‘Thank you for the warning,’ said Daniel, keen to know more. ‘Someone has already mentioned these men to me. What exactly did you see? How many of them were there?’
The big man inhaled deeply. ‘Eight or nine, I suppose.’
‘And they were British soldiers?’
‘Yes. They were only a few miles away from here.’
‘How close did you get?’
‘We kept well away from them,’ said the second man. ‘As soon as they came into sight, we galloped away both times. They’re preying on travellers. You’d best avoid them.’
‘How can I do that?’
‘We know a track through the forest that will get you safely past them. Follow us and we’ll show you where it is.’
‘That’s very kind of you,’ said Daniel. ‘Lead on.’
‘This way, my friend,’ invited the big man.
Swinging his horse round, he headed towards the forest with his companion at his side. Daniel was not deceived by their offer of help. Though their manner was pleasant and unthreatening, he sensed that they were highwaymen. What they’d told him about the marauding redcoats was probably true and he was grateful for an indication of the whereabouts of the band. At the same time, he didn’t believe for a moment that the two men were going to show him a path through the forest. They’d use their sighting of the redcoats as a convenient excuse to lure Daniel off the road. Their intention was clear. Once inside the trees, they planned to kill him.
CHAPTER TWELVE
As the two men rode ahead of him, they were deep in conversation. The rattle of the cart prevented Daniel from overhearing what they were saying but he knew they were discussing his fate. When they reached the forest, his fears were amply justified. Once they were covered by the leafy canopy and shielded by the tall tree trunks, the younger of the two guides broke away from his friend and dropped back behind the wagon. Certain that it would be needed, Daniel used one hand to ease his dagger out of its sheath. It was only a question of waiting now.
The wagon rumbled on along a rutted track until it came to a clearing. When the big man raised a hand, Daniel pulled on the reins and his horse stopped. The next moment, a pistol was being held on him. There was no friendliness in the voice now.
‘Get down,’ he ordered.
Daniel mimed confusion. ‘Why?’
‘Just do as you’re told.’
‘I thought you were helping me.’
‘Get down or I’ll shoot you where you are.’
‘There’s no need to kill me,’ said Daniel, hand tightening on the blade of the dagger. ‘If you want the wagon, take it.’
‘We can’t leave you alive to tell your tale.’ He levelled the gun. ‘I won’t tell you again – get down now.’
Daniel pretended to obey and the man lowered his weapon. He never lived to regret his mistake. In a move he’d practised many times, Daniel hurled the dagger with speed and accuracy. It buried itself deep in the man’s chest, knocking him from the saddle and making him drop the pistol. With a yell of rage, the other man dismounted at once and clambered on the back of the wagon to take revenge. Daniel was ready for him, whisking his sword out from its hiding place under the seat. Armed only with a dagger, the man was at a disadvantage but he was resourceful. Grabbing a wooden bucket from among the provisions, he used it to flail away at Daniel, dislodging some of the hoops over which the sheet of canvas was spread to protect the wagon from bad weather.
The confined space made it difficult for Daniel to evade him and the sword was no match for a bucket being wielded frantically by a wild young man. When he tried a thrust at him, the weapon was buffeted out of Daniel’s hand and landed on the ground. He jumped down to retrieve it but his adversary was too quick for him, throwing the bucket at him and dazing him slightly with a glancing blow to the head. In the seconds it took for Daniel to recover, the other man had leapt to the ground and seized the weapon for himself. Dagger in one hand and sword in the other, he let out a roar of anger.
‘You killed my brother!’ he shouted.
‘He deserved to be killed,’ replied Daniel, edging his way towards the dead body. ‘Both of you are thieves and murderers.’
‘I’ll cut you to threads!’
‘Stay back,’ said Daniel, stooping down swiftly to pick up the discarded gun and aiming it at him. The man laughed derisively. ‘What’s so amusing?’
‘It’s not loaded. We have no ammunition.’
‘Then you’d better have it back,’ said Daniel, throwing it at him and hitting him full in the face.
Nose streaming with blood, the man staggered back a few paces. In the brief time he was given, Daniel pulled his dagger from the chest of the corpse and picked up the bucket as well. He was now able to defend himself and circled his attacker warily. The bucket was a crude but effective weapon. Every time his adversary tried to thrust or hack at him, Daniel used the bucket to ward him off. Time and again it was a life-saving shield even though splinters were hacked off it by the sharp blade. The longer the fight went on, the more frustrated the man became and the less careful. Hoping to overpower Daniel by the sheer force of his attack, he suddenly lunged at him with the sword flashing through the air.
Daniel was far too agile for him. Leaping nimbly sideways, he swung the bucket hard against the side of the man’s head, knocking him to the ground. Howling in pain, the highwayman sat up and flung his dagger with murderous force, only to see it embedded in the bottom of the bucket that Daniel held up in front of him. Daniel tossed away his improvised shield and dived on top of him. At close quarters, the sword was useless. It was the blood-stained dagger that made the difference. Though the man grabbed Daniel’s wrist and tried to twist the weapon from his grasp, he lacked the strength to hold out for long. His breathing was heavy, his grip weakening. The stink of his breath was foul. After punching him repeatedly with his free hand, Daniel pulled his other wrist free and stabbed the man through the heart, holding the dagger up to the hilt inside the body as the life drained slowly out of him and the frenzied resistance finally stopped.
‘How long have you known Captain Rawson?’ asked Sophie.
‘It must be well over two years now,’ said Amalia, fondly.
‘Do you see much of him?’
‘Not as much as I’d like, Sophie.’
‘My sister married a soldier. He’s away for months on end. She’s worried to death in case he’s injured or even killed in battle. The danger is always there. I suppose,’ Sophie went on, ‘you must have the same fears.’
‘I try not to think about such things.’
‘That’s very sensible.’
‘Daniel – Captain Rawson, that is – always claims that he has the luck of the devil. But there’s more to it than that. I think he’s just a very fine soldier.’
‘I thought that of Lieutenant Bouteron. He looked so wonderful in his uniform – so wonderful and so trustworthy.’ Sophie’s head sagged. ‘I didn’t realise that he was misleading me. When he handed me over to the duc de Vendôme, I was shocked. I’ve never been looked at like that before. It was horrible.’
‘He looked that way at me as well.’
‘The man is so revolting.’
Since they supported opposing sides in the war, they were unlikely friends but adversity made light of their differences. They were both victims and their fate would be determined by a man they’d both detested on sight. Amalia was glad to have company. In talking about her situation, she’d gained a small measure of relief. Listening to Sophie, she realised that they lived in very different worlds. The other woman seemed so much more sophisticated and her beautiful dress made Amalia feel dowdy. Sophie’s father was a wealthy merchant who was away from home a great deal. His daughter was bored and restless. When invited to dine at her uncle’s house in Mons, she’d accepted with alacrity and revelled in the company of soldiers. It was there that she met the man who’d brought her to the camp under false pretences.
‘Isn’t it strange?’ said
Sophie, musing.
‘I don’t follow.’
‘Well, by rights, we ought to be trying to tear each other’s hair out. You support one army and I’m loyal to another. In my heart, I want the whole British and Dutch armies to be defeated.’
‘I want the French to be beaten,’ confessed Amalia.
‘Yet none of it matters now, does it?’
‘No, it would be silly for us to argue. In some ways, we’re on the same side now. We’re both at the mercy of that dreadful man.’
‘Mercy?’ echoed Sophie, resignedly. ‘I don’t think he knows the meaning of the word.’ She wrung her hands. ‘I should have stayed at home where I belong.’
‘Does anyone else know that you’re here?’
‘No, that’s the trouble. Nobody can come to my aid.’
Amalia felt another upsurge of sympathy. Before she could put a consoling arm around her, however, the tent flap opened and two guards stepped in. One of them pointed at Sophie.
‘You’re wanted – now.’
‘Where are you taking me?’ asked Sophie, tremulously.
‘You’ll soon find out.’
He grabbed her by the arm and took her out of the tent. When Amalia tried to follow, the other guard raised his musket at her and she drew back instantly. He, too, then went out of the tent, leaving her to worry about what might happen to her new friend and whether or not she herself might also be the victim of the commander’s lust.
Though they’d tried to kill him, Daniel nevertheless believed that the two men were entitled to a decent burial. After digging two shallow graves, therefore, he lowered each of them into the ground and covered them with earth. He mouthed a silent prayer then turned to see what they’d bequeathed him. The two horses were a valuable acquisition and might come in useful if he was unable to sneak Amalia out of the French camp in his wagon. The saddlebags yielded up some welcome surprises. Apart from food and wine, they contained a telescope, a tattered map of Flanders and lots of stolen money. Evidently, other travellers had not been as cautious as Daniel. After pocketing the money, he kept the telescope and the map. He also put his sword back in the wagon and, after wiping it clean in the grass, he slipped his dagger into its sheath. The weapons belonging to the two men were concealed beneath the upturned bucket. Daniel repaired the wooden hoops then pulled the canvas back over them so that the contents of the wagon were hidden from view.
With the horses tied to the vehicle, he climbed up to the seat again and set off, driving back along the track he’d taken to reach the clearing. When he emerged from the shadows of the forest, he blinked in the bright sunshine until his eyes became accustomed to the glare. While they’d lied about most things, Daniel believed that the men had told him the truth about the band of redcoats. If they roamed the area in search of prey, they may well have heard rumours about burnt farmhouses and butchered people. It was more than possible that they’d actually caught sight of the marauders.
As a result, Daniel kept his eyes peeled as he moved along, using the telescope to scan the landscape ahead. He saw other travellers a mile or more before he actually passed them but it was when he crested a hill that he spotted something of real interest. Far off to his right was a copse. At first glance, he noticed nothing and the telescope swept on. When it returned to the copse, however, Daniel saw something glinting in the sun. Concentrating his gaze on the trees, he watched for a couple of minutes until he realised what he was looking at. The object that glinted was a sabre and the man wearing it was in the uniform of the British army.
Matt Searle was enjoying a wrestling contest with one of the men when he heard the call from the lookout on the hill. The combatants immediately broke off and used the back of their hands to wipe away the sweat on their brows. The lookout descended the hill.
‘It’s Edwin,’ he told them, ‘and he’s in a hurry.’
Searle tensed. ‘Is anyone after him?’
‘No, Matt.’
‘He’d better not be leading anyone here, that’s all I can say.’
The thunder of hooves got closer then Lock came galloping into the yard before reining in his horse. He remained in the saddle.
‘I’ve just seen a wagon, Matt,’ he announced.
‘Where was it?’ asked Searle.
‘It was only a couple of miles from here.’
‘How many people were on it?’
‘There was just the one,’ said Lock, pleased that he was able to pass on good news. ‘The wagon was pulling two horses along.’
‘Which way was it heading, Edwin?’
‘It was going south, towards French territory.’
‘Then we’d better catch it before it gets there,’ decided Searle. ‘Mount up, everyone! It’s time for some highway robbery.’
When all seven of them had climbed into the saddle, Lock led them back in the direction from which they’d come. Burning a farmhouse after ravishing the women inside it was a more exciting venture for them but a lone wagon was too good a windfall to resist. Spare horses could always be sold at market for a high price and the wagon was bound to have something of value aboard. Searle rode beside his cousin who, after so many months with the band, had become such a competent horseman that he could be sent out on foraging expeditions. This particular one had delivered a prize.
‘Who was driving the wagon?’ asked Searle.
‘It was too far away for me to see that,’ said Lock. ‘All I know is that there was only one person.’
‘Well done, Edwin.’
‘He won’t try to run away from us. When he sees us coming, he’ll think we’re going to offer him our protection. We’ll have a sitting target, Matt.’
‘We will – and you can have the pleasure of killing him.’
They rode on until they reached the copse in which Lock had been hiding then veered off to join the road far beyond. Once on that, it was only a case of maintaining a steady speed and they’d overhaul the wagon. Searle yelled a command and the riders who’d been spread out behind him moved in to ride in twos. Seen by the driver of the wagon, they’d look like a British patrol. Mile after mile went by until they finally caught a glimpse of their quarry. Yet even as he came into view, they realised that their journey had been futile. A line of wagons was rolling along and the man they were after was about to join the convoy. The prize had slipped through their fingers.
‘Shit!’ exclaimed Searle before spitting on the ground. ‘Let’s go back, lads. There are far too many of them now. He was lucky.’
* * *
Sophie Prunier was away for almost half an hour and Amalia feared that she might not come back. If she’d been taken to Vendôme, she reasoned, the woman might be forced to spend the night there. What would happen to her in those circumstances was unimaginable. While she clearly had some spirit, she could not hold a strong man at bay. Amalia was just about to give up all hope of seeing her again when the tent flap opened and Sophie stumbled back into the tent. She was even more dishevelled than before and was close to tears. Amalia helped her to one of the stools.
‘What happened?’ she asked.
Sophie was panting. ‘It was awful,’ she said.
‘Did they take you to the commander?’
‘No, Amalia.’
‘Then where did you go?’
‘I went to Lieutenant Bouteron’s quarters. He apologised for bringing me here and said it was a big mistake. He begged me to forgive him.’
‘You should have asked for his help,’ said Amalia. ‘You should have appealed to his sense of honour.’
‘That’s exactly what I did.’
‘How did he react?’
‘He gave me his word that he’d get me out of the camp.’
‘That’s marvellous – when do you leave?’
‘I’m not going anywhere, Amalia.’
‘But you just said that you were.’
‘There’s something I haven’t told you,’ said Sophie. ‘My freedom came at a price. Lieutenant Bouteron promised that
he’d secure my release but on one condition.’
‘And what was that?’
‘I had to give myself to him.’
She buried her face in her hands. Amalia was too shocked to speak. The other woman had been cruelly betrayed. Brought into the camp in order, as she thought, to be shown around, she was unable to leave without sacrificing her virginity. Amalia felt desperately sorry for her and alarmed about her own position.
‘There was something else he told me,’ said Sophie, uncovering her face. ‘The lieutenant swore that he’d be considerate to me but that I wasn’t to look for the same consideration from the duc de Vendôme. He has a terrible reputation where women are concerned, it seems. There’s no way out, Amalia,’ she went on, helplessly. ‘If I stay here in the camp, then sooner or later, I’ll be summoned to his tent to let that monster have his way with me.’
The council of war held in the French camp was relatively brisk. Since they were approving royal commands sent from Versailles, none of the generals present raised any objection. Hoping to bask in the sun of supreme command, the Duke of Burgundy was irritated when he wasn’t allowed to do so. Instead, people kept deferring to Vendôme and putting the questions to him. When the meeting had ended and everyone had dispersed, Burgundy was left alone with his second in command. He was in a bad mood.
‘There was no need for you to speak so much, my lord Duke,’ he said, tetchily. ‘We could have done without your lectures.’
Vendôme smiled. ‘When answers are requested from me, it would be impolite not to provide them. I said nothing with which you disagree, my lord, did I?’
‘That’s beside the point. They all kept looking at you.’
‘I’ll be the first to acknowledge that you are a more handsome spectacle. Why they stared at me, I simply can’t imagine.’
Burgundy was piqued by the complacency in his voice. Trying to hide his displeasure, he tackled Vendôme on another matter.
Fire and Sword Page 15