‘Talks are going on, Henry, but nothing has been decided.’
‘What does your instinct tell you?’
‘There’ll be a lot more fighting to come,’ said Daniel.
‘And then?’
‘And then – eventually – one day, years hence from now, we’ll have peace.’
‘What will you do when that happens?’
‘I’ll buy you a drink to celebrate.’
‘I’m serious, Dan,’ said Welbeck, fixing him with a stare. ‘When this war finally ends, we’re not needed any more. Our occupation is gone.’
‘There’ll always be a need for good soldiers.’
Daniel sat up with a start when he heard what he’d just said. Without thinking of the implications, he’d blithely committed himself for ever to a military life. Fighting was in his blood. He wasn’t at all sure that Amalia would understand that and his mind went back to Ronan Flynn. The Irishman had turned his back on the army in order to embrace family life. Daniel wanted both – a wife and family in addition to continued service in a red coat. Welbeck saw the consternation in his friend’s eyes and guessed its origin.
‘You’re thinking of her, aren’t you?’
‘I’m always thinking of Amalia,’ confessed Daniel.
‘Women and war don’t mix, Dan. You know that.’
‘His Grace is married and so are most of his senior officers.’
‘But where are their wives?’ asked Welbeck. ‘They’re pining away at home, wondering if they’re still married or if their husbands are lying dead somewhere.’
Flynn had said something similar to Daniel but it still jolted him.
‘I had the sense to stay single,’ said Welbeck.
‘Your turn will come, Henry,’ teased Daniel.
‘Hell will freeze over before I look at a woman.’
‘You looked at Rachel Rees.’
‘She wasn’t a woman – she was a witch.’
‘That’s unkind. Rachel was a remarkable lady. How many other women would venture into an enemy stronghold in the way she did? It showed bravery.’
‘I’d call it stupidity.’
‘Then you showed the same stupidity in helping to rescue her.’
Welbeck was rancorous. ‘That was my biggest mistake. We should have left her where she was. The best place for a woman like that is behind bars where she could be fed on raw meat.’
Rachel Rees was an ebullient Welsh camp follower who’d buried two husbands but was not averse to marrying a third soldier. It was Rachel who’d entered Lille with Daniel then been arrested as she tried to leave. Welbeck had been recruited to help liberate her, thereby earning her heartfelt gratitude. Embarrassed by Rachel’s gushing affection for him, Welbeck had been relieved to hear that she’d decided to return home to Brecon. At a deep level, she’d made him feel threatened.
‘How’s everything here?’ asked Daniel.
‘It’s truly terrible,’ said Welbeck, pulling a face. ‘We’re cold, miserable, badly fed and bored. The only advantage of this weather is that it makes people think twice about deserting. I do my best to keep them on their toes. Marching them up and down is the one sure way to keep them warm.’
‘They’ll be warm enough when the campaign season starts.’
Welbeck snorted. ‘I don’t know which is worse, Dan – dodging the enemy’s musket volleys or putting up with the monotony of being in winter quarters. It’s a choice between danger and tedium. Each is as bad as the other.’
‘I’d choose danger every time, Henry.’
‘Does Amalia know that?’
Daniel was taken aback by the question. He considered his reply.
‘In a sense,’ he said at length, ‘I suppose that she does.’
‘The one thing I’ll say in favour of Rachel Rees is that she understood what soldiering means. She’s heard the roar of cannon and seen the ritual slaughter. She’s crawled over battlefields in search of booty. She’s smelt blood. What about Amalia?’ asked Welbeck. ‘Does she really know what happens when you put on your uniform and go to war?’
‘No,’ admitted Daniel.
‘Then perhaps you should tell her.’
Emanuel Janssen was very careful in his choice of apprentices. Not only did they have to spend a large amount of time under his roof, they had to share his love of his work. Kees Dopff had been an ideal apprentice, attentive, conscientious and possessing real flair. He was also extremely pleasant company. Feeling protective towards him, Janssen treated him like a son. He’d been less certain about Nicholaes Geel at first. The youth had been eager but there was an impulsiveness about him that worried Janssen. It took concentration and patience to produce a good tapestry and, at the start, Geel seemed to have neither quality. Yet he was very personable and had a readiness to learn. As it turned out, he lacked Dopff’s instinctive ability but he made up for it in other ways. Janssen had no cause to regret taking him on. Geel had served his apprenticeship and become a valuable member of the team. Whenever physical effort was required, he was always the first to step forward.
‘Where shall I put it, master?’ he asked.
Janssen pointed. ‘Over there in the corner, please.’
‘This will keep us going for a long time.’
‘It will have to, Nick. Stocks are low in the warehouse. Until ships can sail and imports can come into Amsterdam again, we may have to slow down a little.’
Geel was carrying a heavy bale of wool with comparative ease. Setting it down carefully in a corner of the warehouse, he rubbed his hands together. ‘We’ll have to start keeping our own sheep,’ he suggested.
‘If only we had the land to do that!’ said Janssen, covetously. ‘And if only this war would end, we’d be able to get the finest Picardy wool. That’s what I always used when trade with France was unimpeded.’
‘We can still get Italian silk. At least, we will when the roads become passable again. I can’t see many Italian merchants wanting to travel overland at the moment.’
It was early morning and Janssen had just taken delivery of some wool. Dopff was still finishing his breakfast and Pienaar had yet to arrive. Geel, however, was there ahead of the others and was a willing volunteer. Janssen plucked at his beard as he regarded his youngest employee.
‘Do you ever think about the future?’ he asked.
‘No, master, I never look beyond any particular day.’
‘Perhaps you should do so, Nick.’
‘But I’ve no need,’ said Geel with a grin. ‘I have the best job in the world and the most wonderful master. Working under you is an absolute joy. My life couldn’t be any happier. I just want to carry on as I am.’
‘So do I,’ said Janssen, ruefully, ‘but, alas, I can’t do that. Old age is taking its toll. I can’t go on for ever.’
‘You’re not old, master. You can still work as long and as hard as the rest of us. Amalia – your daughter, I mean – is always amazed at your energy. I’ve heard her talking about it to Beatrix.’
‘They can’t feel how much my body aches.’
‘You once told me that work keeps you young,’ recalled Geel.
‘That’s what I used to think at one time. It’s not true, Nick.’
‘I’ll wager that you still have years left in you, master.’
‘I certainly hope so,’ said Janssen with a smile, ‘but I don’t intend to spend them all at a loom. Sooner or later, I’ll retire.’
Geel was worried. ‘Do you mean that this workshop will close down?’
‘No, it just means that I’ll no longer be in charge. I’ll hand over to Aelbert. Tapestries will continue to be made here but not in the same way.’
‘I see … Have you told this to Aelbert?’
‘I don’t need to. He can see that I’m gradually slowing down. I don’t have the strength or the will to take on an apprentice. So I won’t be looking for another Nicholaes Geel to instruct in the magical art of weaving tapestries.’
Geel looked even more anxious
. ‘If and when you do retire, master,’ he said, ‘what will happen to me?’
‘That’s what you ought to consider.’
‘Won’t there be a place for me here?’
‘Yes, of course,’ said Janssen. ‘I’ll make that clear to Aelbert. You and Kees can work here for as long as you wish. Kees will certainly stay. He and Aelbert get on well together. But I can’t say the same of you, Nick.’
Geel was defensive. ‘Yes, you can – Aelbert and I are good friends.’
‘Then why has there been friction between the two of you? Oh, I know it’s nothing serious and it doesn’t affect your work, but the fact is that you find Aelbert rather dull. You’re always taunting him about it.’
‘I like a joke now and then, that’s all.’
‘But some of your gibes hurt him deeply. That’s why he strikes back at you. All that he wants to do is get on quietly with his work.’
‘Conversation doesn’t hurt anyone, master. It helps to pass the time. When you’re not here, I’ve nobody to talk to. Kees can’t speak and Aelbert chooses not to. It’s the reason I end up trying to prod him into saying something.’
‘Perhaps you should try to leave him alone.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Where Aelbert is concerned, you have fences to mend. He’ll take my place one day and he won’t stand for any mischief-making when he holds the whip hand over you. Can you hear what I’m telling you, Nick?’
‘I think so,’ said Geel, uneasily. ‘Things are going to change.’
‘Let me be blunt,’ said Janssen. ‘You can either look for work elsewhere or stay on here. If you decide to leave, you’ll get a glowing testimonial from me. If you stay, however,’ he warned, solemnly, ‘you’ll need to treat Aelbert with a lot more respect. Start doing that now.’
Geel was sobered. He hadn’t realised how much his good-natured teasing upset his older colleague. There was nothing malicious in it. Aelbert Pienaar was such a dry and lacklustre companion. While he sympathised with him over the loss of his wife, Geel could never bring himself to like the fellow because they had nothing whatsoever in common. Could he spend most of his life working under such a person? It was a moot point. Until his employer had raised the subject, Geel had never thought about his future, assuming that it was already set out. He’d continue to work for Janssen indefinitely and have the occasional thrill of talking to Amalia. Seeing her more or less every day was a positive delight and he’d hate to forfeit it. While Pienaar brought dark clouds into the house, Amalia radiated sunlight. Geel loved to bask in it. He couldn’t bear to lose her.
When he heard the door open behind him, he turned round and saw Pienaar enter the workshop. Glad to be out of the cold, the newcomer looked rather forlorn. Geel manufactured a smile of welcome.
‘Good morning, Aelbert,’ he said, pleasantly. ‘How are you today?’
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Janssen nod in approval.
Amalia sat near the window as Beatrix brushed her mistress’s hair with steady, rhythmical movements. It was late afternoon and light was fading. The servant was in a reflective mood.
‘I wonder what it’s like to be married,’ she mused.
Amalia laughed in surprise. ‘Why ever do you wonder that?’
‘It’s something I’ll never enjoy.’
‘That’s not true, Beatrix.’
‘My life is here and I’m happy with it. Besides, what man would look at me twice? Whenever I’m out with you, I might as well be invisible. Men only have eyes for you, Miss Amalia. They ignore me.’
‘Aelbert doesn’t ignore you,’ Amalia pointed out, ‘and neither does Nick. They both like you immensely. Nick loves chatting to you.’
‘Yes,’ conceded Beatrix, ‘but what do we chat about? It’s not me, I can tell you. The only person Nick is interested in is you. He’s always asking after you. In any case,’ she went on with a sigh, ‘Nick is too young for me.’
‘What about Aelbert?’
‘He’s too old – and he’d never marry a mere servant.’
‘You’re a lot more to me than that, Beatrix.’
‘That’s because I brush your hair so nicely. I can’t do that for Aelbert because the poor man doesn’t have any.’ They both giggled. ‘Oh, we shouldn’t laugh at him,’ said Beatrix, controlling her mirth. ‘He’s still mourning his wife. He doted on her.’
‘And I’m sure there’s someone who’d dote on you,’ said Amalia. ‘Given the chance, that is.’
‘But they’ll never get that chance, will they?’
‘Don’t give up hope.’
‘That’s the odd thing. I’m not sure that I have any hope.’
‘I don’t follow.’
‘Well, I’m curious to know what being married is like, but I doubt if I’d really enjoy it. I’d hate to share my life with someone then lose them. I couldn’t cope with the grief. Look at Aelbert – he’ll never get over the death of his wife. And your father is the same, Miss Amalia. I know it was a long time ago but he still misses your dear mother. So do I, for that matter.’
A tear came into Amalia’s eye. ‘We all miss her terribly.’
‘I think it will be safer for me to stay a spinster.’
‘Wait until you meet the right man, Beatrix.’
‘I doubt that I ever will.’
‘You’d make someone a wonderful wife.’
Beatrix was upset. ‘Are you saying you wish to get rid of me?’
‘No, no, of course I don’t.’
‘I thought you were very satisfied with my work.’
‘I am,’ said Amalia. ‘I just want what’s best for you.’
‘Well, I’ve already got that.’
Having initiated the discussion, Beatrix brought it to an abrupt end. She began to wield the brush more vigorously. Amalia sat back in the chair and said nothing. It was minutes before the silence was broken. Glancing out of the window, Beatrix suddenly froze, holding the hairbrush in mid-air. She looked hard for a few seconds at a rider coming towards the house in the twilight.
‘That’s him!’ she cried. ‘I told you there was someone out there. That’s the strange man who’s been watching the house.’
Amalia stood up to look. ‘Who are you talking about?’
‘The man on the horse – I recognise him.’
‘So do I,’ said Amalia, letting out a whoop of delight. ‘It’s Daniel!’
And she rushed excitedly to the front door as fast as her legs would carry her.
CHAPTER SIX
Henry Welbeck had few real friends in the regiment. His abrasive manner and unforgiving nature were more likely to create enemies. Leo Curry was both friend and enemy, allied to him as a fellow sergeant yet in constant verbal conflict with him. The mutual respect between them came and went with almost tidal regularity. With the exception of Daniel Rawson, Welbeck’s closest friend was Joel Drew, a grizzled individual in his sixties with short, grey hair and a pockmarked face. Drew was a vivid illustration of the perils of warfare. He’d lost two fingers in one battle, an eye in a second and a limb in a third. Yet, though he was forced to hobble around on his wooden leg and squint at people through his one remaining eye, he had no trace of bitterness or regret. Drew considered himself to be a survivor and was eternally grateful for that. When others bemoaned lesser injuries, he could put them to shame. His cheerfulness and resilience were an example to all.
‘What can I do for you today, Sergeant?’ he asked.
‘Try to make me look pretty,’ said Welbeck.
Drew cackled. ‘Even the Almighty couldn’t do that. The best I can promise is to make you a little less hideous.’
‘Then I’ll settle for that.’
Unable to bear arms, it had never occurred to Drew to quit the army and return home. In his view, that would be a form of desertion. In spite of its vicissitudes, he enjoyed the life of a soldier. Keen to make a contribution of some sort, he became the regimental barber, cutting the hair of all and sundry with a
skill that belied the fact that his eyesight was impaired. Everyone liked Drew. He was wise, experienced, good-natured and always willing to listen to the woes of others without passing judgement. A visit to the barber left people feeling better afterwards.
Welbeck sat down and removed his hat, resting it on his lap. Drew reached for his scissors. They were in a little hut where the barber had set up shop. He asked the same question that he always put to Welbeck.
‘Shall I give you a shave as well, Sergeant?’
‘No, thank you,’ replied the other. ‘Much as I trust you, I wouldn’t let any man hold a razor to my throat. You know why.’
‘Sergeants are never popular.’
‘That’s why I became one.’
‘Do you enjoy being disliked?’
‘What I enjoy is being feared.’
‘Then you hold the right rank,’ observed Drew, starting to snip away. ‘I worship His Grace, the Duke, and I admire some of his officers, but the only person I ever feared was the black-hearted bastard of a sergeant who made my life a misery when I first joined the army.’
‘Did you ever try to get revenge on him?’
‘I thought about it. Then I got caught up in a skirmish and realised why he’d been such a merciless tyrant. He’d prepared me for battle. But for him, I’d have been filling my breeches at the sound of an enemy musket. As it was,’ said Drew with a chuckle, ‘I knew exactly what to do.’
‘Did you thank the sergeant afterwards?’
‘Oh, no – that would have been too much to ask.’
Welbeck laughed. He was fond of the barber and always took pleasure from his company. At the same time, he felt a twinge of discomfort whenever he saw Joel Drew, wondering if that was how he would one day end up. When his fighting days were over, would he become a philosophical old soldier like Drew and find a means of making himself useful in the army? Was that the fate that awaited Welbeck? It was not one that appealed to him. Dismissing such thoughts from his mind, he talked about the prospects for the campaign season and the two of them speculated at length about the resources of the French army.
‘We kicked every last turd out of them at Oudenarde,’ recalled Drew as if he’d actually fought in the battle, ‘and we did the same at the siege of Lille. I don’t think King Louis will be able to put a proper army in the field again.’
5 A Very Murdering Battle Page 7
