4 Under Siege

by Edward Marston

  Beatrix was still reluctant to go. At the same time, she didn’t wish to be responsible for the whole venture being abandoned. The mention of Daniel Rawson had weighed with her. When Amalia and her father had been rescued from France, Beatrix had been with them. She was eternally grateful to Daniel for saving their lives and had grown very fond of him. Wanting to keep his friendship, she feared that she might lose it if he heard that she was to blame for the failure to get to England. Pressure on her was steadily growing until she could resist it no longer.

  ‘Very well,’ she consented. ‘I’ll go, after all.’

  ‘That’s marvellous!’ said Amalia, embracing her.

  ‘As long as I don’t have that same dream again.’

  ‘Dream instead about riding through England. Have some happy dreams for a change. Oh, Beatrix, we’re going to have the most wonderful time of our lives!’

  New recruits were needed all the time in the British army to replace those who’d been killed or wounded so badly that they were effectively discharged. Few men actually volunteered for service so they had to be forced to risk their lives in a war against the French by a combination of money, bullying, trickery and false promises. Magistrates were useful recruiting sergeants, sending criminals off to the army instead of letting them fill up the prisons back in England. What people like Henry Welbeck often ended up with, therefore, were thieves, forgers, drunks and other highly unsuitable new recruits. His task was to transform them into part of a disciplined fighting force. As he surveyed the latest batch, he could see that he would have to work exceptionally hard this time. Eight ragged individuals stood resentfully before him.

  ‘I’m Sergeant Welbeck,’ he barked, ‘and I’m the only person who can save you from being killed by the French. You must obey me or I’ll tear you apart limb by limb and feed your carcasses to the crows. Is that understood?’

  Most of them were already afraid of him, avoiding his gaze as he ran his eyes along the line. He was met by only one challenging stare. It came from a tall, gangly man in his thirties with unkempt hair, a tufted beard and a broken nose. Welbeck stepped up to him.

  ‘Did you want to say something?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes, Sergeant – where are the women?’

  ‘Silence!’ bawled Welbeck as the others burst out laughing. He stood very close to the man who’d just spoken. ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘Ben Plummer, Sergeant.’

  ‘Then let me tell you something, Ben Plummer. This is the British army. There are no women. You’re here to fight for glory not to dip your wick in some pox-ridden trull.’

  ‘I only choose the ones without pox,’ said Plummer, gaining another laugh from the others. ‘I have standards, Sergeant.’

  ‘So do I,’ said Welbeck, warningly, ‘and something tells me that you are going to fall well below them. Why did you join the army?’

  ‘It was the only way to stay out of prison.’

  ‘And why would you have been sent there?’

  ‘I was charged with running a disorderly house, Sergeant.’

  Welbeck’s eyes blazed. ‘Well, lads,’ he said, ‘do you see what we have here? Ben Plummer was a pimp, an ugly scab on society, a man who made his odious living by leading poor women astray. You can bid farewell to all that, Benjamin. The army is no disorderly house. Order reigns supreme here. Remember that. When I give an order, you obey it. Is that clear, you lousy, rotten pimp? Speak up, man – is it?’

  Plummer was bold. Folding his arms, he gave Welbeck a smile that comprised insolence, defiance and disrespect in equal measure. It did not stay on his face for long. Welbeck hit him with a fearful punch that dislodged his front teeth and sent him sprawling to the ground. Blood oozed from his mouth. The sergeant indicated two of the men.

  ‘Pick him up!’ he yelled. ‘Pick up that pimp so that I can hit him harder this time.’ They dragged Plummer to his feet but all the fight had gone out of him. Welbeck grabbed him by the throat. ‘Are you ready to obey orders now?’ he barked. Plummer nodded and brought up a hand to stem the flow of blood from his mouth. ‘That’s better.’ He stood back to look along the line. ‘Would anyone else like my services as a dentist? I remove teeth free.’ There were some nervous grins. ‘Good. I think we’re making progress. At the moment, you look like the sweepings of the vilest slums in England but that will change. I’m going to turn you into soldiers.’ He raised his voice. ‘Private Hain!’

  A soldier marched out from behind a nearby tent. Dressed as an infantryman, he was wearing a tricorned hat, leather shoes, white breeches and gaiters, and a red coat embellished with the linings and facings of the 24th Regiment of Foot. On his back were a knapsack, cooking pot and cloak. He stood to attention in front of the men, looking immaculate beside him.

  ‘Believe it or not,’ said Welbeck, ‘Private Hain was just like you when he first came to me. He was caught stealing horses and decided that army life was preferable to being hanged from the nearest tree. He had even more to say for himself than Ben Plummer here. Isn’t that true, Private Hain?’

  ‘Yes, it is, Sergeant.’

  ‘You were rowdy and disobedient.’

  ‘Yes, I was, Sergeant.’

  ‘And what are you now?’

  ‘I like to think that I’m a good soldier, sir.’

  ‘Thanks to me, you’re a very good soldier. Look at him, all of you. That’s what you’ll all strive to be. I’ll wave my magic wand and turn you all into good soldiers just like Private Hain. Note him well. He wears cross-belts and carries a flintlock and a bayonet. He also has twenty-four cartridges, giving him two dozen chances to kill a Frenchie. In all, he is carrying fifty pounds and that requires him to be fit. How did you come to be so fit, Private Hain?’

  ‘You drilled us every day, Sergeant.’

  ‘And what did I teach you?’

  ‘You taught us how to march properly and how to conduct ourselves bravely in battle. You instructed us in how to fire two shots a minute, Sergeant.’

  ‘I taught you how to kill the enemy before they kill you. That’s what the rest of you, including Plummer, must learn. Let me give you three words to remember – listen, learn, obey. What are they?’

  ‘Listen, learn, obey, Sergeant,’ mumbled the others.

  ‘I want to hear our pimp say it on his own.’

  Plummer was still in pain. ‘Listen, learn, obey,’ he said.

  ‘Forget all about women – especially the kind you employed. They don’t exist here. I, on the other hand, do exist and I’ll take very good care of you. Oh, and before you even think of running away,’ he said with a grin, ‘I should warn you that deserters are always caught and hanged. Oddly enough, they never try to desert us after that.’

  After putting the fear of death into them, Welbeck spent hours working on basic drills. Hopeless at first, they slowly improved and his cold sarcasm eventually eased off. By the time they were dismissed, the men realised that their lives had changed irremediably for the worse. Welbeck reserved a final word for Ben Plummer.

  ‘Are you still thinking about women?’ he asked.

  ‘No, I’m not, Sergeant,’ said Plummer, mouth still on fire.

  ‘The army has saved you from their clutches.’

  ‘I see that now, Sergeant.’

  ‘Women are worse enemies than the French. They’ll sap your strength and take your mind off this great enterprise of winning a war. They destroy and corrupt. They steal a man’s soul. You may not think it now, Ben Plummer, but the day will come when you thank me for keeping you away from women of all kinds.’

  Plummer was not convinced. ‘Yes, Sergeant,’ he murmured.

  ‘What were those three words again?’

  ‘Listen, learn, obey.’

  ‘Good man,’ said Welbeck, patting him on the cheek and producing a groan of pain. ‘You’ve still got plenty of teeth left to eat our delicious army food. Now go off and join the others. Corporal Jenner will look after you.’

  Hand over his sore mouth, Plu
mmer scampered gratefully off. Welbeck watched him go, satisfied that he’d stamped his authority on the latest sorry group of recruits. There’d be little time to turn them into fighting soldiers before they were involved in action but he was used to that. All the shouting had left Welbeck with a dry throat. He decided to have a drink before smoking his pipe. When he got back to his tent, a surprise lay in store. Not only was there a fresh flagon of beer awaiting him, there was a pouch of tobacco that he’d never seen before. Welbeck had no idea who had put them there and racked his brain in search of potential benefactors. None came easily to mind. The beer was very welcome and he took a long swig of it but it was the tobacco that intrigued him. Opening the pouch, he sniffed inside. The aroma made him sigh with pleasure. It was his favourite brand.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Lieutenant Erich Schlager, the Hessian cavalry officer, was not a man to let any wrongs inflicted upon him go unanswered. Vengeful by nature, he always struck back hard at real or imagined slights. His confrontation with a British officer had involved far more than a slight and the memory of it was a constant flame inside his head. Schlager had not only lost a fine horse he’d intended to steal from the woman trying to sell it, he’d been prevented from taking his pleasure by force. Beaten and shamed in front of her, he’d been robbed of his own horse and compelled to walk several miles back to his camp where he’d had to endure the jeers of his fellow officers. Instead of coming back with two battle-trained horses, he had none at all, a severe handicap for someone in a cavalry regiment.

  Bent on retribution, all that Schlager had was a name that the woman had mentioned – Captain Rawson. It was, however, a start and it gave him hope. Somewhere in one of the many British regiments forming part of the Allied army was the person he was after. All that Schlager had to do was to track him down before hostilities broke out again. To that end, he instructed a man to conduct a search on his behalf and he waited impatiently for tidings. Meanwhile, even though he’d acquired a new mount, he had to put up with continued mockery in the camp. Captain Rawson had turned him into a figure of fun and that was unforgivable.

  At length the news finally came. It was brought to him by a short, whiskery, weasel-faced man with eyes unusually close to each other. He was licking his lips at the thought of his reward.

  ‘Did you have any luck?’ demanded Schlager.

  ‘Yes, I did, Lieutenant.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘I tracked down Captain Daniel Rawson.’

  ‘Where will I find him?’

  ‘He’s in the 24th Regiment of Foot,’ said the man, ‘and he’s well spoken of by everybody.’

  Schlager scowled. ‘Not by me.’

  ‘There’s something else you should know, sir. Captain Rawson is part of the Duke of Marlborough’s staff.’ Schlager’s eyebrows shot up in astonishment. ‘By all accounts, he’s something of a hero.’

  ‘I don’t care who he is – I want him.’

  ‘Have I done well, sir?’ asked the man.

  ‘Find out where he is.’

  ‘But I’ve just done that, Lieutenant. You promised me payment.’

  ‘All that you’ve told me so far is the name of his regiment.’

  ‘There’s more,’ said the man. ‘Five British regiments have been assigned to Prince Eugene, who’ll be your own commander during the siege. The 24th is one of them.’

  ‘What use is that if Captain Rawson is not there?’

  ‘But he may be.’

  ‘Find out for definite.’

  ‘It won’t be easy, sir. I’m only a civilian. What I’ve learnt so far came from chatting to soldiers off duty. I had to buy more than a drink or two to get the information,’ he went on, extending a palm. ‘I’m out of pocket. I need the money I’m owed.’

  Schlager was curt. ‘You’ll get nothing at all until you tell me how I can reach this heroic captain. Get me details. When you do that,’ he said, dangling a bribe, ‘I’ll pay you twice the amount I offered before. Will that content you?’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ replied the man, obsequiously.

  ‘If he’s part of Marlborough’s staff, he’ll have quarters nearby. Tell me exactly where they are and your work is done.’

  ‘Thank you, Lieutenant.’

  ‘Well,’ snapped Schlager, ‘don’t just stand there. Be quick about it, man. We could be moved from here at any moment. I need to locate Captain Rawson now. Go and discover where he is.’

  ‘Yes, sir, I will.’

  The man scurried off as if his heels had been set alight.

  ‘Have you ever thought of getting married again, Rachel?’ he asked.

  ‘Oh, no,’ she said, ‘that would be tempting fate. I’ve already buried two husbands. I couldn’t bear the pain of seeing another one being lowered to the ground.’

  ‘Supposing you only pretended to be married?’

  She chortled merrily. ‘I’ve done that a number of times, Captain Rawson – especially in cold weather when a woman needs company. They’ve been husbands for one night or maybe two, if I’ve taken a fancy to them.’ Her grin became a frown. ‘Don’t look down on me for it, sir. It goes against my nature to be a nun. I’m a true Christian but I’m also a warm-blooded woman. I have needs.’

  ‘How would you like to pretend to be married once more?’ When he saw her features glow with delight, he hastened to explain. ‘Don’t misunderstand me, Rachel. That was not a proposal from me. I’m already spoken for. I’d only pretend to be your husband.’

  ‘But that’s what the others did.’

  ‘There’s only so far the pretence must go.’

  Her face fell. ‘I knew that it was too good an offer to believe.’

  ‘How do you feel about the French?’

  She growled. ‘I hate them. They widowed me twice in a row.’

  ‘What would you do to get back at them?’

  ‘Anything at all,’ she declared, bunching her fists. ‘Give me a musket and I’ll march in the front line.’

  ‘I had something rather more subtle in mind,’ he said. ‘We are, as you’re undoubtedly aware, besieging Lille. For reasons I can’t divulge, I need to get inside the town for a while. You might help me do that.’

  Rachel blinked. ‘How?’

  ‘If I approach the place on my own, I have to concoct a story to get me through the gates. Whereas, if the two of us ride up with a load of wares, everyone will see what our purpose is.’

  ‘I don’t want to sell anything to the French unless it’s poison.’

  ‘You won’t have to, Rachel,’ he said. ‘Once inside, you can stay quietly out of the way while I go about my business.’

  ‘And what business is that, Captain Rawson?’

  ‘I’m not at liberty to tell you.’

  ‘Will it be dangerous?’

  He was impassive. ‘It could be.’

  ‘Does that mean it will be dangerous for me as well?’

  ‘There is a risk involved,’ he admitted, ‘but it’s one I hoped you were brave enough to take. This is important work and it might help to shorten the length of the siege. Besides, I thought you might be interested to see the inside of Lille. I certainly am.’

  Rachel had grave misgivings. She knew how well fortified the town was and she feared that, once inside, she might be trapped there indefinitely while the Allies pounded away with their cannon. The last thing she wished to do was to present an inadvertent target to her own soldiers. Her instinct was to decline the offer but she didn’t wish to let Daniel down. There were obligations to fulfil. He’d saved her from a violent assault and given her the Hessian officer’s horse to sell. It had brought a very good price, as did the horse already in her possession. Without Daniel’s assistance, she’d have ended up with nothing but bruises and a sense of shame. Both horses would now be encamped with the Hessian cavalry and Rachel would have no means of redress. Her debt to the British captain was enormous and it could not be discharged by the gift of a French dagger, however costly it might be.

&nb
sp; Riding into an enemy stronghold would be hazardous but she’d coped with many hazards as she scoured a battlefield, climbing over mounds of dead soldiers and horses, trying to ignore the hideous sights and the overwhelming stench, avoiding the desperate lunges from dying Frenchmen and warding off scavengers who thought she was after their booty. Every time she’d gone to show some tenderness to a British casualty, she’d put herself in jeopardy yet always come through unharmed. This time, at least, she wouldn’t be alone. She’d have someone to shield her and had been given vivid proof of Daniel’s ability to do that. And even though she might not share his bed, Rachel would nevertheless savour the thrill, if only for a short time, of pretending to be his wife. A visit to Lille was not as forbidding as it had first appeared to her.

  ‘What must I do, Captain Rawson?’ she wondered.

  ‘The first thing is to forget my name,’ he told her. ‘From now on, I am Alain Borrel and you are Madame Borrel. You married me when I left the French army as an invalid. We scratch a living as sutlers.’

  ‘Rachel Borrel,’ she mused. ‘I like the sound of that.’

  ‘How much French can you speak?’

  ‘Enough to get by,’ she said. ‘It’s easier to learn than German. Some of the French words are very similar to those in Welsh. Look at ‘window’, for instance. In French, it’s fenêtre and in Welsh it’s ffenestr.’

  ‘I don’t expect you to pretend to be a French matron. You’re the Welsh wife of Alain Borrel, citizen of Paris and former soldier. If anything should happen to me, however, I wanted to be sure that you have enough command of the language to hold a conversation.’

  ‘I do, Captain Rawson… Oops!’ She gave a laugh. ‘I should have called you Alain.’

  ‘Does that mean you agree to come?’

  ‘Yes – when do we go?’

  ‘I’ll let my beard grow for a couple of days first.’