniel.

'Yes, Captain,' returned Welbeck.

After giving them a nod of farewell, he withdrew into his tent. Glad to have got rid of the sergeant, Cracknell was able to turn all his attention on Daniel. He gave a condescending smile.

'Well,' he said, 'what news from on high, Captain Rawson?'

'The chaplain is the best person to tell you that, Major,' replied Daniel, mischievously. 'He can speak directly to God.'

'We can do without drollery. I was referring to His Grace, as you well know. What are his intentions?'

'You'll have to wait until he confides them in you.'

'But you have his ear. You must know what's in the wind.'

'I have no part in any decisions that may be made,' said Daniel. 'When orders are issued, you'll hear them as soon as I do.'

'You must have some notion of what's afoot.'

'We continue to secure our position, that's all I can tell you.'

'Surely we'll try to make further advances.'

'His Grace is never one to rest on his laurels.'

'What have you heard?' demanded Cracknell. 'What's the gossip among his coterie? Where will we move next?'

'Your guess is as good as mine, Major.'

'I think you're deliberately hiding the truth from me.'

'In all honesty,' said Daniel, 'I'm not. Being part of His Grace's staff does not entitle me to privileged information. As far as I know, immediate plans have not yet been agreed. Were we able to make a decisive move, I'm sure that we'd have done so by now but it seems as if the Dutch are delaying us once again.'

'The Dutch!' snarled Cracknell, curling a lip in disgust. 'What appalling allies they make! That beast, Slangenberg, is the worst of them. Had it not been for him and his ilk, we could have broken through the Lines two years ago. They've held us back at every turn. I hate their generals and I despise the whole rotten nation. The Dutch are nothing but a crew of flat-faced, addle- headed, pusillanimous old women. It pains me to fight alongside such cowards.'

'My mother was Dutch,' said Daniel, calmly.

'I was forgetting that. It explains everything.'

'About what, may I ask?'

'About you, Captain Rawson,' said Cracknell, nastily. 'It accounts for the flaws in your character. They're far too many to name. Your father, I know, was English but it's the Dutch influence that's uppermost in you* It's made you slow, shifty and unreliable. Worst of all, it's given you the stubbornness of a mule.'

Daniel smiled. 'I regard that as a compliment, Major.'

'Then it's the only one you'll ever get from me.'

Annoyed that he was unable to provoke Daniel, the major glared at him for a moment then stalked off. Henry Welbeck came out of his tent to rejoin his friend. He had heard every word through the canvas. He looked at the departing figure of Simon Cracknell then spat on the ground before speaking.

'Who's going to kill that bastard, Dan — you or me?'