Edward Marston - Fire and Sword

‘Yet three years later, when he should have supported his king once again, he turns his back on him and joins up with a Dutchman, William of Orange. King James was forced into exile. That’s treachery to me.’

‘It’s a little more complicated than that.’

‘He stabbed King James in the back.’

‘That’s not what happened at all.’

‘I see what I see,’ affirmed Rye, thrusting out his jaw. ‘You can lick the Duke of Marlborough’s arse all you want but I’ll never forgive him for what he did to my two brothers.’ He nodded at the gravestone. ‘Unlike you, I could never serve a butcher who helped to put my father in the ground.’

Turning on his heel, he stalked off and gathered up his children. Daniel was chastened. Caught up in his uncritical veneration of Marlborough, he’d forgotten that the Duke didn’t enjoy universal praise even in his own country. It was not only scheming politicians who harboured a grudge against the great man. Humble people like Martin Rye had long memories and still nursed wounds inflicted at the battle of Sedgemoor. Daniel stared down at the grave with unease. He wondered what Nathan Rawson would say if he knew that his son had now served a man who’d once helped to quash the rebellion to which the farmer and retired soldier had dedicated himself.

When Daniel rode off, the words of Martin Rye rang in his ears.

The blacksmith would be one of many people who’d rejoice when he heard that Marlborough had effectively been stripped of his command.

On 19 February, 1708, the customary meeting of the Cabinet Council was held on a Sunday morning. The Queen’s most trusted advisers shuffled into the room and took their places either side of the long oak table. The pervasive air of solemnity was offset by the suppressed glee of one man. Robert Harley, Secretary of State, was now at the head of an administration with a distinct Tory bias. Not for nothing did he bear the nickname of Robin the Trickster. In appearance, he was small and rather insignificant yet he wielded great power behind the scenes. It had taken guile and perseverance to supplant Godolphin and to bring an end to Marlborough’s glittering military career. Harley was in the ascendant now. As he looked around the table, he was confident that a new and better political era was about to begin. It was time to flex his muscles.

When a door opened, everyone struggled to their feet. Queen Anne hobbled into the room and cut anything but a regal figure. Flat-faced, overweight and plagued by gout, she wore apparel that verged on the drab. When she took her seat at the head of the table, there was a loud scraping of chairs as the others lowered themselves down again. After looking around the faces that peeped out from their periwigs, she gave Harley a nod. He was a poor speaker with a dry voice but for once it had some sparkle in it.

‘Thank you, Your Majesty,’ he began. ‘As Secretary of State, it is my duty to open this meeting and to set before you the business that we have to discuss.’

Though he carried on, he did so over audible murmurs of protest from some ministers. The noise slowly built until it was too concerted to be ignored. Harley came to a halt and glanced at the Queen in consternation. Feeling that his position was secure, he’d never anticipated that he might face opposition. He looked down at the notes in front of him but he was quite unable to read them out. While Harley dithered and while the Queen shifted uncomfortably in her seat, the Duke of Somerset rose with dignity. His eyes flicked meaningfully at the two empty chairs at the table.

‘I do not see how we can deliberate,’ he boomed, ‘when the Commander-in-Chief and the Lord Treasurer are absent.’

The announcement was greeted with murmurs of agreement and someone patted the table by way of approval. Somerset had clearly voiced a general opinion. Robin the Trickster made no reply. Facing humiliation, he had no idea what to do. Queen Anne was unable to help him out of his predicament. She, too, was squirming with embarrassment. Somerset pressed home his advantage and repeated his earlier statement. After a long and extremely awkward silence, the Queen realised that a form of mutiny was taking place and that she had no means of quelling it. The unthinkable had occurred. She’d lost her control of the Council table.

‘This meeting is formally ended,’ she said.

Flushing angrily, and with lips pursed in exasperation, she got up and tottered out of the room. Muted laughter broke out and a few handshakes were exchanged as ministers congratulated each other on having made their point so forcefully. An important event had just occurred and it had constitutional significance. They’d openly defied the wishes of their sovereign and won a victory.

Harley was mortified. He could only sit there in hurt silence and reflect that, for once, his trickery had woefully miscarried.

Daniel Rawson’s second visit to Holywell House was in marked contrast to the first one. He’d left on that occasion in a mood that bordered on despair but he now returned with alacrity. He was shown into the library and found Marlborough there, talking with his private secretary, Adam Cardonnel. They looked up as Daniel entered.

‘Come in, come in,’ said Marlborough, affably. ‘Your honour was but lately in our thoughts.’

‘I rode here as soon as I received your letter, Your Grace,’ said Daniel. ‘Let me congratulate you on being restored to the command that you should never have relinquished.’

‘It was very gratifying.’

‘A gross injustice has been righted.’

‘I agree with you, Daniel,’ said Cardonnel. ‘Her Majesty has been saved from making the most calamitous mistake of her reign.’

‘And there have been a few of those,’ said Marlborough under his breath. ‘But don’t just stand there, man. Take a seat.’

‘Thank you, Your Grace.’

Daniel sat down opposite them. Delighted to find Marlborough in such high spirits, he was also pleased to see Cardonnel again. The secretary was a vital member of the captain general’s staff. A neat, handsome, engaging man, Cardonnel was a model of efficiency. He was also tireless, tactful and intensely loyal. He and Daniel had something in common. Both were refugees. In 1685, when Daniel and his mother fled after the battle of Sedgemoor, Cardonnel and his Huguenot family hastily left France to avoid the slaughter that followed the Revocation of the Edict of Nantes.

‘Order and common sense are restored,’ observed Cardonnel.

‘They should never have been abandoned in the first place,’ said Daniel. ‘What on earth persuaded Her Majesty to dispense with her acknowledged champion?’

‘Someone whispered in her ear, Daniel.’

‘Who was that?’

‘It matters not. He’s been summarily dismissed now.’

‘It’s no more than Robin the Trickster deserves,’ opined Marlborough, ‘but he wasn’t the only villain here. A maggot had wriggled its way into the royal apple. It goes by the name of Abigail Masham, one of Her Majesty’s bedchamber women. My dear wife will tell you all about that devious little baggage. Suffice it to say that we are — if not exactly in favour again — firmly in charge of operations.’

‘Those are the best tidings I could wish to hear, Your Grace.’

‘Thank you, Daniel.’

‘What are my orders?’

‘I’ll come to those,’ said Marlborough. ‘First, I wish to tender my apologies for sending you away so brusquely when you last called. I’ve now read the correspondence you brought and it’s been enlightening.’

‘There was another matter I’d hoped to raise with you.’

‘Speak on. This is your opportunity.’

‘It concerns a harrowing incident, Your Grace.’

Daniel told them about the destruction of the farm and the murder of its occupants. Marlborough was aghast when he heard that it was the work of British soldiers.