Читать книгу Jack Steel Adventure Series Books 1-3: Man of Honour, Rules of War, Brothers in Arms - Iain Gale, Iain Gale - Страница 17

EIGHT

Steel groaned. How much longer could this possibly take? Clad in just his shirt and waistcoat, breeches and stockings, he sat in his tent within the allied lines, with his right leg hoisted up on a hay-filled forage bag. Before him Corporal Taylor crouched over the wound that had been inflicted fifteen days ago by Jennings’ filthy sword, while above both men, Sergeant Slaughter stood gazing on, half in admiration, half in sceptical curiosity. Steel drummed impatient fingers against the small table beside him and sighed:

‘Taylor. You’re quite certain that this is absolutely necessary?’

‘Please, Mister Steel. Do try and remain still, Sir, and I’ll be finished with you in an instant. This is the last time I’ll have to do this. I swear, Sir.’

‘What the devil are you putting on me this time? Not more rancid pumpkin flesh and stale meal, surely?’

‘No, Sir. This is the final stage. Just finishing you off nicely. Brown sugar, lees of wine and linseed oil. My own recipt.’

‘Sounds rather as if you’re preparing me for the kitchens. And it doesn’t smell any better.’

‘That’s the matter from wound that’s smelling so bad, Sir, not my poultice.’

Slaughter coughed: ‘Smells something awful, Sir.’

‘Thank you, Jacob. I’m as aware as you of the stink. Corporal Taylor here assures me that this is the only way to ensure that the wound will heal by the time we fight the French. And after all that has happened I do not intend to miss the moment we have been seeking these four months.’

‘All the same, Sir. It don’t half reek.’

Taylor glared up at the Sergeant.

‘But at least, Sarn’t Slaughter, it’s not infected any longer.’

He pointed proudly at the pink, glistening, puckered scar, a small section of which still lay open.

‘See all that slough running down off your leg, Sir? That there’s the last of the matter to come out of the wound. I promise you, you’ll be fine within the week, Mister Steel.’

‘Thank you, Taylor. I really am much obliged to you. But I intend to be fine within the day. The Frogs are just over that hill and I promise you that very soon, sooner than you think, we will be at them.’

‘Oh, Jack, what is that horrid smell.’

The sound of a woman’s voice turned all their heads towards the tent flap. Louisa Weber stood framed against the day, the pale afternoon sunlight catching the golden strands which ran through her pale yellow hair.

‘It’s like you have a ham cooking … in honey or something.’

‘It’s my leg. I’m sorry.’

She grimaced, then laughed. Ten days of nursing Steel had inured her to the sights of a field hospital. If not the smells. She entered and Slaughter smiled and left. Taylor was lost in his work, carefully winding a clean bandage around Steel’s leg.

‘Corporal Taylor is a fine doctor, Jack. He looked after me so well.’

Even through his stubble, Taylor’s deepening colour was evident. ‘It was nothing ma’am. Just did what I could.’

‘Nonsense. You are a treasure. Don’t let him go, Jack.’

‘No danger of that.’

Steel looked hard at the Corporal:

‘Aren’t you done yet, Taylor? Go on, get on now. I’m sure that’ll do it.’

Taylor tucked in the end of the bandage to secure it and gathered up his ointments, placing the glass phials with care inside their leather bag.

‘Good day, Miss. Mister Steel, Sir.’

‘Good day, Taylor. And thank you.’

As Taylor left the tent, Louisa bent to kiss Steel on the forehead. He pulled her down on to his knee.

‘Jack. Be careful. Your leg.’

‘My leg is as good as new. Your Corporal Taylor told me so. Where have you been?’

‘I was visiting the wounded. One of them died in the night. A young boy. He had asked for me. I came too late.’

She stared at the ground and began to rub at the balls of her fingers, as if she was trying to eradicate some dirt. Steel had noticed the habit before and knew that she did it to stop the tears.

‘How’s Mister Williams coping with his duties?’

‘He looked very busy. He wears his head bandaged up and he has taken to walking with a stick for the sake of his poor leg. He looks very … dashing. He was marching with some of your men beside the wagon park. He smiled at me.’

At least they could be thankful that Williams had not been killed.

Steel could recollect little of the immediate aftermath of the fight at Bachweiden. But gradually he began to remember details. The fight with Jennings. Their timely rescue by Hay’s dragoons. Most pressingly the fact that Jennings was now in possession of the papers.

Louisa, freed from Jennings’ threat, had revealed the true identity of her attacker.

Steel had offered an apology to Herr Kretzmer, who, thankful for his lucky escape from the noose and the bullet, had been only too happy to accept the offer of an escort to Augsburg. Of course they had been obliged to make good the payment for the flour. Jennings’ deceit had cost them all, dearly.

Now Steel would not rest until Jennings was dead. How had he not seen through the man before? A rapist and a traitor. The wound had kept him confined to bed and it irked him not to be in pursuit of the Major.

After their rescue, Steel and his Grenadiers had remained in the British camp at Neukirk to join the rearguard, while the bulk of the army had manoeuvred further still into Bavaria. Then the army had returned and together they had made the short march north. Yesterday they had arrived here, just to the south of the town of Rain, which had been taken by Marlborough shortly after their departure some three weeks past. What there was left of the precious flour had been gratefully received. As to the more vital part of Steel’s mission, though, little had as yet been said. Now he awaited Hawkins’ arrival.

Steel knew that soon he would have to account to Marlborough. He had failed. Of that there was no doubt. And whatever might be his punishment for such failure, it remained to be seen how, if at all, it might yet be remedied.

First though, he must be fit. He had been surprised at the gravity of his wounds. The blow on the head had very nearly cracked his skull, but it had been the leg wound from Jennings’ blade that had caused him the most severe discomfort. Having at first considered it no more than a scratch he had had it dressed. But then it had begun to throb and soon to stink. For six days he had lain in a fever. That he had not died was due entirely to the ministrations of Corporal Taylor and Louisa.

He gazed at her now as she attempted to tidy up around him. At her slender waist, the pale beauty of her half-covered shoulders and her delicate profile. He wondered at her resilience. At how quickly she had seemed to recover from her ordeal.

Again he played in his mind with the possibilities of their relationship. If there was ever a woman who might grow accustomed to the life of an army wife, then surely it was Louisa. But was she suited to it? Or indeed suited to him? For what did she really know of him? And what, he wondered, of himself? Was this what he wanted? Arabella was a distant memory and many, many miles away. Louisa was here and now and Steel wondered whether what he felt for her was what men called love. For an instant he caught the word on his lips, then stopped himself. Louisa turned to him and smiled.

‘What?’

‘I. Nothing. I was just …’

She seemed about to say something when the tent flap opened and Henry Hansam entered, followed by Colonel Hawkins.

Steel attempted to stand but the Colonel waived him down.

‘Jack. I am very much afraid that I come bearing a summons. You are ordered at once to the Commander-in-Chief.’

He noticed Louisa and removed his hat.

‘Good day, Miss Weber.’

Hansam followed suit. Like the rest of Steel’s fellow officers he had accepted her presence in his friend’s tent as readily as they had all welcomed the return of Steel himself. Women in camp were no great novelty. Though for the most part of course they were found among the other ranks. But with Steel, as they all concurred, anything was possible. It seemed only natural that the maverick officer should return to the camp with this beautiful Bavarian angel as his consort. For if Steel was not yet decided as to their future, to his comrades it seemed to be a foregone conclusion.

Steel pushed himself up off the chair. Louisa moved to help him to his feet. She buttoned his waistcoat which hung open and draped his red coat across his shoulders before helping him insert his arms. As, with Louisa’s assistance, he pushed his feet into his boots, Steel ran a hand around his recently shaved chin. He peered at himself in the small piece of mirror-glass propped up on a folding table. Hawkins smiled at him.

‘You hardly present the very perfect picture of an officer, Jack. But I dare say you’ll do for Marlborough.’

‘Colonel. I am not back yet ten days and you goad me.’

He pointed to his leg.

‘I am a sick man. Have you no pity?’

Hawkins laughed. Louisa handed Steel the stout ash stick that, to avoid putting pressure on his leg, he had been using for the past few days to help him walk, and held back the flap of the tent as he lowered his head and felt the touch of the balmy evening air. Hansam held the tent open for Hawkins and Steel who, as he left, turned back to Louisa.

‘Wish me luck, both of you. I suspect that I may have need of it.’

Marlborough’s tent, illuminated by the light of two dozen candles, was empty when Steel and Hawkins entered, save for the General’s soldier-servant who was busy pouring three glasses of wine. Hawkins handed one of them to Steel before he spoke:

‘Truly, Jack, I did not expect this to happen. I knew nothing of Jennings’ intentions. Of course I learnt of his departure, but assumed that Colonel Farquharson had dispatched him. There is no doubt in my mind as to who might be behind this. It is common knowledge that the Margrave is opposed to Marlborough’s strategy. We can surmise that one of his commanders must have stumbled upon our plan. There are Tories in the army but I had not been aware that Major Jennings was of their persuasion.’

‘Nor I, Colonel. Although I did perceive that his way of waging war might be somewhat different to that proposed by our Commander.’

Hawkins looked grave.

‘It is clear that the French Grenadiers, their officer in particular, were pursuing you with a specific prize in mind. Otherwise they would not have dared venture so close to our lines. I can only wonder if Major Jennings is now with the French; whether he has yet been discovered by your Grenadier officer. I do not suppose that he will be very comfortable in his new billet, either way.’

‘A turncoat he might be, Sir, in his loyalty to the Duke, but I cannot believe that even Jennings would turn traitor to his country. Although I am afraid that Colonel Farquharson cannot now bring himself to talk to me, so mortified is he by his relation’s behaviour.

‘But whoever it was alerted the French to my mission, it seems now that Jennings has done their work for them. And in truth, it is I who am at fault, Colonel. I should have been suspicious at his arrival on the march. I should have seen his true purpose. Above all I should not have allowed him to catch me off guard in the heat of battle. I am truly sorry.’

‘I believe, Steel, that I know who may have brought in the French. Jennings had a Sergeant did he not?’

‘Stringer? An accomplice?’

‘The Sergeant, it seems, has been running a racket with the French and selling them supplies. He was dealing through one of the commissaries. Jennings must have let him in on the reason for their expedition and naturally, seeing that there’s money in secrets, he tells his go-between who, for a price, tells the French. It’s not until the second ambush that Stringer realizes he’s signed his own death warrant. Of course the French don’t get him, thanks to you. But the hangman will. Man’s a born traitor. We’ve already arrested his friend. He admitted everything and he’ll swing for it tomorrow.’

‘But not Stringer? You haven’t taken him.’

Steel looked desperate.

‘You must know, Colonel, that Stringer is my chief hope of finding Major Jennings.’

Hawkins placed a hand on his shoulder.

‘Don’t fret, Jack. I guessed that you might have plans for him. Sergeant Stringer believes that he’s got away with it. He’ll be nervous, but that just might make him all the more eager to keep you sweet. He’s yours until you find Jennings. Then he belongs to me.’

There was a cough and both men turned. ‘Let us hope, gentlemen, however we catch our fox that we are not too late to undo the wrong that has been done.’

The voice belonged to Marlborough, who, as they had been talking with their backs to the entrance, had quietly entered the tent. He was alone and Steel turned and met his gaze, giving a short bow.

‘Your Grace. I was not aware …’

‘No, Lieutenant Steel. Indeed. I hear that you have been sorely tried. Two engagements with the enemy. Infantry and cavalry. Hussars if I am informed aright. How did you find them?’

‘They are fine horsemen, Your Grace, but I am of the opinion that too much of their reputation rides upon their appearance. We gave them a good licking, Sir.’

‘And were damn near licked yourself in the process. You were only saved by John Hay’s dragoons. Am I not right? But I do hear that you fought valiantly, Steel. And at least you are safe, eh? How are your injuries?’

Marlborough gestured at Steel’s leg.

‘Have you the proper attention? I have a doctor.’

The icy, grey-green eyes stared deep into Steel’s soul.

‘Thank you, Sir. I have the best of care. And it was no more than a scratch, Your Grace. And a knock to the head.’

‘Given you, I believe, by our friend Major Jennings.’

Steel was at a loss for words. He wondered exactly how much Hawkins had already told the Duke. Marlborough continued:

‘You did everything that was in your power to secure those papers. Everything. Indeed you had them in your very possession. You were not to suspect that Jennings would prove turncoat. You looked at the papers?’

Steel was unsure how to reply but decided on the truth.

‘Yes, Your Grace.’

‘So you know their content?’

‘I saw an address, Sir, in France. The date. Your name. Nothing more.’

‘My signature. Yes. And the name of the … Of another man. You recall the date?’

‘1696. November, I believe, Your Grace.’

Marlborough paused. He seemed for a moment unaware to whom he was speaking.

‘Yes. That was the date. I was asking for King James’ pardon. For a wrong I believed I had committed against him and his house and against my own honour.’

Marlborough recovered himself and looked again at Steel.

‘It was a foolish notion. Another time. Another country. I was another man.’

He walked over to the table, where the servant handed him a glass of wine. He took a long drink and set it back down.

‘And so, God bless the Queen. Nevertheless, gentlemen. Now I think that we should all be very much afraid for I am quite exposed. Open to destruction. My future and the fate of this army, whether or not we prevail in the coming battle, now hangs on the actions of Major Jennings. It was not your fault, Steel, but as I intimated before your departure, should you fail, then we are undone. And I am very much afraid that now that moment is come upon us. What, do you suppose, are we to do? Where will we find the Major?’

Steel was about to speak when Hawkins cut in:

‘Your Grace, we must on all accounts remain calm in this matter. We know that Jennings rode towards the French, he did not ride directly for Flanders and the coast. It should be some consolation that he is still in the country and on the continent.’

Steel spoke:

‘He is with the French, Your Grace. I am quite sure of it. He dare not return to the army at present.’

Marlborough let out a mocking laugh.

‘Ah, I know what you will now tell me, Mister Steel. I have had it before today, from Hawkins. And from my Lord Cadogan and Cardonell. You will tell me that a lone English officer was spied riding on a French cavalry horse by a patrol of our dragoons. That he rode through the French picquets and into their lines. And I dare say that it was Jennings. But that was five days ago. Why, the man could be on his way to the Channel ports by now.’

Steel shook his head.

‘No, Your Grace. With all respect, Sir, I know that he is not. I know it. Look at it from the French point of view, Sir. An English officer gives himself up to them. Tells them he has information that will bring down Marlborough and that he must be given an escort to the coast. Ask yourself, Sir, what you would do. You are about to engage in a battle with your entire force. A momentous battle which will decide the entire campaign, the war perhaps. That is now the sole focus of your attention. Whatever this English officer does now will not change the inevitability of that encounter. Of course, you would like to believe him. But would you? Surely, Sir, your response would be to keep him with your army – on parole – until after the engagement? And then, if you win, send him back to England to offer terms. And if you lose, then you have a secret weapon on which to fall back and wreak catastrophic revenge upon a commander who thinks himself the victor.

‘Surely, it would seem to any French commander that providence had indeed smiled upon him in delivering Major Jennings. Believe me, Your Grace. Jennings is with the French. And that is where I will find him.’

‘Pray do not tell me, Mister Steel, that you propose that you should infiltrate the French camp? We are barely a day away from the fight. Attempt such a foolhardy enterprise and not only would you place yourself in mortal danger but we would be without one of our ablest officers.’

‘No, Your Grace. And you flatter me. But I do agree, Sir, that would be foolish. No, I intend to find Jennings in the course of the battle. And when I have found him then I shall kill him – and retrieve the papers. You have my word on it, Sir.’

Marlborough turned and began to toy with the silver-mounted coconut shell, his favourite drinking cup, which stood on the table in the corner of the tent. At length he turned back to Steel. His face looked ashen.

‘Very well, Mister Steel. Although I shall send out scouts to scour the country for the man. And, Hawkins, you must find his accomplices. But I believe that the principle suspects may already have left us. Tomorrow our army will join with that of the Imperial forces under Prince Eugene. Our friend the Margrave of Baden has departed for Ingolstadt with 15,000 men. Do not look concerned, Steel. In truth his departure is a blessing to me. The man was ever a hindrance. And now, with him happily diverted in a siege, we are free to get to the real business of this campaign. As we speak, Prince Eugene’s army is marching towards us. An army 20,000 strong, gentlemen.’

His eyes ablaze now, Marlborough moved across to the easel which held the tattered cloth map. He smoothed his hand across its surface, narrowing his distance to sweep the road between Münster and Hochstadt.

‘With Prince Eugene’s men, our army will consist of 160 squadrons of cavalry and 65 battalions of foot. Over 50,000 men. Tomorrow we move to join him at his position at Münster. I have this very night despatched twenty-seven squadrons under the Duke of Würtemberg and twenty battalions under my own brother to his aid. My spies tell me that Marshal Tallard has been joined by Marshal Marsin and the rather smaller forces of the Elector. Perhaps some 60,000 in all. Yes, they have an advantage of numbers, but their troops are inferior and their command divided. They occupy the ground around the village of Hochstadt, enclosed by marshes. But I know that we shall lure them out. They must be drawn. They cannot resist the urge to have better knowledge of their enemy. Tallard may wish to defer and delay, but Marsin believes my army to be in retreat. The Elector too is convinced that he has the upper hand. In their eyes we have ravaged all Bavaria and will retire now to harry the Moselle.’

He cast a glance at Steel.

‘But you may be sure, Mister Steel, that we will stand and fight them … here.’

Marlborough ground his fingernail into the map at a spot almost equidistant between Münster and Hochstadt. A village flanked by the broad blue line of the Danube. Steel squinted to see a name, but was unable to read it. Marlborough continued, talking, it seemed to Steel, as much to himself as to the others.

‘Be aware that this battle, when it does arrive, will be decisive. It will be bloody and it will, I am certain, be something of which you will tell your grandchildren. As I, please God, will live to tell my own. And now, please leave me. Forgive me, gentlemen, I feel the headache returning. There is much to do. Leave. Please.’

As they walked away from the tent, back towards the lines in the slowly lowering light of the evening, Hawkins turned to Steel:

‘You’re a lucky man, Jack. There aren’t many infantry Lieutenants whom Marlborough would speak to in that way. Nor many whom he would trust with such a mission after they had apparently failed him.’

He felt Steel wince at the word.

‘Oh. You failed, Jack. But he’s right. And he knows, as I do, that if any man can do it, you will find Jennings. And he’s willing to offer you another chance to retrieve the papers.’

Hawkins stopped walking and turned to Steel.

‘Jack, I will tell you what few men yet know. Marlborough has embarked upon a desperate undertaking. He and Prince Eugene plotted most deliberately together to send the Margrave off to take Ingolstadt purely in order that they might exercise complete control over their combined armies. They knew that Baden would never agree to fight the French here, or anywhere it would seem, in his present temper. He is over-cautious and after the Schellenberg sees Marlborough as too happy to squander the lives of his men. Prince Eugene however, like Marlborough, is now fully convinced that battle has to be given and given soon if all Europe is to be saved entirely from the power of the tyrant Louis. Your losing those papers was the worst thing that might have happened. The poor man was already gambling his all. Now he is utterly driven down. And, God knows, over the coming days, if we are to prevail, he will need to summon up every last ounce of his strength that remains.’

They passed along ‘the street’, the twenty-foot-wide dirt road which ran through every camp, however temporary, marking off the officers’ tents and those of the staff from those belonging to the ordinary men of each battalion and squadron. While on the officers’ side of the thoroughfare, chatter, song and candlelight revealed that supper parties were evidently still in progress, to the left as they walked, most of the men were starting to turn in for the night. Small groups lingered around the campfires and from time to time Steel caught a few bars of a tune. Not now the swinging, jubilant marches with which the army had come down the long road from Flanders. But songs of a more gentle nature. Slow ballads that told of home and lost loves. Of unfulfilled dreams and desires. Simple, lilting melodies that cut the conversation dead and had the hardest of men staring deep into the glowing embers.

Further along the lines they watched as a red-coated musketeer swilled out the filth from his meagre quarters. As he did so, from across the street a whoop of laughter echoed through the officers’ bivouacs. The man raised his head and cast a sneering glance across to the revelry. Hawkins laughed quietly as they walked on.

‘It was ever thus, Jack. No matter how good an army might be. No matter how even-handed its commander-in-chief. For every officer beloved of the men, you will find one they would sooner see laid in earth. Trust me, Jack, you will not be alone in our army in having a personal score to settle in the coming battle. How many of our own officers will die I wonder, what their families will be told was a hero’s death, with a bullet in their back that was made in London?’

He thought for a moment.

‘Although perhaps this time the men will be more set on the matter in hand, than personal vendetta. For in God’s truth I’ve never seen an army so utterly resolved to its purpose. This is no gentleman’s war any longer, Jack.’

‘With respect, Colonel, it never was. And you most assuredly have no need to remind me of that.’

‘I’m sorry, dear boy. Of course. That dreadful affair in the village. Women and children too. And you know that it will surely have consequences. You know that we have now burnt close on 400 villages. The Dutch and the Danes have thrown whole populations out into the night. All done on Marlborough’s orders most certainly. But the massacre at Sattelberg is a very different matter. Of course the French have done such things before. Think of the Palatine states. Of the poor Camisards in France. Their own people, for God’s sake. But to bring such practices to our war, Jack. To revisit such evil upon these people. This is something new. It was done with the simple, malicious intent of blackening the good name of our army. This is a new kind of warfare. A warfare that plays deliberately upon the mind. Terror and infamy are its weapons. And that is another reason why you must find Jennings and kill him. An English officer who can attest to having seen such a massacre, without firmly ascribing it to the French, can only increase any case against Marlborough.’

He suddenly drew to a halt.

‘My row, I believe. And now, Jack, I’ll bid you goodnight.’

As Hawkins walked towards his tent, which was set some distance further towards the rear of the officers’ encampment, Steel lifted the flap of his own and ducked his tall frame to enter. Louisa was sitting at the little table, reading from her Bible, one of the few possessions she had brought from the inn.

She smiled up at him. ‘Was it bad?’

‘No, not bad. Just hard to admit failure.’

‘Will you fight your battle now?’

‘Tomorrow perhaps. More likely the next day.’

‘Can you fight, Jack? Your leg is not good.’

‘It’s good enough. And I have to fight. I am commanded to fight. I have to find the papers. To kill Jennings.’

She froze at the name. ‘How? How will you find him?’

‘I’ll know precisely where he is. I know a man who can sniff him out. Jennings had a Sergeant, a nasty piece of work. And if anyone can find him you can be sure it will be Sergeant Stringer. He’ll do anything to save his neck. Believe me, Louisa, I’ll find him. And then I’ll kill him.’

‘No.’

‘No? You don’t want him dead?’

‘No. I don’t want you to kill him. It is my right.’

Steel could not help but admire her passion.

‘And how do you intend to manage this?’

‘In the battle. With you. You will find him and then I will shoot him.’

Steel laughed, but quickly stopped, aware that he might hurt her feelings.

‘My dear, darling Louisa. If you are by my side where the battle rages you’ll be lucky if you come away with your life. There will be 100,000 men on that field.’

She was silent. It was true. An absurd idea. But with every fibre of her being Louisa knew that if Jennings was to die then she alone had the moral right to kill him. She looked up at Steel, her pleading eyes brimming with tears.

He gazed at her. Feeling her emptiness as the hurt surged through her. He reached out and touched her waist.

‘Will you do it? Jack, please. Take me with you in the battle. Take me to Jennings. Let me kill him. Then I will be free.’

‘I cannot. You might be killed. Or maimed. I could not live with that.’

Steel shivered.

‘You’re cold? Perhaps the fever has returned?’

‘No. It’s nothing.’

Louisa gripped him around the waist and rested her head against his chest.

‘How will it be, the battle?’

‘It will be noisy and hard and very bloody. It’ll be like nothing you ever saw before. Or the like of which you will ever want to see again.’

Steel looked down at her. He had become so used to her in such a short time. Love or not, they had become lovers and shared these last few days and nights, released from care, in each other’s arms. They still had this coming night and whatever tomorrow would bring. She smiled at him again and very gently began to pull him down on to the little folding bed.

Aubrey Jennings had ridden south at first, on the only road out of the town which led away from where he knew the allied army must lie. He had ridden hard for two days until he had reached the outskirts of Augsburg. There he had thought that surely he must find the French. But instead he had stumbled upon a party of retreating Bavarian infantry who, seeing his red coat, had fired upon him. After that he had thought it prudent to go across the river and head north-west. But without a map he had become hopelessly lost. The countryside had become increasingly wooded and Jennings found himself constantly wandering into bands of dispossessed peasants. He had bought food and beer from them, but again his coat had proved more of a hindrance and ultimately he had turned it inside out, presenting a white uniform closer in appearance to that of their French allies. But the ornate buttons and lace, now worn on the inside, had proved a constant irritation and on the tenth day of his wanderings in the great forests he had turned the coat back to British red. It was sheer bad luck of course that on that very day he should have been spotted by a party of what he rightly took for allied cavalry. The dead hussar’s horse though had proved an infinitely superior beast to their plodding supply mounts and he had outridden them with ease. On the twelfth day it had begun to rain hard and, starving and dehydrated, Jennings had resolved that his only option was to break cover. He had found himself in the town of Offingen and there, taking a welcome drink in an inn, had readily given himself up to a patrol of blue-coated French dragoons. How astonished they had been at his evident pleasure in encountering them and his willingness to surrender.

That had been two days ago. Jennings looked at his tired face now in the small, elegantly framed mirror that stood on the campaign chest in the small tent provided as his temporary quarters. He winced as the barber who had been sent to shave him pulled the skin of his cheek tight, while he dragged the blade of the razor clean down over the stubble. How very civilized the French were. Perhaps, he thought, when he was back with his own army, once Marlborough had been dismissed, he would suggest certain changes suitable for a truly modern fighting force. Those little touches of style that at present gave the French officers their edge. At his side, the servant rinsed the blade in the bowl of dirty water and handed Jennings a soft towel before leaving. As he dabbed at his face, the Major reflected on the past few weeks. At how very different his position was now. On the one hand he was a fugitive. He presumed that the survivors of the fight at Bachweiden would by now have reached the army and given their account of his part in the affair. Cussiter had gone to shoot him but then the man had a personal grudge against him. Of course Louisa would have told them now of who her real assailant had been. But what was the word of a Bavarian peasant? Jennings smiled. Who else could speak against him? Sergeant Slaughter? What would he say? Had he not discovered Kretzmer with Louisa. In Slaughter’s eyes, surely, Jennings must be a hero. In truth there was no one left to testify against Jennings. The only evidence against him was his flight itself. He pulled on his coat and checked inside the pocket for the package. He felt the string and the paper.

For the hundredth time he rehearsed again how, once back in London, he would relate his intrepid tale. How he would tell of his ingenuity in outwitting Steel, the traitorous Scot, sent by Marlborough to rescue the incriminating documents. How he had survived numerous attacks by both the French and treacherous redcoats. How he had even braved the French lines to bring his Tory friends the evidence they needed. Then Marlborough would be sent again to the Tower. And this time he would not escape, just as Steel had not escaped. He still regretted not having had time to make that final thrust. Had he done so he knew that his own fate would have been very different. He was certain that no one could have survived the blow he had dealt Steel. Jennings had heard his skull crack like a walnut. And the wound to his thigh alone might have been mortal. No, Steel was dead. That much was certain. Marlborough would be sent to the Tower and he would become a rich man. A Colonel at the head of his own regiment of foot. He was gripped by a vision of himself covered in gold lace and glory. He smiled at the prospect.

A discreet cough preceded a gloved hand on the entrance flap of Jennings’ tent. A junior officer of French cavalry entered. Jennings stopped grinning and assumed an air of gravity.

‘Major Jennings?’

‘Lieutenant?’

‘You will please come with me, Sir. My Colonel would speak with you.’

Jennings donned his hat and followed the boy from the tent into the warm evening. Around him lay the entire Franco-Bavarian army. Tens of thousands of men and horses, encamped as far as the eye could see, it seemed, upon the plain of Hochstadt. Their camp he had not thought at first very different from that of the allied army. On closer scrutiny though he saw its full extent. Beyond the immediate infantry lines lay row upon row of ammunition carts. More than he had ever seen in one place before. Close by them thousands of dray horses stood tethered in a vast field, like some country horse fair, and next to them he caught sight of elaborate field kitchens, at one of which a whole ox was being roasted on a spit. Ahead he could see three huge tents, buildings rather, at whose doors stood dozens of French officers, as if at a royal assembly.

As the aide led him towards them, past the cavalry, he glimpsed off to the right the interior of one tent in which several hussars seated around a table were being entertained by a half-naked dancing girl. She shrieked with excitement as one of them reached out and tore off her skirt.

It was as far removed from a picture of Marlborough’s army that he was able to imagine and Jennings wondered, with a shiver of concern for his own future, which of them might emerge victorious from the coming battle. At length the two men reached the end of the lines and arrived at a sturdy, four-sided marquee, topped with a small flag bearing the fleur-de-lys and set slightly away from the body of the camp. The aide-de-camp held open the long entrance flap and motioned Jennings to enter. It felt strange to be so accepted here, among the enemy. A curious half-life, thought Jennings, with sudden and unexpected self-loathing.

‘Major Jennings, Colonel.’

‘Thank you, Henri. You may go. Major Jennings, allow me to present myself. I am Colonel Jean Martin Michelet of the regiment d’Artois. I bid you welcome.’

He narrowed his eyes and attempted to get the measure of this curious Englishmen. He tried to ascertain from his appearance and manner whether this turncoat was the genuine article or simply one of Marlborough’s many spies.

‘Any enemy of Lord Malbrook is a friend here. Please, sit with me. A glass of wine? It has just arrived from France.’

Jennings smiled at the Frenchman’s inability to pronounce Marlborough’s name, a common failing with his countrymen. Michelet was of medium build with a handsome, tanned face and a slim moustache in the Parisian fashion. His only distinguising mark was a thin scar which ran from the right side of his face, far under his chin.

‘Now, Major Jennings, I understand that you gave yourself up to my gendarmes of your own volition. That you say you have something of great importance to our cause.’

Jennings sat and accepted the goblet of wine.

‘But, Major Jennings. You are an officer in the English army. You are surely not confessing to being a traitor?’

He laughed.

‘D’you have French blood?’

‘No, Colonel. And I am certainly no traitor. But I am in the unique position of being able to do a great service both to my country and your own. I have certain information in my possession. Information which will bring down Marlborough and his friends.’

‘You interest me, Major. This information. I think that perhaps you will tell us when Lord Malbrook will attack and where? You will point out his dispositions? His elite regiments? His weaknesses?’

‘No. As an officer in the army of Queen Anne, and a gentleman, I cannot betray my countrymen. But I can offer you something much more precious. I have in my power the wherewithal to discredit the Duke forever. Papers with which to indict him as a Jacobite. A traitor to the crown. Naturally, they must be transported safely to England on the person of an English officer. Myself.’

Michelet smiled. ‘Yes, Major. We knew of these papers. It was a curious case. A man who had been dealing with my supply officers brought them to our attention.’

He laughed again.

‘A little less mundane than the shoes they had been used to getting. Very good shoes by the way. English made. The man told me about these papers and that a merchant had them. That he had planned a rendezvous with a British officer. Your name was mentioned. Naturally, we paid him for his information and I sent a force recover the papers. Grenadiers and hussars, under one of my finest officers. Your party ran into them in the village of Sattelberg and again at Bachweiden. You saw there how very efficient they can be. For that I am truly sorry. It was never my intention that these men should kill innocent civilians. Major Malbec is … his own master. It was … a real tragedy.’

He smiled and called for more wine.

‘But, tell me, Major Jennings, the last that I heard of the papers, they had disappeared. Malbec was beaten off. I had thought them to be lost. If you really have them this is most welcome news.’

Jennings knew that now was the time to state his own position. To emphasize the important part that only he could now play in making use of the incriminating letter.

‘All I ask is safe passage to the coast and an escort. If I can assist you by any other means of course, I would only be too happy. Although of course, I cannot take up arms against my own countrymen.’

‘Naturally. Who would ask any officer to do such a thing? But by the same token we cannot release you back to your army. Even if you should wish to go, which I perceive you do not. Tomorrow or perhaps the next day we will fight a great battle. Marshal Tallard prefers to sit on his arse and wait. But I know that Marshal Marsin’s argument will prevail. Tallard is no more than an old woman. His is not the way to lead an army of Frenchmen. I know that we will fight. And you, Major, will have a ringside seat for the spectacle. And then, after we have beaten your army and your Lord Malbrook, then we will give you safe passage to the coast. Now come. I perceive that you are an educated man, no? I shall have my clerk draw up your papers of parole. You will sign them and in the meantime have a little more of what I’m sure you will agree is a truly excellent Moselle and then perhaps you will join me and a few fellow officers for a little light supper? We have just imported a cook from Paris and this evening he has promised me a soup and a fresh chicken, with a few roasted vegetables. We have a really excellent cheese to follow and some fine brandy. It’s not much, I know, but then we cannot be too fussy. For once we have other cares than our bellies. Tomorrow, Major, we have a battle to win.’

Steel lay awake in the darkness, listening to the flies as they buzzed about the tent. He watched as two of them settled on the grease congealing on the pewter plates from which he and Louisa had eaten their meagre supper of bread and beans, and which now awaited Nate’s attention before the army broke camp. He had excused his soldier-servant his evening duties as was his custom on what might be the last night before a battle. He picked up one of the tin cups which stood beside the plates, brushed another fly from its rim and took a deep draught, determined to drain what he could of the dregs of the evening’s wine. Steel looked across at Louisa’s sleeping form and allowed his eyes to follow the gentle contours of her body beneath the blanket. He listened to her breathing, shallow and rhythmic. From time to time she would mumble in her sleep. Words he did not understand. He knew now how troubled she really was and he hated himself for having forbidden her to seek out Jennings herself. But how could he possibly allow this girl, the one girl since Arabella for whom, he now reasoned, he felt true feelings, to experience a battle. How could be expose her to that horror, that circus of death, where only fate governed who would perish or survive?

With difficulty, and taking care not to wake Louisa, Steel swung himself from the bed and managed to get to his feet. Pulling on his breeches and wrapping himself in the scarlet coat, he fastened a single button and walked barefoot to the entrance. Stepping out into the cool night, he looked up into the clear, cloudless sky. The moon sat low and against the black firmament Steel could make out the constellations which, since boyhood, had exercised his mind and stirred his imagination.

There was the Pole Star, shining high in the north, at the head of the Plough and beside that the Great Bear. He turned towards the south and, as he had known he would, saw Orion, a great sword hanging from his belt. The Greeks, he knew, believed the moon’s pale light to represent the grief of Artemis, Orion’s lover, fooled into killing him by her brother Apollo. Steel prayed that tomorrow would not see two more lovers touched by tragedy. The form of the hunter hung in the sky over the silent camp: a sea of moonlit canvas, beneath which the men were getting what rest they could before the coming day’s march to join the Imperial forces.

From his left the sound of hooves and a jingle of horse harness announced the approach of a group of riders. Instinctively Steel grabbed for where his sword would have hung. He found nothing and felt relief when, peering into the night, he heard English voices. A lone sentry had challenged the riders and, as he snapped to attention, they rode on towards Steel. There were perhaps ten men, most of them in red coats, the remainder in blue. As they drew closer the moonlight caught their features and he recognized the foremost horseman. Marlborough spoke:

‘Mister Steel. You keep late company. You’ll have no time for sleep, we rise at two of the morning, in but three hours’ time. You’d best find some rest. I see that your Sergeant has already taken my advice. I bid you goodnight, Lieutenant.’