peered through a gap in the bush and saw that there were six of them. Certain that they were soldiers on patrol, he hoped that they would ride past and go on their way without being aware of the presence of the fugitives. His fear was that one of their own horses would whinny or shift its feet in the long grass and make a noise. Daniel and the others were on tenterhooks. To have come so far and to be caught when they were so close to safety would be devastating. They could look for no mercy whatsoever.
Ironically, it was Dopff who gave them away. The man with no voice had been sneezing and coughing for the last couple of miles. Hand clapped over his mouth, he was doubled up as he tried to suppress the urge to sneeze again. When the impulse passed, he thought it was safe to remove the restraining palm. Before he could stop it, he was overcome by a secondary urge and sneezed aloud. Dopff put both hands penitently across his mouth but the damage had already been done. Hearing the noise, the soldiers came around the angle of the bushes to see what had caused it. Six loaded muskets were pointed at the cowering group. They'd been caught. Daniel's heart was a drum. Amalia shivered, Janssen's legs threatened to give way and Beatrix burst into tears. Dopff was reciting his prayers and begging the Almighty for forgiveness.
'Who are you?' demanded one of the soldiers.
It was a miracle. The man had spoken in Dutch. Fearing that they'd been captured by French soldiers, the fugitives had never considered the possibility that they'd already crossed the border. Overwhelmed with relief, they started laughing and hugging each other. Daniel held Amalia in a warm embrace.
'What's the jest?' asked the soldier.
'We'll be happy to explain it to you,' said Daniel, beaming. 'My name is Captain Rawson, attached to the staff of His Grace, the Duke of Marlborough, and I admit that I've been critical of the Dutch army in the past. Let me say before witnesses that I've never been so grateful to see some members of it as I am at this moment in time.'
The meeting was held at the home of Johannes Mytens. The visitors arrived punctually and were shown into the parlour. After greeting his friend, Willem Ketel introduced him to Gaston Loti. The Frenchman was tall, lean and well-dressed. His full-bottomed wig framed a face that was pitted with age but softened by a ready smile. Loti was intelligent, watchful and devious. As a merchant, Ketel had learnt to speak French fluently and Mytens had a sound knowledge of the language. They were therefore able to converse in French. Loti began by making some flattering remarks about The Hague, hinting that it would be a tragedy if such a fine city were ever to be under direct attack. Mytens bridled slightly.
'It would be equally unfortunate if Paris were to be under siege,' he said. 'The destruction of the magnificent French capital would be a sad sight to behold.'
'It's one that will never be seen,' said Loti with easy confidence. 'No enemy would ever get within striking distance of Paris.'
'Don't be so complacent, Monsieur Loti.'
'It's not complacency, sir, but common sense.'
'Even the best armies can be beaten,' asserted Mytens, 'and yours has been humbled on the battlefield more than once.'
'Gentlemen,' said Ketel, diving in quickly before the argument became more heated. 'Paris and The Hague are both wonderful cities. We are here to discuss how we can ensure their mutual well-being in every conceivable way.'
'I agree, Willem,' said Loti, 'and I apologise to my host if I appeared a trifle arrogant. It's a fault of my nation, alas, and none of us is entirely free from it.' His smile broadened. 'I'm sorry, sir.'
Mytens nodded. 'I accept your apology,' he said, 'and tender my own in return. This is an opportunity to bargain rather than bicker.'
'Bargain!' echoed Ketel, sucking his teeth. 'That word is music in my ears. You two are politicians and talk of compromise. I'm a merchant and therefore seasoned in haggling.'
'There's no need for haggling here, Willem,' said Loti. 'We have common needs and a common aim. All we have to discuss is how best to achieve that aim.'
'Johannes and I have already done that.'
'I and my fellow-politicians have been debating the issue since this war first started. It's not one that we sought, let's be clear about that. All that King Louis did was to confirm the right of his grandson, the Due d'Anjou, to inherit the Spanish throne.'
'It was viewed elsewhere, not unreasonably, with great alarm,' said Mytens, jowls wobbling. 'If France is allowed to annexe Spain, it would create an empire that would hold us all in thrall. Does King Louis never tire of conquest?'
'It's not his intention to conquer Spain,' replied Loti, calmly, 'but merely to supervise the rightful succession. Your fears of a vast and aggressive French empire are much exaggerated, Monsieur Mytens. What you seem to forget is that Louis XIV is an old man. In a few years' time, he'll be seventy. At his age, he has no appetite for a long and damaging war. He'd much rather live in peace and enjoy the splendours of Versailles.'
'In his position, I'd probably wish to do the same.'
'I'm sure that we all would,' said Ketel, worried that his two friends were not getting on as well as he'd imagined. 'What better life is there for a man than to inhabit paradise and be able to select his mistresses from among the greatest beauties of France?'
'We have our share of beauties, Willem,' said Mytens with a touch of patriotic lechery. 'Paris has nothing to compare with some of the ladies you'll find in The Hague and Amsterdam.'
'Dutch women are a little dour for my taste,' said Loti.
'That's because you judge them by their appearance, my friend. They cannot match their French counterparts in flamboyance, I grant you, but in passion they are far superior.'
Ketel was exasperated. 'Why are we talking about women when we should be discussing the war?' he asked, adjusting his wig. 'If we can find our way to a peaceful settlement, we'll all have time for the pleasures of the flesh.'
'Well said, Willem,' agreed Loti.
'Yes,' added Mytens, 'we're rightly chastised. Once again I apologise, Monsieur Loti. It's a poor host who argues with a visitor.'
'Then let's proceed to a friendly debate,' said Ketel. 'Gaston knows the very nerves of state in France. He knows what the King and his advisors intend before they even put their thoughts into words. Why don't we let him enlighten us?'
Mytens turned to Loti. 'You have a rapt audience, sir.'
'Then I'll try to give a performance worthy of merit,' said the Frenchman. 'Not that this is a theatre in which all the lines have been rehearsed, mind you. I'll be speaking from the heart.'
'We'll be doing the same,' promised Ketel.
'Good.'
'What news do you have for us, Gaston?'
'The best news possible,' answered Loti, 'though it must remain between the three of us for the time being. France is weary of this pointless and inconclusive war. It serves no purpose other than to be a constant drain on the national coffers of everyone involved. We are all stupidly fighting our way into poverty.'
'That's been my contention throughout,' said Ketel.
'When winter comes and we all have time to sit back and view the situation dispassionately, we'll see the lunacy of resuming the war next spring. If wisdom prevails,' he went on, 'and if the Dutch are as ready to come to terms as the French, then there can be a formal end to the hostilities between us.'
'There'll be a definite offer of peace?' said Mytens, hopefully.
'Yes, my friend. I'll be part of a deputation that makes it.'
'What are its details?'
'They've yet to be finalised,' said Loti, 'but I assure you that they'll have considerable appeal. France will recognise your objectives and you, by the same token, must acknowledge ours.' He looked from one man to the other. 'How strong is the desire for peace here?'
'Very strong,' said Ketel. 'Johannes has been working hard to convince his friends in the States-General that the war should be abandoned. His support grows every day.'
'That's very gratifying.'
