'No, Miss Abigail.'
'Who could have done such a terrible thing?'
'They have no idea.'
'I could have been killed,' said Abigail, shuddering at the idea.
'I don't think the shot was aimed at you, Miss Abigail. The target was Captain Rawson. With respect, you would be no loss to the army but the captain would. According to the woman, her husband was certain that the attacker was trying to kill a British officer.'
Abigail gasped. 'That's even worse!' she cried. 'I'd rather have died myself than live without him. This is appalling, Emily. I knew nothing about any of this.'
'Perhaps the captain felt that it was better that way.'
'He should have told me.'
'He didn't wish to alarm you, Miss Abigail.'
The suggestion did not reassure Abigail. If anything, it made her feel even more distressed. She believed that Daniel
Rawson had kept the facts from her because he perceived her as too weak and fragile to cope with such grim tidings. Instead of sharing his worries with her, he had kept them to himself. Abigail had been deliberately kept in the dark and that hurt her. Daniel was under threat. Her pleasant stroll with him now took on a more sinister and disturbing aspect.
It was the morning after the battle and the two women were standing outside the tent in which they had spent the night. Most of the camp followers slept in the back of wagons or rigged up some rudimentary cover. Abigail and her maid were more fortunate because Marlborough had arranged for them to have a small tent. Though they were miles away from the battle, the women had heard all too clearly the booming of the cannon, the popping of musketry and the constant roll of drums. News of victory had been brought back but it was offset by reports of heavy losses. Abigail had lain awake all night, praying that Daniel Rawson was not among the fallen.
Already tired and distraught, she was close to despair when she was told about the attempt on Daniel's life. While she had been imploring him to withdraw from the Forlorn Hope, he had almost been killed by a sniper in the bushes. Clutching her hands tightly together, she walked up and down as she tried to absorb what she had been told. Emily took a more practical view.
'We shouldn't be here, Miss Abigail,' she said firmly.
'We have to be here, Emily.'
'If that's your wish, then I'll obey you as I've always done. But I've been talking to the others. They belong here. They know what to expect and are hardened by experience.'
'We, too, have shown endurance.'
'It's not the same,' said Emily. 'We're outsiders.'
'The other ladies have been very kind to us.'
'That's because they all pull together in adversity. They're used to supporting each other. I've been talking to some of them, Miss Abigail. Their stories are heart-breaking.'
'I know that army life can be testing.'
'It's an ordeal. You deserve better.'
'I still prefer to stay, Emily.'
'Then I'll stay with you,' said the other with resignation. There was some commotion off to their right and they traded an anxious glance. 'What's that noise?'
'Let's go and find out,' decided Abigail.
Picking their way through the tents, they came to an avenue down which a long column of wagons rumbled. Blood-curdling moans were coming from wounded soldiers brought back from the battlefield and the sound was swelled by wailing women who had just discovered that their husbands had lost limbs or had their faces shot off. Abigail and Emily were transfixed by the gruesome sight. Medical provisions were primitive and the most that surgeons had been able to do was to amputate arms and legs before gangrene set in, or to bandage hideous wounds without being able to stem the bleeding.
It was a scene of undiluted horror. Gallant soldiers who had marched off proudly into battle were now little more than bundles of bones in ragged uniforms, crying out pitifully for someone to relieve their agony. There were so many of them. The column stretched back out of sight. Abigail stood there and gaped as an endless stream of human misery went past. She blenched when she saw a man waving a bandaged stump of an arm at her and was sickened when she observed another who had lost both legs at the knees. Wherever she looked, there was some new assault on her sensibilities. It was like viewing an endless parade of corpses.
Yet she could not tear herself away. Afraid that Daniel Rawson might be part of the mournful traffic to Nordlingen, she forced herself to look into every wagon, revolted by the sight of so much blood and shocked by the fact that some of the men had already expired from their injuries. The cloying stench of death and the stink of putrifying wounds invaded her nostrils and made her retch with nausea. As she checked yet another cargo of mutilated soldiers, a skinny hand shot out and grabbed her by the wrist.
'Give me a kiss, darling!' begged a desperate man whose head and body were swathed in blood-soaked bandages. 'I need something to keep out this terrible pain.'
But even as he spoke, his strength waned visibly and he lost his grip on Abigail. His fingers fell away, leaving a bloody imprint on the sleeve of her dress. She jumped back in alarm. Emily had already seen more than enough.
'Come away, Miss Abigail,' she said. 'You shouldn't look.'
Abigail was trembling. 'I hadn't realised it would be like this.'
'Turn your back on it.'
'I have to see if Captain Rawson has been wounded.'
'If he has, you'll be told soon enough. He'd not want you to see him in the state these poor men are in. Most of them are nearer to death than life. Could you stand to see the captain like that?'
'No,' said Abigail, closing her eyes. 'It would be intolerable.'
'Then let me take you away,' suggested Emily, holding her by the arm and leading her off. 'You may not think it to look at them but those are the lucky ones.'
'Lucky!'
'They survived the battle.'
'But what kind of lives do they face with injuries like that?' asked Abigail as she envisaged their bleak futures. 'And what kind of burden will they be on their wives and children?'
'Women who marry soldiers know where it may all end. If they don't have to watch their man being buried, they may well have to care for an invalid. That's their lot and they put up with it because they have no other expectation. I told you before,' said Emily, 'they belong here and we don't. I think we should go home.'
Sergeant Henry Welbeck had fought with his usual blend of skill and ferocity when they stormed the hill. Now that the battle was over, it was time for recriminations. Alone with Daniel Rawson, he felt able to express his complaints in language he would never dare to use to any other officer. Daniel's tent gave him the freedom of privacy.
'It was bloody madness, Dan!' he bellowed. 'Sending us up that hill was the worst fucking thing that Corporal John has done.'
'The end justifies the means, Henry.'
'He always used to care for his men.'
'He still does,' said Daniel, 'but there was no way that he could protect them yesterday. They had to be ordered into battle.'
'But why did it have to be British bloody soldiers who died? Aren't there enough Dutch and Danish and Austrian troops to send off to their deaths? Why did we have to provide the Forlorn Hope?' he went on. 'More to the point, why did you take leave of your bloody senses and volunteer to join it?'
'I wanted to be in the thick of the action.'
'Well, you came very close to being in an early grave. I had to organise the burial details. Do you know how many of my men I saw being dropped into the ground - what was left of them, that is. Going up that hill was nothing short of suicide.'
'What else could we have done, Henry?'
'We could've had a good night's rest, for a start.'
Daniel laughed. 'Have you ever rested on eve of a battle?'
'You know what I mean, Dan. We'd marched all day. We were in no condition to give of our best. Yet that's what His Grace, the Duke of Bloody Marlborough, expected us to do.'
'I saw nobody shirking on the battlefi
eld.'
'It was needless fucking slaughter.'
'They had far more casualties,' said Daniel.
Welbeck glowered. 'Is that supposed to make me feel better?'
'We won, Henry. That's all that matters.'
'Thank you for telling me,' said the other sarcastically.
Daniel was sitting on a camp stool but his friend was striding restlessly to and fro. Both of them had picked up their share of grazes and bruises during the battle. Welbeck had been stabbed in the arm by an enemy bayonet and the wound was heavily bandaged. He had also acquired a black eye. Daniel's face had been washed but his scars and bruises remained and his lower lip was swollen. The gash on his back had been cleaned and dressed. Now that the thrill of battle had gone, he could feel every bruise and abrasion but, in view of their victory, it was an almost satisfying pain.
'At least, you were there,' said Welbeck, stopping beside him. 'I heard that someone tried to kill you.'
'Thousands of French and Bavarians tried to kill me, Henry.' 'I'm talking about what happened in this camp.'
'Ah, yes - that.'
Welbeck was scornful. 'Listen to the man!' he said. 'Someone fires a shot at him and all he can say is "Ah, yes - that." If it had been me, I'd be furious.'
'You always are, Henry.'
'What exactly happened?'
Daniel gave him a brief account of the walk beside the stream. When he was told that Abigail Piper had fainted in Daniel's arms, the sergeant emitted a howl of contempt.
'Bloody women!' he exclaimed. 'She distracted you, Dan.'
'I should have been more careful, I agree.'
'From the way you tell it, I could almost believe she led you to that particular spot so that an accomplice could take a shot at you.'
'That's arrant nonsense,' said Daniel hotly. 'Abigail loves me. She'd rather take a bullet herself than see me killed. No, Henry, it was pure coincidence that we were on the edge of the camp like that.'
'It was no coincidence that the man who fired the pistol was there. He was lying in wait, Dan. And although you didn't see so much as a glimpse of his arse as he ran away, I reckon I could put a name to the bastard.'
'Can you?'
'Of course - it was Will Curtis, as he used to call himself.'
'You could be right,' said Daniel, mulling it over. 'He crossed my mind as well. He or his accomplice failed to kill me in this very tent so he had a second attempt.'
'He would have known how we pitched our camp and where to find the British contingent. It has to be Will Curtis.'
'But why single out me, Henry?'
'Haven't you worked that out yet?'
'I'm not that important to the army.'
'This is nothing to do with army matters,' said Welbeck, hands on his hips. 'You've been sewing wild oats in someone else's field, Dan Rawson. That's my guess, anyway. This is the work of some bloody woman - or of her husband, anyway. You've upset him by tupping his wife. He's after your balls.'
It was a sobering thought and it brought Daniel to his feet. Until now, he had forgotten all about Berenice Salignac and their time together in Paris. She suddenly came rushing back into his mind, accompanied by the spectre of her husband.
It was a risk that could pay handsome dividends. Having grown a beard, Charles Catto completed his disguise by winding a bandage around his head so that it half-covered an eye. He had kept the uniform in which he had fled the camp and put it on once more. If he were caught, he expected no mercy but then he would get none from General Salignac if he failed. Trapped between menacing alternatives, he chose the one that was at hand.
'How do I look, Frédéric?' he asked.
'Like someone I ought to kill,' replied Seurel, studying him through narrowed lids. 'What happens if someone recognises you?'
'Then he'll have excellent eyesight.'
'You're taking a big chance, Charles.'
'There's a big reward if I succeed,' said Catto. 'I'll keep well away from the men I met when I enlisted, especially that crusty Sergeant Welbeck. He's the one person who might pick me out.'
'What do I do?'
'Wait until I return.'
'And if you don't get back?'
'Then you'll know I was caught. That's highly unlikely, however,' said Catto. 'You know what armies are like after a battle. All they want to do is to rest, nurse their wounds, mourn their dead comrades and boast about what they did to secure the victory. None of them will even remember their brief acquaintance with Private Will Curtis.'
'How will you get into the camp?'
'Leave that to me, Frédéric.'
'As long as you don't kill Captain Rawson,' said Seurel with a warning growl. 'He's all mine.'
'I don't expect to get anywhere near the captain this time.'
'Then why are you going to the British camp?'
'For the best possible reason,' said Catto suavely, adjusting the bandage over his eyebrow before putting on his tricorn hat. 'I'm going to meet a beautiful young lady.'
Abigail Piper had been shaken to the core by what she had seen. To be so close to so many grotesque injuries had been a revelation to her. Tales of military heroism heard at the dinner table were always exciting but they never dwelt on the savagery and anguish of a battle. They never mentioned the consequences. Abigail felt the need to be alone. Emily Greene was happy to go off and talk to some of the other women, leaving her mistress in their tent. There was one consolation for Abigail. A scribbled note from Daniel Rawson had assured her that he was alive and well. She had gone dizzy with relief.
Perched on a stool in her tent, she now began for the first time to question her actions in sailing after the army. Daniel had given her no encouragement to do so and had seemed faintly embarrassed by her arrival. They were meeting in the wrong place at the wrong time. As long as he was engaged in the campaign, she now understood, there would never be a right time. Abigail was in the way. It was a painful truth but it had to be acknowledged. With disarming politeness, the Duke of Marlborough had made the same point to her.
She was still locked in thought when a voice interrupted her.
'Abigail,' said Daniel from outside the tent. 'Are you there?'
'Yes, yes,' she answered, leaping up and opening the flap to let him in. 'I've been hoping against hope that you would come, Daniel.'
Expecting an embrace, she was instead checked by his battered appearance. The cuts, grazes, and swollen lip disfigured his face. A dark bruise coloured his forehead. She stepped back in dismay.
'I'm sorry that I don't look my best,' he apologised.
'I thought that you'd be unharmed.'
'It's asking too much to avoid any injury in a battle. The wonder is that I'm still standing. The Forlorn Hope was indeed forlorn. Most of my comrades were killed outright.'
'I pleaded with you not to join them.'
'I'm always going to chase glory, Abigail, and I love the sensation of leading an attack on the enemy. It sets the blood racing in a way that nothing else could.'
'I'm so glad that you came safely through the battle,' she said. 'I know that hundreds of our men died and I saw how badly wounded some of the survivors were. Had you been among them, I'd have been inconsolable.' She searched his eyes for a full minute before continuing. 'Why didn't you tell me, Daniel?'
'Tell you what?'
'About what happened when we went for that walk together.'
'I did tell you,' he said. 'You fainted and I carried you away.'
'That isn't true. Emily spoke to one of the women here. Her husband was on picket duty and heard a shot being fired. When he ran to find out what was going on, he saw you on the ground beside me as if you were taking cover from something. The reason you picked me up,' she said, 'was that you wanted to carry me to safety.'
'Yes,' he confessed. 'That was exactly the reason.'
'So why did you mention none of this to me?'
'I didn't want to frighten you, Abigail.'
'If someone is set on killing you,
I want to know why.'
'It's usually because they belong to an opposing army,' he said with a carefree smile, 'and I don't blame them for that. It's what they're trained to do. A red coat is a tempting target.'
'But when we stopped beside that stream,' she argued, 'there were other soldiers in red coats not far away. Why was the shot fired at you and not at one of them?'
'I can't answer that.'
'In other words, you won't tell me.'
'The truth of it is, I don't know.'
'You must have some suspicion.'
'Oh, I do,' he said, 'but suspicion is nothing without proof.'
'Tell me what you suspect.'
'This is not your concern, Abigail.'
'Any danger you face is my concern,' she countered, 'and since I was there at the time, I think I deserve to be told why someone fired a shot at you?'
'All that I can do is to hazard a guess.' 'Go on.'
'It's pure speculation, Abigail.'
'I'd still like to hear it.'
He collected his thoughts. 'I was in Paris a few months ago to gather intelligence,' he explained. 'That meant winning the confidence of people who would have been very angry when they learnt that I was, in fact, a spy. It's possible - only possible - that someone felt the urge to kill me because I'd betrayed them.'
'Is this the first time there's been an attempt like this?'
'No,' he admitted. 'There was an incident some while ago.'
'What happened?'
'I escaped the attacker,' he said evasively. 'And I did the same again when we took that walk. If there's a third attempt, I'll catch the man behind it. I'm on guard now.'
'This is dreadful!' she said. 'Someone is lying in wait for you.'
'There's nowhere safer to be than in the middle of thousands of armed soldiers,' he claimed, hiding from her the fact that the would-be assassin had actually contrived to get inside the camp on the first occasion. 'I have no fears for myself. My concern was for you, Abigail. What I heard was a pistol shot. It's difficult to be accurate over that distance with such a weapon. The bullet intended for me might easily have hit you instead.'
'I was so scared when I realised that.'
'There was no need for you ever to know.'
Soldier of Fortune Page 16
