Soldier of Fortune

by Edward Marston

  'I haven't forgotten that,' said Daniel soulfully. 'I still feel guilty. Richard Hopwood died in place of me.'

  'Then his sacrifice was not in vain. We need you, Dan.'

  'We needed the lieutenant as well. I know he was untried but he had some fire in his belly. He wanted to fight the French. When they see urgency and commitment in an officer, the men respect him all the more. Richard Hopwood will be mourned.'

  'Do you think we'll ever find his killer?'

  'We must,' replied Daniel. 'It's a sacred duty.'

  'It will be like finding a pin's head in a cart-load of hay.'

  'I have a feeling it will be a lot easier than that, Henry.'

  'We'll never see Will Curtis again.'

  'He'll be back one day. If he's clever enough to get inside our camp the way he did, he won't give up. Sooner or later, he'll make a second attempt at killing me.'

  'Why?'

  Daniel smiled. 'I'll remember to ask him before I shoot him.'

  'Take care, Dan,' said Welbeck with gruff affection. 'If anything happened to you, I'd miss you a lot. You're an ugly bugger but I'd still prefer to see your head staying on your shoulders.'

  'Thank you.'

  'I must go. Bear in mind what I said.'

  'Do the same for me,' said Daniel. 'Remember what I said about imparting confidence to the men. Glow with optimism, Henry. We could be on the verge of a tremendous victory.'

  'Oh, I agree,' said Welbeck gloomily. 'But will either of us still be alive to celebrate it?'

  Daniel watched him go, knowing full well that his friend would not pass on his private fears to his men. Soldiers drilled by Sergeant Henry Welbeck were among the best-disciplined in the British army. Daniel knew they would acquit themselves well in combat. How the Dutch, Danish, Prussians, Italians, Austrians and other nationalities in the allied force would behave in action was an open question. As he considered it, Daniel's eye fell on the new arrivals. Like the main army, they had made the long and arduous journey from Holland. They looked exhausted and bedraggled.

  Two wagons rolled in at the rear of the column and came to a halt. Daniel could not understand why they had sought out the British section of the camp instead of that of their countrymen. The answer came in the shape of two female figures who were helped down from the second wagon. One of them spotted Daniel immediately.

  'Captain Rawson!' she called, waving joyfully.

  It was Abigail Piper.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  When she came hurrying towards him, Daniel Rawson did not know whether to be pleased or disturbed by her arrival. He was relieved to see that she was alive and apparently uninjured but troubled that she would expect much more from him than he was able to give. Her face was shining with such exultation that he could not resist giving her a warm smile in return and offering both his hands. Instead of seizing them in a gesture of greeting, however, she flung herself against him and forced him into a full embrace. Watching soldiers made ribald comments and Daniel felt self-conscious.

  'How nice to see you again, Abigail,' he said, gently detaching himself from her. 'I'd heard that you sailed for Holland but I never imagined that you'd catch up with us.'

  'I can do anything when I set my mind to it.'

  'So I see.'

  'Especially when I have someone like Emily to help me,' she said, turning to indicate her maid who stood beside the wagon. 'Emily has been a saint. When I asked her to come with me, she was afraid that Father would punish her for it but she came nevertheless. I think Father will praise her for the way she's looked after me.'

  'You've caused Sir Nicholas a lot of heartache.'

  'That couldn't be helped.'

  'He wrote to the Duke of Marlborough to tell him what you'd done. That was how I got to hear of your little adventure.'

  'Oh dear!' she exclaimed. 'I was hoping to surprise you.'

  'You've certainly done that, Abigail,' he said. 'When I saw those troops riding up, the last thing I expected was for you to jump out of one of their wagons. Where have you been since you left England?'

  'I've so much to tell you, Daniel. It's been extraordinary. Is there somewhere we can talk in private?'

  'Yes, of course - we'll go to my tent.'

  'Come and meet Emily first,' she insisted. 'She deserves thanks for getting me here in one piece.'

  Daniel walked back to the wagon with her and was introduced to the maid. He had glimpsed her on his visit to the Piper household in London but had spared her no more than a cursory glance. Emily looked flushed and weary. When she shot Daniel a look of intense admiration, he realised how much Abigail had been singing his praises. Behind her deference and her blind loyalty to her mistress, he sensed that Emily was a resourceful young woman, brave enough to endure the vicissitudes of travel through foreign countries and robust enough to stand guard over Abigail.

  Calling a man over, Daniel instructed him to escort Emily to the area where the camp followers were accommodated. The women who trailed the army in the baggage wagons were no longer the prostitutes and slatterns of former days. Because they caused distraction and spread disease, Marlborough had outlawed them from his army. In their place were the wives and women friends of the soldiers, willing to accompany their men into places of great danger and acting as washerwomen, cooks, seamstresses and, occasionally, as nurses on the way. Emily went off with the soldier, who carried what little luggage she and her mistress had brought.

  As they walked together through the camp, Daniel collected many envious stares while Abigail harvested appreciative whistles and muttered words of wonder. He was grateful to take her into his tent and away from the public gaze. Abigail gazed lovingly up at him then she suddenly burst into tears.

  'What's the matter?' he asked, enfolding her tenderly in his arms. 'You're safe now, Abigail. There's no need for you to cry.'

  'I never thought we'd get here,' she said, biting her lip. 'Some terrible things happened to us on the way. It was dreadful. What frightened me most was that, even if we did manage to reach the army, you might not be here. Our journey would have been in vain.'

  'Why not sit down and tell me all about it?'

  'It's so wonderful to see you again, Daniel.'

  'And it's wonderful to see you,' he said, guiding her to a stool and sitting beside her. 'Now dry your eyes and let me have a proper look at you.'

  Abigail took a handkerchief from her pocket and dabbed at her tears. The exigencies of travel had left their signature on her. Some of her bloom had gone and her hair was matted and lacking its former sheen. Her cheeks had hollowed slightly, making her beauty a little ravaged. As he appraised her, Daniel could see all the things that had attracted him to her but he no longer regarded her through the eyes of a potential lover. What she now aroused were his paternal instincts. Instead of wanting her in his bed, he felt impelled to protect her by taking on the role of a father.

  'It was your fault,' she said quietly. 'You were responsible for my decision to come here.'

  'I gave you no encouragement to do such a thing, Abigail.'

  'Yes, you did. It was when we met over dinner that night. Lord Godolphin asked you about some of your escapades and you said - I remember it clearly - that there were times when you had to act on impulse and follow your inner promptings.'

  'I was talking about the heat of a battle,' he recalled, 'about decisions made in a time of crisis.'

  'That was exactly my position,' she said earnestly. 'When I heard that you were leaving me, I was faced with a crisis. So I did what you advised, Daniel, and acted on impulse. I let my heart rule my actions.'

  'But think of the consequences.'

  'I reached you at long last and that's everything to me.'

  'Didn't you consider how hurt and anxious your parents would be? They must be sick with worry - and so must your sister. The wonder is that Dorothy made no mention of your flight in her letter.'

  Abigail was stung. 'Dorothy wrote to you?'

  'Her letter caught up wi
th me in the Netherlands.'

  'But she told me that it would be wrong to write to you. In fact, she dissuaded me from doing do, saying that it would make you think less of me if I put pen to paper. Yet all the time,' she went on, anger reddening her cheeks, 'my sister planned to send you a letter herself. That was vile treachery. What did she say?'

  'She simply wrote to wish me good luck,' said Daniel, hiding the truth from her. 'I can only assume that her letter was sent before you decided to sail after me.'

  'Has she written to you again?'

  'No, Abigail.'

  'Are you sure?'

  'I had one short letter and that was that.'

  'Have you kept it?'

  'No,' said Daniel, 'and even if I had, I'd not have shown it to you. It's private correspondence, Abigail. It has no relevance to you.'

  'It has great relevance,' she said, still enraged. 'It proves what a lying and deceitful sister I have. Dorothy is not content with having her own admirers, she's trying to steal you as well.'

  'That won't happen,' he assured her.

  'Do you give me your promise?'

  'Yes, Abigail.'

  'What Dorothy did was unpardonable.'

  'On balance,' he said, 'I think that it might have been better for all concerned if your sister had not written to me and if you had not pursued me halfway across Europe.'

  Her face crumpled. 'Aren't you pleased to see me, Daniel?'

  'I'm always pleased to see you,' he replied gallantly, 'but I'd rather do so in the safety of an English house than in a theatre of war. You've seen the size of our army, Abigail. The French and Bavarians will throw just as many men into the field. It's simply not a place for a young lady like you to be.'

  'I thought you'd be touched by my devotion.'

  'I am - very touched. You've shown amazing courage.'

  'Yet you wish I hadn't bothered to come.' 'I wish it for your sake,' said Daniel, squeezing her hand. 'If you stay with us, you'll witness the most appalling things. A lot of those soldiers we saw as we walked past just now will give their lives in battle before long. War is a cruel and repulsive business, Abigail. I want to shield you from all that.'

  'But I feel perfectly safe now I'm with you.'

  'We can't stay together for long. I have duties.'

  'I understand that, Daniel. Knowing that we're in the same camp is enough for me.' Her eyes moistened again. 'That's all I want. Surely, it's not too much to ask.'

  He was moved by her plea. Though he wanted to send her back home, he felt it would be too unkind to tell her so at that moment. Abigail deserved time to recover from her travails and a chance to enjoy some leisure, albeit briefly, with the man she adored. She would soon see how hard and unremitting life in an army camp could be for a woman. Harsh experience of the realities of warfare would be more persuasive than anything he could tell her.

  'No,' he said softly, 'it's not too much to ask, Abigail. It was a treat to see your face when you recognised me.'

  She brightened at once. 'I'd recognise you anywhere, Daniel.'

  'You said that terrible things happened to you on the way here.' 'Did I?'

  'Tell me all about them.'

  'I just want to enjoy being alone with you, Daniel.'

  'You can do both at the same time,' he said. 'If you had trouble or met with hindrance, I want to know about it and so will the Duke. Everything you've done in the last six or seven weeks is important to me, Abigail. Tell me the full story.'

  Bad news was a fact of life during a campaign and the Duke of Marlborough had long ago learnt to accept that. Outbreaks of disease among the troops, the late arrival of reinforcements, adverse weather conditions and a whole series of unforeseen hazards could throw the best-laid plans into disarray. Marlborough never fretted over bad tidings. He responded by taking prompt action.

  'Word has come from Prince Eugene,' he said, waving the despatch. 'He doubts if he can hold the line against the French and that Marshal Tallard will out-manouevre him.'

  'It was asking a lot of the Prince,' opined Adam Cardonnel.

  'The task I set him was too formidable. Even with the Danish infantry to support him, he had insufficient men. He can pursue Tallard but lacks the troops to intercept his progress.'

  Marlborough was in his quarters with his secretary and his brother, Charles Churchill, General of Foot and a very experienced soldier. A handsome man in his late forties, Churchill resembled his brother in appearance and manner. He was concerned by the news.

  'Tallard will be here earlier than we anticipated,' he said.

  'Yes,' agreed Marlborough. 'Even though he lost so many horses on the way, he's coming through the Black Forest at a steady pace. We can only hope he'll be delayed by bad weather in the mountains and by angry foresters who have no love for the French.'

  'Prince Eugene will hound Tallard but be unable to stop him.'

  'It means that we have to press on hard and establish supply depots at Donauworth. Once we cross the Danube and go deep into Bavaria, our depots at Nordlingen will be too far away.'

  'And it would be possible for the enemy to cut us off from our supply line,' observed Cardonnel. 'That would be fatal.'

  'Where are Marshal Marsin and the Elector?' asked Churchill.

  'Snug and well-defended in Dillingen,' relied Marlborough. 'They realise that Donauworth is our most likely target. The latest reports say that the town and the Schellenberg above it are being fortified by Count d'Arco.'

  'Do we know what resources D'Arco has at his disposal?'

  'Yes, Charles - he has veteran French and Bavarian infantry at his command, together with dismounted dragoons and two batteries of guns. Bavarian militia and a French battalion have garrisoned the town.' Marlborough consulted another despatch. 'The latest estimate we have puts the force on the Schellenberg at over 12,000.'

  'That's a substantial number,' remarked Cardonnel.

  'The hill must nevertheless be stormed,' said Marlborough. 'If we take Donauworth, as we must, we can proceed with the next stage of our plan. I won't even entertain the notion of failure.'

  'What role will the Margrave of Baden have?' said Churchill.

  'We'll need him to give us close support, Charles. I had hoped that he could act independently of us but that would leave us with a shortage of troops.'

  'There may be some benefit there.'

  'In what way?'

  'We can keep an eye on him, John.'

  Marlborough gave an understanding nod. Prince Louis- William, the Margrave of Baden, was a fine soldier. He had been appointed commander-in-chief of the Imperial army in Hungary in 1689 when he was still in his mid-thirties. Victory against Ottoman forces with a two to one advantage over him had earned him the nickname of 'Turken-Louis'. He went on to take command of the Imperial armies on the Rhine. He was a valued ally, not least because of the success he had achieved against the French in the previous year. A question mark, however, remained over his loyalty. According to intelligence reports received by Marlborough, the Margrave of Baden was maintaining friendly correspondence with the Elector of Bavaria even though they were on opposite sides.

  'Nobody can doubt his bravery and skill,' said Cardonnel.

  'But can we trust him?' said Churchill. 'That's the point.'

  'I believe that we can.'

  'We have no choice,' said Marlborough, pursing his lips. 'If he's prepared to fight alongside us, it doesn't matter if he's sending billets-doux to Louis XIV. As long as he's not making secret deals with the enemy to betray us, we must rely on him.'

  'The Emperor clearly does,' said Cardonnel.

  'Yes, Adam, and he's a shrewd judge of character.'

  'I still think he needs to be watched,' advised Churchill.

  'He will be,' said Marlborough. 'Well,' he added, striking his thigh with a hand. 'I think we know our course of action. We'll have an early night, rise at three and press on hard towards Donauworth. With luck, we'll reach the Schellenberg before they've had time to complete the for
tifications. Battle will be joined at last, gentlemen.' He smiled at the prospect. 'It can't come soon enough for me.'

  Daniel Rawson was patient. As he listened to her long narrative, he did not interrupt Abigail Piper once. Her account was detailed and, from time to time, she referred to her diary so that she could give the correct sequence of events.

  She told him about the terrifying voyage, about her journey through the Netherlands and how she and Emily had been cast adrift at one stage. They had been caught in heavy rain, chased by outlaws and forced to sleep in a barn more than once. They were on German soil when they were rescued by the detachment of Dutch soldiers who had eventually delivered them to the camp.

  'I knew that we'd get here in the end,' she said, beaming at him.

  'How could you be so sure?'

  'Im lucky by nature, Daniel. That's how I came to meet you in the first place.'

  'I certainly had good fortune when I met you,' he said fondly. 'My stay in London was brightened by our acquaintance.'

  'It's more than an acquaintance, surely?'

  'Yes, Abigail, it is. I look upon you as a dear friend.' She almost swooned with pleasure. 'But that doesn't stop me from being cross with you for putting your life at risk. I get paid to do that. You do not.'

  She smiled dreamily. 'I simply had to come.'

  'I accept that,' he said, speaking quickly before she could make a declaration that he felt would be embarrassing. 'However, the truth of it is that you and your maid acted in a way that could have proved suicidal.' He leant in closer. 'Have you told me everything, Abigail?'

  'Yes, of course.'

  'Are you certain about that?'

  'I'd never lie to you, Daniel.'

  He was not accusing her of lying but of suppressing some facts. Though she appeared to be telling him the full story of her travels, he had the impression that something was missing, some unpleasant detail that she had either pushed out of her mind or simply held back from him. Abigail Piper had been changed by the long trek. She looked at once younger and older than before, an innocent, defenceless girl with no knowledge of the darker aspects of human behaviour and a mature young woman who had entered adulthood somewhere between The Hague and the Rhine valley. Daniel was bound to wonder what she was hiding but he decided that it was not the moment to press her on the subject of painful memories.