Drums of War

'Well said, Willem,' agreed Loti.

'Yes,' added Mytens, 'we're rightly chastised. Once again I apologise, Monsieur Loti. It's a poor host who argues with a visitor.'

"Then let's proceed to a friendly debate,' said Ketel. 'Gaston knows the very nerves of state in France. He knows what the King and his advisors intend before they even put their thoughts into words. Why don't we let him enlighten us?'

Mytens turned to Loti. 'You have a rapt audience, sir.'

'Then I'll try to give a performance worthy of merit,' said the Frenchman. 'Not that this is a theatre in which all the lines have been rehearsed, mind you. I'll be speaking from the heart.'

'We'll be doing the same,' promised Ketel.

'Good.'

'What news do you have for us, Gaston?'

"The best news possible,' answered Loti, 'though it must remain between the three of us for the time being. France is weary of this pointless and inconclusive war. It serves no purpose other than to be a constant drain on the national coffers of everyone involved. We are all stupidly fighting our way into poverty.'

'That's been my contention throughout,' said Ketel.

'When winter comes and we all have time to sit back and view the situation dispassionately, we'll see the lunacy of resuming the war next spring. If wisdom prevails,' he went on, 'and if the Dutch are as ready to come to terms as the French, then there can be a formal end to the hostilities between us.'

'There'll be a definite offer of peace?' said Mytens, hopefully.

'Yes, my friend. I'll be part of a deputation that makes it.'

'What are its details?'

'They've yet to be finalised,' said Loti, 'but I assure you that they'll have considerable appeal. France will recognise your objectives and you, by the same token, must acknowledge ours.' He looked from one man to the other. 'How strong is the desire for peace here?'

'Very strong,' said Ketel. 'Johannes has been working hard to convince his friends in the States-General that the war should be abandoned. His support grows every day.'

'That's very gratifying.'

'One must not overstate it,' warned Mytens. 'Many of us long for peace but it must be on terms that we can accept. And no matter how tempting those terms may be,' he went on, 'we must be braced for a measure of resistance.'

'From whom would it come?'

'Grand Pensionary Heinsius would lead the opposition.'

'Could he not be won over?'

'Not as long as we're allied to England.'

'Aye,' said Ketel, sucking his teeth, 'there's the rub. We have to dance to England's tune. They've provided soldiers, supplies, money and our redoubtable commander-in-chief.'

'How close are he and Heinsius?' asked Loti.

'Too close, Gaston.'

'Could their friendship be blighted in some way?'

'It's difficult to see how.'

"The situation is this, Monsieur Loti,' explained Mytens. 'What we most covet is the security of our boundaries. If that could be guaranteed by France, then peace negotiations would be welcomed.'

'They'd be conducted in the utmost secrecy,' said Loti, tapping the side of his nose. 'Diplomacy is best done in the dark, gentlemen.'

'Like certain other pleasures,' noted Ketel, smirking.

'France would be prepared to make serious concessions.'

'We'd be minded to make a positive response, Gaston.'

'The eternal problem,' said Mytens, 'is the intransigence of the Duke of Marlborough. Until France renounces interest in the Spanish throne, the Duke will not hear of peace.' He tossed a shrewd glance at the Frenchman. 'Is there any possibility that that will be among the terms you offer?' he continued. 'Could the name of the Due d'Anjou be withdrawn?'

'You're referring to King Philip V of Spain,' said Loti with a disarming grin, 'but, yes, anything is possible. Whether it's desirable from our point of view, of course, is another matter. To answer your question, Monsieur Mytens, the terms of any peace treaty will be negotiable. And let me remind you that I'm only talking about a parley between France and Holland.'

'Our allies must be taken into account.'

'Even if the Dutch army withdraws from the contest,' said Ketel, 'the Duke is likely to fight on. He's the enemy here.'

'Then we must join forces to remove him,' declared Loti.

'Let's wait until formal negotiations have taken place this winter. If they falter because of the obduracy of one man, the solution stares us in the face.' He tilted his head to one side. 'We must assassinate the Duke of Marlborough.'

Chapter Fifteen

It was almost a fortnight before Daniel Rawson was able to rejoin his regiment. In the interim, he'd been in The Hague with Amalia and her father, then had escorted them back home to Amsterdam. Daniel had been their guest for a couple of days. After his visit to Paris, he found it a treat to be in a city so clean and free from noisome smells. Not only were the streets washed regularly, they were also sprinkled with sand on occasion. What he did miss were the wide boulevards at the heart of the French capital. Amsterdam had narrow thoroughfares infested with fast- moving carriages and carts that could maim or even kill. It was a place where pedestrians had to be on constant guard.

The other advantage of the visit was that he was able to go back to the house where he and his mother had lived after their enforced flight from England twenty years earlier. In the wake of the battle of Sedgemoor, his life had suddenly been transformed. Daniel moved from a small farm to a large city, from rural tranquillity to a thriving port. Instead of speaking English, he grew up talking his mother's native language. Instead of envisaging his future as a farmer in Somerset, he nursed an ambition to join the Dutch army. It was only by a quirk of fate that, by doing so, he found himself back in the very country he'd deserted.

It was a wrench to take his leave of Amalia Janssen. Events had drawn them ineluctably together into a friendship that balanced the excitement of novelty against a feeling of permanence. Sad to part from her, he promised Amalia that he'd write whenever he could. The presence of Emanuel Janssen made it a less touching farewell than Daniel could have wished but the older man clearly approved of the friendship between the captain and his daughter. There was an unspoken commitment between Daniel and Amalia. It was sealed by a simple exchange of glances. Riding away from Amsterdam, his abiding memory of her was the night they'd shared in the privacy of the coach.

When he finally joined his regiment in winter quarters, he first reported to Marlborough's brother, General Churchill. Letters from The Hague had already informed Churchill of the captain's heroics in France but he insisted on a first-hand account. Daniel obliged readily though his version of events said nothing about an incipient romance with Amalia. Since the general was in regular correspondence with his brother, Daniel was given the latest news about the commander-in-chief, still courting allies in foreign capitals. The minute he was free to leave, he went off to find Henry Welbeck. The sergeant was in his tent. Daniel was shocked to hear what had happened.

'When was this?' he asked.

'Weeks ago, Dan.'

'How many lashes did the lad receive?'

'Eighty,' replied Welbeck.

'That was cruel.'

'It was typical of the major.'

'Did nobody intervene on his behalf?'

'Nobody had a loud enough voice.'

Daniel was deeply upset. 'If only I'd been here,' he said with compassion, 'I could have challenged Major Cracknell. At the very least, I might've got the number of lashes reduced.'

'I doubt it.'

'Why do you say that, Henry?'

'You and I are two of the reasons why the lad was punished so severely. The major is green with envy at your promotion, Dan. He'd do anything to strike back at you.'

Daniel had already discerned the connection to him. In having the hapless drummer flogged, the major would be hurting Welbeck and, by extension, the sergeant's best friend. Indirectly, Cracknell was trying to put salt on the tail of a bird whose fine plumage was now on display in Marlborough's personal staff. It grieved Daniel that Hillier had suffered additional pain because of him.