by Iain Gale
‘You will not be surprised I hazard if I tell you that said merchant, an inquisitive, inventive sort of chap, having glimpsed in one of the letters what seemed to him familiar armorial bearings, spent many hours perusing the papers.’
He took a long draught of wine.
‘Within a letter from the Duke to his wife, the man found concealed a very different piece of correspondence. A letter to Marlborough from the court of the exiled King James at St Germain. A letter thanking our General in the most friendly terms, for his concerns as to the Stuart pretender’s state of health and also for his enduring loyalty.’
Jennings was staring now. Smiling.
‘You begin to understand what this might imply?’
‘Perfectly. Do continue.’
‘Naturally, our Bavarian merchant, being a man with an eye for self-advancement, thought to return the letter to its owner – at a price – and therefore some days ago sent an emissary into our camp. In short he has arranged to sell it back to Marlborough for 500 crowns. And this, Major, is where I come in. Or rather, where you come in. I am informed that you and I are of the same political persuasion.’
‘I am a Tory, if that is what you mean. And a true patriot.’
‘Indeed. And being of that persuasion I venture that you would be as keen as I to see my Lord Marlborough replaced as commander-in-chief of this army?’
‘You hardly need ask, Major. The Duke’s ambitions will be the ruination of the army. He does all from self-interest, rather than the good of his country. If given his head he will sacrifice as many men as it takes to advance himself to the highest office. He must go.’
‘You will be aware too that the Margrave is discontented with the Duke’s conduct of the campaign. I have today learnt from one of Baden’s men on Marlborough’s staff that the Duke and Colonel Hawkins have contrived to send an expedition to procure the letter. It will leave within the week under the pretext of foraging for flour. It is to be led by an officer of your own regiment. A Lieutenant Steel.’
Jennings continued to smile.
‘You will appreciate, Major Jennings, that we have here an unmissable opportunity to bring down Marlborough and rescue this war for the Tories. Bavaria is no place for the army. Nor Flanders. It is, as my Lord Nottingham would have it, the only theatre in which to wage a war against the French is in Spain itself. It is vital that we put an end to the campaign before we are committed any deeper to this foolhardy expedition into Bavaria. Here is the answer. You will lead a counter-expedition to beat Steel to the merchant. I have arranged for Baden himself to ask Sir James for your temporary transfer to his forces as liaison. With luck Steel will know nothing of it; you will leave a full day after him. But you will not be hindered by wagons as he is. Take a parallel route and you are certain to reach the rendezvous ahead of him. You will meet the merchant, a Herr Kretzmer. Pass yourself off as Steel and procure the letter in exchange for the money.’ He smiled, as if struck by a sudden thought and spoke very quietly.
‘Of course in an ideal situation you might see to it that Herr Kretzmer no longer had any need for the money and return it to me. Or rather to the funds. Now that would be splendid. But no matter. It is spoken for. Simply procure the papers and on your return we shall send the traitorous document to London. The Queen will have no alternative but to dismiss Marlborough and banish his meddlesome wife from court. You and I shall be greeted as heroes, and our standing both in the army and the greater world will be without limit. Will you do it?’
Jennings raised his glass. ‘How can I possibly refuse?’
Reaching inside his coat, Stapleton drew out a bulging leather purse and placed it heavily on the table alongside the company ledger book.
‘This purse contains precisely 500 crowns. Herr Kretzmer will be expecting not a penny less.’
Jennings looked at the purse. ‘Rest assured, Major Stapleton, you may trust in me to get your papers. I will gratefully accept your reward on my return. But, believe me, I go to my task wholly in the conviction of the justice of our cause.’
As Stapleton left the tent, Frampton re-entered.
‘Well, Charles. It seems that my prayers, had I but said them, have been answered. And all at one stroke. Not only do I elevate myself to greater position, but I rid the army of the curse of Marlborough and in the same action destroy Steel. It is a conceit so perfect that I might have thought of it myself.’
Frampton said nothing. Merely nodded in assent and poured himself another goblet of claret. Jennings ran his hands down the side of the leather purse, feeling the outline of the coins within. At length he called out: ‘Stringer.’
The Sergeant appeared at the entrance of the tent. ‘Sarn’t. Better start saying your goodbyes. In three days’ time we are to leave the main body of the army and journey south.’
‘South, Sir?’
‘South, Stringer.’
Jennings smiled. ‘We’re going to save the army.’
FOUR
Dawn picked at the land with shafts of pale yellow light and a gentle wind blew across the ripe crops and down into the valley of the River Lech. Steel could hear the men outside beginning to stir. The familiar sounds of mess tins and cooking pots as the soldiers assembled what rations they could find for a makeshift breakfast. Half sitting, half lying against a bale of straw in the barn of a deserted farmstead, Steel shivered and wrapped his cloak tight around his sinewy body, reluctant to admit that all too soon he, too, would have to move from what for the past four hours had passed for a bed. It had been a damp and thankless night.
The horses, for some reason unsettled in the empty stables, had kept him awake into the early hours with their whinnying and twice the nervous picquets had raised the alarm. Each time Williams, as jumpy as the mounts, had come in to report, only to leave embarrassed and uncomfortable. There had, of course, been no real danger, but Steel knew that the men were on edge and, while gently chiding Williams, indulged them. For if the truth be known, he more than shared their apprehension. They were deep in enemy territory now. In the very heart of Bavaria, Swabia to be precise. Even as they made their way through the pleasant, peaceful farmland, Steel knew that over the hills, within a few miles, villages were being burnt by his own army.
It was three days since they had left the main camp. Today was the 14th July, a Sunday. The flat plain of the meandering river valley of the Lech had given way after a day to more wooded terrain. They had crossed the river by bridge at Waltershofen and five miles on had entered the thick forest which covered the countryside to the west of the brewing town of Aicha. The woods were full of biting insects that lost no time in feasting on fresh, northern blood. It had taken them a day to get clear of the trees. But the rank, red sores from the mosquitoes still raged on their skin.
They had now arrived on the flood plain of the Paar, where high plantations of hops signalled that they were entering the heart of the Bavarian beer-making country. They had left behind neat little villages sat in lush valleys rich in arable crop and cattle and entered another countryside of higher hills with mountain tops visible beyond, capped with snow. A wild country that reminded Steel of the land that lay to the west of his family home, far away towards the Western Isles. Yet, for all the familiarity of the breathtaking scenery and gentle, bucolic images which surrounded him, with every step they took further away from the army and into enemy territory, Steel sensed the increasing possibility that they were walking into danger.
The door of the barn swung open and a tall figure was silhouetted against the growing light.
‘Ready to move, Sir? Found you some coffee. Can’t say what it tastes like, though. Never touch the stuff myself.’
Having no servant with him, Steel was happy to allow Jacob Slaughter to minister to his needs. He had left Nate with Hansam’s half-company back at the camp to guard his kit. You never knew who might take a fancy to it. Now the big Geordie peered down at him through the half-darkness and offered his officer the part-filled tin cup.
‘Thank you, Jacob. Most thoughtful.’ He took a long drink from the mug and let the thick, acrid liquid trickle down his throat.
‘Can’t say that I’m keen to see this dawn, Sarn’t. But it brings us one more day closer to our return, eh? How are the men?’
‘All present, Sir. Sixty-three of our lads, and myself and Mister Williams. Though I don’t know as I’d say that they were all quite “correct”, if you understand me. Carter and Milligan are complaining of sores on their feet. Tarling looks like he might be coming down with the ague and Mac-pherson’s cut hi’ self in the hand, on his bayonet, Sir. Cleaning it. Mister Williams is already standing-to. He’s a good lad. Keen as mustard. Just what we need.’
This then, thought Steel, was his escort with which to bring back the flour for the army and the precious treasure whose loss would bring Marlborough’s ruination. He chanced another sip of the steaming brew and winced at the taste.
‘We’ll need to move fast today, Sarn’t. Word will have got out that we’re here.’
They made an easy target in their obligatory scarlet coats, with the wagon train strung out along the road. They marched in full order, as if they might have been on duty at St James’, and Steel felt the gaze of a hundred imagined enemy eyes observing their every step and waited for the first shot to ring out from the tall trees that flanked their progress. Steel stood up, carefully, handed Slaughter the empty mug and folded his cloak. He brushed himself clean of the straw and mire from the floor and followed his Sergeant out into the cold dawn.
In the little courtyard the men were gradually assembling, stamping their feet and blowing on fingers.
Slaughter announced his presence: ‘Henderson, Mackay, Tarling. You others. Stand-to. Officer on parade.’
The men moved more smartly into line and formed three ranks.
‘Form them up, Sarn’t.’
‘Marching formation. Move to it.’
Within minutes the men had changed formation. Steel looked down the column of march. Forty wagons, strung out in line. Enough to carry 300 quintails of flour. That would keep the entire army in good supply for a day, but well divided and distributed, it might last for a week. Time enough for the command to find another source. He saw that each wagon was now flanked by a four-man escort. ‘At the command, the column will move off. Forward march.’
The sleepy civilian waggoners whipped their beasts into action and the red-coated column again began to move east.
They had been travelling for barely three hours when, reaching the top of a hill they saw the road stretch away before them in a shallow valley before climbing again steeply. And there, at the top of another hill, lay the distant roofs and gables of a village.
Steel, unused to riding with a supply train and impatient to increase the pace, pressed his thighs together and urged his horse, a chestnut mare that he had purchased in Coblenz and christened Molly, forward and down the slope. Dust rose from beneath her hooves and as she took up the pace to a gentle trot her harness added a high note to the rhythmic clank which marked the passage of a body of armed men.
For a moment, Steel stopped and turned in the saddle. He looked past young Williams and over the heads of the men then, turning back, dug his heels into Molly’s flanks before pulling a wad of tobacco from his pocket. He placed it in his mouth and began to chew. Steel’s only desire was to accomplish his mission as quickly as possible and return safely to where the army might next be encamped. Wherever that might be. He felt restless. In need of action. This was not the place for him, up here at the head of a marching supply train. Perhaps if he were to march with the men. He reined in his horse and slid from the saddle. Spitting the tobacco from his mouth into the roadside and grasping the reins, he slipped easily into time with the column, alongside Slaughter who grinned at him with pleasure.
‘Come to join us, Sir?’
‘Needed a change, Sarn’t. Just that.’
Slaughter pointed off to the left. ‘There it is again, Sir. More smoke. Men don’t like it. They was all talking about it last night.’
Over the last two days, as they had marched, they had become increasingly aware of tall plumes of smoke rising against the sky, visible from some distance. The men had wondered at them and suggested a number of explanations. That the French were burning crops, lest they fall into allied hands. That bridges and barges were being destroyed to impede their progress. Even that they indicated some great battle whose glory they had missed. But Steel knew what they really meant. Before they had left Hawkins had intimated one more fact to him and he in turn had passed it on only to Hansam, Williams and Jacob.
Marlborough was going to burn Bavaria. No one, God willing, soldier or civilian, would be killed. But in a last effort to force the Elector to quit his pact with the French, he would send out troops to lay waste every town they found. Steel was secretly appalled at the thought. Yet he understood how it fitted perfectly with the logic of the sort of warfare on which Marlborough had now embarked. This was total war. War waged by, almost, any means. So the horsemen would come with their burning torches and they would be ruthless, though yet with an edge of clemency.
Still, the rising grey-black clouds provoked him to a shiver. What effect would this have upon the native population, forced from their homes and rendered penniless? What reception might he and his men now expect as they made their way through this pleasant country whose neat fields and townships had lately so delighted his eye. He suspected that at best, should they find a village still intact, they would not be made to feel welcome. At worst, well who knew? Visions of ambush filled his mind. Of erstwhile lawful people taking the law into their own hands to revenge this outrage. Of redcoats with their throats cut in their sleep. Who could know what unexpected dangers awaited them? He moved to the side of the sweating horse and, unbuckling the saddle-bag, withdrew a worn and folded sheet of paper.
It was a map, given to him by Hawkins before they left. But while it showed the major towns and rivers, precious few of the villages were marked on it. Steel knew from the position of stars that he was still going east, with the Lech at his back and the other, smaller river they had crossed, the Paar, to the south. And that he realized, must mean that they were headed in the right direction and that one more day’s march along this road should bring them to their goal and then they could return to what they did best. Steel was no spy or secret agent. He was a soldier. Just that. He wondered that Hawkins had marked him out for this mission, then remembered Arabella. And with that memory came the sensation of a feather bed and a vision of her face. He spat tobacco husk on the ground. Christ but she was devious.
‘All right, Sir?’
‘Thank you, Sarn’t. Quite all right, thank you. Just impatient to get this job done.’
‘And get back to the army, Sir?’
‘Precisely, Jacob. The sooner we finish this business, the quicker we get to the French.’
Steel swatted at a mosquito that had settled on his cheek, for they were marching parallel to a small stream and a marsh, and the insects were beginning to discover this new quarry.
‘And the sooner we beat the French the quicker we shall all return north and away from this vermin-infested country.’
Slaughter kept quiet. He knew when Steel was in one of his rare moods of ill humour and recognized the moment. They came on fast and you could never predict them. Perhaps the coffee had unsettled him. He would have to remember that. Steel continued, addressing Slaughter but talking to no one in particular:
‘We have to find the French and give battle. And soon, otherwise we shall be sucked deeper into this country and our lines of communication stretched still further. But it would appear that at this precise moment not even Marlborough really knows where they might be.’
Two miles to the north, another red-coated column came to a halt. At its head, astride his grey mare, their officer too was reading a map. Aubrey Jennings was lost. Hopelessly lost. They had set off from the camp a day after Steel and, as advised
by Stapleton, had taken a route parallel to his and to the north, by way of Wiesenbach and Eiselstredt. Inhospitable little places with tongue-twisting names and their people hidden behind shutters that creaked as they peered to glimpse the redcoats clanking through their cobbled streets. Outside the towns and villages the country of lower Bavaria was pleasant enough terrain, though hardly anything to rival the South Downs. Farmland mostly, but as they marched they found the landscape scarred increasingly by burnt-out farmsteads and peasants standing in the field, staring at them with hateful, weary eyes. From time to time Jennings was aware of a column of smoke trailing up skywards from another burning settlement. Clearly one of the opposing armies was at work hereabouts and it made the Major nervous. So nervous indeed that his attention had been deflected from their route.
‘Sarn’t Stringer.’
‘Sir.’
‘We’ll rest here for ten minutes. Have the men fall out.’
‘Very good, Sir.’
As Stringer shouted at the musketeers, and one by one the weary soldiers unslung their knapsacks and sat on the verge, Jennings looked back to the map. He was sure that they had passed through the village of Nieder-Berebach, but for the last four miles nothing had seemed to correspond to the geography which would have followed such a route, as stated on the plan. A river to his left he took to be the Paar. But why then did it not divide in two as was shown on his map? Now a bridge lay across their path along the riverbank and that, most certainly, was not marked. At this rate they would arrive at the rendezvous with Kretzmer long after Steel. And that must not happen.
‘Sarn’t Stringer. How far would you say we have covered today?
‘Today, Sir? Around ten mile, Sir.’
Yes. That is my reckoning. This river, Sarn’t. The Paar, is it not?’
‘Really couldn’t say, Sir. Not lost are we, Sir?’
