'Then go back to your room. I'll walk you to the door.'
'There's no hurry, is there?'
'We both need our sleep.'
'I'm enjoying it here, Daniel.'
'You should be resting in a proper bed.'
'Can I stay just a little longer?'
'It's late, Amalia.'
'I'll go in a few minutes,' she said, snuggling up against him. 'You won't send me away, will you?'
He put an arm around her. 'It would never cross my mind.'
'Thank you, Daniel.'
They fell asleep together.
It was a revelation. The woman was young, shapely, compliant and experienced. She made Hillier feel wanted and unthreatened. Her skin was smooth, her hair silken and her lips sweeter than anything he'd ever tasted before. His only regret was that it was over so quickly. What pleased him most was that it was very different from the way his friends had described it. Instead of the wild rutting they'd all talked about, Hillier had enjoyed a gentle encounter, full of soft caresses and tenderness. During the short time it had taken, he'd been madly in love with the woman, wanting to make her his own. It was only when he left the room and Dobbs went straight into it that he realised he was merely sharing her with others.
The walk back to camp gave them a chance for comparison. Hillier's friends were loud-mouthed and boastful. He didn't join in the banter. They seemed to be talking about something that had never happened to him. Dobbs tried to prompt him.
'Did you enjoy it?' he asked.
'Yes, Hugh.'
'Do you feel any different now?'
'I do,' admitted Hillier.
'We picked the right girl. Have you ever felt such a body? 1 rode her for ages. Why didn't you stay longer?'
'I had what I wanted.'
Dobbs giggled. 'Did she take you in her mouth?'
'I had what I wanted,' repeated Hillier, refusing to be drawn.
While the others went into details of their respective couplings, Hillier held his peace. He was still uncertain whether to feel ashamed or exhilarated. Visiting a brothel was something he'd looked on as anathema before. In losing his virginity, he'd also sacrificed his respectability. But he was a drummer now, able to grab the passing pleasures of a soldier's life. The pleasure in this case had been indescribable. He could still feel the blood bubbling in his veins and taste her luscious kisses. A sense of remorse intruded. He wondered what his parents would think of him if they knew what he'd done. It would be seen as sordid, immoral and unbecoming. They would be badly wounded. His pleasure was tempered by repentance.
Another question suddenly loomed and it had a frightening immediacy. What would his uncle, Henry Welbeck, say?
'Shall we go again tomorrow night?' Dobbs asked him.
'I don't know, Hugh.'
'But she liked you, Tom. She told me.'
'I haven't any money,' said Hillier.
'Borrow some. That's what I'll do.'
'I'll see how I feel in the morning.'
'How do you feel now, that's the main thing? Are you glad that you came with us? Didn't I say it'd be the making of you?'
'It was good,' said Hillier, warmed by the memory. 'Thank you for taking me. It was very good.'
They ambled along in the darkness until they saw the campfires ahead. Dobbs hushed them all into silence and took over the lead, trying to find the route by which they'd left earlier. They went in single file with Hillier at the rear. Reaching the stream, Dobbs went along the bank in search of a place to cross. The youth directly behind Dobbs suddenly tripped, bumped into him and burst out laughing.
'Be quiet!' hissed Dobbs.
'I'm sorry, Hugh.'
The damage had already been done. Hearing the noise, two of the sentries came to see what had caused it. In response to their challenge, Dobbs took to his heels.
'Run!' he called.
The other three raced after him, running along the bank until they reached a point where it dipped down low. Following their leader, they plunged into the water and splashed their way across. Hillier kept up with them until he'd almost gained the other bank. His foot then caught in some weeds and he fell headlong into the stream. By the time he'd disentangled his foot and got back up again, it was too late. The sentries were waiting for him. He found himself looking at the barrels of their muskets.
Fine weather and an early start allowed them to make good speed on the following day. Janssen rode well and Amalia proved herself a capable horsewoman, handling a spirited mount without undue difficulty. Dopff, too, was developing into an able coachman though he still had trouble controlling the horse's speed. Daniel kept leaving the others so that he could ride ahead and act as a scout. There was nothing to delay them this time. Hours passed by without incident. During a period of rest, Janssen took him aside.
'I still haven't told you what I found out,' he said.
'Then do so now.'
'It's become a little confused in my mind, I fear. During those weeks in the Bastille, I rather lost my bearings.'
'I can understand why,' said Daniel.
'Where shall I start?'
'Go back to the time when you were last in touch with Pierre Lefeaux. All the intelligence you sent him would have reached us. What else is there to add?'
'I overheard a conversation between the king and one of his advisers. They were talking about next year's campaigns.'
'That sounds promising. What exactly was said?'
Janssen's account was rambling but full of interesting detail. It led on to other intelligence that he'd gleaned. Daniel was patient, drawing the information slowly out of him and sifting it as he did so. Until his arrest, the tapestry-maker had been an assiduous spy. His weakness was an inability to distinguish fact from anecdote. Much of what he said was of no military value to the Allies but it was offset by some significant intelligence. At the end of their conversation, Janssen sought information of another kind.
'Tell me what happened to Pierre Lefeaux,' he requested. 'When I mentioned his name before, I sensed that you were not telling me the whole truth.'
'Monsieur Lefeaux is no longer able to help us,' said Daniel, his face impassive. 'That's all you need to know.'
'Has he been arrested as well?'
'It amounts to that.'
'You're holding something back from me,' said Janssen. 'Pierre and his wife were dear friends of mine. I'm entitled to be told what became of them. Is Pierre still alive?'
'No,' confessed Daniel.
'What happened to him?'
'He was executed.'
'What about his wife?'
'She met the same fate.'
Janssen reeled as if from a blow. 'This is my fault,' he said, eyes filled with contrition. 'I must have blundered
