Rules of War

by Iain Gale

  Slaughter broke his reverie. ‘I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t mean to step out of line. Won’t do it again.’

  Steel smiled at him: ‘No, Jacob. It’s I who should apologize. I am aware that the men are unhappy and if it were in my power I would have them attack. But to do so now would be suicide. We must wait until we can make a breach in the walls. It won’t be long, I’m sure.’

  He turned and walked back down the hill, following Hansam towards where the Grenadiers had made their bivouac on the right flank of the regiment’s other companies. As usual Steel’s men had been ordered to provide the picquet and it had fallen to them again to send out yet another foraging patrol. He wondered that it had not yet returned, and called back up the hill to Slaughter, who was close behind him. ‘Sarn’t, any sign of Mr Williams’ patrol yet?’

  ‘Still out, sir.’

  ‘How long have they been gone now?’

  ‘Best part of two hours, sir. Shall I send out another to find them?’

  ‘We’ll give them another half-hour. Mister Williams has probably got himself lost. Or found some local girl.’ But he thought it unlikely.

  Steel turned towards his tent but as he did so a glint of steel on the edge of the wood caught his eye. He reached for his sword, but saw quickly that it was only Williams at the head of the missing patrol. A second glance though revealed that all was not well. The young ensign looked pale and was nursing a wound to his arm. Behind him the men hobbled into the camp, some leaning on each other for support. One of them, Steel noticed, Mulligan, had taken a bad cut to the head and was holding his white cotton stock to his left eye. Several others had lost their caps and one was without a gun. Steel dashed across to Williams, followed by Slaughter and a handful of the men.

  ‘Tom! What on earth happened?’

  ‘Strangest thing, sir. We were attacked.’

  ‘Attacked? Not by the French, surely?’

  ‘No, sir. By local peasants. We entered the village again and, just like yesterday it was all shuttered and locked. But then a great crowd of people came at us from behind one of the houses. Men, women and children, all waving pitchforks and clubs they were, sir.’

  Steel raised his eyebrows: ‘You’re not telling me that you were beaten off by women and children, Tom. That they did this?’

  Williams nodded, puce with shame. ‘I instructed the men not to open fire on them, sir. I did the right thing, didn’tI?’

  Steel patted him on the shoulder. ‘Yes, you did quite the right thing, Tom. We can’t kill women and children, even if they do attack you. But have you any notion as to why on earth they might do it?’

  ‘They were cursing, sir. And calling us names. In French.’

  Steel shook his head. Why, he wondered, had the population turned so suddenly and so violently hostile? What could possibly have driven them to this? His men – indeed as he knew, all the army – had instructions to take particular care to win over the population to their cause. They were there to liberate the country from French tyranny. To bring peace. Why then should they have become the object of such hatred?

  Frampton approached him, saw the blood on Williams’ coat and the wounded men: ‘Spot of bother, Captain Steel?’

  ‘Nothing really, sir. A few of my men were attacked by local villagers. Seems curious, sir. Don’t you think?’

  Frampton flashed his most unctuous smile. ‘No, not really. Doesn’t surprise me at all in fact. I guessed that something like this would happen eventually. They don’t trust us, you see, Steel. Hate all soldiers. In their blood, d’you see? It was only a matter of time before they turned on us.’

  Steel did not see – did not agree. He had met some of these people and they were not the illogical yokels that Frampton painted them. Could it be that something or someone had deliberately turned them against the British army? There was something about Frampton’s smug assuredness that triggered a thought in his mind, a memory of overheard conversation. As Frampton walked off, Steel turned back to the exhausted forage party.

  ‘Tom, take Mulligan and get yourselves looked at by a doctor. Or by Matt Taylor at least. Then report back to me. I want a full account of what happened.’

  Taylor, Steel knew, was as good as any apothecary or quack practitioner. Skilled with herbal remedies he had learned at Chelsea Physick Garden, he was able to cure everything from a dose of fever to a hit from a musketball.

  As the men walked into the camp, Williams approached Steel: ‘There is one thing, sir. We found these in the village. I thought they might be of interest.’ Williams reached into his coat and brought out a bundle of torn printed broadsheets and handed them to Steel. Steel looked at them and began to read the French text. He understood just the gist of it. ‘Marlborough’s rape of Bavaria … women and children massacred … this will be the fate of Belgium … English no better than the French oppressors …’

  ‘Might they be of some use, sir?’

  Steel clapped Williams on the shoulder. ‘Yes, Tom. Great use. You did well to find these. Now take yourself off to Taylor.’

  Steel looked again at the papers, thumbing through them. So this was Frampton’s work – it had not been idle chatter. This he realized could do everything the major and his coconspirator had planned: raise the population, bring down Marlborough, move the war to Spain.

  Slaughter found him reading: ‘Seems to me, sir, we’ve got ourselves in a right pickle now.’

  Steel looked up: ‘Sarn’t?’

  ‘Well, sir. We’ve got the Frenchies to our front in that bloody great fort, ha’n’t we? Plus, we’re sitting in a ruddy bog beside the sea, getting eaten alive by these bloody creatures’– he swafted at another fly – ‘and now we find we’ve got the bloody locals at our backs. They won’t sell us any food and they’ve damn near tried to fillet poor Mr Williams.’

  ‘Yes, Jacob. It is a bit of a pickle. I pity the duke in getting us out of this one. Although I think that I may just have found a way to help him.’

  Standing on the top of a sand dune, just beyond the six-hundred-yard range of Ostend’s cannon, Marlborough was mulling over much the same thought. He folded the slim, brass-bound field telescope with which his wife had presented him after Blenheim and handed it to Cadogan, who with Hawkins had walked forward from the rest of the general staff to take a closer look at their objective. Marlborough brushed a marsh mosquito away from its feasting on his cheek and spoke quietly to Cadogan.

  ‘Can we do it, William? Can we take this place?’

  ‘Oh, we’ll do it, Your Grace, God willing. We’ll do it. That is to say, you shall do it.’

  Marlborough smiled. ‘And how long d’you suppose it will take us. Twenty days? Thirty? Marshal Vauban’s magic forty-eight? Do tell me.’

  ‘You know, Your Grace, of the last great siege here. That of 1604?’

  Marlborough frowned. ‘How could I not know it? Have I not been reminded of it more times than I can remember in these last few days? Do I not know how General Spinola sat here with Prince Albert’s army, precisely where we now stand, for no less than three years before he was enabled to take this place? Do I not know that it cost him more than eighty thousand men? Very nearly twice the size of this army. Thirty thousand Dutchmen too perished within the walls, from wounds, pestilence and disease.’ He turned to Hawkins: ‘What is it about this place, James? Is it cursed?’

  The colonel shrugged. ‘Perhaps it is, sir. But it could be that it’s also just damned hard to take. It was a natural defensive position even before Monsieur Vauban worked his genius here.’

  Marlborough balked at the name. ‘Vauban. Damn the man and damn his genius. He haunts me like the flux and will do so till the day I die. Vauban and his damned forts. D’you know he has published his writings in another book. Oisivetes he calls it. His “idle thoughts”. I wish to God that the man could have been more idle. Seems to me all his life he’s never had one damned idle minute.’

  Hawkins spoke: ‘It is said that he has constructed more than eight sc
ore of forts and defended citadels.’

  ‘And it seems to me, James that I must have besieged every one. But this one, this is a singular place. Look at it. Water on the one side. Well, that might not be too much of a trouble. But it’s these damned marshes to our front. How are we to construct even a second parallel trench if all we can dig is marsh water?’

  Cadogan smiled hopefully: ‘Well, we can be certain that it will not fall as did so many other towns of late, by the will of the people. The men who defend this place are very different. A few French regulars, a few Walloons to be sure, but for the most part, apart from the garrison who serve the guns, privateers in French pay. They will not throw open their gates. They know that they can expect no quarter and so they will extend none to us.’

  Marlborough nodded in agreement. ‘Yes. This will be a very different affair. At Ghent, as at Antwerp and Oudenarde, I know that it was my personal assurances that there would be religious toleration and general liberty which made the people so willing to welcome us in.’

  ‘That may be so, Your Grace. Personally I do not believe that these people prize their independence greatly. But to own their liberty is quite another thing.’

  Marlborough looked up and gazed at a seagull, which hovered on the warm air current over the dunes before swooping down towards the town. ‘So how then are we to take it. What intelligence do we have?’

  Hawkins spoke: ‘Our spies are posted, as you know, in the sea ports along the Channel coast. Monsieur Chandos is most particular. He sends his fondest best wishes by the way.’

  Marlborough laughed. ‘Old Chandos is a charming man. He masquerades as Governor of Ath for the French, encourages their complete trust and yet in reality he is the very best of my agents.’

  Hawkins went on: ‘Ostend is precisely as Lord Cadogan would have it. The place is a nest of privateers and pirates. Chief among them is a Frenchman, name of René Duguay-Trouin, who, enjoys a certain celebrity, if our sources are to be believed.’ He smiled. ‘Very popular with the ladies, I’m informed.’

  Cadogan snorted. ‘That blaggard. Calls himself a privateer. Nothing more than a common thief.’

  Hawkins grinned. ‘Was it not he who took your own frigate in the Channel, My Lord? You will have met the gentleman then?’

  Cadogan grunted. ‘Gentleman, indeed.’

  Hawkins continued: ‘Of course, Duglay-Trouin aside, the town does have a de facto governor, name of the Comte de la Motte. Reasonable sort of chap apparently, as Frenchies go. The garrison might prove to be unreliable if tried. Mostly Walloons in French pay. They have some ninety cannon and a quantity of powder stored in five magazines. This map shows the locations as best we can tell them. A single shot might do untold damage, although at present we cannot drag the cannon into range. Our best hope it would seem lies with the guns on our own ships, out to sea.’ Together, they looked towards the flotilla. ‘Oh, and there are ships of the French navy in the port. Two men o’ war anchored in the harbour and of course Duglay-Trouin’s own vessels.’

  Marlborough sighed. ‘Are you certain that is all?’

  ‘There is one further matter of which you should be aware, sir.’

  Hawkins beckoned to a footman who came running with a saddlebag. The colonel reached inside and producing a thick sheaf of papers, placed them on the folding field-table.

  Marlborough eyed them with distaste. ‘More of those damn broadsheets?’

  ‘I am very much afraid so, sir.’

  ‘By God, I am scandalized and defamed enough at home by Defoe and Tutchin in their rags. The Observator is the scourge of my life. Do not tell me, James that this damnable gutter press is to follow me even here.’ He began to read and the rage spread visibly across his face. ‘But this is treasonable, man. Who d’you suppose is behind them? If such liberties can be taken of writing abominable lies without being detected, then where shall we be? It cannot be the French who are behind it – they are too much in disarray – and so its author must needs be closer to home.’ He continued in a quieter voice: ‘I am aware that certain officers in this army are in the habit of writing home anonymous letters according to their own political affections. Would that I knew though who they might be. I am aware too that certain gentlemen even now are voicing their opinion that my use of Lord Orkney’s men at Ramillies was not wise. That I should not have first sent him into such an attack and then when he had all but carried the place, pulled him back.’

  Hawkins spoke: ‘They do tend to accord the blame to Lord Cadogan, sir.’

  Cadogan bristled and glared at Hawkins. ‘You know, Hawkins, that I was merely carrying out orders.’ He realized what he had said: ‘Orders, of course with which I wholeheartedly agreed, Your Grace.’

  Hawkins continued: ‘But in effect, Your Grace, the crisis produced by the writing in this new publication is somewhat more serious and immediate than a slur on your character.’

  Marlborough grasped the paper and began to read. Hawkins went on: ‘It is more dangerous than before, sir, you will appreciate. They talk of religious matters, assert that we intend to place a Dutch regime in power over them when these people as we know are naturally Catholic and thus in effect more inclined towards the French, or even their own countrymen.’

  Marlborough raised his voice: ‘But you both know that we do not intend anything of the sort. Certainly our Dutch allies may have a say in the government of their Belgian cousins. But to have any part in governing this country is not our intention. Never was. The Dutch carry everything with such a high hand that they are not beloved anywhere. God save us from them.’

  Cadogan attempted to calm him. ‘Of course that is not our plan, Your Grace. Although I do suspect that it will indeed be the eventual solution to the government of this ill-figured land.’

  ‘It will bring only ill. The people must be governed by Charles II alone. Have I not myself refused his offer of the governorship for that very reason. Perhaps if he were to come here himself; show himself to the people.’

  They knew he was grasping at straws. Hawkins pointed to the paper: ‘It is too late for that, Your Grace. The people know nothing of your true thoughts. Yet if they read this … and this …’ He brandished another of the broadsheet papers, ‘They will know only this and will take it as the truth and proof positive of your deceit. We must act instantly, sir. Even now, Your Grace, the people of that most Catholic of towns, Ghent, are said to be engaged in violent protests. Against –’

  ‘Against me. They riot against me, Hawkins. Yes. I can see that now. No doubt as we speak they are burning me in effigy. The devil take whoever is behind this. I’ll have him, Hawkins. We must find him. If I cannot have justice done me then I shall break this man’s bones and those of his printer.’

  ‘A noble sentiment, Your Grace. And one which I am sure would be approved by all honest Englishmen. But we have no clue as yet as to who might be the author. And already the sedition spreads. We have reports of peasantry attacking several English regiments. The farmers, you are aware, are no longer so keen as they were to sell us food. Our supplies are failing – from both this and from our lack of a port.’

  ‘Is it that bad?’

  ‘Bad, sir, worse than bad. In my opinion, this country is on the brink of a civil war. The Walloons and the Flemings no more wish to be subject to the Dutch than they do to the French, but set them at each other and God knows what will happen. Yes, they have proclaimed their allegiance to you and ultimately to Charles II and the Hapsburg dynasty. Given reason, they would have him their king and live independent of the French or Spanish. But, sir, believe me, if they suspect you of being partisan in any of this or of seeking to help the Dutch then they will divide again. And it is happening even now. Our spies in Ostend inform me that the people we have counted on within this very town are even now on the brink of abandoning our cause.’

  Marlborough brought his hands up to his mouth, interlaced the fingers and cupped them to his lips, as if in prayer. He looked steadily towards the town, t
aking in every aspect of the defences. Then he turned and lowering his hands to his side gazed out to sea before turning back.

  ‘We must act now. You can be sure that just as soon as King Louis and his marshals realize our true situation then we shall face another French army, fresher and stronger than the last. We have only one option, gentlemen. We must take this town now, by whatever means we possess.’

  Cadogan stepped forward. ‘If I may presume to suggest, Your Grace. Captain Forbes has a plan.’

  ‘Captain Forbes?’

  ‘Our naval attaché, Your Grace. He commands the bombships currently riding at sea. He has taken the opportunity to row ashore.’ He turned towards the beach and beckoned. ‘Captain Forbes, His Grace will see you now.’

  From the beach a slight figure in the dark blue uniform of the English navy climbed up the dunes towards where they stood. At length he reached them. Captain George Forbes had a pleasant, moon-shaped face set in a permanent smile and even though he was only aged just twenty-one was developing the swarthy skin which marked out a mariner.

  Cadogan motioned him towards Marlborough. ‘Your Grace, allow me to present Captain George Forbes.’ He looked at Forbes: ‘Captain Forbes, you remember telling me that you have an idea of how we might take the port? Pray, inform His Grace of your plan.’

  Forbes coughed and turned to Marlborough: ‘It’s really quite simple, Your Grace. I thought that we might send in a fire bomb.’

  ‘A what?’

  ‘A fire bomb, Your Grace. Sometimes known as an “infernal machine”. We did something similar, you may recall, at St Malo in 1693.’

  Cadogan interrupted: ‘Against privateers there also, Your Grace.’

  ‘I am aware of that, Cadogan. Go on.’

  ‘Well, sir, at St Malo, we prepared a brig, eighty feet in length. A captured Frenchman. She sat high in the water, sir, high enough to sail close to the city wall. We filled her with powder, stacked her to the gunwales with incendiary bombs and piled her decks with whatever missiles we could find. And then we set a skeleton crew and sent her into the port. Sailed her close to the wall, abandoned ship and then let her go.’