Daniel had used the sword with lethal effect in many battles and skirmishes. It had been exceptionally deadly at Blenheim and had taken part in a cavalry charge at Ramillies. Now, however, it was put to less dangerous use as Daniel went through a practice routine with Jonathan Ainley. The lieutenant was a competent swordsman with a long reach that could trouble any adversary but he had neither the power nor the speed of Daniel. As the two of them fought on some open ground behind the officers’ quarters, the flash of blades was accompanied by the echoing clang of steel.
No matter how hard Ainley tried, he couldn’t put Daniel under any sustained pressure. Every thrust was deftly parried, every attack was repelled with comparative ease. After twenty minutes or so, the lieutenant was flagging visibly. Daniel’s superior stamina told. With a sudden increase of power, he drove Ainley back so fast that his friend tripped and fell to the ground. After holding the point of his weapon playfully at Ainley’s chest, Daniel offered him a hand to pull him up. The lieutenant was panting.
‘I could never beat you in a duel,’ he gasped. ‘You seem to know exactly what I’m going to do before I do it.’
‘You fought well,’ said Daniel, hauling him to his feet.
‘But I came off worst yet again.’
‘It’s different in battle. There’s none of the formal swordplay that we’ve just enjoyed. It’s all slash, thrust and parry. Strength and agility are what you need there.’
‘Yes,’ said Ainley, ‘and you have too much of both for me.’
‘I intend to stay alive, Jonathan. That’s why I try to keep myself ready for action.’ He held his sword aloft. ‘This is my protector.’
‘Yet you wore no sword when you went to Valenciennes.’
‘It would have looked out of place on a wine merchant.’
‘You were very brave to travel unarmed.’
‘I carried a dagger with me,’ said Daniel, ‘in case of emergency. It was concealed under my coat. I’m a born soldier. I feel naked without some kind of weapon.’
Ainley laughed. ‘It was that French officer who felt naked after you’d finished with him.’
‘I thought I asked you not to talk about it.’
‘Even you are entitled to brag now and again, Daniel.’
‘I’d much rather that incident remained secret.’
‘It’s far too late for that.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Everyone seems to have heard of it somehow. Major Earnshaw was talking about it only this morning and so were some of the others. I daresay it’s filtered down to the ranks as well. It’s no use trying to keep these things to yourself,’ he said, clapping Daniel amiably on the shoulder. ‘Everyone wants to hear about the latest exploits of Captain Rawson. You have a name.’
‘His name is Daniel Rawson,’ said Valeran.
‘What rank does he hold?’
‘He’s a captain in the 24^th Foot.’
‘A British regiment,’ said Vendome with contempt. ‘How, in the name of all that’s holy, could one of our majors be taken in by an Englishman?’
‘Rawson is something of a linguist, Your Grace. According to the report, he speaks French fluently enough to deceive anyone. Here,’ he went on, offering the letter. ‘Read it yourself. This is a copy, of course. I had the original decoded.’
Vendome took the missive. ‘Thank you, Raoul.’
Not daring to interrupt, Valeran waited while the other man studied the letter. It had been sent by one of their spies in the British camp. The two men were in Vendome’s tent, a place where the lieutenant spent more and more time. As a result, he’d had to endure the barbed comments and sly innuendoes of his friends but he ignored them in the interest of winning favour. Given an opportunity, he’d decided to seize it at whatever cost. Part of that cost involved being compliant but there were other duties as well. He’d been put in direct contact with French intelligencers and that gave him a definite status. In bringing Vendome the letter, he hoped for praise. It was not forthcoming.
When he read the last sentence, Vendome let out a cry of rage.
‘Did you see this?’ he demanded.
‘Yes, Your Grace.’
‘This spy of theirs is no mere captain in a regiment of foot. He’s also a member of Marlborough’s personal staff. He’ll have been very popular after his little escapade. The Duke and his entourage are no doubt still slapping him on the back as they laugh at our expense.’
‘The only person they’re laughing at is Major Crevel.’
‘Don’t mention that abominable creature.’
‘As you wish,’ said Valeran, obediently.
‘I never want to hear his accursed name again.’
‘I see.’
‘This is the only name I’m interested in at the moment,’ stressed Vendome, waving the letter in the air. ‘Captain Daniel Rawson. I want him here in front of me, Raoul.’
‘That may be difficult to arrange,’ warned Valeran.
‘Why?’
‘We can’t simply abduct a man from the British camp.’
‘We don’t have to do that.’
‘Then how do we get him here?’
‘We simply lure him to us.’
Valeran was puzzled. ‘Lure him?’
‘All it takes is a little imagination.’
‘Then I must confess that I lack it, Your Grace. I fail to see what could possibly lure such a man out of the safety of his army.’
‘Read this again,’ suggested Vendome, thrusting the letter at him. ‘Rawson is clearly an adventurer. He’s ready to take chances and court peril. What we need to find is something that would tempt him to come here.’
‘And how do we do that?’
‘We gather more information about this fellow and we do so with some urgency. It’s clear that the bold captain has many strong points. But he’ll also have weaknesses.’
‘What sort of weaknesses?’
‘Does he have a wife, a lover, a family — or what about a favourite child? There must be someone for whom he’d risk his neck, someone who isn’t surrounded by an army and is therefore easier to get at. That’s where we need to strike. Who is the most important person in his private life?’
‘I have no idea,’ admitted Valeran.
‘Then find out. Send a coded message back to the British camp.’
‘What must it say?’
‘We need more detail about this Daniel Rawson. I don’t care how brave and resourceful he is. Everyone has an Achilles’ heel. Discover what the captain’s is,’ said Vendome, rubbing his hands together, ‘and he’s ours. That’s the message to send, Raoul. Whom or what does he love most?’
Amalia Janssen gazed longingly through the window. Most of the shops they’d stopped at were filled with the neat but plain dresses that were the fashion among the women of Amsterdam. This shop was different. It displayed a colour and cut that reminded her of the months in Paris yet there was no hint of vulgarity. All the dresses she could see had such style and beauty. Amalia simply goggled.
‘We always come here,’ noted Beatrix.
‘It’s the best way home.’
The servant smiled. ‘The best for you, maybe,’ she said, ‘because it lets you stare through that window for as long as you like. I’ve no call to be looking at dresses like that. I could never find one to fit me and, even if I could, I could never afford to buy it.’ She pointed a finger. ‘Can you imagine what your father would say if he saw me in something like that?’
‘He’d be amazed, Beatrix.’
‘He’d order me to take it off at once.’
‘Well, you could hardly do any chores wearing that. And — I don’t mean this at all unkindly — you don’t really have the shape for any of the dresses on display here.’
‘But you do, Miss Amalia.’
‘Yes,’ said Amalia with a sigh. ‘I believe that I do.’
‘Then ask Captain Rawson to buy one of them for you.’