by Iain Gale
Steel glared at him. ‘It’s a pretty notion, but I hardly think you have any claim to Carniston. Remember that it was you left us, Alexander.’
‘I followed my conscience and my faith.’
‘Father lay dying and you walked out and didn’t look back.’
‘Jack, you know I had a duty. You of all people should know that. The King had need of me.’
‘Aye, you had a duty … to your family. Where was your duty to your father?’
‘He was an old rogue, and well you know it. He squandered away the family money. Be reasonable, Jack. I had a duty to the King.’
‘The King? No King that I serve.’
‘Ah well, here we are again. The rightful King, Jack. The King whom I serve. That same King to whose father and grandfather our own father was loyal throughout the civil wars. He believed in the monarchy, Jack. The God-given monarchy.’
‘He believed in the monarchy, aye, but not a monarchy that betrays its people and has lost the right to power. Any monarch has the moral responsibility now embodied in our rightful Queen. My Queen is Anne, true heir to Charles Stuart.’
Alexander shook his head. ‘For all her virtues, Jack, her line is not direct. You know the rightful heir to be King James. We have no doubt. I was with him several years at St Germain.’
‘So while you were toadying to the King, I sat and watched as father lay dying, as he choked and coughed blood and the breath left his body. And where were you? In some gilded salon making small talk with a duchess.’
Alexander stiffened and put down his wine. ‘That’s a calumny, Jack. I have served full ten years with the colours in the field. Take it back, or I’ve a mind to call you out, brother or not.’
Steel shook his head. ‘This is stupid. We should not quarrel, Alexander. What would Mother say?’
‘Mother was a saint.’
‘Aye, that she was, a long-suffering saint. I often wonder whether had she lived we might not have become the men we are.’
He thought of their mother, who had died when he had been only fifteen, thought of her last days in the high bedroom at Carniston. Once again he was back in that dark panelled room with the scent of lavender and oranges and the terrible, heart-splitting cough of the frail, beautiful young woman whom he had loved so much. He saw again her pale, aquiline face which had still managed a smile even in her agony. And then he saw her in death, the waxy, doll-like pallor and the fixed smile of release, and he felt as if he might weep again as he had for months after. Instead, and in an effort to regain his composure, he took a long drink and saw that Alexander too had been lost in reverie.
He put down his goblet of wine. ‘And what would she say to us now, Alexander? What think you on the matter? Are we to be enemies then? Surely not, brother.’ Steel placed a hand gently on his brother’s arm. It did not pull away.
Alexander looked him in the eye. ‘Not enemies. No, Jack. But you are wrong.’
‘About what?’
‘About the King. He is the very model of kingship.’
Steel smiled. ‘Yes, I’ve met him myself. He is an extraordinary man.’
‘You’ve met the King?’
‘Yesterday evening, in this very city. But do not ask more. You asked me not to tell you my mission. Suffice to say that it did not and does not involve your King. I have no business with that man. But tell me. Where do you live here? You are not married, but what of a mistress?’
‘The army and King James’s cause have been my mistress these past few years, though I happily admit that there have been women. None, though, like your own, it seems. But you know that campaigning does not marry well with love, and I shall return to the front ere long.’
‘To Flanders? I wonder I have not met you on the field.’
‘I too. Were you not at Blenheim? And Ramillies too? It was a strange providence that guided us through those fields of butchery without a meeting. To where do you return?’
‘As usual we have not yet been told. I would not wonder if they moved us down to Spain. There is much to do on the peninsula and there are those at court who would cover the disgrace of Flanders with success elsewhere.’
‘We should hope so, brother, for I am sure to remain in Belgium, and such a posting would distance our blades. Although you must then fight Peterborough’s men. It cannot be an altogether pleasant feeling fighting your countrymen.’
‘We managed well enough in the civil wars. The war I fight is no different from then, Jack. I fight for my King against a tyrant. I fight for the honour of Britain.’
‘As do I, and let us drink to that at least.’ He drained his glass and poured another. ‘And what of the minute? You will stay here in Paris?’
‘The regiment is billeted at St Germain. We guard the King in his court. We’re kept in comfort, Jack, and I’ve good pay and as much as I can eat and drink. But in truth I shall be glad when we have our orders to march. I become ill-tempered in such a place as Paris. I need this war, Jack. Besides, I shall not be content until the true King sits in St James’s.’
‘You know I cannot share that sentiment. I used to believe that I too was driven only by war, but I’ve changed, Alexander, and you may do so too. You may say that now, but what if you were to meet me on the field of battle? Face to face. What then? Where then would your loyalty lie?’
Alexander stared at him. ‘I cannot make you out, Jack. In truth. And you are wrong about me, about the very nature of love and truth and faith. We may follow different causes, but you’re still my brother.’
‘And you mine. Another drink?’ He turned. ‘Girl, another carafe.’
Alexander shook his head. ‘I still cannot believe you are here. It is the best of things. And you’re married, you say, to a lady of title?’
‘The Honourable Henrietta Vaughan.’
‘Jack. You rogue, a title. I vow she’s pretty too and that she’s worth a few thousand a year.’
‘You’re right about the former. You never saw a girl more beautiful. But as for the latter, we are not so fortunate.’
‘But her father’s Lord Rumney. He’s a rich man. Damned rich. He hasn’t cut her off, Jack, penniless?’
‘No, not that. Not as far as I’m aware. But I don’t think that the dowry he settled on her proved to be quite the substantial amount she had expected. Nor that I’m quite what he had in mind as a son-in-law. Not that either matters to me more than my love for Henrietta.’
Alexander grinned. ‘My, brother, you are smitten. She must be quite a girl to have pierced my brother’s heart so deep. I wonder when I shall meet her. If ever I shall. Or indeed if I should ever meet my own Henrietta.’
‘Have you not then? You’ve said nothing of women, but I guess that the court of King James is awash with pretty young things.’
Alexander smiled. ‘There have been a few.’
‘A few? If I know you, brother, you have taken the fancy of the prettiest girls in St Germain and broken more than a few hearts.’
‘I’ll admit to it. But I envy you, Jack, with your Henrietta. How I wish that I could find such a girl. But in truth, whenever I find myself feeling an attachment, my heart tells me to pull away. A soldier is no husband for a girl. We all must die, Jack, ere long.’
Steel shook his head. ‘No, I do not believe that. You and I shall make it through this war to the end, and then we shall have a happy reunion in the old house, with family and dear friends at hand. Think on that when times are dark.’
Alexander looked thoughtful and Steel knew that he must be thinking, as he was, that this meeting was all too brief. At length he looked up at Steel and spoke.
‘How long do you stay in Paris? Shall we meet again?’
‘I fear not. I leave at best tomorrow, unless I am discovered. In truth, my mission is fulfilled.’
‘Then I am glad. Whatever it was, it was no business of mine as a soldier. I am no spy, nor would I want to be. And, Jack, it would be best for you were you not to become so again. You are a good soldier
– a hero, from all that you’ve told me. Stay with what you know best. And now we should return to the Hôpital. It’s best that we make our way back by separate routes. Take care of yourself, Jack. I shall do everything in my power to make sure you are not harmed and that you return to your regiment, but even I cannot have eyes and ears in all parts of the city. We should go.’
They settled the bill and left the inn. Outside in the street Alexander placed a hand on Jack’s shoulders: ‘Take care, big brother, and watch for your back. Your enemy has many different faces. Goodbye, Jack. And Godspeed.’
Steel embraced him. ‘Goodbye, Alexander. Until we meet again and this war is at an end.’
With a final look, they parted, Steel walking to the left and Alexander towards the right, where the narrow streets opened out into one of the Sun King’s new boulevards. Steel had not gone more than a few yards, however, when he heard footsteps behind him, quickening their pace now. With any luck it was just a prowling footpad, after a purse. His instinct told him to stand and face his would-be assailant, but in truth he had no desire for an encounter and reckoned that it would be easier to outpace the man. He was right, and in a vital split second during which he held the lead Steel ducked into a side alley as his pursuer rounded a corner. As his pursuer went past, Steel caught a glimpse of him in the moonlight and recognized the man he had met in the dining hall earlier that day: the Irishman, O’Driscoll.
Steel waited a few minutes as the man went off up the street. He listened but heard nothing over the general, distant hubbub save the few noises of the narrow street. A dog began to howl. Somewhere close by in a high tenement a baby was awake. A woman shrieked with laughter. But Steel heard no footsteps. He took a chance and darted from the alley back into the street, retracing his steps so that by his reckoning a left turn would take him again in the direction of the Hôpital. He had not gone ten paces when he heard a voice behind him.
‘Captain Johnson, sir, isn’t it?’
Steel kept walking.
The man tried again. His voice a little louder. ‘Would you wait up there, sir. If you please, Captain. See, I’ve a hankering to speak with you, sir, on a matter of some urgency.’
There was no avoiding it now. Steel did not know how much O’Driscoll might have seen of his meeting with Alexander, even whether he might have overheard any of their conversation. Perhaps the man wanted to try to blackmail him. Whatever his motive, Steel knew that there was nothing for it now but to fight it out and leave him dead on the cobbles.
He stopped and turned and stared into the Irishman’s face. ‘Do I know you?’
‘No, but I know you. At least I know what you are. Captain Johnson. Or whoever you are. You’re a bloody spy.’
Steel stiffened, but played the role. ‘How dare you! How dare you insult me. I’m an officer. I’m your superior.’
‘Insult you, is it? Oh no, sir. Oh no. You’re wrong there. See, you’re the one who’s done the insulting, isn’t it? You’re no Irish officer, sir. All your talk of Roth’s men at Cremona. You betrayed yourself, sir. Wasn’t it Dillon’s brave lads held the gate at Cremona. Any bloody Paddy knows that. You’re as Irish as the Duke of bloody Marlborough himself.’
Steel could see O’Driscoll quite plainly now, his single good eye flashing in the half-light. He saw too that the man was armed with what looked like a cavalry sabre.
Without hesitating, Steel drew his own heavy sword from its scabbard and moved quickly across the stones, cutting expertly at the Irishman’s head, but the man, despite his one eye, was fast and parried the cut with the dexterity of a trooper. Steel realized he had a fight on his hands. But he had dealt with others of this type before. There was no reason for him not to prevail now. He lunged again, this time with a cut to the upper body. Again the Irishman parried and sidestepped, then with a flick caught Steel on the leg. His bad leg. Steel winced in pain and cut more blindly now, this time connecting so that the keen blade forced its way through the flesh and sinew of the Irishman’s right forearm. The man gave a howl. Steel exploited the moment and brought his blade down again on the man’s upper arm. It tore through the flesh and splintered the bone of the shoulder. The Irishman dropped his blade and staggered, holding his wound. Steel raised the sword and advanced. In other circumstances he would perhaps have spared the man’s life and handed him over, but here and now there was only one thing that could be done. He raised the blade to the man’s chest and, breathing in, prepared to thrust home. Then, conscious of a noise to his rear, he half-turned to glimpse two shadows against the stone.
Steel spun round and in the same movement hacked into one of the shadows. He hit home with such force that the sword flew from his hand and clattered to the dark cobbles. At the same moment the man gave a cry and staggered backwards, clutching at his right arm, which was hanging limply, almost severed by the blow. Steel looked for his weapon and the third man took advantage of his momentary preoccupation, lunging out of the shadows with a yell, his blade pointing directly towards Steel’s chest. Steel stumbled away from the sword and back against the wall of a house. With a grin of triumph the Irishman pushed his blade home and Steel waited for it to strike. Instead, though, he watched as the blade seemed to freeze in mid-air and the man’s smile turned to a grimace of astonishment and agony. Then, slowly, a bright crimson flower began to spread across the man’s chest and the tip of a rapier penetrated his coat. As Steel looked on, wide-eyed, the man fell to the side stone dead. Where he had been, another face appeared. Alexander Steel wiped the blood from his blade before returning it to his scabbard.
‘Damned lucky for you, Jack, that I decided to follow you. I had a feeling something was up, and I was right.’
Steel bent to retrieve his sword and returned it to his side. ‘I owe you my life, brother. And not for the first time.’
‘Anyone would have pulled you from that loch. It just happened to be me. And any brother would have done for you what I just did.’ He kicked at one of the dead Irishmen. ‘Who were these ruffians anyway?’
‘Never seen them before in my life.’
‘Jack, I heard him call your name. Well, Johnson’s name.’
Steel shook his head. ‘As I said, how can I hope to deceive you, little brother? But better not to ask me again, lest you should wish to hear the full story.’
Alexander shook his head. ‘I shall ask no more. For the present, though, I suggest that we might return home together. It would appear that tonight at least there is safety in numbers.’
NINE
It was a rare thing for Steel to awake in the morning without a sense of foreboding. When with his regiment, it might come in the form of anything from the mundanities of company administration to the impending action and danger of a battle. Most recently he had woken steeped in anxiety. The very fact that he was behind enemy lines was worry enough. But he could not get the face of Major Malbec from his mind.
This morning though, he had found his thoughts unclouded by any such spectres. Certainly the fight in the street with the Irishmen had brought cause for alarm. They had seen through his cover. But he hoped that he had despatched them before they had been able to communicate their knowledge. Malbec too was still a worry, but he was not a pressing matter, merely a cause for irritation.
Perhaps it had been his encounter with Alexander, the assurance that brotherly love was yet stronger than any political differences, and not least the fact that his brother had saved his life. Perhaps it was the fact that he had delivered the letter from Marlborough to Major Charpentier and had to all intents accomplished his mission. What Louis would make of the proposal remained to be seen, of course, but, as intriguing and as full of possibilities as it was, Steel knew that it was not his concern. Such things were the business of commanders. He was a soldier, not a politician. Perhaps, he thought, his mood was occasioned by the fact that he was due this day to leave Paris. For as much as the city had intrigued and delighted him, he felt a deep longing to be back with his men and a yearning
too to see his wife as soon as that might be possible. He wondered how the men were surviving the siege of Lille. Any siege was a bloody affair, as he knew from experience, perhaps the bloodiest type of warfare known to man. But Lille was Vauban’s showpiece, and he hoped to God they had not taken too many casualties.
He was not sure, either, how well he was suited to this deep subterfuge. Prevous missions for the Duke had been dangerous, certainly, both in Bavaria and at Ostend. But, save briefly in the latter case, he had not been compelled to adopt an alias. Certainly, his position had never seemed as perilous as it had recently been, so deep in the Sun King’s capital, surrounded and quizzed by his courtiers and even a would-be monarch. No, thought Steel, he would not be sorry to leave all that behind. Men like Simpson were better suited to be spies – men who had nothing to lose, men whose everyday lives and characters were essentially duplicitous, men who revelled in an ever-present danger and for whom the knock at the door brought not apprehension but the thrill of yet another potential trial of their wits.
Deprived of his customary soldier-servant, Steel had dressed himself and now allowed himself the luxury of a few minutes looking from the window of his room onto the gardens below. He had been given a modest room on the south side of the building. Charpentier had contrived to place him on his own in a room whose previous occupant, a captain of the Mousquetaires du Roi, had only recently died, so recently in fact that as yet the room had not been reallocated and few of the inmates were aware of the vacancy. His brother was billeted in more modest accommodation in one of the side blocks of the complex, and Steel doubted that he would see him again before he returned to the front. For that reason, they had made their brief goodbyes outside the gates last night, and now as he looked down on the orange trees in the governor’s garden Steel wondered when they would meet again. He prayed that it would not be across a battlefield.
There was a sudden knock at the door. Steel opened it to find a blue-clad resident of the Hôpital, a soldier-servant whom he did not recognize. The man wore neither a sword nor a hat, and when he spoke it was in a guttural, regional French accent that Steel found hard to comprehend.