by Iain Gale
Steel looked alarmed. ‘No rum? That’s a different matter. That’s serious. Any officer, from the Duke downwards, knows that no matter how brave they might be, and they are, Jacob, it’s rum that gives the men the spirit to climb from the trenches and take the fight to the enemy. It’s rum that makes them stand. No matter what I tell them about Queen and country. By Christ, Jacob, no rum! Give it a few days and we’ll have a mutiny on our hands.’
‘Aye, sir. I’m with you there, an’ all. Seen it before. Ugly business. Waste of good men at the end. Oh, I dare say most of our lads are sound enough. But I can’t speak for the other battalions in the line, nor even for the other companies of the battalion, aside from our own.’
‘Leave it with me, Sar’nt. I’ll see what can be done.’
Steel now knew what had to be done. For some days now, since they had returned from Wynendael, he had been toying with the idea of going to see Colonel Hawkins at headquarters, principally with the intention of asking him if he had any news from Paris. But he had wondered whether it was his place to be so forward with his superior and mentor. This new crisis, however, had provided the excuse he needed. He would visit Hawkins to ask after the rum and in passing enquire as to the fate of the letter to Louis.
For several weeks Steel had felt a growing sense of bitterness the like of which he had not known. He was dissatisfied, not with his men or with himself – both of those things, though rare, were nothing new – but with those who controlled him. What he had said to Slaughter was true. He had long considered the Duke one of the fairest and most even-handed men alive. Yet, although he had delivered his report to Marlborough and Hawkins immediately on his return from the French capital, he had still heard nothing about the success or failure of the plan to coerce a French surrender or at least an armistice. And he had a nagging need to know. Previously, he might have let it be, but since his marriage to Henrietta, Steel was aware that he had changed within himself. The future, which before he had allowed to take care of itself, living every day as it came, within reason, providing he had made provision for his men, now seemed to be altogether more immediate. His head was filled with new and undreamt-of plans and possibilities.
Perhaps the biggest of these was the question as to whether he would always remain a soldier. Seen through newly domesticated eyes, the world suddenly seemed a much larger place. But before he could decide which course to take, he had to know the fate of the war. And there were too many other loose ends in his life which compounded the problem. What, he did not cease to wonder, had been Simpson’s fate? And what of Major Charpentier? Of his brother, of course, his superiors could know nothing – unless Simpson had discovered anything new. He wondered whether Alexander’s complicity in his escape had been discovered by the French, and in particular by Malbec. If Alexander were dead then the blame would lie with Steel, and for that alone his conscience demanded satisfaction. And there was more. He burned with the need to settle his account with Malbec and the Marquise. Steel knew that, whatever he might decide to do in his life with Henrietta, in the immediate future he would have no rest until both the French major and his woman were dead.
‘O’Brien.’
Steel’s servant came hurrying up. He was a young Irishman, only recently transferred to Farquharson’s from a now defunct regiment of foot, disbanded through heavy casualties and the loss of their colonel, and he seemed willing enough. Steel had only taken him on since the last engagement when his last lad had been wounded.
‘O’Brien, my horse if you please. I’ve an appointment with the Captain General.’
As Steel rode away from the support trench and up towards the lines of command and the wagon park, complex feelings had begun to take hold within him. By the time he crested the hill they had risen almost to boiling point. Realizing what was happening, he reined in and gave himself a moment’s pause. There would be no point in seeking an audience with the commander in chief in such a frame of mind. He would have to be lucid in his arguments and reasoned in his indignation. It was not Steel’s manner to be insubordinate, and it would serve no purpose.
He turned his horse so that he was facing back down the hill. She was a good, sound animal but not a patch on Meg, the pretty little bay mare that he had lost in Paris. He thought about how such change seemed inevitable, how he clung on to everyday things and resented that which interfered with routine, even though in his heart he detested the mundanities of company book-keeping. He supposed that it was natural in a world where any moment your life might be snatched away. There was a reassurance in familiar faces and simple rituals. That was how the army worked, in a sense. It gave you the routine, got you used to it, so that when your world fell apart, when your friends were blasted to atoms, the bones of a structure would still be there. Looking down on the siege lines, the truth of this thought was laid out before him.
From up here it seemed that so many ants had built their colonies and were busy about their daily chores. The fields, what was left of them, were criss-crossed with trenches and saps, zig-zagging their distinctive way through the shattered land. He saw the lines of circumvallation and the parallels, curved around the extent of the city, mimicking its boundaries. They were connected by communication trenches dug in short, angled sections to ensure that if a trench were taken its occupants could not be enfiladed. Everywhere there was frantic activity, from the labourers filling fresh wicker gabions with earth to the officers sighting cannon, infantry at drill and the normally unseen, unsung sinews of the army driving on to their common goal. It was an impressive sight and one that could only have been seen in Marlborough’s army. This, thought Steel, was the sum of what the Duke had achieved: the ability to work together, fast and efficiently, to counter the might and manpower of France with an unprecedented professionalism. This was what won the Duke his battles. This, Steel hoped, was what would bring them Lille.
However, no amount of pride could divert his feelings. He continued to brood on the command’s apparent disregard for his interest, and by the time he had arrived in the tent lines around the Allied headquarters, much against his will, his sense of injustice had risen to a crescendo.
He rode up to the large blue-and-white striped marquee marked out with a fluttering Union flag, which served as the Duke’s field headquarters. He dismounted and tethered his horse to a small rail, which had been erected for the purpose close by. Then on foot he walked towards the entrance. Two sentries snapped to attention and then levelled their muskets in the present. Steel stopped at the muzzles.
‘Where’s the officer of the guard? Find me whoever’s in charge.’
A lieutenant came hurrying out of a small white bell tent pitched close to that of the commander in chief, cramming his hat on to his head. From within the tent came the sound of laughter and the chink of glasses. The lieutenant stopped beside one of the sentries, who had not dropped their muskets.
‘What’s going on, Sar’nt Baker?’
‘This officer here, sir. Says he wants to speak to you, sir.’
The young man straightened up and then, taking in Steel’s rank, bowed. ‘Lieutenant Trevenning, sir. Her Majesty’s Foot Guards. May I ask your business here, Captain …?’
‘Steel, Lieutenant. Captain Jack Steel, of Farquharson’s. I would see the Captain General on a matter of some urgency.’
The lieutenant, recognizing Steel’s name, eyed him with interest, but did not move. ‘Might I enquire as to what that matter might be, sir?’
‘No you may not, sir. Merely tell His Grace that Captain Steel wishes to speak to him. And if you encounter any difficulty in doing so, you might find me Colonel Hawkins. In fact you may do so in any case, while you’re about it.’
The young man bristled. Hero or no hero, Steel’s manner was almost too much to bear. Besides, as a lieutenant in the Guards he ranked equal with any captain of a line regiment. But he realized, from all the accounts he had heard of the captain, that this was not the man to call out on a matter of honour – if, that
was, he wanted to come away with his life. Instead he smiled.
‘I shall go and enquire, Captain, but I shouldn’t get your hopes up too high. The commander in chief is far too busy a man to deal with an unarranged appearance by any field officer. Wait where you are, Captain Steel, if you please. I shan’t be a moment.’ He nodded to the sentries to maintain their ‘present’ and entered the striped tent. When he emerged a few minutes later he wore a peeved expression, and he was not alone.
Colonel James Hawkins greeted Steel with a beaming smile. ‘Jack, m’boy. You have long been on my mind. Come in, come away in. Thank you, Lieutenant. That will be all.’
Leaving the young man to fume, they went into the tent and Steel saw at once that they were alone.
Hawkins explained: ‘Marlborough’s at a meeting with the brigade commanders, observing the lines. He’s not in the best of tempers. But he won’t be long. You’ll take a glass, Jack?’
Steel stiffened. ‘Please.’
Hawkins summoned a servant and turned to Steel, cutting him short. ‘Now, Jack. I’m sure that you’ve been thinking to yourself, Why the devil haven’t they sent for me? You would like, no doubt, a report on whether fat King Louis swallowed the bait. And indeed as to whether the war will end. I’m sure you’re filled with questions.’
‘Well, yes, sir. I –’
Hawkins waved a hand at him. ‘Of course you are, and well you might be. By God, if I were sent on a dangerous mission behind the lines and then heard nothing more of it wouldn’t I be as angry as you are now, Jack? You are angry?’ He handed Steel a brimming goblet of the local red wine and took one for himself. ‘Your health, Jack, and may I say how glad I am to see you back here in one piece after that affair with General Webb. A triumph, I would call it. He mentioned you, you know. The general. Spoke very highly of your ability. Battalion commander, you were for the day? Eh, Jack? How did that feel? Good, I’ll bet.’ Hawkins winked at him.
Steel was at a loss for words. Hawkins had completely disarmed him. Was he now toying with his ambitions? Or was there some substance to the hint that one day Steel might have his own battalion?
‘And now, Jack, to business. What would you like to know first?’
As he spoke the tent flap flew back and Marlborough entered, accompanied by a servant who took his hat and cloak. Rubbing at his temples, he strode across the room towards a large table upon which lay a map of the region.
‘Hawkins, a drink, if you please. My head throbs and my mind aches with it. All I seem to hear is prattle about this siege. Our lines of curcumvallation are overlong. I know that. The trenches are flooded. I know that too, only too well. I have generals reminding me of schedules. Reminding me! I know the dictates of siege warfare only too well. Twenty-five days and you must have built your walls, opened the trenches and reached the covered way and the demilune. Another week and the latter should be taken, and a breach then created. Then and only then are you to cross the ditch and breach the main defences. Given another week the enterprise must be complete. Forty-eight days, Hawkins. That is the prescribed time in which to complete a siege from the start to the capitulation. And how many days now have we been here? You know the answer. Too long. Two and one half months. Three weeks beyond the time. We have seen an enemy army come and go with no battle given and five thousand men, five thousand of our own men, fall in one day attempting to storm the damned place. I tell you, Hawkins, I should be the happiest man alive were this the last siege I ever see.’
He took a draught of wine and continued, apparently oblivious to Steel’s presence. ‘At least they know that when we take their precious town we shall not hang them from the ramparts as was formerly the custom. We fight a civilized war, do we not?’
‘If any war can be considered civilized.’
‘A war fought with the purpose of preserving civilization is surely civilized by its very nature.’
‘But is it just?’
‘Can there ever be a just war, Your Grace?’ It was Steel who spoke.
‘Ah, Captain Steel. What brings you here? Hawkins, did I ask for Captain Steel?’
‘You did not, Your Grace. But … I did. We do owe him a report, sir, on the talks with the French. After all, he was instrumental in their introduction.’
Marlborough’s face clouded and Steel suspected the worst. ‘Ah yes. A bad business, I’m afraid, Steel.’
‘I take it then, sir, that the letter I delivered was of no avail. That the French King will not sue for peace?’
Marlborough nodded. ‘Show him, Hawkins.’
Hawkins produced a letter and began to read: ‘“The King desires peace … The appearance of the Allies, though most brilliant, cannot prevent those who have experience of war …” It’s from the Duke of Berwick.’
Marlborough glared. ‘Berwick, my own cousin. Best general they have. Wasted, though. Quite wasted. And that he should have written this to me! “Experience of war!” I have more experience of war than that bloated monarch, for all his years.’
Hawkins continued: ‘“… those who have experience of war, from perceiving that it is strained in all sorts of ways and may at any moment be so transformed that even if you were to take the citadel of Lille you might be thrown into extremities which would destroy your armies and put it out of your power to supply with munitions and food the strong places you occupy beyond the Scheldt …”’
‘It is nothing less than an affront, Steel. A rebuke. Well, if that is what the King wants that is what he shall have. Let no one ever say that I did not attempt a reasonable peace. From here on I shall only desire to crush France beneath my heel.’
Hawkins explained. ‘Fact is, Steel, while Louis might have wanted peace, we’ve been trumped at the game. We believed that we might catch the ear of the King direct, but it’s the generals now who have the upper hand in France. In matters of the war it seems that the King is no more than a puppet. He’s an old man now, too old to realize that that letter was meant for his eyes alone and not for those at his court whom he likes to trust but should not. He’s lost his grip, and there’s too much at stake for them. If they give up now all of France’s hard-won prestige will be lost. The Sun King’s glory will be tarnished forever. They cannot allow it, and it seems they have turned his mind. I am truly sorry. But your work was not wasted. Thanks to you we know now who betrayed so many of our agents.’
‘The man Gabriel. You caught him?’
‘He, er, met with an unfortunate accident. It seems his body was found floating in the Seine.’
Steel smiled. ‘And Simpson?’
‘Captain Simpson is fine, although he is no longer in Paris. We have not yet decided how best to employ him. He’s a marked man now.’
‘And what of the others? The French agents? Have you news of them?’
‘Sadly, no. They appear to have gone to ground.’
Marlborough took a long drink and Hawkins continued, ‘There is something else, Jack.’
Steel stiffened. What more might there be? Surely they had not had news of Alexander. He waited for the worst.
‘It’s Henrietta, Jack. We’ve had word.’
‘She’s not … dead?’
Hawkins smiled and placed a hand on Steel’s shoulder. ‘No, no, Jack. She’s not dead. Nor yet a prisoner. But she is trapped, in Ostend. She cannot get out. The French have flooded the fields to prevent supplies coming through, ten miles around the city and further afield, from Bruges out to Oudenburg and down the coast past Nieuport. It’s completely cut off. What’s more, if we leave Ostend without attempting to retake it then there’s no saying that the French might not take it back themselves.’
Steel shook his head. ‘Good God. This is my doing. I sent her there, from Brussels. For safety.’
He thought of his wife, cut off in the city in which only last year she had been held captive and from which he had rescued her. Hawkins, for once, said nothing, but merely patted Steel on the shoulder.
Marlborough, who had been gazing at the
map, spoke, apparently oblivious to their talk of Henrietta. ‘To lose Ostend again is unthinkable. What’s more, we need powder and shot now, for this damned siege, if we’re ever to take Lille. Salt, too, for the men’s food.’
Steel, although his mind was filled with images of Henrietta, heard the commander and remembered another of his errands. ‘And we do need rum, sir. We’ve none left to speak of.’
‘No rum? Hawkins, is that right?’
‘I’m very much afraid it is, Your Grace. Quartermasters are aware. Rum’s held up in Ostend. We’ve had to cut all rations.’
‘Well then, find something else. Give them brandy. Anything. Get the dragoons out. Scour the local inns. Give ’em wine if needs be. The men must have their grog. Can’t have them in the trenches sober. No one could stand sober under that rain of death and remain sane. Isn’t that so, Steel?’
‘Quite so, Your Grace.’
The flap of the tent lifted and the Earl of Cadogan, Marlborough’s right-hand man and closest friend, entered. The Duke turned to him.
‘We were just saying, Cadogan, how vital it is that the men should always have their rum ration. Do you not agree?’
‘Utterly, sir. Without question. And that is why it is imperative that we restore the line of supply with Ostend.’
Steel harnessed what was left of his anger and his indignation, which was precious little, and decided to stake his all on a bold request. He looked at Marlborough. ‘Sir, may I have your permission to take myself and a few chosen men off to Ostend, to rescue my wife?’
Hawkins interjected. ‘Out of the question, I’m afraid. I’m sorry, Jack. All such ideas are out of the question. We need every man we can get at present.’
The Duke went on: ‘I intend to find Marshal Vendôme and defeat him in a pitched battle. Only then can we hope to repair the dykes and drain the region.’
Hawkins added, ‘In the meantime we still have the more immediate problem of getting provisions, in particular the rum, through to the men.’
Cadogan said, ‘On which subject, Your Grace, I have an idea. We could use a system of carts and barges, sir. General Erle is at Nieuport on the northernmost extremity of the inundation, with its canal to the sea. He has the craft and the seamen to hand to man them. I took it upon myself to amass a quantity of large wheeled carts, high enough to pass over the waters without making their contents too wet. We can use these in the shallows to move supplies from the barges and into smaller carts on dry land.’