Jack Steel Adventure Series Books 1-3: Man of Honour, Rules of War, Brothers in Arms. Iain Gale
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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 Münster 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 Münster. 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 Münster 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,