Fire and Sword

by Edward Marston

  If he couldn’t stop them, he thought, he could at least get close enough to see who they were. Keeping low, he crept furtively towards the farm. The raiders didn’t even look in his direction. They were too busy seizing what they wanted. The fire had taken a firm hold now and the crackle had turned into a deafening roar. The boy moved steadily forward until he hit a wall of blistering heat that stopped him dead. When he glanced at the farmhouse, telltale wisps of smoke were now coming through the windows. His mother and his sister had stopped screaming but they were still inside. Desperate to help them, he was held back by the billowing flames.

  The attackers were pleased with their work and started to mount their horses. The last man to join them seemed to be their leader because he bellowed orders as he emerged from the farmhouse, doing up his belt. Throwing a glance over his shoulder, he cackled happily before putting his foot in the stirrup and heaving himself up into the saddle. A sudden gust of wind then blew the flames away from the boy for a second. It was as if a curtain had been drawn back. What he saw, and what he would always remember, was the red beard and mad eyes of their leader, a big man with an evil laugh, who took one last look at the bonfire before giving the command to ride off with the day’s spoils. The wall of flame returned to block his vision and the boy could see no more.

  Somewhere downstream, his boat sailed bravely on.

  The Duke of Marlborough sat tight-lipped in consternation as Daniel delivered the report. Adam Cardonnel was the only other person in the tent and he was equally appalled at what he’d heard. Daniel tried to translate a garbled version of events into something more articulate. When the recitation was over, Marlborough wanted answers.

  ‘This happened this very afternoon, you say?’

  ‘Yes, Your Grace,’ replied Daniel.

  ‘And where exactly was the farm?’

  ‘It’s about ten miles west of here. If I may look over your shoulder for a moment,’ he said, standing behind Marlborough then pointing with his index finger at the map on the table, ‘it would be close to here.’

  ‘Then it’s on territory held by us,’ said Marlborough, worriedly. ‘Every farm on it has a right to our protection. The last thing we need to do is to turn the civilian population against us.’

  ‘Where did this information come from?’ asked Cardonnel.

  ‘The protest was made by another farmer,’ said Daniel. ‘I was there when he came into camp. He was too agitated to make much sense at first but I managed to tease the relevant details out of him. It seems that the boy ran four miles barefoot to the next farm to tell his tale. The lad was in a terrible state, and who can blame him? He lost his home, his parents and his siblings in one dreadful swoop. As soon as the farmer heard what had happened, he galloped here to demand that we punish the culprits.’

  Cardonnel nodded. ‘I’d say that was a very legitimate demand.’

  ‘They’ll be punished,’ vowed Marlborough, frowning deeply. ‘I’ll supervise their execution myself. First, however, we have to identify them.’ He turned to Cardonnel. ‘Send word to every cavalry regiment, Adam. I want to know details of every patrol that rode out of here.’

  ‘I’ll draft letters immediately, Your Grace.’

  ‘Ask for a description of where the patrols went and the names of those men involved. We may have to do this by a process of elimination but we’ll catch them in the end. They’re not British soldiers – they’re vicious criminals.’

  ‘And they wear our uniforms,’ said Cardonnel, ruefully.

  ‘I’m not certain about that,’ Daniel put in.

  ‘You just told us that redcoats committed this atrocity.’

  ‘They did, but that doesn’t mean they belong to us. I’ve been thinking how difficult it would be for one of our patrols to rustle livestock then burn down a farm. Where would they keep the animals? They could hardly bring them back here to camp. Nor could they rely on being sent out on patrol again at a time of their choosing. Do you see the problem here?’ he went on. ‘The boy talked of nine or ten soldiers who raided the farm. When patrols are sent out, they vary greatly in size. It’s unlikely that the same group would be dispatched together each time.’

  ‘That’s true,’ agreed Marlborough, grasping at the possibility that his men might not, after all, be responsible. ‘We may have a smattering of god-forsaken rogues in our midst but we also have thousands of honest, decent, responsible men who’d draw back at such horrors. If they had the faintest whiff of it, they’d report it to their superiors.’

  Daniel became pensive. Cardonnel watched him carefully.

  ‘I know that look in your eye, Daniel,’ he said at length. ‘You’ve been meditating on this, haven’t you? I suspect you have a theory.’

  ‘As it happens,’ Daniel answered, ‘I have two.’

  ‘If either exonerates our soldiers, let’s hear it.’

  ‘The first theory does that. I believe that these redcoats might actually be French soldiers, deliberately wearing our uniforms to give the impression that we’ll slash and burn for the sheer love of it. It would be easy for them to get hold of uniforms,’ Daniel continued. ‘After any engagement, the battlefield is littered with them.’

  ‘That sounds very plausible,’ said Marlborough, thoughtfully. ‘Burgundy and Vendôme know that we don’t enjoy the unqualified support of the Flemish population. We’ve yet to win their loyalty, let alone their affection. What better way to stir up enmity against us than to portray us as callous murderers? Thank you, Daniel. Your theory has the ring of truth about it.’

  ‘Yet it is only a theory, Your Grace,’ Daniel reminded him.

  ‘And it’s partnered with another,’ noted Cardonnel.

  ‘This one is not so reassuring, I’m afraid,’ cautioned Daniel, ‘because it puts the onus back on us. It would be very comforting to think that French soldiers have carried out the three raids, thereby lifting suspicion off British soldiers. However…’

  ‘Go on,’ Marlborough encouraged.

  ‘I incline towards my second theory.’

  ‘Which is?’

  ‘That these men are deserters from our own ranks,’ said Daniel, ‘hiding behind our uniforms and initiating another attack whenever they want a fresh supply of food or some more excitement.’

  ‘Ha!’ cried Marlborough, smacking the table. ‘What excitement can there be in shooting unarmed men and raping their womenfolk? What kind of warped minds take delight in the wilful destruction of property? They behaved like wild animals. If they really are British renegades, there’s all the more reason to track them down.’ He turned to Cardonnel. ‘When you send those letters, Adam, ask for a list of any deserters from our cavalry regiments.’

  ‘I will, Your Grace,’ replied Cardonnel, reaching for pen and paper, ‘and I’ll do it promptly.’

  ‘They may not all be from the cavalry,’ said Daniel. ‘Some of them could equally well have fled from regiments of foot and stolen some horses. May I suggest that we examine the lists of all deserters?’

  ‘That’s a wise precaution,’ agreed Marlborough, studying the map. ‘Meanwhile, I’ll send out patrols to search for them. So far, there have been three raids. The victims have all been roughly in this area to the west,’ he went on, tapping the map with his finger. ‘That’s where the search must start. The attacks are obviously planned with care. They always choose small, isolated farms where they can expect little resistance.’ He sat back. ‘Where will they strike next, I wonder?’

  ‘We can only hazard a guess, Your Grace,’ said Daniel. ‘With your permission, I’ll pursue another line of enquiry. The third attack is very similar to the others but there’s a significant difference.’

  ‘What’s that, Daniel?’

  ‘We have a witness.’

  ‘He’s only a frightened ten-year-old boy.’

  ‘Nevertheless, he may have seen something that could help us. When the lad has had a little time to recover, I’d like to talk to him. He may, for instance, have heard those men spea
k.’

  ‘That would be valuable evidence,’ said Cardonnel. ‘At least, we’d know what language they used. It’s a good suggestion.’

  ‘I concur,’ added Marlborough. ‘Take a patrol with you.’

  ‘I’d prefer to go on my own, Your Grace,’ said Daniel.

  ‘Why is that?’

  ‘The boy has had enough of a scare already. If he sees another troop of redcoats descending on him, he’ll be terrified. I’ll go on my own and I won’t wear my uniform.’

  ‘That’s very sensible.’

  ‘I have to win the boy’s confidence somehow,’ said Daniel, ‘and that will be difficult. Might I suggest that any patrols sent out are kept well clear of this farm where the lad is now staying?’

  ‘I’ll ensure that they are, Daniel.’

  ‘Thank you, Your Grace. I’d like to think that this is all part of some French plot to discredit us in the eyes of the local people. In my heart, however,’ Daniel went on, sadly, ‘I have a lurking suspicion that the men we’re after served in the British army and ran from their colours. That, in itself, is a heinous crime. What they’ve done since, I’m afraid, is quite monstrous. They soiled our reputation and stirred up hatred against us.’ Daniel’s face hardened. ‘That’s unforgivable.’

  The farmhouse stood beside a stream in the shadow of a hill that protected it from the worst of the weather. The summit commanded views in all directions. A lookout posted on it could see anyone approaching across the plain from miles away so they always had advance warning of company. It was a paradox. Men who made a living by burning down farmhouses had actually restored this one. When they first found the place, it was little more than a shell, its walls crumbling, its roof collapsed, its stone-flagged floors overgrown with weeds. After stealing tools, timber and tiles, they’d set about repairing their new home, building a snug refuge to see them through the winter. There’d been no shortage of wood for the fire.

  The roof was now sound, the rooms swept clean, the shutters mended and new doors kept out the wind and rain. They’d even made some crude furniture. Anything else they’d needed, they’d simply looted. From the ruins of the barn, a new one had risen, stocked with hay and straw. Animals penned behind the farmhouse were killed and roasted when the need arose. A pig was turning on the spit today, the tempting aroma of pork wafting through the air. The men were already licking their lips.

  There was another paradox. Soldiers who’d deserted from an army that imposed too much discipline on them had readily accepted an even stricter regimen. They knew that it was essential to follow orders now or forfeit their lives. There was, however, a difference. In the army, they were at the mercy of loathsome superiors against whom they had no redress. They were now part of a band that had elected their leader. Matthew Searle was one of them, a soldier from the rank and file, a strong-minded man who’d refused a chance to become a corporal out of sheer bloody-mindedness. Yet now he was wearing the uniform of a captain, albeit one that was stained with blood and ventilated by bullet holes. Searle was bold, cunning and decisive. He held the ragged band together by force of character.

  Edwin Lock was a short, skinny, rat-faced man with bulging eyes and a twitching moustache. Sucking on his pipe, he sidled across to Searle, who was seated at the kitchen table, counting money.

  ‘I need to speak to you, Matt,’ he said.

  ‘Shut up,’ ordered Searle.

  ‘We’ve been talking, you see.’

  ‘I don’t care what you’ve been doing, Edwin. You can just hold your tongue until I finish. Open that big mouth of yours again and I’ll halve your share. Is that what you want?’

  Lock held his peace and waited impatiently as Searle put the money into a series of piles. It was the life savings of the family who’d occupied the last farm they’d raided. At the time, it had seemed like a reasonable haul. Divided between ten of them, however, it looked less substantial. Searle was a natural democrat. He expected no privileges because of his position as leader. Ten equal amounts stood on the table. His arithmetic lesson was over.

  ‘Well?’ he asked, glancing up at Lock. ‘What have you got to say for yourself this time?’

  ‘It’s really what the others have got to say, Matt. They get bored out here without women.’

  ‘The town is only two hours away. All they have to do is to ride over there and they can buy the juiciest slit they want. They have the time and the money.’

  ‘Wouldn’t it be easier to have the women here?’ said Lock with a sly grin. ‘The girl in that last farm, for instance. Why did we have to kill her? She’d have given us sport for days out here.’

  ‘Yes,’ conceded Searle, ‘but you’d all have been fighting each other over whose turn it was next. I want none of that here, Edwin. If they want to dip their wick, the men can ride into town. The whores are cheap and succulent there.’

  ‘Then why don’t we pay for some of them to come here?’

  ‘No, I tell you.’

  ‘They could cook and sew for us as well.’

  ‘They’d be too busy on their backs,’ said Searle, stroking his red beard. ‘I love my fucking as much as the next man but I know the dangers of having women under our feet. They’re a terrible distraction and they’d expect to be pampered.’ Rising to his feet, he towered over Lock. ‘We’re on the run, Edwin. Never forget that. There’ll be patrols out looking for us and it may be necessary for us to find another place to hide. That’s why I keep a man on top of that hill in daylight hours. We must always be on our guard.’

  ‘Women would help to pass the time.’

  ‘They’d encumber us and there’s an end to it.’

  ‘We miss them, Matt. It’s one of the reasons we deserted.’

  ‘You’ll have your share of cunny before too long,’ promised Searle with a grin. ‘I’ve picked out the next farm already. I went over there last week to get the lie of the land. There’s a buxom wife, two daughters and two servants. That’s five lovely women between us. Pass the news around to the men. We’ll take our pleasure with them before we send them up to heaven in dancing flames.’

  Lock was thrilled. ‘I like the sound of that,’ he said, panting. ‘British soldiers will have another victory to enjoy.’

  ‘Not this time, Edwin.’

  ‘No?’

  ‘This farm is in enemy territory so we’ll change sides. Look out those blue uniforms we collected,’ ordered Searle. ‘When we burn down the next farm and swive the women, we’ll be troopers in the French cavalry.’

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Conversations with Vendôme were usually unpleasant occasions but the duc de Burgundy found them almost unbearable when they took place early in the morning. While the devout Burgundy began each new day by offering up his prayers, Vendôme preferred to occupy his chaise-percée, his camp lavatory, writing letters, issuing orders and receiving visitors while seated with his breeches around his ankles. When Burgundy called on him that morning and saw him in his customary position, he took care to stand a few yards away. It was a revolting sight for such a fastidious man.

  ‘I need to speak to you about Major Crevel,’ he began.

  ‘There’s no such person,’ replied Vendôme, brusquely. ‘Crevel has been reduced to the ranks where he belongs.’

  ‘You are too hasty, my lord Duke. Crevel is a fine officer with a good record. More to the point, he comes from a family with a long history of military excellence.’

  ‘He besmirched that history and deserves his fate.’

  ‘That’s a matter of opinion,’ said Burgundy, noting the copious tobacco stains on Vendôme’s shirt. ‘I would have acted rather differently in this matter.’

  ‘Are you saying that you’d promote that imbecile?’

  ‘Major Crevel is not an imbecile. He’s an intelligent man.’

  ‘Then why did he let himself get ensnared so easily by an enemy spy? Why did he get so drunk that he could be kidnapped, stripped of his uniform and left in a ditch? What glimmer of intelligence c
an you perceive in that? No,’ Vendôme went on, ‘I stand by my action. When a man shows himself unworthy of his position – and when he lets himself be humiliated like that – he merits instant dismissal.’

  ‘That’s for me to decide.’

  ‘I disagree, my lord.’

  ‘The matter should have been referred to me.’

  ‘That was quite unnecessary. After all,’ said Vendôme with ill-concealed sarcasm, ‘you have a vast army to lead. You have to draw up a plan of campaign that will end in a famous French victory. Why should you bother about such trivialities as the demotion of a useless officer?’

  ‘I don’t regard it as trivial,’ retorted Burgundy. ‘In responding the way that you did, you set a bad example.’

  ‘I think I set a very good example. The best way to preserve discipline is to crack the whip from time to time. And I’ve always believed that officers should be punished severely if their conduct warrants it. You, of course,’ he added with a patronising smile, ‘have much less experience of dealing with this sort of problem so you are bound to flounder.’

  Burgundy blenched. ‘I am not floundering, my lord Duke!’

  ‘The matter is closed. Why not leave it at that?’

  ‘Because,’ said the other, ‘I do not choose to do so.’

  ‘Forget Crevel. I have.’

  ‘I can’t do that, I’m afraid. The major has appealed directly to me and shown true remorse. He admits his folly and has vowed to be more circumspect in future. Heavens!’ he exclaimed. ‘If every officer who gets involved in a drinking bout is to be punished, then we’ll have nobody left to lead the men.’

  ‘I’ve nothing against drink,’ said Vendôme, expansively. ‘I love it myself. However, I despise men who can’t hold their wine and make themselves vulnerable as a result. In his stupor, Crevel gave away valuable information about us.’

  ‘He concedes that and is duly repentant.’