Fire and Sword

CHAPTER TEN

Amalia Janssen sat in the parlour and read through the letters in chronological order. It was the one sure antidote to her sadness. Whenever she pined for Daniel Rawson, she took out the correspondence he’d sent over the years and undid the pink ribbon around it. There were few letters and they contained very little about what he was doing and where he actually was at any given time. That didn’t concern her. Amalia understood the need for caution. In case the letters fell into the wrong hands, Daniel ensured that he gave away no information whatsoever of military value. The missives were therefore essentially personal. Short and hastily written, they brought immense comfort to her because they were steeped in so much affection. Daniel’s words made her feel that he was sitting there beside her.

When her father came into the room, he could see at a glance what she was doing. He placed a paternal kiss on her head.

‘Are you reading those letters again, Amalia?’ he said.

She put them in her lap. ‘Yes, Father.’

‘You must know every word by heart now.’

‘I like to see Daniel’s hand,’ she said. ‘His writing is so neat.’

‘Then it’s at variance with his character,’ opined Emanuel Janssen. ‘Captain Rawson is such a brave, adventurous man that you’d expect his calligraphy to be much larger and bolder.’ He sat down opposite her. ‘When did the last letter come?’

‘A fortnight ago — but it seems like a year.’

‘Time hangs heavy when a beloved is absent. Console yourself with the fact that it must be the same for him, Amalia.’

‘I doubt it,’ she said, resignedly. ‘Daniel has so many responsibilities that there’s not much time to think about me. I’m not complaining about that,’ she added. ‘I’d hate to be a distraction.’

‘My guess is that Captain Rawson needs a distraction now and then. He’s told us often enough that this war consists largely of watching and waiting until the French make up their minds what they’re going to do. No,’ he said, ‘I fancy that you’re in his thoughts very often.’

‘I hope so.’ She put the letters aside. ‘Have you finished work for the day?’

‘I had to, Amalia. I had that pain in my fingers again.’

She was alarmed. ‘You ought to consult the doctor.’

‘He’ll only tell me what’s becoming more and more obvious. I’m getting old. It’s as simple as that.’

‘How bad is the pain?’

‘I had a sharp twinge now and again, that’s all. I could have carried on but I felt that it was more sensible to hand over to Kees. His fingers are younger and more nimble than mine.’

‘But he doesn’t have your experience.’

‘That will come.’

‘How much work is left on the tapestry?’

‘A fortnight, at most, I’d say.’ He saw the concern etched in her face. ‘It’s nothing to worry about, Amalia. It just means that I won’t be able to work for such long periods. Hand-sewing requires such care and stamina. Eyes get tired. Fingers are bound to hurt.’

‘Yet you’ve never had pain in the past, Father.’

He smiled. ‘You mean that I’ve never told you about it before.’

‘Has this been happening for a long time?’ she asked, anxiously.

‘No, it hasn’t. At the end of a long day, my hands have often been sore but that’s to be expected. One must suffer for one’s art.’

‘I was thinking about the Duke of Marlborough’s tapestry.’

‘What about it?’

‘Well,’ she said, fretfully, ‘it would be a tragedy if your hands got so bad that you weren’t able to complete it. I mean, it will be such an honour for you to have your work hanging in Blenheim Palace.’

‘Have no fears,’ he assured her. ‘My fingers have lost nothing of their skill. They’re not about to drop off yet, Amalia. Work on the battle of Ramillies will start again as soon as we’ve finished this tapestry. It’s a much bigger project, of course, so I’ll have to take on more assistants. We’ll all work side by side on different looms. It may be a long time before it can go to England to take its rightful place at Blenheim Palace but at least it will be ready.’

Amalia was relieved. ‘I’m so pleased to hear that.’

‘I’ll be producing tapestries for years yet. One of them, I trust, will commemorate the Duke’s next triumph.’

‘Where will that be?’

‘I was counting on you to tell me that,’ he teased. ‘I hoped that Captain Rawson might have given us forewarning in his last letter.’

‘He never mentions things like that.’

‘One thing is certain, anyhow.’

‘What’s that, Father?’

‘Wherever the next battle does take place, we can be sure that the captain will be in the thick of it.’

‘Well done, Daniel,’ said Marlborough, cheerily. ‘It’s yet another feather in your cap.’

‘Thank you, Your Grace,’ replied Daniel, ‘but the person who deserves the praise is Sergeant Welbeck of the 24^th. It was he who first suspected the fellow.’

‘I’ll make a point of writing to thank him.’

It was no idle promise. Marlborough was always ready to give credit where it was due. Daniel was part of the entourage that was following him on his tour through the camp on a beautiful June day. Corporal John had fought under commanders who were aloof and detached. One or two of them had openly despised the ranks, viewing them as no more than cannon fodder. Marlborough, by contrast, respected the most humble members of his army and let them see him in person from time to time. The sight of their captain general, striding through the camp in his finery, was always uplifting.

‘Where’s this sutler now?’ asked Marlborough.

‘He’s still in custody, Your Grace.’

‘Has he been interrogated?’

‘Oh, yes,’ said Daniel with a grin. ‘Ralph Higgins was thoroughly examined. I invited Sergeant Welbeck to take part in the exercise. He has a rare talent for loosening a man’s tongue.’

‘What did you learn?’

‘For a start, we know the cipher that he’s been using.’

‘Excellent!’

And we’ve also identified his accomplice — a corporal in the Royal Scots Fusiliers. Higgins refused to give us the man’s name at first but Sergeant Welbeck eventually drew it out of him. What we don’t yet know is the name of the go-between.’

‘The go-between?’ echoed Marlborough.

‘There were three of them involved. Higgins gathered the intelligence and gave it to the corporal. He in turn passed it on to someone who delivered it to the enemy. Corporal Rennie proved to be a harder man to crack,’ said Daniel. ‘He admitted nothing.’

‘Couldn’t you get the name of this third man from Higgins?’

‘He swears that he doesn’t know it and I believe him.’

‘Keep interrogating him.’

‘We will, Your Grace.’

Marlborough broke off to exchange a few words with some officers he encountered. When he moved on, he waved to a group of privates who were unloading a wagon. Daniel noticed how pleased they were to be acknowledged. The tour continued.

‘You and Sergeant Welbeck are to be congratulated, Daniel,’ said Marlborough. ‘You caught this man red-handed, so to speak.’

‘It takes a spy to recognise a spy.’

‘Why did you suspect him?’

‘He tried to be too clever,’ recalled Daniel. ‘To convince us that he was genuine, he told us far more than he needed. I’ve learnt to keep explanations to a minimum. Higgins talked too much. The only way to be certain, of course, was to give him the chance to escape. That would be an obvious confession of guilt. So we prepared a little welcome for him.’

‘How long has he been with us?’

‘Since the start of the campaign, Your Grace.’

Marlborough pondered. ‘I suppose that a sutler would be in a position to hear all the gossip in the camp,’ he said at length. ‘Soldiers are off guard when they’re buying things from the back of a wagon.’

‘Don’t forget his sketches,’ said Daniel. ‘They were a means of wheedling himself into the company of officers. He’d flatter them by offering to paint their portraits then draw what information he could from them. He was an artist of no mean talent.’

‘He should have put it to better use.’

‘Higgins felt that it was put to good use, Your Grace. When he questioned him, he confessed that his father was English and had died when his son was just a boy. He was brought up by his mother, who was French by birth. That’s where his allegiances lay.’

‘Not any more,’ said Marlborough. ‘He’s finished.’

‘And so is Corporal Rennie. He comes from a proud regiment. They were appalled to discover that they had a traitor in their midst. However,’ Daniel said, ‘Higgins was the real danger. He was a spy. Rennie simply handed on reports to a courier.’

‘We must find out who that courier was.’

Marlborough paused again to pass a few remarks to a sergeant major. There was no sense of condescension. He talked to the man as if they were on an equal footing and the sergeant major appreciated that. After a few minutes, they were on the move again.

‘I’m surprised that I was not on Higgins’ list,’ said Marlborough.

‘What list is that?’

‘Well, the obvious way to get the most reliable intelligence was to try to inveigle me into providing it. To manage that, he’d have had to do a sketch of me.’

‘That would have been unnecessary,’ said Daniel.

‘Why?’

‘Every soldier in Europe would recognise you, Your Grace. It was different in my case. He was desperate for a portrait of me.’

‘You’re a handsome fellow, Daniel. Any artist would enjoy painting a picture of you.’

‘Higgins wouldn’t have done it for his own benefit,’ said Daniel. ‘I think the portrait had been commissioned. Somebody is very keen to know exactly what I look like.’

‘So this is the intrepid Captain Rawson, is it?’ said Vendome, studying the rough sketch. ‘He’s just as I imagined him to be.’

‘This note came as well,’ said the messenger, offering the paper. ‘It’s been deciphered.’

‘Thank you.’

Snatching it from him, Vendome read it. As he did so, his eyes bulged and his mouth fell open. He was patently startled. He looked at the sketch again with renewed interest. Before he could make any comment, however, the flap of the tent was held open by a guard so that the duc de Burgundy could sail in. Greeting the newcomer with a bow, the messenger scurried out. Burgundy took up a pose.

‘I’m glad that I find you standing up for once,’ he said.

‘I think best when seated on my chaise-percee,’ Vendome told him. ‘Contemplation helps the bowels to function.’

‘I’ll take your word for it, my lord Duke. As it happens, that’s not something I came here to discuss.’

‘Have you heard from Versailles?’

‘Word has just arrived from His Majesty.’

‘Go on,’ pressed Vendome. ‘What does he say?’

‘He concedes that there’s some degree of merit in your plan,’ said Burgundy, pursing his lips in distaste. ‘Grandfather can see the value of laying siege to Huy.’

‘I knew he would! He thinks like a soldier.’

‘I, however, remain opposed to the notion.’

‘That’s immaterial. The King’s word is final.’

‘I haven’t finished yet.’

‘Even though you were against it, I gave orders for preparations to be made for a siege. I felt certain that common sense would prevail in the end. You’ve been overruled by your grandfather.’

‘Not exactly,’ rejoined Burgundy. ‘I questioned the order and it’s been placed in abeyance.’

Vendome exploded. ‘Placed in abeyance?’

‘News has arrived of Prince Eugene. He’s gathering his forces at Coblenz. Until his purposes are definitely revealed, you must suspend preparations against Huy.’

‘But the plan has royal approval.’

‘It’s been withdrawn,’ said Burgundy, enjoying Vendome’s discomfiture. ‘In time, His Majesty will come to accept the wisdom of my strategy.’

‘We should move against Huy now,’ maintained Vendome.

‘Stand your men down.’

‘Will you consign us to another month of inactivity?’

‘We’re not inactive,’ replied Burgundy. ‘We gather intelligence, we anticipate the enemy’s movements, we respond accordingly. In the end, our superior tactics will be vindicated.’

‘What tactics? We have none worthy of the name!’

‘There’s no need for insults, my lord Duke.’

‘Huy is at our mercy,’ said Vendome with passion. ‘Seize that and we have control of that stretch of the River Meuse.’

‘And what if Eugene is coming north? We’d be squeezed between his army and that of Marlborough’s like a piece of cheese between two slices of bread.’ Burgundy was adamant. ‘Forget all thought of Huy.’

‘Marlborough may be a threat but what kind of army can Eugene raise? Not a very large one, in my estimation. Besides, we’ve no indication that he’s heading this way. All the signs are that he’ll stay in the Moselle Valley. It’s the kind of ruse Marlborough always employs in an attempt to divert us.’

Burgundy was unmoved. ‘We obey orders and stay here.’

‘The King has given us latitude to act.’

‘You heard me, my lord Duke.’

‘What I hear is a recipe for stagnation.’

‘We are merely keeping our powder dry.’

‘That amounts to the same thing,’ said Vendome, mordantly. ‘We should move swiftly while we still outnumber the Confederate forces and while Prince Eugene is still trying to muster an army. It’s the perfect way to catch them off guard.’

‘Your advice is — as always — welcome,’ said Burgundy, loftily. ‘On this occasion, however, I choose to ignore it.’

‘You always choose to ignore it!’

‘There’s no need to shout, my lord Duke.’

‘I apologise,’ said Vendome, struggling to regain his composure. ‘All I ask of you is that you give this matter serious thought and take my opinion into account.’

‘You’ve heard the decision — I take my leave of you.’

After a polite nod, Burgundy swept out of the tent with an imperious stride. Vendome stamped his foot hard on the ground and rid himself of a few imprecations. During the previous year, he’d been in supreme command and able to trust his own judgement. It was galling to be at the beck and call of someone he considered to be a novice in the field. He paced up and down like a caged lion in search of someone to maul. When the flap of his tent opened, he rounded on the man who put his head through.

‘Get out of here!’ he bellowed.

‘Yes, Your Grace,’ said Valeran, retreating immediately.

‘Is that you, Raoul?’ Vendome opened the tent flap to call him back. ‘Step inside. I didn’t realise it was you.’

‘I don’t wish to interrupt you.’

‘You’re not doing so. After what I’ve just been through, the sight of a friendly face is a godsend.’ When they were both inside, Vendome wrapped him in a warm embrace. ‘How are you?’

‘I’m very glad to be back at last.’

‘Have you brought good news with you?’

‘No, Your Grace,’ said the lieutenant. ‘The search continues but the raiders have yet to be found.’

‘Then the patrols must be doubled — trebled, if need be. These fiends must be caught. We came to liberate these people, not to murder them in cold blood.’ He sat down heavily. ‘Tell me what you discovered.’

Captain Valeran described the scene of devastation and told how he’d spoken to the four men who’d worked at the farm. Once the alarm had been raised on the night, they were among the first to get there. They were appalled by what they saw. One of the men had been due to marry the farmer’s daughter in the autumn. He arrived to find that his bride-tobe had been burnt beyond recognition.

Vendome listened to the recital with gathering fury.

‘Is there no evidence as to whom these devils were?’ he asked.

‘We know for certain that they were French soldiers.’

‘How?’

‘They were seen earlier in the day,’ said Valeran, ‘riding past a village about five miles to the west. An old man was repairing the scarecrow in his field. He noticed them because they took the trouble to come right around the village instead of riding straight through it.’

‘That sounds as if they didn’t want to be seen.’

‘They were spotted by the old man.’

‘How many of them were there, Raoul?’

‘Eight or nine, it seems.’

‘Were there no other witnesses?’

‘The patrols have not found any as yet, Your Grace.’

‘An old man with a scarecrow,’ said Vendome, dubiously. ‘I’d want more reliable testimony than he could provide. At his age, he’s probably half-blind.’

‘You do him an injustice,’ said Valeran.

‘Do I?’

‘In one way, we couldn’t have had a better witness. He may have lapsed into old age now but he wasn’t always a farmer. In his younger days, he saw service in the French army. That’s why it puzzled him.’

‘What did?’

‘Well,’ continued Valeran, ‘they passed so close to him that he was able to take a good look at them and he noticed something very strange. The uniforms they wore didn’t all come from the same regiment. Indeed, he had a strong feeling that one of the uniforms didn’t even belong in the cavalry.’

Matthew Searle tossed his coat onto the fire and used a sword to stir up the blaze. It was the last of the French uniforms to be consumed by the flames. The other men looked on. Hugh Davey had doubts.

‘Are you sure it’s a good idea to destroy them?’ he asked.

Searle was curt. ‘Yes, it is.’

‘But they might have come in useful, Matt.’

‘They brought us bad luck. Also, as long as we keep them, we put ourselves in danger. If a French patrol finds them here, we’ll have some awkward questions to face.’

‘This part of Flanders is held by the Allies,’ said Edwin Lock. ‘I should know. We helped to capture it.’

‘It’s ours at the moment, perhaps — that could soon change.’

‘What a pity!’ said Davey, staring into the flames. ‘I preferred that uniform. It was the only one that fitted me.’

There were six of them in all. Searle had allowed the other two members of the band to ride off to the town in search of carnal pleasure. When the first pair returned, it would be the turn of Lock and Davey. They were throbbing with anticipation. Searle saw the look of desperation in their eyes.

‘Remember what I said to the others,’ he warned. ‘You take your pleasure and come straight back here. If I have to come looking for you, I’ll cut your balls off and make you swallow them.’

‘We’ll come back, Matt,’ said Lock, slipping a protective hand to his groin. ‘I promise.’

‘But only when we’ve had our money’s worth,’ added Davey.

‘Tell them nothing,’ ordered Searle. ‘They don’t need to know your name or where you came from. A careless word from either of you and we’re done for. There’ll be patrols out looking for us by now.’

‘We won’t be there for conversation, Matt,’ said Davey with a sly grin. ‘We’ll have plenty of that on the way back when me and Edwin talk about what we got.’

Lock cackled. ‘I’m getting everything, Hugh!’ he boasted.

‘So am I.’

‘When is it your turn, Matt?’ asked Lock. ‘You didn’t even touch any of those women at the farmhouse. You must be feeling as ripe for fucking as any of us.’

‘I’ll wait till last,’ said Searle, ‘when I’ve made sure that you’ve all obeyed orders and come back. Don’t you dare try to run away on your own. Neither of you would last five minutes without me.’ He threw a meaningful glance at the mound of earth around the grave of Ianto Morgan. ‘If you do as you’re told, everything will be fine. Cross me and you’ll end up beside Ianto.’

‘At least Ianto had a proper burial,’ said Lock, morosely. ‘I know that because I dug the grave. That’s more than we can say for poor Gregory. He went up in flames.’

Searle was derisive. ‘Gregory Pyle was an idiot,’ he said. ‘If he couldn’t tell the difference between a man and a woman, he deserved to go up in smoke. Everything would have been so much easier if he’d killed the farmer instead of his wife.’

‘There’s only eight of us left now, Matt,’ said Davey. ‘We’ll have to choose smaller farms from now on with less people to kill.’

‘Leave all the decisions to me, Hugh.’

‘I always do.’

‘And so do I,’ said Lock, sycophantically.

‘Riders are coming!’ yelled the lookout on the hill.

The three men immediately grabbed their weapons and a fourth rushed out of the house with a musket. Hand over his eyes to shield them from the evening sun, the lookout peered into the distance.

‘How many are there, Will?’ asked Searle.

‘Two of them, I think,’ replied the lookout. ‘Yes, just the two of them — they’re clear of those trees now.’

‘Are they wearing uniforms?’

‘Yes, they both have redcoats. You can put your weapons away,’ he said with a laugh of relief. ‘It’s Luke and Peter, back from the town.’

‘Thank heavens for that!’ said Searle to himself.

‘That means it’s our turn!’ declared Lock.

‘Come on, Edwin,’ said Davey, slapping his thigh in delight. ‘Saddle up. We’re off to town.’

They watched her for days before deciding on their plan of action. Seizing her from the house would be difficult because it would involve subduing her father, his assistant and the various servants. Amalia Janssen would be a far easier target in the open. She was methodical. Every day she ventured out, either to visit the market or simply to stretch her legs. The same servant always accompanied her, a plump woman who waddled along the streets with a basket over her arm. At some point in their walk, they invariably stopped to look in the windows of some dress shops. They then made their way home down a series of lanes. An almost identical route was taken each day and — if the weather was fine — they ventured out at roughly the same time.

Following that same pattern would be Amalia’s downfall.

The day began with great excitement when a letter arrived from Daniel Rawson. It had come via The Hague. Marlborough was in regular contact with Heinsius so that the Grand Pensionary was kept well informed about the army’s movements and strategy and thus able to discuss them with the States-General. Daniel’s letter had been included with dispatches sent by Marlborough and forwarded to Amsterdam. Amalia was overjoyed. Though the letter was as brief as its predecessors, it made her glow for hours. It showed that Daniel was still thinking about her.

When she was ready to go out, Amalia didn’t want to be parted from her latest letter. Instead of joining the others inside the pink ribbon, therefore, it was tucked up her sleeve so that she could feel it against her skin. It was like a good luck charm. Beatrix was waiting for her with a large basket on her arm. They left the house together, unaware that someone was watching them from the opposite side of the street. As the two women went on their familiar route, the man followed them.

‘What do we need today?’ asked Amalia.

‘Cook has given me a list,’ replied Beatrix.

‘She usually forgets something.’

‘Then she can go out and buy it herself when we get back because I’m not making two trips to market in one day.’

‘I thought you liked to be out in the fresh air.’

‘Once a day is all the exercise I need, Miss Amalia,’ said Beatrix. ‘I have far too many jobs to be done in the house. I don’t want your father complaining.’

‘Father never complains,’ said Amalia.

‘That’s only because I never give him cause.’ They turned a corner and headed for the market. Beatrix had a knowing smile. ‘I think that someone had a letter this morning.’

‘How do you know that?’

‘I can always tell. You never stop grinning.’

Amalia laughed. ‘Oh dear!’ she exclaimed. ‘Do I give myself away so easily? I shall have to be more careful in the future.’

‘It’s wonderful to see you so happy, Miss Amalia.’

‘Thank you, Beatrix.’

‘And is Captain Rawson well?’

‘He’s very well indeed.’

The market was as busy and noisy as ever. When they plunged in among the stalls, the basket soon began to fill. Amalia paid for the items but left all the haggling to Beatrix, who examined all the food carefully before she agreed to buy it. Their last purchase was the bread, still warm from the oven and giving off a bewitching aroma. Once everything on the list was safely in the basket, they wended their way slowly home. Amalia made her obligatory stop outside the shop that displayed the dresses she coveted. She was transfixed for a long time and her companion was restless.

‘We must get back,’ said Beatrix.

‘Give me a few more minutes.’

‘This basket is heavy, Miss Amalia.’

‘Then put it down for a moment.’

Beatrix obeyed, folding her arms and hoping she’d not be kept waiting too long. In fact, Amalia’s vigil was promptly interrupted. A young man came round the corner from the lane and approached them at speed.

‘There you are,’ he said, breathlessly. ‘I was told I might find you here. Your father’s been taken ill, I’m afraid. I was sent to fetch you.’

Amalia was disconcerted. ‘What’s wrong with him?’

‘Come and see for yourself. The doctor’s been sent for.’

‘Wait a moment,’ said Beatrix, her instincts aroused. ‘Who exactly are you, sir?’

‘I’m a friend of Emanuel Janssen,’ said the man. ‘I was in the house when he had the seizure. Please hurry — I’ll explain everything on the way.’

Amalia was too worried to have any suspicions. She allowed herself to be guided around the corner. A coach was waiting in the lane. As soon as they drew level with it, the man opened the door and bundled her into the vehicle, jumping in beside her. Beatrix tried to protest but she was grabbed from behind by the man who’d been following them since they’d left the house. Spinning her round, he threw her violently to the ground then clambered into the coach. Beatrix was left face down on the pavement, hurt, dazed and surrounded by the contents of the upturned basket. The driver cracked his whip and the coach rolled swiftly down the lane. Amalia was inside it, being overpowered by two men so that she could be bound and gagged. She was terrified.

Daniel’s letter had not brought her luck, after all.