The bigger and older of the two men did the talking.
‘Good day to you, friend,’ he said, speaking in French.
‘And good day to both of you,’ replied Daniel.
‘How far do you mean to travel?’
‘I’ll be on this road for the rest of the day.’
‘Then you need to be warned,’ said the man. ‘You could be in danger if you don’t turn off.’
‘That’s right,’ added his companion. ‘There’s a band of redcoats somewhere ahead of you. We’ve seen them twice now. There’s a rumour that they burnt down a farm. They’d certainly have no hesitation in stealing your wagon.’
‘Thank you for the warning,’ said Daniel, keen to know more. ‘Someone has already mentioned these men to me. What exactly did you see? How many of them were there?’
The big man inhaled deeply. ‘Eight or nine, I suppose.’
‘And they were British soldiers?’
‘Yes. They were only a few miles away from here.’
‘How close did you get?’
‘We kept well away from them,’ said the second man. ‘As soon as they came into sight, we galloped away both times. They’re preying on travellers. You’d best avoid them.’
‘How can I do that?’
‘We know a track through the forest that will get you safely past them. Follow us and we’ll show you where it is.’
‘That’s very kind of you,’ said Daniel. ‘Lead on.’
‘This way, my friend,’ invited the big man.
Swinging his horse round, he headed towards the forest with his companion at his side. Daniel was not deceived by their offer of help. Though their manner was pleasant and unthreatening, he sensed that they were highwaymen. What they’d told him about the marauding redcoats was probably true and he was grateful for an indication of the whereabouts of the band. At the same time, he didn’t believe for a moment that the two men were going to show him a path through the forest. They’d use their sighting of the redcoats as a convenient excuse to lure Daniel off the road. Their intention was clear. Once inside the trees, they planned to kill him.
CHAPTER TWELVE
As the two men rode ahead of him, they were deep in conversation. The rattle of the cart prevented Daniel from overhearing what they were saying but he knew they were discussing his fate. When they reached the forest, his fears were amply justified. Once they were covered by the leafy canopy and shielded by the tall tree trunks, the younger of the two guides broke away from his friend and dropped back behind the wagon. Certain that it would be needed, Daniel used one hand to ease his dagger out of its sheath. It was only a question of waiting now.
The wagon rumbled on along a rutted track until it came to a clearing. When the big man raised a hand, Daniel pulled on the reins and his horse stopped. The next moment, a pistol was being held on him. There was no friendliness in the voice now.
‘Get down,’ he ordered.
Daniel mimed confusion. ‘Why?’
‘Just do as you’re told.’
‘I thought you were helping me.’
‘Get down or I’ll shoot you where you are.’
‘There’s no need to kill me,’ said Daniel, hand tightening on the blade of the dagger. ‘If you want the wagon, take it.’
‘We can’t leave you alive to tell your tale.’ He levelled the gun. ‘I won’t tell you again — get down now.’
Daniel pretended to obey and the man lowered his weapon. He never lived to regret his mistake. In a move he’d practised many times, Daniel hurled the dagger with speed and accuracy. It buried itself deep in the man’s chest, knocking him from the saddle and making him drop the pistol. With a yell of rage, the other man dismounted at once and clambered on the back of the wagon to take revenge. Daniel was ready for him, whisking his sword out from its hiding place under the seat. Armed only with a dagger, the man was at a disadvantage but he was resourceful. Grabbing a wooden bucket from among the provisions, he used it to flail away at Daniel, dislodging some of the hoops over which the sheet of canvas was spread to protect the wagon from bad weather.
The confined space made it difficult for Daniel to evade him and the sword was no match for a bucket being wielded frantically by a wild young man. When he tried a thrust at him, the weapon was buffeted out of Daniel’s hand and landed on the ground. He jumped down to retrieve it but his adversary was too quick for him, throwing the bucket at him and dazing him slightly with a glancing blow to the head. In the seconds it took for Daniel to recover, the other man had leapt to the ground and seized the weapon for himself. Dagger in one hand and sword in the other, he let out a roar of anger.
‘You killed my brother!’ he shouted.
‘He deserved to be killed,’ replied Daniel, edging his way towards the dead body. ‘Both of you are thieves and murderers.’
‘I’ll cut you to threads!’
‘Stay back,’ said Daniel, stooping down swiftly to pick up the discarded gun and aiming it at him. The man laughed derisively. ‘What’s so amusing?’
‘It’s not loaded. We have no ammunition.’
‘Then you’d better have it back,’ said Daniel, throwing it at him and hitting him full in the face.
Nose streaming with blood, the man staggered back a few paces. In the brief time he was given, Daniel pulled his dagger from the chest of the corpse and picked up the bucket as well. He was now able to defend himself and circled his attacker warily. The bucket was a crude but effective weapon. Every time his adversary tried to thrust or hack at him, Daniel used the bucket to ward him off. Time and again it was a life-saving shield even though splinters were hacked off it by the sharp blade. The longer the fight went on, the more frustrated the man became and the less careful. Hoping to overpower Daniel by the sheer force of his attack, he suddenly lunged at him with the sword flashing through the air.
Daniel was far too agile for him. Leaping nimbly sideways, he swung the bucket hard against the side of the man’s head, knocking him to the ground. Howling in pain, the highwayman sat up and flung his dagger with murderous force, only to see it embedded in the bottom of the bucket that Daniel held up in front of him. Daniel tossed away his improvised shield and dived on top of him. At close quarters, the sword was useless. It was the blood-stained dagger that made the difference. Though the man grabbed Daniel’s wrist and tried to twist the weapon from his grasp, he lacked the strength to hold out for long. His breathing was heavy, his grip weakening. The stink of his breath was foul. After punching him repeatedly with his free hand, Daniel pulled his other wrist free and stabbed the man through the heart, holding the dagger up to the hilt inside the body as the life drained slowly out of him and the frenzied resistance finally stopped.
‘How long have you known Captain Rawson?’ asked Sophie.
‘It must be well over two years now,’ said Amalia, fondly.
‘Do you see much of him?’
‘Not as much as I’d like, Sophie.’
‘My sister married a soldier. He’s away for months on end. She’s worried to death in case he’s injured or even killed in battle. The danger is always there. I suppose,’ Sophie went on, ‘you must have the same fears.’
‘I try not to think about such things.’
‘That’s very sensible.’
‘Daniel — Captain Rawson, that is — always claims that he has the luck of the devil. But there’s more to it than that. I think he’s just a very fine soldier.’
‘I thought that of Lieutenant Bouteron. He looked so wonderful in his uniform — so wonderful and so trustworthy.’ Sophie’s head sagged. ‘I didn’t realise that he was misleading me. When he handed me over to the duc de Vendome, I was shocked. I’ve never been looked at like that before. It was horrible.’