‘You wouldn’t have carried all that on the back of your donkey.’
‘I know.’
‘Are you pleased with your recompense?’
‘I’m delighted,’ she said. ‘I’m getting too old to sit astride a horse for any length of time. A cart makes life much easier. Mind you,’ she went on, ‘nothing could recompense me for the horrors I went through in Lille. Well, you saw that brute of a turnkey. Heaven knows what would have happened if you and Estelle hadn’t come along!’
‘He won’t ever bother a woman again,’ Daniel reminded her.
‘I know. But I’ll never forget the stink of his breath. But what about you and Henry?’ she went on. ‘What sort of reward did the pair of you get? After all, you were the real heroes, finding a way into Lille like that. I think you both deserve a promotion.’
‘I didn’t ask for it and Henry wouldn’t have accepted it. He has a very low opinion of officers. As for me, my reward is the honour of working as part of His Grace’s personal staff.’
‘Does that mean Henry got nothing at all?’
‘He received a letter of commendation.’
‘Really? Why did he never mention it to me?’
‘He’s too modest to do so.’
‘But it’s something to shout about from the rooftops. Was it written in the Duke of Marlborough’s own hand?’
‘Every word of it,’ he told her.
Daniel was pleased to see her looking so well. The first time he’d met her, he’d been struck by her resilience and it was visible again. Rachel seemed to have shrugged off her horrific experiences in Lille. Even the flight from the town during a bombardment hadn’t robbed her of her essential zest. Eyeing him up and down, she beamed.
‘I thought I’d never marry another soldier,’ she said, ‘but I made an exception in your case. I enjoyed being Madame Borrel even though that marriage fell short of expectation.’
‘It was a marriage in name only.’
‘That was my complaint.’ They laughed. ‘Not that I could ever marry an officer. I’m like Henry Welbeck – I belong in the ranks. The secret of happiness is to know who you are and where you best fit in. Those with ridiculous ambitions always lead lives of disappointment.’ She cackled. ‘That sounds almost like wisdom, doesn’t it?’
‘You’re a true philosopher.’
‘No, I’m just plain Rachel Rees and happy to be so.’
‘I must away, alas,’ he said. ‘I have to get back to His Grace.’
‘Thank him for my horse and cart, won’t you?’
‘I’ll make a point of doing so.’
She looked around. ‘I’m going to miss all this, you know.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘Being with an army,’ she explained. ‘I’ve spent too many years at it. Ned Granger – he was my second husband – had a good way of putting it. He said that fighting in a war was mostly sheer boredom with a little bit of terror thrown in. I’m starting to get bored with the boredom and I had enough terror in Lille to last me a lifetime.’
‘Where will you go, Rachel?’
‘Back home to Wales, I expect.’ She gave an almost girlish giggle. ‘Unless, that is, Henry makes me an offer I can’t refuse.’
It had been their first taste of battle and two of them hadn’t lived to pass their judgement on the experience. One had been so badly wounded that he’d be a permanent invalid and another one had lost an eye. All who’d survived had been shaken up by their assault on the enemy. Henry Welbeck was sorry that his recruits had been hurled into action so soon, but that was in the nature of warfare. French soldiers couldn’t be expected to wait until every member of a British regiment was fully trained. Having been taught to fire a musket, the recruits were deemed ready for battle.
When the sergeant visited the ragged band of survivors, they were sitting on the ground, comparing the bruises and scratches they’d picked up. There was a despondent air about them. Even the impudent Ben Plummer was subdued. Welbeck knelt down to speak to the soldier whose empty eye socket was covered in bandaging.
‘How do you feel, lad?’ he enquired.
‘I want to go home, Sergeant,’ said the other.
‘We all want that but there’s a war to win first.’
‘I’m no use in the army with only one eye.’
‘A one-eyed soldier is a lot more use than our blind, bleeding officers,’ Welbeck argued, getting a muted laugh from the men. ‘Our brainless superiors are the other enemy we’re up against.’ He patted the man’s arm. ‘You did well, lad. And the same goes for the rest of you,’ he said, looking around them. ‘None of you ran away. None of you spewed up your dinner. You fought bravely.’
‘What’s the use of that?’ asked Plummer, sullenly.
Welbeck stood up. ‘It’s a matter of self-respect.’
‘I’ve never had any.’
‘That’s because of the wicked life you led, Ben Plummer, but you have a chance to atone for that now. Giving of your best for queen and country should make you feel proud.’
‘I don’t feel proud, Sergeant,’ said the one-eyed man.
‘Neither do I,’ said Plummer. ‘I just feel bewildered. What are we doing here among all these Dutch and Austrians?’
‘They’re our Allies,’ said Welbeck.
‘Then let them do the fighting.’
‘We’re in this together, standing shoulder to shoulder.’
‘None of them was shoulder to shoulder with me,’ said Plummer, scornfully. ‘I stood next to Dirk Megson and he was shot dead. On the other side of me was Harry Gaunt and they put his eye out, didn’t they, Harry?’
‘Send me home,’ pleaded Gaunt.
‘You’re a real soldier now,’ said Welbeck. ‘You’ve been blooded.’
‘I’ve had enough soldiering.’
‘So have the rest of us,’ said Plummer, eliciting a general murmur of consent. ‘I’d rather be serving my sentence back in England. At least I wouldn’t be shot at in gaol.’ He grinned wearily. ‘And I’d have pretty women coming to visit me.’
‘Be grateful to the army,’ said Welbeck, solemnly. ‘It’s saved you from temptations of the flesh.’
‘It hasn’t saved you, Sergeant.’
Welbeck bridled. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, you have that woman tempting you,’ said Plummer. ‘I’d never call her pretty but there’s plenty of flesh there to lure you.’
‘Yes,’ said Gaunt over the sniggers, ‘she’s a big lady.’
‘That’s enough!’ snapped Welbeck.
‘It’s unfair,’ continued Plummer, warming to his theme. ‘Why should you have pleasures denied the rest of us? We’ve seen her slipping into your tent.’
‘It was not by invitation.’
‘I’d be ready to invite her, I can tell you.’
‘All that you’re inviting, Plummer, is a punch on that ugly nose of yours. Now let’s have no more of this nonsense or I may lose my temper. That could be dangerous for all of you.’
There was a long, uneasy silence. Having come to offer them sympathy, Welbeck had been thrown on the defensive. The fault lay with Rachel Rees. Unwanted and unbidden, she’d sneaked into his tent on more than one occasion to leave small gifts there. It was highly embarrassing and it served to undermine his control. Yet he could find no effective way of getting rid of her. Plummer read his mind.
‘There’s only one way to get rid of her, Sergeant,’ he said, ‘and that’s to give her what she wants.’
‘Even with only one eye, I can see what that is,’ added Gaunt, mischievously.
‘When you’re done with her, you can send the lady over to us. That’s the best way to get self-respect,’ claimed Plummer, using an obscene gesture. ‘It makes you feel like a real man.’
‘Be quiet!’ ordered Welbeck over the derisive laughter. It died instantly. ‘Enjoy some rest while you can. You’ll soon be getting ready for the next attack. It won’t be long.’
‘When will th
e siege end, Sergeant?’ asked Gaunt.
‘Not until we’ve reduced the walls to rubble.’
‘We never got anywhere near the town itself.’
‘We will,’ said Welbeck. ‘We’ll wear them down slowly.’
‘How many of our lives will that cost?’ asked Plummer. ‘They say we had well over a couple of thousand men killed or wounded last time. It could be our turn next.’
‘Try not to think about that.’
‘I’ll be thinking of nothing else, Sergeant.’
‘And do you imagine you’re the only one whose knees are trembling?’ asked Welbeck, pointing in the direction of Lille. ‘They have a garrison of only fifteen thousand in the town – less than that, if you take their casualties into account. We have an army of thirty-five thousand men.’
‘Less, if you take our casualties into account,’ said Plummer.
‘Look at it another way. Where would you rather be – out here or in there? Would you rather be the hunter or the prey? Prince Eugene is a fine soldier, for all that he’s a foreigner. I trust him to conduct this siege well.’
‘He hasn’t done it so far,’ protested Gaunt, pointing to his bandage. ‘This is how I’ll remember Prince Eugene.’
‘What you’ll remember is being part of a victorious army,’ said Welbeck, slapping him on the back. ‘You may not believe that now because you’re still in pain. Just you wait until those French bastards surrender. You’ll feel it was all worth it then, lad. You’ll carry your scars with pride and spend the rest of your life boasting that you were present at the fall of Lille.’
There was another silence. It was broken at length by Plummer.
‘Supposing that Lille doesn’t fall, Sergeant – what then?’
It was uncanny. Sir John Rievers seemed to know the exact moment when they’d reach his property. As their carriage rolled in through the gates, he was there with a welcoming wave. Amalia mistook his elation as a sign that he’d received good news about Daniel but her hopes soon foundered. Riding along beside them, Sir John admitted that he’d heard nothing about Daniel’s fate and didn’t expect to do so for some time. It was a simple delight in their return that made him look so pleased and buoyant. When they reached the house they went inside while the luggage was unloaded. Sir John pressed for details of their trip to Somerset and, though Janssen took it upon himself to describe their adventures, he didn’t hold Sir John’s attention. Their host’s eyes rarely left Amalia. Feeling self-conscious under his gaze she tried to divert his attention by asking after his wife.
‘Lady Rievers is not well,’ he explained. ‘Her condition is such that she is caught up in the ebb and flow of the malady. At present, it’s flowing rather too strongly and she’s been obliged to spend the last couple of days in bed.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that, Sir John,’ said Amalia.
‘So am I,’ said Janssen. ‘Is Lady Rievers able to receive visitors?’
‘Not at the moment,’ replied Sir John, sadly.
‘When she is, we’d be happy to call on her.’
‘Yes,’ said Amalia. ‘Lady Rievers may be glad of company.’
Sir John’s cheeks dimpled. ‘Any visit from you would be a source of gladness, Amalia,’ he said. ‘And the very fact that you offer to come brings me cheer because it shows me how much you’ve recovered from your earlier shock. You’d not even venture to show your lovely face outdoors then.’
‘That was when I believed the news, Sir John. I now know that it wasn’t true. That’s the secret of my recovery.’
‘You prefer to rely on instinct, then?’
‘I do,’ said Amalia.
‘It’s the same with me. No matter how far away I may be, I always know how my wife is faring. Indeed, there have been occasions when I’ve ridden back through the night because I sensed that she was in decline. I was never wrong.’
‘Neither am I in this instance.’
‘Your faith in Captain Rawson is very touching.’
‘It’s based on my knowledge of him,’ said Amalia, fondly. ‘He may court danger but he never does so recklessly. He’s supremely able to take care of himself on a battlefield. No, Sir John,’ she decided, ‘he has not been killed in action. Instinct tells me that Captain Rawson is very much alive and that he’s not in any jeopardy.’
The voyage to Ostend had been relatively free of discomfort. Andrew Syme had both made several new friends and secured a regiment of bodyguards for the journey south. Their task was to reinforce the Allied army, whereas Syme’s assignment was enticingly simple. At most, it would take him a few minutes to earn a substantial reward. All that he had to do was to kill Captain Daniel Rawson.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The council of war was held in the main camp under the supervision of the Duke of Marlborough, visibly unwell yet still able to discharge his duties with aplomb. Along with others, Prince Eugene and General Overkirk, commander of the Dutch forces, had temporarily left the siege operations. Daniel Rawson was present at the meeting to act as an interpreter and Adam Cardonnel kept a record of the deliberations with his customary efficiency. It was mid September and the early confidence of the Allies had been whittled away. Though he was as disappointed as any of his generals, Marlborough tried to sound a positive note.
‘The French have missed their chance,’ he said. ‘Even with their superior numbers, they didn’t dare to mount an attack. Vendôme postured in front of us but, failing to draw us out of our entrenchments, he gave the signal to pull back. I have every reason to believe that they’ve struck their tents for good.’
‘That’s welcome news,’ said Eugene. ‘When you were under threat here, we had to send sizeable reinforcements. Those men are desperately needed at the siege.’
‘They can be released to rejoin you, Your Highness.’
‘Thank you.’
‘In place of an attack,’ said Marlborough, ‘the French have adopted a new strategy. They mean to impose a blockade along the River Schelde in order to sever our links with Brussels.’
‘If they succeed,’ warned Overkirk, ‘it could severely hamper us.’
‘Then we’ll have to ensure that they don’t succeed.’
‘You have a gift for frustrating French strategy, Your Grace. Because you always anticipate their next move, you can take steps to counter it.’
‘At least they’ll not be harrying us outside Lille,’ said Eugene, gratefully. ‘Instead of looking over our shoulders, we can concentrate our fire on Marshal Boufflers.’
‘He must be running short of supplies by now,’ said Overkirk.
‘When they dwindle some more, the notion of surrender may finally enter his mind.’
‘Not for some time yet,’ declared Marlborough. ‘I know him well, both as a comrade-in-arms and as an opponent. Lille will have to be tottering before Boufflers considers surrender.’
Daniel listened to the debate with interest, admiring the way that Marlborough gave everyone around the table a chance to voice an opinion. The discussion was even-tempered. It had not always been the case. During his time with the Allies, General Slangenburg had been an obstructive and disputatious presence. Daniel had marvelled at the way that Marlborough retained his composure in the face of such provocation. Fortunately, he was always supported by Overkirk, his loyal friend. Much of Slangenburg’s disruptive behaviour had been seated in envy. The Dutch malcontent felt that he should be in overall command of the armies of the Grand Alliance. His departure from office had made councils of war less confrontational.
Respecting Overkirk as a man and as a warrior, Daniel was worried by the man’s appearance. He looked old, tired and ailing. Helping to conduct a difficult siege imposed great physical and mental pressure on a commander. Now in his mid sixties, Overkirk was palpably showing the strain. Prince Eugene, by contrast, seemed young, fresh and energetic. He was eager to return to Lille to resume control of the siege.
‘It’s decided, then,’ he said, briskly. ‘We can launch the major a
ssault as planned.’
‘It has my blessing, Your Highness,’ said Marlborough.
‘Your Grace’s seal of approval is welcome.’
‘Strike soon and strike hard.’
‘There’ll be a large butcher’s bill to pay,’ cautioned Overkirk. ‘Every time we’ve attacked, we’ve suffered heavy casualties, especially among the British Grenadiers. They’ve been shot, stabbed, drowned, blown up by hellish bombs and drenched in boiling pitch, tar, oil and brimstone. Scalding water has also been poured down on them.’
‘These are repulsive tactics,’ said Marlborough, ‘but we’ll win through in spite of them. We may have lost men but so has Boufflers. I fancy that there’ll be anxious debates inside Lille.’
‘Deserters tell us that the townspeople want to sue for peace.’
‘That won’t influence the marshal. He’ll make his decisions on military grounds not on sentiment. Besides, he’s built his reputation on withstanding sieges. The only way to get him out of there,’ said Marlborough, tapping the town plan in front of him, ‘is to kill more troops and knock down more walls.’
Daniel spared a thought for the fate of his regiment. In any major assault, the 24th was likely to be called into action. The siege had so far been a battle of attrition. Every yard of ground gained by the Allies had been irrigated with their blood. Daniel hoped that Henry Welbeck and his other close friends in the regiment would come through the next engagement without mishap.
In the hope of making a significant impact, Prince Eugene chose to commit almost half of his entire force to the attack. Gathering fifteen thousand men in readiness, he concentrated his latest assault on the ravelin between Bastions II and III. Everyone in the Allied ranks knew the kind of fierce retaliation they could expect. Some of the corpses they’d had to bury had been in a hideous condition. Such grotesque sights served to harden their determination to strike back. Henry Welbeck weighed the possibility of success against the welfare of the men in his charge. It left him with a nagging pessimism. He took the opportunity to speak to one of the more amenable officers.
4 Under Siege Page 24