Soldier of Fortune

'We'll soon capture Bonn back again.'

'I doubt that.'

'France has a bigger and better army,' asserted Seurel. 'We also have the support of the Elector of Bavaria. We must win.'

'I'm sure that we will — in time. But forget about the war,' Catto went on. 'That will take care of itself. Our only concern is the private battle we have with Captain Rawson.'

'Let it wait.'

'What do you mean?'

'My worry at this moment is that,' said the Frenchmen, pointing at the ship towards which they were strolling with their luggage. 'I'm scared, Charles. Sailing across the Channel was bad enough. The North Sea will be far worse.'

'We'll make a sailor of you yet, Frederic.'

'The very thought of a voyage makes my stomach heave.'

'This is the last one you'll have to make and it's certainly the last one that Captain Rawson will have made. He'll pay dearly for his hour between the thighs of Madame Salignac.'

Seurel grinned. 'He may think it was worth it.'

'No woman is worth losing your life over.'

'I don't agree. I'd much rather be shot in bed with another man's wife than stabbed to death on the battlefield by a bayonet. At least I'd die with a smile of my face.'

They joined the end of the queue to board the ship. Proximity to other passengers made them keep their voices down. Seurel eyed the vessel warily then let his gaze travel up to the sky. It was overcast. A squall was in the offing. His stomach heaved more violently. He had heard many stories about how perilous the North Sea could be. People moved slowly forward, their passports examined before they were allowed aboard. Until now, the two men had spoken in French. As they edged towards the gangplank, Catto took the precaution of resorting to his native tongue.

'Have you been to Holland before?'

'No,' replied Seurel.

'It will be a novelty for you.'

'All I want is dry land.'

'Then you are going to the right place,' said Catto. 'The Dutch are very clever. They've reclaimed land from the sea by building dykes. When we disembark, we will, in effect, be walking on water.'

'I just hope to get there safely.'

'We will, Frederic. We have an appointment with a great lover.'

Seurel was mystified. 'A great lover?'

'Yes,' said Catto, whispering in his ear. 'He's a man who lost his head over a woman.' They shared a grim laugh.

Edward Marston

Soldier of Fortune

Dorothy Piper was pleased by the change in her sister. Ten days after Captain Daniel Rawson had left the country, Abigail seemed to have found some peace of mind at last. She no longer stayed in her room, pining for her missing admirer and scolding herself for what had happened when they had last met. Nor did she disdain food and drink any more. Abigail had somehow regained her appetite. She looked better, dressed more smartly and took a more positive attitude to life. Having locked herself away for so long, she now resumed her daily walk with her maid, Emily, a plump young woman who was very fond of her mistress and who responded to her every whim. Dorothy believed that the maid had been partially responsible for the marked improvement in Abigail and she thanked her.

Two more days elapsed and her younger sister's spirits seemed to lift even more. Dorothy could not understand it. No letter had arrived from Daniel Rawson and she was certain that Abigail had not written one to him. She decided to confront her sister next morning and find out exactly what had cheered her up so much. But when she came down for breakfast, there was no sign of Abigail. Thinking that she had gone for an early walk, Dorothy waited for a couple of hours before searching for her sister again. It was all in vain.

Unknown to her sister, Abigail Piper and her maid were sailing down the Thames estuary on a ship that was bound for The Hague.

CHAPTER FIVE

Daniel Rawson had every reason to dislike Henry Welbeck. In almost every way, they were direct opposites. While Daniel revelled in military life, Welbeck loathed it and never stopped complaining about its many shortcomings. Captain Rawson was a cheerful optimist but Sergeant Welbeck was a sour pessimist. The one took his pleasures where he found them while the other was a confirmed bachelor with a deep suspicion of women. Religion provided the other profound difference between them. Daniel was so committed to the Protestant cause that he was prepared to fight to the death for it. Henry Welbeck was an unashamed atheist.

Yet the two men had, improbably, become close friends. Welbeck was older, stouter and decidedly uglier than Daniel and he had a fiery temper that cowed the men under him. Fearless on the battlefield, he was a veteran soldier who had saved the lives of many of his own troops by prompt action. Most of his battle scars were hidden by his uniform but the long, livid gash down one cheek was a visible memento of the dangers of fighting the French.

'I hate the army,' said Welbeck disconsolately.

'Then why did you join it?' asked Daniel.

'I thought it would make a man of me. When the recruiting officer came to our village, I was a scrawny lad who'd never been more than ten miles from the cottage I was born in. I was stupid enough to like what I heard, Dan. The officer made it sound wonderful.'

'It is wonderful when you get used to it, Henry.'

'We were tricked,' moaned Welbeck. 'They fed us on arrant lies and as much ale as we could drink. By the time we were sober again, we found that we'd signed our lives away — and for what?'

Daniel grinned. 'The chance to meet me, of course.'

'I'd rather forego that pleasure and stay out of uniform.'

'What about the other delights of army life?'

'I didn't know there were any, Dan.'

'There's the satisfaction of serving your country.'

'Where's the satisfaction in being shot at, stabbed at, kicked at, sworn at and spat at by a load of greasy Frenchies and their allies? All I do is to give the enemy target practice.' He pointed to the scar on his cheek. 'How satisfied do you think I felt when I got this?'

'Very satisfied,' said Daniel. 'You killed your attacker.'

'He haunts me every time I look in a mirror to shave.'

May had brought warm sunshine and the army had assembled as regiments left their winter quarters to join the column of march. By the middle of the month, they had crossed the River Meuse near Ruremond on pontoon bridges. It was at this point that Marlborough joined up with his men. It was also an occasion for Daniel Rawson to meet his discontented friend again. As evening shadows dappled the field, they were standing outside a tent in the encampment. Their regiment was part of a formidable army, comprising 14 battalions of infantry and 39 squadrons of cavalry, supported by 1700 supply wagons pulled by 5000 draught horses.

'We'll give the French a drubbing this year,' Daniel prophesied.

Welbeck grimaced. 'It will be another wild goose chase.'

'I've caught a lot of wild geese in my time, Henry.'

'Well, they didn't speak French, I know that. We can never get these bastards to stand still and fight. And what the hell are we doing here, anyway?' he complained. 'Why did we get dragged into a war of the Spanish Succession in the first place? I don't give a damn who puts his arse on the Spanish throne.'

'You should do,' said Daniel.

'Why? It makes no difference to me.'

'Yes, it does. Spain itself may be weak but it still has its colonies and dependencies. Think of Mexico, Cuba, the Canary Islands, Sicily, Sardinia, Naples, Milan, bits of the Americas — not to mention the Spanish Netherlands. Do you want France to control that empire? They'd go on to rule the world.'