Drums of War

'Is it someone from Amsterdam?'

'No — he comes from Paris.'

Mytens was guarded. 'Who is the fellow?'

'You don't need to know his name yet and you certainly don't need to feel perturbed. My friend wants exactly what we want and that's a promise of peace and a rest from this perpetual warfare.' He slipped a hand under his wig for another scratch. 'If we can reach agreement with France, we all stand to benefit.'

'Marlborough will oppose any peace manoeuvres.'

'He won't be here to do so, will he?' said Ketel with a smile before turning to look at the tapestry. 'I'd know the work of Emanuel Janssen anywhere. Whenever I'm in this room, I always admire it.'

'I'm not sure that I should keep it, Willem.'

'Nothing would make me part with such a masterpiece.'

'Emanuel Janssen is a traitor. He's working at Versailles.'

'King Louis always had exquisite taste.'

'That doesn't entitle him to lure away our best tapestry- maker. It's true,' said Mytens, studying the tapestry, 'that it's a masterpiece but should I have it hanging there when the man who created it is now in the pay of the enemy?'

'Leave it where it is, Johannes,' urged Ketel. 'It deserves a place in any house. Besides, Janssen may be in the pay of our enemy at the moment but that enemy could soon become our friend.'

Daniel rose early next morning and, after breakfast at the tavern, rode off to explore the city carefully and to find the best way out of it for them. Because it covered a relatively small area, it was densely populated. Straddling the river, it was bounded on the north by the boulevards from Porte Saint-Antoine to Porte Saint- Honore. Its southern border was the Boulevard Saint-Germain. Paris was divided into 20 quartiers and had something close to 500,000 inhabitants. Early in his reign — and he had been on the throne for over four decades now — Louis XIV had instructed Jean-Baptiste Colbert, his Superintendent of Finance, to create a capital city worthy of the name. The enterprising Colbert did so by embarking on an ambitious programme of building and he transformed Paris.

Working people, along with the poor and sickly, were forced out to the suburbs so that the centre of the city could be occupied by wide new thoroughfares, impressive monuments, grandiose palaces, vast mansions and splendid gardens. New bridges spanned the Seine and factories manufacturing glass and carpets were set up. It was a compact, bustling city where beauty and ugliness lived cheek by jowl and where fabulous riches contrasted with the most degrading poverty. Though Daniel was bound to marvel at the superb architecture of buildings like the Invalides hospital and the Hotel Colbert, he preferred Amsterdam in every way. The Dutch city, the greatest port in the world, was altogether cleaner, healthier, safer, more modest in its aspirations and, because of its plethora of lamps, the best lit city in Europe.

Daniel yearned to be there again, ideally in the company of Amalia Janssen. His orders had been to take her father to The Hague but the Janssen family would in time return to their home. He hoped that his friendship with Amalia would continue and blossom. When it was known that the tapestry-maker had not after all betrayed his country, he'd be acclaimed once more in Amsterdam. All that Daniel had to do was to convey him there. The task seemed more difficult every time he contemplated it but he responded to the challenge. Riding from gate to gate, he saw how well-guarded all the exits were and was sure that those on duty had descriptions of Amalia and her companions. It was Daniel who'd killed Jacques Serval but the others would be regarded as confederates and punished accordingly.

After his tour of the city's portals, he returned to the tavern well before noon and stabled his horse there. As midday was approaching, Daniel was lurking outside the Bastille. Among the many faces coming towards him, he recognised those of Philippe and Georges, the turnkeys with whom he'd been drinking the previous night. They greeted him with a wave then escorted him to the main gate. Daniel had put a stone in one shoe so that he was forced to limp as he walked. Having passed himself off as a wounded French soldier, he had to keep up the pretence. When the gate was opened, the gaolers went through it for another day's work. Before they were allowed to go to their posts, their names were checked off in turn. The man in charge of the list was tall, cadaverous and beady-eyed. He wore a dark uniform. Philippe spoke to him and indicated Daniel. After subjecting the newcomer to a long stare, the man flicked a hand to make him stand aside. Philippe and Georges bade him a cheery farewell before going off to one of the towers.

Daniel waited until the incoming turnkeys had all been accounted for and those they'd relieved had all departed. Only when his ledger had all the requisite ticks on it did the emaciated man look up. Daniel felt the intensity of his scrutiny. The man's eyes were so keen that they seemed to see right through the newcomer.

'What's your name?' he demanded.

'Marcel Daron, sir.'

'Do you have papers?'

'Yes, sir,' replied Daniel, taking them out and handing them over. He stood there for several minutes while his papers were inspected. They were eventually handed back to him. 'I was a soldier until I was wounded in battle,' he explained. 'They have no room in the army for invalids.'

'We have no call for them here either. Our turnkeys must be fit and strong enough to control unruly prisoners.'

'Apart from my foot, I'm in good health, sir. Being a soldier has kept me strong. Put me to the test, if you doubt it.'

The man did so at once, shooting out a hand to grasp him by the neck and pulling him close. Daniel's response was equally swift. He grabbed the man's wrist and squeezed it tighter and tighter until he saw the pain clouding his eyes. Strong though he was, the man was soon compelled to release his grip. Tucking the ledger under one arm, he massaged his wrist with the other hand.

'You're a powerful man, Marcel Daron.'

'You'll not find me wanting, sir.'

'Have you guarded prisoners before?'

'I did so many times in the army.'

'Why do you want to work here?'

'The work appeals to me, sir.'

'But why choose the Bastille?' asked the other. 'Why not go to the Chatelet or the Eveque? They are always looking for new men.'

'I heard that there might be a job for me here, sir.'

The man sniffed then walked around him, as if examining livestock at a fair. He opened his ledger and glanced down the list of names. The beady eyes shifted to Daniel once more.

'Are you afraid of the dark?' he asked.

'No, sir.'

'Are you frightened by rats and mice?'

'Nothing frightens me,' said Daniel, levelly.

'Very well,' decided the man after another prolonged survey of him. 'You can go on duty tonight. There'll be a uniform waiting for you when you arrive. If you're late, you'll be turned away.'

'Yes, sir.'

'My name is Bermutier — Sergeant Bermutier.'

'I'll be here on time, Sergeant,'

Bermutier gave him full details of how long he'd be expected to work, where he'd be assigned and what wage he could expect if he proved himself capable. Daniel thanked him before being let out through the door. As it closed behind him with a loud thud, he was profoundly grateful. Even during his brief visit to the place, he'd felt extremely oppressed by the high, thick walls of the Bastille. He could imagine how much worse it was to be imprisoned there.

Ronan Flynn was a genial host. Unfailingly pleasant to Amalia and Dopff, he was so impressed by the way that Beatrix had cleaned the house that he jokingly offered her a permanent job there. Amalia didn't even bother to translate the words into Dutch for her servant. She knew that Beatrix was as eager as she to leave Paris altogether and would hope never to set foot in France again. While they were there, however, it was important for the visitors to express their gratitude by giving the Flynn family ample time on their own. That was what prompted Amalia to take Beatrix for a walk that afternoon. Dopff, meanwhile, retreated to the attic.