5 A Very Murdering Battle

by Edward Marston

  In the course of a skirmish, a number of French prisoners were taken. One of them was the Marquis de Cheldon, a man of great charm and remarkable openness. Like so many others in the higher ranks of the French army, he was an admirer of Marlborough and of his unrivalled military record. Daniel was in the captain-general’s quarters when the prisoner was questioned and couldn’t fail to notice his exquisite apparel and impeccable manners. After an exchange of pleasantries, Marlborough began his interrogation. Though he had a reasonable command of French, he was glad to have Daniel on hand to translate any words that he didn’t understand. The marquis had such a rapid delivery that it needed Daniel’s keener ear and more comprehensive knowledge of the language to pick up everything that was said. Reclining in a chair, the prisoner might have been talking to two old friends. There was no attempt to mislead and no refusal to answer a question.

  ‘What may we expect from Mons?’ asked Marlborough, politely.

  ‘The garrison was heavily depleted when Marshal Villars withdrew soldiers to bolster his defences,’ said the marquis, ‘but it’s now been reinforced by a regiment of dragoons and four battalions of Spanish infantry. That was all the support that could be rushed to the town before you closed in on it. The speed of your strike to the south-east took us all by surprise.’

  ‘That was the intention.’

  ‘I congratulate you on its success.’

  ‘Our aim is to expel your army entirely from the Spanish Netherlands.’

  ‘And thereby maintain pressure on us in the peace negotiations,’ said the other with a knowing smile. ‘It’s a clever tactic, Your Grace.’

  ‘Is it true that Marshall Boufflers has joined your commander?’

  ‘Yes, it is, and he’s most welcome. Old as he is, he’s put on his cuirass and reached for his weapons once again.’

  ‘I understood that he’d been ill.’

  ‘We were blessed by the news of his recovery.’

  ‘What role has been assigned to him?’

  ‘None that I know of, Your Grace,’ said the marquis with an expressive gesture. ‘He has simply offered his services in a cause to which he’s dedicated his whole life. Marshall Villars retains the command and will not yield it to anyone.’

  ‘What frame of mind is he in?’

  ‘Villars is always sanguine.’

  ‘Have you been apprised of his immediate plans?’

  ‘Naturally – he keeps me well informed.’

  Daniel could not believe the candour with which the prisoner revealed details of the French intentions. In another person, it might be viewed as a betrayal but the Marquis de Cheldon was no turncoat. He was a flamboyant French aristocrat with a firm belief in the superiority of his national army. Once started on his account, he couldn’t be stopped. Words gushed out of him like a miniature waterfall and Daniel was called upon to translate those that put a furrow into Marlborough’s brow. They learnt precise numbers of the French forces and their approximate disposition. More importantly, they were told of Villars’ prime objective.

  ‘Royal permission has finally arrived,’ explained the marquis. ‘Marshal Boufflers brought it with him from Versailles. The King is rightly alarmed that Mons might fall and leave our frontiers unprotected. He’s instructed Marshal Villars that – if conditions are propitious – he is to have carte blanche.’

  Marlborough was pleased. ‘He means to risk all and venture a battle?’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ replied the prisoner with a disarming smile. ‘Battle will soon be joined. Given what I know, I’d go so far as to guarantee it.’

  When he first heard of the movements of the Allied army, Villars had crossed the headwaters of the Scheldt and marched north-eastwards with the River Sambre away to his right. Having reached Bavay, he’d gone along one of the many Roman roads that branched out from it like the spokes of a wheel. After a careful study of the terrain, he chose his ground and camped about a mile north of the tiny village of Malplaquet. His swift response to the enemy actions had been endorsed by Boufflers, a veteran commander in his sixties with an enthusiasm undimmed by the passage of time. Ready to serve in any capacity, he’d been given a cordial welcome by Villars and his senior officers. The arrival of such a famous soldier had given an immediate boost to the morale of the French army.

  Boufflers used a telescope to survey the landscape. His nod was affirmative.

  ‘You’ve done exactly what I’d have done,’ he said.

  ‘I wanted to limit Marlborough’s room for manoeuvre.’

  ‘That’s always a wise thing to do.’

  ‘At Blenheim and at Ramillies, he had the enticing prospect of a large plain on which he could marshal his army. He’ll have no such freedom here,’ said Villars. ‘He’ll have thick woods to contend with, not to mention ditches, streams, ponds, hollows and muddy lanes. That should slow his army down.’

  ‘The woodland also gives you a good supply of timber for your defences.’

  ‘It’s been felled from the moment we arrived. Some of the trunks have already been chained together to form abattis. Redoubts have also been built.’

  ‘You’ve made a difference,’ said Boufflers, gazing round with satisfaction. ‘In the relatively short time you’ve been in command, you’ve made a profound difference and I’ll write to His Majesty to tell him so. It will be an honour to fight under you.’

  Applying an eye to the telescope, he took a second look at the battlefield that would confront the Allied army. Thanks to Villars, everything seemed to favour the French. The whole area was defined by water. The River Haine ran along the north while its tributary, the Hogneau, flowed to the south-east. The Sambre went south, past the town of Maubeuge. To the east, emanating from the vicinity of Mons, was a network of streams. The most important was the Trouille, which, like all the other waterways, had been swollen by the almost constant summer rain. Within the area enclosed by the rivers were four expanses of dense woodland. The Bois de Boussu was in the north, then came the Bois de Sars, the largest of them, the small Bois de Thiery was next in line followed by the much bigger Bois de la Lanière which arced southwards until it faced the plain of Maubeuge. In total the broad-leaved woods extended over a distance of some twelve miles.

  Putting the telescope away, Boufflers emitted a low chuckle.

  ‘The woods will screen any movement you make,’ he observed.

  ‘It will also be a perfect place in which to hide some battalions,’ said Villars, smugly. ‘Marlborough will be forced to attack through the narrow gap in the woods. He can be ambushed by soldiers tucked away in readiness among the trees.’

  ‘First, however, you have to lure him away from Mons before he does any real damage to the town. Not that he’ll be able to make much impact without the support of his heavy artillery.’

  ‘Our intelligence is that he sent his siege train by river to Brussels and will bring it south to Mons. That will move slowly,’ noted Villars. ‘It might not get here until the end of the month.’

  ‘Then it will be far too late,’ said Boufflers, smiling. ‘By that time, you’ll have defeated the Allied army and saved Mons into the bargain. It will be wonderful news for me to take back to Versailles.’

  Scanning the potential battlefield, Villars was brimming with confidence.

  ‘It’s a victory that will echo around the whole of Europe,’ he said, striking a pose. ‘In offering him battle, I’m giving the illustrious captain-general what he most ardently seeks. In the three previous encounters, he’s put a French army to flight. That won’t be the case here,’ he stressed. ‘With our fortifications improving by the hour, we have advantages here at Malplaquet. I can’t wait to reap the benefits from them.’

  With a battle in the offing, Daniel dashed off a letter to Amalia. It was not simply a means of sending his love and giving her a succinct account of the fall of Tournai, it was a possible last bequest. In case anything tragic befell him in combat, he wanted her to have a memento of him. Daniel didn’t fear the encounter. If
anything, he was too eager for it to take place. But he knew how much Amalia worried about him and he wanted her to know how much he missed and thought about her. Having handed over the letter to be taken to Amsterdam with other correspondence, he rode to the area of the camp reserved for the 24th Foot and looked for Henry Welbeck. He located the sergeant in a familiar situation, exchanging verbal blows with Leo Curry. When he saw Daniel coming to interrupt them, Curry laughed derisively at Welbeck before strutting away like a turkey cock.

  ‘What was all that about?’ asked Daniel, dismounting.

  ‘It was nothing, Dan.’

  ‘Sergeant Curry looked as if he’d just won an argument.’

  ‘He’s always trying to crow over me,’ said Welbeck, ‘but it’s meaningless. Leo has the brain of a simpleton and the stupidity to match.’ He appraised his friend. ‘I hear that we may actually face the Frenchies in battle.’

  ‘Marshal Villars has thrown down the gauntlet.’

  Welbeck groaned. ‘We haven’t fully recovered from the siege of Tournai yet, let alone the long march to get here. We’re close to exhaustion.’

  ‘The sound of the drums will put fresh energy into you.’

  ‘It will just make me want to puke.’

  ‘You’re usually ready to stand your ground in a fight.’

  ‘I lost too many good men in the siege,’ said Welbeck. ‘There are times when a battle should be avoided. This is one of them.’

  ‘I’ll pass your opinion on to His Grace,’ joked Daniel.

  ‘He doesn’t care what I think.’

  ‘He cares for what you represent, Henry, and that’s the rank and file. Nobody shows as much concern for his troops.’

  ‘Then why did he let so many of us get killed and maimed at Tournai?’

  ‘It wasn’t in his power to prevent the slaughter,’ said Daniel, sadly. ‘Sieges always produce a large butcher’s bill.’ His tone lightened. ‘By the way, have you seen Rachel yet?’

  ‘I had that misfortune.’

  ‘Don’t be so hostile to her. Rachel Rees is an extraordinary woman.’

  ‘You know my view,’ said Welbeck. ‘I abhor women, extraordinary or not.’

  ‘She told me that she left some rum for you as a gift.’

  ‘I threw it away.’

  ‘Come now,’ said Daniel, jocularly, ‘even you would never do that. You drank it, didn’t you? Be honest about it, Henry.’

  ‘I may have had a sip,’ conceded the sergeant.

  ‘And did you remember to thank her for the gift?’

  ‘How could I know that it came from her?’

  Daniel laughed. ‘How many other women shower you with flasks of rum?’

  Welbeck was embarrassed. He’d both drunk and enjoyed the gift from Rachel but hadn’t been able to offer her any thanks. After his last encounter with her, he was having regrets. The very least that she deserved was an expression of gratitude, if only coupled with the request to refrain from giving him anything else in the future. It was simple courtesy. When – as he perceived it – he was Rachel’s sole target, he defended himself by falling back on rudeness. Now that she’d sparked off interest in another man, however, Welbeck’s mind was in turmoil. Had it been anybody other than Leo Curry, it might not have mattered, but he couldn’t tolerate the thought of having Rachel whipped away from under his nose by a man with whom he was routinely at odds. Before he could stop himself, he heard an apology tumble from his lips.

  ‘I’m sorry, Dan,’ he said, shuffling his feet. ‘I ought to have thanked her. Perhaps you could do so on my behalf.’

  Daniel was firm. ‘No, Henry,’ he insisted. ‘If you’ve something to tell her, then you must tell it to her yourself. I’m not your intercessor.’

  ‘I don’t know how to talk to women.’

  ‘Then it’s an art you must learn.’

  ‘It’s much easier to keep them out of my life.’

  ‘You didn’t keep Beatrix at bay,’ Daniel reminded him. ‘When we stayed in Amsterdam, you got to like her. I often saw the pair of you talking together.’

  ‘She doesn’t frighten me like Rachel Rees.’

  ‘Behind all that bluster, I fancy that you’re quite fond of her.’

  ‘No, I’m not,’ said Welbeck with sudden force. He became apologetic once more. ‘But I will try to thank her for the rum, if the occasion arises.’

  ‘Make sure that you do, Henry. It won’t cost you anything.’

  Welbeck sensed that it would cost him a great deal but he wasn’t prepared to discuss his innermost feelings. Since Daniel was part of the captain-general’s staff, the sergeant wanted to know when and where the battle would take place and what sort of odds they’d be facing. He was also interested to hear about the appearance of Marshal Boufflers, a commander whose stout defence of Lille had earned him Welbeck’s respect. Daniel told him what they’d gleaned from the captive Marquis de Cheldon and what their scouts had reported about French movements. He explained that a battle was now inevitable. It made Welbeck resolve to speak to Rachel before he marched off to take on the enemy. He didn’t want to perish in combat with her kindness unacknowledged.

  After taking his leave, Daniel mounted his horse and rode off. Before he could duck into his tent, Welbeck saw Ben Plummer approaching with long strides. His first instinct was to turn away. Ever since he’d rescued Plummer during an assault on the citadel in Tournai, he’d been the unwilling recipient of the man’s gratitude. The private thanked him day after day and it became tiresome. There was a benefit. As a result of his experience at Tournai, Plummer had turned from being an insolent mischief-maker into a competent soldier. Welbeck was in no mood for another salvo of thanks but curiosity made him wait for his visitor. Plummer’s appearance was eye-catching. Most of the troops had torn and sullied their uniforms during the siege and Plummer had done the same. When rescued by Welbeck, he’d been filthy and bedraggled. Yet here he was now, smartly attired in a new uniform and marching along as if he was on parade.

  ‘What do you want?’ asked Welbeck. ‘If it’s to go on about what happened at the siege, you can save your breath to cool your porridge. I want no more thanks.’

  ‘I wasn’t about to give you any, Sergeant,’ said Plummer.

  ‘Praise the Lord!’

  ‘I came on an errand.’

  Welbeck studied him. ‘Where did you get this new uniform from?’

  ‘I bought it.’

  ‘How could you afford something like that?’

  Plummer smirked. ‘I told you. I had an inheritance.’

  ‘The only thing you ever inherited was the pox from those whores of yours.’

  ‘Those days are behind me, Sergeant. I’m a reformed character now.’

  ‘So where did your money come from?’ pressed Welbeck. ‘Did you find it under a tree or did it drop out of heaven right in front of you?’

  ‘My uncle died. I was his favourite nephew.’ Welbeck gave a mirthless laugh. ‘But I didn’t come to discuss my good fortune. I brought something for you.’

  Welbeck was cautious. ‘Is this some kind of jest?’

  ‘Not at all,’ said Plummer, taking something from his pocket. ‘Rachel Rees asked me to give this to you.’ He handed over a flask of rum. ‘She left a similar one for you weeks ago but is afraid that someone stole it from your tent. You obviously didn’t get it or you’d have said something to her.’

  ‘Yes, yes, I would …’

  The sergeant felt more than a twinge of guilt. He was also mortified that Plummer had been used as the messenger. Yet the private didn’t ridicule him as he’d done on previous occasions when Rachel’s name had come into the conversation. Having run his errand, he was about to go. Something made Plummer hesitate.

  ‘Is there any message?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes,’ said Welbeck, astonished at the affection with which he spoke. ‘Please give the lady my thanks. Her gift is appreciated.’

  Ever since she and Daniel Rawson had been so close, Amalia had ne
ver shown the slightest interest in another man. Her mind was filled with pleasant memories of the time they’d spent together and fervent hopes for their future together. She fell asleep musing about Daniel and woke up wondering where he was at that precise moment and whether or not he was thinking about her. If Amalia was largely unaware of anybody else who had feelings for her, Beatrix was not. Bustling around the Janssen household, she saw everything that was going on and took note of it. Little escaped her shrewd gaze. As she and Amalia were enjoying a walk that morning, she broached a subject that she felt needed airing.

  ‘When will Kees return to work?’ she asked.

  ‘Oh, I think he’ll be well enough in a day or two.’

  ‘Nick has been to see him several times.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Amalia. ‘I didn’t realise he was so considerate.’

  ‘He and Kees have never been particular friends.’

  ‘That’s why it’s so admirable of him, Beatrix. He was the person who picked Kees up when he collapsed and he carried him all the way up to his room. It was a real effort.’

  ‘He’d willingly make it for you.’

  Amalia laughed. ‘It was Kees he was carrying, not me.’

  ‘You were the one he wanted to impress,’ said Beatrix. ‘And while he likes Kees enough to be sorry about his illness, he really enjoys coming into the house because it gives him a chance to see you.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t think that’s true,’ said Amalia, dismissively.

  ‘I’ve watched him.’