Soldier of Fortune (23 page)

He
had talked his way past the pickets with ease. Deliberately choosing to enter
the camp through its Dutch section, Charles Catto had made his way towards the
area where the British battalions had set up their tents. There was still just
enough light for him to discern the different colours of the uniforms.' The
standard uniform was the one that he was wearing - a long red coat turned back
at the lapels and cuffs to show the facings of the regimental hue. They were
dark blue for the guards and royal regiments. Others were distinguished by
yellow, green, white or buff. Having fought against - and occasionally served
with - British regiments, Catto recognised their facings at once. He also knew
that the Royal Horse Guards wore blue uniforms, as did the artillery units. It
paid to know the colour of an enemy.

On
that first evening, he had contented himself with finding his way around the
camp and looking for the safest way to leave it. Making sure that he never went
near the regiment he had joined earlier, he had slept in a large tent that was
stocked with supplies captured from the enemy after the battle. Catto had risen
early to eat the food he had brought with him. Daylight brought the whole place
alive and there was a continuous hubbub. He walked towards the area reserved
for the baggage wagons and camp followers, taking a clearer look at the
disposition of the army as he did so. If he was able to pass on accurate
details of the enemy to General Salignac, he would be praised and rewarded. His
mission took on an extra dimension.

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.'

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.

'Why
is that, sir?'

'It
seems that they were solely responsible for winning the battle. At least, that
is the story that the Margrave of Baden is putting about and I, for one, find
it downright insulting.'

'It's
downright false!' said Daniel with feeling. 'We had already weakened the enemy
considerably before the Austrians even joined the fray. Our cannon had spread
chaos among the French on top of the hill and we'd accounted for dozens of the
Bavarians behind the lower ramparts. Let's give credit where it's due.'

'Let's
give credit where it's due,' repeated Marlborough with emphasis. 'You're our
linguist, Daniel. We'll have to get you to translate that into German so that
Adam can write it down and offer it to our ally, the Margrave of Baden, as a
motto.' His smile was replaced by a frown. 'This battle is in the past now and
we must look to the future. Towns ahead of us will already have been told that
we are on the way and will be working hard to improve their defences. There
will be sieges ahead.'

'Then
we need heavier cannon, Your Grace,' said Daniel. 'We'll face stronger
fortifications than the Schellenberg offered us. The guns we captured are no
bigger than our own. What we require is a proper siege train.'

'It
would have been too onerous to drag it all this way.'

'And
it would have slowed us right down,' said Cardonnel.

'Besides
which,' added Marlborough, 'we had assurances from Emperor Leopold that
he
would provide us with heavy artillery.'

'Does
he still intend to do so, Your Grace?' asked Daniel.

'I
sincerely hope so.'

'We've
saved his capital for him. The French had every intention of marching on Vienna
and driving him out. The least that the Emperor can do is to supply us with
what we need.'

'I've
made that point explicitly in all my despatches to him.'

Cardonnel
was waspish. 'Let us hope that he puts more trust in
your
despatches, Your Grace, than in those from his commander-in-chief. You may be
fortunate to get a mention in the latter.'

'History
will judge me more fairly than Baden has done.'

'The
miracle is that he agreed to attack,' said Daniel. 'Look at his military
record, Your Grace. He's a master of defence. That's how he built his
reputation - by sitting behind trenches and ramparts while the enemy fell to
his musket fire. Mounting an attack is a new experience for him and the novelty
of it has gone to his head.'

'I
think you're being too kind to him,' said Cardonnel.

'Those
who fought in the battle know who won it, sir.'

'That's
all that matters to me,' said Marlborough. 'But let's turn to a less
contentious topic, shall we?' he continued. 'I thought you'd like to know that
I've made arrangements for Abigail Piper's return.'

'Thank
you, Your Grace,' said Daniel. 'It's very kind of you to find time for
something so trivial when you have far weightier matters on your mind.'

'I'd
never regard a daughter of Sir Nicholas Piper as trivial.'

'The
word was perhaps ill-chosen.'

'Given
the effect you appear to have had on the family, it would not have been
surprising if both sisters had been impelled to follow you across the North
Sea.'

'One
is more than enough, Your Grace,' said Daniel, grimacing.

'Two
would have been a case of gilding the lily.'

'That's
not quite how I would have put it.'

Marlborough
laughed. 'No, I'm sure.'

'When
will Abigail leave?' 'Tomorrow.'

'That
was quick, Your Grace.'

'I'm
sending a small detachment back to Holland. Abigail and her maid can travel
with them. We need have no qualms about safety.'

'I
shall make a point of seeing her before she goes.'

'And
so will I,' said Marlborough cheerfully. 'She's a delightful young lady who
would decorate any assembly but she is hopelessly out of place on a military
campaign. I'd not wish this experience on any daughter of mine, I know that.
Yes,' he decided, 'I fancy that Abigail will be very happy to depart.'