5 A Very Murdering Battle (18 page)

Daniel dragged himself upright and swayed over the man. Rachel was back on her feet now and had watched the fight with satisfaction.

‘Thank you, Daniel,’ she said. ‘If
you
hadn’t strangled that bastard, I’d have done it. Nobody calls me a fat cow and lives to boast about it.’

Panting from his efforts, Daniel tried to dust off some of the dirt he’d picked up. Angry with himself for being caught unawares, he was at the same time content. In making his bid for freedom, Goujon had solved a problem. They no longer had to wonder what they’d do with him. He’d join his friends in a shallow grave, leaving them to continue on their way unhindered by their prisoner. Daniel started to remove the dead man’s uniform.

Though he’d never been a father, Henry Welbeck had a paternal streak that he took care to keep well hidden in case it was perceived as a sign of softness on his part. He hated to lose men under his charge, even the ones he detested. He felt a nagging responsibility towards them. Each fatality caused him pain. After a long acquaintance with the systematic butchery of war, he could still be shocked and upset. It made him fight on even harder and exhort the survivors in the 24
^th
Foot to do the same. Welbeck and his men were part of an assault that was launched on the citadel. It was above ground this time so they didn’t have to brave the hazards of the tunnels. Scrambling over rubble, they tried to get close enough to fire their muskets at the figures on the ramparts and they seemed to be having some initial success. Then a cannon gun roared and the shot landed in the midst of his men.

Over a dozen were killed instantly and others were badly wounded by the flying debris it stirred up. The one who caught Welbeck’s attention was Ben Plummer, thrown several yards and stretched out on his back. His brains were draped across his forehead like a bunch of grapes. In spite of the trouble Plummer had caused him, the sergeant felt a twinge of sorrow and he crossed over to the fallen soldier. When he got close to him, however, he realised that Plummer had only been stunned. The brains had belonged to a soldier who’d been hit by the shot and whose head had been blown apart. As Welbeck slapped Plummer’s face to try to revive him, he heard the drum call signalling a retreat. Musket fire was still peppering them and the occasional cannon were causing more havoc. After waving to his men to pull back, Welbeck heaved Plummer onto his shoulder and carried him away from danger. The further he went, the heavier the load became, but Welbeck was a powerful man and didn’t once slow his pace.

When he was eventually able to put his burden down in the safety of the camp, Welbeck was joined by another sergeant. Leo Curry looked down at Plummer with undisguised contempt.

‘I’d have left the bastard there to die,’ he said, cruelly.

‘We need every man we’ve got, Leo.’

‘What use is a lily-livered coward?’

‘I’ll make a soldier of him yet,’ said Welbeck, wiping the sweat from his brow. ‘I don’t think he’s seriously hurt. He was knocked unconscious.’

Curry looked down at the body. ‘Or is he just
pretending
?’ he asked, unsympathetically. He kicked Plummer and produced a groan. ‘Open your eyes, you rotten cheat. We know your little game.’

‘It’s no game, Leo. I saw him tossed into the air like a rag doll.’

‘I’m not surprised. He’s about as much bleeding use as a rag doll.’

‘Plummer was worth saving,’ argued Welbeck. ‘I wasn’t going to leave an able-bodied soldier where he was likely to be shot. You’ve rescued men in the past. I’ve seen you do it.’

‘They
deserved
to be rescued, Henry – unlike this filthy pimp.’

Plummer opened an eye. ‘Are you talking about me, Sergeant?’

‘You’re a menace to the British army,’ accused Curry.

‘What happened?’

‘You were nearby when a shot killed your comrades,’ said Welbeck.

‘And your sergeant was fool enough to save your life and carry you back here,’ added Curry. ‘I’d have left you as target practice for the enemy.’

Plummer was touched. ‘You
saved
me, Sergeant Welbeck?’

‘I’d have done the same for any of my men,’ said Welbeck, briskly.

‘Thank you, thank you very much.’

‘Show your gratitude by mending your ways. Become a proper soldier.’

‘And keep away from my men,’ warned Curry. ‘Since the siege began, you haven’t been able to sneak across to our part of the camp to stir up mischief. You’ve been too busy trying not to fight. Stay where you bleeding well belong. If I see you within fifty yards of any of my soldiers, I’ll kick you from here to Amsterdam.’

To reinforce his threat, he booted Plummer in the ribs before marching off. With a cry of pain, Plummer sat up and rubbed his side tenderly. He shook his head to bring himself fully awake.

‘How are you?’ asked Welbeck.

‘I feel half dead.’

‘You look it. Can you stand up?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Let me help you up.’

‘I’d rather stay here, Sergeant.’

‘Come on,’ said Welbeck, ‘we’ve got to see if there’s any real damage.’

Putting his hands under Plummer’s arms, he lifted him gingerly to his feet. Plummer moaned and rubbed an elbow. He was very unsteady but, when he was released, he didn’t fall over. There were bruises on his face and a sticky mark on his forehead where someone else’s brains had briefly lodged. Welbeck thought it best not to mention that to him. He ran his hands over Plummer’s limbs then got the private to lift his knees in turn.

‘Nothing seems to be broken,’ he decided.

‘I’ve got this pain in my elbow,’ said Plummer, ‘and I think that Sergeant Curry might have cracked my ribs.’

‘That was only a tap he gave you. If the sergeant had really kicked you hard, you’d be rolling in agony. Best to be on the safe side,’ Welbeck continued. ‘If you can find a surgeon who’s not patching up wounded soldiers, get him to look at that elbow of yours. It may need attention.’

Plummer brightened. ‘Does that mean I’ll be invalided out of action?’

‘No, you’re fit enough to walk and fire a musket.’

‘I want to be nursed by a buxom woman. In fact,
any
woman would do. I miss the touch of a female hand. I might even be nursed by your lady love.’

Welbeck tensed. ‘Who’re you talking about?’

‘Why – Rachel Rees, of course.’

‘She is
not
my lady love.’

Plummer smirked. ‘I see what I see.’

‘You won’t see a bloody thing if I hit you,’ said Welbeck, holding a fist under Plummer’s chin. ‘I didn’t rescue you so that you could taunt me. I’ve nothing to do with Rachel Rees, do you hear?’

‘Yes, Sergeant – I’ll tell her that when I see her.’

‘You won’t be able to do that because she’s no longer in camp.’

‘Oh – where is she?’

‘Mind you own business and look for a surgeon. I want you ready to carry a musket in the next attack. Go on,’ he said, shoving him. ‘Off you go.’

Plummer gave him a sly grin then walked slowly away. Welbeck was annoyed by the mention of Rachel Rees. He had no wish to be reminded of her existence. He knew that she wasn’t there because Daniel had told him that she’d agreed to help him. Unaware of what the two of them were actually doing, he hoped for the safe return of his friend and for the complete disappearance of Rachel Rees.

‘What was his name?’ asked Rachel.

‘Henri Dupuy,’ said Daniel, reading the inscription chiselled into the headstone. ‘He died almost a fortnight ago.’

‘It’s nice to know who our father was.’

‘There’s only one problem, Rachel.’

‘Is there?’

‘Yes – his wife is buried here as well. She passed away two years ago.’

She grinned. ‘Perhaps we should find another grave.’

They’d arrived in Mons and told their tale to the guards at the gate. The surname on their forged papers was Terreau and it got them inside the town. Just in case they’d aroused enough suspicion to be followed, Daniel led the way to the nearest churchyard and looked for a recent burial. When he saw a mound of fresh earth, he paused beside it to read the epitaph relating to Henri and Emma Dupuy. If anyone was watching them, they’d see two dutiful children paying their respects beside a parental grave. In fact, when he looked around, Daniel saw that nobody had been keeping them under observation. Their story had been plausible enough to win genuine sympathy at the gate. Having overcome one obstacle, however, they were confronted by another one.

‘Good day to you both,’ said a soft and friendly voice.

They looked up to see an old man shuffling towards them with an almost toothless smile. He was the parish priest at the church and was interested to spot a fellow curé there. Blinking at them from beneath bushy, white eyebrows, he spread his bony arms in welcome.

‘What brings you here to my church?’ he asked.

Rachel brought the handkerchief to her face to escape the embarrassment of having to speak. She’d picked up enough French over the years to be able to hold a conversation but had nothing like Daniel’s fluency. If she opened her mouth, she’d give the game away at once. Daniel spoke the language like a true-born Frenchman. Since they were caught beside a particular grave, he quickly converted them from children of the deceased to nephew and niece, extolling the virtues of their uncle and saying how distressed they were to hear of his demise. Because Henri Dupuy was a parishioner of his, the priest would know him and his family well. It was far safer to claim to be relatives who lived some distance away. Rachel was staggered at the ease with which Daniel talked about the need they felt to visit Mons. He seemed to be able to invent convincing details at will. The old man expressed his condolences and suggested that they might all enter the church to pray for the salvation of the dead man’s soul. As they walked up the path, Daniel saw the opportunity to probe for information.

‘Why are there so many soldiers about?’ he wondered.

‘You’re mistaken,’ said the priest. ‘There are far too few of them. We fear that we may be besieged, yet a proportion of our garrison has been withdrawn by Marshal Villars. We’re not able to defend ourselves properly and can only hope that the enemy spares us and marches elsewhere.’

‘We came past their encampment at Tournai.’

‘The town must be suffering dreadfully.’

‘Sieges always bring misery, alas.’

‘That’s horribly true!’ exclaimed the old man.

They went into the building and walked down the aisle before kneeling at the altar rail. It was the first time that Rachel had been inside a Roman Catholic church and she was struck by its ornate design and by the plenitude of candlesticks, gold plate and other valuables on display. There was a colour, richness and embellishment to the place that made the little church she’d once attended in Brecon look bare, dull and
poverty-stricken
. Kneeling beside her, Daniel offered up a silent prayer of thanks that he and Rachel had survived the perils of the journey then he listened to the words spoken by the priest in memory of Henri Dupuy. When the old man had finished, he invited them to join him for refreshment.

‘That’s a very kind offer,’ said Daniel, ‘and we thank you for it. But we are both tired after the long ride and need some rest.’

‘Of course,’ said the other with an understanding smile. ‘Besides, you’ll want to see your cousin while you’re here. I presume that you know where he lives. If not, I can conduct you there.’

‘No, no – that won’t be necessary.’

‘Then I’ll insist on calling on you later to speak to you at length.’

‘We look forward to that.’

As they took their leave, Rachel felt confident enough to bid the priest adieu. Once outside the church, however, she lapsed back into English. She was concerned.

‘I didn’t know that we had a cousin in Mons.’

‘Neither did I until he mentioned it.’

‘Why did you agree to see him later?’

‘It was the only way to purchase some time,’ said Daniel, looking around. ‘We need to leave the town as soon as possible.’

‘I thought that you wanted to take stock of its defences.’

‘We can do that as we head for another gate. We can’t leave by the one through which we entered or we’d be recognised. They’d wonder just how bereaved we really were if we quit Mons after so short a visit.’

Rachel raised quizzical shoulders. ‘Why is there such a rush to leave?’

‘Our ruse is going to be discovered.’

‘Only if I open my mouth out of turn and I’ll try not to do that.’

‘We’re members of the Dupuy family,’ he reminded her, ‘and we have a cousin living here. When the curé visits him later today, he’ll soon realise that we’re impostors. We don’t want to be here when that happens, Rachel.’

‘I agree,’ she said.

They mounted their horses and trotted in a northerly direction. Daniel took note of the preparations being made for a siege. Soldiers from the garrison were up on the ramparts or marching through the streets to take up their positions. There was an air of urgency, as if an attack were imminent. People shopping in the market had a nervous look about them, glancing over their shoulders as they haggled with stallholders. Mons was patently anxious. Daniel and Rachel crossed the town from one side to another, committing everything they saw to memory. When they reached the gate, they became the brother and sister named in their papers, claiming that they’d been in the town for days with their mother and were now beginning the long ride home to Ypres. Daniel’s plausibility and Rachel’s performance as a sorrowful daughter once again convinced the guards. They were permitted to leave.

Once outside the gates, they quickened their pace and tried to put distance between themselves and the town in case there was pursuit. Bobbing up and down in the saddle, Rachel Rees was curious.

‘Why did you choose to disguise yourself as a parish priest?’ she asked.

‘I thought it might earn me respect.’

‘Perhaps you should go into the church when you retire from the army.’

Daniel chuckled. ‘As a penance for my bad deeds, do you mean?’