Fire and Sword

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

With every hour that passed, Emanuel Janssen became more anxious. Unable to sleep, he was so concerned about his daughter’s safety that he was also unable to work. All that he did during the day was to pace the house restlessly then dash to the front door whenever someone rang the bell. However, the good news for which he yearned never came. Beatrix was equally despondent and kept blaming herself for the abduction. She’d been Amalia’s chaperone at the time and felt that she’d let her down badly. Janssen had to reassure her constantly.

‘It was my fault,’ she wailed yet again.

‘Don’t think that for a moment,’ he said. ‘You were up against strong and determined men. You had no chance.’

‘I should have fought back.’

‘How could you when you’d been shoved to the ground?’

‘I failed.’

‘That’s nonsense!’

‘Wherever Miss Amalia is,’ said Beatrix, stricken by remorse, ‘she’s probably blaming me for letting her get kidnapped.’

‘Amalia would never do that. She’s more likely to be wondering how you are. According to your story, you let out such a scream when you were thrown to the ground that she must have heard it.’ He peered solicitously at her. ‘How are you now, Beatrix?’

‘The bruises still hurt.’

‘You were lucky that no bones were broken.’

‘Forget me,’ she said, bravely. ‘The only person we should both be thinking about now is Miss Amalia. Why did someone do that to her? I just can’t fathom it out.’

‘No more can I,’ admitted Janssen, running a nervous hand across his furrowed brow. ‘I keep returning to the notion that it must somehow be connected with me.’

‘Oh, I don’t believe that.’

‘The French must have been very angry when I slipped from their grasp in the Bastille. This could be a means of revenge.’

‘Then why wait so long to take it?’

‘Who knows?’

‘Besides,’ she went on, face puckered in concentration as she thought it through, ‘if they wanted revenge, why didn’t they kidnap you instead? I think there’s another reason, sir.’

‘I’ve been racking my brains trying to think what it is.’

‘So have I.’

They were in the voorhuis, the entrance hall to the Janssen house. While he was continually on the move, rubbing his hands and chewing his lip, she was standing in a corner, her face still bruised from the fall. Beatrix kept searching through her memory of the fateful day for a forgotten detail that might shed some light on the motives of the kidnappers. Because she could find no explanation, her fears became more and more extreme.

‘We’re not even sure that Miss Amalia is still alive,’ she said.

Janssen was firm. ‘Don’t say that, Beatrix. We have to believe that she’s alive. If they intended to kill her, then they’d have done so when they attacked the pair of you. No,’ he decided, fighting off a rising despair, ‘I won’t entertain the idea that my daughter is dead. Amalia is alive.’

‘But where is she?’

‘I wish I knew.’

‘My fear is that she may have been smuggled on board a ship and taken off to be sold into slavery. You hear tales of beautiful young women being handed over to Turks or Arabs so that they can…’

Her voice tailed off but her expressive face completed the sentence. Janssen refused to consider the possibility. Once he let such terrible thoughts into his mind, he’d be in torment. He was an intelligent and rational man. Having to calm his servant’s nerves helped him to keep his own demons at bay. Unlike the fretful Beatrix, he was no martyr to a vivid imagination.

She suddenly remembered the letter he’d sent.

‘Have you heard from the Duke of Marlborough?’ she asked.

‘Not yet, I’m afraid.’

‘Will he pass on your message to Captain Rawson?’

‘I’m sure of it, Beatrix.’

‘The captain will be as anxious as we are. He adores Miss Amalia.’ She gave an involuntary shiver. ‘He’ll probably think it was my fault that this happened.’

‘He’s far too sensible to do that.’

‘Then why do I feel so guilty?’

‘For the same reason that I feel guilty,’ he replied. ‘We both feel a duty of care to Amalia. Yet at the very time she needed us most, we weren’t able to save her. You’re not the only one to feel responsible. I lie awake at night, squirming with guilt. I keep telling myself that, as her father, I should have been there.’

‘Amsterdam is such a safe city as a rule,’ said Beatrix, dolefully. ‘When we walked the streets, we never sensed any danger.’

‘That’s why you and Amalia were caught off guard.’

‘Where on earth can she be?’

As if in answer to her plea, the bell rang and they both turned to the front door. Beatrix rushed to open it wide, only to meet with grave disappointment. Instead of word from Amalia, it was a delivery of wool and silk. Janssen asked the servant to take it into the workshop. Left alone, he clasped his hands in prayer and looked upward.

‘Dear God,’ he said, ‘please keep Amalia free from harm.’

‘Father will be driven insane by worry,’ said Amalia, ‘and so will Beatrix. She’s been like a second mother to me. But then,’ she went on, looking at Sophie, ‘your parents will be suffering as well.’

‘They won’t,’ said Sophie, ‘because they have no idea that I’ve gone astray. Father had business in Paris so he took Mother with him. I thank heaven that they know nothing at all about this.’

‘If they did, they could come to your rescue.’

‘They’d be shocked that I let myself get into this position.’

‘You were deceived. They can’t blame you for that.’

‘Yes, they can, Amalia. They think that I’ve always been too headstrong. Mother will be horrified but Father will chastise me. He brought me up to be wary of invitations from men. To be honest, I hope that my parents never learn the truth.’

‘But they’re bound to, Sophie.’

‘Only if I tell them and I’m too ashamed to do that.’

It was evening and the two women were talking in their tent over the remains of the meal they’d been served. Candles cast flickering shadows on the canvas. Seated on a stool apiece, they sipped cups of wine. The food had been good and the wine was more than tolerable so they were at least being cared for properly. Amalia still clung to the hope that Daniel would somehow come for her but Sophie had lapsed into a dull resignation. Accepting what she feared was inevitable, she stared at the ground. Amalia was upset at the way her companion’s spirit seemed to have drained out of her.

‘All may yet be well,’ she predicted.

Sophie was inconsolable. ‘How can it be?’

‘You must never give up hope.’

‘What possible hope is there for me, Amalia?’

‘I can’t say for certain. What I can tell you is that, when my father disappeared in Paris, I never gave in to horrid thoughts. Difficult as it was, I simply kept faith that it would somehow all come right in the end.’ Amalia smiled at the memory. ‘And it did.’

‘That was only because you had someone to ride to your rescue. I have nobody in my life like that. Captain Rawson treated you with respect,’ said Sophie, enviously, ‘but I’ve had little of that. Lieutenant Bouteron is more interested in capturing me than helping me escape.’

‘He may yet relent.’

‘You don’t know him, Amalia.’

‘He can’t keep you here against your will.’

‘Yes, he can,’ said Sophie. ‘I’m not the first woman to be tricked like this and I don’t suppose I’ll be the last. The lieutenant told me that the last one was glad to offer herself to him in return for her freedom — though I’m not sure that I believe that. Quite frankly, after what’s happened so far, I can’t trust anything he says.’

Sophie fell silent. Wanting to comfort her new friend, Amalia couldn’t think of anything to do or say. Her fear was that both of them might be victims of the duc de Vendome’s lechery. Whenever she thought of the way that he’d looked her up and down, she felt nauseous. It was a new and unsettling experience for her. Though Amalia had been brought to the camp to act as a hostage, it might not be her only function. She, too, could be forcibly deflowered. The very notion made her feel faint. Amalia was highly sympathetic to Sophie’s plight but she was now even more in dread of what might befall her as well. Her hopes began to wane. Even if Daniel did eventually come for her, he might well be too late to save her from molestation. As the evening wore on, Amalia felt increasingly defenceless.

When the summons finally came, it was not for her. The tent flap was pulled abruptly back and two men stepped into the tent. One was an officer and the other a guard. Amalia and Sophie rose to their feet and retreated a few paces. The officer stood with both hands on his hips.

‘Well,’ he said to Sophie, ‘have you made your decision yet?’

‘Leave me alone,’ she pleaded.

‘Since you reject me, I’ll hand you over to someone else.’

‘Is this how you treat guests to the camp, Lieutenant Bouteron?’

He grinned. ‘That depends how pretty they are.’ His eyes flicked to Amalia. ‘And it’s a long time since we’ve had two visitors as pretty as both of you.’ He extended a hand to Sophie. ‘Are you coming?’

‘No,’ she retorted with a show of defiance.

‘Then you’ll need some assistance.’

Bouteron nodded to the guard. Moving quickly, the man took Sophie firmly by the arm. When Amalia tried to stop her from being dragged off, she was brushed aside by the lieutenant who then followed the others out. Fired by a mixture of fear and anger, Amalia tried to go after them, only to find that she was staring down the barrel of the musket that the outside guard aimed at her. All that she could do was to withdraw into the tent. Sophie had gone. It might be Amalia’s turn next. Dropping onto a stool, she burst into tears.

The tour was very thorough. As they walked through the camp, Alphonse was able to make clandestine deliveries of tobacco and wine to some of his customers. He’d been following French armies all his life yet had somehow managed to avoid being recruited. He told Daniel that he came from a family of sutlers who’d spent the best part of a century meeting the needs of soldiers on the march. Daniel was less interested in this personal history than he was in the way that the camp was laid out. Everywhere they went, he made a mental note of what he saw. When campfires pierced the gloom from time to time, they kept to the shadows to evade attention. Eventually, they came to the quarters occupied by Vendome. From inside the tent came sounds of revelry.

‘He likes to enjoy himself,’ said Alphonse.

‘I see.’

‘There’s no trade for us here, Gustave. Commanders have their own source of supplies. We do our business with the lower ranks. Victor, of course, is always in demand.’

‘Why is that?’ asked Daniel.

‘He’s a blacksmith. The cavalry always have need of him.’

‘Then he had no call to attack me.’

‘You’re lucky that it was Victor and not his wife,’ said Alphonse with a chortle. ‘She’s even bigger and stronger than he is. While Victor is shoeing horses, Josette sells from the back of their wagon. He didn’t want you to take away any of her trade.’

Daniel let him babble on, only half-listening to Alphonse’s mixture of advice, reminiscence and crude humour. Eyes now accustomed to the darkness, Daniel kept looking for the most likely place where Amalia might be detained. There were guards outside Vendome’s quarters but few other people were about. What he was looking for was another tent protected by armed guards but none presented itself. He and Alphonse were about to move on when two figures emerged like ghosts out of the murky heart of the camp. A woman was being hustled along by a soldier with a musket. Daniel’s stomach lurched. Suspecting that it was Amalia, he instinctively took a few steps forward before checking himself. To attack her escort now would be foolish. He’d be giving himself away. He and Amalia were certain to be caught. Alarmed as he was at the way she was being manhandled, Daniel had to bide his time.

As the couple approached a tent in the shadows, another guard came out of it. He and the first man pushed the woman inside then remained where they were on sentry duty. Daniel was at once angry and grateful, incensed by the rough treatment he’d witnessed yet indebted to the soldiers for the guidance they’d given. The trip around the camp with Alphonse had yielded a bonus.

He knew where Amalia was being held.

In fact, the woman he’d seen only in outline had been Sophie Prunier. Thrust into the tent, she had difficulty staying upright at first and Amalia had to steady her. Something had clearly happened. Sophie had a hunted look to her. Sinking down on to a stool, she put her face in her hands and sobbed quietly. Amalia didn’t disturb her. The other woman patently wanted to be alone with her thoughts. To ask her to describe her ordeal would be unkind and improper. When she was ready to talk, she would. Amalia therefore kept a silent vigil beside her, noting the way that she hunched her shoulders and kept her face hidden. Sophie had been away from the tent for some time so her fellow prisoner was bound to speculate on where she’d been. Having met Lieutenant Bouteron — albeit fleetingly — Amalia was in a position to make a judgement. Compared to Vendome, he was definitely the lesser of two evils.

It was well over twenty minutes before Sophie lowered her hands and sat up. She was too embarrassed to meet Amalia’s gaze. All she did was to mumble a few words.

‘Please don’t ask me.’

‘No,’ said Amalia. ‘I promise.’

‘I’m so tired, so very tired.’

‘Then you must rest.’

It was difficult to tell if Sophie was genuinely fatigued or simply unable to bear the weight of humiliation. At all events, she stretched herself out on one of the camp beds and turned her face away. Amalia placed a blanket gently over her. Nothing more was said. Sophie either fell asleep or went off into a reverie. Amalia decided to get what rest she could while she still had the opportunity. There was always the possibility that she, too, might be hauled out during the night to satisfy someone’s lust. As she lay on the other camp bed, she pulled the blanket up over her head in the vain hope that it might shield her from her worst fears. They continued to gnaw at her brain.

Amalia had lost all track of time. She would never know if it was an hour or two before she finally dozed off. What was certain was that sleep did nothing to soothe her troubled mind. It confronted her with new and more hideous terrors. Twisting and turning on the camp bed, she was lucky not to fall off. At one point in her nightmare, she felt as if someone was trying to cut open her skull with a sharp knife. Amalia could hear the bone being sawn through by the blade. A hand then closed over her mouth and she came awake with a start to discover a figure bending over her in the darkness. Thinking that someone had come to kill her, she fought back with her puny strength.

‘It’s me, Amalia,’ whispered Daniel. ‘Don’t struggle.’

She almost cried with relief. ‘How did you get here?’

‘I cut through the canvas.’

‘So that was the noise I heard. I thought my head was being split open by someone.’ She sat up and embraced him. ‘Oh, I’m so glad to see you, Daniel.’

‘Keep your voice down,’ he said. ‘I’ve come to rescue you.’

‘What about Sophie?’

‘Who is she?’

‘She’s my friend,’ said Amalia, indicating the other bed. ‘We can’t leave without her.’

Speaking softly into his ear, she gave him a terse account of what Sophie Prunier was doing there. Daniel was forced to make a hasty decision. Crossing to the other bed, he put one hand over Sophie’s mouth and used the other to rouse her. When the woman’s eyes blinked open, Amalia reassured her that she was in no danger. Introduced to Daniel and offered the chance of escape, Sophie took time to come fully awake and make up her mind. She kept glancing nervously in the direction of the two guards outside the tent.

‘Would you rather stay here?’ asked Amalia.

‘No,’ said Sophie, getting up. ‘I’ll come.’

‘Hold on for a moment,’ said Daniel.

The women watched while he put a stool on each of the camp beds and covered it with the blanket to make it look as if someone was still there. Then he blew out all but one of the candles. In the dark, all that could be seen were the lumps in the two beds. Daniel believed they’d be enough to deceive anyone who happened to glance in.

He led the way through the slit in the rear of the tent then folded it back in position. Signalling for them to stay low and keep silent, Daniel set off and took them on a meandering path through the camp, skirting any signs of activity. Amalia and Sophie obeyed every order. When he dived full length on the grass and told them to follow suit, they did so without hesitation. Nor did they object to crawling through a hedge then wading up to their knees through a stream. It seemed to take an age to reach the perimeter of the camp. In order to elude the picquets, they had to go down on their stomachs again and inch their way along the ground as soundlessly as possible. By the time they reached the safety of a stand of trees, Amalia and Sophie were soaked, filthy and trembling with fright.

Daniel tried to instil confidence in them by stressing that the worst was over. Under the cover of the trees, he was able to lead them to the place where he’d earlier concealed the two horses he’d brought into the camp. They were sufficiently far away from danger to be able to speak to each other at last.

‘I know that Amalia can ride,’ he said. ‘What about you, Sophie?’

‘Yes,’ she replied, ‘I learnt to ride as a girl.’

‘Mount up and follow this road until you come to an old mill. It’s quite dilapidated but a useful place to hide. I noticed it on the way here. Wait for me at the mill.’

‘Where will you be?’ asked Amalia, worried.

‘I have to retrieve my wagon,’ he explained. ‘If I can get that out of the camp, you’ll be able to travel in a little more comfort.’

‘What if we get lost?’

‘Stay on this road and there’s no chance of that, Amalia.’

‘How long will you be?’

‘That will depend on how lucky I am. I should be no more than an hour. If I’m not there by dawn, ride off without me.’

Amalia was aghast. ‘We can’t do that, Daniel.’

‘Do you want to be recaptured?’

‘No, no…it’s frightening in there.’

‘Then do as I say,’ he went on, handing her his map. ‘There’s a road that runs north from the mill. When you have enough light, you’ll see from the map that it will take you to Terbanck where our army is camped. I’ll follow you somehow.’

‘I still can’t believe that you got here, Captain Rawson,’ said Sophie, unable to understand his conversation with Amalia in Dutch. ‘How did you get inside the camp?’

‘I’ll tell you that in due course,’ he replied, speaking in French. ‘Ride off to the old mill with Amalia. There’s food and wine in the saddlebags to sustain you.’

‘Thank you. I can’t tell you what this means to me.’

‘There’s no time to talk,’ he told them. ‘I need to sneak back into the camp for the wagon. I’ll be as quick as I can.’

After helping Amalia up into the saddle, he did the same for Sophie, repeating his orders once more. Scared that he’d no longer be with them, they left with misgivings. Daniel watched them go until they were swallowed up by the darkness. He then went back to the camp along the same route used to leave it, eluding the picquets and going in a wide circle towards the area where his wagon was waiting. The horse was harnessed and the vehicle was ready to leave even though he wasn’t entirely sure how or if he’d get it out of the camp. Alphonse had unwittingly shown him one possibility. It would involve taking the wagon across the stream higher up where the noise he’d create was less likely to be overheard.

The main object of the exercise had been achieved. Amalia had been rescued and she was now relatively safe. The presence of Sophie Prunier was an unforeseen complication but one that had to be accommodated. Daniel had seen the bond that had grown up between the two women during their imprisonment. Sophie had obviously helped Amalia endure the horrors of being in French hands and, for that reason alone, Daniel was willing to involve her in the escape. First, however, he had to retrieve his wagon.

Creeping between the tents, he reached the area where the camp followers were stationed and moved between their carts and wagons like a phantom. Nobody stirred. When he was almost there, Daniel allowed himself a moment of self-congratulation. So far his plan had worked to perfection. There was only one problem.

His wagon had disappeared.

‘They should have caught them by now,’ complained Welbeck.

‘I agree, Sergeant,’ said Jonathan Ainley. ‘But, as far as I know, they haven’t had so much of a glimpse of the band.’

‘They must be hiding somewhere.’

‘That’s the problem. In this terrain, there are far too many excellent hiding places. Whenever they see one of our patrols, the villains simply go to ground. At least,’ he added, ‘there have been no more incidents.’

‘That proves nothing, sir.’

‘No, I suppose that it doesn’t.’

They were standing outside Lieutenant Ainley’s quarters and Welbeck was showing impatience. Having seen the way that the marauding redcoats had destroyed a farm, he was desperate to hear of their arrest and annoyed that he could take no part in it. He found it frustrating that the patrols sent out after the men had made no apparent progress.

‘In a sense,’ said Ainley, ‘it’s really not our problem. Most of them deserted from the same cavalry regiment.’

‘You’re forgetting Private Lock, sir. He’s from the 24^th.’

‘We can’t be absolutely certain that he’s involved.’

‘I can,’ said Welbeck. ‘I feel it in my bones. It’s just the kind of thing that would attract a man like Edwin Lock. He has no respect for authority or for other people’s property. When I caught him stealing from the other men, I beat him to a pulp.’

‘You should have had him flogged, Sergeant Welbeck.’

‘I didn’t want to let him off so lightly.’

Welbeck gave a grim chuckle. Though he was no admirer of Ainley, he found him the most approachable of the officers and, as such, a useful source of information.

‘Is there any news of Captain Rawson?’ he asked.

‘I fancy that I should be asking that question of you,’ said Ainley with a smile. ‘You always seem to know far more about his movements than I do. All that I can tell you is that he left camp on his own.’

‘That much I already know. What he didn’t tell me is why.’

‘I can’t help you on that score, Sergeant. If he’s been given another assignment, then he could be anywhere. As you know, His Grace places the greatest trust in the captain.’

‘He sometimes asks too much of him.’

‘I’m not sure that that’s possible,’ said the other, admiringly. ‘Captain Rawson has nine lives. He’s gathered intelligence in the most dangerous places and always returned unharmed. And I don’t need to tell you how utterly fearless he is in battle.’

‘No, sir, I’ve served under him for a long time.’

‘He relies heavily on people like you.’

‘He does, sir,’ said Welbeck, meaningfully. ‘He knows that I can always tell if a man is lying or telling the truth. At first glance, I had my suspicions of Ralph Higgins.’

Ainley was contrite. ‘I’m still embarrassed about that little lapse on my behalf,’ he said. ‘I’ll be more careful in the future.’

‘I’m sure that you will, Lieutenant.’

Behind the deferential comment, Welbeck kept his scorn for the officer well concealed. He was on the point of taking his leave when he heard shouts and laughter. They were prompted by the arrival of two horses. One was ridden by an attractive young woman while the other carried a man and a woman. Ainley couldn’t understand why they were given such a noisy welcome but Welbeck recognised Daniel immediately, even though he was still in disguise.

Seeing his two friends, Daniel came across to them and whisked off his hat. Ainley was amazed to see who it was. Dismounting swiftly, Daniel helped Amalia down from the same horse then lifted Sophie down from the other animal. He introduced the two women to Ainley.

‘Lieutenant,’ he said, ‘would you be so kind as to escort the two ladies to His Grace? They have useful intelligence to impart. I’ll join them in His Grace’s quarters directly.’

‘Yes, Captain,’ said Ainley, pleased to be given the task. ‘I’ll pass on that message.’ He smiled at the women. ‘Follow me, ladies.’

‘I might have known there’d be a woman in the case,’ said Welbeck as he watched the others walk away. ‘You had two of them this time, Dan.’

‘That was unintentional,’ said Daniel. ‘Mademoiselle Prunier was being held captive with Amalia in the French camp. I had to rescue both of them.’

‘I see that you only brought two horses so that you had an excuse to put your arms around Amalia.’

‘That’s not true at all, Henry. I’d hoped to bring all three of us back in Ralph Higgins’ wagon but it went astray. I had to leave the French camp without it.’

‘Is that how you got there — in Higgins’ wagon?’

‘Yes…but I’ll have to find another way next time.’

‘You’re surely not going back.’

‘When I’ve given my report to His Grace, I have to return.’

Welbeck grinned. ‘How many more women need to be rescued?’

‘I’m not trying to release a hostage this time. I’m going back for my sword. It was hidden in the wagon that was stolen.’

‘Spare yourself the trouble and buy yourself another sword.’

‘I can’t do that. This one is very special to me. I’ve told you the story of how I came to acquire it.’

‘Yes,’ recalled Welbeck. ‘You were given it after the battle of Sedgemoor by His Grace — except that he was Lord Churchill in those days, and your father had fought against him.’

‘It’s because of what happened then that I’m certain His Grace will give me permission to go back, especially when I tell him that I have an inkling of where those renegades might be hiding.’

‘You do — where are they, Dan?’

‘You’ll be able to see for yourself,’ Daniel told him. ‘There’s something I forgot to mention — you’ll be coming with me.’