Edward Marston - Drums of War

From that point on, he was a marked man. The major took a delight in baiting Tom. If he'd been able to, I fancy he'd have wielded the cat-o'-nine-tails himself. Ideally, of course,' he went on, sadly, 'he'd have preferred to have me strung up on that triangle. Punishing Tom was a means of working off his hatred of me.'

Welbeck was distressed. 'What am I going to write to my sister?' he asked. 'She expected me to look after the lad.'

'Tell her the truth, Henry.'

'That Tom shot an officer then killed himself with a bayonet?'

'No,' said Daniel, 'I think there's a better way of putting it. Your nephew died in action at the battle of Ramillies. That's all his parents need to know. They'll think he was a hero.'

'He was, Dan,' said Welbeck. 'That's exactly what he was.'

Pursuit of the enemy continued well into the night. Stragglers were overtaken, killed or taken prisoner. Marshal Villeroi and the Elector of Bavaria narrowly missed being captured by the Allied cavalry. Their brilliant army had been reduced to a frightened rabble. Marlborough himself joined in the pursuit, determined to press home his advantage to the hilt. When darkness came, he lay on the ground under a cloak to snatch some sleep. It was not until the next day that the true scale of his triumph was known. He was at his headquarters with Cadogan and Cardonnel when Daniel Rawson brought in the details. He gave the document to Marlborough.

'Have they finished counting the numbers?' he said.

'Not quite, Your Grace,' replied Daniel, 'but I understand that you'll have a fairly accurate idea of them from that list.'

Marlborough read it out. 'Villeroi lost at least 15,000 men, killed or wounded,' he said, happily, 'and as many again have been taken prisoner. That's half their strength, gentlemen. We've crushed the French army to a pulp.'

'What of our own casualties?' wondered Cadogan.

'We lost less than 2,500 men, William.'

'God be praised!'

'Save some of that praise for our soldiers,' said Marlborough. "They showed rare courage and endurance. The French officers lacked both. That was the essential difference between the two sides.'

'The essential difference was our commander-in-chief,' said Daniel, setting off a loud murmur of approval from the others. 'You completely outwitted Marshal Villeroi, Your Grace. In many ways, this victory was even greater than that at Blenheim.'

'There's no doubt about that, Daniel. Blenheim lasted for seven or eight hours and we lost 12,000 men. The battle of Ramillies was over in two hours and our losses were considerably smaller.' He waved the paper in his hand. 'According to this, we also acquired 50 cannon and 80 standards and colours. Huge numbers of abandoned weapons have also been recovered.'

"The victory will reverberate throughout Europe, Your Grace,' said Cardonnel. 'Our detractors will no longer be able to claim that Blenheim was merely an instance of good fortune. Ramillies has attested your superiority as a commander once and for all. And the real beauty of it is,' he added, 'that the triumph comes so early in the campaign.'

'Quite so, Adam,' agreed Marlborough, beaming. 'The summer lies before us. With God's help, we'll make the best of it.'

News of the victory was greeted with celebrations all over Europe. Not everyone, however, was pleased by the tidings. Three people were especially dismayed. Johannes Mytens, Willem Ketel and Gaston Loti found the news disconcerting. When they met at Mytens' house in The Hague, they were furious.

'There's no hope of peace now,' said Ketel.

'None at all,' said Mytens, gloomily. 'Encouraged by what he achieved at Ramillies, the Duke will want to fight on regardless. The drain on our national finances will be greater than ever.'

'Think of the loss of our soldiers, Johannes. Many more of them will be killed in battles to satisfy the Duke's craving for warfare.'

'The situation is hopeless.'

'I think not,' said Loti with smiling determination. 'Remember what we agreed, gentlemen. We have to cut the Gordian knot. Since the Duke is an insuperable barrier to peace, we have to be ruthless. He must die.'

'That's easier said than done,' remarked Ketel, scratching his head under his wig. 'I hired a man weeks ago to find out the best way to assassinate the Duke. He said it couldn't be done because it's impossible to get close enough.'

'Then we hire someone to shoot from a distance,' said Mytens.

'He's always surrounded by people.'

'In that case, we devise a way to kill him and his staff. If they can be lured into the right place, they can all be blown up in the same explosion.'

'It would never work, Johannes.'

'The Duke is only human.'

'Not if you listen to common report,' said Ketel, bitterly. 'He's being acclaimed as some kind of god. Wherever he goes, he'll be feted. That means the Duke will always have the protection of a crowd.'

'We are to hold a dinner in his honour here in The Hague,' said Mytens, 'and I'll be forced to cheer the Duke and fawn like all those obsequious fools in the States-General. If only we could use the occasion to have him shot dead.'

'He'll be far too well protected. Besides, if the bullet goes astray, it might kill someone else by mistake. Do you want Heinsius to be shot in place of the Duke?'

'No, Willem. The risk is too great. It's also difficult to see how an assassin could escape after firing a shot. Guards would be on him in a flash and our names would be tortured out of him. Our own lives would then be in danger. Well,' he continued, fingering his double chin, 'if it's not possible to shoot him, then we must find another means of killing him.'

'What we really need is the right man to do it.'

'You're chasing the wrong fox, gentleman,' said Loti, shrewdly. 'I fancy that there's a very simple way to dispose of the person who stands between us and a peaceful settlement to this ruinous war. I suggest that you leave the arrangements to me. I have the perfect assassin in mind.'

'Do you know of a man capable enough? ' asked Ketel.

'I wouldn't even bother looking for one, Willem. This is not a task for any man,' he went on. 'I propose to engage a woman.'

The dinner was held in the city hall and was attended by the Grand Pensionary, members of the States-General, civic worthies and invited guests. Daniel Rawson was included in the Duke of Marlborough's party. When they arrived at the venue, they wore their dress uniforms and were given an ovation by the large crowd gathered outside to welcome them. Inside the building, they were greeted in order of seniority by Grand Pensionary Heinsius. Daniel waited patiently behind Marlborough,

Overkirk, Churchill, Cadogan, Orkney and other senior officers to shake Heinsius' hand. When he entered the hall where the long tables were in a horseshoe pattern, Daniel had a surprise that took his breath away. Amalia Janssen was there. She was wearing a gorgeous blue dress with a bell-shaped skirt, a high-necked bodice and tight sleeves, ending in a cuff above the elbow. On her head was a fontage of upright lace, pleated and in tiers. The whole effect was stunning. Daniel had never seen her looking so enchanting. He rushed across to greet her.

'I never expected to see you here, Amalia,' he said.

'Father and I were invited at the Duke's suggestion,' she told him. 'I hoped against hope that you might be here as well, Daniel.'

'His Grace wanted me beside him as an interpreter. There'll be lots of worthy but rather boring speeches that I'll have to translate from the Dutch. To be honest, I wasn't looking forward to the occasion at all. Now,' he said, gazing adoringly at her, 'I'll enjoy every second.'

'And so shall I.'

'What have you been doing since we last met?'

'Nothing of any importance,' she said. 'Nothing that could possibly compare with winning a famous victory as you did.'