‘Damned lucky for you, Jack, that I decided to follow you. I had a feeling something was up, and I was right.’
Steel bent to retrieve his sword and returned it to his side. ‘I owe you my life, brother. And not for the first time.’
‘Anyone would have pulled you from that loch. It just happened to be me. And any brother would have done for you what I just did.’ He kicked at one of the dead Irishmen. ‘Who were these ruffians anyway?’
‘Never seen them before in my life.’
‘Jack, I heard him call your name. Well, Johnson’s name.’
Steel shook his head. ‘As I said, how can I hope to deceive you, little brother? But better not to ask me again, lest you should wish to hear the full story.’
Alexander shook his head. ‘I shall ask no more. For the present, though, I suggest that we might return home together. It would appear that tonight at least there is safety in numbers.’
It was a rare thing for Steel to awake in the morning without a sense of foreboding. When with his regiment, it might come in the form of anything from the mundanities of company administration to the impending action and danger of a battle. Most recently he had woken steeped in anxiety. The very fact that he was behind enemy lines was worry enough. But he could not get the face of Major Malbec from his mind.
This morning though, he had found his thoughts unclouded by any such spectres. Certainly the fight in the street with the Irishmen had brought cause for alarm. They had seen through his cover. But he hoped that he had despatched them before they had been able to communicate their knowledge. Malbec too was still a worry, but he was not a pressing matter, merely a cause for irritation.
Perhaps it had been his encounter with Alexander, the assurance that brotherly love was yet stronger than any political differences, and not least the fact that his brother had saved his life. Perhaps it was the fact that he had delivered the letter from Marlborough to Major Charpentier and had to all intents accomplished his mission. What Louis would make of the proposal remained to be seen, of course, but, as intriguing and as full of possibilities as it was, Steel knew that it was not his concern. Such things were the business of commanders. He was a soldier, not a politician. Perhaps, he thought, his mood was occasioned by the fact that he was due this day to leave Paris. For as much as the city had intrigued and delighted him, he felt a deep longing to be back with his men and a yearning too to see his wife as soon as that might be possible. He wondered how the men were surviving the siege of Lille. Any siege was a bloody affair, as he knew from experience, perhaps the bloodiest type of warfare known to man. But Lille was Vauban’s showpiece, and he hoped to God they had not taken too many casualties.
He was not sure, either, how well he was suited to this deep subterfuge. Prevous missions for the Duke had been dangerous, certainly, both in Bavaria and at Ostend. But, save briefly in the latter case, he had not been compelled to adopt an alias. Certainly, his position had never seemed as perilous as it had recently been, so deep in the Sun King’s capital, surrounded and quizzed by his courtiers and even a would-be monarch. No, thought Steel, he would not be sorry to leave all that behind. Men like Simpson were better suited to be spies – men who had nothing to lose, men whose everyday lives and characters were essentially duplicitous, men who revelled in an ever-present danger and for whom the knock at the door brought not apprehension but the thrill of yet another potential trial of their wits.
Deprived of his customary soldier-servant, Steel had dressed himself and now allowed himself the luxury of a few minutes looking from the window of his room onto the gardens below. He had been given a modest room on the south side of the building. Charpentier had contrived to place him on his own in a room whose previous occupant, a captain of the Mousquetaires du Roi, had only recently died, so recently in fact that as yet the room had not been reallocated and few of the inmates were aware of the vacancy. His brother was billeted in more modest accommodation in one of the side blocks of the complex, and Steel doubted that he would see him again before he returned to the front. For that reason, they had made their brief goodbyes outside the gates last night, and now as he looked down on the orange trees in the governor’s garden Steel wondered when they would meet again. He prayed that it would not be across a battlefield.
There was a sudden knock at the door. Steel opened it to find a blue-clad resident of the Hôpital, a soldier-servant whom he did not recognize. The man wore neither a sword nor a hat, and when he spoke it was in a guttural, regional French accent that Steel found hard to comprehend.
‘Captain Johnson, I have a message for you from Major Charpentier. He requests that you attend him in his rooms with all haste. It is a matter of some urgency.’
In an instant Steel’s carefree mood had gone. What, he wondered, might denote a matter of ‘some urgency’? Had they been discovered? Had someone witnessed their encounter last night with O’Driscoll and his thugs?
‘Thank you. I shall come presently.’
The man coughed politely. ‘I’m instructed to wait for you, sir. If you please.’
Steel grabbed his coat from the chair, flung it over his waistcoat and left in the wake of the messenger. They hurried along the corridor and passed through the anteroom of Charpentier’s quarters. The servant opened the door to the governor’s office and ushered Steel inside before closing it behind him. Once inside, however, Steel instantly toyed with the notion of immediately retracing his steps. For rather than Charpentier, it was Major Malbec who stood alone before him in the room, and Steel recalled his brother’s warning. As before, the French officer was standing by the table in the window, where he was again examining the collection of model soldiers. Steel noticed, though, that they had been rearranged and that the table had been laid out with carved wooden miniature scenery. One half of the little figures were dressed principally in red and blue coats, and the other all in white. There must have been nigh on a thousand figures facing each other across the table.
Malbec looked up and smiled at Steel as he entered. ‘Ah, Captain Johnson. Major Charpentier will not be long. He was called away on urgent business. But it is good that you are here. Perhaps until he returns you would care to join me in an exercise with his little figurines. I think you’ll find it amusing.’
Steel walked across to the table and bluffed his way through his apprehension. ‘You seem to have a battle in mind, Major. I see you have drawn them up in line of attack. They look splendid.’
‘Don’t they? Although you should see the King’s collection at Versailles. This is nothing compared to that. Twenty thousand soldiers.
Quelle spectacle!
Perhaps you will join me in a little sport?’
Steel nodded. ‘I should be fascinated, sir. How do we play? Is it something like chess? Or do we use cards, perhaps?’
Malbec smiled. ‘Nothing quite so simple, I’m afraid, my dear captain. But for a soldier like yourself nothing could be easier. Horse, foot and guns all move a set number of inches. The firing and mêlée I shall explain as we progress. You know this is precisely how our King learnt the art of war and why for the last sixty years the forces of France have remained the unchallenged masters of the battlefield.’
Steel failed to rise to the perhaps intentional challenge, and Malbec continued. ‘Now, Captain, I wonder, which side should you take? Perhaps that to match your coat would suit you best. Unless you’ve a mind to turn it?’
Steel stared at him and tried to smile. So, he must know. Was Malbec really playing games with him? Could he have discovered his true identity? What else to do but bluff it out?
‘No. I shall say true to my colour, of course. The red coat of Ireland will serve me as well now as it has these past ten years.’
He surveyed his troops. There were three distinct blocks of foot, brigades almost. Most were dressed in red, although those on his left flank were all in blue. Malbec’s force was similar, apart from the fact that one of his regiments was made up entirely of blue-coated grenadiers, as was the fashion in France. He noticed Steel’s stare.
‘Captain, I see that you have spotted my unfair advantage. I have an entire battalion of grenadiers who surely must outperform all my other troops, and yours. Would you not agree that the grenadier is the king of the battlefield?’
Again, Steel, looking at the small, bearskin-capped figures, wondered whether Malbec might not be teasing him. Was it possible that he could know his true identity? Still, there was no alternative however than bluff.
‘I quite agree, Major. And, yes, you are right. In that respect you do have the upper hand. But do not forget that I have an advantage in horse. Look: on my right wing an entire squadron of dragoons in superiority.’
Malbec laughed. ‘Yes, you have the advantage in horse. But you are an infantry officer. Ah well. We shall see who triumphs. So, Captain, shall be begin the game? Here is a measuring stick to determine how far your troops may move. We roll dice to simulate the fog of war. Thus we determine the effect of gunfire and the outcome of mêlée, should your men ever close with mine. As my guest, you may play first, Captain. May I suggest that you open fire with your cannon? Just as was the case on the day of the real battle.’
Steel stared at him. ‘The real battle.’
‘Surely you recognize the terrain. Even standing as you do on the enemy positions?’
Steel looked down at the table, took in every detail. Of course. The river with its bridges, the towns and the hills towering above. Malbec had set out the battlefield of Oudenarde.
‘Oudenarde. Of course. How very clever of you, Major. And I am to play the hand of the Duke of Marlborough.’
‘Yes. I must apologize for that dishonour. Still, it is only a game.’
Steel bristled. The absurdity of their situation merely served to increase the tension in the room. It seemed highly likely to him that this man had uncovered his mission. Thus he was in mortal danger. Yet here they were playing at death with model soldiers. More than that, this Frenchman was instructing him in the art of war.
‘I am no novice, monsieur. I know the etiquette of the battlefield as well as you do. Of course I shall give you a salvo. Now what do I throw for two guns? Two dice? A three and a two. Not many casualties.’
Malbec in turn threw dice for his cannon. ‘And now we move again. I shall advance my infantry towards the village.’
Steel picked up two of the tiny cavalry figures on his left flank. ‘And I shall charge straight into them with a regiment of British cavalry, taking them in the flank.’
‘In the flank. But we would form a defence. Back to back, or a square, in the Dutch manner.’
‘You’re too late, major. My cavalry are upon you while your men are still changing formation. Try the distance. And we do not stop to fire our pistols. We charge home with the sword. In the British fashion.’
Steel was transported back to Oudenarde, to the sight of the Hanoverian cavalry careering into the French infantry. He took in the glorious ranks of brightly painted toy soldiers, so neatly arrayed. And then, carnage. Here on the table, though, there was no blood as the two units closed with one another.
Malbec spoke with annoyance in his voice. ‘So then, you have made contact. Very good, Captain. I admit I am taken by suprise. But let us see what fate decrees.’
Steel threw the dice. A five.
Malbec shook his head. ‘So. What will be, will be. You have destroyed my front rank of infantry, and half of my second. You have broken through, Captain. I congratulate you. My infantry have been routed.’
‘You’re finished, Malbec. Your entire right flank is in disorder. You may as well surrender.’
‘Perhaps. But I don’t think so. You see, what can this be? I advance my fresh cavalry from behind my second line so, and charge and engage your blown and weary dragoons. You’re outnumbered and outclassed, Captain Johnson. Two dice …’ He threw two dice, a six and a five. ‘… and
voilà
! No more English dragoons. I am a ruthless opponent, am I not? I have no mercy.’
Steel stared, shook his head, and then smiled. ‘Very clever. But you’ve walked into a trap, Major. Did you not see my cannon?’ Malbec’s face fell. Steel continued. ‘Two batteries, firing grapeshot at fifty yards. I hardly think I need to roll the dice.’
‘D’you know, Captain, I saw your guns there, but I did not think that you would do that somehow. To fire point-blank at my horse, almost in cold blood. It’s not the work of an Englishman. Not someone who believes in fair play.’
Again Steel paused. An Englishman? Malbec was playing with him.
‘But you forget, Major. I’m an Irishman.’
‘I’m sorry. Of course. It was merely the fact that we are speaking English. And now, I shall fire my infantry at your cannon. And that will be that.’
‘You can’t. You’ll fire through your own cavalry.’
‘They have served their purpose.’
Steel stared at Malbec. ‘That goes against all the principles of war.’
‘Surely, Captain, you no longer fight on principle? How very English! I’m sorry, Irish.’
Steel gritted his teeth. ‘It’s your responsibility as a commander.’
Malbec laughed. ‘Responsibility? Surely, it just goes to prove that in this game of war you must never trust a soul. Wouldn’t you agree, Captain? Particularly if, as you do, you find yourself in the heart of your enemy’s war machine.’
Steel stared at him and saw the smug smile of certainty which played across his face. ‘How long have you known? About who I was?’
‘Oh, not that long. And I have to say that I’m pleased. You see, I was troubled from the moment we met as to where I had seen you before. And as for finding your quarters, well, let’s just say that we have no secrets in the Invalides.’