The search was swift but methodical. They looked everywhere, using their swords to hack at bushes and shrubs. The one thing they never thought to do, however, was to look upwards so they never saw the chunky figure of Henry Welbeck, clinging on to the bough for dear life. At length, when they were convinced there was no danger, the soldiers trotted back to the convoy. One of them waved an arm to signal that there was no need for alarm.
‘It must have been a hunter!’ he shouted. ‘There’s nobody there now. Move on!’
Whips cracked and the vehicles creaked slowly into action again, rolling noisily towards the French camp. The interruption was over and all was well again. With their eyes fixed on the road ahead, nobody noticed that they now had a passenger. Daniel had crept under one of the wagons and was suspended between the axles.
Welbeck, meanwhile, had to solve the problem of how to descend from the tree without hurting himself. Daniel had made it look easy but his friend was much heavier and far less agile. After waiting until the noise of the convoy had faded away, Welbeck dropped the rope so that it dangled to the ground. Then he took a firm grip on it and rolled slowly off the bough, bringing both legs together around the rope. He was now hanging in mid-air and assaulted by fears that the bough might break, the rope might slip from his grasp or that he’d somehow lose consciousness and plunge to his death.
Lowering himself with painful slowness, he waited until he had gone down a few yards before swinging on the rope so that he could get within reach of the trunk of the tree. That promised solidity. It needed several attempts before his legs closed gratefully around the trunk and he was able to discard the rope altogether. Confidence restored, Welbeck climbed down through the lower branches until he could jump to the ground. Hurrying to the road, he saw that it was utterly deserted. He let out a cry of amazement.
‘Bugger me!’ he exclaimed. ‘The plan worked.’
Known for his considerate treatment of his men, Marlborough could be ruthless when time served. As soon as he heard that the deserters had been apprehended, he ordered a court martial and presided over it in person. Matthew Searle and his followers were arraigned on charges of desertion, arson, rape, theft and wilful murder. Because the evidence against them was overwhelming, the trial was short. It was time to pass judgement. Cowed and pathetic, they pleaded for mercy. Marlborough was outraged.
‘How dare you ask for mercy,’ he said with vehemence, ‘when you showed none to your unfortunate victims. How dare you have the audacity to imagine that you deserve anything but the death sentence for your appalling crimes. Had you repented of your desertion and returned immediately to this camp, I should have been inclined to be more lenient. But that was not the case here. Oh, no,’ he went on with controlled anger. ‘Wearing the uniform of the British army, you started a reign of terror that consisted of rape, theft, murder and the wanton destruction of property by fire. You brought untold shame upon us and that is unforgivable.’
He consulted briefly with the officers seated either side of him. They agreed wholeheartedly with what he proposed. Marlborough rose to his feet and looked hard at each man in turn before speaking.
‘You have been found guilty of heinous crimes,’ he declared, ‘and you’ve brought disgrace to the uniforms you once wore. The sentence of this court is that each and every one of you will be hanged by the neck until you are dead.’
‘No, no,’ cried Edwin Lock. ‘We’d rather be shot, Your Grace.’
‘It’s more honourable,’ said Searle.
‘For that reason alone, it’s denied you,’ said Marlborough. ‘You have no right to talk of honour. What you did was so dishonourable that it defies belief. How could British soldiers behave with such unconscionable barbarity? How could you sink so swiftly to the level of savages?’ He snapped his fingers. ‘Take them away and hold them in custody until a gallows has been built.’
Now in chains, the prisoners were dragged away, two armed guards to each of them. Marlborough thanked the other members of the court martial and they began to disperse. Adam Cardonnel had been watching the whole event. He walked across to Marlborough.
‘You showed too much compassion, Your Grace,’ he said.
‘I certainly felt none, Adam.’
‘Hanging is too good for them. Those men were evil. They should have been burnt alive at the stake.’
‘That sentence is not permitted, alas,’ said Marlborough, sadly, ‘though I can see that it would be a form of poetic justice.’
‘What will happen now?’
‘Word must be sent out to other farms to assure them that the culprits have now been caught and will answer with their lives. We must try everything we can to win back their goodwill.’
‘It may already be too late for that, Your Grace.’
‘Then there’s the boy who survived the raid on his farm. When you write to the people who are looking after him, send them my personal apology. I hope they’ll take some consolation from the fact that the deserters will be put to death.’
‘When will the sentence be carried out?’
‘Not until Captain Rawson and Sergeant Welbeck have returned. According to the report, it was they who led the attack on the place where those vile men were hiding. We must wait,’ said Marlborough. ‘Rawson and Welbeck would hate to miss the occasion.’
‘You’re assuming that they will come back,’ said Cardonnel.
‘Do you harbour any doubts about that?’
‘One is bound to feel some qualms, Your Grace.’
‘I don’t,’ said Marlborough. ‘If I did I’d never have sanctioned the enterprise. To be candid, Daniel Rawson is one of the few people in the Confederate army who doesn’t give me qualms. Somehow — and some day — he’ll come safely back to us.’
It was not the most comfortable way to enter the camp. Hanging under the wagon, Daniel had had to put up with persistent noise, choking dust and an intense ache in every muscle. To add to his problems, one of the horses ahead of him rid itself of several pounds of manure and Daniel’s back grazed it as he passed over the stinking pile. It would have been easier for him to have sneaked into the rear of the wagon and hide among the provisions but he would certainly have been discovered that way. As it was, he was carried into the camp and was able to loosen his hold, drop to the ground and roll over swiftly before the horse pulling the next wagon trampled on him.
Getting to his feet, he stepped behind one of the tents so that he could gather his strength, dust himself off and take his bearings. He also spared a thought for Henry Welbeck, wondering if he’d managed to descend the tree without hurting himself. In Daniel’s view, the sergeant was the ideal person to take on such a hazardous errand. He’d always choose his friend before anyone. Welbeck was tough, reliable and a veritable tiger in combat. He’d also been desperately keen to help in the capture of the deserters and had acquitted himself well when they’d been arrested.
The sword took precedence now. Daniel knew that it was in the camp somewhere and that fact sent a thrill through his entire body. Making light of his aches and pains, he began his search. The first person he needed to speak to was Alphonse, the helpful young sutler who’d shown him around the camp. Daniel headed for the area where he was likely to find him. Alphonse was at work, seated on the ground while he repaired a shoe. When Daniel approached, the sutler didn’t recognise him at first because he was wearing different apparel. Then he looked at the newcomer more carefully.
‘It’s Gustave!’ he said, getting up to welcome him. ‘Where have you been? We thought something must have happened to you.’