Soldier of Fortune

by Edward Marston

  'We beat them,' he said, grinning. 'We beat the bastards.'

  'We did more than that, Henry. It's too early to give the full numbers yet but, according to what I've heard, we captured Marshal Tallard and his generals, over 1000 officers and almost all the soldiers left in Blenheim.'

  'What about our casualties, Dan?'

  'There could be as many as 12,000 killed or injured,' said Daniel sadly, 'and they included some good friends. But we accounted for over three times that number in the enemy ranks. We achieved a famous victory. Even you must be pleased to be part of it.'

  'I was, Dan. Our men gave of their best.'

  'That's what they were trained to do.'

  'When the news reaches France, the King will fill his breeches.'

  'I don't think they'll be in a hurry to tell him the truth of what happened here today. They'll delay the messengers as long as they can. Bad news upsets King Louis and this news is disastrous.' He studied his friend. 'You're looking better already. You've got some colour back in your face. What you need now is a long rest.'

  'Does that mean you'll wait on me hand and foot?'

  'I'd be glad to if I was here, Henry,' said Daniel, chuckling, 'but I'll be on my way back to England. I'll be helping to take the good news back home. They may be keeping the result of the battle from King Louis but Her Majesty will rejoice to hear it. I wanted to call on you before I left.'

  'Thanks, Dan. I appreciate it.'

  'I'll see you when I return.'

  'I may have retired from the army by then.'

  'People like you never retire,' said Daniel, clapping him on the shoulder. 'Without the Sergeant Welbecks of this world, there'd be no such thing as a British army. You're part of its very backbone.'

  'Then why don't they pay me more?' challenged Welbeck.

  'Daniel laughed. 'I'll take the matter up with His Grace when I see him,' he joked. 'A review of sergeants' pay must be a priority. I'm sure he has nothing else to worry about just now.'

  Charles Catto had been utterly frustrated by the turn of events. Having tricked his way into the Confederate camp for the third time, he hoped that he simply had to wait until an opportunity arose to kill Daniel Rawson. Instead of that, the whole camp had suddenly erupted into action with the promise of a battle. All that Catto could do was to trail impotently in its wake. Primed by General Salignac, he had been able to provide Marlborough with information that, while not giving away too much, had been accurate and useful. It had established his credibility. Catto had shaved off his beard but left a neat moustache on his face. In uniform, and by adopting a strong French accent, he was a convincing impostor.

  Yet his role as a deserter would be meaningless if it not enable him to fulfil his commitment. Catto's fear was that the battle of Blenheim would rob him of his prize and that Daniel would have been mown down with so many other British soldiers during the attack on the village. Having come so far, and taken such enormous pains along the way, he felt that it would be cruel to have Daniel snatched away from him by a nameless French musketeer. Catto was no longer working for General Salignac. When he heard that Blenheim had fallen, he knew that the general would have been taken prisoner and would therefore be inaccessible. Salignac's war was over.

  Catto was on his own now. What drove him on was sheer hatred. Daniel Rawson had killed Frédéric Seurel, and, in escaping from Augsburg, he had exposed Catto to the full wrath of Armand Salignac. Deprived of a large financial reward, Catto was fired by a sense of personal mission. He wanted to avenge the death of his friend and had taken on Seurel's name in order to do so. But his plans were shattered by the battle and he was in despair at the British victory. Before he had left Augsburg, Catto had seen Marshal Tallard arrive at the head of an army that was unmatched for its brilliance and its record of success in the field. Yet that same proud army had now been soundly defeated by a smaller force.

  It was clear that Daniel Rawson would have contributed to that defeat and - were he still alive - he would thereby have given Catto an additional reason to kill him. The would-be assassin could not destroy an entire army but he could murder a man who, in his febrile mind, symbolised it. As he watched Confederate soldiers trudging back into camp, and as he saw orderlies carrying in the wounded, he prayed that Daniel would be among the survivors and not be one of the many thousands that littered the battlefield.

  The first person with whom the Duke of Marlborough had wanted to share news of the triumph was his wife. Borrowing an old tavern bill from a member of his staff, he scrawled a message in pencil.

  I have not time to say more, but to beg you will give my duty to the Queen and let her know that her army had this day a glorious victory. M. Tallard and two other generals are in my coach and I am pursuing the rest. The bearer, my aide de camp, Colonel Parke, will give her an account of what has passed and I shall do it in a day or so, by another, more at large.

  It was on the following day that Daniel Rawson was summoned to Marlborough's quarters and entrusted with letters that gave a fuller account of the action and its consequences. After the long and intense battle, Daniel was still weary and the superficial wounds he had picked up still smarted. The honour of acting as a courier, however, was the perfect balm. From the moment he was given the despatches, his aches and pains seemed to fade away.

  'Ride hard, Daniel,' said Marlborough. 'By the time you reach England, the Queen and Secretary Harley will know only the fact of our victory and be desperate for detail.'

  'What about the Dutch, Your Grace?'

  'Even they will rejoice at the news though Ell no doubt be pilloried for the scale of our losses. In Vienna, at least, there'll be no carping - except perhaps from the Margrave of Baden.'

  'He'll be aggrieved that he was not here,' said Daniel.

  'As it happens, we managed without him though our task would have been made easier by the presence of his men. But you must forgive me,' said Marlborough as a memory nudged him. 'I've not congratulated you properly on rescuing the colours of General Rowe's regiment from the enemy.'

  Daniel was modest. 'That's nothing,' he said. 'All I captured were regimental colours - you captured a marshal's baton.'

  'That was satisfying, I must admit.'

  'What will happen to Marshal Tallard?'

  'He'll be taken back to England with other prisoners of war.'

  'You don't intend to exchange him, then?'

  'Oh, no,' said Marlborough with conviction. 'I'm not letting him loose to threaten us again. The marshal has fought his last battle against us.'

  'That's good to hear.'

  'King Louis might not find it so pleasing.'

  'I fancy not,' said Daniel. He patted the leather pouch containing the despatches. 'I'll deliver these in England.'

  'Enjoy some rest while you're there. You've deserved it.'

  'Thank you, Your Grace.'

  'Do you intend to call at the Piper household?'

  Marlborough's question had a studied casualness but it hit Daniel like a blow between the eyes. All that he could think about was carrying news of their victory back to England. Decisions about what happened afterwards had never even entered his mind. He was shocked to realise how easily he had forgotten Abigail Piper, and how irrelevant his friendship with her now seemed. On the other hand, he owed her consideration for the way she had followed him all the way into Germany. Daniel had obligations.

  'Yes, Your Grace,' he replied. 'I will be calling at the house.'

  The sight revived Catto's spirits at once. When he saw Daniel leaving on horseback with two companions, he knew that they must be acting as couriers. Catto's vigil outside Marlborough's quarters had been repaid. He not only discovered that Daniel was still alive but that he was leaving the protection of the camp altogether. It would be much easier to track and kill him on the open road. Though nominally still under guard, Catto had been able to move quite freely around the camp. Leaving it might be more problematic. He needed a change of clothing, a fast horse and an element o
f luck. The main thing was that Daniel had survived. It was a portent.

  The clothing was easily acquired. Catto stole it from a washing line strung between two wagons owned by camp followers. It was too large for him but suitably nondescript. When he filched a hat from the inside of another wagon, he was able to complete the metamorphosis from a French captain into a Dutch civilian. The horse was taken from the stable area where the animals were tethered in long lines. Many of them had collected cuts and gashes during cavalry charges. Catto was careful to choose a horse that had come unharmed through the battle. When nobody was watching, he led his mount quietly away and was almost clear when he was challenged.

  The soldier was no more than seventeen but the hardship of army life had added years to his face. Catto gave him a plausible excuse for taking the horse but the soldier was suspicious. When he turned to call for help, he had a hand clasped over his mouth and a dagger inserted into his back. Catto hid the dead body under a pile of hay. It would be some time before it was discovered. As a result of the battle, the camp was in a state of relative disorder and its ranks had been noticeably thinned. Picking his spot, Catto was able to slip past the sentries without being seen.

  He was confident of being able to follow Daniel. If the latter were carrying despatches, he would be going to England or The Hague. Whichever his destination, he would take the speediest way north. Catto simply had to stay on the main road and maintain a good pace. Seven miles or so from the camp, he met a farmer who told him that three British soldiers had galloped past him earlier on. Now that his guess about Daniel's route had been confirmed, Catto rode on with renewed zest, speculating on how he could best kill a man who had caused him so much trouble.

  It was evening before he finally caught up with them. Daniel and the two subalterns had stopped at an inn to rest their horses and refresh themselves. Catto approached slowly, entering the courtyard with his hat pulled down over his forehead. After tethering his horse, he peeped into the taproom and saw the two subalterns sitting at a table with a drink in their hands. Daniel was not there. When he walked around the outside of the inn, Catto understood why. Instead of drinking with his companions, Daniel had strolled down to the edge of a stream nearby and unbuttoned his uniform to let the breeze cool him down after the sweaty ride.

  Sensing that he might never get a better chance, Catto moved with deliberation towards his victim. Under his coat, he was gripping the handle of the dagger that had already killed one British soldier that day. It was about to claim a more important life. Daniel was gazing into the water, seemingly oblivious to all else. In fact, it was the stream that alerted him to sudden danger. The ground sloped sharply downward to the edge of the stream and, as Catto strode purposefully on, his reflection appeared on the surface of the water.

  It was only there for a split-second but it was enough to goad Daniel into action. Spinning around, he saw his attacker coming at him with the dagger raised to strike. As Catto closed in on him and stabbed with his weapon, Daniel grabbed his wrist and held it tight. The point of the dagger was only inches from his chest but it did not get any closer. As the two men wrestled violently on the bank, Daniel knocked off his attacker's hat and recognised him. It made him fight even more strenuously. He had a score to settle with Charles Catto.

  They were well-matched. Daniel was the stronger of the two but Catto was the more guileful. At the height of the struggle, he stuck out a foot and tripped Daniel up. Though he fell backwards with Catto on top of him, Daniel did not release his grip on the wrist. As he hit the ground, he twisted his hand as sharply as he could then pulled the wrist towards him, embedding the dagger inches into the grass. Before he could pull it out again, Catto was punched so hard in the face that he was forced to release his weapon.

  He replied by punching Daniel and by trying to gouge his eye with a thumb. Then he got both hands to Daniel's neck but he did not hold them there for long. Using all his strength, Daniel heaved him off then rolled down the incline with him until both men toppled into the water. It was a fight to the death now as they grappled, punched, kicked and sought for any advantage. The two of them vanished beneath the water, threshing about madly and creating a wide circle of ripples. Catto drew on the memory of what had happened to Frédéric Seurel and had a surge of energy. He began to get the upper hand.

  Daniel, however, had his own memories on which to call. He remembered the brutal death of Lieutenant Hopwood, the abduction of Abigail Piper and the duel that was heavily weighted in favour of General Salignac. He remembered the way that Catto had taunted him while he was their captive. The man Daniel was fighting was a traitor, an Englishman in league with the French. Catto was despicable. Stirred by these thoughts as they flashed across his mind, Daniel felt an uprush of power reinforced by a fierce pride. He was on his way to deliver important despatches to Queen and to Parliament. Nobody was going to deprive him of that honour.

  Swinging Catto over so that his back was on the bed of the stream, Daniel lifted his own head above the surface and gulped in air before submerging again. The struggle continued but Catto was weakening with every second. His lungs were on fire, his body was aching from the punches he had taken and his limbs were no longer under control. Daniel held him down firmly for another couple of minutes. After one final, desperate attempt to break free, Catto went limp. It was all over. Daniel surfaced and gasped in more air. As he looked down at Catto, he gave a weary smile of celebration. He had finally got rid of the man who had been hired to kill him.

  When she returned home, Abigail Piper had begun to see her wild adventure in a different light. Infatuated with Daniel Rawson and buoyed up by the hope of seeing him, she had somehow coped with all the adversity that beset her and Emily Greene. Once back in England, however, the full danger of what she had done became much clearer. Abigail was terrified by her own wilfulness. She had put not only her own life at risk but that of her maid as well. Worst of all, she had been responsible for handing Daniel over to his enemies and she could never forgive herself for that. Viewed objectively, her visit to Germany had bordered on catastrophe.

  Her despair had first manifested itself in a physical illness. Having held up gamely all the way back, she had collapsed once she crossed the threshold of her home. A fortnight in bed and regular attendance by a physician had eventually recovered her but there was no cure for the demons in her mind. Weeks after she was back on her feet again, Abigail was still obsessed with her folly. As she sat in the garden with a book in her lap, she was not reading the poetry it contained. She was still agonising over what had happened.

  Her sister, Dorothy, recognised the now familiar signs.

  'You must not keep blaming yourself, Abigail,' she said.

  'But I did something terrible.'

  'It was not intentional.'

  'That does not excuse it, Dorothy. I went hundreds of miles to see Daniel then ended up by leading him to his death.'

  'You don't know that.'

  'I do,' insisted Abigail. 'Those men told me they'd been paid to kill him. They used me to lure Daniel into their hands. Had I not been there, they could not have done that.'

  'Then they'd have found some other way.'

  'He sacrificed himself for me.'

  'I'd expect nothing less of Captain Rawson,' said Dorothy softly.

  It was one of the few improvements to come out of the whole business. Abigail and her elder sister had been brought closer. When she first heard that Dorothy had written to Daniel, having earlier talked her out of doing so, Abigail had resolved to take her sister to task. As it was, she had neither the strength nor the urge to do so. During her sickness, she had been touched by the way that Dorothy had cared for her. She had never once reprimanded her younger sister or tried to coax details of her escapades from her. Dorothy had been a model of sympathy and support. It was the reason Abigail felt able to confide in her. There was no competition over Daniel any more.

  'Will I ever learn what happened to him?' Abigail wondered.
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  'It might be better if you did not,' said Dorothy considerately, 'and I'm sure that His Grace will keep any unsavoury details from you.'

  'But I'm involved. I'm entitled to the truth.'

  'The truth is that you were a young, headstrong girl who made a mistake in following your heart. We've all done that, Abigail.'

  'Not with such disastrous consequences.'

  'Stop fearing the worst all the time.'

  'What else can I do?'

  Glancing down at her book, Abigail closed it shut and stood up. It was a beautiful day to sit in the garden but her mind was in turmoil and she could take pleasure from nothing. She was about to go back into the house when a servant came out.

  'Captain Rawson has called,' he said.

  Abigail almost fainted. 'Captain Daniel Rawson?'

  Dorothy helped her sister to resume her seat on the garden bench then she looked up at the servant. 'We'll see Captain Rawson out here,' she said.

  After giving an obedient nod, the man retired. Abigail was dazed. Instead of feeling joy and relief, she went completely numb. Seeing her sister's confusion, Dorothy sat down and put an arm around her.

  'Bear up, Abigail,' she said happily, 'it's wonderful news.'

  'Yes... Yes, I suppose it is.'

  'There's no supposition about it. Captain Rawson is alive. You won't have his death on your conscience any more.'

  'That's true,' agreed Abigail, realising it for the first time and letting a cautious smile break through. 'Daniel is alive.' The smile was replaced by a chevron of concern. 'But what if he's badly injured? What if those two men inflicted terrible wounds on him? That would be my fault.'

  'Don't rush to embrace a problem that may not be there.'