‘I know what brought you here, Dan,’ said Rye with envy. ‘When your father was hanged, you cut down his body so that it could lie here in the churchyard.’
‘Yes, we did.’
‘I wish we could have rescued my brothers but Will and Arthur had already been tossed into a common grave with all the other poor wretches who danced on the gallows that day.’
‘We were lucky enough to reach my father in time. We brought him here in the dead of night and buried him under the bushes where nobody could find him. It was many years later,’ recalled Daniel, ‘that I was able to dig up the body and see that it had a proper Christian burial.’ He touched Rye’s arm. ‘I’m sorry that your brothers don’t lie in consecrated ground as well. They were brave lads.’ He stood back to look his friend up and down. ‘You’ve filled out since we last met. What are you doing with yourself now?’
‘I’ve taken over the forge from my uncle. Being a blacksmith is hard work but I’ve never been one to shy away from that. What about you, Dan?’ he went on. ‘When I heard you’d fled to Holland with your mother, I thought you’d find a farm there.’
‘I chose to follow the drum instead.’
‘I can see that from your uniform. What regiment are you in?’
‘The 24^th Foot,’ said Daniel, ‘with the rank of captain.’
Rye was impressed. ‘You’ve done well for yourself.’
‘Soldiering is a dangerous occupation, Martin. I’d feel a lot safer if I was a blacksmith like you.’
‘Don’t be so sure about that,’ said the other with a laugh. ‘I’ve got burns all over my arms and horses can give you a nasty kick if they don’t want to be shoed.’
‘At least you don’t have someone trying to kill you every time you go into battle.’
‘That’s true. I’d hate that. How do you put up with it?’
‘You learn to survive.’
‘Are you married?’
‘Not yet.’
‘I don’t blame you.’
‘Why do you say that?’
‘Too many soldiers’ wives end up as widows.’
‘There’s always that risk,’ admitted Daniel, thinking wistfully of Amalia Janssen. ‘Casualties are often very high. It’s something you have to live with, Martin.’
‘I could never do that.’
‘It’s surprising what you can do when you’re put to the test.’
‘I like my life as it is, Dan.’
There was an endearing simplicity about Martin Rye. He was a big, strong, healthy man in his thirties with limited needs and narrow horizons. The village provided him with everything he wanted and he’d never dream of moving away from it. Had he stayed on the family farm, Daniel mused, he’d probably have grown up to be like his friend and to enjoy a stable existence in the rural tranquillity of Somerset. He’d have employed Rye to shoe the farm horses and drunk with him from time to time in the village tavern. It was a tempting prospect but well beyond his reach now.
‘Why do you serve in the British army?’ asked Rye. ‘I heard that you and your mother had fled to Amsterdam.’
‘That’s exactly what we did.’
‘So why didn’t you join the Dutch army?’
‘I served in it for years when King William was on the throne,’ said Daniel, ‘before deciding to wear a redcoat instead. British and Dutch armies fight side by side now.’
‘Have you fought in many battles?’
‘My whole life has been marked out by battles and sieges.’
‘What about Blenheim?’
‘I was there, Martin.’
Rye whistled in admiration. ‘Were you — what was it like?’
‘If you want the truth, it was desperate.’
‘Yet you don’t have a scratch on you.’
‘I was lucky,’ said Daniel, modestly.
‘We heard so many tales about Blenheim,’ said Rye. ‘The French were well and truly whipped that day. You’re a hero, Dan Rawson. What a wonderful thing to be able to tell your grandchildren — that you fought at Blenheim.’
‘In its own way, Ramillies was an even greater triumph. We beat the French into the ground and lost fewer of our men. I had a much better view of that battle,’ Daniel continued, ‘because I had the honour of serving on the Duke of Marlborough’s personal staff.’
Rye’s manner changed at once. ‘Don’t mention the name of that bastard!’ he said, vehemently.
‘But he was our captain general.’
‘Yes, Dan, and he was also one of the leaders of the army that mowed down the rebels at Sedgemoor. Because of him, and other cruel devils like him, my brothers ended up with a rope around their necks and so did your father.’
‘That’s all in the past, Martin.’
‘Is it?’ demanded the other with passion. ‘Then what are you doing here? Why are you still tending your father’s grave after all these years?’
‘It’s a duty. I’m proud of what my father did.’
‘You’re no more proud of him than I am of Will and Arthur. Before he became a farmer, your father was a trained soldier. He had proper weapons and knew how to use them. My brothers were raw lads with fire in their veins and a pitchfork in their hands. They stood no chance against that monster, Marlborough, and his army.’
‘He wasn’t a duke at the time of Sedgemoor,’ corrected Daniel. ‘He was John, Lord Churchill with the rank of major general and he wasn’t in overall command.’
‘What difference does it make?’ snarled Rye. ‘He was one of them. That’s all that matters. I detest him for what he did.’
‘He wasn’t directly responsible for the deaths of your brothers.’
‘Why are you defending him?’
‘Because I’ve had the advantage of getting to know His Grace,’ said Daniel, proudly. ‘In my opinion, he’s the finest soldier alive.’
‘Well, I think he’s a barefaced traitor.’
‘That’s absurd.’
‘I’m not stupid, Dan,’ said Rye, tapping his chest. ‘You may think we’re cut off down here in this little village but we get to hear things and we remember them. When the Duke or Lord Churchill or whatever you want to call him beat the rebels on that bloodthirsty day, he did so in the name of King James. Am I right or wrong?’
‘You’re quite right, Martin.’
‘Yet three years later, when he should have supported his king once again, he turns his back on him and joins up with a Dutchman, William of Orange. King James was forced into exile. That’s treachery to me.’
‘It’s a little more complicated than that.’
‘He stabbed King James in the back.’
‘That’s not what happened at all.’
‘I see what I see,’ affirmed Rye, thrusting out his jaw. ‘You can lick the Duke of Marlborough’s arse all you want but I’ll never forgive him for what he did to my two brothers.’ He nodded at the gravestone. ‘Unlike you, I could never serve a butcher who helped to put my father in the ground.’
Turning on his heel, he stalked off and gathered up his children. Daniel was chastened. Caught up in his uncritical veneration of Marlborough, he’d forgotten that the Duke didn’t enjoy universal praise even in his own country. It was not only scheming politicians who harboured a grudge against the great man. Humble people like Martin Rye had long memories and still nursed wounds inflicted at the battle of Sedgemoor. Daniel stared down at the grave with unease. He wondered what Nathan Rawson would say if he knew that his son had now served a man who’d once helped to quash the rebellion to which the farmer and retired soldier had dedicated himself.
When Daniel rode off, the words of Martin Rye rang in his ears.
The blacksmith would be one of many people who’d rejoice when he heard that Marlborough had effectively been stripped of his command.
On 19 February, 1708, the customary meeting of the Cabinet Council was held on a Sunday morning. The Queen’s most trusted advisers shuffled into the room and took their places either side of the long oak table. The pervasive air of solemnity was offset by the suppressed glee of one man. Robert Harley, Secretary of State, was now at the head of an administration with a distinct Tory bias. Not for nothing did he bear the nickname of Robin the Trickster. In appearance, he was small and rather insignificant yet he wielded great power behind the scenes. It had taken guile and perseverance to supplant Godolphin and to bring an end to Marlborough’s glittering military career. Harley was in the ascendant now. As he looked around the table, he was confident that a new and better political era was about to begin. It was time to flex his muscles.