5 A Very Murdering Battle (16 page)

‘How much will it cost to keep me out of there?’

‘You can’t buy your way to safety, you spineless runt.’

‘Besides,’ said Curry, ‘how can you offer a bribe on army pay? It’s barely enough to keep body and soul together.’

‘I have plenty of money,’ said Plummer with a sly smile.

‘Where did it come from?’

‘That would be telling, Sergeant Curry.’

‘Then try telling us,’ said Welbeck, taking him by the collar and shaking him. ‘Are you plying your old trade again, Ben? Are you selling powdered women with their legs apart?’

‘I’ve been too busy digging men out of those fucking tunnels,’ replied Plummer, resentfully. ‘What chance do I have of finding any women here?’

‘You got all that money from somewhere.’

‘An uncle died and left it to me in his will.’

Welbeck released him. ‘Expect me to believe that, you lying turd?’

‘You can believe what you like but please assign me to other duties.’

‘Next time we go underground, you’ll be
first
in line.’

‘I’d rather face a firing squad.’

‘Is this how you train your men, Henry?’ taunted Curry. ‘Are they all snivelling cowards like Plummer?’

‘No,’ retorted Welbeck, ‘they’re brave men on the whole because I’ve instilled the bravery into them. Ben Plummer is the exception to the rule.’

Plummer sniggered. ‘That’s what you think, Sergeant.’

‘My men will follow me to the end. I know that it’s hard. I know that we seem to be making little headway, but that’s not true. We kill more and more of the enemy every day. It may interest you to know that I spoke to Captain Rawson earlier.’

‘Can
he
rescue me from this nightmare?’

‘No – but he might bring you some hope.’

‘How?’

‘It seems that two deserters sneaked out of the citadel yesterday,’ replied Welbeck. ‘According to them, the garrison is brought to the verge of collapse. They’re crippled with fatigue in there. Their bread is foul and their water is bad. They’re so short of food that they’re killing their horses.’

Curry rallied. ‘This is cheering news, Henry.’

‘The end may yet be in sight. Do you hear that, Plummer?’

‘Oh, I hear it loud and clear,’ said the other with a sneer. ‘I just don’t believe it. Listen to their cannon booming away. Look at those muskets firing at us from the ramparts. Crawl in one of those murderous tunnels and taste the earth that keeps falling over your head. There’s a long way to go yet. Captain Rawson may sniff victory in the air but the only thing I can smell is death.’

* * *

Rachel Rees didn’t only devote her energies to nursing the wounded. She had an occupation. Like any sutler, she had an instinct for a commercial opportunity. As soldiers surged forward to capture new ground, she went after them to sell tobacco or flasks of rum and gin. In such critical situations, men needed something to calm their nerves. Ignoring the pandemonium all round her, Rachel risked her life to bring a modicum of comfort to the troops and to make a small profit in the process. When Daniel finally managed to locate her, she’d just returned from an hour of crawling on her hands and knees in a tunnel. Her face and clothing were besmirched.

‘Daniel!’ she said. ‘I was hoping I’d see you before too long.’

‘Where have you been?’

‘I was supplying ammunition to the men. Mostly, it came out of bottles.’

Daniel was tolerant. ‘We don’t want drunken soldiers,’ he said, ‘but a tot of rum hurts nobody and does wonders for one’s courage. You probably have one yourself before you follow the men to the trenches.’

She cackled. ‘I have to taste it to check its quality.’

‘That’s what any good wine merchant would do. I should know. I’ve posed as one often enough.’

They were in an area reserved for camp followers. Though travelling on a horse, Rachel had plenty of items to sell and had somehow got hold of a small tent. Daniel marvelled yet again at her ability to survive and prosper.

‘Has Henry been asking after me?’ she wondered.

‘He’s been too preoccupied with leading his men.’

‘I daresay he’s been
thinking
about me, anyway. I’ve made a conquest there.’

‘Don’t be too sure of that, Rachel,’ he warned. ‘The only thing on his mind at the moment is how we force the French to surrender.’

‘This siege has been going on for ages.’

‘There are signs that they won’t be able to hold out indefinitely. Once they capitulate, we’ll have to turn our attention elsewhere. In fact,’ said Daniel, ‘that’s why I’m here. How would you like to get away from Tournai for a while?’

Her eyes kindled. ‘Will I pretend to be your wife again?’

‘Not this time,’ he told her, ‘but I do have a role for you to play. There are dangers involved. I can’t hide that from you. But you’d be performing a valuable service and our commanders would be very grateful.’

‘Is it something that would impress Henry?’

‘It couldn’t fail to do so, Rachel.’

‘Then I’ll do whatever you wish.’

‘You haven’t heard what it is yet.’

‘I don’t need to,’ she said with a cackle. ‘It will draw me closer to the two men I love most – my pretend husband, Captain Rawson, and my future husband, Sergeant Welbeck. To please them, I’d walk through fire.’

To many people in England – especially those outside London – the war seemed like a distant event that involved a confusing mixture of combatants. Regular reports were printed in newspapers like the
Tatler
but they had a limited circulation. The fate of the Allied army didn’t dominate national gossip on a daily basis. It was very different in Holland, a country with a long and uneasy relationship with France. There were times when Dutch boundaries were under threat and families in all the major cities mourned sons who’d given their lives while serving in the coalition force. War had a worrying immediacy for the Dutch. Newspaper reports of any action were therefore read with eagerness and discussed at length. Nicholaes Geel had a particular reason for keeping abreast of developments. When he arrived for work that morning, the first thing he did after greeting Aelbert Pienaar was to talk about the siege.

‘Have you heard the latest news from Tournai?’ he asked.

‘Only that the fighting seems to be going on and on.’

‘Over three dozen Dutch soldiers were buried alive when two mines exploded in the tunnel where they were working. What a hideous way to die!’

‘I know,’ said Pienaar, sympathetically. ‘It doesn’t bear thinking about.’

‘British soldiers have also been killed in large numbers.’

‘That’s no consolation to the families of Dutch casualties.’

‘I’m beginning to have qualms about Captain Rawson’s safety,’ said Geel. ‘He does have a fondness for daring exploits.’

‘He also has a gift for coming through danger unscathed.’

‘His luck is bound to dry up in the end.’

‘It’s not only a question of luck,’ said Pienaar. ‘He’s an outstanding soldier with years of experience behind him. Well, you saw how he caught those thieves who stole the tapestry. I was terrified when I met them face to face but he and Sergeant Welbeck overpowered them with ease. They knew exactly when and how to strike.’

Geel wasn’t happy to be reminded of the incident. Apart from conferring a halo of heroism on Pienaar that his colleague secretly envied, the capture of the three criminals had shown the marked superiority – in Amalia’s eyes – of her beloved over any other man alive. Measured alongside Daniel Rawson, the youngest of the weavers fared badly. Only when military duties called Daniel did Geel have any chance to endear himself to the woman he revered.

‘It must be a terrible strain on Miss Amalia,’ he observed.

‘She copes with it remarkably well, Nick.’

‘But what if something should happen to him – a serious injury, perhaps?’

‘Then he’d be nursed devotedly,’ said Pienaar, thinking of his wife. ‘Love is only strengthened by adversity. A marriage binds two people indissolubly together and they vow to care for each other in sickness and in health.’

‘Yes,’ conceded Geel, ‘but Miss Amalia and Captain Rawson are not actually married, are they?’

‘Can anyone doubt that they will be?’

‘I was talking to Beatrix yesterday and she feels that a wedding is out of the question until the war is over. That could take years and years. Beatrix says that—’

‘That’s enough,’ said Pienaar, interrupting him. ‘I don’t want to hear any servants’ tittle-tattle. We’re employed as weavers. Remember that, Nick. The family doesn’t want us poking our noses into their business. I suggest that you leave Miss Amalia to her own devices. You’ve no right to intrude on her privacy. In short,’ he went on, pointedly, ‘do the job you’re paid for and stop trying to look through a keyhole into the affairs of the Janssen household.’

It was a stinging reproach and Geel was hurt. He’d been well and truly put in his place. The man who’d chastised him would one day be in charge of the workshop. It was therefore imperative that he kept on good terms with Pienaar. Geel blamed himself for wearing his heart on his sleeve. He was far too open. In future, he vowed, he’d be more circumspect. And he’d keep track of the casualty figures in the British army. Captain Daniel Rawson had achieved renown during the war. If anything untoward happened to him, it would surely be reported in the newspapers. That was the time when Geel’s opportunity might at last come.

They left at night, stealing away from the camp in the dark and, when clear of the Allied lines, evading the French soldiers keeping Tournai under observation. Mons was well over forty miles to the south-east and couldn’t be reached in a day. The roads were, at best, muddy tracks and, at worst, veritable quagmires. Daniel and Rachel Rees would have to make the journey in stages. Marlborough had asked him to reconnoitre Mons with a view to a secondary siege. Daniel had been offered a patrol by way of protection. However, he felt that he could achieve more if he had only one companion. His movements would be less conspicuous and unlikely to arouse suspicion. Rachel was his preferred choice. She was a very competent horsewoman and, after years of following an army, was unusually alert. Nor would she panic under severe pressure. She was resourceful and self-possessed. Daniel had the utmost faith in her.

For her part, Rachel was taken aback when he came to fetch her. She’d assumed that they’d be travelling together as a man and wife working as sutlers. That was how they’d entered Lille and, although their ‘marriage’ had never been consummated, she’d found living in proximity to him very exciting. This time there was no hope of sharing a room with Daniel because he was disguised as a parish priest, a Roman Catholic curé who’d taken a vow of celibacy. She was to be his sister and they were ostensibly heading for Mons to console their mother after the death of their father. As they rode along, they rehearsed the parts they had to play. If they were accosted, it was agreed that Daniel would do all the talking and Rachel would pretend to be too
grief-stricken
to speak.

The rain had at last relented but puddles from the previous day’s downpour lay everywhere. They squelched their way along at a fairly sedate pace. Knowing that she could keep a secret, Daniel had confided the purpose of their mission.

‘How long will it take the army to march to Mons?’ she asked.

‘That’s one of the things I have to assess,’ he replied. ‘At a guess, I’d say it will be over a week in this weather – eight or nine days.’

‘It’s the artillery that slows you down.’

‘We can’t manage without our siege train, Rachel.’

‘Why choose Mons?’

‘It’s strategically placed,’ he explained, ‘and offers us the chance of a wider looping movement around the enemy’s lines.’

‘Won’t the French rush to defend it?’

‘Not if we deceive them about our intentions.’

‘How will you do that?’

‘I leave it to His Grace. He’s adept at misleading the enemy.’

‘I don’t understand this war,’ she admitted. ‘We seem to have spent years fighting over the same ground. We win it, lose it, then win it back again. It must be terrible for ordinary people who live in Flanders. They’ve been caught up in it all.’

‘Yes, Rachel. War always produces innocent victims, alas.’

They broke their journey at midday to rest the horses and to take refreshment. It was also an opportunity for them to relieve themselves behind some bushes. No sooner had they finished their meal than they heard the sound of hooves approaching. A French patrol came into sight. Rachel immediately began to sob and took out a handkerchief to dab at her tears. They were soon surrounded by soldiers. The captain in charge of the patrol interrogated Daniel and asked to see evidence of their identity. The forged papers were backed up by his plausible tale of the bereavement that he and his sister had suffered. After expressing his condolences, the captain apologised for detaining them and led his patrol on their way.

Daniel was struck by Rachel’s ability to produce tears so readily. She’d seemed to be genuinely distraught. She, in turn, was amazed by the way that he’d settled convincingly into his role. His voice, his manner, his appearance and his patent humility had fooled the patrol completely. The intrepid Captain Rawson had died and been reborn as a devout Roman Catholic priest, his red coat replaced by sombre black attire and a black hat. It was a complete transformation. They spent the night in separate rooms at a wayside inn, where they were treated with great respect by the landlord and his wife. Daniel felt a twinge of guilt at having to mislead such kind people but Rachel revelled in the deceit and had no qualms about it. When they left early next day, they did so with food and drink pressed upon them by their hosts.

‘I’m glad that you’re the one in holy orders,’ said Rachel.

‘Why do you say that?’

‘I could never pretend to be celibate. It would go against my nature. If you’d asked me to dress as a nun, I’d have refused. I need to feel like a real woman. I wasn’t put on this earth to deny myself its joys.’