The bar was quite full, wine was flowing and there was an atmosphere of jollity. Clouds of tobacco curled under the low ceiling. A man lay in a drunken stupor across a table. Daniel was interested to note that some of the customers were in uniform. It made him more circumspect. He walked to the counter, ordered some wine from the barmaid, then sipped it before leaning in to speak to her.
‘I’m looking for Guillaume Lizier,’ he said.
She was suspicious. ‘Who are you?’
‘I’m a friend of his.’
‘We’ve never seen you in here before.’
‘I’m an old friend,’ said Daniel. ‘Guillaume will remember me.’
‘What’s your name?’
‘Alain Borrel. My wife and I need a room here.’
‘We’ve none to spare.’
‘Guillaume told me he’d always find somewhere for a friend.’
The woman’s face was expressionless but she exuded a sense of distrust. Thin, angular, dark-haired and of middle years, she had black eyes and a swarthy complexion. She glanced around to make sure that she was not overheard by anyone else.
‘What was the name again?’
‘I am Alain Borrel,’ said Daniel.
‘Wait here while I speak to Madame Lizier.’
‘It’s her husband I came to see.’
‘Wait here.’
The barmaid let herself out and was away for a couple of minutes. Daniel, meanwhile, sampled more of the wine and gazed around the bar. The man asleep on the table gradually slumped to the floor but nobody else seemed to notice or care. Putting his wine and walking stick aside, Daniel picked him up and sat him more securely in a chair. He earned a grunt of thanks from the man. Daniel went back to the counter. He was still appraising the customers when the barmaid returned.
‘Monsieur Borrel?’ she called.
He swung round. ‘Yes?’
‘Madame Lizier will see you in the back room.’
‘Is Guillaume in there as well?’
‘Talk to his wife first.’
She pointed to the door in the corner and Daniel walked across to it. Wine in one hand, he used his stick to tap on the stout timber before opening the door. It gave access to a large, stone-floored, well-stocked storeroom. Seated behind a table at the far end was a lean woman with such a close resemblance to the barmaid that they had to be sisters. She indicated a chair.
‘Come in and sit down, Monsieur,’ she invited.
‘Thank you,’ he said.
Daniel turned to close the door but it was slammed shut by the young man who’d been hiding behind it and the newcomer found himself staring at the barrel of a pistol. The weapon was thrust hard against Daniel’s forehead by the young man, who looked as if he was desperate for an excuse to pull the trigger. The situation was crystal clear to Daniel. One false move and his mission would come to a sudden end. He tried to remain calm. Eyes smouldering, the young man spat his questions at Daniel.
‘Who are you?’ he demanded. ‘And what are you doing here?’
CHAPTER FIVE
Daniel showed no fear. Though the weapon felt as if it were trying to bore into his skull, he didn’t flinch or beg for mercy. Instead he met the young man’s gaze and spoke with quiet assurance.
‘My name is Alain Borell and I wish to see Guillaume Lizier.’
‘Why?’ snapped the other.
‘I am an old friend of his.’
‘You’re a liar. My father often talks about his friends and I’ve never heard any mention of you. I think you’re an impostor.’
‘There’s a simple way to prove who I am,’ said Daniel, ‘and that’s to bring your father here. I’m sure he’ll vouch for me.’
‘What do you want from him?’
‘I’m hoping that he’ll be able to help me.’
‘So that’s it,’ sneered the young man. ‘You’ve fallen on hard times and you’ve come to wheedle some money out of us.’
‘I want no money.’
‘Then what are you after?’
As the pistol was pressed ever harder against his forehead, Daniel held his ground. He looked deep into the young man’s eyes. Behind the anger and the bravado, he detected a flicker of doubt. His captor was not really sure what to do.
‘There’s no need to stand so close, Raymond,’ said the woman. ‘You can kill him just as easily from a yard away. Move back.’ Her son took a reluctant step backwards. ‘That’s better.’
‘Don’t worry, Madame Lizier,’ said Daniel, glancing over his shoulder. ‘Raymond is not going to shoot me. He’s far too sensible to do that. There are soldiers in the bar. If they hear gunfire, they’ll rush in here at once. How will you explain the fact that I’m lying dead on the floor? And there’s another thing,’ he went on, turning back to Raymond again. ‘I don’t think your son is used to handling that weapon. Do you see? His hand is shaking slightly.’
‘Be quiet!’ yelled Raymond. ‘Or I’ll shoot.’
‘Now he’s starting to lose his nerve.’
‘That’s not true.’
‘Then pull the trigger,’ urged Daniel. ‘Go on. Bring those soldiers charging in here. Is that what you want to do?’
Raymond was beginning to tremble. Incensed that Daniel was obviously unafraid of him, he turned the pistol over so that he could use the butt as a club. Daniel moved swiftly. Hurling his wine into Raymond’s eyes, he dodged the blow then cracked his attacker on the wrist with his walking stick, making him drop the pistol with a yelp. While Raymond was still blinded, Daniel snatched it deftly up from the ground and – when Raymond could see properly again – he used it to motion him across the room so that he was standing near his mother. Now that he was no longer in danger, Daniel let the weapon hang by his side.
‘Let me ask some questions now,’ he began. ‘Why are you so suspicious of me?’
‘Because we’ve been deceived before,’ replied Bette Lizier.
‘Where is your husband?’
‘They took him away.’
‘Who did?’
‘My father’s in police custody,’ said Raymond, resenting the way he’d been so easily disarmed and looking for a chance to strike back. ‘Someone just like you came here and claimed to be his friend. The next thing we knew, Father had been hauled off.’
‘What was the charge against him?’
‘They say he’s a spy for the British.’
‘Is that true?’
Raymond glanced uneasily at his mother but her face gave nothing away. Conscious that the young man was waiting to pounce on him, Daniel tried to win his confidence. He held out the pistol.
‘Go on – take it.’
Raymond was wary. ‘It’s a trick.’
‘I’m trying to prove that I came here in the spirit of friendship. Let’s be honest,’ said Daniel, pulling himself up to his full height, ‘you’re no match for me. I’ve been a soldier for many years and learnt everything there is to learn about fighting. But that’s not why I came.’ He put the pistol on the table then stepped back with his arms outspread. Raymond grabbed the weapon. ‘You won’t need that. I mean no harm.’
‘Put it down, Raymond,’ said his mother, getting to her feet.
‘I don’t trust him,’ asserted Raymond.
‘Put it down.’
The steel in her voice made him obey. When the pistol was on the table, she conducted a long scrutiny of Daniel before coming to stand in front of him. She looked at the walking stick.
‘You don’t really need that, do you?’ she said.
‘Only when Raymond tries to knock me out,’ he replied with a smile. ‘I’m sorry that I had to hit your son but I had no option.’
‘Who are you?’
‘I’ve told you. My name is Alain Borrel.’
‘And what’s your real name?’
‘You’ve just heard it,’ said Daniel. ‘If you don’t believe me, go outside and speak to my wife, Rachel. She’s keeping an eye on our wares. We’ve brought things to sell in the market.
’
‘Why did you come to the Coq d’Or?’
‘I hoped that your husband could assist us.’
‘In what way?’
‘Well, to begin with, we need somewhere to stay.’
‘Is that all you came after, Monsieur Borrel?’
He searched her eyes, wondering how much she knew about her husband’s activities on behalf of the British army, uncertain if she was his accomplice or had deliberately been kept ignorant. Bette Lizier, meanwhile, was trying in turn to fathom him out. He was patently not the disabled man who’d first hobbled into the room.
‘No, Madame,’ said Daniel at length, ‘I came for something else as well but it’s clear that you and your son are unable to give it to me. I’ll simply apologise for intruding and go my way.’
‘Wait!’ she said as he made to leave. ‘Stay a moment.’
She had a long, whispered conversation with her son. Whatever feelings she might have about Daniel, it was evident that Raymond still regarded him as an enemy that had to be destroyed. He was annoyed when his mother took the contrary view.
‘Perhaps we can offer you and your wife accommodation,’ she said to Daniel. ‘What else will you need?’
‘I’ll need someone to show me around the town,’ he said.
‘Raymond can do that.’
‘I fancied that your husband would be a better guide, Madame. He’s more likely to know the place I’m after.’
‘I’ve lived here all my life,’ said Raymond, affronted. ‘There’s nowhere in Lille I haven’t been.’
‘I’ll need your father’s word on that,’ said Daniel. ‘I assume that he’s allowed visitors. To be quite frank, I’d rather speak directly to Guillaume before I go any further.’
‘I think you’re lying,’ said Raymond.
‘No, he’s not,’ countered Bette. ‘I trust him. Monsieur Borrel is not like the man who came last week.’
Daniel’s ears pricked up. ‘What man was that?’
‘He came asking for Guillaume when all the time he knew that my husband was already behind bars. He was pretending to be a British agent in order to draw out some sort of confession that would be used as evidence against both me and my husband.’
‘We knew he was an impostor,’ boasted Raymond.
‘So we gave nothing away.’
‘I hope Raymond didn’t wave a pistol in his face as well,’ said Daniel. ‘That would have been evidence of something to hide.’
‘We gave him none,’ she said, proudly. ‘We know where our loyalties lie, Monsieur – as do you. Well,’ she added, ‘now that we’ve become properly acquainted, perhaps you should bring your wife in. It must be very tedious standing out there. Raymond will show you where to stable the animals.’
‘Thank you, Madame. You are very kind.’ He offered his hand to Raymond. ‘We are on the same side, I promise you.’
After a moment’s hesitation, Raymond shook his hand. Daniel was in. He was dismayed to hear that Guillaume Lizier was under arrest and knew that that would make his task more difficult, but he could not turn back now. He clapped a hand on Raymond’s shoulder.
‘Come and meet my wife,’ he said, ‘but leave the pistol here.’
A soldier since he was a boy, Erich Schlager had always considered the Hessians to be better than any other army and he felt that a cavalry officer was far superior to an infantryman. The fact that Daniel Rawson belonged to a regiment of foot was an additional insult to him. It served to put a sharper edge on his lust for revenge. He pictured himself, galloping straight at the British soldier and hacking him to pieces with his sabre. After that, he’d find the woman who’d taken his horse and reclaim it without ceremony. She had to be punished as well. If circumstances were propitious, he’d tear off her clothes and violate her at will before stealing everything she had of value. Rachel Rees would not be saved by her champion a second time. Rawson would already have been killed.
Schlager was impatient, keen to strike soon, before the siege of Lille was really under way and before his target might be moved out of range. He was still subjected to ridicule by other officers and that served to keep his anger simmering away. It could only be appeased by the death of a man and the humiliation of a woman. He’d still not decided if he’d kill Rachel Rees or simply mutilate her. It would depend on his mood at the time. At all events, she would suffer. She’d pay dearly for being a witness to Schlager’s mortification at the hands of a British officer.
He was still mulling over the finer details of his revenge when the man came looking for him. Schlager grabbed him by the lapel.
‘Well?’ he said. ‘I hope you haven’t come empty-handed.’
‘No, Lieutenant. I found out what you wanted.’
‘Tell me where he is.’
‘Let go of me for a moment,’ said the man, ‘and I’ll show you.’ Released by Schlager, he pulled a grubby piece of paper from his pocket and handed it over. ‘This is a very rough map of the camp,’ he explained. ‘That cross is the Duke of Marlborough’s quarters and, only walking distance away,’ he went on, pointing to a crude circle, ‘is where you’ll find Captain Rawson.’
‘Is he there now?’
‘I’m afraid not, sir.’
‘Then where is he?’
‘Nobody seemed to know.’
‘How hard have you looked?’
‘I’ve spoken to dozens of people,’ said the man, defensively, ‘and they all told me the same. Captain Rawson has left the camp.’
‘Go back until he returns.’
‘That might be days away, Lieutenant.’
‘I don’t care how long it takes,’ said Schlager, taking out a small purse and dropping it into his hand. ‘That’s to encourage you. There’ll be lots more when I know where they both are.’
After weighing the purse in his hand, the man put it away in his pocket. ‘I thought I was only searching for one person,’ he said. ‘Who else am I supposed to find?’
‘Her name is Rachel Rees and she’s a camp follower.’
‘There are hundreds of those with the British regiments. How can I pick out one of them in particular?’
‘This woman is quite distinctive. She’s big, fat and Welsh. Oh,’ he said as he recalled something, ‘and she drives a hard bargain. She tried to make me pay twice as much as a horse was worth. That’s why I chose to take it for nothing.’
The man smirked. ‘But I heard you’d actually lost a horse, sir, not bought one.’
‘Shut your filthy mouth!’
Schlager’s fist hit him so hard on the side of the head that he rolled over in the grass. To be taunted by his fellow officers was one thing, but he would not stomach any derision from a civilian. The very fact that the man had even somehow heard the news was infuriating. He wondered how many other people like him were whispering the name of Erich Schlager and sniggering at his expense. He stood menacingly over the body.
‘Don’t you ever say that again!’ he cautioned.
‘No, no, sir,’ promised the other, rubbing the side of his head. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you. Forget what I said.’ Schlager stood back so that he could clamber to his feet. ‘I’ll find the woman for you. Big, fat and Welsh – that’s what you told me. If she’s in the camp, I’ll ferret her out. Should I say that you’re looking for her?’
‘Of course not, you idiot,’ cried Schlager. ‘I just want to know where the old sow is. Now, disappear before I hit you again.’
Daniel wasted no time. When Rachel was safely bestowed at the tavern, he went off for a first look at the defences. He was guided by Raymond, now coming to accept him and wishing to make amends for his earlier hostility. Daniel found him a useful guide. What he lacked in intelligence, he made up for with low cunning and that was a quality more suited to the occasion. They had to take a mental inventory without appearing to do so and Raymond was adept at doing that. They chatted casually to guards, took note of the cannonballs, stones and supplies of oil being hoisted up to the
ramparts, and watched as yet another column of soldiers marched in through the main gate. Lille was preparing for a long and bitter siege. Daniel felt sorry for those from his own regiment who’d be crushed by boulders or scalded by boiling oil as it gushed down on them.
Guillaume Lizier’s wife was the only person allowed to visit her husband, so Daniel had told her the questions he wanted put to the prisoner. Whether or not Lizier could provide all the answers was debatable but Daniel wanted to make contact with him, if only by proxy. Having often worked as a spy himself, Daniel had intense fellow feeling for a British agent. He appreciated the great risks that Lizier had taken and admired his wife and son for continuing the work in his absence.
‘What do you want to see next?’ asked Raymond.
‘Show me some of the churches.’
His companion was surprised. ‘You wish to pray?’
‘No,’ said Daniel, ‘I just wish to see them.’
He was moved neither by any spiritual urge nor by an interest in ecclesiastical architecture. Daniel had found from experience that churches were excellent places in which to hide. The time might come when he and Rachel had to seek refuge for a while. It was important to know where the bolt-holes were. One thing still puzzled Daniel.
‘Why does your father choose to help the British?’ he asked.
‘We’ve been treated badly by the French,’ said Raymond with a scowl. ‘We used to own one of the largest taverns in the city but they took it away from us and gave us very little compensation. The Coq d’Or is tiny compared to the place we used to have. Also,’ he added as if repeating something he’d heard his father say, ‘we want an end to this war and the French will never win it. All the battles are won by the Duke of Marlborough.’
‘He’s an absolute master of strategy.’
‘When he gets what he wants – and what his Allies want – the war will be over. We can live in peace instead of cowering behind the walls under siege.’
4 Under Siege Page 7
