Edward Marston - Soldier of Fortune

'Yes, Your Grace,' he replied. 'I will be calling at the house.'

The sight revived Catto's spirits at once. When he saw Daniel leaving on horseback with two companions, he knew that they must be acting as couriers. Catto's vigil outside Marlborough's quarters had been repaid. He not only discovered that Daniel was still alive but that he was leaving the protection of the camp altogether. It would be much easier to track and kill him on the open road. Though nominally still under guard, Catto had been able to move quite freely around the camp. Leaving it might be more problematic. He needed a change of clothing, a fast horse and an element of luck. The main thing was that Daniel had survived. It was a portent.

The clothing was easily acquired. Catto stole it from a washing line strung between two wagons owned by camp followers. It was too large for him but suitably nondescript. When he filched a hat from the inside of another wagon, he was able to complete the metamorphosis from a French captain into a Dutch civilian. The horse was taken from the stable area where the animals were tethered in long lines. Many of them had collected cuts and gashes during cavalry charges. Catto was careful to choose a horse that had come unharmed through the battle. When nobody was watching, he led his mount quietly away and was almost clear when he was challenged.

The soldier was no more than seventeen but the hardship of army life had added years to his face. Catto gave him a plausible excuse for taking the horse but the soldier was suspicious. When he turned to call for help, he had a hand clasped over his mouth and a dagger inserted into his back. Catto hid the dead body under a pile of hay. It would be some time before it was discovered. As a result of the battle, the camp was in a state of relative disorder and its ranks had been noticeably thinned. Picking his spot, Catto was able to slip past the sentries without being seen.

He was confident of being able to follow Daniel. If the latter were carrying despatches, he would be going to England or The Hague. Whichever his destination, he would take the speediest way north. Catto simply had to stay on the main road and maintain a good pace. Seven miles or so from the camp, he met a farmer who told him that three British soldiers had galloped past him earlier on. Now that his guess about Daniel's route had been confirmed, Catto rode on with renewed zest, speculating on how he could best kill a man who had caused him so much trouble.

It was evening before he finally caught up with them. Daniel and the two subalterns had stopped at an inn to rest their horses and refresh themselves. Catto approached slowly, entering the courtyard with his hat pulled down over his forehead. After tethering his horse, he peeped into the taproom and saw the two subalterns sitting at a table with a drink in their hands. Daniel was not there. When he walked around the outside of the inn, Catto understood why. Instead of drinking with his companions, Daniel had strolled down to the edge of a stream nearby and unbuttoned his uniform to let the breeze cool him down after the sweaty ride.

Sensing that he might never get a better chance, Catto moved with deliberation towards his victim. Under his coat, he was gripping the handle of the dagger that had already killed one British soldier that day. It was about to claim a more important life. Daniel was gazing into the water, seemingly oblivious to all else. In fact, it was the stream that alerted him to sudden danger. The ground sloped sharply downward to the edge of the stream and, as Catto strode purposefully on, his reflection appeared on the surface of the water.

It was only there for a split-second but it was enough to goad Daniel into action. Spinning around, he saw his attacker coming at him with the dagger raised to strike. As Catto closed in on him and stabbed with his weapon, Daniel grabbed his wrist and held it tight. The point of the dagger was only inches from his chest but it did not get any closer. As the two men wrestled violently on the bank, Daniel knocked off his attacker's hat and recognised him. It made him fight even more strenuously. He had a score to settle with Charles Catto.

They were well-matched. Daniel was the stronger of the two but Catto was the more guileful. At the height of the struggle, he stuck out a foot and tripped Daniel up. Though he fell backwards with Catto on top of him, Daniel did not release his grip on the wrist. As he hit the ground, he twisted his hand as sharply as he could then pulled the wrist towards him, embedding the dagger inches into the grass. Before he could pull it out again, Catto was punched so hard in the face that he was forced to release his weapon.

He replied by punching Daniel and by trying to gouge his eye with a thumb. Then he got both hands to Daniel's neck but he did not hold them there for long. Using all his strength, Daniel heaved him off then rolled down the incline with him until both men toppled into the water. It was a fight to the death now as they grappled, punched, kicked and sought for any advantage. The two of them vanished beneath the water, threshing about madly and creating a wide circle of ripples. Catto drew on the memory of what had happened to Frederic Seurel and had a surge of energy. He began to get the upper hand.

Daniel, however, had his own memories on which to call. He remembered the brutal death of Lieutenant Hopwood, the abduction of Abigail Piper and the duel that was heavily weighted in favour of General Salignac. He remembered the way that Catto had taunted him while he was their captive. The man Daniel was fighting was a traitor, an Englishman in league with the French. Catto was despicable. Stirred by these thoughts as they flashed across his mind, Daniel felt an uprush of power reinforced by a fierce pride. He was on his way to deliver important despatches to Queen and to Parliament. Nobody was going to deprive him of that honour.

Swinging Catto over so that his back was on the bed of the stream, Daniel lifted his own head above the surface and gulped in air before submerging again. The struggle continued but Catto was weakening with every second. His lungs were on fire, his body was aching from the punches he had taken and his limbs were no longer under control. Daniel held him down firmly for another couple of minutes. After one final, desperate attempt to break free, Catto went limp. It was all over. Daniel surfaced and gasped in more air. As he looked down at Catto, he gave a weary smile of celebration. He had finally got rid of the man who had been hired to kill him.

When she returned home, Abigail Piper had begun to see her wild adventure in a different light. Infatuated with Daniel Rawson and buoyed up by the hope of seeing him, she had somehow coped with all the adversity that beset her and Emily Greene. Once back in England, however, the full danger of what she had done became much clearer. Abigail was terrified by her own wilfulness. She had put not only her own life at risk but that of her maid as well. Worst of all, she had been responsible for handing Daniel over to his enemies and she could never forgive herself for that. Viewed objectively, her visit to Germany had bordered on catastrophe.

Her despair had first manifested itself in a physical illness. Having held up gamely all the way back, she had collapsed once she crossed the threshold of her home. A fortnight in bed and regular attendance by a physician had eventually recovered her but there was no cure for the demons in her mind. Weeks after she was back on her feet again, Abigail was still obsessed with her folly. As she sat in the garden with a book in her lap, she was not reading the poetry it contained. She was still agonising over what had happened.

Her sister, Dorothy, recognised the now familiar signs.

'You must not keep blaming yourself, Abigail,' she said.