Jack Steel Adventure Series Books 1-3: Man of Honour, Rules of War, Brothers in Arms. Iain Gale
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by Marlborough to rescue the incriminating documents. How he had survived numerous attacks by both the French and treacherous redcoats. How he had even braved the French lines to bring his Tory friends the evidence they needed. Then Marlborough would be sent again to the Tower. And this time he would not escape, just as Steel had not escaped. He still regretted not having had time to make that final thrust. Had he done so he knew that his own fate would have been very different. He was certain that no one could have survived the blow he had dealt Steel. Jennings had heard his skull crack like a walnut. And the wound to his thigh alone might have been mortal. No, Steel was dead. That much was certain. Marlborough would be sent to the Tower and he would become a rich man. A Colonel at the head of his own regiment of foot. He was gripped by a vision of himself covered in gold lace and glory. He smiled at the prospect.
A discreet cough preceded a gloved hand on the entrance flap of Jennings’ tent. A junior officer of French cavalry entered. Jennings stopped grinning and assumed an air of gravity.
‘Major Jennings?’
‘Lieutenant?’
‘You will please come with me, Sir. My Colonel would speak with you.’
Jennings donned his hat and followed the boy from the tent into the warm evening. Around him lay the entire Franco-Bavarian army. Tens of thousands of men and horses, encamped as far as the eye could see, it seemed, upon the plain of Hochstadt. Their camp he had not thought at first very different from that of the allied army. On closer scrutiny though he saw its full extent. Beyond the immediate infantry lines lay row upon row of ammunition carts. More than he had ever seen in one place before. Close by them thousands of dray horses stood tethered in a vast field, like some country horse fair, and next to them he caught sight of elaborate field kitchens, at one of which a whole ox was being roasted on a spit. Ahead he could see three huge tents, buildings rather, at whose doors stood dozens of French officers, as if at a royal assembly.
As the aide led him towards them, past the cavalry, he glimpsed off to the right the interior of one tent in which several hussars seated around a table were being entertained by a half-naked dancing girl. She shrieked with excitement as one of them reached out and tore off her skirt.
It was as far removed from a picture of Marlborough’s army that he was able to imagine and Jennings wondered, with a shiver of concern for his own future, which of them might emerge victorious from the coming battle. At length the two men reached the end of the lines and arrived at a sturdy, four-sided marquee, topped with a small flag bearing the fleur-de-lys and set slightly away from the body of the camp. The aide-de-camp held open the long entrance flap and motioned Jennings to enter. It felt strange to be so accepted here, among the enemy. A curious half-life, thought Jennings, with sudden and unexpected self-loathing.
‘Major Jennings, Colonel.’
‘Thank you, Henri. You may go. Major Jennings, allow me to present myself. I am Colonel Jean Martin Michelet of the regiment d’Artois. I bid you welcome.’
He narrowed his eyes and attempted to get the measure of this curious Englishmen. He tried to ascertain from his appearance and manner whether this turncoat was the genuine article or simply one of Marlborough’s many spies.
‘Any enemy of Lord Malbrook is a friend here. Please, sit with me. A glass of wine? It has just arrived from France.’
Jennings smiled at the Frenchman’s inability to pronounce Marlborough’s name, a common failing with his countrymen. Michelet was of medium build with a handsome, tanned face and a slim moustache in the Parisian fashion. His only distinguising mark was a thin scar which ran from the right side of his face, far under his chin.
‘Now, Major Jennings, I understand that you gave yourself up to my gendarmes of your own volition. That you say you have something of great importance to our cause.’
Jennings sat and accepted the goblet of wine.
‘But, Major Jennings. You are an officer in the English army. You are surely not confessing to being a traitor?’
He laughed.
‘D’you have French blood?’
‘No, Colonel. And I am certainly no traitor. But I am in the unique position of being able to do a great service both to my country and your own. I have certain information in my possession. Information which will bring down Marlborough and his friends.’
‘You interest me, Major. This information. I think that perhaps you will tell us when Lord Malbrook will attack and where? You will point out his dispositions? His elite regiments? His weaknesses?’
‘No. As an officer in the army of Queen Anne, and a gentleman, I cannot betray my countrymen. But I can offer you something much more precious. I have in my power the wherewithal to discredit the Duke forever. Papers with which to indict him as a Jacobite. A traitor to the crown. Naturally, they must be transported safely to England on the person of an English officer. Myself.’
Michelet smiled. ‘Yes, Major. We knew of these papers. It was a curious case. A man who had been dealing with my supply officers brought them to our attention.’
He laughed again.
‘A little less mundane than the shoes they had been used to getting. Very good shoes by the way. English made. The man told me about these papers and that a merchant had them. That he had planned a rendezvous with a British officer. Your name was mentioned. Naturally, we paid him for his information and I sent a force recover the papers. Grenadiers and hussars, under one of my finest officers. Your party ran into them in the village of 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