4 Under Siege (27 page)

‘No, Amalia,’ he said, ‘I can’t. Obviously, that must have been exactly what happened. And if you and Sir John are convinced of Daniel’s safety,’ he added with confidence, ‘then so am I. The man sent abroad after him will find Daniel alive and in good health.’

Even though he knew that supplies were running short, Daniel was shocked to learn that ammunition would run out in less than a week. The continuous booming of the siege guns had eaten up their stocks of powder and shot, and the artillery were forced to retrieve some of the enemy shot aimed at them in order to reuse it.

‘Food supplies are low as well,’ said Daniel.

‘Where food is concerned,’ said Marlborough, ‘we can always reduce rations and forage further afield. That’s not the case with ammunition. If we don’t have it soon, then the guns will fall silent and Lille will be able to breathe a sigh of relief.’

‘I’ll set out at once, Your Grace.’

‘You know the route the convoy is taking. They’ll have left Ostend by now and be well on their way.’

‘Who’s in command of the escort?’

‘Major-General Webb and he’s an ideal choice. Acquaint them with our predicament here and see when he’s likely to arrive. Tell him that Cadogan is on his way with reinforcements.’

‘We’ll have to hope the convoy has not been intercepted.’

‘That’s always a possibility, alas,’ said Marlborough. ‘The enemy have enough troops in the area. I had planned for Major General Erle to move towards Bruges but we had reports of massive numbers being rushed there so the plan had to be abandoned.’

‘The French would hate to lose Bruges.’

‘They’d hate to lose Lille even more but that’s what will happen. Once Lille has fallen, we can turn our attention to Bruges and Ghent.’

‘But only if we have enough ammunition,’ said Daniel.

‘Quite so – that’s critical.’

‘I’ll bring news as soon as I can, Your Grace.’

‘May good fortune attend you!’

After trading farewells with him, Daniel left Marlborough’s quarters and walked briskly across to his horse. His uniform was likely to attract the attention of the enemy but he was relying on his riding skills and his knowledge of the region to avoid any problems. While he was only acting as a courier, he was glad to be back in action again. After the excitement of his two visits to Lille, he’d spent most of his time beside Marlborough and, while it was always fascinating to see the captain-general exercising his command, it didn’t provide the exhilaration that Daniel sought. He was pleased with the opportunity to be sent on an important mission. As he left the camp, the road opened out enticingly before him.

His task not only gave him the freedom of action coveted, it enabled him to speculate once more on the mysterious reference to Amalia in the letter Marlborough received from his wife. Who had died and how had Amalia reacted? Why had she not written to him about her loss? Where was she now? What could he possibly do to alleviate her suffering? When could he see her again?

With so many questions filling his mind, his concentration was affected. Daniel kept his eyes peeled on what was ahead and on both sides of him but he was too preoccupied to look behind him. Thinking about Amalia’s plight and blaming himself for not being there to comfort her, he was completely unaware of the fact that he’d been followed the moment he’d left camp.

Andrew Syme could not believe his luck. After only a short time, he’d been able to gather a lot of information about Daniel Rawson and could now identify him by sight. Knowing that it would be far too risky to make an attempt on his life in camp, he’d devised a ruse. Syme had written a letter that purported to come from Sir John Rievers. It informed Daniel that, in addition to grieving over the death of a close friend, Amalia was seriously ill. Since she could not be moved, she was desperate for Daniel to come to her in England. Syme had fully expected that his letter would lure Daniel out of the camp so that he could be killed somewhere along the road. The ruse was no longer needed. Having kept him under surveillance, Syme was rewarded with the sight of his leaving the camp entirely on his own. As he trailed behind his target, there was a smile of triumph on his face. His task was going to be far easier than he’d ever dared to imagine.

The dog did Daniel a favour. It was a small, fierce, ragged mongrel that hurtled out of a farmyard and yapped madly as it danced around his horse’s hooves. Frightened by the attack, the animal reared slightly and swung round. In that split second, Daniel caught a glimpse of someone in the middle distance, riding steadily after him. He knew at once that he was being stalked. Avoiding the dog, he galloped clear of the little farm. A mile further on, he came to a hill with wooded slopes. As soon as he’d crested it, Daniel looked for a hiding place among the trees. He dismounted, tethered his horse then took out his pistol. Choosing a vantage point, he waited until he heard the clip-clop of a horse.

When the rider came into view, Daniel saw him rein in his mount at the top of the hill and look down the open road. His suspicions were confirmed. Had the man been harmless, he would have ridden on his way without caring about anyone else. Instead of that, he was hovering as he tried to work out where the person ahead of him had disappeared. The man was close enough for Daniel to take a good look at him but too far away to be within range of a pistol. Tall in the saddle, he was lean and alert. Daniel could discern the air of a soldier about him, yet he was wearing the apparel of a wealthy English gentleman. He was an odd person to meet in such a place.

After a few minutes, the man shrugged and seemed to abandon his pursuit. Tugging on the rein, he turned his horse and vanished down the other side of the hill. Daniel was not tempted out of hiding. He waited a considerable time before he moved, keeping an eye on the crest of the hill throughout. But the man did not come back. When he felt it was safe to do so, Daniel mounted his horse and trotted back up the road. He reached the top of the hill and looked at the prospect below. Beyond the farm, he could see for another mile or more. If the rider had gone back in that direction, Daniel would certainly have spotted him. That meant he was concealed somewhere, lying in wait, ready to pounce if his quarry came within reach. Daniel didn’t give him that opportunity. Wheeling his horse, he set off back down the hill. Whenever he glanced over his shoulder, he saw nobody in pursuit yet he knew that the man would be back.

It was a minor setback but Syme was not in the least worried. Lurking among the trees, he decided that it might actually be a good thing that Daniel Rawson was aware of him. It added spice to the situation and gave him an extra challenge. It had never been Syme’s intention to shoot him in the back. He was too much of a soldier and a gentleman to resort to what he regarded as cowardly murder. When he killed Daniel, he’d intended to do so in some form of duel. He wanted to look in the man’s face before he took his life. It was clear where Daniel was going. By talking to officers at the camp, Syme had learnt how low the stocks of ammunition were at the siege. A convoy was on its way from Ostend. Someone needed to find out where it was and how long it would take to reach Lille. Since he was part of Marlborough’s staff, Daniel Rawson had been selected. That was what Syme assumed and his assumption had been supported by the route taken. Daniel was on the road north to Menin.

Coming out of his refuge, Syme mounted his horse and trotted once more to the top of the hill. From his eminence, he could see a rider in the distance, his sword glinting in the sunshine and his red coat standing out in vivid contrast to the green grass. Syme kicked his horse into a canter. The second stage of his chase had begun.

Unable to see him, Daniel nevertheless knew that he was there. It didn’t matter if the man was a French spy or someone with a personal grudge against him. The only fact that Daniel considered was that he was being tailed by a professional and he reproached himself for not realising sooner that he was being followed. Danger was not only behind him. As he came out of a copse, Daniel saw a French patrol directly ahead of him. He took evasive action at once, swinging his horse to the right and galloping along the bank of a bubbling stream. The patrol gave chase immediately, half a dozen men each eager to be the one to capture or kill an enemy. Fanned out across a field, they were a couple of hundred yards away but felt certain that they’d be able to overhaul him.

Daniel could hear the drumming of the hooves behind him. He didn’t waste time looking back. His gaze was fixed on the wood ahead of him. If he could gain the safety of the trees, he believed, he might somehow be able to shake off the patrol. They were slowly gaining on him. Veering sharply to the right, Daniel splashed across the stream and felt the cold water sprinkling his face. When he reached the wood, he plunged in and picked a way between the trees and shrubs. The further he went, the darker it got. In what seemed like only seconds, he could hear the patrol crashing through the undergrowth behind him and taunting him with calls. Their leader ordered them to spread out.

He was in a quandary. Unable to find a hiding place, Daniel didn’t dare to break cover. Once out in the open, he’d be doomed. Divide and kill. That was his only option. The soldiers would be coming one at a time. Daniel was armed with his sword, pistol and the dagger given him by Rachel Rees. Three weapons would not be enough to account for six soldiers but they were all that he had at his disposal. Finding a thick, gnarled oak, he tethered his horse behind some bushes then climbed the tree. The first man appeared only a few moments later, sword in hand as he rode slowly along. Daniel waited until his target was directly below him, then he dropped from the bough on which he’d been resting and knocked the man from the saddle, hitting the ground before rolling over and using the dagger to slit his throat. One down and five to go – the fight for survival was on.

The commotion brought another French soldier within range. This time Daniel felled him with his sword, leaping out from behind the tree to hack at the man, then grabbing his arm to drag him to the ground. One thrust of the sabre despatched him but the man’s cry of agony aroused the others. Taking to his heels, Daniel darted off through the trees to put distance between himself and the two corpses, but he could not outrun a horse. One of them pounded after him and he could hear it closing in on him. When he turned round, he saw a sabre raised to slice his head off. Daniel had the pistol in his hand instantly and put a ball into the rider’s brain. As the man fell backwards and dropped his sabre, its point stuck in the ground.

No sooner had one horse cantered past him than another came into view. It was the leader of the patrol and he was pointing a pistol menacingly at Daniel. The precise moment the man fired, Daniel hurled the dagger at him and, as he felt a searing pain in his right arm, he saw the weapon bury itself in the Frenchman’s chest. Trying vainly to pull out the dagger, the soldier gurgled helplessly, then fell from the saddle and writhed on the ground. Four men down and only two left – Daniel had the right to feel elated. Instead he had to stem the bleeding from the flesh wound in his arm. The pistol ball had missed the bone but grazed him enough to produce a lot of blood and severe pain. Tearing open the jacket of the man he’d shot, Daniel ripped off enough of his shirt to be able to bind the wound. However, he was given no time to tie it in place. Before he could even move, two other riders nudged their horses into view and looked down with horror at their fallen comrades. Both had sabres in their hands and murder in their minds.

Daniel was defenceless. He had no weapon in his hand and no means of escape. His arm was on fire. His mind was racing. All that he could do was to wait for them to attack.

They were in no hurry. Dismounting from their horses, they looked closely at the two corpses, their anger mounting as they did so. The captain of a British regiment would be a good prize but they had no intention of taking a prisoner. All that they wanted was revenge. They exchanged a glance as if deciding who should be first, then one of them raised his sabre to strike. Knowing that his chances were slim, Daniel got ready to dodge the blow, hoping that he could dive for one of the discarded weapons. His plan was never put to the test. Before the blade descended in a vicious arc, two shots rang out and both men pitched forward with a pistol ball in their brain.

Grinning broadly, Andrew Syme stepped into view.

‘Always carry
two
pistols, Captain Rawson,’ he advised, holding up his two weapons. ‘It doubles your chances of escaping alive from this sort of situation.’

‘Who are you?’ shouted Daniel.

‘That’s rather an impolite tone to use on someone who’s just rescued you from a very painful death.’

‘You’ve been following me.’

‘Yes – and it’s just as well that I did.’

‘What do you want?’

‘That can wait. I suggest that the first thing I do is to bind that arm of yours or your sleeve will be soaked with blood. Come on,’ he said, tucking the pistols into his belt, ‘let me help you off with your coat.’

Daniel agreed but remained on the defensive. He let the man take off the coat, examine the wound then bind it with part of the French soldier’s shirt. From the proficient way that his rescuer went about it, Daniel could see that he’d tended wounds before. His arm was still stinging but at least he was not losing any more blood. After thanking the newcomer for his providential help, he squared up to him.

‘Now will you tell me who you are?’

‘My name is Andrew Syme,’ replied the other.

‘You were an army man, I fancy.’

‘I was a major in a cavalry regiment.’

‘Why were you on my tail?’

‘I have orders to kill you,’ said Syme, picking up one of the sabres from the ground, ‘and I couldn’t possibly let a couple of Frenchmen do my job for me.’

Daniel was taken aback. The man had spoken with a quiet confidence that showed he had no doubts whatsoever about his ability to carry out his orders. Instead of being cut to ribbons by two angry Frenchmen, Daniel was now confronted by another threat. He sought to buy time by asking questions.

‘Who gave the orders?’

Syme shrugged. ‘Does that matter?’

‘It matters a great deal to me.’

‘You’ve never heard of the noble gentleman.’

‘Why has he singled me out?’ asked Daniel.

‘I’m afraid that you singled yourself out, Captain Rawson,’ said the other, suavely. ‘You made the unfortunate mistake of falling in love with the wrong woman.’

Daniel blenched. ‘Is this something to do with Amalia?’

‘It has
everything
to do with the young lady.’

‘Is she in danger?’ asked Daniel, stepping towards him.

‘Don’t come any closer,’ warned Syme, jabbing Daniel’s chest with the point of the sword. ‘You can hear me quite clearly from where you’re standing.’

‘Tell me about Amalia.’

‘I’ve never had the pleasure of meeting her but – since she can excite such passion in two different men – I can see that she must be an extraordinary young lady. Unhappily, only one of you can enjoy her. Pick up your sword, Captain Rawson.’

‘Wait,’ said Daniel. ‘This is pointless. Killing me will not send Amalia into someone else’s arms. She’d never look at another man.’

‘Every woman can be won over in time and the gentleman in question is well versed in the art. You’re not the first person I’ve had to remove because he obstructed the way to a lady’s bed.’

‘Is that what you are – a hired assassin?’

‘I prefer to see myself as a trusted friend.’

‘But you served in the British army,’ said Daniel, earnestly. ‘You’ve known the camaraderie created in warfare. Would you really attempt to kill a fellow officer?’

‘That would depend on his price,’ said Syme, easily, ‘and yours is inordinately high. I, too, have needs, you see. I have to pay for my pleasures and settle some gambling debts. Killing you is a simple way of doing that.’ He prodded Daniel again. ‘Pick up your sword, Captain Rawson. I’m no cold-blooded murderer. I always give a man a fighting chance. And, yes, I know you’ve been injured but that won’t impair you too much. Someone who can kill four Frenchmen entirely on his own is to be admired. You’ll be a worthy opponent.’

‘It’s a pity I can’t say the same about you,’ declared Daniel, retrieving his sword from the ground. ‘You’re a disgrace to the uniform of the British army, Major.’

Syme laughed. ‘I always thrive on insults.’

Trying to catch Daniel off guard, he lunged forward but his thrust was easily parried. The blades clashed again and again in quick succession, convincing Daniel that he was fighting an expert swordsman. Syme was strong, well balanced and light on his feet. He was also untroubled by any injury. Daniel, by contrast, felt a sharp twinge in his right arm every time their swords met. At one point, when he parried Syme’s flashing blade, Daniel winced at the pain he felt on impact. He was put on the defensive, stepping backwards over the dead French soldiers and knowing that he could not keep his opponent at bay indefinitely.

As the twinges in his right arm became more intense, Daniel switched his sword to the other hand and went on the attack. Syme was momentarily confused and forced backwards for a few moments. He adjusted quickly to the left-handed assault and managed to graze Daniel’s hip with a thrust. With two injuries to hamper him, Daniel realised that he had to end the duel very soon. Syme was stronger, faster and brimming with confidence. He began to taunt Daniel, even to toy with him. While barely holding him off, Daniel worked his way carefully towards his discarded red coat. As he did so, he pretended to trip over one of the corpses and lose his balance. Seeing his chance, Syme jumped in for the kill.

He was too slow. Daniel eluded his thrust with ease, bent down to pick up the coat and threw it into Syme’s face. While his opponent tried to get rid of the obstruction, Daniel snatched up the French sabre that stood upright in the ground and, fighting with his left hand at first, he suddenly used the sword in his right hand to pierce Syme’s guard, pushing the blade deep into his stomach before twisting it then pulling it out again. The duel was over. Syme’s eyes widened with incredulity. He’d never even considered the possibility of defeat. Dropping his sword, he sank to the ground with both hands to his stomach.

‘Always carry
two
swords,’ said Daniel, mocking Syme’s earlier advice. ‘It doubles your chances of escaping alive from this sort of situation.’

‘Damn you, man!’ roared Syme, as the blood gushed out of him. ‘You’ve killed me.’

Daniel dropped his weapons and grabbed him by the throat.

‘Who
sent
you?’ he demanded.

‘I never thought it would be this big,’ said Beatrix Udderzook as she looked around in wonder. ‘It’s enormous.’

‘It’s magnificent,’ said Amalia, ‘but it’s also a little intimidating.’

‘I so wanted to see it.’

‘Are you pleased that we came?’

‘This is the best day for me since we’ve been in England.’

The visit to London had fulfilled the maidservant’s dearest wish and given Amalia something to take her mind off the subject that had been gnawing away at it. When the three of them first arrived from Holland, they’d caught a glimpse of the dome of St Paul’s Cathedral as they drove through the capital. It was only when they were actually inside it, however, that they got a clearer idea of its dimensions and its proportions. Emanuel Janssen was entranced, wandering around in delight as he studied every detail of Wren’s masterpiece. After well over thirty years, work on the cathedral had not yet been completed but the bulk of the edifice was finished, enabling the visitors to stand inside the biggest Protestant church in Christendom.

‘I could never go up there,’ said Beatrix, pointing up at the Whispering Gallery. ‘I’d get too dizzy.’

‘Think of the view you could enjoy from there,’ said Amalia, craning her neck to gaze upwards. ‘The stonemasons who built it must have been working on it for years.’

‘I wouldn’t last ten seconds at that height.’

‘You’d be surprised what you can do, Beatrix.’

Amalia was glad that they’d been able to bring her maidservant with her. Since there was so little for Beatrix to do in the house, she was thrilled to escape from Oxfordshire for a while in order to see the sights of London. It was now almost half a century since the city had been destroyed by the Great Fire and it had been assiduously rebuilt in the intervening years. New churches, guildhalls, civic buildings, business premises and warehouses had sprung up, surrounded by new dwellings of every size and description. There was something of interest to see at every turn in the bustling capital but St Paul’s dominated everything else.

‘I think there’s somebody up there,’ noted Amalia.

‘I can’t see them, Miss Amalia.’

‘Look over to the left.’

Beatrix shifted her gaze, then caught her breath when she saw two tiny figures moving around the rim of the gallery. It made her feel queasy just to watch them. What if they fell? The very thought made her twitch involuntarily. Yet the people seemed unworried by being up at such a height. They paused to look down and, seeing Beatrix below, gave her a friendly wave. Startled by their bravery, she raised a nervous hand to wave back. One of them called something out but the words were lost in the cavernous interior of the cathedral. When the two people moved out of sight, Beatrix looked up beyond them to inspect the dome itself, wondering how something of that size and weight could stay up there without crashing to the ground. As if anticipating such a disaster, she felt the urge to move away and she turned to speak to Amalia. But there was nobody beside her.

Beatrix looked around. ‘Where have you gone?’ she asked.

Amalia didn’t even hear the question. She was kneeling at the altar rail in a side chapel, head bowed in humility and hands clasped together as she offered up prayers for the safety of Daniel Rawson.

He was miles from Wynendael when he first heard the sounds of battle and it made him kick his heels into the flanks of his horse. After his encounter with the patrol and his duel in the wood, Daniel was feeling much stronger. He’d bandaged the flesh wound in his hip with part of another French shirt, put on his coat, then hurried back to the stream so that he could douse his face with water and wipe the blood from his hands. When he returned to the scattered corpses, he gathered up a selection of weapons, making sure that he pulled his dagger out of the man it had killed. Rachel Rees’s gift had helped to save his life. Reclaiming his own horse, he set off. The escapade among the trees had left him with mementoes. His wounds were smarting and he was filled with anxiety over Amalia but there was a far more important souvenir of the struggle. It was the letter he’d taken from Andrew Syme’s pocket. It gave Daniel a name, an address and an urgent reason to get to England. Amalia was in jeopardy and he was needed there. There was, however, a prior consideration that could not be ignored. Daniel had to reach the convoy first. The increasing clamour ahead of him told him where he’d find it. Vital to the continuance of the siege, the convoy was making no progress at all. It was obviously under a concerted attack.

The French had been waiting to intercept them in a densely forested area near Wynendael. General Lamotte had some twenty-three thousand men under his command against an Allied escort of a mere six thousand men. The battle opened with a bombardment from French cannon that inflicted severe casualties on both the convoy and its escort. They would have been even more severe but for the order from Major General Webb for his men to lie on the ground and present less of a target. Ignoring the disparity in numbers between the two sides, Webb deployed his men with skill. When the French came up through the relatively narrow space between the trees, they were met by the sight of triple lines of men with a handful of mounted troops to the fore. The odds seemed to be heavily in favour of Lamotte and his army.

The advantage proved illusory. Because they were fighting in such a confined space, the French forces had to be crowded into twelve lines of units. Infantry were at the front, supported by four lines of dragoons and two of cavalry. They closed on the escort, only to be checked by the speed and accuracy of the Allies’ volley-firing. It took Lamotte’s men by surprise. Most of his regiments were composed of French-speaking Netherlanders with shifting allegiances. Tending to pursue their own interests, they were quick to discern where these lay. As the platoon volleys kept popping away with deadly effect, a wave of panic started to spread. The advancing French line began to fold and fall back to the right, getting entangled with the lines behind them and causing confusion.

There was a new menace to face. Webb had concealed some of his forces in the woods on both sides and these started firing from unseen positions among the trees. The French were falling in large numbers and impeding those behind them. Confident that he could still overpower the smaller force, Lamotte sent in his dragoons but they too were beaten back by the volley-firing. It was a ferocious encounter that lasted barely two hours and it was ended by the arrival of Allied reinforcements under the command of Cadogan. When he saw them approach, Lamotte gave the order to retreat and fled from the scene. Webb and his men had achieved an unexpected but well-deserved victory. They’d lost a sixth of their escort in the process but enemy losses were over three times that number. While the Allied general had every right to congratulate himself, his French counterpart was slinking away with his tail between his legs.