Soldier of Fortune

The hostilities had left the women with much to do. Uniforms had been torn, tricorn hats had been bent out of shape and shirts had been muddied or stained with blood. Mending and washing were going on everywhere. Catto singled out a stout woman of middle years who was sitting alone beside a wagon and smoking a clay pipe. He lifted his hat to her as he approached.

'Good day to you, ma'am,' he said politely.

'And to you, sir,' she replied.

'I wondered if I might ask a favour.'

Her jaw tightened. 'What sort of favour did you have in mind?'

'Not that kind,' he said, charming her with a smile. 'I just need someone to repair my sleeve. It got torn while we were storming the Schellenburg and my fingers are hopeless with a needle.' He stuck out his arm to display the long tear that he had made earlier. 'That and this head wound are my souvenirs of the battle.'

'My only souvenir is lying six feet under the ground,' she said morosely. 'I knew my husband would get himself killed sooner or later. They told me he fell in the first charge. Ah, well,' she sighed, 'since I've nobody else to sew for, you might as well take off that coat and give it to me.'

'Thank you — I'm happy to pay.'

'Then I'll be happy to take the money.'

While Catto slipped off his coat, she got up and reached into the back of the wagon. She returned with a little wicker sewing box and searched in it for some red yarn. Resuming her seat on the stool, she took his coat and laid it across her legs. There were plenty of people milling around. Other women were repairing uniforms or washing linen in tubs and hanging it up to dry on lines they had strung between wagons. Several men were also there, chatting with their wives or displaying their injuries to anyone inquisitive enough to want to see them.

Catto studied the scene with interest. Though he kept up a conversation with the woman beside him, his gaze wandered everywhere. People came and went but he was looking for a particular face. He had only seen it from across a stream but it had a luminous beauty that had stayed in his mind.

'I'm sorry to hear about your husband,' he said to the woman.

She puffed on her pipe. 'I'm only one of many who lost her man.'

'How long had he served in the army?'

'Nigh on twenty years,' she said, plying her needle, 'though it seemed longer. He had a taste for fighting, my husband did. That's how he come to be in the army. He was always getting drunk and hitting people, though he never laid a finger on me. The magistrate got fed up with fining him or locking him up. "If you like a fight," he told him, "you might as well serve King and Country at the same time." It's Queen and Country now, of course,' she explained, 'but it makes no difference. Fighting is fighting. His time had come.'

'I admire your stoicism.'

She looked up. 'What does that mean?'

'Nothing,' he said. 'You have my deepest sympathy.'

The woman went off into a series of maudlin reminiscences about her late husband but Catto was only half-listening. He kept his eye on every new person who drifted into sight. His vigilance was eventually rewarded. There was no possibility of mistaking her. When the young woman walked into view, she had fine clothing that set her immediately apart from all the others and a loveliness that almost gleamed. He tapped his seamstress on the shoulder.

'Who's that?' he enquired, pointing a finger.

'Oh,' said the woman, glancing up, 'she's not one of us. She only joined the camp a few days ago. We have to sleep where we can,' she went on bitterly, 'but not her and her maid. They had a tent from the Duke himself. They had everything done for them.'

'Why?'

'They say it's because the Duke knows her father. He certainly never knew mine,' she said with a throaty cackle. 'My father was hanged for stealing sheep — God rest his soul!'

'Do you happen to know her name?'

'Yes, we all know that.'

'Why?'

'We've talked to her maid, Emily. I liked her.'

'What's her mistress's name?

'It's Miss Piper,' said the woman. 'Miss Abigail Piper.'

'Thank you,' he said, thrusting some coins into her hand.

She examined the money. 'This is far too much.'

'You've earned it,' said Catto, watching Abigail bow her head as she went into her tent. 'Believe me, you've earned every penny.'

Edward Marston

Soldier of Fortune

The aftermath of a battle was always depressing. Once the thrill of victory had finally ebbed away, there were practicalities that needed attention. Most of the wounded had been taken away but those with near-fatal injuries were left to die where they lay. Graves were dug by teams that worked in shifts throughout the day and into the night. Their priority was to give a decent burial to British casualties and regimental chaplains were on duty to conduct services for the fallen. It was grim, monotonous, disheartening work but it had to be done.

Enemy soldiers who had been killed had to wait their turn and infect the air while they did so. The Confederate army had already relieved them of weapons, ammunition and valuables. Scavengers from the town had come out under cover of darkness to strip them of anything that could be worn or sold. As Daniel Rawson gazed across the battlefield that afternoon, there were still hundreds of half-naked Frenchmen and Bavarians littering the ground. Burial details made up of prisoners captured in the battle were holding their breath as they laboured amid the piles of decaying flesh.

Mounted on his horse and viewing it all from a distance, Daniel could smell the pervasive reek of death. It was something to which he could never become accustomed. After offering up a silent prayer for the souls of his comrades, he kicked his heels and rode back towards the camp. A few hundred yards away were two figures on horseback. Daniel identified them instantly. The Duke of Marlborough was using his telescope to survey the battlefield. Adam Cardonnel waited beside him. When Daniel cantered over to him and reined in his horse, Marlborough lowered his telescope.

'I was watching you,' said Marlborough. 'You stayed a long time.'

'I was paying my respects, Your Grace.'

'It's only right that we should do so.'

'I lost some good friends on that hill,' said Daniel. 'I wanted to make sure they'd had a Christian burial. Birds of prey and wild animals have been at some of the bodies. I didn't want that to happen to anyone from my battalion.'

'They fought with distinction, Captain Rawson,' said Cardonnel.

'They always did, sir.'

'You set them a fine example.'

'Not everyone believes that,' admitted Daniel. 'Some of my senior officers thought it rash of me to volunteer for the Forlorn Hope. They felt that I should have been leading my battalion instead of taking part in that initial charge.'

'You did what was required,' said Marlborough gratefully. 'You helped to draw the enemy's fire and allowed me to see where their defences were strongest. My one regret is that most of the Forlorn Hope threw their fascines into the wrong ditch.'

'I yelled at them to hold on until we reached the trench farther on but my voice was drowned out by the din.'

'Mistakes are always made in battle.'

'Fortunately, they made more mistakes than we did, Your Grace,' said Daniel. 'In leaving their left flank unprotected, they gave us our opportunity. The Austrians came to our rescue.'

'They may never let us forget it,' said Cardonnel.