'You're like me,' said Seurel, spitting over the bulwark then wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. 'You enjoy danger.'
'I thrive on it.'
The wind was freshening now and filling the sails. As the ship gradually picked up speed, it began to tilt and ride over the waves. A rhythmical creak set in as the timbers met the relentless force of the sea. Catto was interested to watch the sailors going about their duties but Seurel pulled a face and rubbed his queasy stomach. He tried to take his mind off his discomfort by renewing the conversation.
'There's something I never understand about you, Charles,' he said, brow furrowing. 'Why does an Englishman fight for France?'
'I prefer to be on the winning side.'
'Is that the only reason?'
'No, Frédéric,' replied the other. 'The French army has been the finest in the world for a very long time and it is a privilege to serve under its flag. What really appeals to me, however, is that I can fight alongside men of my own religion.'
'You are a Roman Catholic?' said Seurel in surprise.
'I joined the army for the pleasure of killing Protestants.'
'So did I. Each bullet I fired was in the name of the Pope.'
'My family was as devout as any in Rome. It did not make us welcome in England. We were persecuted because of our beliefs. My grandfather died in prison, my father was driven into exile when King William sat on the throne. Who can ever forget what that butcher did to the Catholics in Ireland?' he asked with sudden vehemence. 'Those who talked of toleration showed precious little of it during his reign. We were glad to leave England. We settled in Beauvais and I grew up there. I look upon France as my home.'
'Me, too,' said Seurel. 'I wish I was there now.'
'We're still in French waters.'
'I like to have solid ground beneath my feet.'
'You'll have that soon enough,' Catto assured him. 'As for the benefits I mentioned, just remember how much we'll be paid for this little adventure.'
'Only if we catch up with Daniel Rawson.'
'We will, I promise you.' 'What if he has left England?'
'We follow him wherever he goes, Frédéric.' He patted his purse. 'We are well-provided with funds. He can run but he will never escape us. Sooner or later, we'll find him.' 'And then?'
'We obey the general's orders to the letter. We kill Daniel Rawson and take him certain proof of the man's death.' 'To do that, we'd have to carry his dead body back with us.' 'There's a much easier way than that, Frédéric.' Seurel looked blank. 'Is there?'
'We simply cut off his head,' said Catto. 'That will suffice.'
CHAPTER THREE
It was a regular pilgrimage. Whenever he returned to England, Daniel Rawson always found time to visit the county where he had been born and where his father had been executed for his part in the Monmouth rebellion. He reached Somerset that afternoon to find it gilded by the sunshine and scoured by a stiff breeze that blew his horse's mane almost vertical. Daniel was prompted by curiosity as well as by a sense of duty. He wanted to see how the farm they had once owned was now faring, and if anyone in the vicinity still remembered him. Most of all, he wanted to see again the fields, hills, woods, ponds and rivers he had known and loved as a boy.
As he rode along, he was struck by how different it all was to Holland. When he and his mother had sailed to Amsterdam, they had left rolling countryside behind them and settled in a land that was uniformly flat and menaced by the sea. Only the ingenuity of Dutch engineers kept the waters at bay. Instead of farming the broad acres of Somerset, Daniel had moved to the busiest port in Europe, a clean, well- ordered, prosperous city that taught him to live another kind of life altogether. But he never forgot the joy of growing up in rural seclusion in England even though that joy had been rudely curtailed.
After visiting his old farm, he went on to Chedzoy and Westonzoyland, deliberately crossing the site of the battle that had led to Nathan Rawson's capture. It looked so peaceful and untrammelled now. Where scores of rebel soldiers had met gruesome deaths, cattle grazed unconcernedly. Thick green grass covered the mass graves into which brave men of the West Country had been tumbled after they had been shot or cut down in the searing heat of battle. Daniel could almost hear the thunder of the cavalry, the rattle of musket fire, the angry clash of weaponry, the roar of artillery, the frantic neighing of wounded horses and the heart-rending cries of agony from dying men. Sedgemoor would always be a field of slaughter to him.
It was ironic. Nathan Rawson had been hanged for fighting against a royal army that was led, in part, by the very man whom his son now served. Daniel saw no betrayal in that. John, Lord Churchill, as he had been at the time, had earned his respect by condemning the sergeant who had tried to rape Daniel's mother and by presenting the boy with the sword he had used to kill the man. Three short years after the battle, Daniel had returned to England as a drummer boy in a Dutch army led by William of Orange. King James II had been deposed in a bloodless revolution and Churchill, having fought in the royal army at Sedgemoor, had adroitly changed his allegiance.
Daniel had come to see it as a clever tactical move rather than the action of a traitor. Survival was all. Like any good commander, Churchill had known which way the wind was blowing. In fact, his military career had later stalled under William and Mary, only to be revived in spectacular fashion when Queen Anne came to the throne. As the Duke of Marlborough, he was now captain-general of the forces of the Grand Alliance, fighting against the very army in which he had once served. In waging a war against France, Marlborough could put into practice all he had learnt from his mentor, the great Marshal Turenne, during the war in the Netherlands. At his disposal were soldiers, like Daniel Rawson, drilled to a high standard and honed into professional warriors.
The journey stirred many memories for Daniel, his bitterness softened by nostalgia, his sadness lightened by the fact that he had been able to carry on from his father and achieve, in the army that had ousted the Stuart dynasty without firing a shot, what Nathan Rawson and his fellow-rebels had failed to do. Dedicating himself to military life, Daniel had now risen to the rank that his father had held at his death. One Captain Rawson had been succeeded by another.
Riding south, he soon came to the village of Durston, a small community nestling around an old parish church. It was here in his birthplace that his father had been laid to rest on the night after he had been hanged. Having cut him down from the gallows, Daniel and his friends had been able to do nothing more than bury him in an unmarked grave, hard against wall of the churchyard and largely obscured by a yew tree. Fleeing the country with his mother, the boy had prayed that nobody would discover the hasty, unlicensed grave.
Years later, when he was still in the Dutch army, he was able to return to the village and explain to the vicar what had happened. His plea fell on sympathetic ears and the bones of Nathan Rawson were disinterred and buried in a more fitting spot with a headstone to mark it. His father was not an interloper in the churchyard any more but a welcome son of Durston, occupying a legitimate place at last. The year before she had passed away, Daniel had been able to bring his mother back to England to visit her husband's grave. It had brought immense comfort to Juliana.
Tethering his horse, Daniel entered the little churchyard and picked his way through the crosses and tombstones, some encrusted by moss and bird droppings, others leaning over at acute angles. When he came to his father's grave, he first removed the large pile of twigs and leaves that had blown up against it. The headstone glowed in the sun, its chiselled inscription standing out clearly. Daniel removed his hat and looked down at the last resting place of Nathan Rawson, recalling happier times while not forgetting the horror of his father's execution. The boy's belief in the concept of justice had been shattered by the Bloody Assizes. George Jeffreys, the leading judicial butcher, had died a mere three years after the ghastly event but his name could still make Daniel seethe with fury.
Lost in thought, he stayed there for
a long time and was only jerked out of his reverie by the sound of a spade striking the earth nearby. Another grave was being dug. Another companion was coming to join his father. Daniel put on his hat. Having paid his respects, he felt somehow cleansed and exhilarated. It was time for pleasure.
'That's absurd,' said Dorothy Piper with a brittle laugh. 'You've not even known him for a week.'
'Had I known him but a single day,' retorted her sister, 'it would have been enough. 'I'm in love, Dorothy.'
'You don't even know the meaning of the word.'
'I do now. Since I met Captain Rawson, I've suddenly been filled with wonderful thoughts and thrilling new sensations. He's the best man in the world and I want you to be happy for me.'
Dorothy was blunt. 'Don't be ridiculous, Abigail. This is nothing but a passing infatuation. In a month's time, you'll have forgotten that Daniel Rawson ever existed.'
'I'll never forget him!' attested Abigail, stamping a foot. 'I love him and I want to share the rest of my life with him.'
'There's no earthly hope of that happening.'
'Yes, there is.'
'He's a soldier, you fool. He'll be abroad most of the time.'
'I'd follow him wherever he goes,' said her sister. 'Not that he's going anywhere at the moment. He's here in London and he's mine. And you've no call to rule out someone in the army. It was only last year that you became involved with Lieutenant-Colonel Masters. There was no talk then of a soldier being an inappropriate choice.'
'That was different.'
Abigail sighed. 'It always is.'
'My private life is my own,' said Dorothy reproachfully, 'and I'll thank you not to interfere in it.'
'You always insist in interfering in my private life.'
'It's my duty as an elder sister to protect you, Abigail. I'm trying to stop you from being badly hurt. Don't you see that?'
'All I can see is someone obstructing me because I've found the love of my life and she hasn't. That's why you're being so beastly to me, isn't it? You're insanely jealous.'
Dorothy spluttered. 'That's an outrageous thing to say!'
'It's the truth.'
'It's a poisonous lie and I demand that you take it back.'
'No,' said Abigail with a show of bravado. 'You've had romances and intrigues but that's all that they were - brief entanglements from which your admirers soon extracted themselves. My case is different. I have someone I wish to marry.''
'Be silent!'
Dorothy was so enraged by what her younger sister had said that she raised a hand to strike her. Thinking better of it, she let her arm drop to her side but she was still smarting. Abigail's accusation had more than a grain of truth in it. Dorothy had had many amours but they all petered out sooner or later. Although she had met men who excited and amused her, she had never found one whom she was moved to consider as a husband or - and this piqued her - who looked upon her as a potential wife.
The sisters were in the parlour of their house in Westminster. The family mansion was near Warwick and their father, Sir Nicholas Piper, represented the town in Parliament. Both of his daughters preferred the social life of the capital to a more subdued existence in the country. Dorothy was in her early twenties, a tall, stately young woman with the kind of features and figure that appealed strongly to men. She also cultivated the wit and sophistication needed to hold her own in any civilised gathering, and had many accomplishments, not least as a musician. She prided herself on her self- possession.
Abigail, on the other hand, still had the bloom of youth on her. Having spent all her life in the shadow of her elder and more talented sister, she yearned for independence from her and for the opportunity to be taken seriously as a woman. Her childhood prettiness had evanesced into a porcelain beauty that turned heads but, until now, she had lacked the skills and confidence to exploit it. The arrival of Daniel Rawson had been a revelation to her. For the first time ever, she had aroused interest in a man with whom she was besotted.
'Let's not argue, Dorothy,' she said, trying to placate her. 'I'm sorry if I spoke out of turn - it was unpardonable of me. I know that you have my best interests at heart.'
'I do, Abigail,' said the other. 'My only wish is to help you.'
'Then the simplest way to do that is to leave us alone. When he comes today - if he comes, that is - I beg you not to spoil it for me.'
'You need me here as a safeguard, Abigail.'
'Against what - Captain Rawson is a gentleman.'
'He is, by your own report, a dashing soldier and I'll not have him taking advantage of my younger sister.'
'Nothing would be further from his mind,' said Abigail. 'On the two occasions we've met, Daniel - Captain Rawson, that is - has been kind and considerate to me.'
'It always begins that way.'
'Leave us alone, Dorothy - please.'
'I'll stay discreetly in the background.'
'How can either of us express our true feelings with another person in the room? It would be malicious of you to stay.' A distant bell rang and Abigail went into a mild panic. 'That's him!' she cried. 'He honoured his promise, as I knew he would. Oh, Dorothy,' she went on, taking her sister by the arm and leading her to the door, 'let me have some time alone with him, I implore you. I always disappeared obediently whenever your admirers called. The least you can do is to return the compliment.'
Dorothy pondered. 'Very well,' she said at length, 'but I'll be in the next room. If there's the merest hint of impropriety, you've only to call me.' She forced a smile. 'All I ask is that you don't expect too much or you could be cruelly disappointed.'
After giving her sister a token kiss, she left the room by the door in the far wall. Abigail, meanwhile, was staring at the double doors that gave access to the hall, straining her ears for the sound of voices or the clack of footsteps. She made a few last adjustments to her dress and to her hair before striking what she hoped was a dignified pose. There was a tap on the door and the butler entered.
'A Captain Rawson has called, Miss Abigail,' he said.
'Show the gentleman in at once,' she instructed, trying to keep the tremble out of her voice.
The butler stood aside and motioned to the visitor. As Daniel stepped into the room, she almost swooned. He was wearing his dress uniform and carrying his hat under his arm. When he greeted her with a little bow, she replied with a nervous laugh, quickly collecting herself as she struggled to master the situation. Daniel flashed the broad smile that had first stirred her passion.
'I trust that you got my letter, Miss Abigail,' he said.
'It came this morning,' she replied, having read it a dozen times. 'You implied that you had something to say to me, Captain Rawson.'
'I have many things to say to you, not least how beautiful you look today but any mirror would tell you that.' She gave a shrill laugh of gratitude. 'We've only met twice, I know, and our conversations were necessarily brief, but they were long enough for me to form the highest opinion of you.'
'Thank you, kind sir.'
'That's why I felt I had to tell you something that would have looked too cold and impersonal on paper. You deserve to hear it from my own lips, Miss Abigail.'
'Oh, please - do call me just Abigail.'
'That's a favour I shall cherish,' he said, taking a step towards her and making her blush slightly. 'I should perhaps have told you this before, Abigail, but I did not want it to cloud the delightful moments we spent together this week. The truth of the matter is this,' said Daniel, putting his hat aside so that he could take her by the hands, 'that I sail for Holland tomorrow.'
Abigail reeled as if from a blow. 'You're leaving me?'
'Duty calls, I fear.'
'But I've only just got to know you, Captain Rawson.
'Daniel, please.
'You can't abandon me now, Daniel.'
'It pains me to do so,' he said, 'but desertion from the army would carry a terrible punishment and that's the only means by which I could stay in London.'
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'Where will you go?' she demanded. 'And for how long?'
'In the first instance, I'll be accompanying His Grace, the Duke of Marlborough, ready to fight once more against the French. Exactly where we'll go and how long the campaign will last, I cannot tell you.'
Abigail was alarmed. 'Will you take part in battles?'
'I mean to take a very active part.'
'Even though you could be wounded or even killed?'
'That's a risk every soldier must take.'
'I couldn't bear to lose you, Daniel!'
'Those sentiments are very comforting,' he said, squeezing her hands, 'but I shall do my very best to survive. I've been engaged in combat many times in the past fifteen years or so and I've always escaped with nothing more than bruises and scratches.'
'I hate to think of your suffering any injury.'
'Then put it out of your mind.'
'How can I?' she asked, her voice rising with apprehension. 'If I know that you'll be marching into battle, I won't be able to stop thinking about you for a single moment. I hoped so much that we could be friends, Daniel.'
'We are friends - that's why I'm here.'
'But you only came to tell me that I may never see you again.'
'Oh, I expect to be back here one day, Abigail.'
'When will that be?'
'Who knows?' he replied, releasing her hands. 'Our campaigns are usually limited to spring and summer. The roads are impassable from October onwards and the enormous food supplies on which an army travels are simply not available outside the growing season.'
She was devastated. 'You'll disappear until October?'
'At the very earliest, I'm afraid. In all honesty, I can't offer you any guarantee that I'll return to England then. Our captain-general may have other assignments in Europe for me.'
'I want you here, Daniel!'
Abigail was inconsolable. Before Daniel had arrived, she had been entertaining the most wondrous thoughts of how their friendship would develop. He had given her the firm impression that they had ample time in London on their hands. Yet she was now facing the possibility that she would not see him for six or seven months and even that timescale was fringed with doubt. As she watched her hopes crumble, she came close to desperation.
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