The son was already puffing and panting, his energy depleted and his confidence waning when he realised that he was now fighting alone. As a last resort, he aimed a violent kick at his opponent’s groin, only to be upended as Daniel grabbed the foot and pulled hard. A relay of punches to the son’s head quickly subdued him. But the brawl was not over. The big man was sufficiently recovered to be able to get to his feet. One hand on his tender genitals, he circled Daniel and threatened to tear him apart. When he finally launched himself, however, he was far too slow and ponderous. Daniel ducked and dodged every wild punch. Growling with rage, the big man flailed away with his massive fists and had to take a number of well-directed counter punches to the face and stomach. Fatigue eventually got the better of him and Daniel was able to jump in and fell him with an uppercut to the chin.
Seeing his other attacker rise to his feet, Daniel seized him by his collar and was about to dash him against the side of the wagon when the old man cried out.
‘That’s enough!’ he said. ‘Don’t touch Alphonse. The fight is over. You can stay.’
Daniel released the son then turned to his other adversary. Dazed and sobered, the man held up a hand to indicate that he’d had enough. Daniel helped him to his feet and apologised for hitting him so hard. The three men laughed ruefully. Having come to evict him, they now gave him a warm welcome. Daniel was one of them. After introducing himself as Gustave Carraud, he brought out a flagon of wine and they were soon chatting together as friends.
‘I haven’t come to take away your business,’ said Daniel. ‘In fact, I’ve got provisions that I can sell to you at very low prices.’
‘I like the sound of that,’ said Alphonse.
‘Do you have any ointment for sore balls?’ asked the big man, still rubbing his testicles.
‘Find a pretty woman to kiss them better, Victor.’
Victor guffawed. ‘She can do more than that while she’s down there, Alphonse.’
The wine flowed, the laughter increased and the friendship slowly deepened. Daniel was quick to enlist them as allies. They told him how the camp was laid out and where best to sell his goods.
‘You obviously know your way around,’ he said.
‘It’s part of our job,’ Alphonse told him. ‘We stay close to regiments who’ve bought from us in the past. We have a reputation.’
‘A good reputation,’ added the old man. ‘If you want to take a look at the camp for yourself, Alphonse will show you the way.’
‘I’d appreciate that,’ said Daniel.
‘Wait till this evening,’ advised Alphonse, ‘when the light fades. There won’t be so many soldiers about then so we’re less likely to be stopped.’
‘That suits me.’
‘Watch him, Alphonse,’ warned Victor, chuckling. ‘If he offers to shake you by the hand, refuse or you’ll have a boot in your bollocks.’
‘I’m sorry I had to do that,’ said Daniel. ‘I was up against unfair odds so I had to disable one of you.’
‘The brawl is over now, Gustave,’ said the old man. ‘We’re all friends.’
‘Let’s drink to that.’
Daniel found another flagon of wine in his wagon and passed it round. The mood became even friendlier and the sutlers began to reminisce about the years they’d spent trailing after French armies. It was interesting to hear their descriptions of battles in which Daniel had fought. When they cursed the Duke of Marlborough in colourful language, Daniel didn’t object. It was a perverted form of flattery. What was evident was that all three of them felt that a French victory was now inevitable.
‘Why do you believe that?’ asked Daniel.
‘We’ve talked to the soldiers,’ said Alphonse. ‘They’ve told us they can’t fail this time.’
‘That will depend on their commanders.’
‘Vendome is a good general,’ said the old man, knowledgeably. ‘He made a fool of Marlborough last year. We know — we were there.’
‘What about the duc de Burgundy?’
‘He’s young but he has royal blood. That counts for a lot. His Majesty wouldn’t have put him in charge if he didn’t have faith in his grandson. The duc is a fine-looking man.’
‘You’ve seen him, then?’
‘We’ve seen them all,’ boasted Alphonse. ‘I’ll show you where his quarters are, if you wish.’
‘Thank you,’ said Daniel. ‘I’d like that. And I’d very much like to see where Vendome has his quarters as well.’
‘Then you will, Gustave. You can count on me.’
Daniel was grateful. If Amalia was in the camp, he surmised that she’d be kept somewhere close to Vendome. Thanks to his friendship with the three men, he wouldn’t have to grope around in the dark, trying to locate the right area of the camp. Alphonse would lead him right to it. Unaware that they might be aiding and abetting an enemy soldier, the sutlers talked and joked for hours. They told Daniel everything he needed to know. It was a good omen.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
With every hour that passed, Emanuel Janssen became more anxious. Unable to sleep, he was so concerned about his daughter’s safety that he was also unable to work. All that he did during the day was to pace the house restlessly then dash to the front door whenever someone rang the bell. However, the good news for which he yearned never came. Beatrix was equally despondent and kept blaming herself for the abduction. She’d been Amalia’s chaperone at the time and felt that she’d let her down badly. Janssen had to reassure her constantly.
‘It was my fault,’ she wailed yet again.
‘Don’t think that for a moment,’ he said. ‘You were up against strong and determined men. You had no chance.’
‘I should have fought back.’
‘How could you when you’d been shoved to the ground?’
‘I failed.’
‘That’s nonsense!’
‘Wherever Miss Amalia is,’ said Beatrix, stricken by remorse, ‘she’s probably blaming me for letting her get kidnapped.’
‘Amalia would never do that. She’s more likely to be wondering how you are. According to your story, you let out such a scream when you were thrown to the ground that she must have heard it.’ He peered solicitously at her. ‘How are you now, Beatrix?’
‘The bruises still hurt.’
‘You were lucky that no bones were broken.’
‘Forget me,’ she said, bravely. ‘The only person we should both be thinking about now is Miss Amalia. Why did someone do that to her? I just can’t fathom it out.’
‘No more can I,’ admitted Janssen, running a nervous hand across his furrowed brow. ‘I keep returning to the notion that it must somehow be connected with me.’
‘Oh, I don’t believe that.’
‘The French must have been very angry when I slipped from their grasp in the Bastille. This could be a means of revenge.’
‘Then why wait so long to take it?’
‘Who knows?’
‘Besides,’ she went on, face puckered in concentration as she thought it through, ‘if they wanted revenge, why didn’t they kidnap you instead? I think there’s another reason, sir.’
‘I’ve been racking my brains trying to think what it is.’
‘So have I.’
They were in the voorhuis, the entrance hall to the Janssen house. While he was continually on the move, rubbing his hands and chewing his lip, she was standing in a corner, her face still bruised from the fall. Beatrix kept searching through her memory of the fateful day for a forgotten detail that might shed some light on the motives of the kidnappers. Because she could find no explanation, her fears became more and more extreme.
‘We’re not even sure that Miss Amalia is still alive,’ she said.
Janssen was firm. ‘Don’t say that, Beatrix. We have to believe that she’s alive. If they intended to kill her, then they’d have done so when they attacked the pair of you. No,’ he decided, fighting off a rising despair, ‘I won’t entertain the idea that my daughter is dead. Amalia is alive.’
‘But where is she?’