Authors: Iain Gale
‘I saw an address, Sir, in France. The date. Your name. Nothing more.’
‘My signature. Yes. And the name of the … Of another man. You recall the date?’
‘1696. November, I believe, Your Grace.’
Marlborough paused. He seemed for a moment unaware to whom he was speaking.
‘Yes. That was the date. I was asking for King James’ pardon. For a wrong I believed I had committed against him and his house and against my own honour.’
Marlborough recovered himself and looked again at Steel.
‘It was a foolish notion. Another time. Another country. I was another man.’
He walked over to the table, where the servant handed him a glass of wine. He took a long drink and set it back down.
‘And so, God bless the Queen. Nevertheless, gentlemen. Now I think that we should all be very much afraid for I am quite exposed. Open to destruction. My future and the fate of this army, whether or not we prevail in the coming battle, now hangs on the actions of Major Jennings. It was not your fault, Steel, but as I intimated before your departure, should you fail, then we are undone. And I am very much afraid that now that moment is come upon us. What, do you suppose, are we to do? Where will we find the Major?’
Steel was about to speak when Hawkins cut in:
‘Your Grace, we must on all accounts remain calm in this matter. We know that Jennings rode towards the French, he did not ride directly for Flanders and the coast. It should be some consolation that he is still in the country and on the continent.’
Steel spoke:
‘He is with the French, Your Grace. I am quite sure of it. He dare not return to the army at present.’
Marlborough let out a mocking laugh.
‘Ah, I know what you will now tell me, Mister Steel. I have had it before today, from Hawkins. And from my Lord Cadogan and Cardonell. You will tell me that a lone English
officer was spied riding on a French cavalry horse by a patrol of our dragoons. That he rode through the French picquets and into their lines. And I dare say that it was Jennings. But that was five days ago. Why, the man could be on his way to the Channel ports by now.’
Steel shook his head.
‘No, Your Grace. With all respect, Sir, I know that he is not. I know it. Look at it from the French point of view, Sir. An English officer gives himself up to them. Tells them he has information that will bring down Marlborough and that he must be given an escort to the coast. Ask yourself, Sir, what you would do. You are about to engage in a battle with your entire force. A momentous battle which will decide the entire campaign, the war perhaps. That is now the sole focus of your attention. Whatever this English officer does now will not change the inevitability of that encounter. Of course, you would like to believe him. But would you? Surely, Sir, your response would be to keep him with your army – on parole – until after the engagement? And then, if you win, send him back to England to offer terms. And if you lose, then you have a secret weapon on which to fall back and wreak catastrophic revenge upon a commander who thinks himself the victor.
‘Surely, it would seem to any French commander that providence had indeed smiled upon him in delivering Major Jennings. Believe me, Your Grace. Jennings is with the French. And that is where I will find him.’
‘Pray do not tell me, Mister Steel, that you propose that you should infiltrate the French camp? We are barely a day away from the fight. Attempt such a foolhardy enterprise and not only would you place yourself in mortal danger but we would be without one of our ablest officers.’
‘No, Your Grace. And you flatter me. But I do agree, Sir,
that would be foolish. No, I intend to find Jennings in the course of the battle. And when I have found him then I shall kill him – and retrieve the papers. You have my word on it, Sir.’
Marlborough turned and began to toy with the silver-mounted coconut shell, his favourite drinking cup, which stood on the table in the corner of the tent. At length he turned back to Steel. His face looked ashen.
‘Very well, Mister Steel. Although I shall send out scouts to scour the country for the man. And, Hawkins, you must find his accomplices. But I believe that the principle suspects may already have left us. Tomorrow our army will join with that of the Imperial forces under Prince Eugene. Our friend the Margrave of Baden has departed for Ingolstadt with 15,000 men. Do not look concerned, Steel. In truth his departure is a blessing to me. The man was ever a hindrance. And now, with him happily diverted in a siege, we are free to get to the real business of this campaign. As we speak, Prince Eugene’s army is marching towards us. An army 20,000 strong, gentlemen.’
His eyes ablaze now, Marlborough moved across to the easel which held the tattered cloth map. He smoothed his hand across its surface, narrowing his distance to sweep the road between Mü nster and Hochstadt.
‘With Prince Eugene’s men, our army will consist of 160 squadrons of cavalry and 65 battalions of foot. Over 50,000 men. Tomorrow we move to join him at his position at Mü nster. I have this very night despatched twenty-seven squadrons under the Duke of Würtemberg and twenty battalions under my own brother to his aid. My spies tell me that Marshal Tallard has been joined by Marshal Marsin and the rather smaller forces of the Elector. Perhaps some 60,000 in all. Yes, they have an advantage of numbers, but their
troops are inferior and their command divided. They occupy the ground around the village of Hochstadt, enclosed by marshes. But I know that we shall lure them out. They must be drawn. They cannot resist the urge to have better knowledge of their enemy. Tallard may wish to defer and delay, but Marsin believes my army to be in retreat. The Elector too is convinced that he has the upper hand. In their eyes we have ravaged all Bavaria and will retire now to harry the Moselle.’
He cast a glance at Steel.
‘But you may be sure, Mister Steel, that we will stand and fight them … here.’
Marlborough ground his fingernail into the map at a spot almost equidistant between Mü nster and Hochstadt. A village flanked by the broad blue line of the Danube. Steel squinted to see a name, but was unable to read it. Marlborough continued, talking, it seemed to Steel, as much to himself as to the others.
‘Be aware that this battle, when it does arrive, will be decisive. It will be bloody and it will, I am certain, be something of which you will tell your grandchildren. As I, please God, will live to tell my own. And now, please leave me. Forgive me, gentlemen, I feel the headache returning. There is much to do. Leave. Please.’
As they walked away from the tent, back towards the lines in the slowly lowering light of the evening, Hawkins turned to Steel:
‘You’re a lucky man, Jack. There aren’t many infantry Lieutenants whom Marlborough would speak to in that way. Nor many whom he would trust with such a mission after they had apparently failed him.’
He felt Steel wince at the word.
‘Oh. You failed, Jack. But he’s right. And he knows, as
I do, that if any man can do it, you will find Jennings. And he’s willing to offer you another chance to retrieve the papers.’
Hawkins stopped walking and turned to Steel.
‘Jack, I will tell you what few men yet know. Marlborough has embarked upon a desperate undertaking. He and Prince Eugene plotted most deliberately together to send the Margrave off to take Ingolstadt purely in order that they might exercise complete control over their combined armies. They knew that Baden would never agree to fight the French here, or anywhere it would seem, in his present temper. He is over-cautious and after the Schellenberg sees Marlborough as too happy to squander the lives of his men. Prince Eugene however, like Marlborough, is now fully convinced that battle has to be given and given soon if all Europe is to be saved entirely from the power of the tyrant Louis. Your losing those papers was the worst thing that might have happened. The poor man was already gambling his all. Now he is utterly driven down. And, God knows, over the coming days, if we are to prevail, he will need to summon up every last ounce of his strength that remains.’
They passed along ‘the street’, the twenty-foot-wide dirt road which ran through every camp, however temporary, marking off the officers’ tents and those of the staff from those belonging to the ordinary men of each battalion and squadron. While on the officers’ side of the thoroughfare, chatter, song and candlelight revealed that supper parties were evidently still in progress, to the left as they walked, most of the men were starting to turn in for the night. Small groups lingered around the campfires and from time to time Steel caught a few bars of a tune. Not now the swinging, jubilant marches with which the army had come down the long road from Flanders. But songs of a more gentle nature.
Slow ballads that told of home and lost loves. Of unfulfilled dreams and desires. Simple, lilting melodies that cut the conversation dead and had the hardest of men staring deep into the glowing embers.
Further along the lines they watched as a red-coated musketeer swilled out the filth from his meagre quarters. As he did so, from across the street a whoop of laughter echoed through the officers’ bivouacs. The man raised his head and cast a sneering glance across to the revelry. Hawkins laughed quietly as they walked on.
‘It was ever thus, Jack. No matter how good an army might be. No matter how even-handed its commander-in-chief. For every officer beloved of the men, you will find one they would sooner see laid in earth. Trust me, Jack, you will not be alone in our army in having a personal score to settle in the coming battle. How many of our own officers will die I wonder, what their families will be told was a hero’s death, with a bullet in their back that was made in London?’
He thought for a moment.
‘Although perhaps this time the men will be more set on the matter in hand, than personal vendetta. For in God’s truth I’ve never seen an army so utterly resolved to its purpose. This is no gentleman’s war any longer, Jack.’
‘With respect, Colonel, it never was. And you most assuredly have no need to remind me of that.’
‘I’m sorry, dear boy. Of course. That dreadful affair in the village. Women and children too. And you know that it will surely have consequences. You know that we have now burnt close on 400 villages. The Dutch and the Danes have thrown whole populations out into the night. All done on Marlborough’s orders most certainly. But the massacre at Sattelberg is a very different matter. Of course the French have done such things before. Think of the Palatine states.
Of the poor Camisards in France. Their own people, for God’s sake. But to bring such practices to our war, Jack. To revisit such evil upon these people. This is something new. It was done with the simple, malicious intent of blackening the good name of our army. This is a new kind of warfare. A warfare that plays deliberately upon the mind. Terror and infamy are its weapons. And that is another reason why you must find Jennings and kill him. An English officer who can attest to having seen such a massacre, without firmly ascribing it to the French, can only increase any case against Marlborough.’
He suddenly drew to a halt.
‘My row, I believe. And now, Jack, I’ll bid you goodnight.’
As Hawkins walked towards his tent, which was set some distance further towards the rear of the officers’ encampment, Steel lifted the flap of his own and ducked his tall frame to enter. Louisa was sitting at the little table, reading from her Bible, one of the few possessions she had brought from the inn.
She smiled up at him. ‘Was it bad?’
‘No, not bad. Just hard to admit failure.’
‘Will you fight your battle now?’
‘Tomorrow perhaps. More likely the next day.’
‘Can you fight, Jack? Your leg is not good.’
‘It’s good enough. And I have to fight. I am commanded to fight. I have to find the papers. To kill Jennings.’
She froze at the name. ‘How? How will you find him?’
‘I’ll know precisely where he is. I know a man who can sniff him out. Jennings had a Sergeant, a nasty piece of work. And if anyone can find him you can be sure it will be Sergeant Stringer. He’ll do anything to save his neck. Believe me, Louisa, I’ll find him. And then I’ll kill him.’
‘No.’
‘No? You don’t want him dead?’
‘No. I don’t want you to kill him. It is my right.’
Steel could not help but admire her passion.
‘And how do you intend to manage this?’
‘In the battle. With you. You will find him and then I will shoot him.’
Steel laughed, but quickly stopped, aware that he might hurt her feelings.
‘My dear, darling Louisa. If you are by my side where the battle rages you’ll be lucky if you come away with your life. There will be 100,000 men on that field.’
She was silent. It was true. An absurd idea. But with every fibre of her being Louisa knew that if Jennings was to die then she alone had the moral right to kill him. She looked up at Steel, her pleading eyes brimming with tears.
He gazed at her. Feeling her emptiness as the hurt surged through her. He reached out and touched her waist.
‘Will you do it? Jack, please. Take me with you in the battle. Take me to Jennings. Let me kill him. Then I will be free.’
‘I cannot. You might be killed. Or maimed. I could not live with that.’
Steel shivered.
‘You’re cold? Perhaps the fever has returned?’
‘No. It’s nothing.’
Louisa gripped him around the waist and rested her head against his chest.
‘How will it be, the battle?’
‘It will be noisy and hard and very bloody. It’ll be like nothing you ever saw before. Or the like of which you will ever want to see again.’
Steel looked down at her. He had become so used to her in such a short time. Love or not, they had become lovers
and shared these last few days and nights, released from care, in each other’s arms. They still had this coming night and whatever tomorrow would bring. She smiled at him again and very gently began to pull him down on to the little folding bed.
Aubrey Jennings had ridden south at first, on the only road out of the town which led away from where he knew the allied army must lie. He had ridden hard for two days until he had reached the outskirts of Augsburg. There he had thought that surely he must find the French. But instead he had stumbled upon a party of retreating Bavarian infantry who, seeing his red coat, had fired upon him. After that he had thought it prudent to go across the river and head north-west. But without a map he had become hopelessly lost. The countryside had become increasingly wooded and Jennings found himself constantly wandering into bands of dispossessed peasants. He had bought food and beer from them, but again his coat had proved more of a hindrance and ultimately he had turned it inside out, presenting a white uniform closer in appearance to that of their French allies. But the ornate buttons and lace, now worn on the inside, had proved a constant irritation and on the tenth day of his wanderings in the great forests he had turned the coat back to British red. It was sheer bad luck of course that on that very day he should have been spotted by a party of what he rightly took for allied cavalry. The dead hussar’s horse though had proved an infinitely superior beast to their plodding supply mounts and he had outridden them with ease. On the twelfth day it had begun to rain hard and, starving and dehydrated, Jennings had resolved that his only option was to break cover. He had found himself in the town of Offingen and there, taking a welcome drink in an inn, had readily given himself up to a patrol of blue-coated French
dragoons. How astonished they had been at his evident pleasure in encountering them and his willingness to surrender.