Drums of War

by Edward Marston

  'Who are you?' demanded one of the soldiers.

  It was a miracle. The man had spoken in Dutch. Fearing that they'd been captured by French soldiers, the fugitives had never considered the possibility that they'd already crossed the border. Overwhelmed with relief, they started laughing and hugging each other. Daniel held Amalia in a warm embrace.

  'What's the jest?' asked the soldier.

  'We'll be happy to explain it to you,' said Daniel, beaming. 'My name is Captain Rawson, attached to the staff of His Grace, the Duke of Marlborough, and I admit that I've been critical of the Dutch army in the past. Let me say before witnesses that I've never been so grateful to see some members of it as I am at this moment in time.'

  The meeting was held at the home of Johannes Mytens. The visitors arrived punctually and were shown into the parlour. After greeting his friend, Willem Ketel introduced him to Gaston Loti. The Frenchman was tall, lean and well-dressed. His full-bottomed wig framed a face that was pitted with age but softened by a ready smile. Loti was intelligent, watchful and devious. As a merchant, Ketel had learnt to speak French fluently and Mytens had a sound knowledge of the language. They were therefore able to converse in French. Loti began by making some flattering remarks about The Hague, hinting that it would be a tragedy if such a fine city were ever to be under direct attack. Mytens bridled slightly.

  'It would be equally unfortunate if Paris were to be under siege,' he said. "The destruction of the magnificent French capital would be a sad sight to behold.'

  'It's one that will never be seen,' said Loti with easy confidence. 'No enemy would ever get within striking distance of Paris.'

  'Don't be so complacent, Monsieur Loti.'

  'It's not complacency, sir, but common sense.'

  'Even the best armies can be beaten,' asserted Mytens, 'and yours has been humbled on the battlefield more than once.'

  'Gentlemen,' said Ketel, diving in quickly before the argument became more heated. 'Paris and The Hague are both wonderful cities. We are here to discuss how we can ensure their mutual well-being in every conceivable way.'

  'I agree, Willem,' said Loti, 'and I apologise to my host if I appeared a trifle arrogant. It's a fault of my nation, alas, and none of us is entirely free from it.' His smile broadened. 'I'm sorry, sir.'

  Mytens nodded. 'I accept your apology,' he said, 'and tender my own in return. This is an opportunity to bargain rather than bicker.'

  'Bargain!' echoed Ketel, sucking his teeth. 'That word is music in my ears. You two are politicians and talk of compromise. I'm a merchant and therefore seasoned in haggling.'

  'There's no need for haggling here, Willem,' said Loti. 'We have common needs and a common aim. All we have to discuss is how best to achieve that aim.'

  'Johannes and I have already done that.'

  'I and my fellow-politicians have been debating the issue since this war first started. It's not one that we sought, let's be clear about that. All that King Louis did was to confirm the right of his grandson, the Due d'Anjou, to inherit the Spanish throne.'

  'It was viewed elsewhere, not unreasonably, with great alarm,' said Mytens, jowls wobbling. 'If France is allowed to annexe Spain, it would create an empire that would hold us all in thrall. Does King Louis never tire of conquest?'

  'It's not his intention to conquer Spain,' replied Loti, calmly, 'but merely to supervise the rightful succession. Your fears of a vast and aggressive French empire are much exaggerated, Monsieur Mytens. What you seem to forget is that Louis XIV is an old man. In a few years' time, he'll be seventy. At his age, he has no appetite for a long and damaging war. He'd much rather live in peace and enjoy the splendours of Versailles.'

  'In his position, I'd probably wish to do the same.'

  'I'm sure that we all would,' said Ketel, worried that his two friends were not getting on as well as he'd imagined. 'What better life is there for a man than to inhabit paradise and be able to select his mistresses from among the greatest beauties of France?'

  'We have our share of beauties, Willem,' said Mytens with a touch of patriotic lechery. 'Paris has nothing to compare with some of the ladies you'll find in The Hague and Amsterdam.'

  'Dutch women are a little dour for my taste,' said Loti.

  'That's because you judge them by their appearance, my friend. They cannot match their French counterparts in flamboyance, I grant you, but in passion they are far superior.'

  Ketel was exasperated. 'Why are we talking about women when we should be discussing the war?' he asked, adjusting his wig. 'If we can find our way to a peaceful settlement, we'll all have time for the pleasures of the flesh.'

  'Well said, Willem,' agreed Loti.

  'Yes,' added Mytens, 'we're rightly chastised. Once again I apologise, Monsieur Loti. It's a poor host who argues with a visitor.'

  "Then let's proceed to a friendly debate,' said Ketel. 'Gaston knows the very nerves of state in France. He knows what the King and his advisors intend before they even put their thoughts into words. Why don't we let him enlighten us?'

  Mytens turned to Loti. 'You have a rapt audience, sir.'

  'Then I'll try to give a performance worthy of merit,' said the Frenchman. 'Not that this is a theatre in which all the lines have been rehearsed, mind you. I'll be speaking from the heart.'

  'We'll be doing the same,' promised Ketel.

  'Good.'

  'What news do you have for us, Gaston?'

  "The best news possible,' answered Loti, 'though it must remain between the three of us for the time being. France is weary of this pointless and inconclusive war. It serves no purpose other than to be a constant drain on the national coffers of everyone involved. We are all stupidly fighting our way into poverty.'

  'That's been my contention throughout,' said Ketel.

  'When winter comes and we all have time to sit back and view the situation dispassionately, we'll see the lunacy of resuming the war next spring. If wisdom prevails,' he went on, 'and if the Dutch are as ready to come to terms as the French, then there can be a formal end to the hostilities between us.'

  'There'll be a definite offer of peace?' said Mytens, hopefully.

  'Yes, my friend. I'll be part of a deputation that makes it.'

  'What are its details?'

  'They've yet to be finalised,' said Loti, 'but I assure you that they'll have considerable appeal. France will recognise your objectives and you, by the same token, must acknowledge ours.' He looked from one man to the other. 'How strong is the desire for peace here?'

  'Very strong,' said Ketel. 'Johannes has been working hard to convince his friends in the States-General that the war should be abandoned. His support grows every day.'

  'That's very gratifying.'

  'One must not overstate it,' warned Mytens. 'Many of us long for peace but it must be on terms that we can accept. And no matter how tempting those terms may be,' he went on, 'we must be braced for a measure of resistance.'

  'From whom would it come?'

  'Grand Pensionary Heinsius would lead the opposition.'

  'Could he not be won over?'

  'Not as long as we're allied to England.'

  'Aye,' said Ketel, sucking his teeth, 'there's the rub. We have to dance to England's tune. They've provided soldiers, supplies, money and our redoubtable commander-in-chief.'

  'How close are he and Heinsius?' asked Loti.

  'Too close, Gaston.'

  'Could their friendship be blighted in some way?'

  'It's difficult to see how.'

  "The situation is this, Monsieur Loti,' explained Mytens. 'What we most covet is the security of our boundaries. If that could be guaranteed by France, then peace negotiations would be welcomed.'

  'They'd be conducted in the utmost secrecy,' said Loti, tapping the side of his nose. 'Diplomacy is best done in the dark, gentlemen.'

  'Like certain other pleasures,' noted Ketel, smirking.

  'France would be prepared to make serious concessions.'

  'We'd be minded
to make a positive response, Gaston.'

  'The eternal problem,' said Mytens, 'is the intransigence of the Duke of Marlborough. Until France renounces interest in the Spanish throne, the Duke will not hear of peace.' He tossed a shrewd glance at the Frenchman. 'Is there any possibility that that will be among the terms you offer?' he continued. 'Could the name of the Due d'Anjou be withdrawn?'

  'You're referring to King Philip V of Spain,' said Loti with a disarming grin, 'but, yes, anything is possible. Whether it's desirable from our point of view, of course, is another matter. To answer your question, Monsieur Mytens, the terms of any peace treaty will be negotiable. And let me remind you that I'm only talking about a parley between France and Holland.'

  'Our allies must be taken into account.'

  'Even if the Dutch army withdraws from the contest,' said Ketel, 'the Duke is likely to fight on. He's the enemy here.'

  'Then we must join forces to remove him,' declared Loti.

  'Let's wait until formal negotiations have taken place this winter. If they falter because of the obduracy of one man, the solution stares us in the face.' He tilted his head to one side. 'We must assassinate the Duke of Marlborough.'

  Chapter Fifteen

  It was almost a fortnight before Daniel Rawson was able to rejoin his regiment. In the interim, he'd been in The Hague with Amalia and her father, then had escorted them back home to Amsterdam. Daniel had been their guest for a couple of days. After his visit to Paris, he found it a treat to be in a city so clean and free from noisome smells. Not only were the streets washed regularly, they were also sprinkled with sand on occasion. What he did miss were the wide boulevards at the heart of the French capital. Amsterdam had narrow thoroughfares infested with fast- moving carriages and carts that could maim or even kill. It was a place where pedestrians had to be on constant guard.

  The other advantage of the visit was that he was able to go back to the house where he and his mother had lived after their enforced flight from England twenty years earlier. In the wake of the battle of Sedgemoor, his life had suddenly been transformed. Daniel moved from a small farm to a large city, from rural tranquillity to a thriving port. Instead of speaking English, he grew up talking his mother's native language. Instead of envisaging his future as a farmer in Somerset, he nursed an ambition to join the Dutch army. It was only by a quirk of fate that, by doing so, he found himself back in the very country he'd deserted.

  It was a wrench to take his leave of Amalia Janssen. Events had drawn them ineluctably together into a friendship that balanced the excitement of novelty against a feeling of permanence. Sad to part from her, he promised Amalia that he'd write whenever he could. The presence of Emanuel Janssen made it a less touching farewell than Daniel could have wished but the older man clearly approved of the friendship between the captain and his daughter. There was an unspoken commitment between Daniel and Amalia. It was sealed by a simple exchange of glances. Riding away from Amsterdam, his abiding memory of her was the night they'd shared in the privacy of the coach.

  When he finally joined his regiment in winter quarters, he first reported to Marlborough's brother, General Churchill. Letters from The Hague had already informed Churchill of the captain's heroics in France but he insisted on a first-hand account. Daniel obliged readily though his version of events said nothing about an incipient romance with Amalia. Since the general was in regular correspondence with his brother, Daniel was given the latest news about the commander-in-chief, still courting allies in foreign capitals. The minute he was free to leave, he went off to find Henry Welbeck. The sergeant was in his tent. Daniel was shocked to hear what had happened.

  'When was this?' he asked.

  'Weeks ago, Dan.'

  'How many lashes did the lad receive?'

  'Eighty,' replied Welbeck.

  'That was cruel.'

  'It was typical of the major.'

  'Did nobody intervene on his behalf?'

  'Nobody had a loud enough voice.'

  Daniel was deeply upset. 'If only I'd been here,' he said with compassion, 'I could have challenged Major Cracknell. At the very least, I might've got the number of lashes reduced.'

  'I doubt it.'

  'Why do you say that, Henry?'

  'You and I are two of the reasons why the lad was punished so severely. The major is green with envy at your promotion, Dan. He'd do anything to strike back at you.'

  Daniel had already discerned the connection to him. In having the hapless drummer flogged, the major would be hurting Welbeck and, by extension, the sergeant's best friend. Indirectly, Cracknell was trying to put salt on the tail of a bird whose fine plumage was now on display in Marlborough's personal staff. It grieved Daniel that Hillier had suffered additional pain because of him.

  'How did he bear up?' he said.

  'Very well, considering,' replied Welbeck. 'He didn't cry out or beg for mercy. Every inch of skin was stripped from his back but he didn't make a sound.' He gave a half-smile. 'I like to think that the brandy helped.'

  'Did you give him that?'

  'I slipped a bottle to his friend.'

  'That was thoughtful.'

  'He is my nephew, Dan.'

  'You've remembered that at last, have you?'

  Welbeck told him about all the other things that had occurred during his absence but they were eclipsed, in Daniel's mind, by what he'd heard about Hillier. He kept wondering if the flogging would break the drummer's spirit or simply deprive him of any interest in remaining in the army. Harsh discipline had turned many zealous soldiers into potential deserters. Daniel resolved to speak to him.

  'What about you, Dan?' asked Welbeck. 'Where have you been all this time - or is it still a secret?'

  'I've been to Paris,' said Daniel.

  'To take tea with King Louis, I daresay.'

  'No, Henry. In point of fact, the King hates the city and prefers to live well away from it in Versailles. He did invite me to dinner, as it happens, but I felt that I had to decline.'

  Welbeck laughed. 'Tell the truth, you bugger.'

  'The truth is that I was sent to rescue someone.'

  Daniel gave him an abbreviated account of his time in France, concentrating on the escapes from the Bastille and from the three highwaymen. There was no mention of Amalia and Beatrix. It was an omission on which Welbeck soon pounced.

  'What was her name?'

  'Whose name?'

  'Her name,' said the sergeant. 'I refuse to believe that Dan Rawson spent a week or so in France without meeting a woman.'

  'I met two as it happened - Janssen's daughter and his servant.'

  'Which one did you seduce first?'

  'You're getting very coarse in your old age, Henry.'

  'All right,' said Welbeck, searching for another way of asking his question, 'which one of them first studied the bedroom ceiling over your shoulder?'

  'Neither of them,' said Daniel, firmly.

  'You made them lie face down, did you?'

  'I was too busy trying to save their lives to think about anything else. Besides, I had Emanuel Janssen and his assistant with me all the time. It was like being part of the family.'

  'I still think there was a naked woman in the story.'

  'You can think what you like, Henry. If you want a naked woman, I'll put in half a dozen for you. A dozen, if you prefer.'

  'I've no need for them,' said Welbeck, tartly. 'They spell danger. Look what happened to Tom. He was so keen to see a pair of naked tits that he forgot he wasn't supposed to leave camp.'

  'I'd like to speak to the lad.'

  'Be warned, Dan. He's changed.'

  'It takes a long time to recover from a flogging.'

  'I'm not talking about the pain he's in. The change is inside his head. He seems to have gone off into a world of his own. If you want to know the truth,' Welbeck admitted, 'I'm worried about him.'

  It was a paradox. In taking punishment on behalf of his friends, Tom Hillier had become their hero. At the very time w
hen they wanted to show their gratitude by spending time with him, he preferred to be on his own. The flogging had isolated him in every sense. He was pleasant to Dobbs and the others but he avoided their company when he could. Being alone was his only solace. It gave him time and space to revalue what he'd suffered. The physical pain was constant. The regimental surgeon had offered him a salve for his wounds but the application of it was so agonising that he only endured it once. Various other remedies were suggested to him. None of them worked and even though the fire on his back gradually burnt less persistently, the inferno inside his head roared on with undiminished rage.

  He was strolling beside the stream where he'd met his nemesis when Daniel came upon him. Hillier was astounded to see him.

  'Good morning, Captain Rawson,' he said.

  'How are you feeling, Tom?'

  'It's getting better, sir.'

  'I was shocked when your uncle told me what happened.'

  'It was my own fault,' said Hillier, too embarrassed to meet his eye, 'and I've no quarrel with that. On this side of the stream, I'm abiding by army regulations. On the other bank - and that's where I was on the night - I was deemed to be absent without leave.' He pursed his lips. 'What a difference five yards of water can make to your life!'

  'You went farther afield than five yards, I suspect,' said Daniel.

  'I did, Captain.'

  'I'm sorry that I wasn't here to help.'

  'What could you have possibly done?'

  'I could've remonstrated with Major Cracknell. I could've made sure that you were treated fairly from the moment of arrest.'

  Hillier was moved. 'Why should you bother about me?'

  'It's because you're a rarity, Tom. You're a willing recruit and we get few of them. Well, you've seen the character of the men we have. Some of them only agreed to join the army because it was a way out of prison. According to Sergeant Welbeck, the vast majority of our soldiers begin as rogues, vagabonds or drunkards. You don't fit into any of those categories. You wanted a career in the army.'