Drums of War

'Do you know what else Captain Rawson did?'

'No,' said Hillier, attentively.

'I overheard Lieutenant Ainley talking about it,' said Dobbs, 'so it must be true. When the captain was sent across the border to act as a spy, he captured some dispatches from a French courier then dressed up in the man's uniform and delivered them in person to Marshal Villeroi.'

Hillier gaped. 'He rode into the French camp?'

'He rode out again as well with Villeroi's dispatches to King Louis. Who else would have the nerve to do that?'

'Who else would take part in a Forlorn Hope?'

'Yes,' said Dobbs, 'Captain Rawson has done that twice now. When we reached the Danube last year, he joined in the Forlorn Hope at the Schellenberg. Most of the others were killed on the slope but he survived to fight on.'

'Tell me about Blenheim again.'

'Be quiet, you two!' someone called out. 'We're trying to get some sleep over here.'

'I'm sorry,' said Hillier before whispering to Dobbs, 'Tell me about Blenheim.'

'Ask me tomorrow,' suggested Dobbs, yawning.

'I want to hear it now.'

'Your uncle is the person to ask. Sergeant Welbeck was right in the thick of it. All that we did was to beat the drums.'

'I'd rather listen to you,' said Hillier. 'I want to know what it's like to be in a battle.'

'Tomorrow, Tom — I'm tired.'

'All right, but answer me this before you doze off. Is it true that Captain Rawson is no longer in camp? I heard a rumour that he was seen riding off days ago in civilian clothes.'

'I heard the same thing.'

'Where was he going?'

'He wants to take on the French fucking army all on his own.'

Hillier laughed aloud until someone threw a boot at him. The conversation was over. He lay on his back and gingerly rubbed the side of his head where the boot had hit him. Hillier then closed his eyes. It was time to dream again of the military glory that had so far eluded him.

After sleeping on the floor downstairs, Daniel came awake when he heard the sound of footsteps in the room above. Ronan Flynn was on the move. By the time that the Irishman crept downstairs, Daniel was dressed and wide awake. After a mouthful of bread and a drink, they harnessed the horse between the shafts and set off on the cart. The bakery was half a mile away so the journey gave them time to talk. They raised their voices over the clack of hooves and rattle of the cart.

'So this is how bakers live, is it?' said Daniel.

'We start early and finish early.'

'Then it's better than working on a farm. When I was a lad, we started early and finished late. In summer we never seemed to stop.'

'What happened to the farm?'

'It was commandeered when my father fought against the King's army at the battle of Sedgemoor. He was taken prisoner. Father was sentenced to hang at the Bloody Assizes. Mother and I had to flee to Amsterdam.'

'What rank did your father hold?'

'He was a captain.'

'So you followed in his footsteps.'

'Not exactly, Ronan. My father fought against His Grace — or Lord Churchill as he was then — while I serve under his command.'

'I'd much rather be on the Duke's side.'

'Then you should've drunk less and kept out of brawls.'

'Ah,' said Flynn, expansively, 'a man can't deny his own nature. I was born to fight and given the strength for it. And if I hadn't ended up in the French ranks, I'd never have met Charlotte.'

'You have a lovely wife,' said Daniel, enviously. 'I'm grateful that she made us feel so welcome last night. But we don't wish to be a burden on her while we're here. Beatrix will help around the house and Kees will take his turn in the kitchen. I'm told he's a wonderful cook. Amalia says that he makes all the meals at home.'

'What about her? How will Amalia pass the time?'

'When she sees that daughter of yours, I'm sure she'll want to hold her. Anyone would dote on Louise. She's a delight, Ronan.'

'That's because she takes after her mother. She's got Charlotte's beauty and my brains. That should stand her in good stead.' He gave a sigh. 'To be sure, I'd rather bring my child up in Ireland but she'll have a much better life here. I have to accept that. If I went home, I'd have no earthly notion of what to do. Here in Paris, I have a trade.'

'You had one when you were in the army, Ronan.'

Flynn guffawed. 'Yes,' he said, 'I was paid to kill people then. Nowadays, my bread tries to keep them alive.'

Daniel was fascinated to see the bakery in operation. He had watched army bakers preparing bread in vast quantities and dispensing with any subtleties as they did so. At the Rousset bakery, a large, low building with a number of ovens, far more attention was given to each individual loaf. They arrived to find the place already warmed up. A servant was bringing the ingredients in while Flynn's two assistants were making a start.

'Does your father-in-law still work here?' asked Daniel.

'Emile has more or less retired, Dan. He pretends that he's still in charge by looking in each day but I run the bakery. We'll probably be gone before he even gets here.'

'He obviously trusts you, Ronan.'

'With good reason,' said Flynn. 'I look after his daughter, his grandchild and his bakery. What more can a man ask?'

While he was talking, Flynn was already putting on a white apron and moving to one of the tables. Daniel stood back out of the way. Watching from a corner, he admired the speed and precision with which the Irishman shaped a loaf, albeit in a snowstorm of flour. Though the assistants were industrious, they had nothing like the skill of their employer. Nor did they take such an obvious delight in their work. Having got him into trouble as a soldier, Flynn's enormous hands were now put to more delicate use than knocking people unconscious. Two of the large ovens were set aside for him and they'd been the first to be lit. As a result, it was Flynn's bread that was first to be baked. Bringing it proudly out of an oven, the Irishman set it out on a tray. The aroma was enticing.

'There you are, Dan,' he said, inserting a new batch into the oven. 'When it's cooled down a little, you can have a taste.'

'Thank you. It smells wonderful.'

'Tempt the nose and fill the belly — that's my motto.'

As the hours rolled by, Paris came slowly awake and the noise from the street steadily increased in volume. Traders went past on their way to market, followed by housewives in search of the best bargains and the freshest meat. Some of the bread was destined for a stall there. It would still be warm when it was handed over. There was a shop at the front of the bakery and many of the loaves were stacked on the shelves in there. The old woman who ran the shop was a distant relative of Emile Rousset. She lumbered in well before the place was due to open. Candles burnt in the bakery but much of the light came from the ovens. Every time one of them was opened, a bright glow illumined the whole room and filled it with a gust of warm air. The assistants chatted amiably to each other. Flynn liked to sing Irish songs out of tune as he worked.

When the sky began to lighten outside, Daniel turned to glance through the window. The first thing he saw was his own reflection and he was jolted. Having dressed in the dark earlier on, he'd not been able to inspect the coat that had been torn and scuffed during the death grapple with Jacques Serval. Now that he did so, he saw to his amazement that the tear had been expertly mended and the dirt had been brushed off. The repair could only have happened while he was asleep with the coat over the chair beside him. Daniel couldn't believe that someone could remove the garment without disturbing him.