5 A Very Murdering Battle (21 page)

‘It’s a tactic we’ve used before to great effect,’ said Marlborough.

Most of those present agreed with the captain-general’s plan but there were those who felt that Ypres should be invested first. One bold Dutch commander even advocated a frontal assault on the French lines. They examined the alternatives at length before coming back to the original plan. Mons would be their next objective.

Daniel always felt privileged to be there when major decisions were taken. It allowed him to see Marlborough at his most imposing. During the debate, the
captain-general
had cogently presented his own case, yet listened with respect to those who argued for other targets to be selected. Now that the assembled generals had departed, he was left alone with Daniel and Cardonnel. In front of them, he was able to show his weariness, removing his periwig and putting a hand to his aching head.

After all the effort he’d made to reach Mons, Daniel was grateful that the information he’d gathered would be put to good use. Even though his visit to the town had necessarily been brief, he’d seen enough to estimate its degree of readiness against a siege. And his comments on St-Ghislain had been valued. It meant that he’d be able to tell Rachel that their escapades had not been in vain. They would soon be travelling on a road that held unforgettable memories for them.

If only to have some relief from the onus of command, Marlborough asked for more detail of Daniel’s journey to and from the town, chuckling at some of the adventures described and highly amused at the notion of Rachel Rees in the uniform of the French army.

‘I’ve had the pleasure of meeting the lady,’ he said, smiling, ‘and I wouldn’t have thought she was an entirely appropriate companion for a Catholic priest. She’s altogether too feminine and worldly.’

‘You underestimate her skill as an actress, Your Grace,’ said Daniel.

‘Evidently, I do. But I admire her courage in assisting you.’

‘Now that the danger is past, I rather think that Rachel enjoyed the trip.’

‘She’s obviously an asset to us,’ noted Cardonnel. ‘At your side, she’s got inside the enemy fortresses of Lille and Mons. Where will the pair of you go next?’

‘That remains to be seen,’ said Daniel. He turned to Marlborough. ‘I gather that much has happened during our absence.’

‘Indeed it has,’ replied Marlborough. ‘We’ve been battering Tournai until it shook at its very foundations. Deserters tell us of intolerable privations within the citadel. They can’t keep us out for long.’

‘So I’ll be on my way back to Mons within a matter of days.’

‘That would be a reasonable assumption.’

‘Let’s hope that a second siege will not drag on as long as this one, Your Grace,’ said Daniel. ‘When he’s made aware of your movements, Marshal Villars might even be provoked to battle.’

‘He needs no provocation,’ said Cardonnel. ‘He’s already chafing at the bit.’

‘Yes,’ added Marlborough, ‘and, according to the latest report, he’s been joined by no less a person than Marshal Boufflers, the man who held us at bay at Lille for almost five months. Boufflers will be a wise counsellor to have at his shoulder. I have the utmost respect for him. It will be good to lock horns with Boufflers again.’

Though he spoke with confidence, he didn’t look as if he was physically capable of leading an army into action. His eyes were lifeless, his cheeks hollowed and his normally upright frame now formed an arch. Once again, Daniel was worried about the captain-general’s health and state of mind. The continuous pressures of command were leaving deep footprints. He was about to withdraw from the quarters so that Marlborough could rest when a messenger arrived. Opening the note he was handed, the
captain-general
needed only a second to read it. He immediately reached for his periwig and placed it back on his head. Breathing in deeply, he drew himself up and straightened his shoulders. He exuded power and authority.

‘The
chamade
has just been beaten,’ he announced, grandly. ‘Come with me, gentlemen. I am about to accept the surrender of the citadel. Tournai is ours.’

The siege of Tournai was over. While their captain-general was presenting the articles of capitulation for the governor’s signature, the Allied army enjoyed a temporary lull in activity. They were able to rest, lick their wounds, trade their woes, remember fallen comrades and take some comfort from the fact that the town was finally in their hands. Henry Welbeck celebrated the victory by having his hair cut. He sat on a stool outside his tent while the one-legged Joel Drew clicked away with his scissors.

‘This siege almost ruined me,’ complained Drew.

‘Why is that, Joel?’

‘Nobody wants a haircut when they’re fighting every day. The only customer whose hair I trimmed in the past month was my dog – and he didn’t pay a penny.’

‘We were too busy being barbered by the French,’ said Welbeck, sourly. ‘That shot of theirs could take off your head as well as your hair.’

‘I’m glad it’s all over.’

‘There’ll be more to come. As one siege ends, another begins.’

Drew gave a philosophical shrug. ‘It was ever thus.’

‘It’s not like you to be downhearted, Joel. Even when our soldiers are being killed at your feet, you usually keep your spirits up somehow.’

‘I do,’ said the other with a grin. ‘It’s because I know that we’ll always win in the end. I’m proud to be part of this army, if only as a regimental barber. I help to keep you all looking well groomed and appearance is important when you wear a British uniform. Ah,’ he went on, looking up, ‘we seem to have company.’

Rachel Rees was walking towards them. Welbeck ducked behind Drew.

‘For heaven’s sake, hide me,’ he pleaded. ‘Don’t let her see me.’

‘It’s too late, I’m afraid.’

‘Stay in front of me.’

Drew did as he was told but to no avail. Rachel had picked the sergeant out from a distance of fifty yards. She was not going to be baulked. When the barber tried to conceal his customer, she simply shoved Drew aside with a firm hand.

‘Hello, Henry,’ she said, jovially. ‘I hope that this haircut is for my benefit. It takes years off you.’

‘That’s what I told him,’ said Drew, pleased with the compliment.

‘He looks like a stripling.’

‘Well, I feel like an old man after that siege,’ said Welbeck, mordantly. ‘So I’ll be grateful if you’ll give me some time to recover. I can only do that alone. I don’t need visitors.’

‘I think that’s
exactly
what you need,’ she argued. ‘You need your friends to remind you that you’re a flesh-
and-blood
human being and not just a soldier. You’re a real man.’

‘I can’t contradict that,’ said Drew, chortling. ‘I’ve seen him with his shirt off. The sergeant is about as manly as you can be.’

Rachel moved in closer. ‘Have you spoken with Daniel yet?’

‘Yes,’ admitted Welbeck. ‘He told me about your antics on the way to Mons.’

‘Weren’t you impressed?’

‘No – I’m used to daring deeds from Captain Rawson.’

‘I’m not talking about
him
,’ she said, prodding him playfully. ‘I’m talking about myself. What did you think when you heard what I went through?’

Welbeck scowled. ‘I was just grateful that you were far away from here.’

‘That’s not a kind thing to say to a lady,’ chided Drew.

‘Keep out of this, Joel.’

‘And what was that about Captain Rawson?’

‘My haircut is finished,’ said Welbeck irritably, rising from his stool and pressing some coins into Drew’s hand. ‘Thank you and farewell.’

Drew winked at Rachel. ‘I think I’m in the way,’ he confided. ‘I just wish that Henry would make up his mind. One minute, he wants to hide behind me. Next minute, he’s sending me away.’

He hobbled off to find another customer, leaving Welbeck to glower at Rachel. She responded with a radiant smile. He felt slightly chastened. Though he’d never admit it to her, he’d been struck by her bravery in travelling with Daniel through territory bristling with enemy patrols. Welbeck had seen clear evidence of her pluck before but had been unable to acknowledge it on the grounds that it might encourage her. All that he wanted at that moment was to be alone. Before he could dive into his tent, however, he saw someone else striding towards him. Leo Curry was grinning from ear to ear.

‘Who says that miracles never happen?’ he asked with a guffaw. ‘Henry Welbeck is seen with a beautiful woman at long last.’

‘I’m not with anybody,’ retorted Welbeck.

Rachel laughed. ‘He always pretends to dislike me,’ she said, ‘but I know when I set a man’s heart fluttering.’

‘You’re certainly doing that to me,’ said Curry, ogling her. ‘Aren’t you going to introduce us, Henry?’

‘Of course,’ said Welbeck, seeing a chance to get rid of an unwanted visitor. ‘This is Rachel Rees, one of the sutlers. And this,’ he went on, indicating the sergeant, ‘is Leo Curry, the ugliest man in Christendom.’

‘Oh, my first husband was a lot uglier,’ said Rachel, looking at Curry with approval. ‘But Will Baggott was very handsome on the inside. He had so many good qualities, you see. Are you handsome on the inside, Sergeant Curry?’

Curry beamed. ‘You’ll find none more handsome, Rachel.’

‘I judge a man by character and not by appearance.’

‘Then why are you bothering with someone like Henry? His character is a disgrace and his appearance frightens the horses.’

‘Listen to
him
!’ said Welbeck with indignation.

‘I’ve always liked the sound of a Welsh lilt,’ said Curry, sliding a brawny arm around her waist and easing her away. ‘Tell me about yourself, Rachel. Why is it that I haven’t seen you in camp before?’

Welbeck was livid. Though he’d wanted to get rid of Rachel, he’d been hurt by the readiness with which she’d gone off with Curry. The other sergeant had been too familiar with her but she was in no way offended. Indeed, she seemed to welcome his interest in her. As he looked after them, Welbeck could see that they were chatting amiably and that Curry’s arm remained around her waist. While he felt anger and resentment at what had just happened, it was another emotion that was uppermost in his breast and its sheer novelty made him gasp.

Henry Welbeck had experienced the pangs of jealousy.

When a town was taken, it had to be held. Marlborough therefore had to leave a sizeable garrison there to secure Tournai and to rebuild its defences. The existing garrison in the citadel was allowed to go to France on parole to await the formal exchange with the Allied garrison of Warneton, captured earlier by the French. In releasing his prisoners, Marlborough was thus able to gain additional troops, though they’d take no part in hostilities in the immediate future. As agreed at the council of war, Lord Orkney led a substantial force of cavalry and infantry to the walls of St-Ghislain, where it met such stubborn resistance that it was held up longer than anticipated. As a result of the delay, the main army had to make a diversion and march instead through Sirault. Prince Frederick of Hesse-Cassel was charged with protecting them. Fearing an attack by French cavalry at any moment, his troops waded across the River Haine with their eyes peeled. Fortunately, intervention never came and they were able to press on to Mons to assist in the siege.

In the course of a skirmish, a number of French prisoners were taken. One of them was the Marquis de Cheldon, a man of great charm and remarkable openness. Like so many others in the higher ranks of the French army, he was an admirer of Marlborough and of his unrivalled military record. Daniel was in the
captain-general’s
quarters when the prisoner was questioned and couldn’t fail to notice his exquisite apparel and impeccable manners. After an exchange of pleasantries, Marlborough began his interrogation. Though he had a reasonable command of French, he was glad to have Daniel on hand to translate any words that he didn’t understand. The marquis had such a rapid delivery that it needed Daniel’s keener ear and more comprehensive knowledge of the language to pick up everything that was said. Reclining in a chair, the prisoner might have been talking to two old friends. There was no attempt to mislead and no refusal to answer a question.

‘What may we expect from Mons?’ asked Marlborough, politely.

‘The garrison was heavily depleted when Marshal Villars withdrew soldiers to bolster his defences,’ said the marquis, ‘but it’s now been reinforced by a regiment of dragoons and four battalions of Spanish infantry. That was all the support that could be rushed to the town before you closed in on it. The speed of your strike to the south-east took us all by surprise.’

‘That was the intention.’

‘I congratulate you on its success.’

‘Our aim is to expel your army entirely from the Spanish Netherlands.’

‘And thereby maintain pressure on us in the peace negotiations,’ said the other with a knowing smile. ‘It’s a clever tactic, Your Grace.’

‘Is it true that Marshall Boufflers has joined your commander?’

‘Yes, it is, and he’s most welcome. Old as he is, he’s put on his cuirass and reached for his weapons once again.’

‘I understood that he’d been ill.’

‘We were blessed by the news of his recovery.’

‘What role has been assigned to him?’

‘None that I know of, Your Grace,’ said the marquis with an expressive gesture. ‘He has simply offered his services in a cause to which he’s dedicated his whole life. Marshall Villars retains the command and will not yield it to anyone.’

‘What frame of mind is he in?’

‘Villars is always sanguine.’

‘Have you been apprised of his immediate plans?’

‘Naturally – he keeps me well informed.’

Daniel could not believe the candour with which the prisoner revealed details of the French intentions. In another person, it might be viewed as a betrayal but the Marquis de Cheldon was no turncoat. He was a flamboyant French aristocrat with a firm belief in the superiority of his national army. Once started on his account, he couldn’t be stopped. Words gushed out of him like a miniature waterfall and Daniel was called upon to translate those that put a furrow into Marlborough’s brow. They learnt precise numbers of the French forces and their approximate disposition. More importantly, they were told of Villars’ prime objective.

‘Royal permission has finally arrived,’ explained the marquis. ‘Marshal Boufflers brought it with him from Versailles. The King is rightly alarmed that Mons might fall and leave our frontiers unprotected. He’s instructed Marshal Villars that – if conditions are propitious – he is to have
carte blanche
.’

Marlborough was pleased. ‘He means to risk all and venture a battle?’

‘Oh, yes,’ replied the prisoner with a disarming smile. ‘Battle will soon be joined. Given what I know, I’d go so far as to guarantee it.’

When he first heard of the movements of the Allied army, Villars had crossed the headwaters of the Scheldt and marched north-eastwards with the River Sambre away to his right. Having reached Bavay, he’d gone along one of the many Roman roads that branched out from it like the spokes of a wheel. After a careful study of the terrain, he chose his ground and camped about a mile north of the tiny village of Malplaquet. His swift response to the enemy actions had been endorsed by Boufflers, a veteran commander in his sixties with an enthusiasm undimmed by the passage of time. Ready to serve in any capacity, he’d been given a cordial welcome by Villars and his senior officers. The arrival of such a famous soldier had given an immediate boost to the morale of the French army.

Boufflers used a telescope to survey the landscape. His nod was affirmative.

‘You’ve done exactly what I’d have done,’ he said.

‘I wanted to limit Marlborough’s room for manoeuvre.’

‘That’s always a wise thing to do.’

‘At Blenheim and at Ramillies, he had the enticing prospect of a large plain on which he could marshal his army. He’ll have no such freedom here,’ said Villars. ‘He’ll have thick woods to contend with, not to mention ditches, streams, ponds, hollows and muddy lanes. That should slow his army down.’

‘The woodland also gives you a good supply of timber for your defences.’

‘It’s been felled from the moment we arrived. Some of the trunks have already been chained together to form abattis. Redoubts have also been built.’

‘You’ve made a difference,’ said Boufflers, gazing round with satisfaction. ‘In the relatively short time you’ve been in command, you’ve made a profound difference and I’ll write to His Majesty to tell him so. It will be an honour to fight under you.’

Applying an eye to the telescope, he took a second look at the battlefield that would confront the Allied army. Thanks to Villars, everything seemed to favour the French. The whole area was defined by water. The River Haine ran along the north while its tributary, the Hogneau, flowed to the south-east. The Sambre went south, past the town of Maubeuge. To the east, emanating from the vicinity of Mons, was a network of streams. The most important was the Trouille, which, like all the other waterways, had been swollen by the almost constant summer rain. Within the area enclosed by the rivers were four expanses of dense woodland. The Bois de Boussu was in the north, then came the Bois de Sars, the largest of them, the small Bois de Thiery was next in line followed by the much bigger Bois de la Lanière which arced southwards until it faced the plain of Maubeuge. In total the broad-leaved woods extended over a distance of some twelve miles.

Putting the telescope away, Boufflers emitted a low chuckle.

‘The woods will screen any movement you make,’ he observed.

‘It will also be a perfect place in which to hide some battalions,’ said Villars, smugly. ‘Marlborough will be forced to attack through the narrow gap in the woods. He can be ambushed by soldiers tucked away in readiness among the trees.’

‘First, however, you have to lure him away from Mons before he does any real damage to the town. Not that he’ll be able to make much impact without the support of his heavy artillery.’