'He'll take an army of 40 battalions and 50 squadrons through the Black Forest to join Marshal Marsin and the Elector of Bavaria.' He saw the reservation in the man's eyes. 'Do you have any objection that that?'
'Not in the least, Your Majesty.'
'Tell the truth, man. I sense reluctance.'
'It's consent tempered by a slight anxiety,' explained the man. 'The Black Forest is a mountainous area. Our army would have to march through hostile territory under the most difficult conditions.'
'It's the most direct route.'
'Then you must prepare for losses along the way.'
'Don't tell me about losses,' snapped Louis, smacking the arm of his chair. 'I've controlled my armies for decades now so I know all about the losses they are bound to sustain. Marshal Marsin and the Elector need reinforcements and that's what they will get.'
The man nodded obsequiously. 'Yes, Your Majesty.'
'Whatever happens, Marlborough must not be allowed to cross the Danube. That's an article of faith with me.'
'The best place to cross is Donauworth,' said another of the advisers, 'where the Wornitz river meets the Danube. 'I've been there, Your Majesty. It's guarded by a fortified hill called the Schellenberg and that's almost impossible to storm. Of one thing I believe we can be assured,' he continued, looking around his colleagues with a smug smile. 'The Allied armies will never be permitted to cross the Danube.'
Edward Marston
Soldier of Fortune
'We must cross the Danube,' said Marlborough, poring over the map laid out on a table in his tent.
'It will not be easy, Your Grace,' warned Eugene. 'Marshal Marsin and the Elector have established a camp in Dillingen — right here.' His finger prodded the map. 'A smaller force is guarding Donauworth and the heights above it. Even as we speak, they will be improving fortifications on the Schellenberg.'
'We shall have to take the hill.'
'You'll have to pay a high price in blood to do so.'
'It will be worth it.'
'I agree,' said Eugene. 'It is bold, brave and unexpected. The French never dreamt you would come this far into Germany. You have kept them guessing at every point, Your Grace. That's the mark of a great commander.'
Prince Eugene of Savoy spoke with authority, having been a keen student of military history. He was a slim, pale, almost effeminate man of forty with protruding front teeth and a misshapen nose. Notwithstanding his ugliness and his unwillingness to wash as often as he should, he was a skilful general. The irony was that he had been brought up in the French court where his ambitions to be a soldier were ridiculed by King Louis who decreed that the puny youth of sixteen, as he had once been, should enter the church.
Forced to receive a tonsure and wear a cassock, Eugene sought succour in the work of Plutarch and others who wrote about heroes of the Ancient World. He remained in France until he could endure the king's arrogance no more, seeking a military career elsewhere and vowing that he would only ever return at the head of an army. An unlikely soldier, he nevertheless turned out to have great skill in the field and his support was prized by Marlborough. Had he been allowed to join the French army, as he had once wished, Eugene would now be fighting against the Grand Alliance. In treating him with such disdain, Louis XIV had created a dangerous enemy with an army of 28,000 men at his back.
'What are my orders, Your Grace?' asked Eugene.
'Marshal Tallard is coming through the Black Forest,' said Marlborough, 'and he will meet up with Marshal Villeroi's army. We need you to guard the Lines at Stollhoffen against their advance.'
'Consider it done.'
'Thank you, my friend. I cannot tell you how delighted we are to have you as our ally. Your successes against the Turks have earned you many plaudits. Three years ago, you also had notable victories at Carpi and Chiari against superior French armies.'
'I lost the battle of Cremona,' confessed Eugene, 'but I fought the French to a draw at Luzzara. They are not as invincible as they like to believe.'
'I know,' said Marlborough, looking up. 'They are rightly proud of their military achievements but pride can lead to complacency. We must exploit their self-satisfaction.'
'How many men do you have at your disposal?'
'The best part of 80,000 — on the long march here, we lost only a thousand or more to sickness. That was a blessing.'
'The French will lose many men as they come through the Black Forest. The mountains always claim some victims.'
'Their horses are suffering as well,' Marlborough told him. 'The latest intelligence is that a virulent disease has spread among them. If many of their horses die, they will be slowed down.'
'We will be waiting for them at the Lines of Stollhoffen,' said Eugene, a broad grin revealing the rest of his teeth. He brushed back his unkempt fair hair. 'We'll test the French to the utmost.'
'May good fortune attend you,' said Marlborough, exchanging a warm handshake with him. 'The next time we meet, it will be near the Danube.' He studied Eugene quizzically. 'Do you have no qualms about fighting a country in which you spent so much time?'
Eugene became serious. 'None at all, Your Grace,' he said. 'King Louis treated my mother shabbily and mocked me with the name of le petit abbe. He will soon see that I am no little priest.' He rested a hand on his sword. 'I'll make him rue the day that he made me quit France to follow my true calling as a soldier.'
Edward Marston
Soldier of Fortune
Daniel Rawson had always enjoyed being in a camp preparing itself for action. The sense of expectation was exciting. He found the sight of men being drilled, weapons being cleaned or sharpened, and artillery being made ready, thrilling even after all his years in the army. Additional soldiers were coming in every day. They had met the Margrave of Baden and the Austrian army at Launsheim and there was a steady trickle of recruits. After their unfortunate experience with the man calling himself Will Curtis, the British army questioned any newcomers very closely, especially if they were deserters from the French or Bavarian forces. Once accepted into the ranks, they were still watched in case they turned out to be enemy spies.
Characteristically forthright, Sergeant Henry Welbeck expressed misgivings about what awaited them. He and Daniel were watching a small detachment of Dutch soldiers arriving in camp.
'What are those moon-faced fools grinning at?' he asked with scorn. 'Don't they know they are on their way to their death?'
'Death or glory,' corrected Daniel.
'There's not much chance of glory, Dan. The rumour is that we're going to cross the Danube. If we try to do that, most of us will end up as corpses floating on the water.'
'Your job is to inspire your men. If you tell them we're facing defeat before battle even commences, you plant seeds of doubt in their minds. They have to believe victory is possible, Henry.'
'I'm not sure that I do.'
'You refused to believe that we'd get this far,' Daniel reminded him. 'Yet we've managed it without too many problems.'
'Then your memory is very different from mine,' said Welbeck tartly. 'What about the days when it rained so hard, we could hardly see a hand in front of our faces? What about those mountains we had to climb? And what about Lieutenant Hopwood being murdered in your tent — that's what I'd call a real problem.'
'I haven't forgotten that,' said Daniel soulfully. 'I still feel guilty. Richard Hopwood died in place of me.'
'Then his sacrifice was not in vain. We need you, Dan.'
'We needed the lieutenant as well. I know he was untried but he had some fire in his belly. He wanted to fight the French. When they see urgency and commitment in an officer, the men respect him all the more. Richard Hopwood will be mourned.'
'Do you think we'll ever find his killer?'
'We must,' replied Daniel. 'It's a sacred duty.'
