5 A Very Murdering Battle (25 page)

‘Yes,’ said Cardonnel, ‘I heard mention of that.’

‘It was a private matter,’ said Daniel.

‘Yet you celebrated it in public, it seems.’

‘May we know its source?’ asked Marlborough.

‘The truth of it is,’ confessed Daniel, ‘that I made an important decision and it filled me with elation. I decided to offer a proposal of marriage to Amalia Janssen.’

‘I’d have thought you’d already done that by now.’

‘We have an understanding, Your Grace, but no formal betrothal.’

‘Congratulations!’ said Cardonnel, pumping his hand.

‘But Amalia hasn’t accepted me yet.’

‘Would the lady dare to refuse you after all this time?’

‘I suppose not,’ decided Daniel.

‘Then congratulations are in order,’ said Marlborough, beaming. ‘The pair of you will make a handsome couple. Now that that’s settled, I implore you to forget all about your beloved until more pressing business is over tomorrow. We need you addressing yourself solely to the defeat of the French army. Enchanting as she is, Miss Amalia Janssen will have to wait her turn.’

It was wrong. In hindsight, Geel could see that. It was wrong to steal something that belonged to Amalia as a souvenir. When he left the house with the ribbon concealed in his pocket, he had a sense of triumph but it failed to deliver what he’d expected of it. Though he slept with it beside his head on the pillow, it gave him none of the pleasure for which he’d hoped. Instead, it stirred up feelings of guilt and kept him awake. He was a thief. In a house where he’d been given the privilege of work and enjoyed the friendship of all who lived there, he’d abused the trust put in him. In some ways, he was as despicable as the men who stole the tapestry. The ribbon might have nothing like the same value but it was Amalia’s, private property he had no right even to touch, let alone purloin. After writhing in self-disgust, Geel decided that the first thing he had to do was to return the ribbon to the drawer in her bedchamber. At least the sight of it would no longer fill him with remorse. It wouldn’t make amends for the crime he’d committed, but it would ease his conscience.

The problem was that he had no legitimate reason to enter the house, still less the bedchamber. Dopff’s return to work had robbed him of his excuse to visit his friend’s room. He racked his brains to discover a means of contriving access, even thinking of bribing one of the servants. In the end, he decided that it was
his
responsibility to put the ribbon back exactly where he’d found it. It would be unfair and dangerous to involve anyone else. His chance came at the end of the working day. Pienaar had left, Dopff had gone up to his room and Janssen was going through his accounts. Geel knew that Amalia was out of the house, which meant that Beatrix was accompanying her. None of the other servants would be anywhere near the landing. If he was swift enough, Geel could return the ribbon to the appropriate drawer then quit the house in less than a minute.

Opening the door of the workshop, he peered into the house to make sure that nobody was about. His throat had gone dry and his heart was beating like the hooves of a runaway horse. The audacity he’d shown when stealing the ribbon had deserted him; he was furtive and anxious now. Geel took a deep breath as he tried to compose himself then he sprinted towards the stairs and crept up them at speed. Reaching the landing, he crossed to Amalia’s bedchamber and took another precautionary look around him. He was safe. He opened the door, stepped into the room and closed the door silently behind him. Going to the drawer from which he’d taken the keepsake, he pulled it open and tossed the ribbon into it. A sense of relief flooded through him. He was about to close the drawer when he noticed something that had evaded his gaze the first time. Something was poking out from beneath the pile of ribbons. His curiosity got the better of his desperation.

As he grasped the object in his hand, he realised that he was holding a pile of letters held together by a ribbon. He guessed immediately that they must have come from Daniel Rawson and were treasured mementos of their romance. He winced as he felt another stab of guilt. Daniel’s letters had the right to be there. Geel did not. It was ignoble of him even to touch the private correspondence. Pulling his hand away as if it had just been bitten, he closed the drawer and turned to leave. But his exit was now blocked. Geel had not heard the door being opened behind him. Nor had he realised that he was no longer alone. In trying to atone for one crime of trespass, he’d committed another and this time he’d been caught. Standing in the open doorway with an expression of surprise and disapproval was Kees Dopff.

Given the unexpected bonus of an extra day to reinforce their defensive line, the French exploited it to the full. They toiled until light began to fade then lit fires to illumine the area and enable them to work on in the dark. Across the Aulnois Gap there were now nine stout redoubts, built by French pioneers under the watchful gaze of Marshal Villars. Each of these outworks was equipped with artillery which could cover the narrow approaches that climbed the gentle, mud-covered gradient between the woods. Blairon Farm to the right had been commandeered, barricaded and loopholed for defence, turning it into a minor fortress. Its livestock had been driven away from danger. In the Bois de la Lanière on the French right, infantry under the command of the Comte d’Artagnan had laboured manfully to create a series of breastworks and abattis that would be formidable obstacles. Between the wood and Blairon Farm was a large battery, carefully concealed and capable of firing along a dip in the ground across the front of the trees. Wherever possible, the French had made good use of the contours of the terrain.

Over to the left of the French position, the infantry was under the command of the Comte d’Albergotti and the Marquis de Goesbriand. They had constructed three lines of breastworks reaching deep into the Bois de Sars and jutting out into the Aulnois Gap to form a shape that resembled a triangle. Villars had ordered a fourth line of entrenchments to be dug in the open ground to the south of the woods but, in spite of the heroic efforts of his men, it was clear that it would not be completed by morning. Disappointed by the failure, he nevertheless felt sufficiently confident to be able to manage without a continuous trench running close to La Folie Farm.

Not every member of the French army was engaged in building work. In the course of the evening, a rumour spread that peace negotiations had been reopened and might actually make a battle unnecessary. A whiff of euphoria wafted through the ranks and an informal truce was arranged, allowing officers and soldiers on both sides to approach each other without fear of attack. Many called out in friendly terms and struck up conversations. Some even shook hands with members of the enemy and wished them well. There was a mutual respect between two armies who had now been fighting each other for several years. The truce, however, didn’t last. When the French saw that the Allies were taking more than a casual interest in the enemy defences, the camaraderie vanished abruptly. Harsh words and vile taunts were now exchanged and the soldiers returned quickly to their respective camps, knowing that a battle was unavoidable. The rumour was false. There were no overtures of peace on the anvil.

Captain Daniel Rawson had never believed in the rumour. Having seen it built up steadily over the preceding weeks, he knew that the momentum was too great to be halted. Villars was ready to commit his whole army to a battle and had royal authority to do so. For his part, Marlborough was more than willing to oblige the French commander. Daniel recalled that, at the council of war, the one option never even considered was to give priority to the siege of Mons, protecting it with the main army in a purely defensive position. Marlborough had waited so long to draw the French out into the open that he wouldn’t spurn the rare chance to meet them face to face. Both armies were vast, well armed, fuelled by self-belief, primed for action and led by experienced commanders. Everything pointed to a titanic confrontation.

As a member of the captain-general’s staff, Daniel knew that he’d be given special duties that would keep him well away from his own regiment during the battle. He was anxious to make contact with old friends beforehand, accepting that some of them would inevitably perish on the next day. With darkness enshrouding the Allied army, therefore, he rode to the section where the 24
^th
Foot were encamped. On the eve of every battle, the soldiers were restless but they seemed even more agitated than usual. The mood of edginess was exemplified by Henry Welbeck.

‘I don’t like it, Dan,’ he grumbled. ‘I can’t put my finger on it but something is seriously amiss.’

‘If you have any doubts,’ advised Daniel, ‘don’t let your men see them.’

Welbeck was scornful. ‘I’m not that stupid.’

‘What’s the problem exactly?’

‘I wish I knew.’

‘This will be our fourth major battle against the French. Perhaps you should remind yourself that we won the other three decisively.’

‘Yes,’ said the sergeant, ‘and on each occasion I was confident of victory before we clashed. It’s different here. I don’t have that feeling inside me.’

‘Once the firing starts, you soon will.’

‘Are
you
certain that we’ll trounce the Frenchies again?’

‘Of course,’ said Daniel, clapping him on the shoulder.

They were inside Welbeck’s tent, talking by the light of a candle. The sergeant was smoking his pipe, filling the air with the smell of tobacco. On the table was a flask of rum. Daniel suspected that he knew what lay behind his friend’s feeling of insecurity. In all previous battles, Welbeck had had only himself to care about. There was no family to consider, nobody pining away at home for him. That situation had changed. Rachel Rees had finally broken through his granite exterior and discovered a softness that nobody knew was there. For the first time, Welbeck had an emotional commitment, albeit one that he didn’t yet fully understand. After the horrors of the following day, someone would be waiting for him and he was unsettled by the thought that he might not live to see her again.

‘Try to think about something else, Henry,’ suggested Daniel.

‘Is that what
you’re
doing?’

‘As a matter of fact, it is.’

‘Then you’re not the Dan Rawson I know,’ said Welbeck, disparagingly. ‘In the past, your mind would be filled with the possibilities of what might lay ahead on the battlefield. Nothing would distract you.’

‘Well, it has this time.’

‘Be careful, Dan. Distraction can be fatal.’

‘My mind will be fully concentrated tomorrow,’ said Daniel. ‘It’s just that I’ll go into battle with even more determination to survive. I’ve made a decision, Henry. When I next have the pleasure of seeing her, I’ll ask for Amalia’s hand in marriage.’

Welbeck exploded. ‘This is no time to talk about a woman!’

‘I can’t think of any topic more satisfying.’

‘Amalia doesn’t even exist until the battle is over.’

‘Yes, she does – and so does Rachel.’

‘Why drag that demented Welsh harridan into this?’

‘Fie on you, Henry!’ exclaimed Daniel. ‘You’re smoking her tobacco and you have a flask of her rum on the table there. How can you be so ungrateful? I’ve never met any woman less like a harridan. She’s a good, decent,
warm-hearted
woman with amazing courage.’

‘That’s true,’ mumbled Welbeck, apologetically. ‘I spoke too harshly.’

‘You should be ashamed.’

‘I stand corrected.’

‘Rachel might be better off with Sergeant Curry, after all.’

The comment was intended to be a gentle prod but Welbeck reacted as if he’d just been impaled on a stake. Letting out a roar of protest, he listed ten reasons why no woman was safe near Leo Curry then insisted that he had first claim on Rachel Rees. In his wrath, he was able to say things to Daniel that he’d never even admitted to himself. Rachel was his and she was committed to him. Since she’d rejoined the army, he explained, his horizons had suddenly widened because he’d let a woman into his life at last. Daniel heard him out then smiled in approval.

‘Have you told all this to Rachel herself?’

Welbeck was suddenly uneasy. ‘No, Dan.’

‘I think she’d like to hear it.’

‘The battle comes first.’

‘You’ve already won a skirmish against Sergeant Curry, it seems.’

‘Leo doesn’t get any rum and tobacco.’

‘While you’re enjoying them,’ said Daniel, ‘spare a thought for the woman who gave them to you. And when the order for attack is given tomorrow, take her with you in your heart. That’s what I’ll be doing with Amalia.’

Ever since she’d befriended him, Daniel had been a regular visitor to Amalia’s dreams. He usually appeared in a romantic glow, loving, attentive and gallant. Even when she was most anxious about him, she was not distressed by any terrifying nightmares. The nocturnal visions she had of him on a battlefield were always somehow reassuring. By a combination of expertise and daring, Daniel would invariably survive any action and be rewarded with new honours. Amalia liked to think that he was given invisible protection by the strength of her love but she knew that such an idea was fanciful. He was an outstanding soldier. It was as simple as that. Others might fall or suffer crippling injuries but Daniel led a charmed life. Whatever happened, he would always come safely back to her.

It didn’t stop Amalia worrying about him during the day. Judging by the information she’d gathered from reports in the newspaper, a battle of some sort seemed inescapable and she knew that Daniel would be facing a severe test of his abilities. He was the victim of his own success. Because he’d been able to complete perilous assignments time and again, he was always among the first people to whom Marlborough turned in a crisis. In the forthcoming battle, she believed, Daniel would once again be called upon to risk his life in some hazardous exercise. What it would be Amalia didn’t know and that made it more unnerving. While she was still deeply concerned about him when she went to bed that night, Amalia felt that sleep would restore her peace of mind. Warm and comforting dreams of Daniel would take away the gnawing apprehension and she’d awake refreshed.

Her confidence was misplaced. When she eventually dozed off, her slumber was soon interrupted by a dream so vivid and frightening that it sent tremors through her body. Battle was joined. The opposing armies bombarded each other until smoke covered the whole battlefield like a swirling fog. There were cavalry charges from both sides then surges of Allied and French infantry. The noise was deafening and the scene chaotic. It was impossible to work out which army was in the ascendant. What was unmistakable, however, was the constant, stomach-churning wail of the wounded and the dying. Amalia saw limbs hacked viciously off, heads removed by sabres and bodies shattered by cannon fire. She watched horse after horse being cut down then writhing madly on the ground. Blood was everywhere, gushing into the streams and turning them red. The stink of death invaded her nostrils and made her retch.

Then a man came galloping into her nightmare in the uniform of a British captain. His face was smeared with blood but she knew that it was Daniel, riding into the very heart of the enemy infantry and slashing away with his sword as if he intended to slay the entire French army on his own. Amalia tried to shout a warning to him but her voice was drowned out by the pandemonium. All that she could do was to watch in horror as the valiant Captain Rawson was hit by a musket ball, stabbed by the upward thrust of a bayonet, then hauled from his horse to be clubbed to death by the unforgiving butts of a dozen French muskets. His head was smashed to a pulp and his body needlessly mutilated. The uniform he’d worn with such pride was sodden with blood. As he lay sprawled helplessly on the ground, a troop of French cavalry charged over him and pummelled him into a misshapen heap of flesh and bone.

Amalia could take no more. She came out of the nightmare with a scream of agony, sitting up in her bed with perspiration dripping from every pore. Daniel had been killed. All her hopes for their future together had been snuffed out. Her grief was unbearable. She was still sobbing uncontrollably when a worried Beatrix came into the room with a candle to see what had happened. The servant put an arm around her.

‘What’s the trouble?’ she asked.

‘He’s dead,’ said Amalia, mournfully. ‘Daniel was killed in battle.’

* * *

The plan on which the Allies had agreed had been finalised by Marlborough and Prince Eugene. Late adjustments had had to be made as fresh intelligence came in regarding the disposition of French forces. In essence, however, the battle plan resembled those that had been so successful at Blenheim and Ramillies. Sustained attacks were to be launched at the enemy flanks so that Villars would be compelled to weaken his centre in order to reinforce them. Massed cavalry would then descend on the French centre to administer the
coup de grâce
. Marlborough did not underestimate the enemy. Reports confirmed that they could deploy almost one hundred and thirty battalions of foot, two hundred and sixty squadrons of horse and a total of eighty guns. Against this mighty army, the Allies could muster an equivalent number of battalions, two hundred and fifty-two squadrons and just over one hundred guns. Paper strength seemed to balance the two forces fairly evenly but some of the French battalions were somewhat smaller than they should have been and, on the Allied side, the battalions and squadrons under the command of General Withers had yet to arrive.

Marlborough could wait no longer for them. The decision to attack on the morning of 11
^th
September had been taken. As always, the captain-general placed great emphasis on combined tactical support, insisting that horse, foot and artillery worked as a unified team that was able to adapt swiftly to individual conditions in different parts of the battlefield. The Allies were split into three sections. Prince Eugene was given overall command of the right flank where General Schulenburg was to lead several battalions and supporting guns into the Bois de Sars. A welcome contingent from Mons reinforced him. To Schulenburg’s left, occupying the inner flank, was a substantial force of foot, horse and guns under General Lottum. While some British battalions were occupied on the right flank, many more were kept in reserve. German and Austrian forces therefore dominated.

In the centre, entrusted to General Lord Orkney, the fifteen battalions included eleven British formations, backed by the reserve strength of the Allied horse, numbering almost one hundred and eighty squadrons. When the time was ripe, a massive strike force could thus be unleashed in a cavalry charge to penetrate and overwhelm the French centre. Its success depended on Allied advances on both flanks. They had to pierce the French wings in order to threaten a pincer movement that was in reality a feint. The left flank was under the command of the youthful Prince of Orange, supported by Generals Tilly and Oxenstiern. In the original plan, Marlborough had placed General Withers in a supporting role on the left flank but he was too tardy. When he did finally appear, Withers was switched to the extreme right instead.