Drums of War

Chapter Five

Tom Hillier had learnt his trade quickly. He had mastered the drum calls and could march in step with the others. Since he'd begun to stand up for himself, life in the army was much less of an ordeal. He no longer had cruel jokes played on him every day and had started to feel accepted. Even though hostilities against the French had now been suspended, the drummers did not rest. Like everyone else in camp, they continued to go through their drills so that they would be ready in the event of a sudden call to action. Longing to be tested in battle, Hillier brought a youthful zest to his playing. Henry Welbeck watched him from the shelter of some trees as his nephew marched up and down with the other drummers. The sergeant was startled when a firm hand fell on his shoulder.

'I've caught you, Henry,' said Daniel Rawson. 'In spite of what you pretended, I knew that you'd take an interest in the lad.'

'I just happened to be passing, Dan.'

'You never do anything by accident.'

'Very well,' confessed Welbeck. 'Perhaps I was curious to see how Tom was getting on. But that's all it was,' he added, wagging a finger. 'Curiosity.'

'And what have you discovered?'

'He seems to be faring quite well.'

'Things have settled down now,' explained Daniel. 'Ever since he had that fight with Hugh Dobbs, he's a different person.'

Welbeck was bemused. 'Who might Hugh Dobbs be?'

'He's one of the other drummers and he decided to make Tom's life a misery. You've seen the kind of japes that new recruits have to suffer. Dobbs even stole his drum and stuck it at the top of a tree.'

'How do you know all this?'

'I helped him to get the instrument down. I also advised him to give Dobbs a taste of his own medicine. What I suggested was putting a dead rat in his boot but Tom decided on something more drastic.'

'What did he do?' asked Welbeck with genuine interest.

'He challenged Dobbs to a fight and knocked him senseless. Tom may look spindly,' said Daniel, 'but, like me, he grew up on a farm. He's tough and wiry. Doing all those chores builds up your muscles. Also, of course, he comes from Welbeck stock. He's got your will to win, Henry.'

'How on earth did you get to hear about this fight, Dan?'

'He came and told me. It cost him a black eye but the other lad fared much worse. Dobbs won't bother him again.'

'I'm glad that Tom is finding his feet.'

'You might try talking to him yourself.'

'There's no need. I have no responsibility towards him.'

'But you do,' said Daniel. 'What really inspired him to join this regiment was that letter you wrote to your sister after the battle of Blenheim.' Welbeck flushed guiltily. 'I know your little secret, Henry. You do preserve family ties, after all.'

'I write a few lines once in a blue moon.'

'You're responsible for firing Tom's imagination and giving him the urge to be a soldier. The least you can do is to be a proper uncle to the lad. He's not asking for favours.'

'He'll get none,' said Welbeck.

'Stop treating him as a leper.'

'I've got far too much on my hands to bother about him.'

'Do you want him to go on thinking that his mother was right?' said Daniel. 'She told her son that you'd hate him simply because he was related to you. According to your sister, you never enjoyed being part of a family. It embarrassed you.'

'That's enough!' snapped Welbeck, interrupting him. 'I don't want to talk about my past. It doesn't exist anymore. As for Tom, I'll… watch him from a distance. It's all I'm prepared to do, Dan.' He took a last look at Hillier. 'In any case, I don't need to speak to him when I've got you to do that for me.'

'Oh, I won't be talking to him for a long time.'

'Why is that?'

'I'm leaving camp today. That's why I came looking for you. I wanted to bid farewell. His Grace has work for me.'

'What sort of work?'

'I've no idea,' said Daniel, shrugging. 'I'm on my way to find out.'

Seated at a table, the Duke of Marlborough finished the last of many letters he'd written that morning. He was alone in the tent with Adam Cardonnel. His secretary had been equally busy with correspondence. He sealed a letter then looked up.

'I wish that we had something of significance to report,' he said.

'Yes,' agreed Marlborough. 'It's been a fruitless campaign.'

'We did break through the Lines of Brabant.'

'Granted, but we were unable to build on that achievement. We had a chance to liberate the whole of the Spanish Netherlands and it disappeared into thin air. We both know why.'

'Our allies let us down, Your Grace. On the other hand, the retreat from the River Yssche did have one good result. You managed to get rid of General Slangenberg.'

'Not until he'd ruined the entire campaign,' said Marlborough, pulling a face. 'And while he may not be able to hinder us in the field again, he may well do so by other means — whispering in the ears of his friends in the States-General, for instance.'

'You still have their unreserved support,' said Cardonnel.

'But how long will it last, Adam? That's what worries me. War is hideously expensive. Like our own parliament, the States- General needs to feel that they're getting value for their money. That means we have to deliver a string of victories. We failed to do that this year.'

'The French failed equally, Your Grace.'

'King Louis will be well aware of that. We've reached a standstill. When the winter comes, I fancy he'll start to make peace overtures to the Dutch. He'll offer them all kinds of blandishments. He knows he can never tempt us.'

'The Dutch will surely hold firm and so will our other allies.'

'That's why we need to keep our relations with them in good repair, Adam. When we can no longer fight, we must turn diplomat.'

'It's a role in which you excel.'

The tent flap was pulled back and a guard stepped in.

'Captain Rawson is here, Your Grace,' he said.

'Show him in,' ordered Marlborough.

The guard retired and Daniel immediately entered the tent. After an exchange of greetings, he was offered a seat. He looked at the mound of correspondence on both tables.

'Have I been summoned to act as a messenger?' he asked.

'No, Daniel,' said Marlborough. 'We have a more important task for you. These letters are destined for our allies to warn them of my proposed visits. I have to go first to Dusseldorf to persuade the Elector Palatine to supply troops for service in Italy next year. Then we move on to Vienna so that I can meet the new, young Emperor Joseph. It seems that I'm to be invested with the Principality of Mindelheim.'

'It's a well-deserved honour, Your Grace,' said Cardonnel.

'It will entail pomp and ceremony and I never like that.'

'Will you be going to Berlin?' said Daniel.

'Of necessity,' replied Marlborough. 'We must keep Prussia on our side. I'll have to smooth King Frederick's ruffled feathers a little. I know how upset and angry he is at the behaviour of the Dutch and the Austrians. I share his feelings. When I've calmed him down, I hope to coax 8000 men out of him for the next Italian campaign. After that, we go to Hanover to meet Electress Sophia then on to The Hague.'

'It's a long journey, Your Grace.'

'Adam has calculated that we'll travel over 2000 miles.'

'Including the best part of a week sailing on the Danube,' said Cardonnel. 'We may find that tedious.'

'I'm sure that we will,' said Marlborough, picking up a sealed letter from the desk. 'You, Daniel, will have a much shorter journey to make but one that may be fraught with more danger.'

'Where am I to go?' asked Daniel.

'Paris.'

'You're sending me back again?'

'It's because you know the city so well that you are the ideal person for this assignment. I should warn you, however, that on this occasion, it will not be necessary for you to seduce the wife of a French general in order to gather intelligence. You did that last year and we profited greatly by the information you brought back.'

'Yes,' said Daniel, recalling his dalliance with Berenice Salignac. 'Unfortunately, the lady's husband took exception to my methods. He was bent on revenge and hired two men to murder me. When they took me prisoner instead, General Salignac tried to kill me in a duel.'

'You have a gift for survival,' noted Cardonnel.

'He'll need it,' said Marlborough. 'I foresee many hazards. What I wish you to do, Daniel, is to find someone for me and bring him back to The Hague. Since he's a Dutchman, you'll be able to speak to him in his own language. I just pray that he's still alive.'

'Who is the fellow, Your Grace?'

'Emanuel Janssen.'

Daniel was thunderstruck. 'Do you mean the tapestry- maker?'

'The very same,' confirmed Marlborough. 'He's a master of his craft. King Louis was so dazzled by his artistry that he commissioned a tapestry to hang in Versailles alongside all the Gobelins tapestries. That shows how highly he prizes Janssen's work. He was prepared to pay a high price for it.'

'Emanuel Janssen is a traitor,' said Daniel, coldly. 'He was bought by the enemy and turned his back on his country. Instead of sending me to Paris to bring him home, you should be asking me to slit his throat.'

'Janssen is a braver man than you take him for, Daniel. The first thing he did when he was approached in secret by the French was to inform us. He's a fierce patriot. No amount of money would have made him defect to the enemy.'

'Then why did he do so?'

'Because that's what I asked him to do,' said Marlborough. 'It was too good an opportunity to miss. Janssen was going to be working at Versailles where all the major decisions are made. He would have direct contact with King Louis. Being a tapestry- maker was the perfect disguise behind which to hide.'

Daniel was sobered. 'Are you telling me that he is a spy?'

'He is indeed, Daniel, and quite an efficient one. He lacked the charm to extract information in the way that you do but he kept his ears open and heard much that was of value to us.'

'Why do you want me to bring him back, Your Grace?'

'We fear that he may have been found out. At all events, he's vanished and nobody has any idea where he is. It's very worrying. Having talked him into accepting such a risky business, I feel it's our duty to go to his rescue — if, that is, we can find him.'

'Where was he last seen?'

'Here are all the details,' said Marlborough, handing him the letter. 'When you've committed them to memory, destroy this.'

'Start your search at his house,' advised Cardonnel.

'What if he's already been executed?'

'That's a strong possibility, alas.'

'The French have no affection for our spies,' said Daniel, 'even if they can weave magical tapestries. My guess is that Janssen is dead.'

'Then why have we not heard of his death?' asked Marlborough. 'They would surely have made an example of him and boasted to us that they'd uncovered our ruse. No, Daniel, we must suppose that Emanuel Janssen is still alive.'

'And if he's not, Your Grace?'

'Then you're to bring the others safely out of France.'

Daniel frowned. 'You made no mention of any others.'

'He has an assistant and a servant with him,' said Marlborough. 'But the person who wrote to tell us that he was missing was his daughter. You should enjoy meeting the young lady, Daniel,' he went on with a smile. 'I'm told she's very beautiful.'

Amalia Janssen's face was clouded with misery. She was short and slight with elfin features framed by fair hair that peeped out from beneath her bonnet. Anxiety had etched deep lines into her forehead and lack of sleep had painted dark patches beneath her eyes. She was standing in the front bedroom of their house. Beatrix, the servant, was a plump, plain-faced, nervous woman in her thirties. She was peering out of the window in such a way that she could not be seen from the street. The two women spoke in Dutch.

'Well?' said Amalia.

'I think he's still there.'

'Did you actually see him?'

'I'm not sure,' replied Beatrix. 'But I sense that he's out there.'

'He has been every other day this week. Today should be no different.' Amalia bunched her fists. 'Why is he watching the house? I feel as if I'm a prisoner here.'

'I'm worried about Kees. He's been gone a long time.'

'The market is some distance away.'

'He should have been back by now.'

'He'll have a heavy basket to slow him down.'

'Oh, I hope we don't lose him as well, Miss Amalia,' said Beatrix, turning to face her. 'It's bad enough that your father has gone astray.'

'He's not gone astray, Beatrix. He's been deliberately taken from us and the worst of it is that I have no idea why. You couldn't meet anyone as mild or harmless as Father. He wouldn't hurt a soul.'

'It looks as if somebody might have hurt him!'

'Don't say that,' scolded Amalia. 'We must never give up hope. Even in Paris, the name of Emanuel Janssen compels respect. His reputation has reached every corner of Europe.'

'That may be the trouble, Miss Amalia.'

'What do you mean?'

'Some people might be very jealous of him.'

'Who could be jealous of my father? He's the kindest man in the world. Even his rivals like him. He has no enemies.'

'We're Dutch,' said Beatrix, morosely, 'and Holland is at war with France. We're bound to have enemies.'

'Yet we've lived here for months without any mishap. This is a beautiful, big house and the streets around here are safe to walk in. When people knew what we were doing here, they gave us a welcome. Father is weaving a tapestry by royal appointment.'

'Does the King know that he's disappeared?'

'He must do, Beatrix.'

Amalia wrung her hands. In the time they'd been in Paris, they'd settled into a comfortable routine. While her father and Dopff, his assistant, worked at the loom, she and Beatrix looked after the house. Janssen visited Versailles occasionally to report on progress and to meet some of the other tapestry- makers employed there. Amalia had been thrilled when she had been invited to join her father at a royal garden party. She had never been to such a glittering event and had stared in awe at the ostentation on display. It was an overwhelming spectacle. French nobles and their wives brought a colour and vivacity that made Amsterdam seem dull and lifeless by comparison. When she saw Louis XIV in his finery, moving like a god around the exquisite gardens and acting as a cynosure, she understood why he was called the Sun King. The heady experience had remained a happy memory until now. Suddenly, a dark shadow had been cast over their whole stay in France.

'I thought it was wrong at the start,' grumbled Beatrix. 'We should never have come here. We belong in Amsterdam.'

'Father couldn't refuse such an offer, Beatrix.'

'We betrayed our country.'

'You mustn't think that,' said Amalia, earnestly 'because it's not what happened. Try to remember what my father told you. Art has no boundaries. French painters, musicians and tapestry- makers have worked in our country many times. Why shouldn't someone from Amsterdam work here?'

Beatrix said nothing. It was not her place to argue with her mistress, especially at a time when she was in such distress. It was her job to offer succour. Amalia had grown to like Paris and learn enough French to hold a conversation but their servant had always felt uneasy there. In view of what had now happened, Beatrix was even more perturbed. They were foreigners and being treated as such. She yearned for the security of their home in Amsterdam.

'Let me take a turn at the window,' said Amalia, changing places with her. 'Perhaps I can catch a glimpse of him.'

'I think he stays there all night, Miss Amalia — or someone does. I can feel their eyes watching me.'

Standing back from the shutters, Amalia looked down the street to the nearby corner. People walked to and fro, a horseman trotted by then a cart rumbled past. There was no sign of anyone keeping the house under surveillance. After keeping her vigil for ten minutes, she felt confident that the man was no longer there and she stepped forward to put her head out through the window. It was a grave mistake. The moment she showed herself, a burly figure came around the corner and looked directly up at her as if issuing a challenge. When their eyes met, Amelia felt sick. She had never seen anyone look at her with such malevolence before. His smile was so menacing that it made her flesh creep. She jumped quickly back into the room.

'What is it, Miss Amelia?' asked Beatrix, worriedly.

'He's there.'

'Are you sure?'

'See for yourself,' said Amalia.

Taking care not to get too close to the window, Beatrix gazed down into the street. It was completely empty now. She looked in both directions but saw nobody.

'There's not a soul in sight,' she said.

'He's hiding around the corner.'

'Was it the same man as usual?'

'Yes, Beatrix. He gave me such a fright.'

'Well, he's not there now,' said the servant. 'Wait!' she added as someone came around the corner. She relaxed at once and let out a laugh of relief. 'It's only Kees, back from the market.'

'You'd better go down and let him in.'

Beatrix went out of the room and clattered noisily down the oak staircase. Left alone, Amalia brooded. The brief confrontation with the man outside had shaken her. His eyes had been dark pools of evil. Even though Dopff was back, she didn't feel safe. What troubled her was the thought that the disappearance of her father and the presence of the sinister man outside were in some way linked. She was overcome by a sense of hopelessness. Something else gnawed away at her mind. It was the realisation that her father, who had always been so honest with her, had deceived her.

In the event of anything untoward occurring, he had told her, she was to send word to an address in another part of Paris. At the time, she believed he was referring to an accident that might befall him or a disease he might contract. Her father's words now took on a different construction. It was almost as if he knew that he might be in danger. Amalia had obeyed his command. On the day that he failed to return from Versailles, she had dispatched Dopff with a letter to the address she'd been given. Explaining that her father was now missing, she begged for assistance. Over a week later, she was still waiting. Amalia was in such anguish that she opened her mouth to let out a silent cry of despair.

'Will nobody come to help us?'

Daniel Rawson had crossed the French border with ease. Pacing his horse carefully, he had reached Reims by nightfall and took a room at an inn. Having shed his uniform, he was now posing as a French wine merchant on his way to Paris, and he was dressed accordingly. Some travellers staying at the inn were also heading for the capital so he joined them for safety. His perfect command of the language allowed him to pass for a Frenchman and his knowledge of wines was good enough for him to discuss the subject at length. His companions, a dozen in number, were a mixed bunch. Three were merchants, two were musicians, one was a farmer, two were bankers, each with their wives, and the remaining two were former soldiers, returning to Paris in search of work.

Though Daniel would have liked it to go faster, the convoy kept up a reasonable speed. He spoke to as many of the others as he could and was interested to hear their views of the war.

They came in sharp contradiction to the opinions held in the Allied camp. He was irritated when one of the soldiers held forth about the way that Marshal Villeroi had forced the enemy into a hasty retreat from the River Yssche but Daniel said nothing. To all intents and purposes, he was one of them. When they broke their journey at another inn, he enjoyed sharing a meal with the bankers and their wives, the only people travelling by coach. Bowing to what they believed was his expertise, they let him choose the wine. The men had a prosperous air and the women were excited because they were being taken to Paris by indulgent husbands to look at the latest fashions. The war had not impinged on their life at all. It might have been happening on another continent.

His room was small but serviceable and overlooked the stables. Daniel removed his coat and shoes but kept most of his clothing on in case he had to make a sudden departure. When he got into bed, he kept his saddlebags within easy reach. Unlike the bankers, who had drunk themselves close to oblivion, Daniel had been abstemious at the table so that he could keep his mind clear. Even though he had been accepted into the group, it was important to keep his defences up. One slip could prove fatal.

It was after midnight when he finally dozed off but Daniel was a light sleeper. As soon as he heard the faint creak of floorboards in the passageway outside his room, he was wide awake. He lay there under the sheets as the door slowly opened. It was too dark for him to see anyone but he heard movement across the floor. The next sound that reached his ears was a slight clink. Someone was trying to undo the strap on his saddlebags. Thinking that it was a thief, Daniel reached for the dagger he kept under the pillow. Then he got up quickly and opened the shutters so that moonlight flooded into the room. He threatened the intruder with his dagger, only to find that he was staring at the barrel of a pistol. It was one of the discharged soldiers.

'I thought so,' said the man with a grin. 'You fooled the others but I knew there was something odd about you. How many wine merchants go to bed without undressing? And how many keep a dagger handy?' He gestured with the gun. 'Put it down on the bed.' Daniel tossed the weapon aside. 'That's better.'

'What do you want?' asked Daniel.

'I want to know who you really are.'

'I've told you — my name is Marcel Daron.'

'Then you'll have papers to prove it,' said the soldier. 'That's why I wanted to see inside your saddlebags.'

'Go ahead,' said Daniel, confidently. 'I've nothing to hide.'

'I think you do.' He opened one of the leather pouches and put his hand in. He brought out a purse. 'Do you always travel with so much money, Monsieur Daron?'

'I'll have a lot of expenses in Paris. The documents you want are in the other pouch,' said Daniel. 'If you give me leave to light the candle, you'll be able to read them properly.'

The man gestured with the gun again and Daniel lit the candle on the little table beside the bed. As he did so, he glanced at the door.

'I wouldn't advise you to make a run for it,' warned the man. 'My friend is at the other end of the passage and he'll run you through with his sword if you try to escape.' He looked at the saddlebag. 'Now then, what do we have here?'

Undoing the strap on the other pouch, he felt inside until his hand closed on a wad of papers bound with ribbon. He fished them out but was unable to untie the ribbon with one hand. When he put his pistol aside, he was momentarily unarmed. Daniel was on him in a flash, kicking the gun out of reach and punching the man's head with both fists until he was thoroughly dazed. Before the soldier could recover, Daniel had snatched the pillow and held it down over his face so that he could not cry out for help. Struggling frantically, the man tried to throw him off but Daniel was too strong and determined. With his life at stake, he had no sympathy for his victim. Grabbing his dagger from the bed, he inserted it between his adversary's ribs and thrust it home. The soldier gave a muffled gurgle and went limp.

Daniel had his shoes and coat on in an instant. He put the money and the documents back in the saddlebags then retrieved the pistol from the floor. The next thing he did was to haul the soldier on to the bed and cover him with a sheet. After blowing out the candle, he climbed nimbly through the window and dropped to the ground. Ten minutes later, Marcel Daron was riding hard along the road to Paris.