Jack Steel Adventure Series Books 1-3: Man of Honour, Rules of War, Brothers in Arms. Iain Gale
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at him with pleasure.
‘Come to join us, Sir?’
‘Needed a change, Sarn’t. Just that.’
Slaughter pointed off to the left. ‘There it is again, Sir. More smoke. Men don’t like it. They was all talking about it last night.’
Over the last two days, as they had marched, they had become increasingly aware of tall plumes of smoke rising against the sky, visible from some distance. The men had wondered at them and suggested a number of explanations. That the French were burning crops, lest they fall into allied hands. That bridges and barges were being destroyed to impede their progress. Even that they indicated some great battle whose glory they had missed. But Steel knew what they really meant. Before they had left Hawkins had intimated one more fact to him and he in turn had passed it on only to Hansam, Williams and Jacob.
Marlborough was going to burn Bavaria. No one, God willing, soldier or civilian, would be killed. But in a last effort to force the Elector to quit his pact with the French, he would send out troops to lay waste every town they found. Steel was secretly appalled at the thought. Yet he understood how it fitted perfectly with the logic of the sort of warfare on which Marlborough had now embarked. This was total war. War waged by, almost, any means. So the horsemen would come with their burning torches and they would be ruthless, though yet with an edge of clemency.
Still, the rising grey-black clouds provoked him to a shiver. What effect would this have upon the native population, forced from their homes and rendered penniless? What reception might he and his men now expect as they made their way through this pleasant country whose neat fields and townships had lately so delighted his eye. He suspected that at best, should they find a village still intact, they would not be made to feel welcome. At worst, well who knew? Visions of ambush filled his mind. Of erstwhile lawful people taking the law into their own hands to revenge this outrage. Of redcoats with their throats cut in their sleep. Who could know what unexpected dangers awaited them? He moved to the side of the sweating horse and, unbuckling the saddle-bag, withdrew a worn and folded sheet of paper.
It was a map, given to him by Hawkins before they left. But while it showed the major towns and rivers, precious few of the villages were marked on it. Steel knew from the position of stars that he was still going east, with the Lech at his back and the other, smaller river they had crossed, the Paar, to the south. And that he realized, must mean that they were headed in the right direction and that one more day’s march along this road should bring them to their goal and then they could return to what they did best. Steel was no spy or secret agent. He was a soldier. Just that. He wondered that Hawkins had marked him out for this mission, then remembered Arabella. And with that memory came the sensation of a feather bed and a vision of her face. He spat tobacco husk on the ground. Christ but she was devious.
‘All right, Sir?’
‘Thank you, Sarn’t. Quite all right, thank you. Just impatient to get this job done.’
‘And get back to the army, Sir?’
‘Precisely, Jacob. The sooner we finish this business, the quicker we get to the French.’
Steel swatted at a mosquito that had settled on his cheek, for they were marching parallel to a small stream and a marsh, and the insects were beginning to discover this new quarry.
‘And the sooner we beat the French the quicker we shall all return north and away from this vermin-infested country.’
Slaughter kept quiet. He knew when Steel was in one of his rare moods of ill humour and recognized the moment. They came on fast and you could never predict them. Perhaps the coffee had unsettled him. He would have to remember that. Steel continued, addressing Slaughter but talking to no one in particular:
‘We have to find the French and give battle. And soon, otherwise we shall be sucked deeper into this country and our lines of communication stretched still further. But it would appear that at this precise moment not even Marlborough really knows where they might be.’
Two miles to the north, another red-coated column came to a halt. At its head, astride his grey mare, their officer too was reading a map. Aubrey Jennings was lost. Hopelessly lost. They had set off from the camp a day after Steel and, as advised by Stapleton, had taken a route parallel to his and to the north, by way of Wiesenbach and Eiselstredt. Inhospitable little places with tongue-twisting names and their people hidden behind shutters that creaked as they peered to glimpse the redcoats clanking through their cobbled streets. Outside the towns and villages the country of lower Bavaria was pleasant enough terrain, though hardly anything to rival the South Downs. Farmland mostly, but as they marched they found the landscape scarred increasingly by burnt-out farmsteads and peasants standing in the field, staring at them with hateful, weary eyes. From time to time Jennings was aware of a column of smoke trailing up skywards from another burning settlement. Clearly one of the opposing armies was at work hereabouts and it made the Major nervous. So nervous indeed that his attention had been deflected from their route.
‘Sarn’t Stringer.’
‘Sir.’
‘We’ll rest here for ten minutes. Have the men fall out.’
‘Very good, Sir.’
As Stringer shouted at the musketeers, and one by one the weary soldiers unslung their knapsacks and sat on the verge, Jennings looked back to the map. He was sure that they had passed through the village of Nieder-Berebach, but for the last four miles nothing had seemed to correspond to the geography which would have followed such a route, as stated on the plan. A river to his left he took to be the Paar. But why then did it not divide in two as was shown on his map? Now a bridge lay across their path along the riverbank and that, most certainly, was not marked. At this rate they would arrive at the rendezvous with Kretzmer long after Steel. And that must not happen.
‘Sarn’t Stringer. How far would you say we have covered today?
‘Today, Sir? Around ten mile, Sir.’
Yes. That is my reckoning. This river, Sarn’t. The Paar, is it not?’
‘Really couldn’t say, Sir. Not lost are we, Sir?’
Jennings scowled at him. ‘Lost? How could I be lost, Stringer?’
Jennings looked back at the map and tried turning it on its side so that the river as shown on its criss-crossed face lined up with that which lay before him. This was useless.
‘We shall proceed along the line of the river, Sarn’t. Due east.’
‘If you say so, Sir.’
‘Is it not due east?’
‘If you say so, Sir.’
‘Don’t be so dashed stubborn, man. Tell me this is due east.’
‘This is due east, Sir.’
‘Thank you, Stringer. And thus, if we simply follow the river we can turn to the right within two miles and march towards the south. We shall make camp for the night and, God willing, shall reach Sattelberg and our rendezvous with the flour merchant Herr Kretzmer by early tomorrow.’
‘If you say so, Sir.’
Jennings sighed and gave up, deciding that it would be best if they were to stop again after two miles and reassess the situation.
He sat down on the bare stump of a thick tree and, making sure that he had his back to the men, drew from his pocket the purse given to him by Stapleton. Here in his hand it felt heavier than in his coat. He fingered the bulges in its sides, tracing the outline of the coins. Unable to resist the temptation, he spread back the string, opened the mouth of the purse and pulled out one of the gold pieces. He turned it over in his hand, slowly, lovingly.
A cough made him raise his head, with a start. Stringer stood above him. He had told the Sergeant of the nature of his mission, although not of the precise detail of the precious papers. It was a good idea though to let the man in on the urgency and importance of the affair. Jennings knew that Stringer was a vital ally and suspected too that he might