‘What happened?’ she asked.
Sophie was panting. ‘It was awful,’ she said.
‘Did they take you to the commander?’
‘No, Amalia.’
‘Then where did you go?’
‘I went to Lieutenant Bouteron’s quarters. He apologised for bringing me here and said it was a big mistake. He begged me to forgive him.’
‘You should have asked for his help,’ said Amalia. ‘You should have appealed to his sense of honour.’
‘That’s exactly what I did.’
‘How did he react?’
‘He gave me his word that he’d get me out of the camp.’
‘That’s marvellous — when do you leave?’
‘I’m not going anywhere, Amalia.’
‘But you just said that you were.’
‘There’s something I haven’t told you,’ said Sophie. ‘My freedom came at a price. Lieutenant Bouteron promised that he’d secure my release but on one condition.’
‘And what was that?’
‘I had to give myself to him.’
She buried her face in her hands. Amalia was too shocked to speak. The other woman had been cruelly betrayed. Brought into the camp in order, as she thought, to be shown around, she was unable to leave without sacrificing her virginity. Amalia felt desperately sorry for her and alarmed about her own position.
‘There was something else he told me,’ said Sophie, uncovering her face. ‘The lieutenant swore that he’d be considerate to me but that I wasn’t to look for the same consideration from the duc de Vendome. He has a terrible reputation where women are concerned, it seems. There’s no way out, Amalia,’ she went on, helplessly. ‘If I stay here in the camp, then sooner or later, I’ll be summoned to his tent to let that monster have his way with me.’
The council of war held in the French camp was relatively brisk. Since they were approving royal commands sent from Versailles, none of the generals present raised any objection. Hoping to bask in the sun of supreme command, the Duke of Burgundy was irritated when he wasn’t allowed to do so. Instead, people kept deferring to Vendome and putting the questions to him. When the meeting had ended and everyone had dispersed, Burgundy was left alone with his second in command. He was in a bad mood.
‘There was no need for you to speak so much, my lord Duke,’ he said, tetchily. ‘We could have done without your lectures.’
Vendome smiled. ‘When answers are requested from me, it would be impolite not to provide them. I said nothing with which you disagree, my lord, did I?’
‘That’s beside the point. They all kept looking at you.’
‘I’ll be the first to acknowledge that you are a more handsome spectacle. Why they stared at me, I simply can’t imagine.’
Burgundy was piqued by the complacency in his voice. Trying to hide his displeasure, he tackled Vendome on another matter.
‘I hear disturbing rumours about you,’ he began.
‘Ignore them,’ advised Vendome. ‘They’re bound to be lies.’
‘They concern the business with Major Crevel. It’s come to my attention that you won’t consign the matter to the past and have taken steps to identify the man who actually humiliated Crevel.’
‘His name is Captain Rawson of the 24^th Foot.’
‘So?’
‘He must be punished for what he did.’
‘Our aim is to punish the armies of the Grand Alliance not to single out an individual member of them. This fellow can surely not deserve the time and attention lavished upon him.’
‘Your grandfather might think otherwise, my lord.’
‘Why ever should he do that?’ asked Burgundy.
‘Because this same Captain Rawson was the instrument of great annoyance to His Majesty,’ said Vendome. ‘Emanuel Janssen, a tapestry maker of renown, was commissioned to work at Versailles. Instead of devoting himself to the weaving of the tapestry, he acted as a spy and sent intelligence to the enemy. Janssen was imprisoned in the Bastille for his crime. Captain Rawson rescued him.’
‘Nobody ever escapes from the Bastille.’
‘Janssen is living proof to the contrary. I fancy that His Majesty would be extremely interested to meet the man who achieved that astonishing feat.’
‘I do believe he would,’ conceded Burgundy. ‘I’d be curious to see the fellow myself but he’s hardly likely to oblige us by coming here of his own volition.’
‘That’s where you’re quite mistaken.’
‘Oh?’
‘A stratagem has been set in motion,’ said Vendome with a self-important smirk. ‘My guess is that Captain Rawson is on his way here at this very moment.’
Travelling as part of the cavalcade gave Daniel the safety of numbers. The other wagons were taking supplies and munitions to the camp at Braine l’Alleud and were protected by a detachment of soldiers in the blue uniforms of the French army. Daniel hadn’t been accepted without close questioning. He’d had to show his forged papers and explain why he was on his own. Only after he’d given satisfactory answers was he told to fall in at the rear of the column. While progress was slow, he at least had the reassurance that he’d be admitted to the camp without undue interrogation. Certain that Amalia Janssen was there, he prayed that she was unharmed.
After a long journey, he finally saw the canvas tents spreading endlessly across the fields and got ocular proof of the sheer size of the enemy army. What particularly interested him were the positions of the picquets and the proximity of trees. Leaving the camp with Amalia, he knew, would be far more difficult than entering it in his wagon. His hopes of success rested on careful preparation. The telescope enabled him to inspect all of the outposts on the western approach and he resolved to study the map he’d inherited from the highwaymen in order to have a clearer sense of the local geography.
When he got to the area where the other camp followers were drawn up, he made sure that his wagon stayed on the outer edge so that it could slip away easily in the night. He then fed and watered the three horses. His arrival had been noted by some of the other sutlers and they were not pleased to have competition. Daniel was confronted by three of them. Their spokesman was a wizened old man with a goatee beard and a single, inflamed eye.
‘Who are you?’ he demanded, pointing a skeletal finger.
‘My wagon should tell you that,’ replied Daniel.
‘We don’t need another sutler.’
‘Why do you say that? In an army this size, there’s surely enough trade for us all.’
‘We were here first.’
‘Then you’ll already have regular customers who rely on you. I’m not here to take them away.’
‘We don’t want you here at all,’ said a short, wiry individual who, from his close resemblance to the old man, was obviously his son. ‘We think you should leave camp.’
Daniel smiled defiantly. ‘Thank you for your advice,’ he said, ‘but that’s a decision I’d like to make for myself.’
‘We’re making it for you.’
‘Leave now,’ ordered the old man, folding his arms, ‘or we’ll have to persuade you.’
Daniel looked at each of them in turn. The old man posed no problem in a fight but his son was a very different matter. The real challenge, however, would come from their companion, a big, broad-shouldered man in his thirties with a drooping black moustache. If he was to survive a brawl, Daniel would have to tackle the bigger man first. Pretending to accept their warning, he offered his hand.
‘I bid you farewell, gentlemen,’ he said, meekly.
The big man reached out to shake the hand and found himself yanked forward, tripped up by Daniel and kicked so hard in the groin that he lay writhing in agony on the ground. Shocked by what he’d seen, the young man came at Daniel with both fists swinging but none of the punches landed where they were intended. Daniel dodged or parried them with his arms, using clever footwork to put his attacker off balance. At one point, when his back was to the old man, Daniel felt a blow to the nape of his neck. He responded by digging a sharp elbow into the old man’s stomach, taking all the wind out of him and making him stagger back.