Edward Marston - Fire and Sword

Vendome was pleased to welcome Sophie Prunier back into the French camp and to hear a full account of her adventures. He was grateful for the detail she was able to provide of the enemy and was amused at the way she’d deceived even the Duke of Marlborough.

‘I’d be the first to admit that I never expected you to be rescued by Captain Rawson,’ he said, ‘but I feel that it worked out to our benefit in the end. You are to be congratulated.’

‘Thank you, Your Grace,’ she said.

‘I think you’ve earned a reunion with your husband now. You’ll find Lieutenant Bouteron waiting for you in his quarters.’

‘Before I go, I must give you a warning. Captain Rawson set out for this camp for the second time. According to what I was told, he’s anxious to retrieve his sword.’

Vendome gave a throaty chuckle. ‘I assisted him,’ he said. ‘The captain was arrested and brought before me. Since he was so keen to have his sword, I sent it with him to Versailles. I’ve left it to His Majesty to determine the fate of Daniel Rawson. My guess is that we shall never hear of the fellow again.’

Henry Welbeck ate the last of the cheese then washed it down with a swig of wine. The loaded pistol lay beside him. He was sitting in the darkness on top of the hill near the farmhouse used by the deserters as their refuge. His thighs were smarting and his crotch felt as if it were on fire. He’d never ridden so hard or so recklessly as he had when he fled from the scene of the ambush, and he vowed that he’d never do so again. One of the horses had had to be left behind. The other was now munching what was left of the hay stored at the farmhouse.

He heard the jingle of a harness first. The slow clip-clop of hooves followed. Pistol in hand, Welbeck was ready to shoot. Then he saw a familiar profile coming out of the gloom and laughed happily.

‘Here he is at long last,’ he teased. ‘What kept you, Dan?’

The first thing that Daniel did when they returned to camp was to seek out Amalia Janssen in her tent and assure her that he was safe. He gave her only an attenuated version of what had happened and — when he showed it to her — his sword had been wiped clean of blood. Daniel was shocked to learn that Sophie Prunier had fled and shaken to realise that he’d been taken in so completely.

‘I should have been more careful,’ he said.

‘It was my fault,’ said Amalia. ‘I was the one who urged you to bring her with us when we escaped from the French camp. The person who has really been left with a red face is Lieutenant Ainley.’

Daniel smiled tolerantly. ‘That’s not unexpected,’ he said. ‘The sight of a gorgeous woman usually makes Jonathan blush and so his judgement is impaired. Like the rest of us, he was cleverly exploited by Mademoiselle Prunier. It took another woman to unmask her in the end. Your instincts were sound, Amalia.’

‘Where will she be now?’

‘Someone will have helped her to get back to Braine l’Alleud and she’ll be laughing at our expense. However,’ he went on, kissing her, ‘I can’t stay. His Grace will be expecting a report.’

Amalia smiled. ‘In the space of a couple of days,’ she observed, ‘he lost Sophie Prunier but gained Daniel Rawson. He’ll consider that a profitable exchange.’

Marlborough received a much more detailed account of what had happened in the French camp. While playing down his own role in the escape, Daniel emphasised how heroic and imaginative Henry Welbeck had been. Without the sergeant’s ambush, he stressed, he would have been taken all the way to Versailles for an unpleasant confrontation with the French king.

‘That’s an honour I’m happy to forego,’ said Daniel.

‘I’m sure that he’d have been very interested to meet you,’ said Marlborough. ‘Your escapades at the Bastille have made you a marked man, Daniel. Make no more visits to the enemy camp — that’s an order rather than a suggestion.’

‘It’s one that I’m happy to obey.’

‘We heard about your part in the arrest of the deserters,’ said Cardonnel. ‘Sergeant Welbeck featured there as well, I believe.’

‘He did indeed,’ confirmed Daniel. ‘Where are they now?’

‘Awaiting execution — they faced a court martial.’

‘Yes,’ added Marlborough. ‘Had you been here, they’d have been hanged already. We felt that both you and the sergeant would like to be present when those rogues dance on the scaffold. It will serve as a warning to anyone else contemplating desertion.’

‘What’s happened here in my absence?’ asked Daniel.

‘Nothing,’ said Cardonnel, pursing his lips, ‘absolutely nothing. It’s been a case of hesitation and inactivity. I fancy that the French are trying to bore us into submission. The impasse has been going on for weeks now.’

‘I had the dubious pleasure of meeting their commander — in-chief in company with the duc de Vendome. My impression was that there was some discord between them,’ said Daniel. ‘If they are bickering about what strategy to employ, that could explain their indecision.’

‘It’s a mixture of indecision and natural caution, Daniel,’ said Marlborough. ‘We saw how Vendome played his hand last year. He’d rather hold on to what they already have than risk a major battle. When I saw the size of his army, I hoped that he’d at last come out of his shell but he seems far too snug inside it.’

Daniel gave a hollow laugh. ‘Snug is not a word I’d apply to him, Your Grace,’ said Daniel. ‘He struck me as a man who’d prefer action. All that he requires is approval from Versailles.’

‘There’s the rub. The French have to get word from King Louis before they can move and we must have our strategy ratified by our allies. Neither of us can act independently. It’s the besetting sin of war by coalition.’

‘We could never win on our own, Your Grace.’

‘I know,’ said Marlborough with a melancholy sigh. ‘Allies are a necessary evil. I’d find them less of a hindrance if they managed to arrive on time. After all these weeks, Prince Eugene has still not made an appearance. Latest reports put his troops somewhere between here and the Moselle.’

‘Their movements will at least distract the French.’

‘We need them here, Daniel.’

‘I agree, Your Grace.’

‘If we are to save Brussels, we require all our troops.’

‘Only if the French launch an attack, and there seems to be very little indication of that happening.’

‘There’s none at all,’ said Marlborough. ‘There was a time when their armies were the finest in Europe, sweeping aside all before them. Now they seem to have lost their stomach for a fight.’

‘We sapped their strength at Ramillies,’ observed Cardonnel.

‘We did, Adam. Their appetite for war has never fully been regained. What possible hope do we have of ever bringing this conflict to a satisfactory conclusion when the enemy simply cools its heels and watches us? It’s soul-destroying,’ said Marlborough, shaking his head. ‘The French refuse to budge.’

On 5 July, 1708 the French moved with speed and precision. After the long lull, they burst into life in the most unexpected way. While advance guards hurried on ahead of them, they left Braine l’Alleud with dramatic suddenness and marched westwards. Their first prize was the beautiful town of Bruges. Knowing of the general discontent felt towards the Confederate army, French sympathisers had worked hard to win over the citizens. They’d been forewarned of the dash to the west and, as soon as the army appeared before Bruges, its gates were flung open and the French were hailed as deliverers. A major prize had fallen into enemy hands without a shot being fired.