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
