'Let them — as long as they leave England alone.'
'But they wouldn't, Henry. If they conquer Europe, they'll look to overrun us next. Would you like to see French soldiers in London?'
'Yes — if they were hanging from a gallows.'
Daniel clapped him on the shoulder. 'We agree on something at last,' he said.
'I just want this war to be over,' said Welbeck sadly. 'I seem to have spent a lifetime running after French uniforms.'
'If we destroy their army — as we will one day — you'll be able to run after French women instead.'
Welbeck snorted. 'Women are more trouble than they're worth, Dan. That's why I keep well away from them. I've seen the damage they can create. One of the best things Corporal John ever did was to forbid whores to ply their trade among the army. The men didn't like it at all,' he recalled, 'but it made them better soldiers.'
'Our commander cares for his men,' said Daniel. 'That's how he got the nickname of Corporal John. He doesn't hold himself aloof. He knows how hard life in the ranks really is and he's done his best to improve the lot of the average soldier. Thanks to him, we always have plenty of surgeons travelling with us. Thanks to him, we always have provisions awaiting us when we camp.'
'I'd still rather be home in England.'
'Then why have you stayed in the army so long?'
Welbeck gave a rare smile. 'It needs me, Dan.'
Most officers did not consort freely with the ranks but Daniel was an exception to the rule. He was happy to spend time with people like Henry Welbeck and to learn what the men he commanded were thinking and feeling. Critics warned him that making himself so approachable would lead to a loss of discipline. It had not happened in Daniel's case. If anything, his men respected him even more.
'Where exactly are we going, Dan?' asked Welbeck.
'Put that question to our commander.'
'You spent time with him in England. What did he tell you?'
'Precious little,' replied Daniel. 'All I know is that he means to spring a few surprises on the French.'
'In his place, I'd be bored with this campaign. It goes on and on.'
'The Duke will bring it to a conclusion sooner or later.'
'Then it had better be sooner,' said Welbeck, wagging a finger, 'because he's not getting any younger. What about his family back in England? He spends so much time away from her that anyone would think he doesn't get on with his wife. Is that true, Dan?'
The question caught Daniel off guard. His mind went back to the quayside in Harwich when he sensed a rift between Marlborough and his wife. Something was troubling his commander and it did not bode well for the campaign. Fond as he was of Welbeck, however, he was not ready to confide his worries on so sensitive a subject.
'No, Henry,' he said, contriving a smile, 'it's not true. The Duke and Duchess are happily married. I can vouch for that.'
Edward Marston
Soldier of Fortune
John Churchill, Duke of Marlborough was glad to be reunited with his army. The sight of massed ranks of soldiers always inspired him and he fervently hoped that this year he would be able to deliver the decisive victory that they deserved. When the messenger arrived in the camp, he had several letters for the captain-general, many of them from military allies requesting orders. The letter that claimed priority, however, was the one from his wife, Sarah, and he retired to his tent to read it in private.
He opened it with an amalgam of hope and trepidation. Before he had left England, his wife had accused him of having an affair and expressed her anger in the most forthright terms. Though she had agreed to see him off at Harwich, she left him in no doubt about her feelings of betrayal. As he read the familiar calligraphy, Marlborough's heart was pounding and he steeled himself against further unjustified allegations of adultery. They never came. Instead,
Sarah's letter contained a heart-felt apology for misjudging her husband and begged him to forgive her. So eager was she to make amends and to attest her love that she offered to join him on the campaign.
Marlborough was overjoyed. His writing materials had already been unpacked so he sat at the little table to pen an immediate reply.
I do this minute love you better than ever I did before. This letter of yours has made me so happy, that I do from my soul wish that we could retire and not be blamed. What you propose as to coming over, I should be extremely pleased with; for your letter has so transported me, that I think you would be happier being here than where you are; although I should not be able to see you often. But you will see by my last letter, as well as this, that what you desire is impossible; for I am going up into Germany where it would be impossible for you to follow me; but love me as you now do, and no harm can come to me. You have by this kindness preserved my quiet and, I believe, my life; for until I had this letter, I have been very indifferent of what should become of myself. I have pressed this business of carrying an army into Germany, in order to leave a good name behind me, wishing for nothing else but good success. I shall now add, that of having a long life, that I may be happy with you.
When he had signed the letter, he read it through again then looked once more at his wife's missive. A huge burden had suddenly been lifted from his shoulders. He was now able to devote all his energies to the campaign. Reassured that his wife loved him once more, and that she had accepted how unfounded her suspicions had been, Marlborough felt capable of anything. He got up, summoned his secretary and began to work through the official correspondence with renewed enthusiasm. Sarah's letter had been a good omen. Not even the might of France could stop him now.
King Louis XIV had ruled for so long that he seemed a permanent fixture on the French throne. His dominant passion was a love of glory and he had pursued it enthusiastically on the battlefield and in the boudoir. It found its most visible expression in the building of Versailles, the sumptuous palace that became both the home of the Court and the centre of administration. In defiance of all advice, Le Roi Soleil, as he was dubbed, chose to live in the country, well away from the stench of Paris and its teeming streets. At immense cost, in terms of money and of the lives of many workmen who perished there, Versailles rose from the marshes to become the largest and most opulent structure in France. Because it had no view to please the eye, Louis had one created for him, surrounding the palace with gardens that were unmatched in size and splendour anywhere in Europe.
It was here that he lived in luxury, following an unvarying daily routine by the clock and conducting a war against the Grand Alliance while enjoying an endless round of balls, plays, operas, musical concerts and fetes. Though he sported a magnificent periwig and wore the rich apparel befitting a French monarch, he could not entirely disguise the effects of age. Now in his mid-sixties, he was overweight and puffy. Since most of his upper teeth had been removed during an agonising operation almost twenty years earlier, his smile had a kind of sinister comicality to it — not that anyone would dare to laugh at him. The king was impossibly vain, single- minded and peremptory. He brooked no opposition.
He was in a private room at Versailles when Louis de Rouvroy, Due de Saint-Simon, a leading courtier and trusted friend, discussed the conduct of the war with him.
'Let me remind you of the earlier counsel you were given, Your Majesty,' said Saint-Simon reasonably. 'At the very outset, your advisors were not at all sure that it was wise to provoke another war when our finances were stretched and our army was in sore need of more recruits.'
'I provoked nobody,' snapped Louis. 'They provoked me.'
'Your retaliation was a little hasty, Your Majesty.'
The king glowered. 'Do you have the gall to criticise me?'
'No, no,' answered Saint-Simon with an emollient smile, 'your word is final and I would never gainsay it. On the other hand, Your Majesty, we do have to consider the implications.'