Nathan Rawson faced him with great courage and endured his cross-examination with calm defiance. His trial was brief. He was one of five hundred or more prisoners who were rushed through the court in a mere two days. Since Taunton was seen by the authorities as a hotbed of revolt, Jeffreys and the other judges were especially severe. Along with many others, Nathan was condemned to death. His wife and son were in the large crowd that gathered on the day of execution to watch their family members and friends being hanged. As her husband was taken up on to the scaffold, Juliana Rawson could not bear to look but Daniel did not take his eyes off the grisly proceedings. Most of the rebels showed fear and one pleaded aloud for mercy but Nathan Rawson met his end with fortitude, even managing a farewell smile to his son as the noose was put around his neck. Daniel had never felt so proud of him.
Later that night, when the guard had dozed off to sleep, Daniel cut down his father with the help of two friends and drove him away in the cart. They buried him with dignity in the churchyard of the village where he had been born. As dawn was breaking, Juliana and Daniel Rawson were driving away from the farm towards the coast. The cart was loaded with their possessions. Mourning the death of her husband, Juliana sat in silence with a shawl wrapped around her shoulders. All she could think about was returning to the safety of her native country.
Edward Marston
Soldier of Fortune
As he drove the cart along the winding track, Daniel wrestled with a welter of emotions. He was hurt, sorrowful, shocked, indignant, vengeful and bristling with rage. Too young to understand the full implications of what had happened, he knew one thing for certain. He was no longer a boy. Indirectly, the battle of Sedgemoor had turned him into a young man. He had killed a soldier with the sword that had now been presented to him. It was a weapon he could not wait to hold in his hand again.
CHAPTER ONE
March, 1704
Daniel Rawson had always disliked Paris. As he rode through its streets in the gathering darkness, he was reminded why he hated the place so much. It was the noisiest, dirtiest, most foul-smelling city in Europe. It was also the most crowded. Broad avenues and magnificent public buildings had been introduced to give it status and splendour but they could not hide the fact that the majority of Parisians lived in tiny, squalid, ugly, vermin-ridden houses or tenements. But the main reason why Daniel loathed it so much was that it was the capital city of a country against which he had been fighting ever since he had joined the army. He was at the heart of enemy territory.
In his opinion, however — and it was an opinion based on long experience — Paris had one redeeming feature. It was the home of some of the most beautiful women in the world, exotic birds of paradise with wonderful plumage, gorgeous ladies who were steeped in the arts of love and eager to pass on their secrets to the select few. That was what had enticed Daniel to enter the city in disguise and to ride with an anticipatory smile of delight on his face. He had an assignation.
Thoughts of what lay ahead did not distract him from the ever-present danger in the streets. Beggars had accosted him at every turn and prostitutes had tried to lure him brazenly into hovels where he could be overpowered and robbed. When he went down a narrow lane and saw two ragged men ahead of him, therefore, he knew instinctively that trouble was at hand. Though they were lounging against a wall on opposite sides of the lane, they were not really engaged in casual conversation. They had been waiting for someone to fall into their trap. As soon as Daniel drew level with them, they pounced. One man seized the reins of his horse while the other tried to haul him roughly from the saddle.
They had chosen the wrong victim. A swift punch from Daniel broke the nose of the man who had grabbed him and sent him reeling to the ground with blood streaming down his chin. Slipping a foot out of the stirrup, Daniel kicked the other man so hard in the chest that he yelled in agony and let go of the reins, thudding against the wall with a force that knocked the breath out of him. Daniel urged his horse into a brisk trot and left them to nurse their wounds and rue their mistake.
His destination was the fashionable Faubourg Saint-Germain, an area renowned for its countless inns and cabarets but replete as well with fine houses and imposing hotels. It was Daniel's second visit to the address so he had no difficulty in finding it. As before, he was met with a welcoming signal. A candle burnt in an attic window to assure him that the coast was clear. He needed no more invitation. Riding down the side of the house, he dismounted in the courtyard at the rear and tethered his horse beside the stables.
The maid was waiting for him. As soon as he reached the rear door, she opened it for him, her pretty face glowing in the light from the lantern in her hand. She looked at the visitor and exchanged a conspiratorial nod with him before leading the way up the backstairs. After shutting the door behind him, Daniel followed, blessing the day when he had first made the acquaintance of Madame Berenice Salignac and learnt how often her husband was away from his lovely young wife.
The maid reached a landing and checked that nobody was about before she conducted him furtively along it. When she came to her mistress's boudoir, she gave a coded tap on the door then stood back. When he heard the expected three knocks from inside the room, Daniel dismissed the maid with a smile of thanks before opening the door and going through it. Berenice had moved back to the middle of the room where light from the fire and from the flickering candelabra combined to show her at her best. Daniel feasted his eyes on her.
Removing his hat with a flourish, he gave a low bow before putting his hat on a chair and tossing his cloak over the back of it. When she offered her hand, he held it lightly between his fingers and bestowed a loving kiss upon it. Berenice noticed his glove.
'Oh!' she exclaimed. 'That looks like blood.'
'It is,' he said, examining his knuckles, 'but you need have no fear, my love. It's not mine. It belonged to a man who was foolish enough to try to stop me reaching you this evening.' He pulled off his gloves and dropped them on a little table, holding out both hands for inspection. 'There you are — not a mark on them, as you see.'
Berenice was fully reassured. Still in her early twenties, she was a shapely woman of middle height with exquisite features and complexion. Her blond hair, parted in the middle, fell down both sides of her head in ringlets. Though she was entertaining her lover, she was not wearing night attire in readiness. Her costly blue satin dress had a close-fitting bodice with a trained skirt worn open in the front. The sleeves were short to the elbows with turned-up cuffs and deep ruffles emerging from below. Hitched up at the back to give a bustle effect, the skirt revealed a decorative petticoat. Shimmering jewellery enhanced an already complete portrait of feminine beauty.
Daniel had learnt the rules on his previous visit. Berenice Salignac liked to take her time and savour each moment. They began with wine, poured from a decanter, then sat beside each other on an ornate settee. Daniel kept up a steady stream of compliments in the fluent French he had taken pains to master. He was no longer the sturdy boy from a Dorset farm but a tall, slim, handsome, urbane gentleman, not far short of thirty, with a soldier's bearing that was offset by his natural charm and tenderness. He had courted Berenice studiously for some weeks before she had finally succumbed to his advances.