5 A Very Murdering Battle (6 page)

‘How’s everything here?’ asked Daniel.

‘It’s truly terrible,’ said Welbeck, pulling a face. ‘We’re cold, miserable, badly fed and bored. The only advantage of this weather is that it makes people think twice about deserting. I do my best to keep them on their toes. Marching them up and down is the one sure way to keep them warm.’

‘They’ll be warm enough when the campaign season starts.’

Welbeck snorted. ‘I don’t know which is worse, Dan – dodging the enemy’s musket volleys or putting up with the monotony of being in winter quarters. It’s a choice between danger and tedium. Each is as bad as the other.’

‘I’d choose danger every time, Henry.’

‘Does Amalia know that?’

Daniel was taken aback by the question. He considered his reply.

‘In a sense,’ he said at length, ‘I suppose that she does.’

‘The one thing I’ll say in favour of Rachel Rees is that she understood what soldiering means. She’s heard the roar of cannon and seen the ritual slaughter. She’s crawled over battlefields in search of booty. She’s smelt blood. What about Amalia?’ asked Welbeck. ‘Does she
really
know what happens when you put on your uniform and go to war?’

‘No,’ admitted Daniel.

‘Then perhaps you should tell her.’

Emanuel Janssen was very careful in his choice of apprentices. Not only did they have to spend a large amount of time under his roof, they had to share his love of his work. Kees Dopff had been an ideal apprentice, attentive, conscientious and possessing real flair. He was also extremely pleasant company. Feeling protective towards him, Janssen treated him like a son. He’d been less certain about Nicholaes Geel at first. The youth had been eager but there was an impulsiveness about him that worried Janssen. It took concentration and patience to produce a good tapestry and, at the start, Geel seemed to have neither quality. Yet he was very personable and had a readiness to learn. As it turned out, he lacked Dopff’s instinctive ability but he made up for it in other ways. Janssen had no cause to regret taking him on. Geel had served his apprenticeship and become a valuable member of the team. Whenever physical effort was required, he was always the first to step forward.

‘Where shall I put it, master?’ he asked.

Janssen pointed. ‘Over there in the corner, please.’

‘This will keep us going for a long time.’

‘It will have to, Nick. Stocks are low in the warehouse. Until ships can sail and imports can come into Amsterdam again, we may have to slow down a little.’

Geel was carrying a heavy bale of wool with comparative ease. Setting it down carefully in a corner of the warehouse, he rubbed his hands together. ‘We’ll have to start keeping our own sheep,’ he suggested.

‘If only we had the land to do that!’ said Janssen, covetously. ‘And if only this war would end, we’d be able to get the finest Picardy wool. That’s what I always used when trade with France was unimpeded.’

‘We can still get Italian silk. At least, we will when the roads become passable again. I can’t see many Italian merchants wanting to travel overland at the moment.’

It was early morning and Janssen had just taken delivery of some wool. Dopff was still finishing his breakfast and Pienaar had yet to arrive. Geel, however, was there ahead of the others and was a willing volunteer. Janssen plucked at his beard as he regarded his youngest employee.

‘Do you ever think about the future?’ he asked.

‘No, master, I never look beyond any particular day.’

‘Perhaps you should do so, Nick.’

‘But I’ve no need,’ said Geel with a grin. ‘I have the best job in the world and the most wonderful master. Working under you is an absolute joy. My life couldn’t be any happier. I just want to carry on as I am.’

‘So do I,’ said Janssen, ruefully, ‘but, alas, I can’t do that. Old age is taking its toll. I can’t go on for ever.’

‘You’re not old, master. You can still work as long and as hard as the rest of us. Amalia – your daughter, I mean – is always amazed at your energy. I’ve heard her talking about it to Beatrix.’

‘They can’t feel how much my body aches.’

‘You once told me that work keeps you young,’ recalled Geel.

‘That’s what I used to think at one time. It’s not true, Nick.’

‘I’ll wager that you still have years left in you, master.’

‘I certainly hope so,’ said Janssen with a smile, ‘but I don’t intend to spend them all at a loom. Sooner or later, I’ll retire.’

Geel was worried. ‘Do you mean that this workshop will close down?’

‘No, it just means that I’ll no longer be in charge. I’ll hand over to Aelbert. Tapestries will continue to be made here but not in the same way.’

‘I see … Have you told this to Aelbert?’

‘I don’t need to. He can see that I’m gradually slowing down. I don’t have the strength or the will to take on an apprentice. So I won’t be looking for another Nicholaes Geel to instruct in the magical art of weaving tapestries.’

Geel looked even more anxious. ‘If and when you
do
retire, master,’ he said, ‘what will happen to me?’

‘That’s what you ought to consider.’

‘Won’t there be a place for me here?’

‘Yes, of course,’ said Janssen. ‘I’ll make that clear to Aelbert. You and Kees can work here for as long as you wish. Kees will certainly stay. He and Aelbert get on well together. But I can’t say the same of you, Nick.’

Geel was defensive. ‘Yes, you can – Aelbert and I are good friends.’

‘Then why has there been friction between the two of you? Oh, I know it’s nothing serious and it doesn’t affect your work, but the fact is that you find Aelbert rather dull. You’re always taunting him about it.’

‘I like a joke now and then, that’s all.’

‘But some of your gibes hurt him deeply. That’s why he strikes back at you. All that he wants to do is get on quietly with his work.’

‘Conversation doesn’t hurt anyone, master. It helps to pass the time. When
you’re
not here, I’ve nobody to talk to. Kees can’t speak and Aelbert chooses not to. It’s the reason I end up trying to prod him into saying something.’

‘Perhaps you should try to leave him alone.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Where Aelbert is concerned, you have fences to mend. He’ll take my place one day and he won’t stand for any mischief-making when he holds the whip hand over you. Can you hear what I’m telling you, Nick?’

‘I think so,’ said Geel, uneasily. ‘Things are going to change.’

‘Let me be blunt,’ said Janssen. ‘You can either look for work elsewhere or stay on here. If you decide to leave, you’ll get a glowing testimonial from me. If you stay, however,’ he warned, solemnly, ‘you’ll need to treat Aelbert with a lot more respect. Start doing that now.’

Geel was sobered. He hadn’t realised how much his good-natured teasing upset his older colleague. There was nothing malicious in it. Aelbert Pienaar was such a dry and lacklustre companion. While he sympathised with him over the loss of his wife, Geel could never bring himself to like the fellow because they had nothing whatsoever in common. Could he spend most of his life working under such a person? It was a moot point. Until his employer had raised the subject, Geel had never thought about his future, assuming that it was already set out. He’d continue to work for Janssen indefinitely and have the occasional thrill of talking to Amalia. Seeing her more or less every day was a positive delight and he’d hate to forfeit it. While Pienaar brought dark clouds into the house, Amalia radiated sunlight. Geel loved to bask in it. He couldn’t bear to lose her.

When he heard the door open behind him, he turned round and saw Pienaar enter the workshop. Glad to be out of the cold, the newcomer looked rather forlorn. Geel manufactured a smile of welcome.

‘Good morning, Aelbert,’ he said, pleasantly. ‘How are you today?’

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Janssen nod in approval.

Amalia sat near the window as Beatrix brushed her mistress’s hair with steady, rhythmical movements. It was late afternoon and light was fading. The servant was in a reflective mood.

‘I wonder what it’s like to be married,’ she mused.

Amalia laughed in surprise. ‘Why ever do you wonder that?’

‘It’s something I’ll never enjoy.’

‘That’s not true, Beatrix.’

‘My life is here and I’m happy with it. Besides, what man would look at me twice? Whenever I’m out with you, I might as well be invisible. Men only have eyes for you, Miss Amalia. They ignore me.’

‘Aelbert doesn’t ignore you,’ Amalia pointed out, ‘and neither does Nick. They both like you immensely. Nick loves chatting to you.’

‘Yes,’ conceded Beatrix, ‘but what do we chat about? It’s not me, I can tell you. The only person Nick is interested in is you. He’s always asking after you. In any case,’ she went on with a sigh, ‘Nick is too young for me.’

‘What about Aelbert?’

‘He’s too old – and he’d never marry a mere servant.’

‘You’re a lot more to me than that, Beatrix.’

‘That’s because I brush your hair so nicely. I can’t do that for Aelbert because the poor man doesn’t have any.’ They both giggled. ‘Oh, we shouldn’t laugh at him,’ said Beatrix, controlling her mirth. ‘He’s still mourning his wife. He doted on her.’

‘And I’m sure there’s someone who’d dote on you,’ said Amalia. ‘Given the chance, that is.’

‘But they’ll never
get
that chance, will they?’

‘Don’t give up hope.’

‘That’s the odd thing. I’m not sure that I have any hope.’

‘I don’t follow.’

‘Well, I’m curious to know what being married is like, but I doubt if I’d really enjoy it. I’d hate to share my life with someone then lose them. I couldn’t cope with the grief. Look at Aelbert – he’ll never get over the death of his wife. And your father is the same, Miss Amalia. I know it was a long time ago but he still misses your dear mother. So do I, for that matter.’

A tear came into Amalia’s eye. ‘We all miss her terribly.’

‘I think it will be safer for me to stay a spinster.’

‘Wait until you meet the right man, Beatrix.’

‘I doubt that I ever will.’

‘You’d make someone a wonderful wife.’

Beatrix was upset. ‘Are you saying you wish to get rid of me?’

‘No, no, of course I don’t.’

‘I thought you were very satisfied with my work.’

‘I am,’ said Amalia. ‘I just want what’s best for you.’

‘Well, I’ve already got that.’

Having initiated the discussion, Beatrix brought it to an abrupt end. She began to wield the brush more vigorously. Amalia sat back in the chair and said nothing. It was minutes before the silence was broken. Glancing out of the window, Beatrix suddenly froze, holding the hairbrush in mid-air. She looked hard for a few seconds at a rider coming towards the house in the twilight.

‘That’s him!’ she cried. ‘I
told
you there was someone out there. That’s the strange man who’s been watching the house.’

Amalia stood up to look. ‘Who are you talking about?’

‘The man on the horse – I recognise him.’

‘So do I,’ said Amalia, letting out a whoop of delight. ‘It’s Daniel!’

And she rushed excitedly to the front door as fast as her legs would carry her.

Henry Welbeck had few real friends in the regiment. His abrasive manner and unforgiving nature were more likely to create enemies. Leo Curry was both friend and enemy, allied to him as a fellow sergeant yet in constant verbal conflict with him. The mutual respect between them came and went with almost tidal regularity. With the exception of Daniel Rawson, Welbeck’s closest friend was Joel Drew, a grizzled individual in his sixties with short, grey hair and a pockmarked face. Drew was a vivid illustration of the perils of warfare. He’d lost two fingers in one battle, an eye in a second and a limb in a third. Yet, though he was forced to hobble around on his wooden leg and squint at people through his one remaining eye, he had no trace of bitterness or regret. Drew considered himself to be a survivor and was eternally grateful for that. When others bemoaned lesser injuries, he could put them to shame. His cheerfulness and resilience were an example to all.

‘What can I do for you today, Sergeant?’ he asked.

‘Try to make me look pretty,’ said Welbeck.

Drew cackled. ‘Even the Almighty couldn’t do that. The best I can promise is to make you a little less hideous.’

‘Then I’ll settle for that.’

Unable to bear arms, it had never occurred to Drew to quit the army and return home. In his view, that would be a form of desertion. In spite of its vicissitudes, he enjoyed the life of a soldier. Keen to make a contribution of some sort, he became the regimental barber, cutting the hair of all and sundry with a skill that belied the fact that his eyesight was impaired. Everyone liked Drew. He was wise, experienced, good-natured and always willing to listen to the woes of others without passing judgement. A visit to the barber left people feeling better afterwards.

Welbeck sat down and removed his hat, resting it on his lap. Drew reached for his scissors. They were in a little hut where the barber had set up shop. He asked the same question that he always put to Welbeck.

‘Shall I give you a shave as well, Sergeant?’

‘No, thank you,’ replied the other. ‘Much as I trust you, I wouldn’t let any man hold a razor to my throat. You know why.’

‘Sergeants are never popular.’

‘That’s why I became one.’

‘Do you enjoy being disliked?’

‘What I enjoy is being
feared
.’

‘Then you hold the right rank,’ observed Drew, starting to snip away. ‘I worship His Grace, the Duke, and I admire some of his officers, but the only person I ever feared was the black-hearted bastard of a sergeant who made my life a misery when I first joined the army.’

‘Did you ever try to get revenge on him?’

‘I thought about it. Then I got caught up in a skirmish and realised why he’d been such a merciless tyrant. He’d prepared me for battle. But for him, I’d have been filling my breeches at the sound of an enemy musket. As it was,’ said Drew with a chuckle, ‘I knew exactly what to do.’

‘Did you thank the sergeant afterwards?’

‘Oh, no – that would have been too much to ask.’

Welbeck laughed. He was fond of the barber and always took pleasure from his company. At the same time, he felt a twinge of discomfort whenever he saw Joel Drew, wondering if that was how
he
would one day end up. When his fighting days were over, would he become a philosophical old soldier like Drew and find a means of making himself useful in the army? Was that the fate that awaited Welbeck? It was not one that appealed to him. Dismissing such thoughts from his mind, he talked about the prospects for the campaign season and the two of them speculated at length about the resources of the French army.

‘We kicked every last turd out of them at Oudenarde,’ recalled Drew as if he’d actually fought in the battle, ‘and we did the same at the siege of Lille. I don’t think King Louis will be able to put a proper army in the field again.’

‘Oh, I fancy that he will,’ said Welbeck.

‘He hasn’t got the stomach for a fight anymore.’

‘It’s not Louis who does the fighting, Joel. It’s his soldiers. And no matter how many of them we kill, he somehow manages to recruit more.’

‘How can he afford to pay for them? Everyone says that France is bankrupt.’

‘So am I but that won’t stop me fighting.’

Drew cackled again then stood back to admire his work. He put a hand under Welbeck’s chin so that he could tilt his head slightly to the left. As he snipped on, hair fell to the floor and was deftly flicked aside by the barber’s wooden leg. They were still chatting happily away when another customer arrived. Welbeck’s lip curled.

‘What do you want?’ he demanded.

‘I’m here for the same thing as you, Sergeant,’ said Ben Plummer, chirpily. ‘Just because we’re idle, it doesn’t mean we can’t be smart.’

‘Who told you that?’

‘As a matter of fact,
you
did.’

‘I’m glad to hear that you actually listened to me for once.’

‘I always listen to you, Sergeant,’ said Plummer. ‘When I first enlisted, you drummed it into us that we had to have self-respect.’

‘That’s quite right,’ Drew put in. ‘Self-respect is everything.’

‘Having a haircut is part of it – like washing and shaving every day.’

Plummer had changed. He was a tall, gangly man in his thirties with a jaunty air about him. He hadn’t volunteered for the army but saw it as the lesser of two evils. Instead of being imprisoned for living off the proceeds of prostitution, he’d accepted the alternative of joining the army. When he’d first met Welbeck, he’d made the mistake of answering back and had his two front teeth knocked out by the sergeant. Yet it hadn’t entirely cured him of impudence or wiped the smirk off his face. The change had come in his appearance. He’d joined the army with tousled hair and a tufted beard. Plummer was now clean-shaven and made periodic visits to Joel Drew for a haircut. He prided himself on his smartness.

‘Disappear!’ ordered Welbeck.

‘But I’m a customer,’ argued Plummer.

‘Come back when I’m gone. I’m not having you watching me.’

Plummer grinned. ‘But I’m trying to pattern myself on you, Sergeant, and that means I have to study you.’ He scurried out of reach as Welbeck swung a fist at him. ‘You see? You taught me to move fast in the event of attack.’

‘If you don’t vanish, I’ll teach you what it’s like to have a boot wedged up your backside. Make yourself scarce, you mangy cur!’

‘To hear is to obey.’

Plummer’s sarcasm got Welbeck off his chair but the kick he aimed at him was well wide of the mark. Sniggering aloud, Plummer had already jumped clear. With a wave of farewell to both men, he left the hut.

‘He’s a lively fellow, that one,’ opined Drew.

‘He’s far too lively for my taste, Joel.’

‘I like a man who’s got plenty to say for himself.’

‘That depends what he says.’ Welbeck sat down again.

‘Ben Plummer always has a smile and that goes a long way with me. Most of the people who sit in that chair are so gloomy. All I hear from them is a list of complaints about this, that and the other damned thing. Plummer is different,’ said Drew. ‘Nothing seems to bother him. And although he’s only a private soldier on low pay, he always gives me twice what he’s asked.’

Welbeck was pensive. ‘Now why does he do that, I wonder?’

‘It’s because he’s pleased with his haircut, of course. Why else?’

‘You don’t know Plummer as well as I do,’ said Welbeck, grimly. ‘I’ve had trouble with him from the start. So when he takes care with his appearance and is generous with money, I’m bound to ask one simple question.’

‘And what’s that, Sergeant?’

‘What exactly is the cunning swine up to?’

Daniel was given an enthusiastic welcome at the Janssen household. He collected a kiss and a loving embrace from Amalia, a warm handshake from her father, a friendly greeting from the three assistants in the workshop and a collective smile from the servants. Beatrix claimed a kiss of her own. Janssen used his arrival as an excuse to break off work an hour early and to send Pienaar and Geel home. Kees Dopff remained and joined the family for a celebratory meal, gazing at Daniel with undisguised admiration. Seated beside his assistant, Janssen knew better than to press their visitor about his movements since they’d last seen him. Prompted by a need for discretion, Daniel would say little about any secret assignment on which he’d been and – for fear of upsetting Amalia – he’d be careful never to reveal the true extent of any dangers he’d encountered. He was thrilled to be back in Amsterdam again, all the more so because he was enjoying a delicious meal in comfortable surroundings and because he was sitting close enough to Amalia to feel the brush of her arm against his.

‘I understand that the tapestry is now complete,’ he said.

‘Yes,’ replied Janssen. ‘It’s ready for delivery.’

‘His Grace sent me to inspect it.’

‘And I thought you came to see me,’ said Amalia with mock annoyance. ‘Since when do I take second place to a tapestry?’

‘You’d never do so in my mind,’ Daniel assured her. ‘When the Battle of Ramillies is no longer sitting in the workshop, I’ll still keep coming here with the same urgency.’ Amalia was pacified. ‘But how have you all been in this cold weather?’

Amalia and her father issued a whole stream of complaints, supplemented by Dopff’s graphic gestures. Evidently, they’d suffered great inconvenience and continued frustration. Daniel was sympathetic. He’d met with far worse conditions in Paris but chose to say nothing about them.

‘How long can you stay?’ asked Amalia.

‘I’ll be here for a few days at least,’ he said.

Her face fell. ‘Is that all?’

‘His Grace will expect a report, Amalia.’

‘Then send him one by messenger.’

‘I
am
the messenger.’

‘You can tell him you were held up by impassable roads.’

Daniel smiled. ‘I’d never lie to His Grace,’ he said, ‘but I don’t think he’d mind if I stayed here a week. He’s very much aware that Amsterdam holds a lot more for me than your father’s tapestry.’

It was not only the chance of seeing Amalia that made him repair to the city with such alacrity. Daniel’s mother was Dutch. He’d still been a boy when his English father, Nathan Rawson, had joined the Monmouth Rebellion and fought against royal forces at the battle of Sedgemoor. In the wake of defeat, he’d been hanged along with many other rebels and his farm had been confiscated. Daniel and his mother had fled to Amsterdam and it was there that he’d grown to maturity. The city therefore occupied a special place in his heart and, whenever he was there, he made a point of visiting his mother’s grave. She’d died with an implacable hatred of the Duke of Marlborough because – as Major-General John, Lord Churchill – he’d been one of the commanders of the royal army at Sedgemoor. Juliana Rawson would never have been able to accept the fact that her son now served a man who’d been indirectly responsible for the death of her husband. It was as well that she’d passed away before Daniel joined the British army.

‘How was the journey here?’ asked Janssen.

‘Long and tiresome,’ replied Daniel.

‘The whole country seems to have ground to a halt.’

‘It’s just as bad in The Hague as here. There’s no sign of a thaw.’

‘We must count our blessings,’ said Amalia. ‘We have a roof over our heads and warm fires to sit beside. Some people lack both. There are tales of poor devils being found in shop doorways, frozen to death.’

Daniel thought of the frozen soldier and his horse.

‘Let’s not dwell on such things,’ suggested Janssen. ‘Daniel is here at last and we should savour his visit. The tapestry can wait until tomorrow when it can be seen properly in the daylight. This evening must be given over to merriment.’

Dopff agreed heartily, thumping the table with a fist in approbation. He knew how much Daniel’s arrival would lift the whole household and he never forgot the way in which their visitor had risked life and limb to sneak them safely out of Paris when there was an extensive manhunt for them. They ate, drank and revelled in each other’s company for several hours. Dopff was the first to retire to bed and Janssen soon followed. Ordinarily, Beatrix would have come into the room to act as a chaperone but Daniel was trusted sufficiently to be left alone with Amalia. As they sat beside each other in the parlour, he held both her hands.

‘You look more beautiful than ever,’ he said, softly.

‘I thought you only came to see the Battle of Ramillies,’ she teased.

‘I saw far too much of it when it was actually raging, Amalia. I was at His Grace’s side for much of the time, so I had a perfect view of what was happening. I can tell you this,’ he added, squeezing her hands, ‘I’d much prefer to enjoy a perfect view of Amalia Janssen. It’s far less perilous.’

She laughed. ‘Thank you, Daniel. Have you missed me?’

‘You’re never out of my thoughts.’

‘I’ve spent every day wondering where you are.’

‘That’s reassuring to hear.’

‘Surely, you don’t doubt me?’ she said.

‘Not for a second,’ he promised her, ‘and I hope you don’t doubt me.’

‘I just wish we could spend more time together.’

‘Only the needs of war keep us apart. One day, it will be different.’

‘One day – God willing!’ Looking into her eyes, he tightened his grip on her hands. She wanted to melt into his arms and gave him an inviting smile, moving closer to him as she did so. Daniel was about to embrace her when Beatrix came into the parlour.

‘It’s wonderful to have you here again, Captain Rawson,’ she said, effusively. ‘The whole house seems suddenly warmer as a result. It’s an omen. Winter is at last coming to an end.’

‘Yes,’ he said, drawing back reluctantly from Amalia, ‘I believe that it is.’

Dopff had been dumb from birth but there was nothing wrong with his hearing. If anything, it was more sensitive than that of the average person. He had a bedchamber at the back of the house and above the workshop. As a rule, he slept soundly but something brought him abruptly awake that night. Not knowing what it was, he sat bolt upright in bed and blinked his eyes. Telling himself that it must have been a dream, he lay down under the blankets again and was soon slumbering peacefully. Ten minutes later, he was awake again and this time he had an inkling of what had prompted him. There were noises from below, faint but discernible noises. They might, of course, be made by Janssen who could have had reason to retrieve something from the workshop. Dopff had known occasions when his master had actually worked through the night by the light of candles. He wouldn’t be doing so now. It was far too cold.