Drums of War

'You always did have an eye for the ladies, Dan,' he said. 'She's a real beauty is that Amalia. If it wasn't for the fact that I have a lovely wife waiting for me upstairs, I'd be very jealous.'

'I'm simply here to look after her,' said Daniel.

'It always starts that way.'

'I'm serious, Ronan. The girl is young and innocent.'

Flynn laughed. 'They're the best kind.'

'There's nothing like that going on.'

'Well, there damn well ought to be, man,' said Flynn, nudging him with an elbow. 'Look at those eyes of hers. Think of that divine face. Saints in heaven, Amalia could seduce the Pope!'

'She's a frightened woman who needs protection.'

'Then why aren't you in her bed, protecting her?'

Daniel sipped his wine until Flynn had finished his jocular teasing. When they'd first met, they'd been two of a kind, lusty young soldiers who fought bravely on the battlefield and took their pleasures where they could find them. Flynn had now settled down into family life but he had some warm memories. Daniel tried to steer him away from them so that they could talk about something more serious.

'What made you give up army life?' he asked.

'Old age and the sight of Charlotte Rousset,' replied Flynn.

'Was that her maiden name?'

'Yes, Dan, but she didn't hold on to it much longer once I'd met her. I worship that woman. She's changed my life and given me that little angel of a daughter. And that's not all,' he went on. 'When her father heard that I had a little money to invest, he took me into the family business. I'm a baker now, un boulanger de Paris. You tasted some of my bread earlier on.'

'It was delicious, Ronan.'

'The only problem is that I have to be up so early to make sure the servant has lit the ovens. Then we toil away while the city sleeps. When the bread is baked, I help to deliver it with the horse and cart. We've a lot of customers and they expect fresh bread every morning.'

'Which do you prefer — being a soldier or being a baker?'

'If you'd asked me twenty years ago, I'd have said that nothing could compare with army life. It was tough, I grant you,' said Flynn, 'and it could wear you down at times, but it was just the thing for a young fellow like me with fire in his belly. I craved the excitement of it all. I loved the danger.'

'You loved other things as well, as I recall,' said Daniel.

'That was my downfall, Dan. It wasn't the women. I think every man has the right to spread his love far and wide. No, it was the drink and the fighting. When I'd had too much of the one, I couldn't get enough of the other.' He gave a rueful laugh. 'I probably did more damage to my fellow-soldiers with my fists than I ever did to the enemy with a musket. It's the reason I never rose higher than a corporal. I had warning after warning but there was no heeding them when the drink had a hold on me.'

'You knocked out a captain, didn't you?'

'He was a lieutenant, actually,' said Flynn, 'and he deserved every blow. But striking an officer is a crime. When they'd finished flogging me, they threw me out of the regiment altogether.'

'Is that when you went over to the French?'

'No, Dan, I had a spell of drifting all over the place, taking whatever job I could lay my hands on. But I couldn't stay out of the war too long. I had friends in an Irish regiment serving the French so I threw in my lot with them.' He looked quizzically at Daniel. 'What about you? When we first met, we were both black-hearted corporals. Then you got yourself promoted.'

'I was lucky,' said Daniel, modestly.

'That's nonsense, man! Luck doesn't come into it. I know what it takes to work your way up and why so few people manage to do it. Captain Daniel Rawson, is it?' he added with a twinkle. 'I like it, Dan. It has a ring to it.'

'Thank you, Ronan.'

'It also gives the game away. If someone like you tricks his way into Paris, then it's to do with something more important than wishing three Dutch guests on the Flynn household.'

'It is,' confessed Daniel, 'but I'd rather not go into details.'

'It's probably better if I don't hear them, Dan. I count myself a loyal Frenchman now. On the other hand, I have to think of my wife and child. You and your friends are welcome to stay here as long as you don't endanger us.'

'If it reaches that point, Ronan, we'll move out immediately.'

'Then I won't pry any further.'

He poured them both a second cup of wine and they shared army reminiscences for a while. When his friend was in a mellow mood, Daniel turned to another subject.

'What do you know about the Bastille?' he asked.

'I know that I'd much rather be outside its walls than inside.'

'It's in the Rue Saint-Antoine, isn't it?'

'Yes,' said Flynn, 'and I get quite close to it when I deliver my bread. It gives me the shivers. My father-in-law would love to have the contract to provide bread for the Bastille itself but one of his rivals has got that. Mind you,' he went on, 'the bread probably only goes to the turnkeys. They starve any prisoners locked away in there. What are you interested in the Bastille for?'

'I've heard so many tales about it. If your delivery round takes you in that direction, you must have a wide circle of customers.'

'They've heard how tasty Flynn bread is. Strictly speaking, it's Rousset bread because my father-in-law taught me everything I know. There's a real art to baking, Dan. It took me a year to master it.'

'I'd like to see you at work, Ronan.'

'You won't get much sleep if you do that.'

'Who cares?' said Daniel, intrigued by the fact that Flynn would be going close to the Bastille. 'I'm used to broken nights. Would I be in the way if I came with you to the bakery tomorrow?'

'No,' said Flynn, 'you can help to load the cart.'

'In that case, I'll snatch a few hours' sleep while I can.' He drank the last of his wine. 'I can't thank you enough, Ronan. You helped us in our hour of need. We simply couldn't have stayed where we were.'

When the body of Jacques Serval was discovered that night, the police were informed at once. While some of them removed the corpse, others rushed to the house occupied by the Dutch visitors. Two constables were sent around to the rear of the building to block off any attempt at escape then someone banged loudly on the door. When there was no response, he pounded even harder with his fist. Still nobody stirred within the house. Forced entry was required. Two of the heftiest men threw their combined strength at the door until the lock gave way and it swung open on its hinges. Policemen poured into the dark house with lanterns and searched every room. When they met again in the hall, it was the sergeant who summed up the situation.

'They've gone,' he declared, purple with fury. 'We must catch them before they can leave Paris.'

Chapter Eight

Tom Hillier was disappointed. Army life was neither as thrilling nor as rewarding as he thought it would be. He had left the safety of his farm and family back in England in the hope of adventure abroad and it had not been forthcoming. Expecting to take an active part in famous victories, he'd twice been denied the chance to march into battle and had spent most of his time being drilled or moving from place to place. The novelty of being in a foreign country had soon worn off. He began to feel homesick. Of all the things that had disillusioned him, the most painful was the way in which his uncle had effectively disowned him. Though he'd only known Welbeck from the sergeant's letters, and from what his mother had told him about her brother, Hillier had an image of him as a hero and wanted to emulate his achievements. Yet he'd been rebuffed in the most hurtful way.

Set against the disappointments was one consolation. Having fought the drummer who'd been teasing him remorselessly, he not only won the contest but made himself a real friend in the process. In beating Hugh Dobbs, he'd earned his respect. Dobbs was a sturdy, potato-faced youth of eighteen summers with a roguish grin and a dislike of authority. He gave Hillier a lot of useful advice about the technique of drumming and told him lively tales about the regiment's involvement in the victory at Blenheim. Dobbs also acted as a kind of unofficial biographer to Daniel Rawson and the new recruit never tired of hearing tales of the captain's exploits. As they lay side by side that night in the tent they shared with the other drummers, Dobbs resumed his narrative.