‘It would have been different when the blaze started.’
Welbeck was stunned. ‘Are you talking about a fire?’
‘Yes,’ said Daniel, remembering the gutted farmhouse, ‘I think it’s high time that they had a taste of their own medicine.’
Going back to the stables, he took armfuls of dry hay from the manger and Welbeck did the same. They made a pile in front of the door and beneath the windows. Daniel even tossed some up onto the roof. When he was ready, he lit the piles of hay and waited for the fire to take hold. It was the signal for the patrol to move forward with their weapons at the ready. Searle and his men were deeply asleep and it was several minutes before any of them heard the noise of the fire or inhaled the clouds of smoke that began to fill the house. The door itself was alight before anyone finally stirred and the front of the building was a sheet of flame.
Screaming, yelling and cursing, the deserters were roused from their beds and came hurtling out half-naked. The first man through the door was Matthew Searle, howling in pain as the fire licked him. Seeing his red hair and beard in the bright glare, Daniel realised who he must be. He showed Searle no mercy. He pounded away at him with a succession of punches then threw him to the ground and stood over him. Searle was cunning. Pretending to be dazed, he suddenly reached out for Daniel’s foot and pulled him to the ground before leaping up and running towards the stables. Expecting to find horses, he was horrified to see that they’d all vanished.
‘There’s no escape, Matthew Searle,’ said Daniel, back on his feet and closing in on him.
‘Who the hell are you?’ roared Searle.
‘My name is Captain Daniel Rawson of the 24^th Foot.’
‘Well, Captain Rawson, here’s a 25^th fucking foot for you.’
Rushing at Daniel, he aimed a kick at him but Daniel caught his foot and pushed hard. Searle fell backwards and struck his head on the hard timber of the stables. This time he really was dazed. Daniel stepped in to administer some more punishment with his fists before throwing him to two men from the patrol. Covered in blood, Searle was almost out on his feet. He was dragged swiftly away.
The other deserters, meanwhile, had all been captured and were struggling in the arms of the soldiers. Welbeck had waited for Edwin Lock, the last of them to emerge, grabbing him by the scruff of the neck and rushing him across the yard to plunge him head first into the water trough. After holding him down for a minute, he brought him up for air, only to thrust him underwater once again. On his second appearance from the trough, Lock was gurgling madly and pleading for release. Welbeck ducked him for a third time before lifting him out of the trough altogether. The sergeant put his whiskery face close.
‘Remember me, Edwin?’ he asked, sweetly. ‘I’m Henry Welbeck. We’ve come to take you back to the army.’
Burgundy made the most of his rare chance to embarrass Vendome. When they met in the commander-in-chief’s quarters, he was smiling for once and looked down his nose at his visitor.
‘Your plan seems to have unravelled, my lord Duke,’ he said with well-mannered glee. ‘You invest immense time and effort in the capture of a single British soldier and you not only fail to catch him, you lose the hostage who was supposed to tempt him here.’
‘That was unfortunate,’ grunted Vendome.
‘It might be all for the best.’
‘I fail to see how, my lord.’
‘You can now attend properly to your duties as a commander.’
‘I’ve always done so,’ said Vendome, stung by the criticism. ‘My duties include the arrest of dangerous enemies, and Captain Rawson, I submit, answers that description. He’s been a thorn in our flesh for years now and needed to be plucked out.’
‘Then where is he?’
‘I have no answer to that.’
‘In other words, your plan was ill-conceived from the start.’
‘I dispute that, my lord. To some degree, it worked perfectly in that the hostage I took did bring him to the camp. I’d hoped that Captain Rawson would be exchanged for the young lady and made overtures to that effect. The Duke of Marlborough sent word that the captain was no longer in his camp.’
‘No,’ said Burgundy, seizing the opportunity to twist the dagger a little, ‘he was already on his way here. Did it never occur to you that the fellow would attempt to rescue the lady?’
‘Of course,’ riposted Vendome. ‘She was closely guarded.’
‘Not closely enough, it seems.’
‘Captain Rawson is very resourceful.’
‘You should have taken account of that fact.’
‘I didn’t expect him to get here so soon.’
‘Do you have any idea how he managed to penetrate the camp?’
‘Not yet,’ confessed Vendome, ‘but I have men searching for that information. We’ll soon know what device he employed.’
‘You should have anticipated it,’ said Burgundy. ‘What use is wisdom after the event? All that you can do now is to shut the stable door after the horse has bolted. The resourceful captain is unlikely to use the same stratagem again.’
Vendome was livid. The rescue of Amalia Janssen had annoyed him intensely but he’d hoped to keep it secret. That was clearly impossible. Burgundy had been watching him, noting his every move and waiting for him to make a slight mistake so that he could enjoy reprimanding him. It was a means of enforcing his authority and it wounded Vendome to the quick. As a commander, he had infinitely more flair, experience and tactical skill than the younger man yet he had to withstand a rebuke. It was time to hit back.
‘May I ask how you come to know of the escape, my lord?’ he asked, politely. ‘It seems such a trivial matter to come to your attention.’
‘When I taxed you earlier with its triviality, you swore to me that the capture of Captain Rawson would have some significance. You intended,’ said Burgundy, ‘to send him back to Versailles.’
‘That’s true, my lord.’
‘Persuaded by your argument, I made it my business to keep abreast of any developments relating to your hostage.’
‘And what exactly did you learn?’
‘That the young lady was held under armed guard and yet she miraculously disappeared.’
‘Is that all you learnt?’
‘What else is there?’
‘Evidently, your spies missed something.’
‘They were not spies, my lord Duke,’ said Burgundy, hotly. ‘They were members of the army that both you and I serve.’
‘Then they should be more vigilant,’ argued Vendome, ‘because they gave you an incomplete report. Our hostage was not alone in that tent. She was accompanied by a young lady named Mademoiselle Prunier. Both of them were rescued by Captain Rawson.’
‘That’s a double blow to your reputation, then. You contrive to lose two prisoners at the same time. I scent carelessness here.’
‘Your nostrils deceive you, my lord.’
‘Pray, tell me how.’
‘My plan was never as simple as you believed it to be,’ said Vendome with a touch of pride. ‘While offering to exchange the hostage for Captain Rawson, I never expected Marlborough to give him up so easily. That left a rescue attempt as the most likely outcome and I felt that we were prepared for that.’
‘That was a bad mistake on your part, my lord Duke.’
‘I allowed for that eventuality.’
Burgundy gaped. ‘You expected the rescue to succeed?’
‘I accepted it as a possibility.’
‘Then your plan was doomed from the start.’
‘Not so,’ said Vendome, savouring his moment. ‘You forget Mademoiselle Prunier. When she was thrown into the tent with our hostage, she was posing as the victim of a cruel trick. The two ladies were drawn closely together — I know that for certain.’
Burgundy was perplexed. ‘What are you telling me?’
‘That the tables have been turned on Captain Rawson. He was far too gallant to leave Sophie Prunier behind. Instead of rescuing a young lady in distress,’ said Vendome with a triumphant smile, ‘he was escorting one of my spies into the very heart of the British camp.’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘Does that not merit congratulation, my lord?’