FOUR

      Dawn picked at the land with shafts of pale yellow light and a gentle wind blew across the ripe crops and down into the valley of the River Lech. Steel could hear the men outside beginning to stir. The familiar sounds of mess tins and cooking pots as the soldiers assembled what rations they could find for a makeshift breakfast. Half sitting, half lying against a bale of straw in the barn of a deserted farmstead, Steel shivered and wrapped his cloak tight around his sinewy body, reluctant to admit that all too soon he, too, would have to move from what for the past four hours had passed for a bed. It had been a damp and thankless night.

      The horses, for some reason unsettled in the empty stables, had kept him awake into the early hours with their whinnying and twice the nervous picquets had raised the alarm. Each time Williams, as jumpy as the mounts, had come in to report, only to leave embarrassed and uncomfortable. There had, of course, been no real danger, but Steel knew that the men were on edge and, while gently chiding Williams, indulged them. For if the truth be known, he more than shared their apprehension. They were deep in enemy territory now. In the very heart of Bavaria, Swabia to be precise. Even as they made their way through the pleasant, peaceful farmland, Steel knew that over the hills, within a few miles, villages were being burnt by his own army.

      It was three days since they had left the main camp. Today was the 14th July, a Sunday. The flat plain of the meandering river valley of the Lech had given way after a day to more wooded terrain. They had crossed the river by bridge at Waltershofen and five miles on had entered the thick forest which covered the countryside to the west of the brewing town of Aicha. The woods were full of biting insects that lost no time in feasting on fresh, northern blood. It had taken them a day to get clear of the trees. But the rank, red sores from the mosquitoes still raged on their skin.

      They had now arrived on the flood plain of the Paar, where high plantations of hops signalled that they were entering the heart of the Bavarian beer-making country. They had left behind neat little villages sat in lush valleys rich in arable crop and cattle and entered another countryside of higher hills with mountain tops visible beyond, capped with snow. A wild country that reminded Steel of the land that lay to the west of his family home, far away towards the Western Isles. Yet, for all the familiarity of the breathtaking scenery and gentle, bucolic images which surrounded him, with every step they took further away from the army and into enemy territory, Steel sensed the increasing possibility that they were walking into danger.

      The door of the barn swung open and a tall figure was silhouetted against the growing light.

      ‘Ready to move, Sir? Found you some coffee. Can’t say what it tastes like, though. Never touch the stuff myself.’

      Having no servant with him, Steel was happy to allow Jacob Slaughter to minister to his needs. He had left Nate with Hansam’s half-company back at the camp to guard his kit. You never knew who might take a fancy to it. Now the big Geordie peered down at him through the half-darkness and offered his officer the part-filled tin cup.

      ‘Thank you, Jacob. Most thoughtful.’ He took a long drink from the mug and let the thick, acrid liquid trickle down his throat.

      ‘Can’t say that I’m keen to see this dawn, Sarn’t. But it brings us one more day closer to our return, eh? How are the men?’

      ‘All present, Sir. Sixty-three of our lads, and myself and Mister Williams. Though I don’t know as I’d say that they were all quite “correct”, if you understand me. Carter and Milligan are complaining of sores on their feet. Tarling looks like he might be coming down with the ague and Macpherson’s cut hi’self in the hand, on his bayonet, Sir. Cleaning it. Mister Williams is already standing-to. He’s a good lad. Keen as mustard. Just what we need.’

      This then, thought Steel, was his escort with which to bring back the flour for the army and the precious treasure whose loss would bring Marlborough’s ruination. He chanced another sip of the steaming brew and winced at the taste.

      ‘We’ll need to move fast today, Sarn’t. Word will have got out that we’re here.’

      They made an easy target in their obligatory scarlet coats, with the wagon train strung out along the road. They marched in full order, as if they might have been on duty at St James’, and Steel felt the gaze of a hundred imagined enemy eyes observing their every step and waited for the first shot to ring out from the tall trees that flanked their progress. Steel stood up, carefully, handed Slaughter the empty mug and folded his cloak. He brushed himself clean of the straw and mire from the floor and followed his Sergeant out into the cold dawn.

      In the little courtyard the men were gradually assembling, stamping their feet and blowing on fingers.

      Slaughter announced his presence: ‘Henderson, Mackay, Tarling. You others. Stand-to. Officer on parade.’

      The men moved more smartly into line and formed three ranks.

      ‘Form them up, Sarn’t.’

      ‘Marching formation. Move to it.’

      Within minutes the men had changed formation. Steel looked down the column of march. Forty wagons, strung out in line. Enough to carry 300 quintails of flour. That would keep the entire army in good supply for a day, but well divided and distributed, it might last for a week. Time enough for the command to find another source. He saw that each wagon was now flanked by a four-man escort. ‘At the command, the column will move off. Forward march.’

      The sleepy civilian waggoners whipped their beasts into action and the red-coated column again began to move east.

      They had been travelling for barely three hours when, reaching the top of a hill they saw the road stretch away before them in a shallow valley before climbing again steeply. And there, at the top of another hill, lay the distant roofs and gables of a village.

      Steel, unused to riding with a supply train and impatient to increase the pace, pressed his thighs together and urged his horse, a chestnut mare that he had purchased in Coblenz and christened Molly, forward and down the slope. Dust rose from beneath her hooves and as she took up the pace to a gentle trot her harness added a high note to the rhythmic clank which marked the passage of a body of armed men.

      For a moment, Steel stopped and turned in the saddle. He looked past young Williams and over the heads of the men then, turning back, dug his heels into Molly’s flanks before pulling a wad of tobacco from his pocket. He placed it in his mouth and began to chew. Steel’s only desire was to accomplish his mission as quickly as possible and return safely to where the army might next be encamped. Wherever that might be. He felt restless. In need of action. This was not the place for him, up here at the head of a marching supply train. Perhaps if he were to march with the men. He reined in his horse and slid from the saddle. Spitting the tobacco from his