Sattelberg and again at Bachweiden. You saw there how very efficient they can be. For that I am truly sorry. It was never my intention that these men should kill innocent civilians. Major Malbec is … his own master. It was … a real tragedy.’
He smiled and called for more wine.
‘But, tell me, Major Jennings, the last that I heard of the papers, they had disappeared. Malbec was beaten off. I had thought them to be lost. If you really have them this is most welcome news.’
Jennings knew that now was the time to state his own position. To emphasize the important part that only he could now play in making use of the incriminating letter.
‘All I ask is safe passage to the coast and an escort. If I can assist you by any other means of course, I would only be too happy. Although of course, I cannot take up arms against my own countrymen.’
‘Naturally. Who would ask any officer to do such a thing? But by the same token we cannot release you back to your army. Even if you should wish to go, which I perceive you do not. Tomorrow or perhaps the next day we will fight a great battle. Marshal Tallard prefers to sit on his arse and wait. But I know that Marshal Marsin’s argument will prevail. Tallard is no more than an old woman. His is not the way to lead an army of Frenchmen. I know that we will fight. And you, Major, will have a ringside seat for the spectacle. And then, after we have beaten your army and your Lord Malbrook, then we will give you safe passage to the coast. Now come. I perceive that you are an educated man, no? I shall have my clerk draw up your papers of parole. You will sign them and in the meantime have a little more of what I’m sure you will agree is a truly excellent Moselle and then perhaps you will join me and a few fellow officers for a little light supper? We have just imported a cook from Paris and this evening he has promised me a soup and a fresh chicken, with a few roasted vegetables. We have a really excellent cheese to follow and some fine brandy. It’s not much, I know, but then we cannot be too fussy. For once we have other cares than our bellies. Tomorrow, Major, we have a battle to win.’
Steel lay awake in the darkness, listening to the flies as they buzzed about the tent. He watched as two of them settled on the grease congealing on the pewter plates from which he and Louisa had eaten their meagre supper of bread and beans, and which now awaited Nate’s attention before the army broke camp. He had excused his soldier-servant his evening duties as was his custom on what might be the last night before a battle. He picked up one of the tin cups which stood beside the plates, brushed another fly from its rim and took a deep draught, determined to drain what he could of the dregs of the evening’s wine. Steel looked across at Louisa’s sleeping form and allowed his eyes to follow the gentle contours of her body beneath the blanket. He listened to her breathing, shallow and rhythmic. From time to time she would mumble in her sleep. Words he did not understand. He knew now how troubled she really was and he hated himself for having forbidden her to seek out Jennings herself. But how could he possibly allow this girl, the one girl since Arabella for whom, he now reasoned, he felt true feelings, to experience a battle. How could be expose her to that horror, that circus of death, where only fate governed who would perish or survive?
With difficulty, and taking care not to wake Louisa, Steel swung himself from the bed and managed to get to his feet. Pulling on his breeches and wrapping himself in the scarlet coat, he fastened a single button and walked barefoot to the entrance. Stepping out into the cool night, he looked up into the clear, cloudless sky. The moon sat low and against the black firmament Steel could make out the constellations which, since boyhood, had exercised his mind and stirred his imagination.
There was the Pole Star, shining high in the north, at the head of the Plough and beside that the Great Bear. He turned towards the south and, as he had known he would, saw Orion, a great sword hanging from his belt. The Greeks, he knew, believed the moon’s pale light to represent the grief of Artemis, Orion’s lover, fooled into killing him by her brother Apollo. Steel prayed that tomorrow would not see two more lovers touched by tragedy. The form of the hunter hung in the sky over the silent camp: a sea of moonlit canvas, beneath which the men were getting what rest they could before the coming day’s march to join the Imperial forces.
From his left the sound of hooves and a jingle of horse harness announced the approach of a group of riders. Instinctively Steel grabbed for where his sword would have hung. He found nothing and felt relief when, peering into the night, he heard English voices. A lone sentry had challenged the riders and, as he snapped to attention, they rode on towards Steel. There were perhaps ten men, most of them in red coats, the remainder in blue. As they drew closer the moonlight caught their features and he recognized the foremost horseman. Marlborough spoke:
‘Mister Steel. You keep late company. You’ll have no time for sleep, we rise at two of the morning, in but three hours’ time. You’d best find some rest. I see that your Sergeant has already taken my advice. I bid you goodnight, Lieutenant.’
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