Soldier of Fortune

'So do I, man,' asserted Louis. 'When the Dutch and the Austrians declare war on France, our country is under threat. That is the only implication I see. Bless me!' he went on, clicking his tongue in irritation. 'Queen Anne of England has also joined this alliance. Even a woman is taking up arms against me! Am I supposed to stand by and do nothing?'

'That's not what I'm suggesting, Your Majesty.'

'I'm not interested in suggestions.'

'As you wish, Your Majesty.'

'Do not question my ability to make the right decisions.'

'I'd never doubt them for a moment,' said the other tactfully.

'Do we not have the finest soldiers in the world?'

'Yes, Your Majesty.'

'And are they not led by the best marshals?'

'They are indeed, Your Majesty.'

'Then let's have no more bleating about shortage of money and men.' He was about to dismiss Saint-Simon when a messenger entered the room and bowed. 'Stay here,' he said to his companion. 'The news may be important.'

Beckoning the messenger across, the king took the despatch from him and broke the seal. As he read it, he frothed with indignation. He thrust the despatch at Saint-Simon.

'Read that!' he ordered. 'The Duke of Marlborough is leading an army towards the Moselle. Do you see what that means? He has the effrontery to invade France!'

'The Dutch would hold him back from such audacity,' said the courtier, scanning the despatch. 'They have always done so in the past. Yet this intelligence contradicts their former policy,' he went on, as he finished reading. 'If he is heading for Bonn, he must indeed be thinking of a strike towards the Moselle.' He returned the despatch. 'This is grave news, Your Majesty.'

'I'll draft new orders for Villeroi at once,' said Louis angrily. 'He is to intercept Marlborough and stop him from making any advance on French soil. I'll not have my territory invaded by anyone. It's a humiliation that will not be borne.'

'I heartily agree with you, Your Majesty.'

The king was shaking with fury. He was so accustomed to hearing good news from the battlefield that he believed his armies were invincible. The notion that someone would dare to encroach on French soil was anathema to him. He read the dispatch again before scrunching it up and hurling it at the floor. His lip curled in derision.

'Marlborough!' he growled.

Edward Marston

Soldier of Fortune

The Confederate army moved in easy stages. Roused at four o'clock in the morning, they assembled in rank and file a quarter of an hour later. The march began at five and they pressed on until late morning, setting up their next camp before the heat of the noonday sun could take its toll. Afternoon and evening were times of rest. Marlborough had carefully planned ahead. Wherever they camped, they found ample provisions awaiting them. There was no need to scour the area for food. Corporal John had already seen to their needs.

At each stage of the march, Marlborough rode on ahead with his cavalry then waited for the infantry, artillery and baggage wagons to catch up with him. When they reached their destination for that day, Marlborough adjourned to his tent with his secretary. He unfurled a map and tapped it with a finger.

'We are right here, Adam,' he said to his secretary. 'We are poised to reach the Moselle.'

'How far will we go, Your Grace?' asked Cardonnel.

'Far enough to confuse the enemy. King Louis's spies will have delivered their reports by now and Villeroi will be on his way to block our path into France. The marshal has no idea that our march towards the Moselle is part of an elaborate feint.'

'It's a brilliant conception.'

'The execution has to be equally brilliant. I've letters to write and orders to give,' he said, opening a leather satchel and taking out a pile of papers. 'There's never an end to correspondence.'

'It's one of the necessities of warfare.'

'I know, Adam, but it can get tedious at times.'

Marlborough's travelling table and chairs had already been set up for him in the tent. Quill, ink and paper stood ready. The two men removed their hats and set them aside before they got down to the business of the day.

'My wife never finds it tedious,' said Marlborough fondly. 'I had yet another letter from her today. The Duchess is pursuing me all the way across Europe.'

'Better to do so on the page than in person,' observed Cardonnel drily. 'An army on the march is no place for a lady.'

'Yet we have several following us in the baggage train.'

'Those women hardly come from the upper reaches of society.'

'That's where you are mistaken, Adam.' 'Oh?'

'One of them at least can boast of distinguished parentage.' Marlborough lowered himself on to his seat. 'Or, to be more precise, she will when she joins us. She's clearly a spirited young lady who is undeterred by the multiple discomforts of travel. It will come as a great shock to Daniel Rawson, I fear.'

'Captain Rawson?'

'Yes, Adam.'

Cardonnel was curious. 'In what way is he involved?'

'The oldest way of all, I suspect,' said Marlborough with a quiet smile. 'The youngest daughter of Sir Nicholas Piper is smitten by him. According to my wife's latest letter, Abigail was so distressed at his departure from London that she decided to follow him. As you can imagine, her parents are thoroughly dismayed.'

'The lady is here?' asked the secretary incredulously.

'She's certainly on Rawson's tail.' He chortled. 'We'll have to warn him about a possible attack from the rear.'

'It's highly dangerous for a woman to travel alone.'

'Her maid is with her, apparently.'

'Even so,' said Cardonnel. 'It's very reckless of them. I'd be very alarmed if a daughter of mine took such an appalling risk. They need an armed guard.'

'If they catch us with us, that's exactly what they'll have.'

'But they may never reach us alive.'

'Have more faith in the power of love,' said Marlborough. 'It can find a way past the most daunting obstacles. Abigail Piper is patently a young lady with tenacity and sense of purpose. I fancy that Rawson will be seeing her before too long.'

Edward Marston

Soldier of Fortune

The voyage had been a sustained ordeal. Sailing across the rough waters of the North Sea in a brig had been a rude baptism for Abigail Piper and her maid, Emily Greene. It was a supreme test of their mettle. They were sick, uncomfortable, soaked to the skin and very frightened. They were tossed around so helplessly by the surging waves, and lashed by such a violent storm, that they despaired of ever seeing dry land again. When it did finally appear, they were too weak to take any pleasure from the sight. They needed three days in The Hague to recover from the torments inflicted upon them by the elements and they were not cheered by the thought that they would one day have to make a return voyage.

Notwithstanding the many scares and setbacks, Abigail did not regret her decision to follow Daniel Rawson. She was soothed by dreams about him and lifted by hopes of what would happen when she finally caught up with him. She also derived a sisterly glee from thinking how dumbfounded Dorothy would be back in London. Abigail had looked ahead. To pay for horses, food and accommodation, she had brought a substantial amount of her savings with her. What neither she nor Emily was able to bring with them was much luggage. Travelling light was crucial.

Abigail was an accomplished horsewoman but her maid was an indifferent rider. When they bought two horses, therefore, Emily had severe misgivings.

'I'm not sure that I can do this,' she said worriedly.

Abigail was encouraging. 'Of course you can, Emily,' she said. 'The worst is behind us. If you can survive a voyage like that, you can do anything.'