‘It was a waste of time writing that,’ he said. ‘It can’t be sent in this weather.’
Cardonnel looked up from the document he was reading. ‘Is it another appeal to Her Majesty?’
‘Yes, Adam, and it’s doomed to failure.’
‘Not necessarily.’
‘It is. The chances of my dear wife being clasped to the royal bosom again are extremely faint. She pestered Her Majesty to the point where she became intolerable. I’d never dare to say this to her, of course,’ he admitted, ‘but Sarah is largely to blame. She seems to forget that the Queen is recently widowed and still mourning her husband. Limited as the poor fellow undoubtedly was, she doted on Prince George. It’s a time for tact and sensitivity, qualities with which my wife, alas, is not overly endowed. Had she not continued to browbeat the Queen, the rift in the lute wouldn’t have widened beyond repair.’
‘Her Majesty may yet relent.’
Marlborough shook his head. ‘Too many of our enemies have the royal ear. My own position at home is fragile and my wife’s antics hardly improve it. You see my dilemma, Adam?’ he asked, face clouding with concern. ‘If I’m deprived of the support of Her Majesty, how can I retain my position as the leader of the Grand Alliance?’
‘It’s surely not in any danger,’ said Cardonnel, earnestly. ‘One only has to look at your achievements in last year’s campaign. Oudenarde was a triumph that rocked the French to their foundations and it will take them an age to recover from the battle. You then took the prized citadel of Lille before bringing Ghent to its knees. It was one victory after another.’
‘Then why do I feel so insecure?’
‘Only you can answer that, Your Grace.’
Marlborough sighed again. He remained a handsome, distinguished and imposing man but, as he neared the age of sixty, there were clear signs of ageing. His face was more lined, his eyes had lost their sparkle and his back no longer had its ramrod straightness. Seen in repose, he seemed utterly to lack the energy and determination for which he was famed.
‘If only Sidney Godolphin were not so unwell,’ he resumed, ruefully, ‘I’d have more hope. He could continue to solicit support for us. As it is, his position as Lord Treasurer is in question. Lose him and we lose our best ally.’
‘I still say that you should have no qualms,’ encouraged Cardonnel. ‘Your very name strikes terror into the hearts of the French. It would be madness to relieve you of your duties.’
Marlborough fell silent. Overworked and under strain, troubled by migraines, frustrated at being confined to the Continent and sensing the impending loss of his authority, he was in a dark mood. As he turned over the possibilities in his mind, one soon assumed prominence. It allowed him to sound more positive.
‘Perhaps I should petition Her Majesty,’ he said, thinking it through.
‘You’ve just done that very thing, Your Grace.’
‘I talk not of my wife, Adam. This would be on my own account. What if I were to request that I be appointed captain-general for life?’
‘It’s no more than you deserve.’
‘Indeed, it is not. Hampered by the problems of leading a coalition army, I’ve nevertheless delivered three resounding victories on the battlefield and driven the French out of city after city. Such success should be recognised.’
Cardonnel grinned. ‘You don’t have to persuade me of that.’
‘Can I persuade Her Majesty, I wonder?’
‘There’s certainly no harm in trying, Your Grace.’
Marlborough lapsed into silence again, dogged by anxieties about the wisdom of making such a suggestion to Queen Anne. When he won his remarkable victory at Blenheim, he’d been feted at home and granted a sumptuous new palace as his reward. Things were very different now. Over four years had passed and the Queen had become increasingly impatient with a war that was draining the nation’s coffers and liberally spilling the blood of its soldiers. Given the situation, she might not be susceptible to an approach from Marlborough. It might be better to bide his time.
He turned to another cause of vexation. Covert peace negotiations were taking place and, to his chagrin, Marlborough was not directly involved in them. The thought that major decisions might be made over which he had no control was unnerving.
‘What have we heard from the States General?’ he asked.
‘Very little,’ replied Cardonnel. ‘These are early days.’
Marlborough clicked his tongue. ‘Dutch politicians move even slower than those parliamentary snails back in London.’
‘It will take months before negotiations either founder or come to fruition.’
‘If only we knew what that old fox, King Louis, is really thinking.’
‘Well,’ said the other, ‘if he has any sense, he’ll be guided by an incontrovertible fact – namely, that the Duke of Marlborough is invincible.’
‘I don’t feel invincible at the moment, Adam,’ confessed Marlborough, wearily. ‘I feel tired and uneasy. I feel as if everything is slipping away from me and I’m powerless to stop it from doing so.’ He slapped the table with a peevish hand. ‘I want to know exactly what’s going on.’
‘Then you’ll have to wait until word comes from Paris,’ said Cardonnel.
‘If it comes,’ corrected Marlborough.
‘Have no fears on that score, Your Grace. We sent the ideal man.’
‘Remind me who it is.’
‘It’s someone well versed in the art of working behind enemy lines.’ Cardonnel smiled reassuringly. ‘Captain Rawson won’t let us down.’
It was not the first time that Daniel had been to the bakery and he knew how to make himself useful, responding quickly to orders from Flynn and putting the previous night’s escapade temporarily out of his mind. He had learnt how to get the loaves out of the oven without burning his hands and, like his friend, he relished the odour of freshly baked bread. As a reward for his services, he was allowed to taste it. All that he’d told Flynn was that he’d got involved in an argument with two men and had lost his horse in the process. There’d been a long trudge across Paris in the dark and he’d arrived back at the house too late to rouse them from their slumber. Accordingly, he made a bed of straw on the cart and covered himself with a pile of sacks. It was only at the end of the working day that Flynn was able to press for details. They sat side by side on the cart as it rattled homewards.
‘What really happened last night?’ asked Flynn.
‘I told you, Ronan – two men picked a fight with me.’
‘Now why should they do that?’
‘For some reason,’ said Daniel, ‘they didn’t like the look of me.’
Flynn turned to him. ‘I’m not sure that I like the look of you at the moment. You need a shave and your face is covered in flour. Louise will be scared stiff when she sees you.’
‘Your daughter takes after you, Ronan. Nothing frightens her.’
‘Coming back to these two men, who exactly were they?’
Daniel shrugged. ‘I have no idea.’
It wasn’t true. Since the men had followed the courier all the way from Versailles, Daniel knew that they had to be government agents of some sort. As a result, the report of their deaths would be taken very seriously. A hunt would be launched for their killer, based on the description of Daniel given by the nightwatchman who’d held the lantern to his face. Anyone trying to leave the city would come under intense scrutiny. Daniel didn’t want to take the risk of trying to bluff his way past sentries. Yet it was vital that the package was taken to The Hague as swiftly as possible and handed over to Marlborough. It contained information from the very heart of the French government.
‘Do you know what I think, Dan Rawson?’ asked Flynn.
‘What?’
‘I think you’re a dirty, rotten, two-faced, lying bastard.’
Daniel grinned. ‘I take that as a compliment.’
‘Why on earth I bother with you, I really don’t know.’
‘Yet you gave m
e such a cordial welcome.’
‘That was a mistake. You’re always bad news. Charlotte keeps asking me what you’re doing here – and don’t try to palm me off with that nonsense about bringing a doll for Louise. I’m not stupid enough to believe that.’
‘How much do you want to know?’
Flynn pondered. ‘Nothing,’ he said at length. ‘It’s safer that way.’
‘I’d never put you or your family in any danger,’ said Daniel.
‘You’d answer to me if you did.’ The Irishman flicked the reins to get more speed out of the horse. ‘What happens next?’
‘I need your help to get out of Paris.’
‘What’s to stop you going out the same way you came in? I assume that you have a forged passport of some kind.’
‘It might not do the trick a second time,’ admitted Daniel.
Flynn shot him a glance. ‘In other words, they’re looking for you.’
‘Let’s just say that I need an alternative means of departure.’
‘And why should I help to provide it?’
‘You’re under no obligation to do so, Ronan.’
‘You’re damn right I’m not,’ said Flynn, moodily. ‘There might have been a time when we were birds of a feather but that’s no longer the case. I mean, taking all things into consideration, we’ve nothing at all in common.’
‘I wouldn’t say that.’
‘Look at the facts, man. You’re a soldier and I’m a civilian. You’re a Protestant and I’m a Catholic. You’re English and I’m Irish.’
‘I’m half Dutch,’ Daniel reminded him.
‘Dutch or English – what does it matter? Both nations are fighting to defeat France and I’ve chosen to live out the rest of my life here. By rights, we should be mortal enemies. In fact, I don’t know why I’m wasting my breath talking to you.’
‘It’s because we’re two of a kind,’ argued Daniel.
‘Not anymore.’
‘At heart, we’re both adventurers, men who like to take chances.’
‘You can’t take chances when you have a wife and child, Dan.’
‘Perhaps not,’ said Daniel, ‘but you can yearn to do it. You can still have that urge deep inside you even if you’ve learnt to control it. I simply don’t believe that the Ronan Flynn I once knew has disappeared entirely.’
‘Well, I have. I’ve been reborn as a decent, law-abiding, God-fearing human being who doesn’t want any trouble.’
‘Does that mean you refuse to help me?’
‘Give me one good reason why I should,’ challenged Flynn.
Their eyes locked and Daniel could see that his friend was serious. It was an awkward moment. Without assistance from his friend, Daniel would find it difficult to slip out of the city unseen. He was relying on Flynn to provide unquestioning help.
‘Go on,’ pressed the Irishman, ‘give me one.’
‘Very well,’ said Daniel with a disarming smile. ‘I offer you one very good reason. It’s the only way you’ll get rid of me.’
Flynn burst out laughing. ‘You crafty devil – you’ve got an answer for everything, you silver-tongued son of a bitch. As a patriotic French citizen, I ought to turn you over to the police right now and have done with you.’
‘But you’re not going to do that, are you?’
‘No,’ said Flynn, putting a companionable arm around his shoulders, ‘I’m just dying to see the back of you. For that reason, I’m going to get you out of Paris even if I have to throw you over the city wall with my bare hands.’
Daniel chuckled. ‘I had something a little easier in mind.’
CHAPTER THREE
Amsterdam had not escaped the protracted cold spell. Its streets were frostbitten, its canals frozen and ice floated in its harbour. Holland was a maritime nation that relied on the free movement of its merchant fleet. At the moment, however, its ports were more or less paralysed. Fortunately, a prudent Dutch government had built up large reserves of corn, so the general suffering was not as great as in some countries. Yet it was still a testing time for the inhabitants of Amsterdam. The combination of glacial weather and a shortage of certain foodstuffs lowered the morale of the beleaguered city. Most people chose to stay indoors beside a fire and moan about their lot. What set the Janssen household apart from the majority was the fact that it reverberated to the sound of laughter and applause.
‘It’s magnificent, Father,’ said Amalia, clapping her hands.
‘More to the point,’ observed Emanuel Janssen, ‘it’s finally finished. I’ve spent so much time on the Battle of Ramillies, I feel as if I fought in it.’
‘It’s a masterpiece.’
‘Thank you, Amalia.’
‘What do you think, Beatrix?’
‘It’s wonderful,’ said the plump servant, staring open-mouthed at the tapestry. ‘I hate the thought of battles but this one is different.’
The other servants agreed with nods and muttered approbation. What they were looking at in the extensive workshop at the rear of the house was the completed tapestry commissioned by the Duke of Marlborough and due to hang in Blenheim Palace. Now that its separate elements had been sewn expertly together, it covered one entire wall and spilt over onto the two adjacent ones. It was held in place by Janssen, Kees Dopff and the other assistants who’d toiled at their looms to produce the vivid pictorial record of an Allied victory against the French. Amalia was especially thrilled with the result because Daniel Rawson, who’d taken an active part on the battlefield at Ramillies, had been deputed to advise her father about details of the encounter. It was thus a joint effort by the two people she loved most.
There was, however, a potential drawback.
‘Does this mean that we have to go to England in person to deliver it?’ asked Amalia, warily. ‘I sincerely hope that we don’t.’
‘Transport arrangements haven’t yet been made,’ said her father, ‘and there’s no chance of the tapestry leaving Amsterdam until the weather improves. Whatever happens, Amalia, I promise you that you’ll be spared the journey.’
‘That’s a relief.’
‘I can’t say that I’m looking forward to it. On the other hand, I can’t resist the pleasure of seeing my work hanging at Blenheim Palace. It’s a signal honour. However – under the circumstances – it’s perhaps better if I go on my own.’
Amalia was grateful. As the men began to fold up the tapestry with great care, she turned away and thought about her ill-fated visit to England the previous year. What could have been an exhilarating event in her life had been marred by the Duchess of Marlborough’s curt manner towards them and by the attentions of their host who had stalked Amalia relentlessly. Determined to seduce her, he’d tried to persuade her that Daniel had been killed in action and, to make sure her beloved was no longer an obstacle, dispatched an assassin to kill him. Though Daniel survived and was able to come to her rescue, Amalia’s view of England had been fatally jaundiced. The country held too many painful memories to lure her back.
It was the same for Beatrix Udderzook who’d accompanied her to England.
‘I wouldn’t go there again for all the money in the world,’ she said, stoutly. ‘The only thing I enjoyed seeing was St Paul’s Cathedral.’
‘Yes, that was truly amazing,’ conceded Amalia.
‘I didn’t like their food and I didn’t like the way they treated us.’
‘Then let’s put it out of our mind, shall we?’
‘We have everything we need right here in Amsterdam.’
‘You’re quite right, Beatrix.’
The servant’s eyes twinkled. ‘I usually am.’
Beatrix waddled off to continue her work, leaving Amalia standing beside her father, a round-shouldered man with a silver mane and beard. There was an air of fatigue about him as he looked down at the tapestry, now neatly folded up.
‘It may be the last of its kind,’ he said, sorrowfully.
‘What do you mean, Father?’
‘I’m n
ot sure that I could attempt anything on that scale again, Amalia. My eyes are not what they were and a day at the loom leaves me more and more tired. In future, I’ll have to take on commissions for smaller tapestries.’
‘You should let Kees and the others do most of the work.’
‘If I did that,’ he complained, ‘then, strictly speaking, it wouldn’t be a genuine Emanuel Janssen tapestry.’ He injected a note of pride into his voice. ‘People have come to appreciate my distinctive touch. Anything that leaves this workshop must have that. I’ll continue for as long as I can but at a slower pace.’
‘I think that’s very wise.’
‘It’s a necessity, Amalia.’
‘I know.’ She was struck by a thought. ‘What a pity it would be if you were offered the chance of making another tapestry for Blenheim Palace and had to turn the offer down.’
‘Oh, I doubt that His Grace would approach me again.’
‘He will when he sees the miracles you’ve worked with the Battle of Ramillies. He might ask you to do the same for Oudenarde.’ Amalia’s face glowed. ‘That would be such a treat for me.’
‘Why is that?’
‘Why else?’ she replied. ‘You’d need to speak to someone who fought in the battle and that means Daniel would be appointed as your advisor again. I’d get to see much more of him.’
Janssen smiled. ‘I don’t weave tapestries solely for your benefit, Amalia.’
‘Well, you ought to,’ she teased.
‘Besides, I suspect that Captain Rawson has far more important things to do than describing to me what happened at a battle last year. He’ll be too busy thinking about fighting against the French this year.’ He turned to her. ‘Do you happen to know where he is at the moment?’
5 A Very Murdering Battle Page 3
