Fire and Sword

CHAPTER FIVE

Daniel was in great danger. It was evident from the tone in the man’s voice that he wouldn’t hesitate to kill his captive if he made a false move. He jabbed with the dagger. Daniel felt momentary pain then blood trickled slowly down his neck.

‘I saw you watching us from the corner,’ said the other, coldly. ‘You were waiting for your chance to move in and ingratiate yourself. Well, not all of us were as drunk as you thought even though you kept buying us more wine. I can still see and think clearly. What’s more,’ he went on, sniffing noisily, ‘I can still smell and what I’ve got in my nostrils is a nasty stink.’

‘That’s because we’re too near the privy,’ said Daniel.

‘Don’t jest with me,’ warned the man. ‘Who are you?’

‘I’ve told you. My name is Marcel Daron.’

‘What’s your real name?’

‘That’s it, I swear it. I’m a wine merchant.’

‘And why does a wine merchant suddenly turn up here at the very moment when the army happens to be in Valenciennes?’

Daniel shrugged. ‘It’s just a coincidence, my friend.’

‘I’m no friend of yours,’ said the other, ‘and I’m certain that you’re no friend of ours. You gave yourself away when you offered to help Major Crevel out here. You wanted to get him on your own so that you could wheedle information out of him. I knew there was something peculiar about you.’ The dagger point drew more blood. ‘Now for the last time, tell me who you are or I’ll slit your throat.’

‘I really am Marcel Daron,’ said Daniel, earnestly.

‘You’re lying.’

‘It’s the gospel truth.’

‘Then why are you here?’

‘I’m breaking my journey on the way to see my sister in Lille.’

‘You put your life in jeopardy by travelling alone?’

‘I rode here with a score of others and will not venture on until I can enjoy the safety of numbers again. I know there’s a war on,’ said Daniel, ‘and that perils may lie ahead. Believe me, I’d much rather have stayed at home to look after my business. But my sister is grievously sick. She begged me to visit her.’

The man put his face close. ‘I don’t think you have a sister.’

‘I can prove it to you. I have a letter from her in my pocket. And you’ll be able to see from my papers that I really am Marcel Daron. Step nearer to that lantern,’ advised Daniel, ‘and you’ll be able to read more easily. Here,’ he continued, taking out a sheet of paper. ‘See for yourself what poor Hortense wrote.’

Glancing down to take it from him, the man gave Daniel the vital fraction of time that he needed. He moved like lightning. Seizing the wrist of the hand that held the weapon, he bunched the other fist and used it to deliver some fierce punches to the man’s face, splitting his nose, closing both his eyes and knocking him senseless with a blow to the chin. As he slumped to the ground, the officer let go of the dagger. Daniel picked it up at once, easing it between the ribs and into the heart. He didn’t bother to retrieve the letter from his phantom sister. It was really a tavern reckoning.

Daniel opened the privy door and found that Major Crevel was fast asleep. After hauling him out, he dragged the corpse into the privy and closed the door on it. Then he pulled up Crevel’s breeches and more or less carried him across to the stables. Daniel’s horse was already saddled in readiness for a quick departure. Reaching into a saddlebag for some lengths of rope, he bound Crevel hand and foot then used a handkerchief as a gag. The major was too drunk and fatigued to know what was going on. When he was lifted bodily and draped over one of the other horses, he made no complaint. Daniel used another rope to secure his cargo before leading both horses out of the courtyard.

Inside the tavern, the other officers continued to roister. It was a long time before they began to wonder where their friends were. One of them eventually went outside to investigate. When he discovered the corpse in the privy, he raised the alarm and a search began but there was no hope of their finding Major Crevel. He was lying in a ditch over a mile away, snoring up to heaven, blithely unaware of the fact that he was no longer in his uniform.

Even though it was far too big for him, it was being worn by Daniel along with Crevel’s boots and hat. He knew that a major in a cavalry regiment would have far less trouble from any French patrol he met than a bogus wine merchant riding on his own. The disguise got him safely out of enemy territory. Night was a willing accomplice. Nobody noticed the baggy coat and the voluminous breeches in the darkness. When he was stopped by a patrol, Daniel had been treated with the utmost deference. It was an uplifting experience. He enjoyed his brief promotion to the rank of major even if it happened to be in the wrong army.

‘Where have you been?’ asked Emanuel Janssen.

‘I went for a walk with Beatrix,’ replied his daughter.

He smiled fondly. ‘And I suppose that you just happened to go past the shops in the course of your stroll. You’ve been looking at new dresses again, Amalia, haven’t you?’

‘It does no harm to look.’

‘Of course not — I wasn’t criticising you. It’s only natural that a young woman like you should want to see the latest fashions.’

She sighed. ‘There’s no such thing in Amsterdam, Father.’

‘Isn’t there?’

‘Clothing here is so drab and dull.’

‘Oh, I don’t think it’s that bad.’

‘You don’t have to wear such dresses,’ she argued. ‘For the most part, they’re so plain and uninteresting. It’s the one thing I miss about our time in Paris. The ladies there dressed beautifully.’

‘Your memories of Paris are much happier than mine.’

‘Think of that day you took me to Versailles. It was amazing to see the King and his court in their finery. The ladies’ dresses were magnificent and so intricate.’

‘I felt that some of them were rather gaudy,’ he said.

‘There was so much bright colour,’ recalled Amalia. ‘Wherever I turned, my eyes were dazzled. It was a different world. There’s nothing like that anywhere in our country. The only real colour in Amsterdam is right here in front of us.’

She pointed to the vivid tapestry on the loom. They were in the large workshop at the rear of the house, the place where Janssen created his masterpieces, sewing them from the back and viewing the front of the tapestry in a mirror to make sure that he was keeping exactly to the design. Though she loved watching her father at work, Amalia had no ambitions to emulate him. She restricted herself to needlework, seeing it as a female accomplishment rather than a source of income. Weaving tapestries was an art practised by men like her father, a self-effacing genius whose handsewn work hung in several European palaces. Whenever she thought about the future — and she did so most days — she never envisaged having to toil at a loom or sew battle scenes with meticulous skill. Her abiding fantasy was one of domestic bliss with a certain British officer.

Her father was well aware of her high expectations.

‘When did you last hear from Captain Rawson?’ he asked.

‘It must be almost a month now, Father.’

‘I suspect that you can tell me the correct day and the precise hour when his letter arrived.’

‘I’m always so pleased to hear from him,’ she said, cheerfully.

‘Well, don’t fret if there’s a long wait for the next letter. The captain moves around so much that it’s difficult for him to write to anyone, especially when he’s on French territory. You simply have to be patient, Amalia.’

‘I accept that.’

‘And you must prepare yourself for the possibility of bad news.’

She frowned. ‘Why should I do that?’

‘Captain Rawson is a soldier.’

‘He knows how to look after himself, Father.’

‘When he goes into battle, anything can happen.’

‘Daniel is always very careful.’

‘Yet he sometimes puts courage before caution,’ said Janssen. ‘Look how he contrived to rescue me from the Bastille. He took the most terrible risks to do that. A careful man wouldn’t even have tried to get me out of there.’

‘Things are different now.’

There was such a hopeful note in her voice that her father couldn’t bring himself to contradict her. He’d seen the way that she and Daniel Rawson had fallen in love and had given their romance his blessing. At the same time, however, he was realistic enough to know that a soldier’s life could come to a sudden end at any moment. Daniel never hid from action. Instead, he deliberately went out in search of it. When he’d been commissioned to make a tapestry depicting the battle of Ramillies, Janssen had been delighted to have Daniel as his adviser but he’d quailed at some of the details he’d learnt. Glorious victories were based on blood and agony. Even during such a triumphant battle, there’d been hideous deaths among the Allies as well and many who survived were afflicted with horrendous injuries. Given the way he’d taken part in a cavalry charge — a fact that Janssen chose to keep from Amalia — Daniel could easily have been one of the casualties at Ramillies. Next time, fortune might not favour the daring captain.

Loving his daughter dearly, Janssen didn’t want to dash her hopes. He was an old man now, his hair and beard silvered by time, his shoulders rounded by long years at his loom. Most of his life was behind him. Amalia, however, had a whole future ahead of her and Janssen wanted it to be as happy and fulfilled as possible. On almost every test of suitability, Daniel Rawson would make an ideal husband for her. What cast a menacing shadow over any thoughts of marriage was the fact that he was engaged in a war that had already claimed thousands and thousands of victims. Janssen prayed that Amalia would not be one more stricken woman, doomed to pass her days by weeping over the grave of her dead lover.

‘Yes,’ he said, summoning up a grin. ‘Things are different now.’

‘Daniel leads a charmed life,’ she said, confidently.

‘That’s why he met you, Amalia.’

With a light laugh at the compliment, she kissed him on the cheek in gratitude. Though her father embraced her warmly, his face was lined with apprehension.

Major General William Cadogan was a big, genial man in his early thirties with a reputation as an inveterate gambler. He was also a brilliant cavalry officer and a resourceful Quartermaster General of the Confederate army. But it was his work as head of intelligence that brought him into contact with Daniel Rawson. It fell to Cadogan to collate all the information gathered from prisoners and deserters, or from those who’d been captured by the French then exchanged. He also maintained his own cadre of spies. In this way, he built up a clear picture of the activities of the enemy.

‘By what strange and mysterious witchcraft did you learn all this?’ he asked in wonderment.

‘I happened to be in the right place at the right time, sir.’

‘That’s arrant nonsense, Daniel, so don’t try to fool me. It’s almost as if you rode into the heart of the enemy camp.’

‘I went to an inn nearby,’ explained Daniel, ‘and waited until some of the officers came there for a drinking bout. When I bought Major Crevel some wine, he was kind enough to reward me with details of the French plans.’

‘There’s more to it than that,’ said Cadogan, ‘and I want to hear the full story. No more of your modesty either. You’ve earned the right to boast a little.’

‘I was lucky, sir.’

‘You were both lucky and infernally clever, if I know you.’

Daniel gave him an abbreviated account of events at the inn near Valenciennes and Cadogan was soon laughing heartily. Even the details about the killing of the French officer didn’t stop his guffaws. He loved the notion that a tavern bill had been passed off as a cry for help from a non-existent sister in distress. Cadogan saved his real mirth for the news that Crevel had been stripped of his uniform and left in a ditch. He positively rocked with laughter.

The two men were in Cadogan’s tent, sharing a drink while they talked with easy familiarity. They had much in common. Both had fought in Ireland and taken part in the attacks on Cork and Kinsale under the command of the future Duke of Marlborough. Cadogan had been a cornet in the Enniskillen Dragoons while Daniel had been a humble corporal in a Dutch regiment. Both had shown conspicuous gallantry throughout their careers. When Cadogan married a Dutch heiress, he learnt her native language and was able to converse fluently in it with Daniel. It brought them closer together.

‘It must have been a terrible shock for Major Crevel,’ said Cadogan. ‘To wake up half-naked in a ditch, I mean.’

‘I think our picquets had an even greater shock,’ noted Daniel. ‘They thought they’d captured a French officer and they carried me off as if I was a wondrous prize. Imagine their disappointment when they discovered that I was a captain in a British regiment.’

‘They should have applauded your audacity, Daniel.’

‘They cursed me for not telling them the truth at the start.’

‘Your mission was a success, that’s the main thing.’

‘Yes, I expected to be there for days before I gleaned anything that I could report back to you. It was pure happenstance that information fell into my hands on that first night.’

‘There’s that modesty creeping in again,’ observed Cadogan. ‘Nothing in your life occurs by accident, Daniel. You’re the most deliberate human being I’ve ever met. You went there in search of intelligence and, by Jove, you found it straight away. Your secret was to pick the right man.’

‘It was a case of in vino veritas.’

‘None of us is immune to the seductive power of the grape.’

‘As a wine merchant,’ said Daniel, taking a sip before holding up his glass, ‘I’m inclined to agree.’

Cadogan laughed again. In spite of his weight and girth, he was really in his element when mounted and adored nothing more than leading his cavalry into battle. Daniel had seen and admired his fearlessness in action. But he also admired Cadogan’s ability to carry a whole range of responsibilities so lightly. Here was the man who drew up the order of battle for the Confederate army, taking account of the differing priorities of the various nations and making sure that commanders between whom there was friction were kept well apart. Soldier, diplomat, spymaster, gambler and quartermaster, Cadogan radiated life. Daniel found it a pleasure to be in his company.

‘What you’ve told me accords with my own instincts,’ said Cadogan. ‘I sensed that Burgundy was a complete novice. Why march towards Brussels when he could test our horse near Huy? That’s the direction he should be taking.’

‘It’s exactly what the duc de Vendome suggested,’ said Daniel, ‘but he was overruled. His plan was to lay siege to Huy.’

‘That’s because he’s an experienced soldier. It must be galling for him to have to listen to a posturing ninny like Burgundy. I’ll wager that the pair of them have some rare old arguments.’

‘Vendome is known for his blunt speech.’

Cadogan chuckled. ‘That’s not all he’s known for! If rumours are correct, he has a taste for pretty young officers.’

‘Then Major Crevel is safe from his attentions,’ said Daniel with a grin. ‘Even his own mother would never describe him as pretty. After a night in a ditch, he must have looked a sorry sight.’

The duc de Vendome read the report with gathering fury. When he’d finished, he tossed it on the ground in disgust then rounded on Lieutenant Valeran who was alone with him in the tent.

‘Can this be true?’ he demanded.

‘I fear that it is, Your Grace.’

‘Were there witnesses to this disgrace?’

‘Yes,’ replied Valeran. ‘Major Crevel was hauled out of a ditch by a patrol. At first, they refused to believe he was what he claimed to be. They took him for some kind of madman.’

‘I can well understand that. Send for him, Lieutenant.’

‘I took the liberty of doing so. The major will be here directly.’

‘Crevel may arrive as a major but he certainly won’t leave as one,’ said Vendome, vengefully. ‘I don’t reward incompetence.’ He looked meaningfully at his companion. ‘Those who displease me get short shrift. Only those who impress me can look for promotion.’

‘Thank you, Your Grace,’ said Valeran, obsequiously.

Hearing the sound of footsteps outside, they turned towards the tent flap. A guard entered, ushered Major Crevel in, then withdrew. Vendome glowered at the newcomer. Valeran made as if to leave but the general signalled that he was to remain. Crevel, meanwhile, was standing to attention as he braced himself for the onslaught. Now restored to a uniform, he was uneasy and shamefaced.

‘Major Crevel,’ began Vendome.

‘Yes, Your Grace?’ answered the other.

‘Is it your habit to sleep unclothed in a muddy ditch?’

‘No, no, it’s most uncharacteristic of me but I had no choice. I was set on by three villains. When they’d beaten me black and blue, they stole my uniform and left me unconscious.’

‘I see no bruising on your face.’

‘They punched and kicked my body,’ claimed Crevel, ‘then left me to die of my injuries. As you see,’ he continued, straightening, ‘I returned to duty at the earliest possible opportunity.’

‘Yes,’ said Vendome, ‘but only after the patrol had rescued you. According to the report, you behaved like a raving lunatic.’

‘I deny that, Your Grace. I may have been a little outspoken but I was entitled to be in the circumstances. The truth is that I was still distracted after my beating.’

‘Is that the beating administered by those three rogues?’

‘Yes, it was.’

‘Then where did they suddenly spring from?’

‘They were lying in wait in the privy,’ said Crevel, trying to brazen it out. ‘As I approached, they ambushed me. I had no chance against such odds.’

‘Ah, I see…and what about your friend, Lieutenant Jauzion?’

‘Sebastien?’

‘At the time you say you were set on by three men, his dead body was in the privy.’ Crevel gulped. It was news to him. ‘Are you asking me to believe that it was big enough to conceal four human beings?’

‘Sebastien is dead?’ croaked Crevel. ‘How could that be?’

‘If you’d stayed awake long enough, you might have saved his life. He was stabbed to death with his own dagger. When they found his corpse in the privy, your friends were certain that the killer was a wine merchant whom you befriended in the course of the evening.’ He snapped his fingers and Valeran retrieved the report from the ground before handing it to him. Vendome glanced at it. ‘The man’s name was Marcel Daron. Do you have any memory of him?’

‘Yes, I do. He was good company.’

‘Lieutenant Jauzion might not agree with that judgement.’

‘Poor Sebastien…I can’t believe he’s dead!’

‘It’s more than probable that he was murdered under your very nose. And not by three ruffians,’ Vendome went on, curling his lip. ‘He was stabbed by this so-called wine merchant, the same man who stripped you of your uniform and tossed you into a ditch.’ He took a step closer. ‘Why did you lie to me?’

‘I was telling the truth,’ bleated Crevel.

‘The only person you told the truth to was that crafty wine merchant, who will no doubt convey everything you divulged to his masters in the Confederate army. You were duped by a spy, Major Crevel. And you allowed a fine officer like Lieutenant Jauzion to be killed because you were too drunk and incapable to save him. What have you to say for yourself?’

Crevel’s head drooped. ‘It won’t happen again, Your Grace.’

‘Oh, there’s no danger of that,’ said Vendome, vindictively. ‘Nobody will be able to filch the uniform of a major in the French army again because you, sir, are no longer entitled to wear it. Take it off.’

‘I must protest,’ howled Crevel. ‘I hold my rank with honour.’

‘Take it off!’ roared Vendome. ‘Or I’ll tear it from your body with my bare hands.’

‘The matter must be referred to the duc de Burgundy.’

It was an unwise moment to remind Vendome that he was not the commander-in-chief. Losing his temper, he lashed out with a hand and slapped Crevel hard across the cheek. He then unleashed such a gushing stream of vituperation that the erstwhile major cowered before him and plucked hastily at the buttons of his coat. When it had been removed, Vendome snatched it from him and hurled it into the corner of the tent.

‘Get out of my sight!’ he yelled, quivering with rage. ‘You’re confined to your quarters until I can decide on your punishment.’

‘At least, give me leave to apologise,’ pleaded Crevel.

But there was no chance of that. Vendome raised his hand to strike again and Crevel gave up. Waddling ridiculously, he hurried out of the tent. It was some minutes before Vendome’s ire gradually subsided. Lieutenant Valeran, meanwhile, lurked silently in his corner, too frightened to venture an opinion lest the ducal anger be turned on him. He was relieved when the older man seemed to calm down. Vendome lowered himself onto a chair and was deep in thought for a while. Making a decision, he suddenly got up again.

‘I want him,’ he said.

‘Shall I fetch Major Crevell back?’ asked Valeran.

‘I don’t want him, Raoul. I never want to see that buffoon again. No,’ he went on, ‘the man I’m after is that venomous wine merchant. I won’t allow anyone to humiliate us like this. I want Marcel Daron — or whatever his real name is — standing before me in chains.’

‘How can we arrange that?’

‘Use your imagination, man. We have intelligencers in the enemy camp. Let them earn their money for once. Someone will have boasted of how they stole the uniform of a French officer. I want to know who he is.’ He put a hand on Valeran’s shoulder then lifted it to brush back a wisp of the lieutenant’s hair. ‘I need a name, Raoul,’ he said, eyes glinting, ‘then the hunt can begin.’