5 A Very Murdering Battle

by Edward Marston

  ‘I thought the fighting was over,’ he complained.

  ‘So did I,’ said Welbeck, ‘but the bleeding politicians let the chance of peace slip through their stupid fingers. We’re off to the battlefield once more, Leo.’

  ‘What went wrong?’

  ‘I just told you. Our politicians are to blame.’

  ‘There’s more to it than that,’ said Curry, sourly. ‘According to you, Captain Rawson was at the negotiations. Hasn’t he told you why they broke up?’

  ‘I haven’t had chance to speak to him yet.’

  ‘I heard that Corporal John was the culprit.’

  Welbeck stiffened. ‘That’s arrant nonsense.’

  ‘He needs the war to continue so that he can carry on strutting like a peacock across Europe. Over here, he has power. In England, he has none.’

  ‘Who told you that?’

  ‘It’s what a lot of people are saying, Henry.’

  ‘Then they’re talking through their buttocks,’ retorted Welbeck. ‘Corporal John would do anything for peace. He’s old, ill, exhausted and fed up with spilling blood over the same sodden ground year after year. Anyone who says that he wants this war to carry on is a fucking idiot.’

  Curry squared up to him. ‘Are you calling me an idiot?’

  ‘I don’t need to, Leo. It’s clear for all to see.’

  ‘He’s fighting this war for his own benefit.’

  ‘Listen, you mutton-headed fool,’ said Welbeck with contempt. ‘Ask yourself one question. If Corporal John wanted to take up arms again, why hasn’t he made any preparations to do so? He thought the war was over. No commander would be eager to take to the field again when there’s such a shortage of forage. Do you agree?’

  As Curry pondered, his eyebrows formed a chevron. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘That ought to be your motto. I don’t know. Get it translated into Latin, Leo, because it sums you up perfectly. You don’t know a thing yet you still open your big bleeding mouth on any and every subject.’

  ‘I’m entitled to my opinion.’

  ‘And I’m entitled to tell you what to do with it.’

  ‘You think you’re so high and mighty because you went off to Amsterdam and caught a few thieves with Captain Rawson. While you were having your little holiday, I was doing proper military duties here.’

  ‘Drinking beer and boring the balls off anyone mad enough to listen to you.’

  Curry’s eyes flashed. ‘Don’t tempt me, Henry.’

  ‘I won’t. I’d be afraid you’d fall over.’

  ‘You’re asking for a punch on the nose.’

  Welbeck shoved him away. ‘Go back to the madhouse you escaped from.’

  ‘Say that again!’ challenged Curry.

  ‘You heard the first time.’

  Curry tried to grab him but Welbeck was far too quick. Stepping to one side, he dodged the outstretched arms and clipped one of Curry’s ears. The other man roared. Before he could turn on Welbeck once more, however, he was halted by the arrival of a smirking Ben Plummer.

  ‘Are you two at it again?’ he asked, derisively.

  ‘Shut your gob, Plummer!’ snapped Welbeck.

  ‘I thought you were supposed to be on the same side.’

  ‘We are. If you’re not careful, Sergeant Curry and I will prove it by tearing you limb from limb together.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Curry, ‘then we’ll bury what’s left of you in a pile of horse shit.’

  Plummer was unabashed. ‘Thank you for being so caring towards me.’

  ‘Sarcasm will get you nowhere.’

  ‘Except flat on your back, that is,’ warned Welbeck. ‘Show more respect to your superiors or you’ll be in serious trouble.’

  ‘I hear and obey,’ said Plummer, giving a mock salute. A blow from Welbeck sent him reeling but didn’t dislodge his smirk. ‘I’ll let you fight on.’

  He caught a punch from Curry this time but shrugged it off and walked away. Their dispute over, the two sergeants looked after him.

  ‘Did he cause any trouble while I was away?’ asked Welbeck.

  ‘He had the sense to steer clear of me, Henry.’

  ‘I still think he’s gone back to his old trade.’

  ‘You mean that he’s keeping women somewhere?’

  ‘It’s what he did before he was forced to join the army. He’s a scurvy pimp. Plummer made the women do all the work while he lived off the profits.’

  Curry was envious. ‘Dirty devil probably had a different one of them in his bed every night.’

  ‘They’d have been the ugliest drabs in Christendom.’

  ‘A woman is a woman, Henry. We all have needs.’

  ‘Speak for yourself.’

  ‘If he’s gone back to his trade, where does he keep his whores?’

  ‘I don’t know, Leo,’ said Welbeck, ‘but I intend to find out. I’m not having my men infected by a pack of mangy harlots. We need to have them fighting fit, not walking around in circles scratching their burning pizzles.’

  It had all happened so swiftly. In mid-May, the prospects for peace seemed very rosy. A month later, two armies had been assembled for combat. The Allies had mustered one hundred thousand men in Flanders comprising one hundred and fifty-two battalions and two hundred and forty-five squadrons with substantial reinforcements still awaited. Marlborough had displayed consummate skill in persuading allies like the King of Prussia to send more mercenaries by praising the quality of those dispatched in earlier years. When he joined the army near Ghent in the company of Prince Eugene of Savoy, the captain-general found it equipped with one hundred and four canon, twenty-four mortars and forty-two pontoons, as well as ancillary weapons. Fodder remained in short supply but that didn’t deter the two commanders. They were eager to fight the enemy under its flamboyant new leader, Claude Louis Hector, Duc de Villars and Marshal of France.

  While the French army might be dispirited, it had to be respected now that it was under the command of Villars. He was a brilliant soldier with an impressive record of success. He’d won a comprehensive victory over the Margrave of Baden at Friedlingen in 1702, then defeated a Hapsburg army at Hochstadt the following year. In 1705 he inflicted the first strategic reverse sustained by Marlborough by his clever defensive tactics on the Moselle. But it was his ability to inspire his men that made him so dangerous an opponent. His soldiers feared his quick temper but they admired his bravery and were uplifted by his unshakable conviction that he was destined for victory. Unlike other French commanders, he scorned defensive warfare and believed that only a major battle could destroy the coalition army. With his gift for rhetoric, he inspired his men with the notion that they were taking part in a glorious crusade.

  Daniel considered Villars to be the one French soldier capable of matching Marlborough and Prince Eugene. Even with numerical superiority, the Allies were not assured of outright victory. When he was sent to carry out a full reconnaissance, Daniel was given the opportunity to see the effect that the new commander had had on the French army. In order to travel with a degree of impunity, he was disguised as a peasant and drove a battered old cart. After a week without shaving, he’d acquired a rough beard. He’d also dirtied his face and hands. With a hat pulled down over his forehead, even his closest friends needed a second look to identify him. Progress over roads still sodden from rain was slow but Daniel was in no hurry. His leisurely journey gave him plenty of time to take stock of the terrain. When he eventually came in sight of the French army, they’d drawn up defensive lines between St Venant and Douai. Daniel studied them through a telescope. The fortifications were impressive, with earthworks supplemented by a series of water obstacles. Additional supplies of timber were arriving and the thud of axes could be heard as it was cut to size. Of more interest to Daniel was the fact a long column of soldiers was moving towards the lines. Unlike some of those he could see on the ramparts, they were all in uniform and moving with the discipline of a well-trained force. Having spent so many years in th
e army, Daniel could gauge numbers at a glance. He estimated that the reinforcements amounted to at least three thousand. Judging by the direction from which they came, he surmised that they must have been withdrawn from the garrison at Tournai.

  From his vantage point in a copse, Daniel made a detailed mental note of everything he saw. With his cart hidden by the trees, he felt safe from discovery. So intent was he in peering through his telescope that he didn’t realise he had company until it was too late. A horse whinnied behind him and he turned to see a mounted French soldier looking down at him with his sword drawn. Daniel was annoyed with himself for being caught off guard. It was a rare lapse and it put him in jeopardy. The concealed dagger he carried was no match for the sword. He had to rely on bluff.

  ‘What are you doing?’ demanded the man.

  ‘I found this on the ground,’ replied Daniel, holding up the telescope, ‘and I was just looking through it. Here – take it.’

  He offered it to the soldier who knocked it from his grasp with the sword.

  ‘Don’t lie to me,’ he snarled, ‘or I’ll cut you to shreds.’

  Daniel crouched submissively. ‘I mean no harm, sir,’ he said. ‘I’m only a poor, humble peasant.’ He pointed a finger. ‘I farm some land close to here. Your army took what little food we have. I came to see what you were doing.’

  ‘You came to spy on us.’

  ‘No, no, I’d never do that.’

  ‘You’re in the pay of the enemy and that’s a death sentence.’

  ‘Spare me,’ pleaded Daniel, looking for a means of escape as he did so. ‘I’ve done no wrong, I swear it. Don’t kill me. I have a wife and family.’

  ‘Then they can come and bury your stinking carcass.’

  Urging his horse forward, the soldier raised his sword. He showed no mercy as he hacked at his prisoner. Dodging the murderous slash of the blade, Daniel tried to run off through the undergrowth but his plan soon faltered. He tripped over a root half hidden by the grass and plunged forward on to his face. The soldier caught up with him, dismounted and lifted his sword to strike.

  ‘Stop!’ yelled a female voice.

  Surprised at the intervention, the man looked over his shoulder at a plump woman in her thirties seated astride a bay mare carrying a series of bags and pouches. In her hand was a pistol and it was aimed at the soldier. The momentary delay was all that Daniel needed. Pulling out his dagger, he leapt to his feet, disarmed his attacker then slit the man’s throat without compunction. Only when the soldier lay dying on the ground did he turn towards his rescuer. Inured to the sight of hideous deaths, she was unmoved by what she’d just witnessed. When he recognised her, Daniel laughed with gratitude.

  ‘Rachel!’ he cried. ‘It’s Rachel Rees.’

  Puzzlement creased her face. ‘How do you know my name?’

  ‘Thank heaven you came when you did!’

  She stared at him. ‘You sound just like Captain Rawson,’ she said, ‘but you don’t look anything like him.’

  ‘I’ll explain why on the way back.’

  ‘It is you, then, Daniel, is it?’

  ‘Yes, it is.’

  ‘What on earth are you doing here?’

  ‘I might ask the same of you. I thought you went off to Wales.’

  ‘I did – but I missed army life.’

  ‘Well, it’s wonderful to see you again – especially at a moment like this. I owe you heartfelt thanks. That pistol of yours saved my life.’

  She held the weapon up. ‘I’ll let you into a secret – it’s not loaded.’

  ‘It did the trick, Rachel. That’s all that matters.’

  ‘Who’d have thought it?’ she asked, cackling merrily, her ample bosom heaving up and down. ‘I save someone from the French and he turns out to be none other than one of my husbands – or, at least, a man who once pretended to be my husband. I call that a happy coincidence.’ She slapped a chubby thigh. ‘This is what brought me back, you see. It’s the beauty of warfare. Strange things always happen. Wonders never cease.’

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Marlborough never enjoyed councils of war because the Allied generals were inclined to block his bold schemes in favour of less ambitious projects. The Dutch were particularly cautious, often delaying a course of action until it was no longer viable. Years earlier, Marlborough had been glad to get rid of General Slangenburg, the contentious Dutchman, who always opposed his ideas. More recently, he was deeply saddened by the death of the Dutch commander, Field Marshal Overkirk, who invariably supported them. As yet another council gathered around a table in Courtrai, laid out in front of them was a detailed map of Flanders together with a drawing that Daniel had made of the location and disposition of the French defences. Daniel himself was there to act as an interpreter while Cardonnel took detailed notes of the meeting. There was a collective mood of disappointment. Everyone present had believed that peace was definitely in the offing. The abandonment of negotiations was a bitter blow to them.

  After the initial exchange of greetings, Marlborough took charge.

  ‘France is slowly expiring,’ he announced, ‘but will not yet lie down. Reports from our agent at Versailles speak of widespread misery and deprivation. People were recently seen fighting over fragments of a dead horse on the Pont Neuf. Crowds of angry workmen scour the capital in search of employment that doesn’t exist. Beggars die of starvation every day. Those wealthy enough are preparing to flee the country and the King’s guards sleep booted and spurred in case of insurrection. Yet somehow,’ he continued, ‘Marshal Villars has achieved the miracle of assembling a sizeable army and firing it with self-belief. As you will see from the drawing provided by Captain Rawson, the enemy is camped in a favourable position and its fortifications are sound. Since they anticipate an attack, I urge that we deny them their wish.’ He indicated the map. ‘My plan is to march the bulk of the army to Ypres, covered by an inland feint, with the intention of piercing the French defences on the coast near Dunkirk. This will be a first move towards the River Somme and it will receive naval support in the shape of a descent from the sea against Picardy.’

  He paused to let his words sink home. Studying the faces around the table, Daniel could see that the notion hadn’t found support. Essentially, it was the plan that Marlborough had advanced almost a year earlier, only to see it rejected for being too audacious. Before anyone actually voiced it, Marlborough sensed opposition and sought to remove it.

  ‘Ypres should be invested,’ he argued. ‘It’s the French weak point. While they are hiding behind their defences further south, we should move fast and lay siege to Ypres. It will be a valuable prize.’

  ‘Nobody disputes that, Your Grace,’ said Prince Eugene, ‘but there are equally valuable prizes waiting to be secured. Your advocacy of a feint is sensible but we should choose a different objective.’

  ‘Where did you have in mind, Your Highness?’

  ‘Tournai. The admirable Captain Rawson has ascertained that the garrison there has been depleted and left more vulnerable. If we move our artillery train to Menin, it will give the French some jealousy that our design is upon Ypres. Villars will respond accordingly and move his troops in the wrong direction.’

  ‘It’s certainly worth considering,’ admitted Marlborough.

  But the plan had already aroused interest. There was a loud murmur of approval. After the long, expensive and blood-soaked siege of Lille, nobody was keen to invest another French stronghold but it seemed a better option than an attack on the defensive line that Daniel had reconnoitred. The more they discussed it, the more support the plan garnered. Marlborough was forced yet again to shelve his own project and he did so with his usual graciousness. The decision had been made.

  ‘We move towards Menin,’ he declared, ‘until Villars takes the bait. Our army will have six days’ rations. When they least expect it, we’ll swing south and east to invest Tournai. The decoy will have served its purpose.’

  ‘I trust that Tournai will not b
e a second Lille,’ said a dissentient general.

  ‘There’s no danger of that. It has no Marshal Boufflers to withstand a siege.’

  Daniel was of the same mind. Like Marlborough, he would have preferred a decisive battle to a time-consuming siege that would sap their resources, but Villars would be under orders not to engage the Allied army in the field. The French wouldn’t dare to risk another resounding defeat so early in the campaign. Daniel remembered Lille well. While he regretted the terrible losses sustained there by the Allies, he could point to the fact that it had eventually surrendered. He knew that Marlborough had an excellent record with regard to sieges. Whether it was Ypres or Tournai, Daniel felt that the result would be the same. An enemy stronghold would be secured and a clear message would be sent to the enemy that the Allies had drawn first blood and outfoxed the new French commander. Tired, unwell and lacklustre, Marlborough might be unable to muster great enthusiasm for the project but Daniel had faith in it. Tournai would fall.

  Henry Welbeck was less enamoured of the plan and expressed himself forcefully.

  ‘Another bleeding siege?’ he exclaimed. ‘Has Corporal John taken leave of his two remaining senses? We lost some of our best fucking men at Lille. Has he forgotten that? It’s madness to invest Tournai.’

  ‘It was not His Grace’s choice,’ said Daniel.

  ‘Then he’s got some brains, after all.’

  ‘He wanted us to lay siege to Ypres.’

  ‘And bury even more of our men?’ complained Welbeck with a despairing flap of his arms. ‘Tournai or Ypres – it makes no difference. Either of them will drain the lifeblood out of us. Doesn’t Corporal John realise that?’

  ‘Now then, Henry,’ said Daniel, sharply. ‘Let’s have more respect for His Grace. He’s earned it by the way he’s led this army.’

  ‘Granted – but I think he’s losing his grip, Dan.’

  ‘Then you’re grossly misinformed.’