Soldier of Fortune

CHAPTER SIX

Long experience as a soldier had taught the Duke of Marlborough the importance of being a visible commander. The sight of their captain-general not only raised the morale of the men, it let them see that he was a flesh and blood human being and not some phantom who made vital decisions that marked the difference between their lives and deaths. Marlborough was therefore careful to be on show to his troops, riding through the camp on a regular basis so that he could inspect his men and allow them, in turn, to inspect him. A cheering word from their commander could have a big impact on the spirits of his soldiers, and they were touched when he remembered so many of their names.

Accompanied by Adam Cardonnel, he went through the camp that afternoon, noting everything with interest as he did so and dispensing pleasantries along the way. When he reached the area where Daniel Rawson's regiment were camped, he recalled the piece of news in his wife's latest letter. He sought the captain out and found him in his tent, playing backgammon with Richard Hopwood, a young lieutenant in the regiment. After chatting amiably with the two of them for a few minutes, Marlborough asked to be left alone with Daniel. Having already lost more money than he intended, the lieutenant was glad of an excuse to leave.

'I was just about to win another game,' said Daniel, indicating the board. 'Richard Hopwood is an obliging loser.'

'I'm sorry to interrupt you,' said Marlborough. 'I know how much you enjoy backgammon.'

'It's my most reliable source of income, Your Grace.'

'I'm sure it is. As it happens, I wanted a word about another game at which you excel.'

Daniel rubbed his hands. 'You've work for me behind enemy lines again,' he said, eyes igniting at the prospect. 'I was hoping you'd wish to deploy me.'

'That will come in time, Daniel.'

'I'm not to be sent on another assignment?'

'Not yet.' 'Oh.'

'I'm sorry to disappoint you,' said Marlborough, 'but this concerns another type of game altogether. It's just as dangerous in some ways, though seldom fatal.'

'I don't understand, Your Grace.'

'You will, Daniel. I had some letters from England today. Most of them were from people like the Lord Treasurer who wish to be kept abreast of every development in our campaign. One of them, however, was from my wife.'

'How is Her Grace, the Duchess?'

'Extremely well,' said Marlborough with a pride and affection that banished all of Daniel's fears about marital difficulties between the Duke and his wife. 'The letter was full of interesting detail, one item of which relates to you.'

Daniel was taken aback. 'To me?'

'It concerns a lady of whom we've spoken before.'

'Then it must be Miss Piper.'

'Yes, Daniel. Has she, by any chance, been in touch with you?'

'She has indeed, Your Grace,' said Daniel. 'I received a letter from her a couple of weeks after we landed. It was unexpected but no less welcome for that.'

'In that case, you may already know what I have to tell you.'

'And what is that?'

'I was informed of the imminent arrival of Miss Piper.'

Daniel was thunderstruck. 'She is coming here? '

'You've made a conquest, it seems.'

'There was no mention of this in her letter.'

'She clearly intends to surprise you.'

'I am not so much surprised as astounded,' said Daniel, trying to take in the disturbing news. 'I only met Dorothy Piper once and we hardly exchanged more than a few words. When she wrote to me, I must confess that I was flattered but I never imagined that she would actually leave home to follow me.'

'Dorothy has not done so.'

'You just said that she had, Your Grace.'

'No,' corrected Marlborough. 'I told you that Miss Piper had sailed after you — without permission of her parents, I may add. The young lady in question is not Dorothy, however, it is Abigail Piper.'

'Travelling alone?' asked Daniel, immediately concerned for her welfare. 'What ever possessed her to do that?'

Marlborough gave him a shrewd look. 'We both know the answer to that, I think,' he said. 'Her maid is with her and I'm sure they will have the sense to find travelling companions on long, lonely roads where highwaymen might lurk.' He was amused. 'Well, this is a precedent,' he continued. 'I've never seen Daniel Rawson thrown into confusion by a woman before. If nothing else, Abigail Piper has achieved a singular response from you.'

Daniel was nonplussed. He was deeply moved to hear of the bold action taken by Abigail on his behalf but he was anxious for her well-being. With no knowledge of the country or its language, she and her maid were at a distinct disadvantage in the Netherlands. Even if they did arrive safely in Germany, there was the thorny problem of what to do with her next. Flirting with two sisters in London was a harmless enough exercise in his opinion. Being trailed by one of them during a campaign was a very different matter. For once in his life, Daniel was uncertain what to do in relation to a beautiful woman.

'I admire her courage,' said Marlborough, coming to his rescue, 'but I utterly deplore her lack of forethought. Does she not realise what happens on a battlefield? It's quite impossible for her to stay.'

'We can't force her to leave, Your Grace.'

'I agree. But, then, I don't believe that compulsion of any kind will be needed. Abigail is a delicate creature. When she realises that we rise before dawn and march at five, she may soon decide that army routine is not for her. At all events,' he continued, 'I'd like her out of the way for her own safety. Even without the danger of attack from the French, there's difficult terrain ahead — rivers to cross, forests to go through, mountains to climb. My own wife wanted very much to join us but I had to discourage her from doing so.'

Daniel was pleased to hear it. The fact that the Duchess had offered to travel with the army was confirmation that she and her husband had settled their differences. Marlborough could concentrate fully on the campaign. Daniel, on the other hand, could not. Eager for hostilities to start, he felt a responsibility towards Abigail Piper and could not dedicate himself to his duties as long as she was there. Somehow he had to make her feel that her journey was worthwhile yet ensure that she did not wish to stay long with the army. Marlborough put it more succinctly.

'Tell her what she wants to hear then wave her off.'

'Yes, Your Grace.'

'If she manages to catch up with us, that is,' said Marlborough with a frown. 'It will not be an easy business. Abigail Piper and her maid are likely to meet all manner of hazards on the way.'

Edward Marston

Soldier of Fortune

Until the horrors of the voyage, Abigail Piper had always considered herself to be blessed by good fortune. She was born into a wealthy family, had a social position and the relative freedom to develop her interests. As the younger daughter, she was inevitably at a slight disadvantage with her sister but she had learnt ways to circumvent Dorothy and to escape her vigilance. Throughout her life, there had been so many instances of sheer luck falling into her lap that she began to rely on it. The latest example was the crowning one. Fate had delivered the perfect man with whom she could fall in love. In her fevered mind, Daniel Rawson was the embodiment of good luck.

During her pursuit of him, chance favoured her at every turn. She and Emily Greene not only found amenable travelling companions whenever they needed them, the cavalcade invariably contained carts and wagons. The two women were often invited to tether their horses to the back of a cart so that they could travel with a measure of comfort. To someone like Emily, this was a godsend as her thighs and buttocks were already tender from the little riding she had done. Abigail, too, availed herself of the opportunity to get out of the saddle for a while. Progress was not fast but it was steady.

The inns at which they spent the night were serviceable if noticeably short of any refinements. Emily was amazed how quickly her mistress adapted to the meaner conditions. Having lived in comparative luxury all her life, Abigail had never had to sleep on a lumpy mattress before or wash in public or eat unappetising food. One night, they were even forced to sleep under the stars but there was no complaint from Abigail. Each day took her closer to the man she loved and that was all that mattered to her.

When they reached Bedburg, they parted company with one group of travellers and immediately found another, heading south towards Bonn. There were fifteen of them in all, making the journey in three carts or on horseback. The men were armed and there were enough of them to ward off a potential attack. Abigail and Emily hitched their horses to one of the carts and climbed aboard. The driver was a friendly man in his late thirties with a solid frame and a pleasant face fringed with a fair beard. His name was Otto and he knew enough English to have a conversation with his two guests. While Abigail sat beside him, Emily was in the back of the cart, perched on something that was covered by a tarpaulin.

'Why are you going to Bonn?' asked Abigail.

'I keep the promise,' replied Otto.

'Promise?'

'To my wife, I swear it.'

'Oh, I see.'

'Marthe, she was born there.'

'Are you going home to her?'

'No,' he said with a forgiving smile. 'I take Marthe there.'

Abigail looked around. 'But she's not with us now.'

'Yes, she is.'

'Where — is she one of the women in the other carts?'

He shook his head. 'I promise that Marthe, she will be in Bonn buried beside her mother.' He glanced over his shoulder. 'In the back, the coffin is.'

'Goodness!' cried Emily, jumping up as she realised that she was actually sitting on the dead body of Otto's wife. She moved further back to sit down. 'I'm so sorry, sir. You should have told us.'

'Marthe, she will not mind,' he said. 'A good woman, she was.'

It took time for the Abigail and Emily to get used to the idea that they were sharing the cart with a corpse. Otto was a talkative man. He turned out to have borne arms in a German regiment that had fought against the French the previous year, an injury to his foot ending his reluctant career as a soldier. Abigail pressed him for detail.

'Did you ever meet the Duke of Marlborough?' she inquired. 'Father says that he's the most brilliant commander in Europe. He has outstanding people under him. I don't suppose that you ever came across a Captain Daniel Rawson?'

'No, no,' said Otto.

'Captain Rawson is with the Duke of Marlborough's Foot.'

The German looked at her. 'But he has two feet, no?'

Abigail giggled. 'That's Captain Rawson's infantry regiment,' she explained, taking pleasure from saying Daniel's name for the third time. 'He's a very brave soldier. The Duke admires him greatly.'

'I did not like it, being the soldier.'

'Why not?

'From my wife, it take me away.'

'Did you kill any Frenchmen?' wondered Emily.

'The musket, I fire many times. Maybe, someone I kill.'

'How long do you think the war will last?' asked Abigail.

'For ever,' said Otto with resignation. 'France, she never stops wanting the more. Always fighting, her army is, always will.'

'The French could be defeated by British heroes like Captain Rawson.' Otto looked sceptical. 'They could,' she added stoutly. 'The Duke of Marlborough is resolved to win a famous battle against the French. I heard that from Captain Rawson himself.'

Otto was not convinced. He had the world-weary air of a man who had seen too many armies marching to and fro across his native land. Lapsing into silence, he drove on. They continued on their way, following the course of the River Rhine as it snaked southwards. It was late afternoon when the weather broke. After rolling along in the sunshine, they suddenly found themselves at the mercy of driving rain and a swirling wind. Since they had little protection from the downpour, they had to find the nearest shelter they could. When they came around a bend and spied an inn ahead of them, therefore, they were unworried by the fact that it looked weather-beaten and almost ramshackle. It was a refuge.

The horses were stabled but the carts had to stand out in the rain. Though she was distressed to see that Otto left his wife's coffin under the tarpaulin, Abigail did not feel that it was her place to protest in any way. The man had been kind and avuncular to them. As the natural leader of the travellers, it was he who discussed the sleeping arrangements with the landlord and haggled over the cost. He seemed to be arguing with the man on behalf of Abigail and Emily, pointing to them and raising his voice in a demand. A sly, shifty little man with straggly grey hair and a beak of a nose, the landlord tapped his walking stick angrily on the floor.

When Otto came over to them, he was very apologetic. Because the accommodation was so limited, the travellers would have to share beds. What he had managed to do was to secure a private room for Abigail and a place in the attic for Emily. Neither of them liked the idea of being split up but they soon found that Abigail's room was more like a large broom cupboard than a bedchamber. Emily saw that she would have to sleep in the attic but, before she left her mistress's room, she took the trouble to sweep away some of the cobwebs and check that the bed was habitable.

Over a hot meal and plenty of ale, the travellers had a jolly time and the Germans soon burst into song. Abigail thanked them for the way she and her maid had been welcomed the group and she had a special word of gratitude for Otto. As the ale flowed more freely and the songs grew more raucous, the Englishwomen made their excuses and retired early to bed. Emily was soon asleep in her dingy attic room but Abigail stayed awake to write in her diary by the light of a candle. The jollity was still continuing down below when she finally blew out the flame and lay back to think about Daniel Rawson.

An hour later, Abigail drifted quietly off. It was as well that she was a light sleeper because it was not long before the latch was lifted on her door and a heavy footstep made a floorboard creak. Coming awake with a start, she sat bolt upright and peered into the gloom.

'Who's there?' she asked. 'Is that you, Emily?'

Before she could say another word, a hand was clasped over her mouth and she was pushed back down on to the bed. A man's body pressed down on top of her and she could smell the ale on his breath. Struggle as she did, Abigail could not move him.

'Like her, you are,' said Otto, laughing softly in the dark. 'Just like my Marthe. To me, be good. Tonight, you are my Marthe.'

Abigail was distraught. He was too heavy to be moved and too strong to fight off. Worst of all, his free hand was starting do take the most alarming liberties, stroking her hair, squeezing her breast then trying to pull up her nightgown. A refined young lady who longed to surrender herself to Daniel Rawson was about to have her virginity snatched cruelly away by a drunken German widower. Abigail Piper's run of luck had come to a grinding halt.

When he moved his hand from her mouth, she dared to hope that he had relented but all he wanted to do was to take a long, hard, bruising kiss from her. The taste was disgusting. Her stomach lurched, her blood ran cold and she began to tremble all over. As his tongue became more invasive and his hands more predatory, Abigail thought that she was about to be sick. Desperation made her do the only thing she could think of. Twisting her head slightly to the left, she bit deep into his lower lip and felt his blood spurt across her face.

Otto bellowed in pain and rolled off her, hitting the ground with a thud. The noise brought two people running to see what had happened. First through the door was the landlord, his candle lending a dull glow to the sordid scene. Realising what had happened, he began to wave a walking stick at Otto and abuse him in high-pitched German. The second person to arrive was Emily Greene and she did not waste any words. When she saw her mistress, hunched up in bed, shielding herself with a pillow, she grabbed the stick from the landlord and used it to belabour the midnight lover, hitting him with such force that he begged for mercy and crawled out of the room on his hands and knees. The landlord went after Otto to remonstrate with him. Annoyed that she had not been there to protect her mistress from the assault, Emily shut the door and put her back against it.

'Fetch our things,' said Abigail, still shaking. 'We're leaving.'

Emily was practical. 'It's the middle of the night, Miss Abigail.'

'Do as I tell you — please.'

Edward Marston

Soldier of Fortune

Daniel Rawson finally got a taste of the action he wanted. When they reached Coblenz, a sizeable force was sent off in the direction of the Moselle valley but only as a means of distracting Marshal Villeroi and his men. Daniel remained with the main army as it moved south and crossed the Rhine where their ranks were swelled by the addition of 5000 Hanoverians and Prussians. To the French observers who were tracking them, it looked as if they were heading for

Mainz and were prepared to go much deeper into Germany than they had ever done before. Daniel finally got a clearer idea of what was in the Duke of Marlborough's mind.

As usual, their commander rode on ahead with the cavalry squadrons, leaving the infantry, artillery and supply wagons to follow at a more sedate pace. Mounted on his horse, Daniel was near the front of a multi-coloured column of soldiers that stretched back into the distance. Having marched through open country at a steady pace, they now entered woodland. The farther they went, the darker it got as overhanging branches blocked out the light or filtered it through their leaves to throw dazzling patterns on the ground. Birds sang in the trees, undisturbed by the tramp of many feet and rumble of supply wagons. There was no sense of danger.

When it came, therefore, it took them completely by surprise. As the leading regiments reached a large clearing, they stepped into the sunlight and became open targets. A volley of musket fire rang out, scattering the birds in a squawking cacophony, and hitting a number of men in Daniel's regiment. He reacted swiftly and ordered those under his command to fan out and take cover before the next hail of lead was discharged. Dismounting from his horse, he led it quickly into the trees for safety. From the sound of the attack, he guessed that somewhere between two and three dozen weapons had been fired. A couple of his men had been killed outright, many more had been injured.

Since there was no second volley, Daniel knew that the French snipers must have fled and he signalled his men to move forward in pursuit of them. Mounting his horse again, he drew his sword and kicked it into a canter. Other officers followed his example but he was way ahead of them, furious that they had been caught off guard and lusting for revenge. He soon caught the sound of many horses, pounding their way through the undergrowth until they came out of the woodland. Daniel emerged from the trees to see the familiar French uniforms strung out in front of him as they galloped away. His estimate had been fairly accurate. He counted thirty of them.

Spurring his horse on, he slowly began to gain on the stragglers. Two of them were dropping behind the other riders and they veered off to the left in an attempt to shake off the pursuit. Daniel left it to others to chase the main body of snipers and followed the pair who had become detached from it. His horse was fleet of foot and he was soon within thirty yards of the two men. Glancing over his shoulder, one of them was alarmed to see how close Daniel was but reassured by the fact that he was completely isolated from his fellows.

The musket slung around the Frenchman's shoulders had been discharged but he was also carrying a loaded pistol. Pulling it out, he waited until Daniel got closer then raised it to fire. Even at a short distance, accuracy was impossible from the saddle of a galloping horse and the ball went harmlessly past Daniel's ear. The next moment, Daniel drew level with him and slashed at the man's outstretched hand, slicing it off at the wrist and sending it tumbling to the ground with the pistol still in its grasp. The man gave a howl of pain and held the bleeding stump under his other arm in a vain attempt to stem the flow.

The other Frenchman had seen enough. He put his own safety before that of his comrade, abandoning him without a second thought as he rode away. Daniel was therefore able to sheath his sword, grab the reins of the wounded man's horse and bring round in a circle as he slowed it to a halt. He promptly dismounted. Swearing at his attacker, the Frenchmen tried to kick at him but Daniel hauled him unceremoniously from the saddle and pushed him to the ground. When he tried to examine the wound, however, a gob of spit hit him full in the face. Daniel wiped it away then punched the man hard on the chin to subdue him before he pulled off his coat, easing the blood-soaked sleeve gently over the wounded wrist. He had seen too many hideous injuries on the battlefield to be distressed by the sight of blood. It was an emergency. Daniel turned army surgeon.

'You need a tourniquet, my friend,' he said affably, pulling at the man's shirt and tearing it into strips. 'We have to keep you alive so that you're able to talk to His Grace, the Duke of Marlborough. I'm sure you have a lot of interesting things to tell him.'

Edward Marston

Soldier of Fortune

When the Allied armies crossed the River Main, it became certain to the enemy that the march on the Moselle valley had been a cunning ploy to mislead them. They set up camp and Daniel handed over his prisoner for interrogation. The ambush in the woods had inflicted serious injuries on some of his men, one of whom had been blinded while another had had to suffer amputation as a result. After checking on their condition and trying to cheer them up, he went back to his tent. Daniel was about to enter it when he saw Henry Welbeck in conversation with a tall, slim man in the uniform of a private. The sergeant was pointing at Daniel. His companion nodded. After studying Daniel for a moment, the man gave a nod of thanks to Welbeck and walked away. The sergeant strolled over to his friend.

'Who was that?' asked Daniel.

'A new recruit,' replied Welbeck. 'He joined us yesterday. The bugger has too many airs and graces for me but he was keen to serve in the ranks and he looks fit enough.'

'What's his name?'

'Will Curtis.'

'Why did he choose this regiment?'

'He says that his father served in it when it was first raised in 1689 by Colonel Sir Edward Dering. Curtis's father was killed in action against the French.'

'What was his name?'

'You'll have to ask him, Dan,' said Welbeck. 'All I see is another stupid Englishman willing to throw his life away in this pointless war. Besides, Eve got more important things to worry about than Private Will Curtis. He's simply target practice for the enemy.'

'Why were you pointing me out?' wondered Daniel.

'He'd heard about this hare-brained officer who went charging off alone after those Frenchies and brought back a prisoner single-handed.' He bared his few remaining teeth in a grin. 'It seems the poor man lost his other hand somehow.'

'I hacked it off, Henry.'

'That was the rumour Curtis heard. He wondered who this intrepid Captain Rawson really was. Now he knows. He also knows how crafty these Frenchies can be,' he went on. 'That ambush killed two men, blinded a third, took a leg off a fourth and left another ten unfit for action. It cost me fourteen soldiers, Dan.'

'The French just wanted to let us know they are here.'

'I thought they'd all be waiting for us in the Moselle valley.'

'Marshal Villeroi might be,' said Daniel, 'so he's behind us now. Somewhere in front of us are Marshal Marsin and the Bavarians. We'll have them to contend with them before the summer is over.'

'Will we have enough men to take them on?'

'When we cross the River Neckar, the hope is that we'll be joined by 14,000 Danes and Prussians. That's what I've been told.'

'The River Neckar!' echoed Welbeck. 'Are we going that far south? What's Corporal John playing at, Dan? Does he mean to march us all the way to Italy?'

'No, Henry,' said Daniel. 'He means to win a pitched battle against the French that will leave them in tatters. Where it will be, I can't tell you but there'll be a huge butcher's bill to pay.'

'There always is. We only lost a handful of men today. Thousands more will be killed or maimed before we're done.'

'That's why you should be grateful when people like Will Curtis volunteer to join us. We need every last soldier that we can get.'

Edward Marston

Soldier of Fortune

Private Will Curtis, meanwhile, had found himself a quiet spot under a tree where he could draw a diagram of part of the camp with a pencil. Each tent was a tiny square that he numbered carefully so that no mistake would be made. Beside one tent, he put a large cross. Slipping the diagram into his pocket, he went to the corner of the camp that he had just sketched and paced out the distance from the first tent he had drawn and the one with the cross. He made a mental note of the number of paces. Charles Catto was content. He could find his way there in the dark.

As a result of the ambush, additional pickets were posted around the camp but the evening passed without incident. Knowing that they would be up again at dawn, most of the men took to their beds early but Daniel Rawson stayed up late to give Richard Hopwood a chance of retrieving some money at backgammon. They played in Daniel's tent by the light of two candles. Hopwood was a fresh-face young man who had recently bought a commission in the regiment and who — in spite of his enthusiasm — had almost no experience of battle. While Daniel liked him immensely, it did not stop him from making an assault on the lieutenant's purse.

That night, however, it was Daniel's turn to lose. Though he was by far the more skilful player, his mind was filled with the image of Abigail Piper, struggling to reach him. Wondering what had happened to her, and feeling guilty that he had unwittingly prompted her to follow him, he had several lapses of concentration. Hopwood was quick to seize the advantage, earning back some of the money he had lost in previous games. No matter how hard Daniel tried to oust Abigail from his thoughts, she kept coming back to trouble him. He knew that he would never forgive himself if any harm came to her.

'Another game?' asked Hopwood, winning yet again.

'It's late, Richard.'

'One more — your luck may change this time.'

'Very well,' agreed Daniel, 'but you'll have to excuse me for a minute while I answer the call of nature.'

Daniel stood up, the sudden movement creating a draught that made both of the flames dance crazily. He went out of the tent and made his way to the latrines that had been dug some distance away. A fire was burning to give him some guidance. When he had relieved himself, he chatted for a few moments to some of the guards who were patrolling the camp, then he returned to his tent. As he pulled back the flap, he was surprised to see that both candles had been blown out, leaving a haunting smell of smoke.

Assuming that Hopwood had decided against playing again and had instead gone back to his own tent, Daniel moved forward in the dark. Before he could stop himself, he tripped over something and fell to the ground. He got up quickly, groped his way to a candle and managed to light it after a few attempts. The sight that it illumined made him gape in horror. Richard Hopwood had not only been killed.

Someone had removed his head.