'I was only pretending to attack you.'
'Well, it felt real enough at the time.'
'It was meant to, Dan,' said Welbeck, dusting off his coat. 'I'm glad that nobody else is about or I could be reported for striking an officer. Mind you, one or two of the buggers need striking.'
Daniel chuckled. 'I can't disagree with that.'
'What are you doing up at this hour, anyway?'
'I might ask the same of you, Henry.'
'I always like to get up well before the men. It breeds respect.'
'My excuse is simple - I fancied a stroll.'
'Remember what happened the last time you did that?'
'I had no company with me on this occasion,' said Daniel.
Welbeck smirked. 'Has the lass turned you down, then?'
'If you must know, Miss Piper is going back to England.'
'Good news at last!'
'I think she found army life a little too raw for her taste.'
'Women are poison,' said Welbeck roundly, 'and the worst of it is that the poison comes in such appealing little bottles. No wonder men are led off the straight and narrow path.' He held Daniel's gaze. 'How do you feel about the lady going?'
'I'm relieved, Henry. If I'm honest, I'm delighted that she's made this decision. Miss Piper and her maid will have safe conduct all the way home. As long as she was here, I'd be worrying about her.'
'Lusting after her, more like!'
'That's one way of looking at it,' said Daniel with a laugh.
'It's the only way. Save your strength for fighting the Frenchies.'
'I will, Henry.'
'And those bloody Bavarians.'
'There was a time when we hoped they'd be on our side.'
'Well, they weren't on our side at the Schellenberg!'
Daniel rolled his eyes. 'I noticed that.'
'So - what do we do next?'
'We await orders.'
'What kind of orders, Dan?'
'Your guess is as good as mine.'
'You're on speaking terms with Corporal John,' said Welbeck. 'You must have some inkling of what the old fox has in mind.'
'We'll cross the Danube, that's all I know. Having fought so hard to secure the crossing, I'm sure we'll make full use of it.' They walked on together. Daniel nudged him with an elbow. 'And don't you dare jump out of me like that again,' he warned with a companionable grin, 'or you'll get a lot more than you bargained for, Sergeant Welbeck.'
He had talked his way past the pickets with ease. Deliberately choosing to enter the camp through its Dutch section, Charles Catto had made his way towards the area where the British battalions had set up their tents. There was still just enough light for him to discern the different colours of the uniforms.' The standard uniform was the one that he was wearing - a long red coat turned back at the lapels and cuffs to show the facings of the regimental hue. They were dark blue for the guards and royal regiments. Others were distinguished by yellow, green, white or buff. Having fought against - and occasionally served with - British regiments, Catto recognised their facings at once. He also knew that the Royal Horse Guards wore blue uniforms, as did the artillery units. It paid to know the colour of an enemy.
On that first evening, he had contented himself with finding his way around the camp and looking for the safest way to leave it. Making sure that he never went near the regiment he had joined earlier, he had slept in a large tent that was stocked with supplies captured from the enemy after the battle. Catto had risen early to eat the food he had brought with him. Daylight brought the whole place alive and there was a continuous hubbub. He walked towards the area reserved for the baggage wagons and camp followers, taking a clearer look at the disposition of the army as he did so. If he was able to pass on accurate details of the enemy to General Salignac, he would be praised and rewarded. His mission took on an extra dimension.
The hostilities had left the women with much to do. Uniforms had been torn, tricorn hats had been bent out of shape and shirts had been muddied or stained with blood. Mending and washing were going on everywhere. Catto singled out a stout woman of middle years who was sitting alone beside a wagon and smoking a clay pipe. He lifted his hat to her as he approached.
'Good day to you, ma'am,' he said politely.
'And to you, sir,' she replied.
'I wondered if I might ask a favour.'
Her jaw tightened. 'What sort of favour did you have in mind?'
'Not that kind,' he said, charming her with a smile. 'I just need someone to repair my sleeve. It got torn while we were storming the Schellenburg and my fingers are hopeless with a needle.' He stuck out his arm to display the long tear that he had made earlier. 'That and this head wound are my souvenirs of the battle.'
'My only souvenir is lying six feet under the ground,' she said morosely. 'I knew my husband would get himself killed sooner or later. They told me he fell in the first charge. Ah, well,' she sighed, 'since I've nobody else to sew for, you might as well take off that coat and give it to me.'
'Thank you - I'm happy to pay.'
'Then I'll be happy to take the money.'
While Catto slipped off his coat, she got up and reached into the back of the wagon. She returned with a little wicker sewing box and searched in it for some red yarn. Resuming her seat on the stool, she took his coat and laid it across her legs. There were plenty of people milling around. Other women were repairing uniforms or washing linen in tubs and hanging it up to dry on lines they had strung between wagons. Several men were also there, chatting with their wives or displaying their injuries to anyone inquisitive enough to want to see them.
Catto studied the scene with interest. Though he kept up a conversation with the woman beside him, his gaze wandered everywhere. People came and went but he was looking for a particular face. He had only seen it from across a stream but it had a luminous beauty that had stayed in his mind.
'I'm sorry to hear about your husband,' he said to the woman.
She puffed on her pipe. 'I'm only one of many who lost her man.'
'How long had he served in the army?'
'Nigh on twenty years,' she said, plying her needle, 'though it seemed longer. He had a taste for fighting, my husband did. That's how he come to be in the army. He was always getting drunk and hitting people, though he never laid a finger on me. The magistrate got fed up with fining him or locking him up. "If you like a fight," he told him, "you might as well serve King and Country at the same time." It's Queen and Country now, of course,' she explained, 'but it makes no difference. Fighting is fighting. His time had come.'
'I admire your stoicism.'
She looked up. 'What does that mean?'
'Nothing,' he said. 'You have my deepest sympathy.'
The woman went off into a series of maudlin reminiscences about her late husband but Catto was only half-listening. He kept his eye on every new person who drifted into sight. His vigilance was eventually rewarded. There was no possibility of mistaking her. When the young woman walked into view, she had fine clothing that set her immediately apart from all the others and a loveliness that almost gleamed. He tapped his seamstress on the shoulder.
'Who's that?' he enquired, pointing a finger.
'Oh,' said the woman, glancing up, 'she's not one of us. She only joined the camp a few days ago. We have to sleep where we can,' she went on bitterly, 'but not her and her maid. They had a tent from the Duke himself. They had everything done for them.'
'Why?'
'They say it's because the Duke knows her father. He certainly never knew mine,' she said with a throaty cackle. 'My father was hanged for stealing sheep - God rest his soul!'
'Do you happen to know her name?'
'Yes, we all know that.'
'Why?'
'We've talked to her maid, Emily. I liked her.'
'What's her mistress's name?
'It's Miss Piper,' said the woman. 'Miss Abigail Piper.'
'Thank you,' he said, thrusting some coins into
her hand.
She examined the money. 'This is far too much.'
'You've earned it,' said Catto, watching Abigail bow her head as she went into her tent. 'Believe me, you've earned every penny.'
The aftermath of a battle was always depressing. Once the thrill of victory had finally ebbed away, there were practicalities that needed attention. Most of the wounded had been taken away but those with near-fatal injuries were left to die where they lay. Graves were dug by teams that worked in shifts throughout the day and into the night. Their priority was to give a decent burial to British casualties and regimental chaplains were on duty to conduct services for the fallen. It was grim, monotonous, disheartening work but it had to be done.
Enemy soldiers who had been killed had to wait their turn and infect the air while they did so. The Confederate army had already relieved them of weapons, ammunition and valuables. Scavengers from the town had come out under cover of darkness to strip them of anything that could be worn or sold. As Daniel Rawson gazed across the battlefield that afternoon, there were still hundreds of half-naked Frenchmen and Bavarians littering the ground. Burial details made up of prisoners captured in the battle were holding their breath as they laboured amid the piles of decaying flesh.
Mounted on his horse and viewing it all from a distance, Daniel could smell the pervasive reek of death. It was something to which he could never become accustomed. After offering up a silent prayer for the souls of his comrades, he kicked his heels and rode back towards the camp. A few hundred yards away were two figures on horseback. Daniel identified them instantly. The Duke of Marlborough was using his telescope to survey the battlefield. Adam Cardonnel waited beside him. When Daniel cantered over to him and reined in his horse, Marlborough lowered his telescope.
'I was watching you,' said Marlborough. 'You stayed a long time.'
'I was paying my respects, Your Grace.'
'It's only right that we should do so.'
'I lost some good friends on that hill,' said Daniel. 'I wanted to make sure they'd had a Christian burial. Birds of prey and wild animals have been at some of the bodies. I didn't want that to happen to anyone from my battalion.'
'They fought with distinction, Captain Rawson,' said Cardonnel.
'They always did, sir.'
'You set them a fine example.'
'Not everyone believes that,' admitted Daniel. 'Some of my senior officers thought it rash of me to volunteer for the Forlorn Hope. They felt that I should have been leading my battalion instead of taking part in that initial charge.'
'You did what was required,' said Marlborough gratefully. 'You helped to draw the enemy's fire and allowed me to see where their defences were strongest. My one regret is that most of the Forlorn Hope threw their fascines into the wrong ditch.'
'I yelled at them to hold on until we reached the trench farther on but my voice was drowned out by the din.'
'Mistakes are always made in battle.'
'Fortunately, they made more mistakes than we did, Your Grace,' said Daniel. 'In leaving their left flank unprotected, they gave us our opportunity. The Austrians came to our rescue.'
'They may never let us forget it,' said Cardonnel.
'Why is that, sir?'
'It seems that they were solely responsible for winning the battle. At least, that is the story that the Margrave of Baden is putting about and I, for one, find it downright insulting.'
'It's downright false!' said Daniel with feeling. 'We had already weakened the enemy considerably before the Austrians even joined the fray. Our cannon had spread chaos among the French on top of the hill and we'd accounted for dozens of the Bavarians behind the lower ramparts. Let's give credit where it's due.'
'Let's give credit where it's due,' repeated Marlborough with emphasis. 'You're our linguist, Daniel. We'll have to get you to translate that into German so that Adam can write it down and offer it to our ally, the Margrave of Baden, as a motto.' His smile was replaced by a frown. 'This battle is in the past now and we must look to the future. Towns ahead of us will already have been told that we are on the way and will be working hard to improve their defences. There will be sieges ahead.'
'Then we need heavier cannon, Your Grace,' said Daniel. 'We'll face stronger fortifications than the Schellenberg offered us. The guns we captured are no bigger than our own. What we require is a proper siege train.'
'It would have been too onerous to drag it all this way.'
'And it would have slowed us right down,' said Cardonnel.
'Besides which,' added Marlborough, 'we had assurances from Emperor Leopold that he would provide us with heavy artillery.'
'Does he still intend to do so, Your Grace?' asked Daniel.
'I sincerely hope so.'
'We've saved his capital for him. The French had every intention of marching on Vienna and driving him out. The least that the Emperor can do is to supply us with what we need.'
'I've made that point explicitly in all my despatches to him.'
Cardonnel was waspish. 'Let us hope that he puts more trust in your despatches, Your Grace, than in those from his commander-in-chief. You may be fortunate to get a mention in the latter.'
'History will judge me more fairly than Baden has done.'
'The miracle is that he agreed to attack,' said Daniel. 'Look at his military record, Your Grace. He's a master of defence. That's how he built his reputation - by sitting behind trenches and ramparts while the enemy fell to his musket fire. Mounting an attack is a new experience for him and the novelty of it has gone to his head.'
'I think you're being too kind to him,' said Cardonnel.
'Those who fought in the battle know who won it, sir.'
'That's all that matters to me,' said Marlborough. 'But let's turn to a less contentious topic, shall we?' he continued. 'I thought you'd like to know that I've made arrangements for Abigail Piper's return.'
'Thank you, Your Grace,' said Daniel. 'It's very kind of you to find time for something so trivial when you have far weightier matters on your mind.'
'I'd never regard a daughter of Sir Nicholas Piper as trivial.'
'The word was perhaps ill-chosen.'
'Given the effect you appear to have had on the family, it would not have been surprising if both sisters had been impelled to follow you across the North Sea.'
'One is more than enough, Your Grace,' said Daniel, grimacing.
'Two would have been a case of gilding the lily.'
'That's not quite how I would have put it.'
Marlborough laughed. 'No, I'm sure.'
'When will Abigail leave?' 'Tomorrow.'
'That was quick, Your Grace.'
'I'm sending a small detachment back to Holland. Abigail and her maid can travel with them. We need have no qualms about safety.'
'I shall make a point of seeing her before she goes.'
'And so will I,' said Marlborough cheerfully. 'She's a delightful young lady who would decorate any assembly but she is hopelessly out of place on a military campaign. I'd not wish this experience on any daughter of mine, I know that. Yes,' he decided, 'I fancy that Abigail will be very happy to depart.'
Emily Greene burst out laughing and clapped her hands in gratitude.
'We really are leaving tomorrow?' she said.
'I had it from the Duke himself.'
'That's wonderful news!'
'There'll be some packing to do,' said Abigail.
'Everything is already packed. I've been hoping for this moment.'
'Has it been such a trial for you, Emily?'
'Yes,' said the other, 'but I've tried not to show it. I feel like a fish out of water, Miss Abigail. It's been awful.' She gave a hollow laugh. 'I've learnt one thing - I could never marry a soldier.'
'You prefer to save yourself for a sailor,' taunted Abigail.
'That would be even worse!'
They were still laughing when a man's voice interrupted them.
'Miss Piper?' he called from outside the tent. 'Is
that you?' 'Who is it?' she asked.
'I have a message from Captain Rawson for you.'
'Then let's hear it.'
Abigail ducked out of the tent to be met by Charles Catto with an innocuous smile. Noting the bandage around his head, she felt immediate sympathy.
'Were you wounded in the battle?'
'Yes, Miss Piper,' he replied, 'but I came off lightly. My name is Private Curtis and I have the supreme honour to serve in His Grace, Duke of Marlborough's regiment, the 24th Foot.'
'And you've brought a message from Captain Rawson?'
'He sends his compliments and asks if you would be kind enough to join him for a while.'
'I'd be glad to,' she said, a hand going to her hair as the breeze teased at it. 'Excuse me for a few moments.'
'Take as much time as you wish, Miss Piper.'
Abigail went back into the tent and reached for a mirror. Having heard the invitation, Emily wanted her to look at her best for the visit. She brushed Abigail's hair then burrowed in a satchel to find a bottle of her mistress's favourite perfume. Emily made several small adjustments to Abigail's dress before she was satisfied. It was minutes before preparations were complete. When she stepped out of the tent, Abigail found her escort waiting patiently.
'I'm sorry to be so long,' she said.
'There's no hurry, Miss Piper.'
'What exactly did Captain Rawson say?'
'That he was anxious to speak with you.' Catto extended an arm to indicate the way. 'Come with me, if you will.'
'Thank you.'
They walked on in silence. Abigail was so pleased at the invitation that she placed complete trust in the man who had brought it to her. It was a long walk but she was untroubled by that. It gave her time to rehearse what she was going to say to Daniel.
Eventually, they reached the tent where Catto had spent the night. He pulled back the flap and gestured for her to enter. Expecting to see Daniel Rawson, Emily went in with a broad smile of her face. It soon vanished. The only things there were piles of assorted supplies. Before she could say a word, she felt hand covering her mouth to prevent her screaming. Charles Catto put the barrel of a pistol against her temple. His voice was low and caressing.
'I'm so glad to be alone with you at last, Miss Piper,' he said, inhaling her perfume. 'Captain Rawson is delayed at the moment but I'm confident that he'll be joining us in due course.'
Soldier of Fortune Page 18
