5 A Very Murdering Battle (24 page)

‘How wonderful!’ she exclaimed. ‘I meet my two favourite men at once.’

Daniel greeted her cordially but Welbeck was more reserved.

‘I thought that someone else was your favourite,’ he said, moodily.

‘Now why should you think that?’ she asked.

‘Leo Curry has been boasting that you belong to him.’

‘Then he must be
twp
,’ she said. ‘That’s a Welsh word for “stupid”, by the way. How could I prefer a shaggy old bear like Sergeant Curry to you and Daniel?’

Daniel grinned. ‘You’re a woman of discernment, Rachel.’

‘There aren’t many of us about.’

‘Tell that to Henry – I have to take my leave, I’m afraid.’

After an exchange of farewells, Daniel went back to join Marlborough, who was still touring the camp. Rachel gazed fondly at Welbeck. He took a final pull on his pipe then tapped it on the bottom of his boot to dislodge the ash.

‘I still prefer my old tobacco,’ he said.

‘Then I’ll have to give you some of that instead, won’t I?’

‘There won’t be much time for enjoying a pipe from now on. The only smoke I’ll see will be coming out of a musket.’ He studied her shrewdly for a few seconds. ‘Why did you send Ben Plummer with that flask of rum?’

‘I didn’t think that you’d take it from my hands.’

‘But why pick on Plummer?’

‘It was the other way round, Henry,’ she explained. ‘I know that he used to be the bane of your life but, since you carried him to safety at Tournai, Ben worships you now. He asked me if I had anything he could buy from me to give to you. I insisted that it would come as a gift from me.’

‘It was a very welcome one,’ he confessed.

‘That’s all I wanted to hear.’

‘But you don’t have to press anything else on me, Rachel. I can afford to pay for my drink and tobacco.’

‘I wouldn’t even consider it,’ she said with a cackle. ‘Everything I have is yours, Henry. I make a handsome profit out of everybody else so I’m entitled to spoil my special man.’

He was tentative. ‘Is that what I am?’

‘Why else would I say it?’

He regarded her with an amalgam of curiosity and affection. She smiled back at him. Welbeck searched for words that simply refused to come. Rachel seemed to understand his dilemma.

‘Tell me afterwards,’ she suggested. ‘Tell me when the battle is over.’

‘Can I ask you a favour?’

‘It’s granted before you even ask.’

‘If you do have another gift for me,’ he said, ‘don’t send Plummer with it.’

‘I wouldn’t dream of it.’

‘Good – we don’t need anyone else, do we?’

To block out their fear of the approaching battle, many soldiers in the 24
^th
Foot turned to gambling and risked their pay on the turn of a card. Those gathered in a tent with Ben Plummer were seeking their reward through the roll of some dice. It was not the first session that Plummer had organised. It was his regular source of income. He’d been so successful among his comrades in the past that they refused to play with him. As a result, he’d inveigled his way into the detachment of men under the charge of Leo Curry. Since they didn’t know his reputation, Plummer was able to operate freely. He was very cunning, ensuring that some of the others won from time to time. At the end of every session, however, he always managed to walk away with the bulk of the winnings. It astonished and annoyed the men playing with him that afternoon.

‘You’ve got the luck of the devil,’ said one of them as Plummer threw the winning numbers yet again. ‘You almost never lose.’

Plummer smirked. ‘It’s all to do with the way you throw the dice.’

‘Show us. Tell us your secret.’

‘Yes,’ urged the other four in the tent. ‘What’s the trick?’

‘There is no trick,’ said Plummer. ‘I simply do this.’

Holding the dice tightly, he first kissed his fingers before twisting his wrist and opening his hand to scatter the dice. They were amazed at the result.

‘It’s yet another double six,’ said one.

‘The dice are loaded,’ challenged another.

‘No, they’re not,’ said Plummer, gathering them up again. ‘I won fairly and squarely. You’re just a bad loser, my friend. Here,’ he went on, opening his hand. ‘If you don’t believe me, take a close look at them.’

His accuser took the dice, weighed them on his palm then examined them very closely. When he could find nothing wrong with them, he flung them on to the ground. His low score brought him howls of derision.

‘Well,’ said Plummer, picking up the dice again, ‘I think the game is over. If I’m not trusted, there’s no point in playing on.’

There were yells of protest and they all exhorted him to continue the game. Pretending to yield to their persuasion, he handed the dice over, taking care to lose the first few games. The soldier who’d accused him earlier actually won a substantial amount and apologised for his suspicions. Plummer placed his wager for the next game and the others followed suit. He was to throw the dice last. When it came to his turn, however, he didn’t use the dice that the others all had. They were cleverly palmed and substituted by the loaded dice he kept hidden up a sleeve. He went through the same routine – a kiss, a twist of the wrist and a throw. When the winning numbers turned up yet again, there were groans of pain.

‘Fortune favours the brave,’ said Plummer, scooping up the money. ‘One thing is certain, anyway. If I die in battle, at least they can buy me an expensive coffin with my winnings. My thanks to one and all,’ he added, distributing a radiant smile among them. ‘Do give my regards to Sergeant Curry, won’t you?’

On 10
^th
September there was still no sign that the Allied army was preparing for an immediate attack. The delay suited Villars and gave his men additional time to strengthen their defences. They worked with feverish energy to build five redoubts shaped like arrowheads and reinforced by parapets so thick that they could withstand direct hits from cannon. The redoubts were thrown up on open ground between the Bois de Sars and Blairon Farm. A gentle slope separated these fortifications from the Allies. The daunting solidity of the redoubts impressed Lieutenant-Colonel Morellon.

‘They’d keep a siege train at bay,’ he commented.

‘Our defences need to be sound,’ said Villars. ‘Colonel de la Colonie has reported seeing the Allies arranging a battery of about thirty heavy guns.’

‘Where will the colonel serve?’

‘Right in our centre – I’ve put him in charge of a Bavarian brigade. It may help to assuage his hurt feelings,’ added Villars with a faint smile. ‘The colonel was unhappy when I ordered him to escort the baggage here. It’s an important duty but he felt that it was beneath him.’

‘Colonel de la Colonie longs to be in the thick of a battle.’

‘His chance will come.’

‘We have outstanding commanders, excellently deployed by you. It was a brilliant move on your part to put Marshal Boufflers in command of the right wing. We are honoured by his presence. He brings a wealth of military wisdom.’

They were riding along the French lines, far enough behind them to be out of range of the Allied guns still booming away at intervals, yet close enough to carry out an inspection of their fortifications. Their voices were raised above the echoing clamour of artillery. Villars sat upright in the saddle, poised, debonair and inspirational. Morellon cut a poor figure beside him. He was too sycophantic to challenge any of the commander-
in-chief’s
decisions but he was bound to wonder why Villars had detached his reserve cavalry, under the Chevalier de Luxembourg, and moved them south to protect a gap in the woods opposite Maubeuge, a town that was in no way threatened. It had also occurred to him that they might profitably have attacked the Allies on the previous day when many of their horses were out foraging and when their guns were still on the road. With their resources scattered over a wide area, the Allies had been vulnerable, yet the French held back. Holding Villars in such high esteem, Morellon accepted that the strategy was a sound one. He trusted the commander-in-chief implicitly. All that Morellon wanted was to take part in a great French victory and he was utterly convinced that Villars would deliver it.

‘Why do they hesitate?’ he asked.

‘I blame Marlborough for that.’

‘In the past, he’s always been so purposeful.’

‘Yes,’ said Villars, watching a cannonball hit a French barricade and bounce harmlessly off. ‘That was in the past. As I told you before, he’s not infallible. He’s already made two bad mistakes.’

‘You think that he should have invested Ypres, don’t you?’

‘That would have distressed me far more than the attack on Mons. We could not have moved in the direction of Ypres quickly enough to save it. As it is, the Allies came south-east instead. I concede that they caught us by surprise but it was not an unpleasant one. I’d much rather have them here. Our arrival has prevented the siege being prosecuted with full vigour. Because we represent such a potent menace to him, Marlborough dare not even begin his lines of circumvallation around Mons.’

‘You said that Marlborough had made two mistakes.’

‘I did, Charles. He should have attacked yesterday before we’d had time to extend and secure our defensive line. Peppering us with shot may cause some casualties,’ Villars went on, ‘but it will not decide the issue. Besides, our artillery is more accurate. We’ve cannonaded the British battalions with success. Some of their regiments of foot have suffered badly.’

‘Will they make their move today?’

‘I doubt it – they’ve left it too late.’

‘Then they’ve given us another precious day to dig ourselves in.’

‘When they do finally attack,’ said Villars, who had mastered the geography of the area, ‘they’ll have to choose between three gaps in the wood. Every other route is impractical because of marshy ground. They’ll come through the
trouée de Boussu
north of the Bois de Sars, the
trouée de la Louvière
north of the Bois de Thiery or the Aulnois Gap to its south. We have all three well covered. From the way that he’s drawn up his army, Marlborough has clearly chosen to concentrate his attention on the Aulnois Gap.’

‘Then where is he?’ asked Morellon. ‘What’s holding him back?’

‘Some of his generals are probably dithering.’

‘Why doesn’t he show strong leadership and sweep their objections aside?’

‘I don’t know, Charles,’ said Villars with disdain, ‘but it’s a glaring fault. His grasp is slipping. He’s failed to impose himself on his allies. In the two days he’s been here, Marlborough has weakened his chances of success and thereby strengthened our own. When he does finally offer us battle,’ he continued, ‘he’ll live to regret it. Malplaquet will be the graveyard of Allied ambitions.’

When he attended the council of war that day as an interpreter, Daniel witnessed a familiar story. Everybody was anxious to express his views. Since their troops were likely to bear the brunt of French power, Dutch generals were particularly vocal. The Earl of Orkney, also given a vital role, was keen to make his opinions heard and Prince Eugene – recalled from the Bois de Boussu – stressed that any impulse towards bold action had to be held in check.

‘Since we do not know the lie of the land,’ he stressed, ‘we dare take even less risks. The terrain is very uneven and cut up by many creeks, brooks and ponds, all of them filled up by recent rain.’

‘Yes,’ said Marlborough, attempting to introduce a touch of humour into the discussion, ‘there’s so much standing water that this is more like a maritime exercise than anything else. Perhaps we should summon naval support.’

There was polite laughter but it didn’t dispel the solemnity of the occasion.

Daniel discharged his duties with his usual skill but he was troubled. He could not understand why Marlborough had been so inactive for another whole day. It might well be that the troops from Mons were still on the road and that those under the command of General Withers – St-Ghislain having now capitulated – had not yet arrived. The Allies nevertheless had a numerical advantage over the enemy and could have pressed it home while the French positions were still only half complete. Giving them an extra day seemed to Daniel to be foolhardy. When the council of war broke up and its members went their separate ways, he raised the matter with Marlborough.

‘I think that your plan of action is correct, Your Grace,’ he said, ‘but it would have been equally correct today and – had you implemented it – been more effective. Delay plays into the hands of Marshal Villars.’

‘It also gives us time to make a detailed reconnaissance of his army,’ said Marlborough. ‘I understand your impatience. To some extent, I share it, but the warning from Prince Eugene was timely. We’re in unknown territory. To move too soon could have been a costly mistake.’

‘We’ll never know if that was the case.’

Marlborough chuckled. ‘You’re a true soldier, Daniel. When there’s a sniff of action, every sinew of you tingles in anticipation. I know – I felt the same at your age. But we have to adapt our tactics to the conditions of the battlefield,’ he said, bending over the map on the table. ‘It’s taking time to make full assessments. Whole areas of the terrain are bedevilled by quagmires. We need to know exactly where the enemy is entrenched and how we can best approach them over solid ground.’

‘I accept that, Your Grace,’ said Daniel.

‘You’ll not be denied any action,’ remarked Cardonnel, patting his arm, ‘but you’ll have to wait until tomorrow before it comes.’

‘It will be
early
tomorrow,’ added Marlborough. ‘I’m as eager to engage Villars as anybody. If I know him, he’ll have had his men working through the night to improve their defences even more. However, I beg leave to doubt that they’ll be strong enough to withstand the full fury of our attack. It’s the Allied army that will be cheering at the end of the day. Talking of cheers,’ he went on, looking at Daniel, ‘I’ve not had a moment to ask you about that extraordinary outburst of joy we heard from you during our reconnaissance yesterday.’