Soldier of Fortune

CHAPTER FIVE

Daniel Rawson had every reason to dislike Henry Welbeck. In almost every way, they were direct opposites. While Daniel revelled in military life, Welbeck loathed it and never stopped complaining about its many shortcomings. Captain Rawson was a cheerful optimist but Sergeant Welbeck was a sour pessimist. The one took his pleasures where he found them while the other was a confirmed bachelor with a deep suspicion of women. Religion provided the other profound difference between them. Daniel was so committed to the Protestant cause that he was prepared to fight to the death for it. Henry Welbeck was an unashamed atheist.

Yet the two men had, improbably, become close friends. Welbeck was older, stouter and decidedly uglier than Daniel and he had a fiery temper that cowed the men under him. Fearless on the battlefield, he was a veteran soldier who had saved the lives of many of his own troops by prompt action. Most of his battle scars were hidden by his uniform but the long, livid gash down one cheek was a visible memento of the dangers of fighting the French.

'I hate the army,' said Welbeck disconsolately.

'Then why did you join it?' asked Daniel.

'I thought it would make a man of me. When the recruiting officer came to our village, I was a scrawny lad who'd never been more than ten miles from the cottage I was born in. I was stupid enough to like what I heard, Dan. The officer made it sound wonderful.'

'It is wonderful when you get used to it, Henry.'

'We were tricked,' moaned Welbeck. 'They fed us on arrant lies and as much ale as we could drink. By the time we were sober again, we found that we'd signed our lives away — and for what?'

Daniel grinned. 'The chance to meet me, of course.'

'I'd rather forego that pleasure and stay out of uniform.'

'What about the other delights of army life?'

'I didn't know there were any, Dan.'

'There's the satisfaction of serving your country.'

'Where's the satisfaction in being shot at, stabbed at, kicked at, sworn at and spat at by a load of greasy Frenchies and their allies? All I do is to give the enemy target practice.' He pointed to the scar on his cheek. 'How satisfied do you think I felt when I got this?'

'Very satisfied,' said Daniel. 'You killed your attacker.'

'He haunts me every time I look in a mirror to shave.'

May had brought warm sunshine and the army had assembled as regiments left their winter quarters to join the column of march. By the middle of the month, they had crossed the River Meuse near Ruremond on pontoon bridges. It was at this point that Marlborough joined up with his men. It was also an occasion for Daniel Rawson to meet his discontented friend again. As evening shadows dappled the field, they were standing outside a tent in the encampment. Their regiment was part of a formidable army, comprising 14 battalions of infantry and 39 squadrons of cavalry, supported by 1700 supply wagons pulled by 5000 draught horses.

'We'll give the French a drubbing this year,' Daniel prophesied.

Welbeck grimaced. 'It will be another wild goose chase.'

'I've caught a lot of wild geese in my time, Henry.'

'Well, they didn't speak French, I know that. We can never get these bastards to stand still and fight. And what the hell are we doing here, anyway?' he complained. 'Why did we get dragged into a war of the Spanish Succession in the first place? I don't give a damn who puts his arse on the Spanish throne.'

'You should do,' said Daniel.

'Why? It makes no difference to me.'

'Yes, it does. Spain itself may be weak but it still has its colonies and dependencies. Think of Mexico, Cuba, the Canary Islands, Sicily, Sardinia, Naples, Milan, bits of the Americas — not to mention the Spanish Netherlands. Do you want France to control that empire? They'd go on to rule the world.'

'Let them — as long as they leave England alone.'

'But they wouldn't, Henry. If they conquer Europe, they'll look to overrun us next. Would you like to see French soldiers in London?'

'Yes — if they were hanging from a gallows.'

Daniel clapped him on the shoulder. 'We agree on something at last,' he said.

'I just want this war to be over,' said Welbeck sadly. 'I seem to have spent a lifetime running after French uniforms.'

'If we destroy their army — as we will one day — you'll be able to run after French women instead.'

Welbeck snorted. 'Women are more trouble than they're worth, Dan. That's why I keep well away from them. I've seen the damage they can create. One of the best things Corporal John ever did was to forbid whores to ply their trade among the army. The men didn't like it at all,' he recalled, 'but it made them better soldiers.'

'Our commander cares for his men,' said Daniel. 'That's how he got the nickname of Corporal John. He doesn't hold himself aloof. He knows how hard life in the ranks really is and he's done his best to improve the lot of the average soldier. Thanks to him, we always have plenty of surgeons travelling with us. Thanks to him, we always have provisions awaiting us when we camp.'

'I'd still rather be home in England.'

'Then why have you stayed in the army so long?'

Welbeck gave a rare smile. 'It needs me, Dan.'

Most officers did not consort freely with the ranks but Daniel was an exception to the rule. He was happy to spend time with people like Henry Welbeck and to learn what the men he commanded were thinking and feeling. Critics warned him that making himself so approachable would lead to a loss of discipline. It had not happened in Daniel's case. If anything, his men respected him even more.

'Where exactly are we going, Dan?' asked Welbeck.

'Put that question to our commander.'

'You spent time with him in England. What did he tell you?'

'Precious little,' replied Daniel. 'All I know is that he means to spring a few surprises on the French.'

'In his place, I'd be bored with this campaign. It goes on and on.'

'The Duke will bring it to a conclusion sooner or later.'

'Then it had better be sooner,' said Welbeck, wagging a finger, 'because he's not getting any younger. What about his family back in England? He spends so much time away from her that anyone would think he doesn't get on with his wife. Is that true, Dan?'

The question caught Daniel off guard. His mind went back to the quayside in Harwich when he sensed a rift between Marlborough and his wife. Something was troubling his commander and it did not bode well for the campaign. Fond as he was of Welbeck, however, he was not ready to confide his worries on so sensitive a subject.

'No, Henry,' he said, contriving a smile, 'it's not true. The Duke and Duchess are happily married. I can vouch for that.'

Edward Marston

Soldier of Fortune

John Churchill, Duke of Marlborough was glad to be reunited with his army. The sight of massed ranks of soldiers always inspired him and he fervently hoped that this year he would be able to deliver the decisive victory that they deserved. When the messenger arrived in the camp, he had several letters for the captain-general, many of them from military allies requesting orders. The letter that claimed priority, however, was the one from his wife, Sarah, and he retired to his tent to read it in private.

He opened it with an amalgam of hope and trepidation. Before he had left England, his wife had accused him of having an affair and expressed her anger in the most forthright terms. Though she had agreed to see him off at Harwich, she left him in no doubt about her feelings of betrayal. As he read the familiar calligraphy, Marlborough's heart was pounding and he steeled himself against further unjustified allegations of adultery. They never came. Instead,

Sarah's letter contained a heart-felt apology for misjudging her husband and begged him to forgive her. So eager was she to make amends and to attest her love that she offered to join him on the campaign.

Marlborough was overjoyed. His writing materials had already been unpacked so he sat at the little table to pen an immediate reply.

I do this minute love you better than ever I did before. This letter of yours has made me so happy, that I do from my soul wish that we could retire and not be blamed. What you propose as to coming over, I should be extremely pleased with; for your letter has so transported me, that I think you would be happier being here than where you are; although I should not be able to see you often. But you will see by my last letter, as well as this, that what you desire is impossible; for I am going up into Germany where it would be impossible for you to follow me; but love me as you now do, and no harm can come to me. You have by this kindness preserved my quiet and, I believe, my life; for until I had this letter, I have been very indifferent of what should become of myself. I have pressed this business of carrying an army into Germany, in order to leave a good name behind me, wishing for nothing else but good success. I shall now add, that of having a long life, that I may be happy with you.

When he had signed the letter, he read it through again then looked once more at his wife's missive. A huge burden had suddenly been lifted from his shoulders. He was now able to devote all his energies to the campaign. Reassured that his wife loved him once more, and that she had accepted how unfounded her suspicions had been, Marlborough felt capable of anything. He got up, summoned his secretary and began to work through the official correspondence with renewed enthusiasm. Sarah's letter had been a good omen. Not even the might of France could stop him now.

King Louis XIV had ruled for so long that he seemed a permanent fixture on the French throne. His dominant passion was a love of glory and he had pursued it enthusiastically on the battlefield and in the boudoir. It found its most visible expression in the building of Versailles, the sumptuous palace that became both the home of the Court and the centre of administration. In defiance of all advice, Le Roi Soleil, as he was dubbed, chose to live in the country, well away from the stench of Paris and its teeming streets. At immense cost, in terms of money and of the lives of many workmen who perished there, Versailles rose from the marshes to become the largest and most opulent structure in France. Because it had no view to please the eye, Louis had one created for him, surrounding the palace with gardens that were unmatched in size and splendour anywhere in Europe.

It was here that he lived in luxury, following an unvarying daily routine by the clock and conducting a war against the Grand Alliance while enjoying an endless round of balls, plays, operas, musical concerts and fetes. Though he sported a magnificent periwig and wore the rich apparel befitting a French monarch, he could not entirely disguise the effects of age. Now in his mid-sixties, he was overweight and puffy. Since most of his upper teeth had been removed during an agonising operation almost twenty years earlier, his smile had a kind of sinister comicality to it — not that anyone would dare to laugh at him. The king was impossibly vain, single- minded and peremptory. He brooked no opposition.

He was in a private room at Versailles when Louis de Rouvroy, Due de Saint-Simon, a leading courtier and trusted friend, discussed the conduct of the war with him.

'Let me remind you of the earlier counsel you were given, Your Majesty,' said Saint-Simon reasonably. 'At the very outset, your advisors were not at all sure that it was wise to provoke another war when our finances were stretched and our army was in sore need of more recruits.'

'I provoked nobody,' snapped Louis. 'They provoked me.'

'Your retaliation was a little hasty, Your Majesty.'

The king glowered. 'Do you have the gall to criticise me?'

'No, no,' answered Saint-Simon with an emollient smile, 'your word is final and I would never gainsay it. On the other hand, Your Majesty, we do have to consider the implications.'

'So do I, man,' asserted Louis. 'When the Dutch and the Austrians declare war on France, our country is under threat. That is the only implication I see. Bless me!' he went on, clicking his tongue in irritation. 'Queen Anne of England has also joined this alliance. Even a woman is taking up arms against me! Am I supposed to stand by and do nothing?'

'That's not what I'm suggesting, Your Majesty.'

'I'm not interested in suggestions.'

'As you wish, Your Majesty.'

'Do not question my ability to make the right decisions.'

'I'd never doubt them for a moment,' said the other tactfully.

'Do we not have the finest soldiers in the world?'

'Yes, Your Majesty.'

'And are they not led by the best marshals?'

'They are indeed, Your Majesty.'

'Then let's have no more bleating about shortage of money and men.' He was about to dismiss Saint-Simon when a messenger entered the room and bowed. 'Stay here,' he said to his companion. 'The news may be important.'

Beckoning the messenger across, the king took the despatch from him and broke the seal. As he read it, he frothed with indignation. He thrust the despatch at Saint-Simon.

'Read that!' he ordered. 'The Duke of Marlborough is leading an army towards the Moselle. Do you see what that means? He has the effrontery to invade France!'

'The Dutch would hold him back from such audacity,' said the courtier, scanning the despatch. 'They have always done so in the past. Yet this intelligence contradicts their former policy,' he went on, as he finished reading. 'If he is heading for Bonn, he must indeed be thinking of a strike towards the Moselle.' He returned the despatch. 'This is grave news, Your Majesty.'

'I'll draft new orders for Villeroi at once,' said Louis angrily. 'He is to intercept Marlborough and stop him from making any advance on French soil. I'll not have my territory invaded by anyone. It's a humiliation that will not be borne.'

'I heartily agree with you, Your Majesty.'

The king was shaking with fury. He was so accustomed to hearing good news from the battlefield that he believed his armies were invincible. The notion that someone would dare to encroach on French soil was anathema to him. He read the dispatch again before scrunching it up and hurling it at the floor. His lip curled in derision.

'Marlborough!' he growled.

Edward Marston

Soldier of Fortune

The Confederate army moved in easy stages. Roused at four o'clock in the morning, they assembled in rank and file a quarter of an hour later. The march began at five and they pressed on until late morning, setting up their next camp before the heat of the noonday sun could take its toll. Afternoon and evening were times of rest. Marlborough had carefully planned ahead. Wherever they camped, they found ample provisions awaiting them. There was no need to scour the area for food. Corporal John had already seen to their needs.

At each stage of the march, Marlborough rode on ahead with his cavalry then waited for the infantry, artillery and baggage wagons to catch up with him. When they reached their destination for that day, Marlborough adjourned to his tent with his secretary. He unfurled a map and tapped it with a finger.

'We are right here, Adam,' he said to his secretary. 'We are poised to reach the Moselle.'

'How far will we go, Your Grace?' asked Cardonnel.

'Far enough to confuse the enemy. King Louis's spies will have delivered their reports by now and Villeroi will be on his way to block our path into France. The marshal has no idea that our march towards the Moselle is part of an elaborate feint.'

'It's a brilliant conception.'

'The execution has to be equally brilliant. I've letters to write and orders to give,' he said, opening a leather satchel and taking out a pile of papers. 'There's never an end to correspondence.'

'It's one of the necessities of warfare.'

'I know, Adam, but it can get tedious at times.'

Marlborough's travelling table and chairs had already been set up for him in the tent. Quill, ink and paper stood ready. The two men removed their hats and set them aside before they got down to the business of the day.

'My wife never finds it tedious,' said Marlborough fondly. 'I had yet another letter from her today. The Duchess is pursuing me all the way across Europe.'

'Better to do so on the page than in person,' observed Cardonnel drily. 'An army on the march is no place for a lady.'

'Yet we have several following us in the baggage train.'

'Those women hardly come from the upper reaches of society.'

'That's where you are mistaken, Adam.' 'Oh?'

'One of them at least can boast of distinguished parentage.' Marlborough lowered himself on to his seat. 'Or, to be more precise, she will when she joins us. She's clearly a spirited young lady who is undeterred by the multiple discomforts of travel. It will come as a great shock to Daniel Rawson, I fear.'

'Captain Rawson?'

'Yes, Adam.'

Cardonnel was curious. 'In what way is he involved?'

'The oldest way of all, I suspect,' said Marlborough with a quiet smile. 'The youngest daughter of Sir Nicholas Piper is smitten by him. According to my wife's latest letter, Abigail was so distressed at his departure from London that she decided to follow him. As you can imagine, her parents are thoroughly dismayed.'

'The lady is here?' asked the secretary incredulously.

'She's certainly on Rawson's tail.' He chortled. 'We'll have to warn him about a possible attack from the rear.'

'It's highly dangerous for a woman to travel alone.'

'Her maid is with her, apparently.'

'Even so,' said Cardonnel. 'It's very reckless of them. I'd be very alarmed if a daughter of mine took such an appalling risk. They need an armed guard.'

'If they catch us with us, that's exactly what they'll have.'

'But they may never reach us alive.'

'Have more faith in the power of love,' said Marlborough. 'It can find a way past the most daunting obstacles. Abigail Piper is patently a young lady with tenacity and sense of purpose. I fancy that Rawson will be seeing her before too long.'

Edward Marston

Soldier of Fortune

The voyage had been a sustained ordeal. Sailing across the rough waters of the North Sea in a brig had been a rude baptism for Abigail Piper and her maid, Emily Greene. It was a supreme test of their mettle. They were sick, uncomfortable, soaked to the skin and very frightened. They were tossed around so helplessly by the surging waves, and lashed by such a violent storm, that they despaired of ever seeing dry land again. When it did finally appear, they were too weak to take any pleasure from the sight. They needed three days in The Hague to recover from the torments inflicted upon them by the elements and they were not cheered by the thought that they would one day have to make a return voyage.

Notwithstanding the many scares and setbacks, Abigail did not regret her decision to follow Daniel Rawson. She was soothed by dreams about him and lifted by hopes of what would happen when she finally caught up with him. She also derived a sisterly glee from thinking how dumbfounded Dorothy would be back in London. Abigail had looked ahead. To pay for horses, food and accommodation, she had brought a substantial amount of her savings with her. What neither she nor Emily was able to bring with them was much luggage. Travelling light was crucial.

Abigail was an accomplished horsewoman but her maid was an indifferent rider. When they bought two horses, therefore, Emily had severe misgivings.

'I'm not sure that I can do this,' she said worriedly.

Abigail was encouraging. 'Of course you can, Emily,' she said. 'The worst is behind us. If you can survive a voyage like that, you can do anything.'

'How do I know the horse will behave itself?'

'You'll ride the mare — she looks placid enough.'

'What if she bolts?'

'I'll be beside you every inch of the way,' said Abigail, putting a consoling arm around her. 'Come on — I'll help you to mount up.'

It took some time to get Emily in the saddle and she looked very unhappy about it. Their belongings had been stuffed into satchels that were slung across their horses. Knowing the dangers of travelling alone, they joined some merchants for the first stage of their journey. They had no difficulty in following the army. A body of men that large left clear evidence of their route. The weather was fine, the roads flat and their travelling companions were pleasant. Abigail was relieved to be on the move at last and Emily slowly became accustomed to the jolting rhythm of her mount.

'I could never have done this without you,' said Abigail.

'I wish you hadn't done it at all,' Emily admitted.

'You were keen to join me in my adventure at the start.'

'Yes, Miss Abigail, but that was before I knew what lay ahead.' 'Captain Rawson,' said Abigail, beaming. 'He is what lies ahead. The captain is the sole reason we're here, Emily, and I'll endure any misery to reach him so that I can show my true feelings for him.'

'I hope he appreciates all the efforts you've made for him.'

Abigail was transported. 'Oh, he will — I know he will.'

Edward Marston

Soldier of Fortune

Daniel Rawson liked to keep busy. When the army pitched camp for another day, he did not take the opportunity to rest. He checked on his men, practised his swordplay for an hour, then swam in the river. On his way back to his tent, he encountered Sergeant Henry Welbeck.

'It's too hot,' said Welbeck, sweat dribbling down his face.

'Do what I did,' advised Daniel, hair still wet. 'A dip in the river will cool you off nicely, Henry.'

'I can't swim.'

'Then it's high time you learnt. What will happen if we're cornered by the enemy and have to beat a hasty retreat across a river? Do you want to be drowned?'

'No, Dan. But, then, I don't ever expect to be in retreat. The Frenchies won't attack us. They'll simply observe from a distance. That's all Marshal Villeroi ever does.'

'He may be forced to do more than that this time.'

'Is that what the Corporal John told you?'

'No, Henry.'

'Then how do you know?'

'It's what I'd do in his position,' said Daniel. 'We've spent years trying to bring the French to battle and they've only obliged us with an occasional skirmish. I'm ashamed to say that my own countrymen, the Dutch, are to blame. They're more interested in protecting their own borders than launching a concerted attack on the enemy.'

'I always think of you as English — not Dutch.'

'I'm both, Henry.'

'That's impossible.'

'No, it isn't,' said Daniel genially. 'When I'm in pursuit of a young lady in London, I'm pure-bred English. When I'm doing the same in The Hague, I'm as Dutch as a windmill.'

'You always claim to be a churchgoing man.'

'So I am — I attend services every day here in the camp.'

'Does your religion allow you to chase so many women?'

'I always make sure that they're Christians,' replied Daniel with a wicked grin. 'I do it for sport, Henry, like every other soldier.'

'Not me,' said Welbeck, scowling. 'I can't abide women.'

'Then whatever do you do for pleasure?'

'I watch people like you getting into a tangle with the fairer sex. Seeing idiots led by their pizzle is always worth a laugh. They never learn. Your time will come, Dan, mark my words. Women will be the death of you in the end.'

'Every man is entitled to one vice.'

'Where does it say that in the Bible?'

Daniel chuckled. 'I can't remember offhand,' he said. 'But I'm surprised that an atheist like you has even heard of the Bible. If you had, you'd lead a more honest and God-fearing life.'

'There's no more honest man in the whole army,' said Welbeck, bristling. 'I don't need to fear a God in order to do my duty. And I don't need to pray for success in battle when I know that prayers are useless. Good commanders and well- trained soldiers win victories not someone up there in a place you call Heaven.' 'Don't mock, Henry. You may end up in Heaven one day.'

'I still won't believe it exists.'

Daniel burst into laughter. 'There's no convincing you, is there?' he said. 'Miracles happen every time we fight yet you still refuse to accept that there's a God.'

'The only miracle I want to see is an end to this war. Then we can all go home, put our weapons aside and lead peaceful lives.'

'That will only happen when we finally defeat the French.'

'Then where are they?' demanded Welbeck.

'Villeroi and his men are probably very close.'

'Watching and waiting.'

'There'll be plenty of action before too long,' said Daniel, giving him a playful punch on the arm. 'I feel it in my bones.'

Edward Marston

Soldier of Fortune

When they crested the hill, the two men pulled their horses to a halt and surveyed the scene below. The camp covered a huge area, a small town of canvas nestling beside the river. Even from that distance, they could pick out the different colours of the uniforms. Charles Catto and Frederic Seurel had caught up with their prey at last.

'There you are,' said Catto, 'I told you we'd find them.'

'How do we get to him?' asked Seurel.

'Leave that to me.'

'What do I do?'

'You can sharpen your dagger,' said Catto, taking a telescope from his saddlebag. 'It will soon be needed, Frederic. You can have the honour of cutting off Captain Daniel Rawson's head.'